by Izzy Matias
Benji’s fingers are at rapid speed as if he’s smashing the keyboard on his laptop.
"Cass, you did not just say ‘puntastic’!" Amber bellows in laughter. "Look what you lads have done to her."
The van rings with laughter.
"Quick Benji, do an online search to see if we can save the name. If the name’s free, get a-moving on securing the handles," Eric instructs.
"Beat you to it a minute ago," Benji says. "What do you think I was doing? Updating our social media pages?"
Eric confirms Benji’s guess.
"And…the name is secured," Benji says and we cheer.
"Thank you, Benji," Cassie says. "I posted in The Hush Society’s Facebook page a few days ago that you lads wrote a song for someone fighting anxiety whilst on tour with us. There’s already buzz circulating about how it’s a great idea writing songs for causes such as that."
Benji fires through the Internet.
"What people need the most is to hear they’re not alone." I say, pressing on the brakes as the traffic light turns red. "A lot of times people are ashamed to talk about mental health because they feel like they might be overreacting or people won’t take them seriously, but it’s a serious topic." I glance at them at the rearview mirror as I talk. "I’ve never experienced a panic attack before, but I know what it’s like to not talk about something for fear that people won’t accept what I have to say—that they’ll brush it off as me making a scene, creating a ruckus—or worse, telling me I can’t do anything right."
My dad’s glares surface from the back of my mind together with the veins protruding below his jutted chin.
"I’m lucky I have Eric and Benji who listened to my mad theories and everything I had to say without judgment, you know? Other people aren’t as lucky as I am." Eric looks up from his phone and gives me knowing look.
"I wish I had something like that to go to when I was…well...you all know," Amber says quietly.
"We’re here for you now," Cassie says.
"I know. Thank you."
"And this is why it’s so important for us to set up Ear for Music," Cassie says. "We can be that support group for those young musicians who need it the most."
"Benji, Eric, what do you lads think about putting up ‘Brick Walls’ online for a pound to contribute to our fundraising?" I ask, stepping on the pedal.
"Sounds good to me," Benji says. "I don’t mind."
"What if we give them the option to either download it for free in exchange for their e-mail, so we can send them updates when we release new music or name their price? That way they can donate as much as they want, but the minimum donation would have to be less than a pound."
"Wow. I would have never thought of it that way." I applaud Eric’s marketing skills.
"I can do that," Benji says.
"Do your magic, Benjamin," Eric replies.
"I can’t believe you’re giving away your song for free," Amber quips.
"Not everyone is money-hungry like you," Eric says. That’s enough to get them both bickering once more.
"Shut it, please, the both of you," I say. "I can’t concentrate on driving."
"Get your lass under control, will you, Benji?" Eric shouts.
"I don’t control anyone," Benji replies, smiling.
Eric groans.
"That’s why you’re awesome, babe," Amber says.
I expected London to have this sparkling quality to it, but it’s as gloomy and overcast as the rest of the UK. And the traffic is horrible. We almost hit a bus twice.
Before heading to our hostel, we take one massive detour. At Amber and Eric’s insistence, and to stop their bickering, we drive around the city to get a glimpse of the landmarks: Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, St. Paul’s Cathedral.
In typical UK weather, it’s pouring as we lug our gear and settle in a musty, six-bed dormitory room. It took us over an hour to find overpriced parking, and it was a couple of blocks away from our hostel.
"The website made it look contemporary," Cassie says, inspecting the room.
"Not so glamorous in real life, eh?" I say, entering with two guitars—one hanging like a backpack and the other in my right arm—and set them against the bunk beds.
"Not at all." Cassie frowns. "But it could be worse."
"We could be lost on a hill wondering if we will ever get picked up," I reply.
Cassie gives me a sly grin and pokes my chest. I grab her hand and pull her to me.
"We should have put you two in a separate room," Eric says, entering with his bags.
I let go of her—reminding myself that we’re only mates, nothing more—but Cassie’s blushing.
