by Jamie Knight
Cam and I, and our other band mates, moved to our very own corner of the beating heart of the big scary city. We’d mostly grown up in Olympia, so it was something of a culture shock.
“Morning, Holly,” I told the receptionist.
“Morning, sir.”
“Please, you know you can call me Seth.”
“Sure, but do I prefer to?” she asked, with a cheeky wink.
I knew she had a boyfriend and was just playing with me. Like when servers ironically called me ‘young man,’ it being well understood by both of us that it wasn’t the ‘man’ part of that phrase that was in question, but the ‘young.’
“Your new intern, Jonna, is here,” Holly informed me. “She’s waiting in your office.”
“Oh, what’s she like?”
“Other than delicious?” Holly wiggled her eyebrows at me.
“Yes, other than that,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, knowing she was kidding again.
“Seems eager. Certainly looks the part. Going by her application, she should at least be trainable.”
My heart skipped a bit. I didn’t think she meant it that way, but Holly’s mention of ‘trainable’ raised an instant attention in both my mind and my pants.
“Well, I’d better go say hello.”
Moving swiftly, I opened the door, not giving much forewarning of my arrival. The poor darling seemed startled, though Holly hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d described Jonna as ‘delicious.’ Instead, she had merely been speaking the empirical truth, even for a straight girl.
From her cherry red Converse sneakers to her white blond ponytail, she was the picture of perfection. The kind of girl they wrote poems and songs about.
“She Walks in Beauty” started running through my own mind, followed closely by “Jolene,” which reached almost the same level of exaltation, if you listened closely.
My eyes were drawn immediately to her chest. Partly by the sweet, lush fullness of her perky young breasts, but then to the iconic Autumn Corrosion T-shirt from our ‘98 tour. She must have gotten it online or somewhere. There was no way she was old enough to have been there.
I tore my eyes away from her ample breasts and couldn’t help letting them linger on the rest of her body, which was perfectly full of curves and just my type. I really wanted to squeeze her plump ass, and let my hands trail down her hourglass figure.
I felt like a dirty old man, despite only being 40. The age gap between us was rather large— more than two decades. I wasn’t old enough to be her father. But that didn’t stop me from having dirty, dirty thoughts about what I wanted to do to her.
In a weird way, though, it also caused me to feel like an echoing chasm every time I looked into her innocent eyes, though. They were full of both hope and wonder.
“Right,” I said, remembering myself. “Where would you like to start?”
Chapter Three
Jonna
I couldn’t speak. There were words in my head, but none of them would come out of my mouth. Seth was actually right there, talking right to me. I couldn’t believe it.
I thought for a second he’d been checking out my tits, but I couldn’t quite be sure. Maybe he was just staring at the shirt I was wearing, since it was relevant, and all of that.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked him.
“Where would you like to start?” he repeated patiently.
“What needs to be done?”
“Good answer,” he said, with a sly wink. “The exact tasks can change by the day at this job. You’ll be by my side through most of it, watching and helping when needed. It might sound easy but it can be a real boot camp. The skills needed are varied and can change at a moment’s notice. It can be a challenge. Do you think you can handle it?”
“Yes,” I said, almost sure I believed it.
“Good. If you do well, there could be a more permanent job in it for you.”
My hopes stayed resolutely earthbound, despite wanting to take wing. Gritty realism—not youthful optimism— was my best bet for success.
“I’ve got some demos to listen to; we could start with that,” he suggested, and I nodded my agreement.
For a brief, beautiful instant, it looked like he was going to have me sit on his lap. It was the only way we could both listen to the headphones, since there was only one chair— at least until he unplugged the headphones, the CD player already on speakers, and rolled over his desk chair for me.
My disappointment run out of town with pitch forks and torches, I sat on the office chair, next to the main one at the listening station. I was still very much at the ready for whatever might come. After taking a CD case from the pile in front of the player, Seth put it in.
While we waited for the first song to cue up, he got a Moleskine and fountain pen from the desk before settling into the other chair. His pen was poised at the ready when the onslaught began.
It was maybe a minute before he switched to the next track, a frown etched onto his face. There was little improvement, the entire demo a write-off by the second of the four tracks.
“That’s a no,” Seth said, starting a new pile in front of the player.
I nodded in agreement once again, hoping that my face didn’t show the disgust I felt at hearing that demo. He showed me his notebook, which had the names of all the bands in the pile for that day.
The first, a death metal duo called ‘Infant Annihilator,’ had a line through their column, with a sizeable x next to it.
I was glad I’d never have to listen to them again.
“It’s like a check list?” I asked Seth.
“Sort of, only with eliminations, and you write it out yourself.”
“I see.”
Not too hard, then. It was beginning to look like a pretty easy job after all. Then he put on the next record.
The music absolutely blasted out, and I couldn’t help it; my hands flew to my ears. I liked my music as loud as the next rock fan, but not only was this loud, it was even worse than the first one had been, and I hadn’t thought that was possible.
I kept my fingers pressed tight into my ears until I realized there was no lingering pounding, then cautiously unplugged them.
