Bandwagon

by Andrew Fish

business isn’t exactly along the same harmonious lines.’

  ‘That would explain it.’

  ‘Explain what?’ Vid asked. ‘Why you haven’t heard of him.’

  ‘Partly, partly,’ said Emil. ‘It also explains why you’ve managed to gain a name despite his mismanagement – he probably hasn’t tried to impose any artistic control.’

  ‘He wouldn’t know a guitar from a drumstick,’ said Vid.

  ‘What it doesn’t explain is why he has you playing in this – my apologies – dump.’

  ‘We were told that he knew the owner,’ said Riff.

  ‘Yes,’ Keys chipped in. ‘They’re almost family.’

  The agent’s eyebrows rose. ‘Family with these people,’ he remarked. ‘I see what you mean about his usual business.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well I may be talking out of turn, but this club has a reputation for the seedier kind of business, if you catch my drift.’

  ‘What kind of thing?’ asked Vid.

  ‘Practically anything: prostitutes, drugs – even guns if the rumours are true.’

  The band exchanged uncomfortable looks.

  ‘Anyway,’ Emil broke into a smile. ‘I’d really love to hear you play – just to see if any of what I’ve heard bears up to the reality.’

  ‘I’m afraid our singer isn’t here at the moment,’ said Keys.

  ‘That would be the human element of your outfit, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Ben. Yes.’

  ‘Well, let’s not worry about that for the moment, shall we? Couldn’t you do a couple of numbers without him?’

  Riff and Keys exchanged glances. ‘I suppose we could,’ said Keys eventually.

  Emil’s smile broadened. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘If I like what I hear, I’ll come back this evening to see the whole act.’

  ‘OK,’ Keys warmed slightly to the proposal. ‘We just need to get our instruments.’

  ‘Take all the time you need.’

  The robots headed off to their room to collect their instruments.

  ‘Is this guy on the level?’ Vid asked Riff quietly as they made their way back to the bar.

  ‘He seems to be,’ said Riff. ‘He does at least seem interested in our music. Just try not to upset him by getting too suspicious.’

  The robots entered the bar and took to the stage. Nutter adjusted his seat whilst Riff checked the tuning on his guitar.

  ‘Any particular songs?’ Keys asked, playing chromatic runs on his keyboard.

  ‘Anything you like,’ said Emil. ‘Whatever you think I’d like to hear.’

  Keys played a quick arpeggio and Riff, catching his eye, nodded. He adjusted his fingering on the neck of the guitar and started to play the gentle, ringing arpeggio that marked the start of Listening to Nothing. As he played the riff for the third time, Nutter kicked the pedal for the bass drum and, in perfect synchronisation, the other musicians joined in and Keys and Riff began to duet, Keys taking the lead vocal and Riff the harmony. Vid, immersing himself in the music and trying to forget his nervousness, contributed a bass vocal to the middle-eighths, concentrating hard to cope with the differing rhythms of his voice and his bass. Emil sat back on his stool with his glass of wine as the singing of the robots bounced around the empty bar and the returning echoes blended with the ringing of Riff’s guitar to create a gentle ambience. Riff listened carefully to the sound: the acoustics were different when the room was empty. He’d known that academically, of course, but it was vastly different to know something than to experience it. He found himself muting the strumming on the middle eighths and adding more tremolo to the riffs during the verse to compensate. For all his experience, he found the situation vaguely nerve-wracking – so many performances and this was his first audition. It was almost a relief when the song ended and he finally silenced the guitar.

  Emil put down his unfinished wine and clapped when the song came to an end. ‘Very good,’ he congratulated them. ‘Is it your own song?’

  ‘Keys wrote it,’ said Riff, motioning to the keyboardist.

  ‘And does he write all of your songs?’

  ‘It’s kind of a joint thing. Keys and I write most of them together, but we’ve written a couple on our own and Vid,’ he motioned to the bassist, ‘has written a couple as well.’

  ‘Does the … does Ben write any?’ Emil asked.

  Riff shook his head. ‘Not so far, no.’

  Emil looked at Vid, who was retuning the E string on his bass. ‘Could we hear one of yours?

  Vid looked up at him. ‘Who, me?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Would you like me to sing?’

  ‘That would be nice, yes.’

  Vid gestured with his left hand, his fingers held in the shape of an E major chord. Riff, understanding the sign, nodded and adjusted his guitar strap.

