Swan Song

by Tom Butler

  ******

  As indicated by Noah, Hooded Eye did play a college gig in Coventry two weeks later, and the Swan’s and Proudlock’s were there in force to give him morale support. Just for the sake of curiosity, Wes tagged along too though Liz opted out and went playing bingo with her sister. With a pre-planned strategy, they smuggled Mary into the Student Hall, and her excitement couldn’t be disguised. It meant she got some funny looks but luckily drew no unwanted attention from security staff and door stewards.

  ‘Just tell them you’re sixteen, and no one will question it,’ Phillip had said to his foster daughter earlier when she had begun to fret. In truth, with the small amount of makeup Sylvia had permitted her to wear and her hair combed long, she didn’t look so different to some of the other girls who passed themselves off as “rock chicks” for the night.

  ‘Just don’t get any ideas though,’ Sylvia had warned her. ‘This is a special occasion and not somewhere I would normally encourage you to go.’

  Mary was already loving the vibes of the big crowd, many who obviously had no intention of using their seats as they waited for the live music to begin. Likewise, she remained standing, swivelling her head around the room several times as if it was a fun fair full of attractions or a gallery full of artwork.

  James stood by her and pointed out things, boring her with the brand names of instruments already set up on the elevated stage and speculating from where the players would arrive, given the back of the stage was in total darkness.

  Hooded Eye was the support act for a heavy metal band from London and when announced they swept on to stage from all directions and went straight into the same repertoire James remembered from their high-octane Bristol gig. It meant Peaceful Man was the third song in, and James couldn’t stop himself staring at the all-black-leather-clad Melissa and lip-syncing the lyrics he knew so well. His words. A poem of his creation put to music.

  It had never looked or sounded so good. Melissa Murray was on top form. She was mesmeric. A young girl full of raw energy and undoubted talent, and with the moves of a diva.

  Even Sylvia spied Phillip looking at her in a way she found mildly disturbing. Or was she just being paranoid. After all, he was only imitating every other red-blooded male in the audience enthralled by the intensity of her eccentric stage routine. It was a vital part of her act, and Melissa’s persona was extraordinarily defined by her undoubted ability. She was no idealistic attention seeker or posing pretender. She was real, current and unrelenting.

  James, putting aside his feud, joined in with his exuberant sister who, drawing the line at boyish head banging excitedly shook her whole body and perpetually swayed alongside him, occasionally making whooping sounds and pointing and shouting at Noah. He would have never heard her of course, but it didn’t matter; he too was beginning to settle into his rock star role like it was destiny, and everything was at last all falling into place as if it was always meant to be this way.

  Watching on in wide-eyed admiration, Wes Crowley remained thoughtful, taking it all in, thinking back to his day and his music, and realising this was no ordinary band with ordinary aspirations. James hadn’t exaggerated when he had told him the band’s singer was special, and he had already reached a conclusion. If anyone could sing Black Orchid the way he believed it should be sung, it was her. There was no question.

  The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t get it out of his mind. It was a match made in heaven. A rock ballad with enough edginess in it to stand out in a crowd, performed by a fresh-faced band with a brilliant new talent at the helm. His thoughts spread to the other songs James and he had worked on and made primitive recordings of and what slant Melissa might put on them given the chance. And then he pondered on the acrimony between Noah and James over Peaceful Man that was far from resolved and how James might react if he shared with him his thoughts and ideas. It might test his loyalty to him and cause friction. Or it might open up a whole new enterprise for the song-writing duo. Either way, it was worth exploring the possibilities. So he promised himself he would do so at the end of the show.

  There was no point waiting any longer than necessary.

  ******

  Chapter Twelve

  After the band’s forty-five-minute set had ended and the applause had died down, Noah went in search of friends and family. Eagle eyed Mary saw him coming and was unable to contain herself. She fairly leapt into his arms, and he was visibly taken aback. Though boy bands were more her thing, she nevertheless heaped praise on him, even saying from now on she was his number one fan. In truth, he had done little more on stage other than play chords on his guitar and provide occasional backup vocals, but for her that was enough to make him her hero.

