The Hush Society Presents...

by Izzy Matias

  "How did you know?" I mutter, sinking deeper into the beanbag.

  Cassie sits up straighter. "Because I’m a good observer." She taps her index finger lightly on my nose. "You choked this afternoon. Think of it this way: at least you got it out now rather than at your set later."

  "But what if these people find out that The Fortunate Only is overrated and overhyped?"

  "Every time you’re up on stage," she says, "you have an opportunity to overcome your doubt."

  Or another opportunity to disappoint people.

  I stare at my cuppa, observe the steam twirl up in the air then vanish.

  "Nobody is perfect," she continues. "It’s about choosing your next move when you think it’s game over. You’re the one who said that everything we’re learning here on tour is good module material for Ear for Music."

  "You’re right," I say and set down my cuppa. "You’re right."

  She pokes my torso. "I’m here for you, too, you know?"

  "I know." I crack a weak smile, still not convinced.

  #

  More than fifty people are staring at us. Their faces are a mix of curiosity, anticipation, and excitement. I try not to stare at a single face too long to avoid misreading their reactions.

  We open with "Brick Walls"—a transition from Amber’s performance to ours—and it propels the crowd forward. They compress together as close to us as they can. Some people swing their hips. Others close their eyes while bobbing their heads.

  I let out a relieved sigh and Amber leaves the stage. Next we play a cover and then "Electrified." Three songs. Three songs with no errors.

  Only one more song. I grin wide and open my arms out. To think I almost cut the chord on tonight’s show. I close my eyes as we begin our final song, "Waves."

  I glance at the crowd’s solemn faces. All these people expect a great performance, but are they impressed? Do we live up to what has been circulating online?

  Right before the chorus, I do a fancy guitar swing that almost smashes into Benji. He takes a step back to avoid the collision and misses a couple of notes. Eric jerks backward—though my guitar is far from him—and increases the tempo.

  We’re out of sync.

  With wild eyes, I burst into a guitar solo at the bridge, in hopes of distracting our audience. It is enough to sync our tempo back together.

  Amber, who’s near the "stage", scratches her neck and tilts her head to the side.

  As I enter the second to the last chorus, my voice betrays me: it cracks. This sends another wave of disorder into the beat. Not only are we out of sync, but my mishap has thrown the whole verse off.

  There a few sour faces in the crowd. A couple of heads shaking. The frustration with our flat notes and tense stage presence is evident.

  I knew it. They think we’re complete bullocks.

  We struggle to transition back to the proper beat as we enter the last verse. My voice strains as I sing the last line. Eric bangs the drums a little too loud and Benji plucks hard, but we pull through the last ten seconds or so.

  The crowd breaks into a polite applause but their faces are in a state of confusion. Maria takes the stage, cracks a joke to quell the tension, and tells the crowd that they’ll be passing a hat around.

  My mates and I are silent as we dismantle our set-up. I avoid eye contact.

  "Meeting. Now," Eric says in a low tone meant only for Benji and me.

  The crowd unfolds into the post-show buzz, finally getting up and socialising with one another. After we fix our equipment, we move to a more secluded and private area of the rooftop.

  "What happened out there?" Eric’s voice is high, but it sounds as if the question is directed to all of us. Not just me. "We were doing a great job until the last song and then—" His hands signal fireworks, or maybe an explosion.

  "We’re not here to point fingers, Eric," Benji says. "What’s done is done, but we do have to talk about what happened in order to avoid something like this next time."

  If Benji weren’t here, Eric and I would probably have a row.

  "It’s my bloody fault," I say and look past them—out to the murky, starless sky. "I lost it."

  "We all did at one point." Benji gives me a sympathetic look.

  I glance at Eric, whose irritation transforms into disappointment. "Mate, your error caught us off-guard. Looks like we need to be alert and ready to make into a smooth recovery."

  I nod and apologise, though my chest stays tight.

  "What about this: when we jam, one of us will do something off, so that we can practice a smooth recovery," Benji suggests.

