Page 123 of Whirlwind

“Let’s try it.”

He got in front of the laptops, his board. “I know this is crazy, eh?” His eyes lifted from his screen. “But fuck it, why not?”

“I agree. Run through it a few more times for me so I can listen and figure out—”

Kaspar’s fingers danced over his keyboards. “Andoni—páme.”

Andoni nodded, and he released that mesmerizing intro of his. A simple tribal beat suddenly becoming intricate and relentless. An almost darkly compelling and wholly unexpected prelude to Kaspar’s explosion of ecstatic driving synth.

Andoni’s drum added unexpected emotion. I listened through each run to find the places Kaspar had pointed out where my guitar could interject, underscore, and bring out another layer.

We worked on the piece. Kaspar, although the captain of this project with over two decades worth of professional experience, was incredibly relaxed. He expected me and Andoni to provide, and provide we did. He had the vision, or rather the feeling of what he wanted. The cool thing was he was able to communicate what he wanted, and we got it, played with it.

Professionalism and a free spirited openness all rolled into one. A breath of fresh oxygen to my soul’s lungs.

Andoni raised his head and shot me a grin as I took off on a riff. He followed my beat. Heat rushed through my chest, my fingers. My soul lifted, and I grinned back at him.

Kaspar flicked and tapped at his board, moving his body to the sounds, his eyes scanning his screen. His relaxed attitude matched his relaxed physicality. Being constantly open to new experiences was a way of life for him, like it was for Tag.

That was priceless.

I let go of a breath and let in the vibrations of the sounds we were creating, the sounds that flowed through our instruments. My eyes closed. This brought me back to a simpler time, to when I was a kid and Dad had insisted I stop reading music and play from instinct, play from listening deep so that my fingers bonded with those instincts, with those feels.

Our energy filled the room and wafted out the open veranda windows. Here were three musicians who had never worked with each other before, and yet were able—in a tiny fraction of time before a performance—to find a rich flow together.

Why was that so hard for me and Zack, Myles, and Jude lately? We’d been together for four years now, knew each other backwards and forwards and upside in. We’d toured non-stop. We used to jam freestyle all the time, it was the basis of so many good songs for us. But lately, misunderstandings and expectations had stiffened any sort of free style jamming. The thought tensed my shoulders, and I let it go immediately and let Kaspar and Andoni guide me back. Back here, here, the now, the music.

Kaspar’s light engineer shook his head with the rhythms tapping on his keyboard. Probably making adjustments to his design plan. We were done.

“I like it.” I put down my guitar. “I hope the audience likes it.”

“I’ve been playing here for years,” said Kaspar. “Best audiences in Europe. They really love music, and they appreciate you. I love playing here, man. I come as often as I can.”

Kaspar’s interaction with his audience was the underlying force of his every performance. He was playing for them, for their enthusiasm, with their energy, making it feel freeform and organic, making it theirs. He came alive onstage in new ways. Nothing better than that level of interaction.

He ran his two hands through his wavy beach hair and focused on his laptop once again.

“Andoni, thank you for including me.” My hand tapped over my heart. “It’s great to make music with you.”

“This has been fun for me, and a real honor. I’m a fan. I look forward to the performance.” We shook hands.

My blood rushing in my veins, I texted Violet, grabbed my guitar case, and took off.

I got back to our villa and Violet was waiting for me by the pool, naked. We made good use of our adrenaline.

46

Beck

The next morning,Tag woke us up with a phone call telling us he’d rented a bunch of jet skis at another beach. After a quick breakfast, we all headed out together. Things were much more relaxed now that Tag had gotten his filming done for the jewelry promo and the prime shots for Kaspar’s video. Everyone was excited about the concert tonight.

I drove a jet ski with Violet on the back photographing Tag who was on a flyboard soaring above us as we jetted around him. Stone and Lars were on a small chartered boat controlling the drone that hovered over us.

Tag skidded back down in the water and grabbed Irina and got her on the small platform. The two of them rose high over the water, Irina shrieking and laughing. The drone lowered over them and she dove backwards off the flyboard into the water.

“Babe, can you drive a jet ski?”

“Yes, why?” Violet lowered her camera.

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