by Amity Cross
“Hey,” she exclaimed. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Alison Mosshart? You know, the lead singer from The Kills?”
I blinked hard in surprise. I think I liked this girl already.
Chapter 3
The next six months went by in a blur. I’d gotten past the first gig, but it was only the first.
Once Dee had me going, he went full tilt booking gigs and getting our name out there. He even got me to sing a few songs with him on the street. He told me it wasn’t a coincidence he earned more money on those days than the ones without me, and like the gentleman he was, we split the takings fifty-fifty.
The next thing on the list was to get something down in digital form. Frank knew a guy out in Footscray who’d set up a recording studio in his shed. Knowing the kind of people Frank knew, I was expecting soundproofing to be gaffer taped to the wall and the mower to be in the corner, but it was a tight outfit. The guy had helped some other local bands record some songs, and we had a great time with it.
Everything we’d done up until then had been just for kicks. Dee had promised me black and blue. That was until he posted our EP online and went on a marketing binge in his spare time. I hadn’t realized what he’d done until I heard our song on the radio. On the bloody radio. I was mad for two seconds until I heard what people were saying about it. Then the phone started ringing. People wanted to know what I thought, and people actually listened.
For the first time in what felt like forever, people actually wanted to know Zoe Granger. It was a trip.
All the time we’d been playing, not once did I see one of my old friends, and not once did I think about them. From the moment I faced my fear at that first gig, it was straight ahead and no looking back. I felt more confident now than I had in my entire life, and that was saying something.
Then Chris hooked us up with a guy he knew who was a film major at RMIT University. He needed a project for his finals, and we were it. We had an EP, a music video for ‘Walls,’ and then all we needed was the contract, which wasn’t long in following. With a label at our backs and royalties starting to come in, I quit my job in the mailroom and started busking with Dee for a little extra cash to put into savings.
We played a lot of gigs around Melbourne and even went to a few regional towns where we came out breaking even, or sometimes, with a little more—which we promptly spent on McDonalds on the ride home. We did photo shoots and interviews, and people were downloading our self-released EP in droves, but we still didn’t have enough money between us to go further afield. The label was working on it, but these things took time, and until we had a full-length album ready to promote, it was just a waiting game.
Dee’s dream was coming true, but deep down, mine was, as well. For the first time in two years, I was happy.
Truthfully, I was expecting to feel overwhelmed by all the attention, but I felt strangely calm. I felt like I finally fit in somewhere, and I owed it all to Dee.
Today was the first day our single ‘Walls’ was available for sale. It wasn’t on our EP, and it was the one thing people wanted to hear. Anything could happen now, and I was feeling a little sick about it. It was the make or break moment because if we sold well, then bigger things would start to happen.
I was still asleep when the phone rang. It was my mum.
“I bought your single on the computer just now,” she told me. I gathered she meant from iTunes. I gushed at how technological and modern she was, and I could tell she was proud she’d figured it out without having to call me first. “Are you nervous?”
Of course, I was nervous. I told her as much. Our first single had released ten minutes ago according to the clock on my radio. “I’ve got to go, Mum. They want to interview Frank and me for the radio later.”
I pressed the red phone button and made sure the line was disconnected before cursing aloud. The phone rang again—unknown number. I picked it up anyway.
“Hello?”
“‘Walls’ has gone to number fucking eight on iTunes!” It was Dee on the other end.
Shit.
“Are you there, Zoe?”
“Yeah. Shit. Already? Guess we’d better organize a show or something, huh?”
“That’s the other thing I was calling you about. Simone is about to call you. I just got off the line with her. We have been offered a co-headline tour. You’ll never guess who with!”
Simone had become our sort of manager. She came on with us a month ago when things started to take off and was happy to work for next to nothing. I guess we were her lucky break or at least her chance to get something decent on her resume. I’d gone from hanging out with Dee to hanging out with the guys to hanging out with Simone. She was the first genuine female friend I’d had in a long time.