I crash sideways on the bed.
Ahhhh.
I’m on a cloud made of marshmallows. I almost drift off to sleep.
Benji comes in with his Macbook Pro in his hands. Amber’s glued beside him.
"All right lads, I’ve completed mixing and polishing four tracks. It’s ready to be uploaded online."
"Yes!" I jump up from my position as Benji plops on the bottom bunk bed beside me. Amber, Cassie, Eric and I surround him. "Let’s give it a go."
My insides feel like they’re on fire. My atoms collide at the anticipation of hearing our mixed tracks—the same way everyone else in the world will hear it for their first time when they visit our website.
The next twenty-three and a half minutes are spent in disbelief. These are the tracks my best mates and I created. Our music. There is no way for me to stay objective about it now; all I can focus on is that I am alive and living my purpose. It’s better than smoking up or getting pissed on great ale.
Once the room goes quiet, we stay planted on the bed.
"Who is that band?" someone asks. Two pairs of hazel eyes peep inside from the hallway.
"The Fortunate Only," Eric says, beaming.
"Cool. I’ll look for them on Spotify."
"Not available on Spotify—yet," Benji says. "Look for their official website. There’s a song available for download."
"Great. Thanks!"
I have a massive grin on my face—a reflection of everyone around me.
After I ask Benji to teach me how to send the link, I fire it off to my family, Judy, and Nate.
#
We make a pit stop at Borough Market to grab some food. "It says it’s one of the top markets to visit," Benji informs us.
Even if I slept for over ten hours, it’s as if my body is a deflated punching bag that won’t blow up. "How do bands do this for a living?" I ask, sinking into the wooden tables at the green house area of Borough Market. I put on my sunglasses, lift my arms, stretch, and bend on each side. My bones crack. "What is this? I’m turning into an old man!"
Amber laughs. "Stop complaining like a bitch."
"I ain’t complainin’. That was not a rhetorical question. How do bands do this, especially when it involves different time zones?" I plop my head on the table. "One ice-cold pint, please!" I say without looking up.
"Comin’ right up," Eric says, his voice getting louder as he approaches.
I laugh, my head still inches from the table, and feel the vibration of the wood as he sets our glasses on the table.
"It’s not so glamorous, is it?" says Amber. "It looks so sparkly and enticing from afar—traveling and playing music for a living, but it takes its toll on your body and health, if you don’t take care of yourself."
"Thanks, mate." I sit up and grab a hold of my pint from Eric. To Amber, I say, "I take it you’ve done this before?"
"I bet she has," Eric chimes in.
"I’ve done a couple of tours here and there, but this is the longest. I read up a lot about the tour life and asked fellow musicians who have done the same," she says, lighting a cig. "I tried to load up on fruit and veg, but seriously, how does Benji stay vegan on tour?"
"How do you expect to stay healthy whilst smoking up?" I challenge her.
"I’m livin’ life on the edge," she replies, nonchalant. "It’s
a hard bad habit to kick."
"I have exciting news," Cassie squeals, running towards us. She juggles a couple of burritos in her arms, but her mobile hangs from her fingertips.
Benji, Ella, and Dan approach us from the opposite direction with a sarnie, taco and vegan bowl in their hands as well. Ella and Dan are on their day off from their leg of the tour and couldn’t resist a trip to London. It’s where Dan’s from.
I jump up from my seat, meet Cassie halfway, and take the food from her arms.
She thanks me and continues. "Callum Ford just called me."
"What?" we all scream. I almost drop her burrito.
Whatever news she has is going to be massive. I can hear Nate saying a major game changer in my head.
"What did he want?" Dan asks.
"Oh my gosh!" Ella squeals and clutches Amber’s arm hard. "Oh my gosh!"
"Girl, you’re going to squeeze my arm until it falls off. I can’t play shows without an arm."
Everyone’s eyes are wide with excitement and anticipation.
