Page 57 of Whirlwind

He let out a dry laugh staring at my legs in the boots. “Both, actually.” He rose from the piano. “I’ll be a minute.” He went and changed his shirt and jeans, another pair of boots and met me by the door, sliding his beanie over his head.

We got in the elevator and stood side by side in the small cubicle, the heat between our bodies unbearable. Finally, the elevator doors slid open, and we stepped out into the lobby. I curled my hand in his, and he held it firmly as the doorman opened the front door.

Together, we stepped out into the bright, brash Nashville night.

24

Beck

Broadway was teeming with life.Loud, vibrant life. People were always in a party mood here. An endless line of small, older bars along with big, new, flashy, name brand restaurants and souvenir shops, traditional candy stores and eateries lined the avenue and small streets. Each one jammed with people. People with huge smiles on their faces, people thrilled to be here. The bells and yells coming from the open air drinking bike trolleys and the bachelorette party buses kept that tide high and the rhythm flamboyant.

Hand in hand, we went into the smaller bars where it was standing room only before a small stage set up in the front window of the space. A band that fused country with a hard driving rock rhythm played. I was blown away by their energy, their sound. “They’re really good.”

Violet raised her hands in the air and danced along with the crowd. “So good!” She pressed her body against mine, and we moved to the music together.

They started a new song, but suddenly the lights fell. “Shit,” said the lead singer. “Sorry everybody, our light board and programming just crashed, but fuck it, let’s do this the old fashioned way!”

We all cheered. In the dark, a small lone spot lit the lead singer and the band took off. Production screw-up be damned, they rallied, even harder than before. These guys were on fire on that tiny spartan stage living every second to the max. They were well-rehearsed, a working band who I’m sure didn’t have the luxury of roadies, techs, or any kind of support staff. Or much cash.

My mind shot back to the tour. To a performance in Munich where we’d phoned it in. Not so much energy, a bit of indifference. Fucked up. We’d been exhausted from flying, from partying. Pathetic.

I was sure this band worked every venue they could and had a solid reputation and a growing fan base. Every moment they were grateful no matter what a bitch it had been to get there, to set up. Every performance was an opportunity to make their music and share it, to gain a fan, to gain attention from the powers that be. To play. In the dark or in the spotlight.

The lead guitarist grabbed his mic stand and belted out a verse. It was a small space, as if we were in someone’s living room, and his enthusiasm reached each and every one of us. The bassist did his thing at the end of the stage to the people crammed on his side. These guys were living every moment, connecting with their fans. New fans, I’d bet 80% of the people in here had never heard of them or their music before this minute. Everything about this was genuine.

A heavy dullness weighed in my chest. We worked hard onstage, we were able to communicate with each other through gestures and looks that had been honed over time, but there were times, so many times on the tour, when we’d let our personal bullshit get in the way of creating and delivering full on like this band.

And the thing was, we knew it.

We knew and we let it pass, which only added fuel to everyone’s inner discontent, a discontent no one bothered to bring up. Somehow we’d stopped talking about all that like we used to. Sure, there were fragments of discussion here and there, but not the way we used to dissect shows post game. Had we gotten that lazy? That arrogant? That indifferent?

Violet and I checked out two other bars on the avenue, and strolled in and out of shops. My phone buzzed. Dré, a musician from the soundtrack sessions here in town.

“Dré, what’s up?”

“Hey, Beck. You out and about?”

“I am.”

“Remember I told you I’d let you know if one of those rave parties was happening tonight? There’s one on. Just found out about it.”

“Cool. Give me the details.”

“I’ll text you now.”

“Thanks, man.”

“What’s cool?” Violet chewed on her Goo Goo cluster candy bar.

“One of the musicians from the soundtrack sessions told me about an online music community here in town that organize impromptu underground parties every weekend at different locations. He just found out about tonight’s and let me know. You up for it?”

“You bet.”

I wiped the smudge of chocolate from the side of her mouth. “I want to taste that, Goo Goo.” I kissed her, and she laughed.

I called for a car, and in nine minutes, we were off to the location. I showed Violet the announcement on my phone. “It seems more pop focused than country.”

“Nashville is much, much more than only country music these days, Mr. Rock Star.”

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