I wasn’t sure who the label would have chosen us to tour with and took a wild stab in the dark. “Prince. The Pixies. Powderfinger’s comeback tour. AC/DC. Kings of Leon. Don’t tell me there’s an Oasis reunion.”
“Not quite,” he said, laughing at my halfhearted attempt at a joke. “It’s The fucking Stabs.”
I sat up then, my heart hammering in my chest so hard I thought it was going to explode. “No way.” I hadn’t listened to them since the awkward eyebrow incident a few months ago, and I’d definitely done my darnedest to let go of my crush on Will Strickland since our first gig. I’d been way too busy to even think about him anyway…and now? Holy fuck.
“Remember when we went to see them that time? What did I say about being better than they were? I have dreams about showing them up.”
“What? This whole time?”
“No, just for the last ten minutes.”
“Oh, my God.” I paused. This was happening way too fast.
“Zoe, they asked for us. The band asked for us.”
“Why?”
“Because they know something shit hot when they hear it.”
I thought about Will Strickland, and my stomach churned, the notion crossing my mind that he had something to do with it, and I shook my head. In what twisted reality would Will Strickland do over his band’s record label to get us on tour? Someone who’d only spoken one word to me. I tried to forget it. “I better go, Dee. Frank will be here soon for the call-in for the radio interview.”
“Say something nice about me.”
Simone called as Dee said she would. The thing about Simone was she was the total opposite of me. Blonde, bubbly, and talked a mile a minute about nothing and everything all in the same breath. Give her something to organize, and she was happier than a kid in a candy store. Over the last few months, we had become close, and I was glad she was along for the ride.
“Tour dates are confirmed for February through March, nationwide. We just have to get the okay from you and Chris. Everyone else has agreed to it. The record company is prepared to foot most of the expenses since the single is doing so well. They’re cutting you the same deal as The Stabs.”
We were in the same monetary caliber as The Stabs? Already?
“Even though it was only released today?” I asked.
“They are prepared to take a risk since sales have gone through the roof in the first few hours. The national radio play has helped too, you know.”
I sighed. “Why are we even discussing this? Of course, I agree. It’s The Stabs, after all. It’ll be good for us.” What I didn’t say was I could perv on Will Strickland for five weeks straight while watching Dee lose his mind trying to stay between us. Not that Will would go for it. I wasn’t exactly the warmest of people. It was better as a fantasy in my own head than in reality.
“Brilliant! Hey, good luck with the interview this afternoon. Dee tells me you’ll be rehearsing tonight, so if you don’t mind, I’ll stop by and give you all the details for the tour. Kickoff is just over three weeks!” Simone squealed a little and abruptly hung up.
I grimaced at the phone and threw it on the bedside table, rubbing my eyes. My earlier thought echoed around my head like a coin in a tumble dryer
. This was going way too fast. I almost felt sick, but I rolled out of bed and dragged myself into the shower. Thank God, radio meant I didn’t have to look presentable.
I’d just managed to get dressed when there was a knock on the door. I opened it up, hair still dripping, and found Frank standing outside, looking handsome and buff in a red flannel shirt and a Devil’s Tattoo T-shirt he’d had one of his mates make a couple of months ago. It had been our attempt at making some extra cash.
“Self-advertising, Frankie?” I asked, letting him in.
“I love tooting my own horn,” he declared proudly, then realized what he’d just said. “Oh, man.”
Shutting the door behind him, I laughed and pushed him onto the couch. “Make sure you toot that behind closed doors. Some things people don’t need to see.”
Frank opened his mouth to shoot something back but thought better of it and hid his face behind his hands.
“Drink?”
“Please.”
I got him a glass of water as he pulled out his phone and dialed the number the radio station gave us for the conference call. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I sat across from him. I wondered if this would get any easier. He placed his phone on the coffee table and turned it on speaker. As we listened to the hold music, Frank patted me on the knee.