  "We’ve got a day off tomorrow. Let’s start then," Eric agrees.

  "Okay," I say, still feeling like a massive disappointment.

  "Meeting adjourned," Eric says and claps his hands. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a lovely redhead over there smiling at me."

  Benji pats my shoulder. "We can’t expect to have seamless gigs all the time. You have to admit we were overdue for something like this."

  "Not funny," I say. After excusing myself, I walk off, passing people engrossed in their conversations. I spot Cassie at the other side of the rooftop and, as if sensing my gaze, she meets my eyes with concern. She motions towards me, but I shake my head. I need to be alone. She nods, as if she understands. Just in case, I fire up a quick message on my mobile.

  Need to be alone for a bit. Meet you lot back at Maria’s.

  I slither past the bodies, an attempt to hide in the crowd as I make my way to the rooftop door. My steps are fast as I gallop down the dim staircase. Once outside, the violent chill of the wind threatens. The buildings’ dark shadows engulf me.

  I pull out my mobile. It lights the dark alley and allows me to connect my earphones. There's something about having the right soundtrack, especially during walks. Opting for the radio instead of my playlist, I tune in to my favourite station. Heavy guitars and a pounding bass line soundtrack my walk. I've no destination in mind, so I walk. I’ll figure out how to get back to Maria’s from wherever I end up.

  I turn down a busier street with more commercial establishments—Waterstones, a supermarket, Boots, and a couple of restaurants. Not too far ahead, there’s a small patch of grass—a park—and I head in that direction. I wrinkle my nose, getting a whiff of beer whilst I pass the darker part of the sidewalk before turning to the park. I switch radio stations, craving for a song with a more haunting melody.

  Inside the park, the lampposts cast an eerie glow. The place is deserted and rightfully so. It’s past midnight. I let out a frustrated sigh as memories of tonight invade the tranquility I hoped I’d find with my walk.

  When I switch back to URadio, it's the familiar rhythm of guitars playing that catches my attention. I almost drop my mobile as I recognise the melody.

  My mouth hangs open and I screech to a halt.

  I’ve been through rocky roads, and crashing storms.

  But if there’s one thing I’ve salvaged through my journey

  It’s these lines: never give up on your dreams.

  I gasp. A string of profanities exits my mouth. When I look up at the lamppost directly above me, I notice how it casts a bright glow. I no longer feel the menacing bite of the wind.

  It’s quite unconventional that my own song lyrics are cheering me up—this is massive!

  My fingers type the fastest they ever have as I send my mates a message about "Waves" on the radio. Suddenly I feel as though all the mishaps we’ve run into tonight can be salvaged and turned into something useful. Maybe we can create a module in the program that talks about bad live sets and how to deal with them. Every little mistake or mishap is a learning opportunity.

  I can't give up now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On the last gig before the culminating music festival, we collect a whooping 723 pounds!

  "Since we’re one stop away from Manchester, it’s time you lot enjoy all the hard work you put in," Cassie says as she gives us our share o
f the pot. "And hopefully enough for Willowfields music festival."

  I am like a king, pocketing the wads of cash in my wallet. It thickens to almost half an inch. This is the first time we get paid on tour; the first time I get paid to play music. The money in my calloused hands was earned, with purpose.

  Cassie is right, of course, this pay check will be spent on our festivities at Willowfields. Benji, Eric and I have had our passes to Willowfields since pre-sale, and apparently Cassie as well.

  Amber isn’t a massive fan of big festivals like these, so she opts to spend our free weekend resting. "I’ve booked myself at a small B&B. The plan is to stay in and watch conspiracy-theory movies and boy-band documentaries with my favourite food the whole weekend," she says as we wave her a temporary goodbye and head towards the festival grounds. "You must be looking forward to your much-needed R&R in your comfy tents."

