“If I hadn’t watched that documentary...if I hadn’t heard that song...” A lone tear slid down my face when I blinked.
“Shh,” Sunny whispered as she placed her finger over my lips. “Look where we are. Look at his face. Look at his flowers. Look at everything people have left here. Do you feel that? The energy here is so positive, so full of love and thankfulness. There’s no way Jimi Hendrix is sitting in Heaven unaware of the love we have for him down here.”
Sunny stood in the middle of the memorial and turned around slowly.
“He knows, baby. Every time you step on stage and play one of his songs, it’s almost like he’s there with you. That’s how strong his presence and influence is on you. That’s what I see and what I believe.”
“I wouldn’t be a musician,” I said as I stared at the likeness engraved into the stone. “I would have never met you. I wouldn’t be happy. That’s why I brought you here,” I told her. “You need to understand, to completely understand, why I work the way I do. Why my music is so important to me. I have a duty to be a great musician for as long as time allows me to be. Jimi didn’t have a chance to be as great as he could have been. I’m part of his legacy. I owe it to him to be great.”
Sunny walked back into my arms and reached up to wipe away the tears that were streaming down my face. She wrapped her arms around my waist and hugged me.
“I think I love you more right now than I ever have. Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“I love you.”
Chapter 16: Seattle
“Today is a huge day and welcome to the Aiden Tyler show!” I said into the camera.
My suite was packed with people. Sunny was hiding in the bedroom because she didn't want to be on camera but it was show day so Mona, Steve, Perry, and Roxy were present. Shane was here with a case of clothes. Mike, Eddie, Zack, and Erica were sitting anywhere that was open pigging out on Five Guys. Alex from BMTV had sent two cameramen to document the behind the scenes stuff. The rest of them were at White River setting up with the crew.
“For everyone who thinks being a musician is all glamorous and shit, does this look glamorous? Or chaotic? It’s fun as hell but definitely not glamorous.”
I walked over to the other white guy in the room besides me and Zack and sat down at the table. Alan was setting up tiny cups of ink and the rest of his tattooing supplies.
“Some of y’all may be thinking that there are a million other things I could be doing instead of getting a tattoo eight hours before I hit the stage so why am I doing this now? Simple...this guy is the best portrait tattoo artist in Seattle and if you’re getting a portrait of Hendrix done, you better get it done in Seattle by the best.”
Alex said that in between concert footage and interviews, she wants behind the scene stuff and it doesn’t get more behind the scenes than my hotel room on a show day.
For some reason, I’m incredibly nervous about tonight. The words I spoke to Sunny at the Hendrix Memorial were words I’ve never said to anyone. They were weighing heavily on my mind. That whole bit about being a part of Jimi’s legacy had come to me just then and stuck there...ringing in my ears all day and night.
A new tattoo was an impulsive yet necessary idea. The pain and adrenaline rush should take my mind off of the show tonight. I can’t go out there with these nerves. Since I can’t go out on stage drunk either, this appears to be my best option.
I stared at the likeness of my hero that Alan had drawn. Every line was precise, right down to the flowers and vines in the infamous Monterey Strat. This image is going to bless my upper left arm. My daughter’s handprint already graced my upper right arm.
As Alan carefully transferred the image to my arm, Erica looked over at me and shuddered. She was with me when I got Summer’s handprint and cringed and squealed the entire time. I was the one in pain and she was nauseous.
“Give me something to do,” she pleaded with Perry. “I can’t watch this.”
“Go back to your room then.”
Sunny had emerged from the bedroom and was standing in the doorway. Her words were bitingly sharp and everyone in the room except the cameramen knew why. She’s still pissed at Erica over that damn Minneapolis show. Now every little look Erica gave me, every gesture, every shared laughed earned her an ice-cold I’d kill you if I could glare from Sunny. The fact that Erica and I shared a decade long friendship before we ever became a couple was wiped out in Sunny’s eyes the day Erica entered my bed. They may be friends but, according to my girlfriend, Erica will always be my ex.