“It’s safe now,” Seth said.
A hand touched my shoulder. The spark was undeniable. I fully uncovered my ears and looked at him with hope and longing.
“Does that happen a lot?” I asked him. “The really horrible demos, I mean?”
“More than I’d like it to,” he admitted. “One of the downsides to mostly being a Metal label is that there can be a very superficial understanding of what the music is supposed to sound like.”
“It was just screaming,” I said, still wincing. “Not growling, even. There was no control at all.”
“I hear you. It’s shocking at first, but you’ll get used to it.”
He sat back down and picked up the next prospect. Meanwhile I held my breath, praying for better things. Regardless, I folded my hands in my lap and crossed my fingers, determined not to cover my ears again either way. I didn’t want to be unprofessional.
“Loki’s Laugh,” Seth announced. “They’re usually pretty good.”
My muscles melted as the disc spun. Sweet relief in sonic form filled the utilitarian space.
“And that’s a yes,” Seth said, extravagantly adding a checkmark beside the name.
The glory was never to return. As we continued to listen, all subsequent bands fell short of Loki’s Laugh, but they also, mercifully, greatly surpassed the first couple offerings, so the overall experience wasn’t completely agonizing. That was always a good thing.
It had taken most of the morning to get through the stack and was getting to be early afternoon by the time Seth returned the Moleskine to the desk.
“Get your coat,” he instructed me.
I liked the take-charge tone in his voice.
“Where are we going?” I asked him, although the answer didn’t really matter because I’d happ
ily follow him anywhere.
“The Sanctuary.”
He wasn’t just being cryptic. The Sanctuary was the nickname for Suspicious Activity’s main recording studio. No one was quite sure where it came from, at least not that they were willing to admit, but it was the backbone of the label for years.
Seth was halfway to the door before it became clear that it was all actually real. I wasn’t still in a dream from last night; I was actually here and had just been invited by sexy Seth to The Sanctuary! I followed at a dash, just trying to keep up with him.
The scent was palpable when we arrived. Incense mixed with other smells I couldn’t quite identify. Seth was famous for his de facto straight-edge lifestyle, so I knew it wasn’t booze or weed. Still, my curiosity was piqued.
“What are we doing?” I asked, already thinking about us as a combo.
“Checking in on a recording session. I like to keep up on things when I’m not able to produce myself.”
“Which band?”
He rattled off a name that I immediately recognized as a favorite— AGAB— and I nodded, excitement rippling through me.
It was like moving through molasses. The certainty that it was all some sort of beautiful dream reasserted itself, to the point that I was moving as though through fuzzy clouds. I was beginning to realize that working for Seth might always feel like a fantasy because my new reality seemed too good to be trust.
Suddenly another guy walked in.
“Who’s she?” he demanded.
It wasn’t the most welcoming opening, but I tried to keep things professional and to remember my place.
“It’s cool, Sven, she’s with me,” Seth answered him.
“Another intern?”
“Can you think of a better way to find employees?”
“Considering that that was how you hired me, I’m not really in a position to object, now am I?”
“Nope.”
Seth pulled out a chair and I sat down without him needing to say a word. He sat me next to Sven, who I could only assume was the musician Sven Larssen, and got back down to business.
“Okay, that was good,” he told the AGAB band. “Let’s take it from the beginning of ‘Everything You Hate.’”
The gang was all there. It was difficult for the mind to hold, but the band that so often sounded like a standing army only had three members. Each was covered in an almost clownish level of corpse paint and spikes.
“Might want to be watching the board,” Seth whispered, “unless you’re planning on starting a band.”
Readjusting my focus to Sven’s hands, the magic happened before my eyes. It was still mostly a mystery at that point, but it would all come clear eventually. Of that I was certain.
Seth wasn’t far off about me starting a band. I’d already tried a couple of times to no great avail.
Then I’d found out about one-person music projects like Spectral Lore and Boreal Tundra and figured I could do something similar. I was interested in all aspects of the label but was also working to get to the point where I might broach the subject of my home recorded demo.
Like how I’d heard writers used to get jobs at the big comic book publishers, working their way up from the mailroom, which apparently happened more often than one might think. Even if it didn’t work out, I could have experience in the administrative and producing areas. It was likely not what my parents had had in mind when they had suggested a ‘fall back,’ but it beat the tar out of the other options open to an Art History major.
The mystery smell revealed itself as what happened when sage incense mixed with grease paint and treated leather, the scent only getting stronger as the band came through to the booth.
“How was that?” the vocalist, Evil Erik rumbled, his gaze burrowing into Seth’s soul.
“Not bad at all,” Seth answered.
“I think they were talking to me,” Sven observed.
“No, I was talking to him,” Erik corrected him.
“Fancy a drink?” Seth asked him.
“Absolutely!”
The change in Erik’s demeanour from sinister, scary metal singer to friendly, normal dude was remarkable. It was like seeing a clown out of his make-up. Or a member of KISS up close.
We headed down the hall, Seth and the band walking ahead of us.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” I said, scurrying to keep up with his fast stride.