  Noah accepted, as did the others, that it was hard to get noticed when the fulcrum of the band was a pretty female with an effervescent smile whose head tossing, fist raising, rebel rousing antics monopolised much of the attention. But no one in the band shirked their responsibilities, and Jed Murray had honed them into a generally slick outfit, albeit they sometimes lapsed into what could only be described as moments of unprofessional disharmony.

  Tonight there had been no such thing. Everything had worked. They looked and sounded fresh. Every gig added to their experience and helped cultivate a fan base. Jed would keep drumming into them the ethic of hard work and durability. And his ambitious daughter wouldn’t tolerate slackness or lame excuses.

  Though the words stuck in his throat, James too offered praise and Wes Crowley, hovering interestedly in the background, didn’t wait on ceremony to be introduced once the younger brother had run out of things to say.

  ‘Hi, I’m Wes, I’ve been trying to teach James guitar, but I suspect, pretty soon he’ll be teaching me a thing or too,’ he said, making Noah’s wrist ache with a hearty handshake.

  Noah, aware of exactly who the man was, hid a scowl behind a false smile, and though temporarily stuck for words, he managed a cautious ‘thank you’.

  Wes, in the mood for nostalgia, motored on.

  ‘Twenty years ago I played the colleges with a band called Hell for Leather, but we never got ovations like that. But there was just the three of us, and all we ever seemed to do was the Quo, Queen or Alice Cooper. Nothing remotely original like you do. Nobody ever got famous or made millions from just doing covers.’

  With James trying to listen in, Noah looked nervous.

  ‘We try things,’ he conceded, struggling to make himself heard above the background music. ‘Sometimes they go down a storm, but then some things just don’t work.’

  ‘That’s called sods law,’ Wes shrugged empathically. ‘But everything you did tonight sounded great to me. I was knocked out. You were highly impressive.’

  Noah was genuinely surprised but also suspicious of such overstated adulation from the guitar tutor mentoring his brother. He had suspected that James might have brainwashed him into thinking Hooded Eye wasn’t very good and worse still that his own contribution was sadly lacking. But that wasn’t the case at all.

  ‘James tells me there’s an album release soon, and a single to promote it?’ Wes went on. ‘They should really give the band a solid platform. You must feel so proud.’

  Noah glanced at his brother as he said it and read envy in his eyes. A touch of jealousy but thankfully no malice bearing in mind the last time they had spoken.

  ‘It’s all happening in the next few weeks,’ he nodded. ‘We’re pleased but not getting carried away.’

  Wes speculated. ‘I was rather hoping you’d introduce me to Melissa and her dad. I so much want to meet them and wish them luck. Would that be possible?’

  Noah stuttered and then said, ‘Of course. I’ll have to find them first though. That may not be easy.’

  There were back slapping students who called themselves fans gathering around now, all wanting to rub shoulders with a potential rock legend. Not yet eighteen and his world was bordering on the incredible. It was hard to take in and even harder to kee
p both feet on the ground. Wes had felt like that himself in his late teens, but fame had never quite found him, and now in his forties, he knew it never would as a performer. But there were always other irons in the fire and ideas to pursue. And dreams to go in search of.

  Jed Murray was pursuing a dream too, and the two men were bound to hit it off with so much in common. And so it seemed when Noah introduced them during a lull in the post-performance euphoria. They were from the same era and championed the same genre of music. Though Jed never gigged with bands like Wes did, he was pretty nifty on the piano and once had a part time job writing rock music reviews for a local newspaper in Glasgow as well as running a rock theme night in a small club he managed until its haphazard owners went bankrupt.

  Latterly, he and a business partner had taken over the lease of a shop in a Leicester shopping precinct selling a wide range of makes of keyboards and the occasional grand piano, moving his family into a rented house two miles from the City centre. Melissa was fifteen at the time and on the brink of taking her GCSE’s. A move of such magnitude might have unsettled someone with Glasgow impregnated all the way through her but she coped incredibly well, and she had soon hooked up with Joe Slater at the sixth form college that adopted her.