Hugo was the host of the afternoon drive show on the nationwide alternative radio station Absolute. When he came on the line, they were still playing ‘Walls.’
“Hey, guys.” He sounded friendly. Professional.
“Hey,” Frank replied.
“Ready? We’re on in a minute.”
“Give us your best.”
As the song ended and Hugo took the mic, I was jealous of his ability to fill the silence with his words.
“You’re listening to Absolute, and that track was ‘Walls’ from a new and exciting band out of Melbourne called The Devil’s Tattoo. Hey, I’m Hugo, and I’ll be taking you right through to five. But really, wasn’t that an awesome song? And right now, as promised, I’ve got two of the members from The Devil’s Tattoo on the line. Frank and Zoe. How are you guys?”
“Great, thanks,” we both echoed.
“Latest reports are that ‘Walls’ has gone to the number six spot on the iTunes chart. That is absolutely phenomenal. How are you guys dealing with that?”
Frank took the lead. “We have been blown away by the response to ‘Walls’ already. It really has been quite amazing and unexpected.”
“You guys only decided to form a band together a few months ago?” asked Hugo.
“Yeah,” Frank replied. “I was drumming in a punk band at the time, and this particular night, Dee, Zoe, and I were at a Stabs gig at The Corner in Melbourne, and Dee decided it was an awesome idea. I don’t think we had a choice.”
“He conned us into it,” I said.
“So, Zoe, is it true this is the first band you’ve been in?”
“Yeah. I’ve known Dee since we were twelve, so even though I had never sung in front of anyone, he knew I could even if I didn’t. I picked up the guitar almost three years ago now for something to do, but I never thought about being in a band before. I guess I was too content watching others and enjoying their music to contribute myself.”
“That’s crazy! Three years? We’ve had comments coming through on the text line saying you play like Jack White. Another says you put Jimmy Page to shame.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. “When I first started, it was like a puzzle, and I had the time to nut it out.”
“What I’m dying to know is who your influences are? What went into deciding how your sound played out?”
“I came from a punk background,” Frank started. “So I was listening to stuff like The Clash, The Adicts, GBH, and newer stuff like Rancid and NOFX. The band I was in was playing a lot of reggae and loud shouty punk. I don’t think we had a song that lasted more than two and a half minutes.”
“I’d never thought about writing before,” I said, adding in my piece. “I was just playing for kicks, but I was listening to a lot of stuff from bands like Alberta Cross, Band of Skulls, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, The Dead Weather… You know, gritty rock and some mellower stuff, as well. We all have our influences, and they all meld together. It’s a very collaborative effort.”
“How would you describe your sound? We’ve heard everything from dark and dirty to face-melting rock ‘n’ roll. How would you guys describe it?” Hugo questioned.
“Waking up after an amazing night on the booze with a sexy woman and not knowing how the fuck you got there.” Frank. Always so astute.
“Wow,” I drawled.
“Wow, indeed. What about you, Zoe?”
“Dark, dirty, face melting, wet dream, sweaty rock ‘n’ roll.”
“I think we like you guys,” said Hugo.
“Like?” Frank exclaimed.
“Okay, okay. We bloody love you guys. We’ve gotta get you in the studio next time. I know Robbo would love you guys on the breakfast show for Cover Wars.”
My ears pricked up at the mention of this. Cover Wars was a weekly segment where bands got to play one of their songs and a cover version live on air. I would love to do it.
“For sure,” Frank said, excited. “We’ve got some things up our sleeve. Hook us up.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll make it happen sooner rather than later, but the next thing everybody is dying to know is, when’s the album out? And when are we gonna see some more live shows?”
“We’ve had the album recorded for some time. It’s going to be out in two weeks to coincide with a little tour we have planned, but you’ll have to wait for that to be announced properly,” Frank said deviously.
“Hey, Frank. Are we even allowed to tell ’em about this yet?”
