by Izzy Matias
"Not for a while," he says, "but we’ve been working on it since I last saw you. It's hard juggling Uni and music, but can you believe it—I love both. I can't give up one for the other."
"Ha. You studying?"
"Picked Philosophy as an easy way out, but I ended up loving it."
"You lads on tour?"
"In a few weeks. We've even been asked to play at Willowfields."
"That is amazing." I beam and pat him on the back. "Congratulations!" Eric, Benji, and I hope to go to the Willowfields Music Festival amid our tour schedule, since we secured our tickets. Wow, to play at Willowfields Music Festival—one of the biggest in the UK—would be a dream. "What’s next? Glastonbury or T in the Park?"
As we exchange updates with each other’s lives, I get to thinking: If The Honeybee Trees can do it, so can I. Maybe not right away, but…eventually.
"What brings you here?" Alex asks as we both empty our bottles.
"I’m on tour."
"Oh yeah? With who?"
"Have you heard of The Hush Society?"
"Yes," Alex says loud. The next performer, who is setting up, glances at us. "Callum Ford’s been raving about it online."
"Eric, Benji, and I are in a band now called The Fortunate Only. I never thought I’d get to debut on tour, y’know? And with my best mates, too. It’s great to be given an opportunity like this."
"I always knew you three would eventually play together. ‘Twas inevitable."
I grin back, feeling nothing but pride for a fellow musician who is finally getting where he’s always wanted to be. "Cheers to us, mate."
"Cheers!" Alex clinks our empty bottles. "Love the concept of secret shows and the community is great, but to be honest, you shouldn’t limit yourselves to secret shows. Get as much exposure as you can. Play at pubs and promote yourselves online. Go to open mic nights every night."
I thank him for the advice and tell him that we plan to record soon. When he tells me he wants to check out our music, I give him the link to our website and we exchange mobile numbers. Maybe I could get him to participate in the youth mentorship program. It would be great to have him share what he’s learned about securing a record deal and how to deal with labels.
"Good luck out there," Alex says and slaps my shoulder before leaving. "Hope to share a stage with you again soon."
"Yeah. Thanks, mate. See you around."
A crowd has thickened in front of the next performer and I find my way back to Cassie. She leans against one of the shelves immersed with her mobile.
I poke her. She curses as she jumps. "One of these days!" she gives me a fake look of anger as I bellow.
The chatter gets louder around us.
"I can’t imagine you in a metal band," Cassie says as we plant ourselves beside the horror section. Her forehead wrinkles. "So were you screaming in your songs?"
"Naw. I was always the lead or rhythm guitarist slash back-up vocals during my former musical ventures," I answer as my eyes gaze to the book selection to my left.
"What?"
"Believe it." I squint to make out the titles on the shelf. I could use a new book to read whilst on the road.
"Why weren’t you singing in any of your former bands?"
They have that novel I’ve been wanting to read for weeks now—and it’s a collector’s edition!
"Your eyes keep averting to the shelf," Cassie calls me out and laughs.
Oops. "Sorry."
She gives me a half-smile.
"I was a wallflower," I say deadpan and turn my full attention to her.
"Sure."
"I never saw the need to. I can sing, but never pegged myself as the lead singer type, you know?"
"You believed that you didn’t have it in you to try the limelight for yourself?"
"Something like that, but I’m listening to my instincts now—going with the flow. Putting myself out there."
"Good." Cassie smiles, but then her attention turns to something else. Her eyes are far away. "They have the limited edition of sketching portraits!" Cassie squeals. "I love this shop already."
It’s my turn to laugh.
"Tell me more about your previous projects," Cassie nudges on.
I start by telling her more about Lewis, and open my mobile to show her a video of us working on one of our songs. "We were a folk duo back then."
And that’s when it hits me: instead of a bittersweet retelling of my previous failed garage projects, I feel okay.
The cramped hallway, teeming with books, comes alive as the lad at the end of the shop begins his set with ambient beats. If there’s such a thing as indie EDM, this would be it.
After his mesmerising five-song set, the lights are back on. A gal who looks a tad older than us thanks us for coming to the launch of her bookshop and encourages us to have a look around. All the books have a five-percent discount.
Cassie and I linger around, trade books, and make up a game where we ask each other questions and have to answer with book titles. We get extra points for locating the actual book.
I take a photo of Cassie with her latest answer. The question is "What’s the purpose of life?" and we both had to pick a title from the Inspiration/Self-Help genre.
She poses with a book entitled The Power of Art. We take wacky selfies and I upload it on Twitter using the hashtag Eric came up with: #tfotour
As I press the button for another selfie with our book choices, my mobile vibrates.
"You’re getting the hang of social media." Cassie laughs and sees me uploading our photos on Twitter.
"It’s addicting," I confess as I check the latest message.
It’s Alex.
Alex: Checked out the site. Good stuff. Keep it up, mate. Send me the recording?
I hit reply: Once we get ‘round to recording it, I’ll fire it over to you.
Alex: Sweet. If you’ll still be in town a couple of days, there’s a studio two blocks from Afterall Bookstore. Rates are reasonable.