  Joe and a few college mates had mucked about, but there was the beginning of a band even if it appeared overly obsessed with heavy rock and playing it loud. Melissa had her first serious relationship with Joe, and that in itself caused much friction between her dad and the boy who acted far too immaturely for Jed’s liking.

  Needless to say, Joe flunked his exams and later went heavily off the rails. When sixteen and contemplating her future, Melissa got pregnant by Joe, and Jed and her mother Moira went crazy. There were tears and tantrums and talk of abortion. There was also threats of murder by Jed who thought Joe was a wastrel. Fate lent a hand when at eight weeks Melissa miscarried which proved traumatic but gave her a second chance she took to put her life back on track. She ditched Joe, won a place at a music academy and moved on.

  Three years later, she teamed up with Joe again much against her dad’s advice, but this was purely platonic and in the guise of Hooded Eye which Joe had formed with old college friends who like him had got back aboard the train and left their immaturity behind them.

  Jed ate a large slice of humble pie to allow Joe back into his daughter’s life, and there was still a sticking point between them though it never got in the way. Melissa was now dating an older man who had nothing to do with the music business and kept himself on the sidelines. Well away from Jed.

  ‘Noah tells me you’ve been teaching his brother, and Mel says he’s a talented kid?’ Jed inquired of Wes when some of the background noise had died down.

  The two men were alike. Both in their late forties, a little over weight, wayward hair and thick sideburns.

  Wes smiled. ‘Must be in the genes,’ he said without thinking. ‘A bit like the Gallagher’s or the Bee Gees perhaps.’

  Jed shrugged. ‘Well, try telling Mel’s sisters. They have no interest in music. One’s mad on horses, and the other’s never off her phone. She must have half a dozen boys hanging on her every word. She’s thirteen. But clever, far too clever for me.’

  ‘Kids can run rings around parents these days,’ Wes contributed.

  ‘They put up with me. Four females in the house and all so different. But I wouldn’t change a thing. You get out of life what you put into it,’ Jed eulogised.

  At that point, Noah appeared with Melissa arm in arm, and she hugged her dad.

  The man was nearly in tears. ‘Bloody fantastic darling. The best yet.’

  Noah had left Melissa to introduce herself to Wes, but Jed did it for her. She shook his hand, and she repeated what her father had said about James who was now homing in on the group with Mary and the Proudlock’s.

  Mel Murray went out of her way to hug James and made a huge fuss of his sister.

  ‘Typical boys, they never told me how pretty you are. I love the outfit. Where did you get it?’ Sylvia Proudlock had deliberated for some time over the tight top and skinny jeans Mary had chosen to wear, and Philip too had raised an eyebrow or two.

  Mary found it hard to decipher Mel’s strong Glaswegian accent but seemed to understand the gist of what she was saying. She was temporarily too dumbstruck to say much more than a muted ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  Despite the language barrier and the speed at which she spoke, Mel certainly made a big impression on the latest recruits to her fan club, and once Mary had found her tongue again, there was no stopping her. A barrage of questions about what it was like to be the envy of so many and how she coped as the only female. Where did she get her ideas for songs from and from a fashion perceptive, where did she get the intricately patterned cowboy boots she wore on stage?

  It was rather like a radio or news media interview. But Mel spared Mary the time, and those around close enough to hear hung on her every word. Such was the impact she had made and the following she had built in not very much time in the business. Somebody from the music press who had come at the invitation of the headlining band asked her about America, and suddenly there was panic in her voice as she tried to reply.

  ‘Well, that’s something I can’t really talk about because nothing’s been confirmed. It’s everyone’s dream to go to the States.’