He shrugged, looking slightly panicked, but he declared, “Too late!”
Everyone laughed. This interview business wasn’t half as bad as I’d thought it was going to be.
“So much exciting news from the camp! So what’s the album called?”
“Do Me A Favor,” Frank replied.
“What’s the story behind that?” asked Hugo.
“It’s what Zoe says to Dee all the time. Do me a favor, and shut the hell up.”
“He’s really annoying,” I said.
“Especially when he tunes his guitar,” said Frank.
“He takes forever.”
“Oh, man. You guys sound like a lot of fun to hang around.”
“We’re like a family,” Frank agreed.
“It’s been great having you on this afternoon. Shame it’s been so short.”
“Thanks for having us,” I said.
“Not a problem. Anytime. Right now, we’ve got a song that you guys have picked out for us. Tell us what it is and why you chose that particular song.”
“This is ‘Future Starts Slow’ by The Kills,” I said. “We chose it because it’s great, and if there is one tune out there that explains us as a whole and what we’re about, it’s this one.”
“I agree, and I think Australia will, as well. This is a killer track. Cheers, guys. Thanks again for stopping by.”
As the song came on and we went off air, Hugo thanked us for hanging out with him again, and the call ended.
A text came through on my phone, vibrating in my pocket. I laughed when I saw who it was from and what it said.
Dee asked, I thought I told you to say nice things about me? xxx
I text him back, But you do take forever to tune your guitar.
“Do you wanna come over now?” Frank asked. “I know we’ve got two hours or so until rehearsal, but I can give you a lift.”
“Sure,” I said. “Just let me get my stuff.”
After the interview, I was on a high and dying to know what the details were for the tour. Where we were going, how many shows, and how we were getting around. I’d never really thought about how bands toured, and now that we were about to do it, I was more than a little e
xcited. It was going to be great to get out of town for a while, and to do it with another band would be even better. I had so much to learn about everything, and I was keen to see how things worked in bigger venues. Even if it weren’t The Stabs, I’d still feel the same way.
At the thought of touring with them for five weeks side by side, my stomach fluttered, and I knew the crush I’d developed on Will Strickland was going to be trouble.
All caps, bold, underline, strikethrough.
Chapter 4
The Hi-Fi Bar was probably one of my favorite venues in Melbourne.
It had an upstairs area with a bar where people could view the stage from above. Down below, there was a section set down into the mosh pit with four or five steps leading outward, so there was a better view of the stage from multiple angles. I’d seen many shows here, and it was a dark but airy place with great acoustics.
Today was the first show of the Walls on Fire tour. The label came up with the idea to merge the names of both our current singles—our song ‘Walls’ and The Stabs’ song ‘Fire.’ To date, we hadn’t had the chance to meet any of the members of the band we would be spending the next five or so weeks with. It annoyed us a little since we were going to be with them for so long, but Simone said they’d been in New Zealand doing a few gigs. Pete, their singer and guitarist, had sent us an email saying how excited they were, so that was nice enough. We’d fast learned that time was precious when promoting a new album and tour.
There was a support band as well as The Stabs and us tonight, and it was our turn to sound check. I didn’t have a clue what I was meant to do, so I enlisted the help of one of the tech guys from the venue to help me out. A few more times and I thought I would have the ‘which cord in what plug’ scenario down pat.
I was standing on stage all rock ‘n’ roll like with my beloved black sexy-as-hell Epiphone slung over my shoulder playing the opening bars of ‘Walls.’ Frank was singing, “Why are we waiting, slowly dehydrating,” and Chris was banging his head against his microphone as we waited for Dee to hurry the hell up and tune his new Gibson. The side door opened, letting the harsh daylight into the dark and dirty room. Of course, we all looked up at that moment, because who wouldn’t? We saw two of the four members of The Stabs walk in like they owned the joint. I saw a shock of curly hair, and for whatever reason, I rolled my eyes. Chris winked at me, and I flipped him off.