  There are so many new bands this year. So many rising indie stars in the line-up that I get this weird premonition that this time next year, we could be included in the line-up here in the thin, glossy paper I crumple in my hands. We have a year to prove ourselves worthy to these organisers, to work on publicity and build a strong fan base. It’s a long, hard way up, but I am willing to put in all the hard work.

  The thing about music festivals is that it's either you feel like you're being cooked alive or getting what I call a spiritual shower. No matter the forecast, there's always bound to be rain. And where there's rain, expect lots and lots of mud. Once we finish pitching our tent in the light drizzle, it looks as if it’s the beginning of what could be a downpour—and the festival hasn't even started yet.

  Benji holds out ice-cold bottles of Heineken. Cassie declines, entering her tent, but I take a bottle. I hum a song that’s been stuck in my head all day. My fingers itch to play, but we left our instruments locked inside our van in the car park. I glance around, inhale a deep breath, and smell damp earth. The anticipation builds up round me. Tents, brollies, and coolers are set up. There is a constant crescendo of chatter, and somehow it calms me. This pre-show hype never gets old. In a couple of hours, we’ll be surrounded by drunk neighbours, owl-like creatures, and the faraway sound of the festival going on.

  "So who do you think it'll be this year?" I ask.

  Willowfields holds secret sets during the festival. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to witness our favourite bands. We always bet on who the surprise bands are going to be.

  "Foals, definitely," Benji says.

  "Five pounds for The Gramophones," Eric dares.

  "Ha!" I say. "You wish."

  "A tenner for Foals," Benji counter offers.

  Before we can continue, Benji’s alarm goes off. It’s a reminder that the first act he wants to catch is on in thirty minutes. "I’m off to watch Circa Waves. Anyone joining me?" Benji stands beside me with an expectant look.

  "Ah, I’ll catch up with you later. Haven’t decided yet between Circa Waves and two other bands."

  "Wait up," Eric says, scrambling from inside the tent with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  Cassie’s head pops out of her tent.

  "All right, but if ever we don’t cross paths, see you lot later."

  Cassie and I nod in unison.

  "We’ll keep in touch via mobile," she shouts as Eric and Benji blend in with the crowd.

  "What time’s Ella coming?" I ask. Dan had to sell his pass because of a family emergency. "The first set of acts are going to begin any minute."

  "Who knows?" Cassie says. "She said she’ll message me when Dan drops her off. They’re probably snogging their heads off, if they’re going to be away from each other for a whole weekend."

  I laugh. "I can’t believe you lot would go every year and we never crossed paths before."

  "Thousands of people do flock out to Willowfields every year," Cassie points out. "Maybe we saw each other before and didn’t know it."

  I nod. "Sometimes I wish I found out about The Hush Society sooner."

  "Everything happens the way it should and at the right time." She says as she sits beside me.

  "You sound like Ella," I say and take a sip of my Heineken. "Do you really believe that? I think sometimes, it’s about going out there and making opportunities happen for you. There never is a right time. All we have is now."

  She looks up from her mobile. "I believe in that, too, but don’t you see, if we had met a year ago, you would have been with another band. Who knows if I’d even invite you to play at The Hush Society then?"

  "Ouch!" I feign hurt, putting a hand over my heart.

  She laughs, taking out her Fujifilm camera from her sling bag. "I am sure you’ve grown as a musician since then."

  "Our lives are never static," I agree. It’s up to us, who we choose to become. We dictate how our lives will turnout, not the random events thrown at us.

  Cassie adjusts the knobs on her camera and takes a photo of the tents around us. "Amber might not have taken that leap as a performer if she hadn’t worked on her anorexia first."

  I nod. She stretches her arm and takes my photo.

  "Same goes for me," she says, showing me my candid photo. I take the camera from her and tinker around with it. "I was at my second Gramophones gig—I discovered them then—when I met Ella. It was also around that time that I learned I was adopted. If it weren’t for her support and a few other friends, who knows how I might have coped? That’s when I realised how important it is to have a positive and supportive community. I’d met her at one of those secret gigs. I wanted to give others the chance to find their support group within the music community."