  Jed Murray had overheard enough to know his daughter was getting ahead of herself, but who could blame her in the circumstances. She knew her father had spoken to both the record company and the promoters on the very same subject. Peaceful Man had gone viral via social media over there, and he had suddenly been put under the kind of pressure he wanted to avoid.

  The band were young and fresh, and he would rather see them increase their fan base over here first before considering tackling the mite of America despite its obvious attractions. But having a hit over there was bound to raise speculation and fuel rumours and Jed knew there was no doubt that there were some big decisions to be made and plans to be drawn up. And it went without saying that he knew for sure that Hooded Eye were heading in just one direction. Upward. They were heading for the stars.

  ******

  Chapter Thirteen

  Defying all the early pessimism, Peaceful Man charted in America a week after the official release date. Its unintentional religious connotations appealed strongly especially in the deep south where the song became an anthem. Though never likely to hit the number one slot, it did creep into the top twenty and stayed there long enough to eclipse sales over here.

  There were immediate plans for a follow up and even a tour of the States in the new year. The news hit James hard. Something akin to one of those destructive tornados parts of America were famous for. Noah compounded it, opening up new wounds by goading his brother about it, though he was heavily drunk at the time. James was not going to take that lying down.

  Wes, expecting James to rise above it and move on, didn’t read the signs and therefore took no evasive action. With potential chart topping songs to write themselves, he believed he could help James achieve some sort of equilibrium providing they were lucky enough to get the breaks.

  Unknown to Wes, however, late one Friday several weeks later, James tracked his posturing brother down to a swanky Birmingham hotel room on the eve of an open air concert at Canon Hill Park. By cleverly hoodwinking a desk clerk into thinking he was part of the band’s road crew, he obtained Noah’s room number and passkey, gate crashing a party comprising of Noah and three semi-naked girls who, he surmised, were barely of an age to be out of school uniform.

  All three were look-a-likes with skinny frames and long dark hair. At a second glance, he recognised one of them as she guzzled wine from a nearly empty bottle. It was Hannah, the girl he had befriended at the Bristol concert. Still as gothic looking as ever and extremely pale, she waved when James caught her attention and her eyes glazed over. She was most probably well on the way to being drunk, and James thought she might even be on drugs. H
e couldn’t be sure.

  Getting over the initial shock of seeing her wasn’t helped by his brother who didn’t overreact and tolerated the sudden intrusion.

  ‘Hey, Bro. Now you’re here, you might as well get reacquainted,’ he slurred. ‘No need to be shy.’

  He had his arms around another girl’s bare waist whilst the other girl sat topless on the bed pursing her lips.

  All Noah had on was a pair of Tiger-print boxer shorts and sunglasses. It appeared that he had gained two pretty extensive tattoos, one on each arm. Perhaps he was trying to rival Joe who was covered in them. James didn’t think they suited his brother at all. But he knew he wouldn’t have an opinion on the matter. One of the tattoos was of a growling lion and the other a dragon breathing fire. He remembered Sylvia not allowing Noah a tattoo when he was younger and figured she still wouldn’t approve despite his sudden fame.

  That thought plus the intensity of the tattoos occupied James’s mind for a short while before he re-engaged his eyes and glanced around the room. There were at least two unopened packets of condoms next to the king size bed and already several empty bottles that had contained fizzy wine lined up close to the door.

  ‘Tell them they need to get dressed and go,’ James said, ignoring Hannah’s attempt to pull him over to her. ‘We need to talk.’

  Noah gave his brother a stupid stare and just laughed.

  ‘We can talk anytime; this is party time. Take off your shoes and grab a bottle. Don’t spoil it for them. Look, Hannah’s pining for you. She’s missed you.’

  Hannah ran her hand up the front of James’s shirt, and as she did so, he caught a glimpse of her breasts as her blouse fell open. They were small and round. He tried not to stare.

  ‘Be nice to your brother, and I’ll be nice to you,’ she pouted. Her hand was now pawing at the belt of his jeans and trying to unbuckle it.

  He pulled away, but she raised herself up and swung her lips towards his, but he ducked away.