  ‘Can you give us four, Nutter,’ Vid asked the drummer. The drummer nodded then tapped his drumsticks together four times. Again, the robots launched into She Was Standing Over There with perfect timing and Vid delivered a reasonable simulacrum of Ben’s screaming vocal, although he couldn’t sing as if he was about to lose his voice. Riff, feeling more comfortable simply playing rather than singing, picked out the lead riff, noting with annoyance that Nutter’s timing seemed to be slightly off. He masked it as best he could by adjusting his own playing. When they went to the bridge, the drummer switched over to double-time to follow Vid’s bass. Riff relaxed slightly and went back to playing normally, but as he changed his fingering for the last verse he noticed that Nutter hadn’t returned to single-time. Annoyed, he doubled his own playing to make the drummer sound more natural. Finally, he played the last crashing power-chord and was somewhat disturbed to find that Nutter didn’t stop. The drummer continued to beat on the drums, a vacant expression on his face. The robots exchanged glances and Vid darted for the bar, picked up the four half-finished glasses of Lube and returned to the stage. A few mouthfuls later, Nutter calmed down and stopped drumming.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Vid as he returned the glasses to the bar. ‘Technical difficulties - he really needs looking at.’

  Emil nodded. ‘I quite understand,’ he said. ‘Well, I’ve got a few appointments this afternoon so, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’d like to head back to my office. I’ll be back in,’ he checked the clock on the head-up display of his glasses, ‘about five hours to catch you live.’

  Riff nodded and turned to help Nutter down from the stage.

  40

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be alright?’ Vid’s face registered concern as he watched the robot’s fumbling attempt to replace light bulbs in their rig. The evening was wearing on, and despite the drummer’s apparent stability over the last few hours the impending gig was causing the bassist a degree of concern.

  Nutter was tired but resolute. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he insisted. ‘I can always have a couple of drinks to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Don’t let me force you.’

  ‘You aren’t – I need them for my nerves anyway.’

  ‘Nerves?’ Vid helped the drummer with the last of the lights and looked at him curiously.

  ‘Yes. Nerves. It’s alright for you: you didn’t screw up this afternoon.’

  ‘We’re a band. We either all get the gig or we don’t.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’

  ‘Why? What makes you say that?’

  ‘He didn’t seem too worried that Ben wasn’t there this afternoon, did he?’

  Vid considered this. Various possibilities presented themselves so he decided to go for the optimistic. ‘Perhaps he’s already certain about him,’ he said. ‘People do seem to think we need a human frontman.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Nutter. ‘Perhaps not.’ He finished his task and pulled himself to his feet. ‘What would you do if we were asked to change the line-up?’

  ‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ said Vid. ‘I guess that’s becaus
e I’ve always assumed I’d be the first one to get dumped.’

  ‘You. Never. You play a great bass. Besides, I think we need you to keep everyone sane.’

  ‘The others say I drive them up the wall.’

  ‘Oh, that’s what they say, yes,’ said Nutter. ‘It just isn’t what they mean. They’d wouldn’t even consider ditching you, even if you cost them a fortune in strings.’

  Vid feigned a look of offence. ‘I haven’t broken a string in weeks,’ he protested.

  Nutter’s eyes blinked mirthfully. ‘See, now I’m driving you up the wall,’ he said. ‘Gonna fire me?’

  Vid shook his head.

  ‘Anyone seen Ben yet?’ Riff asked, entering the room with a guitar in each hand.

  ‘Is he not back?’ said Vid. ‘He’s cutting it a bit fine, isn’t he?’

  ‘About twenty minutes to go. He’ll probably turn up at the last minute like last time. I’m sure he just does it for effect.’

  ‘Perhaps he feels unwanted,’ said Nutter.

  ‘Quite the psychologist this evening, aren’t we,’ Vid chided him.

  ‘It’s the Lube. It brings out the thinker in me.’

  ‘I’d keep it in if you can,’ said Riff. ‘We need backbeat not existentialism tonight.’

  Ten minutes later Keys entered the bar, followed closely by the owner of the club. The keyboardist saw his fellow robots look up and shook his head at the implied question. The owner, also catching the look, frowned.

  ‘We seem to be one short tonight,’ he observed gruffly.

  ‘Ben’s not here yet,’ said Riff.

  ‘You know where he is?’

  The silence told its own story. Harry spluttered and wiped his mouth on the back of the hand. ‘He’s got five minutes,’ he said.