"He heard about the change of vision for the music festival"—Cassie looks at me, Eric and Benji—"and absolutely loves it. I told him it was your idea, Cameron, and that we helped you flesh it out."
"You’re as much a part of it as any of us," I say.
Cassie takes a dramatic pause before continuing. "He also told his mates at Willowfields about The Hush Society and how we’re using our music festival to raise funds for a good cause. We’re totally on their radar. It’s too late to hope for slots this year, what with the line-up final, but there’s always next year."
We explode in cheers, screams and expletives. Our neighbours give us scandalous glares.
THIS IS MASSIVE.
We all talk and shout at the same time, so we can’t understand each other.
"How?" is all I manage to choke out in disbelief. "I mean after what happened with The Gramophones two years ago…"
"He’s mates with one of the organisers. He didn’t tell me more than that. Maybe they smoothed things over?" Cassie says.
"What did you tell Callum?" Dan looks like he’s about to explode.
"What do you think?" Cassie replies, grinning, and once more we explode into screams. "I invited them—the organisers and Callum—to our music festival. They said they’re coming. We must be at our A-game when they watch our show! It’ll make or break our opportunity. Actually, it’s best for them to attend our festival in Manchester since there are twenty bands in the line-up."
"Oh," I say. I try to keep up my enthusiasm, but I can’t help but think of all the competition there will be with all the other bands in the line-up for a single slot at Willowfields. The Hush Society’s roster of bands in the festival is talented. Their songs are already on my road trip playlist. I even recommended some of them to URadio and they’re already airing some of their tunes. There’s no way we can compete with those bands…
But, I remind myself, it was hard at first to believe that Cassie invited The Fortunate Only on this tour and play at their first festival. If I thought I was impulsive, she gave a whole new meaning to it.
"Cameron," Cassie says, seeing my face, "your band is pretty much guaranteed a spot already since it was your idea. The Fortunate Only is definitely on their radar, especially with all the noise online. Have you seen what people are saying about your music?"
"He’s comparing again," Benji groans. "Cassie’s right. Our music has been received positively online. Loads of people have already shared the link we posted a few hours ago."
"Don’t put out any bad vibes thinking otherwise," Eric warns me.
"You’re right. Sorry," I say. "Doubt has gone out the window."
#
TONIGHT’S Hush Society episode will take place on the second floor of a modern office building tucked in London’s business district. Since the venue for the show is inside a corporate building with other offices on the floor, we can’t make much noise. Instead of switching venues, the organisers took it upon themselves to think out of the box: Our instruments will be plugged in into cords that transmit the sound to this ultra cool contraption that lets the listeners experience a live show via headphones, as if it were a recording.
We should be in quiet corners, getting into the zone, but Cassie calls for an emergency meeting in the pantry.
"This is the worst timing ever, but I ought to let everyone know," she begins with the same tone she used when our gig in Bristol was cancelled. "We are in the red."
"You gals have your monthly visitor?" Eric exclaims. "We did not need to know that."
"Eric!" Amber swats his arm. "This is serious."
"I was only trying to lighten the morose mood."
"Morose," I tease. "So deep."
Cassie clears her throat and gives us the same look I get from Mum whenever she finds me mucking about.
"You each chipped in a fixed amount based on my forecasted budget of expenses, but I’m afraid we won’t have enough money for the rest of the tour with so many unexpected billings—petrol prices hiking, hidden charges, actual food prices, to name a couple of whys. We only have four cities left, but I need everyone’s help on how we can address this…because we won’t have enough money to pay for our next hostel booking by the looks of it."
We gasp.
"You’re not going to cancel the rest of the tour, will you?" Eric asks.
"No," Cassie says. "Not unless we don’t have any other choice…but I do not want it to come to that."
I knew she was having a hard time planning out our expenses, but when Benji made her an Excel sheet to track them, I thought everything was all right.
"Any ideas?" Cassie asks.