“Why are you lookin’ at me like we got beef? You wanna scrap, Sunny?” Erica crumpled up her Five Guys trash, threw it on the table, and stood up. “You wanna fight? Is that gonna get rid of that chip on your shoulder?”
Sunny continued to ice-grill Erica. For a brief moment, I know that every man in the room was hoping to see those two Georgia Peaches go at it.
“You don’t want to square up with me, Erica. I ain’t Jordan. You can’t whoop my ass.”
“Let’s pretend that’s true,” Erica snickered. “If you wanna throw some bows ‘cause I was rubbin’ my ass up on your baby daddy while we were dancing on stage because, you know...that’s what the hell we do on stage when we perform, I’mma let you get a few good licks in just to end the beef.”
“Why can’t you just apologize?” Shane asked from behind a clothes rack. “Why does it have to be a fight?”
“Because I’m not sorry,” Erica shouted. I understood her irritation. Sunny’s mad about a performance and that’s stupid.
“How many times must one to explain to a college educated entrepreneur that we were performing for an audience? We’ve been doing the same shit for years and now she has a problem with it? Hell nah, I’m not sorry so I’m not apologizing. So, like I said, if you wanna fight, let’s go.”
Perry looked absolutely mortified. Her normally pale face was as bright red as her hair. She quickly jumped in between my girlfriend and my saxophonist. She held up her hands and kept Sunny and Erica apart.
“Excuse me, ladies, but what the hell are you doing? There are cameras in here!”
“Nah,” Mike shouted. “Let ‘em fight! They need to go on ahead and get that shit over with!”
“These are two adult women! And we are in a hotel room! There will be none of that in here. You two better learn how to talk out whatever the hell the problem is like adults or neither of you need to be here. Erica, this is not your tour. You are replaceable and Sunny, isn’t your business in LA?”
Even though I’m sure everyone was expecting me to step in and say something to stop the foolish shit that they were putting in my pre-show atmosphere, I didn’t say a word. I was focused on the pain that Alan was inflicting on my arm. Every time the needle scraped along my skin, the nerves subsided and were replaced with a gratifying pain.
Besides, this was their beef. If Perry and Steve couldn’t stop it, then it was inevitable. Sunny holds grudges and she needs to stop it. If she has some shit she wants or needs to say to Erica, we’re all adults. Say it and move on.
“Perry, you’re his manager, not mine,” Sunny snapped. “And this doesn’t have anything to do with you. Mind your business.”
We all watched as Sunny stepped around Perry’s feeble attempt at a barricade. Erica was very nonplussed about the whole situation. She stood there with a smirk on her face.
“Two shots,” she said. “That’s all you get. If you can’t get all your feelings out in two shots, then I’m sorry. I’m just gon’ have to do you like I did your cousin.”
“You talk a lot of shit for a bitch that can’t fight,” Sunny said. “Don’t get embarrassed in front of your friends.”
“What bitch can’t fight? Your bougie ass? Just keep in mind that if you hit me, you might break a nail, heffa.”
I didn’t think that Sunny would actually swing on Erica, but when it looked like Sunny was really about to slap the shit out of Erica, I knew I shouldn’t let them actually fight.
That would be wrong.
“Hey Sunny!” I called. “C’mere for a sec.”
I tried to keep my tone light and unbothered but this -whatever you want to call it- was irritating me. Sunny came over to the table and sat across from me.
“What?”
“Look, I know you’re pissed at E. I just need y’all to handle that some other time. I’m already on edge because of this show tonight. Can you do me that solid? Please?”
“You’re nervous about your show? You haven’t been nervous about a show in years. Is that the reason for that?” She nodded towards my arm.
“Yeah. So if you can E can press pause on the beef until after we leave the stage, I’d definitely owe you one.”
“Well,” Sunny hesitated. “I’m not trying to mess up your show. So, I got you.” Sunny smiled and the entire room full of people sighed in relief.
“Thank you,” Perry said and sat back down next to her brother.
