What remains to be seen?
All music, like the animal kingdom, evolves. From Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring riot to Bob Dylan going electric, all change in music frightens people. There is also fear that comes with changing times, such as equal rights and alternative fuels. Taking baby steps is the key, not instant results that can throw everything out of balance. We can savor each moment that way, replaying it for family and friends and generations to come. No matter how good the intention, any change that is too much too soon is more than most people can handle.
Now that Sylvia has both the pack and Teddy, she doesn’t need the isolation of the convent for protection. Now I pick up Teddy for pack meetings. Sylvia shows up in her habit, changes clothes before the end of the night, and leaves with Teddy. She doesn’t disclose much, but she obviously isn’t torn. She intends to eventually break away from the church. But for now, baby steps.
Teddy has finally broken his ties with the Maestro, finally refusing to be associated with him at all. Endorsers of the same string company, they were asked to attend the NAMM (National Association of Music Merchants) conference together. The Maestro had said something outrageously insulting to a guy from Line 6, who promptly beat the shit out of him. Teddy was a witness, but refuses to testify in a court case over the damage to the Maestro’s hair plugs. My pack mate is now working with the Finnish prog guitarist Alec Liefsson, whom Dean had mentioned at the Shifter’s Ball. They have just recruited a legendary lycan drummer named Dave Peartnoy, and are planning some sort of epic record. Because they can all shift into husky form, I suggested that they call their band “Mush,” but no one seems to go for that idea.
Raúl and I are doing session work together for the solo project of our reggae singer Nigel. The fact that we get to do it at Rowan’s studio makes it even more magical. Working with the whole lineup with horns, keys, and guitars makes for an amazing vibe, as we three hold the most precious secret ever. Each night after the rest of the band leaves, we frolic in wolf form until Lydia comes by to pick up her mate.
I am back home from my happy hour gig, relieved that I don’t have to be out tonight. Driving to the Quarter was a hassle, as people are beginning to flock to New Orleans in pre-Mardi Gras festivities. Tourists are basically human deer. Once there are too many of them they will develop a tendency to bolt in front of my car without warning. But it is my duty to defend New Orleans, not thin the herd.
This was my last gig for a while. The city is too much to deal with after my plight. Earlier today I overheard someone say “bitch,” and I barely fought off a panic attack. Because of airhorns, I won’t be watching any Saints games for a while. I’d also seen Sand from a distance. We exchanged cool stares and nothing more. Word has it that she didn’t know that she was in league with Chimera sympathizers, but her recent ignominy among shifter musicians is hurting her career. Even still, the sight of her had made my palms sweaty and my hair stand on end.
Rowan and I have agreed that I should not be subjected to the stress of Mardi Gras and are planning a real getaway together during that time. He’s found a place in West Virginia where a wolf can be a wolf, and Father O’Flaherty has a cousin with a pub not too far away from it. I still have night terrors, so Rowan stays over, and it fills my heart with relief to come home and find him waiting in my apartment, his scent purifying my sacred space. The healing will be a long process, with lots of therapy. But every day that I am alive is a triumph.
Baby steps.
In the wake of all that has happened, I had completely forgotten about the Sarya Sheepsour album, which went gold twenty days after its release. It is a very strange feeling to discover that I have not only become a shifter hero, but that I am also on a gold record. All I ever wanted was to be a great bass player in my own right, and between my hearing and longevity, it may actually happen in time. Sarya’s manager has offered me a job touring with her this summer in Europe, then Australia this winter—which is summer in the Southern Hemisphere. This means that my musical travels are far from over now. I am glad to see things unfolding for me, but I will never let my skills or instincts dull. Someday I will tell the young wolves, “If you think you kick ass, you’re not paying attention.”
In the meantime, I will be resuming my schedule of steady gigs around the time of our pack’s one-year anniversary. They are the most amazing family ever. Teddy is volunteering to bring several cases of beer to the Fountainebleau, as well as a piñata filled with meatballs. He may be kidding, but I doubt it. I’d much prefer a moon run, but any time that I spend with my pack is precious in and of itself. Even with increased longevity, life is still short.
I watch Rowan string his guitar. The memories of our recent lovemaking are erased from his face in his complete absorption in the task. Changing strings is a sacred ritual for many.
And I laugh. Of course no woman will ever truly have him. He is a musician. Just like no man will every truly have me. We are holy people in our own rights. We are as devoted to each other as any two people can be, but some harmonics are meant to be wild.
And I finally get it—more than career, more than love, the most important thing is that I finally have my own life back. Beyond the adoration of an audience or a lover, beyond belonging to a pack, beyond the confines of a prison cell, I belong to me.