Me: Thanks, mate. I’ll tell Benji and Eric.
Alex sends another message with the name and location of the studio.
"Why the goofy smile on your face?" Cassie’s nose is inches from mine.
"Alex gave me directions to a studio where we can record our songs."
"In this city?"
"Two blocks from here," I say showing her my mobile.
I ring Eric and Benji for an impromptu meeting. It’s like the universe is conspiring to let us record our music even whilst on tour.
"That’s near where we’re staying," Cassie says. "Does this mean you lads will be recording your music?"
"Looks like it," I say, grinning.
Everything’s falling into place. It’s a whirlwind. Having everything come at us like this. And we’ve only started. It shouldn’t be this fast, should it?
"You’re meant to be in a band with your best mates," Cassie says, as if she can read my thoughts.
I give her a bemused look.
"It’s your face. I can tell what your thinking."
"So we’ve reached that level of friendship, yeah?"
She slaps my shoulder in response.
#
The next morning we are at the studio by ten. It was a miracle they had a slot available. It’s an early call time for us, but we want to make the most of our days before driving to the next city.
Eric whistles as the studio owner shows us the best studio room—equipped with technology that can record our whole session. Benji and the owner are in deep conversation about the technicalities of the program.
It looks like a basic studio: thick walls; a concrete floor in an airtight, cool room; a drum kit; two microphone stands; and two amplifiers, but we’ve requested to plug in Benji’s keyboard and other recording gear.
The owner leaves us to set up. We tune and get our groove on with a spontaneous fifteen-minute jam session, then we dig into business.
Benji sits behind his MacBook Pro. He plugs the necessary equipment to
record our progress today. "It could take the whole day to track one song. Which one do you want to go with?"
"‘Brick Walls," Eric and I say in unison.
"Jinx!" I counter right away. "You’re buying me free food."
"Fine," Eric says. "Now, unjinx me."
I do as told, but point out that he shouldn’t even be talking.
"You two actually agree. I thought that would be more of a struggle," Benji comments.
"All for this band," I say.
"That’s right," Eric says.
"We all agree that we want our music to have a positive message," Benji says.
Eric repeats his previous statement.
"I want people to listen to our songs and know that they can use painful experiences and transform them into light," I say.
"‘Brick Walls’ already sends a powerful message," Benji says, fixing the wires into his keyboard. "At the youth centre, I notice the progress when I work with my students. The way music gives them hope again."
"And people say that music isn’t as important as studying medicine, law, or business," I snort. I’m sat on one of the amplifiers.
"Mate, you gotta sort out your issues with your dad," Benji points out.
"I know," I say. I’ll deal with that when we get back. It’s not like anything’s going to change from today to the end of tour.
"Use your daddy issues and turn it into a song." Eric chuckles, playing around with his drumsticks and taps at me.
I yell an insult and flick my guitar plectrum at him. He dodges it and continues laughing.
With music, we have a real chance of helping people. The whole music scene may seem like a materialistic, fame-hungry, and shallow world, but that’s not what I’m in it for. There will be gals who fancy you because you play, but that’s not what makes my veins shake with anticipation or pride. It’s the natural high the music has. The unshakable feeling that maybe—just maybe—one of our songs will help someone through a tough time and that’s what makes all the struggle, the hardship, rejection worth it. Now we’ve also got the organisation to look forward to.
"You know how people at these Hush Society gigs are there for one another?" I say. "What if more of our songs are like ‘Brick Walls’? An ode to people fighting for something." I think back to Lily and how she must have felt. No one should have to feel alone.
Eric agrees and so does Benji. I motion for Benji’s notebook and he passes it to me. I scribble down more of our ideas together as we continue our brainstorm session. We don’t have to be experts; we just have to care. And listen.
"We’ve loads to discuss, too, about that organisation," I say.
"The youth mentorship program?" Eric asks.
"Yeah, we’ve brainstormed about the idea, and thought it would be better to turn it into a full-blown movement: a non-profit that guides budding musicians," Benji says and goes on to explain the rest of our ideas.
"Nice," Eric comments. "I could pitch in on the part about how the industry works and how to get gigs at venues."
"It fits in great since you’ve worked a while at The Verve, so you know the ins and outs of booking gigs and such," Benji adds.
"You could even share your experience about how drumming helped you through a tough time," I say.
Eric nods.
Our creative juices are on high supply today, so we milk out the best we can. I set aside the notebook and trade my pen for the guitar, and Benji hits record on his laptop.
The music records via the studio’s high-tech application and transferred to Benji’s laptop. He also wants his own version to tinker around with. We’re on our fourth re-take. We’re going for a live feel of the song, not tracking the instruments separately.
The glass door bolts open and in comes Amber with an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. "I heard my presence is needed."
We stop mid-recording.
"You made it!" I shout at Amber, grinning.
"Duh." Amber shrugs. "Benji told me about your movement, which I obvs back by the way. I can be your opening act, anytime." She winks. "Or if you need someone to share about how The Hush Society helped me grow as a musician, I’m up for that, too."