“Don’t thank me. I don’t know what y’all so happy about,” I said. “It ain’t like they won’t be shopping together tomorrow. Y’all all so damn paranoid.”
I winced when Alan’s needle hit a sweet spot on my bicep. I clenched my hands into fists to keep from moving and ruining my tattoo. Sunny, finally aware that there were two cameras pointed right at me, patter my hand gently.
“Suck it up, tough guy.” She grinned and stood up then headed straight towards Shane and my rack of clothes. All I heard over the hum of the tattoo gun was,
“Don’t even think of putting him in that tonight. Does he look like Justin Beiber?”
***
A light misty rain was starting to fall over the uncovered seats and lawn of White River Amphitheater. Seattle didn’t care. It was like a light breeze to them. No one made any moves to leave. Ninety minutes into my set and no one was eager to leave, including me.
“Seattle!” I shouted into the microphone. “Let’s talk for minute. How’s everyone feeling tonight? You ready to go or you wanna jam some more?”
“JAM!”
“Let me tell y’all a story. When I first started out playing real shows, my manager told me not to put any Hendrix covers on my demo because she wanted people to hear me. But I did it anyway. I mean, it’s Jimi! Y’all know Jimi. And I’ve heard some Hendrix covers that have left me speechless. I had to be better than those so I practiced night and day until this happened...”
Wild Mike counted off then started the simple drum intro of “Have You Ever Been to Electric Ladyland.” I joined in with my guitar and sang,
“Have you ever been to Electric Ladyland? The magic carpet waits, for you. So don't you be late. I wanna show you the different emotions. I wanna run to the sounds and motions. Electric woman waits for you and me. So it's time we take a ride.”
The crowd started cheering at the well-known Hendrix song. I stopped playing while my band kept playing and singing behind me.
“But I couldn’t do just one song,” I said. “Seattle, I did three! Tonight, in the birthplace of my hero, the legend, the best guitar player to ever hold a guitar, I’m gonna play for y’all...Hold up. Something ain’t right.”
I motioned for Spence and waited patiently for him to make a big deal of bringing me my brand new customized Olympic white Hendrix Stratocaster, an exact replica of the one he played at Woodstock. This beautiful girl hasn’t even been released to the public yet. When I unhooked Dee-Dee and strapped the guitar on, the crowd went nuts. I strummed a few cords.
“Aww, that’s better, don’t you think?”
I waited until the cheers and screams died down. “Like I was saying, tonight, I’m gonna play for y’all the songs that landed me a record deal. Y’all ain’t ready for this but I’mma give it to you anyway.”
I started playing a medley of “If 6 was 9”, “Purple Haze”, “Foxy Lady”, “Freedom”, and ended with my version of “All Along the Watchtower” that was so damn near close to perfect that I couldn’t feel my feet on the floor or my fingers flying over the guitar strings.
I didn’t hear or see the crowd anymore. Twenty thousand people filled the arena and it felt like I was on stage by myself. The melody of the song and the electricity vibrating through the stage captured me and held me hostage in a black hole where only my guitar and I existed. In that moment, I felt more alive than I’ve ever felt in my life.
“Outside in the cold distance, a wild cat did growl. Two riders were approaching. And the wind began to howl, hey!”
A music critic once called me out in a blog post once, a post that was shared across social media over a million times. He wrote,
“Seven, nine, sometimes even going as long as eleven minutes, his solos are indulgent and self-absorbed, the kind of thing you’d expect from the type of person who speaks too often because he loves the sound of his own voice. Aiden Tyler is that person. He loves the sound of his own guitar much more than anyone else.”
Tonight, I almost believed him.
However, if I didn’t look down occasionally and see my own fingers on my guitar, I wouldn’t have believed that I was making those sounds.
As the last cord faded, my wifebeater - I had tossed the other shirt about thirty minutes into my set - was drenched and clung to me like a second skin. I was out of breath and felt like I’d just run a marathon. The amp was quiet then the noise became thunderous. The yells and clapping could probably be heard all the way in Tacoma.