I hear the strings call out and find each other as Rowan’s guitar inhales itself into tune. A few experimental strums, and he begins to play. I know that chord progression instantly, and my bones resonate with power.
Let it be.
The birdsong coming from the windowsill makes me smile. A pair of eavesdropping mockingbirds is joining in with Rowan’s playing, and it’s widely known that they are canny at mimicking music composed by people. But when the warbles fall in perfect synch with the melody, I snap my head around to face them. As soon as their jeweled eyes meet mine, they halt in their song and fan out their wings, bowing until their beaks touch the sill. Something in their energies feels sad and humbled. What are they trying to convey? They rise and cock their tiny feathered heads at me before disappearing into the air like a pair of striking gray and white windborne leaves, leaving me to ponder their message in their wake.
PLAYLIST
Author’s note: What I have here is more or less a do-it-yourself soundtrack. Some of the music in my head can’t quite be replicated by anything I’ve found, but this is still some recommended listening that I feel moves the plot along. All of these tracks can be found online. If you find yourself drawn to any of them, I encourage you to buy the downloads—or better yet, if some song really speaks to you, why not try to find the entire album in physical form? You will then hear a broader range of frequencies that the songwriters, musicians, recording engineers, producers, and mastering engineers intended you to hear.
1.Glass Tiger: “Animal Heart,” No Turning Back
2.Adonai and I: “Adon Olam (Minor),” Adonai and I
3.Garmarna: “Varulven (Werewolf),” God’s Musicians
4.Illapu: “Se Alumbra La Vida,” Mis Mas Grandes Exitos
5.Sheila Chandra: “Lament of McCrimmon/Song of the Banshee,” Roots and Wings
6.Allen Toussaint: “Yes, We Can Can,” Our New Orleans
7.Huun-Huur-Tu: “Prayer,” The Orphan’s Lament
8.Trä: “Täss’on Namnen,” Hedningarna
9.Balkanika: Balkan 2000, The Best of Balkanika
10.The Stranglers: “Golden Brown,” Feline
11.The WooHoo Revue: “R’Ambo,” The Moreland’s Ball
12.Petra Haden: “Psycho Main Title,” Petra Goes to the Movies
13.Sweet Cicada: “Fingerprints,” Switch (EP)
14.SAVAE (San Antonio Vocal Ensemble): “Hanacpachap Cussisuinin,” La Noche Buena
15.Adonai and I: “V’nemar,” Adonai and I
16.Ambrosia: “Time Waits for No One” Anthology
17.Portnoy, Sheehan, MacAlpine, and Sherinian: “Apocalypse 1470 BC,” Live in Tokyo (Disc 1)
18.Blake
Hunter: “Famed Creators” Skylights
19.Ghorwane: “Salabude,” Kudumba
20.Crack the Sky: “Surf City,” Crack the Sky
21.Alanna O’Kelly: “One Breath,” Lament (Real World Compilation)
22.Kronos Quartet: “Doom: A Sigh,” Black Angels
23.Carol Woods and Timothy T. Mitchum: “Let it Be,” Across the Universe (Music from the Motion Picture), Deluxe Edition
24.Crimson Glory: “Red Sharks,” Transcendence
25.Daniel Lanois: “The Maker,” Acadie
26.Peter Gabriel: “The Time of the Turning (Reprise)/The Weaver’s Reel,” Ovo
From Birch’s Bookshelf …
1.Bug Music: How Insects Gave Us Rhythm and Noise (David Rothenberg)
2.Jaco: The Extraordinary and Tragic Life of Jaco Pastorius (Bill Milkowski)
3.The Music Lesson (Victor L. Wooten)
4.A Confederacy of Dunces (John Kennedy Toole)
5.The Real Zappa Book (Frank Zappa and Peter Ochiogrosso)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Beth W. Patterson was a full-time musician for over two decades before diving into the world of writing, a process she describes as “fleeing the circus to join the zoo.” Her first book is a compilation of her lyrics and poetry entitled Mongrels and Misfits, and she is a contributing writer to fourteen anthologies.
Patterson has performed in seventeen countries across the Americas, Europe, Oceania, and Asia. Her playing appears on over a hundred and thirty albums, soundtracks, videos, commercials, and voice-overs (including seven solo albums of her own). More than a hundred of her compositions and co-writes have been released. She studied ethnomusicology at University College, Cork in Ireland and holds a Bachelor’s degree in Music Therapy from Loyola University New Orleans.
Beth has occasionally worn other hats as a body paint model, film extra, minor role actor, recording studio partner, record label owner, producer, and visual artist. She is a lover of exquisitely stupid movies and a shameless fangirl of the band Rush. You can find her at BethPattersonMusic.com
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