"Thanks," I say. "That would be ace."
"That really is a nasty habit," Benji says, referring to the cigarette.
"You’re such a hypocrite," she chimes back, smiling. "I saw you lighting one the other day."
"A momentary relapse," Benji admits.
"Sista," Eric hails from his throne.
"Brotha!" Amber runs to him. Just when I think she’s going to tackle him, she ruffles his hair and he goes on full beast mode on her for it.
"Play time’s over," I say and strum my guitar.
Amber’s duet was a spontaneous decision that first show—we wanted to gift Lily with a thank you, but we also wanted to help two gals get over their fears. It’s been feeling like something’s missing these last four takes, but now I’m certain we’ll do it right since we’ve got Amber singing her duet.
"Where’s my grand piano?" Amber demands as she stands beside Benji.
"None of that here," I say, chuckling.
Eric stands back from the drum kit, pockets his sticks—"Be right back!"—and pushes the glass door open.
Amber taps at the keys with our melody and Benji moves in closer and adjusts the patches, until he hits the right one.
"We can work with this," Amber says and then pinches Benji’s chin. "Thanks, Benjers."
I give Benji a smug look. He shrugs, smiling, as he grabs his acoustic guitar from the stand, and flings the strap around his shoulder.
Eric dashes back in. Before we can ask him where he’s been, Eric taps his sticks, counting down.
"All right, then," I say into the microphone and start strumming.
Benji jumps in plucking the familiar haunting, mellow beat. I close my eyes, feeling the vibration around me. I take the music in and visualise I’m back in Lily’s room witnessing everything for the first time.
"Brick walls find no comfort with the deafening mind," I begin.
This time, Amber joins on the keyboard, entering at the chorus.
It takes us about nine more takes until Benji—the perfectionist—declares he has everything he needs and he plays back our latest tracking.
"Time for some…" Eric mimicks necking down a drink.
"Why don’t we track ‘Electrified’ as well? We’re here already," I say.
"My my," Amber tuts. "We’ve got a workaholic in our midst."
"I’ve never been called that before," I say.
"When it’s the right thing, it seems natural, doesn’t it?" Amber replies.
I nod.
"Well, I’ll be off," she says. "See you lads later."
As soon she’s gone, Eric and I give Benji love eyes. "Since when have you two been dating?" Eric asks Benji, tackling him.
"When what?" he says, playing innocent. "We have to get back to recording if we want to finish this today."
"Well played." I laugh. "But we’ll sort out the details."
Eric does an evil laugh and sits back at his throne.
We spend the rest of the day locked up in the studio.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cigarette smoke blows in my face and I cough. "You could have blown in another direction, you know."
"Sorry," Eric says, coughing, and inhales deep from the passenger’s seat. He’s supposed to be my navigator, but he’s busy playing a video game.
"For an asthmatic, I can’t believe you’re smokin’ like that," Cassie tells Eric.
"Heh."
My days are measured in stoplights, long drives, and music. When we are not driving to a new city or preparing for our gig, we look for studio rentals and lock ourselves in for the day. I don’t remember the dates, only the days.
When this tour is done, I want us to put out an EP and have a launch party—the whole shebang—assuming we have enough money at the end.
It’s not been sm
ooth sailing, but thankfully nothing major. They’ve mostly been technical glitches, tardiness, traffic jams and arguing about the budget when someone wants to use our pooled funds for something personal, irrelevant or extravagant.
"Can we please drop by Buckingham Palace?" Amber yells from the backseat. "I’ve always wanted to meet the Queen. And tell Kate Middleton that I absolutely love her fashion sense."
I turn the steering wheel as Waze directs us to our hostel. Our gig’s not for another two days, but we decide to drive down to be able to explore the place. The small countryside lad in me begins to show as soon as we enter the city. There’s always this flash of promise, of a brighter future at a big, vibrant city such as London. London is the halfway mark of our little nationwide tour.
"BOO YAH!" Eric shouts beside me, blowing another puff of smoke and I nearly slam the brakes. The dang game!
"I told you not to do that," I chastise.
"I’ve been thinking of names for our non-profit," Cassie says. "What do you lot think about Virtuoso Camp Foundation?"
She gets a unanimous no.
"Hmm what about Music Eye Foundation?"
"Girl, that sounds like the movie Eagle Eye," Amber says.
"Truth." Eric raises his hand.
We slow down as we enter the Tower Bridge. Oohs and ahhs chorus inside the van.
"The idea is to encapsulate our vision for musicians, so when people hear the name, they know it’s an organisation about music," Cassie says once we pass the bridge.
"The Hush Society doesn’t sound like it alludes to anything music-related," Benji says.
"That’s the point. We host secret gigs, so the name has to sound mysterious as well."
"What about Ear for Music Foundation?" Eric says, finally looking up from his mobile. "Since our students—correction—our beneficiaries have an ear for music."
"Good one, mate," I say.
"Eric, that’s pun-tastic!" Cassie laughs. "It is so much fun brainstorming as a group, so different from when I had to conceptualise The Hush Society on my own."