Zack brought my cup of vodka and ice water over to me. The look on his face was pure awe as if he was handing the President a drink.
“Man,” he shook his head, “Wow! That was amazing.”
I took the cup and gulped down a hefty swig. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sunny on the side of the stage. She was wiping her eyes with her shirt.
I love you, she mouthed.
“Right back at cha, babe,” I said into the mic so she could hear me.
If anyone ever asked what total euphoria felt like, I’d say this...this moment, this exhilaration of knowing I just gave twenty thousand people exactly what they wanted and needed.
This is life and it damn sure doesn’t get any better than this.
***
“I’ve been to a lot of concerts. I’ve written about a lot of concerts. You know that feeling of dread you get when you know the artist is playing or singing the last song and your fight out of the parking lot is about to begin? You never want the show to end but when it does, the music still lingers in your ears and heart for days.
Fellow Fangirls, I may never come down from this high.
As I drove back to my hotel with my girlfriends, the car was silent, different from the excitement that we shared on the drive over to White River Amphitheater. Turning on the radio felt wrong. Talking felt wrong, as if we’d be violating that music that we were just blessed with.
I’ve never seen an artist pay tribute to a legend during their own show the way Aiden Tyler and his band honored Jimi Hendrix last night. If music is a religion, then last night was certainly a baptism. It was as if James Marshall Hendrix had planted his soul and heart into Aiden and blessed him with his gift. This generation of music lovers often feel sad that the great musicians aren’t here anymore and that we missed out on something wonderful. We don’t have to be sad because tonight, I witnessed a reincarnation of a legend. The soul of Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan reside in a blonde-haired, green-eyed guitar from suburbia. Who knew?”
Roxy’s smile was pure gold on my iPad screen as the tour bus rumbled along the highway towards California. Sunny lay beside me, cuddled next to me while Roxy read the blog posted by someone I’ve never met. Sunny said the blogger, Savannah Ford, is a well-known concert blogger but I still don’t know her. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as concert bloggers.
“You did so good last night,” Roxy gushed. “Tracy and I were on Twitter and Facebook all night responding to tweets. Kevin posted the audio on your website at six this morning. By noon, it was downloaded and shared over two hun
dred thousand times. I’m already talking to Sony about releasing this show as a DVD and blu-ray. You were just that good, Aiden. I’m so proud of you. I know I’m hard on you but you’re still the captain of this ship and you make us proud to be with you all the time. I told you I’d make you a star but you work hard at it.”
Roxy doesn’t gush praises at me like this all the time even though I know that she feels it. This is why I love my life and my career so much. Everyone involved in both truly loves me. It’s rare but in my case, it’s true.
Chapter 17: Los Angeles
I opened the front door of my house, stepped into the foyer, and dropped my overnight bag on the blue and white marble.
“Lucy!” I called out in a poor Ricky Ricardo voice. “I’m home!”
“Stop playing, Aiden,” Sara yelled from the kitchen. “You know my fat ass isn’t running in there!”
My mother rounded the corner with a welcoming smile and her arms extended for a big hug.
This is exactly the reception I love coming home to. I love having my family here. There were so many days I came home from a show or a long tour and my house was just as empty as the day I left it.
I grew up in a house full of people. I’m used to noise and chaos. I hated living alone in Atlanta. I was miserable and usually passed out drunk from boredom combined with depression. That’s one of the main reasons I stayed with Sunny for so long, and definitely the reason Delilah moved in with me when I moved to Los Angeles.
“How long are you going to be home?” my mother asked as we walked into the kitchen.
Delilah and Sara were sitting at one of the granite counters snacking a huge fruit and cheese platter that I couldn’t tell if my housekeeper, Marissa, or my mother had put together. It looked delicious.
“Six days,” I answered her before turning to my big sister. “Look at you! You’re about to pop!”
Sara was wearing a purple sundress, and at nine months pregnant, I had to bite my lip to refrain from calling her Barney. It was the hardest thing ever!
Love Notes (Friends Lovers or Nothing Book 4) Page 13