“I don’t. But I’m a tea-totaler, not a prohibitionist. I am on a first name basis with the taxi dispatcher, though.”
I nodded as we reached the bar that was our destination. Perfectly square and painted a gunmetal shade of gray, no one could say that The Cement Block wasn’t accurately named.
“You have to check your, er, jackets?” a nervous sounding bouncer told the AGAB boys.
“Sure, don’t want to put anyone’s eye out,” BoneCrusher agreed.
Once their wearable melee weapons were safely confined to the cloakroom, the six of us ventured into the darkened confines of the club. The stage was empty as we claimed a table.
“They’re not on yet,” Seth said, noticing me looking. “There are two opening acts; the second will be going on next. Then it will be Loki’s Laugh.”
“Who’s the opener?” I asked.
“AB+. They’re a Type O Negative tribute act from Jersey,” he explained.
“Oh, okay. Are you going to sign Loki’s Laugh?” I asked him.
“They’re in the running. I know they sound good on record but that can be doctored in production. I have to hear them live to know for sure.”
I wanted to take notes as Seth was talking but I wasn’t sure how cool it would look, even if I was there to learn. When I was sure no one was looking, I jotted some of the more important points on the back of a napkin.
“I need a drink,” Sven announced, heading for the bar.
“He’s, um, intense,” I remarked, once he was out of earshot.
“He’s an asshole, but he’s the best producer we’ve ever worked with. Aside from Seth, of course,” Erik said, clapping Seth on the back.
“Thanks, Erik, love you too,” Seth replied.
It was a tiny bit disconcerting to hear someone as scary looking as Evil Erik laugh, especially due to how big the sound was, filling the immediate space with jolly joviality. It really only stood to reason, though, considering how he sang. The dude knew how to project.
A banshee shriek of feedback tore through the space, bouncing off the cement walls. Some people covered their ears in pain. Others didn’t seem to notice at all.
Without a word of introduction, AB+ launched into a spot-on rendition of “I Don’t Wanna Be Me,” followed almost immediately by “October Rust.”
It was like they’d embraced The Ramones’ approach to set lists and were trying to get through it as quickly as possible.
The fact that most of the crowd were wearing Loki’s Laugh merch likely had something to do with it. It wasn’t quite as bad as opening for Iron Maiden, whose fans were infamous for being nuts, but there was a similar sense of dread on a much smaller scale. I noticed Seth make a note in a pocket-sized Moleskine and wondered if my hunch was right.
Ending with a bang, rather than a whimper, AB+ vacated the stage, as though being chased, the drummer picking up his entire drum set and hauling it off. The stage was set, in the most literal sense, for Loki’s Laugh. Excitement crackled through the crowd like blue lightning.
Both the music and the look of pure joy it put on Seth’s handsome face were beautiful. He had found his next band, and it hadn’t even taken a day’s worth of work. I had a feeling I was really going to love this internship, even more than I thought I would.
The small fleet of taxis was waiting outside afterwards. After loading Sven and the AGAB boys in a cab a piece, we headed to our respective vehicles.
I was dizzy with the scent of him as I stumbled into my dark apartment, despite not drinking a drop. He was clear about not pushing it on anyone, but if tea-tota
ling was part of Seth’s process, I figured it was at least worth a try for me. And there was really no arguing with the results. I felt exhilarated, like I was on a natural high.
After shedding my clothes layer by layer, leaving a trail leading back to the living room, I ended up naked by the time I got to my bathroom. Snapping my fingers in remembrance, like I was a character in a cartoon, I scurried to my room, as fast as my jelly legs would carry me, and returned with my treasure.
It was my small CD stereo, one of the ones with a handle for carrying, popular in in the early 2000s, and it was loaded with the last Autumn Corrosion album. I’d gotten lucky, the record instantly becoming a collector’s item, particularly on vinyl. A first pressing could bring in over $1,000 online. The CDs weren’t much cheaper.
My own copy was gifted to me by my dad when I’d shown an interest and he was trying to being encouraging. It was in his will, anyway; I’d just gotten it a bit early.
Setting the player on the counter, well out of harm’s way, I started the CD spinning, putting it on repeat, just in case I fell asleep, and drew a warm bubble bath to soak away the remains of the day.
I still couldn’t believe my good fortune, and I was determined to bask in it for as long as I could.
Chapter Four
Seth
It was an interesting sensation. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually been in bed. At least not to sleep. It wasn’t something I did often. Not by intention so much as by consequence.
The siren call of ‘just one more thing’ frequently lured me to other parts of the house, where I tended to be when the need for sleep outpaced even my work ethic. In my chair, on the couch, in the tub, on one memorable occasion with my head in the sink— there was no telling where consciousness might kick in next.
Part of the problem with traditional slumber, apart from the creepy feeling of surrendering yourself to the void, was how terribly difficult it could be to fully rouse from it. Beds were designed to be as comfortable as possible, adesign flaw which could make the sleeper resistant to fully engaging with the waking world.