  Cassie’s eyes are wide with excitement. Not knowing if I have the right settings, I snap a photo of her. She smiles as I hand her back her camera. She hangs it on her neck.

  "Ella can’t have been your only mate at that time?" I ask. "You don’t talk much about your other friends."

  "They were all busy starting University in different cities. It was hard to get us together like in College, but the people I found through music—they understood me."

  I take her hand and squeeze it tight. "Thank you for starting this organisation."

  "It’s a team effort."

  "Have you ever thought about doing this full-time?" I ask, necking down my drink.

  "Lately, yes, especially now we’ve got Ear for Music…"

  I wait for her to continue.

  "There's no way I can't commit to doing that full-time," Cassie says after a thoughtful silence. "That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on my dream of one day having my own gallery show."

  "Can you do both?"

  "Everything doesn’t have to happen at all once," she says.

  "Right time and place?"

  "Exactly."

  "You really sound like Ella!"

  She responds with laughter.

  "And I think…sometimes I’m starting to sound like you lot, too."

  When I tell her that we should get going if we want to catch the first act—I share my picks with her—I’m surprised when she says, "I don’t know half those bands, but, ah, take me with you."

  Thunder rolls in the background as I take her hand. Despite the hovering dark clouds, the vibe around us reflects the opposite. Lots of excited chatter fills the air. Hollers and hoots echo, and a surge of warm energy surrounds me. No matter what else happens this weekend, I am grateful to be here, in the now. We dive headfirst into the mosh pit.

  Three hours and four bands later, we head towards the food trucks and liquor station.

  "I should make you The Hush Society’s talent scout," Cassie says, nudging my ribs as we walk uphill.

  "I was a radio jock," I brag and give her a cheeky smile. "Comes with the job."

  "How long were you a radio jock?"

  "Almost a year, but I was always at the station a lot before that. I guess they'd gotten used to my antics and decided they'd pay me for it." Our shoulders bump against each other as we continue our ascent. The food trucks come into vi
ew.

  She laughs. "Why'd you quit that stellar job for music then?"

  "Ha!"

  She flashes me a wicked grin and we stop to queue.

  "I'm glad I quit my job at the factory though. That I didn't enjoy, but it paid well." I pat the pocket where my wallet is.

  "Real question: why'd you take it in the first place?" She says, pulling out money from her colorful sling bag.

  "We needed the extra cash, y'know? Figured if I at least had a job that paid well, it would help out at home. And it did."

  "Wow." She gives me a tender look. "I can't imagine having to do something like that."

  "But I'm certain you would have, had you been under similar circumstances."

  She blushes. "You've such a high regard for my character, Cameron." I wink at her and she giggles. "I wonder if you'd known me when I found out I was adopted if you'd say the same."

  "What, you were a rich, spoiled brat?"

  She slaps my arm and pushes me away.

  "I never did get that vibe from you either," I continue. "I like that you're grounded and you work hard to help others." We move a few inches closer to the front of the queue.

  "Stop making me seem so heroic. I'm human."

  "An incredible one," I say. "How did you find out anyway?"

  "They just told me one day. Out of the blue. I never really thought much about the possibility of being adopted. I looked like them, but sometimes, things felt off. Just thought it was puberty at its finest." Cassie says, looking me straight in the eye.

  "Dang." The queue moves slowly.

  "I questioned everything after that and even ran away for a while."

  "You what?" I stop in my tracks.

  "Not your typical wild-gal party, angsty-type reaction at all," Cassie says, nudging me forward. There’s a huge gap from those queuing in front of us. "I think they expected me to react that way, but I ran away and stayed with my mates for a while. I needed space from them and then I realised how lucky I was to have been adopted instead of growing up alone. It hurt a lot they'd never told me and I couldn't fathom asking about my real parents and why they'd given me up. I told them I wasn't ready to know that yet and they haven't said a word about it since. That really made me appreciate them more and the value of family, even if we're not tied through blood. They chose me and, in a way, that's a special kind of love."