"Car wash!" Eric shouts with a mischievous expression. "Boo yah!"
"I refuse to be objectified," Amber quips. "So cliché!"
"We can chip in some more and add to the lot," I offer on impulse, and my hand goes straight to the pocket where my wallet is. I am going to have to do the maths to check if what I chip in will last me until the end of tour. It’s all the money I have from my bank account. When we get back to Beverley, I need to get a part-time job.
"It’s easier at individual gigs since putting together the show is on a volunteer basis, so pretty much everything is free or given at a discount," Cassie says. "Now that we’re shelling out our money, the dynamics are different. I gave you all a specific amount months ago, and that’s what you agreed to spend. This is my fault for not planning things the best I could; I do not want you to shell out any more than you already have. I apologise."
"Don’t be so hard on yourself," Amber says. "You couldn’t have planned all those last-minute expenses, but next time you could give a buffer or let us chip in for an emergency fund."
"It’s a learning process," I say. "You’ll get better with more experience. Besides, it’s your first tour. At least next time you’ll know."
"Is there any way we can couch surf with the leaders of each hub? That would save us money," Benji says. "You know, like what we did with Lily."
"Great suggestion," Cassie says. "I’ll make the calls and cancel our hostel bookings."
A knock interrupts our brainstorm session and one of the crew from the London hub tell us the show’s going to start in fifteen minutes.
"We can continue this discussion later at the hostel," Cassie says, clutching her mobile. "Good luck, everyone."
I head towards the exit sign to clear my head as we disperse. "Be back in five," I tell my band mates.
"Wait up," Eric says, getting out his pack of smokes from his Hawaiian t-shirt.
I push the metal lock and we make our way to the front of the street as Eric lights up.
"It’s like the blows never stop coming at us," he says as he puffs a ring of smoke in front of us. "Sometimes I think we carry around bad luck with all these things happening on tour."
He’s echoed the dark sentiments we promised Benji we’d keep at bay.
"Don’t tell Benji, but that thought crosses my
mind sometimes too," I admit.
"We’re horrible promise-keepers," Eric chortles. "Ah, well."
"Let’s focus on giving our best at tonight’s show," I say. No use focusing on what we can’t control. Besides, ever since we put out a four-track EP online, we have been garnering positive feedback. "Brick Walls" has already raised close to a hundred pounds in just a few days. And then of course there’s our shot at Willowfields, thanks to Callum. I smile thinking about how far we’ve come in only a few weeks.
"I love that tonight’s show is going to be a silent gig," Eric says, puffing out another ring of smoke. "Imagine hearing the performances through headphones."
"But there’s no way of hiding if we make any mistakes or miss a note or two." I point out.
"Who cares?" he says. "So we mess up a note or two. Nobody’s perfect. The trick is to play on. Let the listeners think it’s part of the song."
Across the road, there’s a busker setting up shop. He plops a cardboard box for spare change beside him. An idea crosses my mind as I check the time on my watch. We only have five minutes until show time, so we head back inside.
The yellow lights and reddish wooden floors make the place warmer. I take a seat on the floor beside Benji and Eric, who pass me a pair of black metallic headphones and the first set of performers get up on stage: two lads with a keyboard, fancy DJ equipment and a MacBook Pro. In a matter of minutes, our heads bob in sync to the melody. When they drop the beat, Eric pumps his arms in the air as if we are in a rave.
I wave my arms up and join Eric. Within a few beats, the majority of the crowd has joined us. The DJs smile at us and I laugh at how we must look like to someone who can’t hear the music. I’ve been to more than ten Hush Society episodes, but the feeling of belonging in this sea of melody—with complete strangers—never gets old.
By the time the second performer gets off the "stage," we stand on the side, in queue for our turn.
I am ready to surrender to the music. Nothing will ever compete with the feeling of performing, dissolving into the state of the present, of my atoms creating the music until I forget who I am and just be the music.
