Chapter 18 - Downtown
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Downtown
Tristan leaned against the window, his arm propped up as he observed the world through dark sunglasses, pushing aside the thought of going to an interview.
When it came to interviews, he had mixed feelings. Ever since their first album skyrocketed and Nightstalker embarked on their first tour as headliners, he noticed a change in the questions the interviewers were asking and the level of interest surrounding the band.
While he loved discussing his songs and delving into the meaning of his lyrics with reporters, there was a growing interest in their personal lives as the tour progressed.
People were now curious about their lives that they would never have shared with the world. Things that weren’t really important suddenly gained a grotesque entertainment appeal just because Nightstalker had become world-famous.
“What happened?” he asked, breaking the silence between him and Andrej.
“What do you mean?”
“You guys argued. About what?”
Andrej briefly turned his head, then focused his gaze back on the road. “Nothing important.”
“If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t have been yelling at each other.”
“You heard it. So you know what it was about.”
“No, I don’t know what it was about.”
“Leaf had a relapse. Sooner or later, it’s going to tear us apart.”
Tristan glanced at Andrej. He had tucked his wheat-blond hair behind his ear and wore black sunglasses, which suited him well. Andrej was the typical California surfer boy, tanned and with a tribal tattoo on his right upper arm. And he was the perfect bassist for Nightstalker.
“You know, I appreciate your honesty,” Tristan said calmly. “That’s a good quality of yours. But sometimes you don’t think before you speak, especially when you panic. Your words can end up causing more harm than you may have intended.”
Andrej scoffed. “No, Tris. Don’t blame me for this. I’m definitely not the issue here, and you know it.”
“Have a little faith.”
Andrej frowned and shook his head. His silence even elicited a smile from Tristan. Andrej was reliable and a good guy who had always wanted the best for the band from the beginning. But that also included all his threats when something didn’t go as he wanted.
“Why just the two of us?” Tristan asked as they plunged into the canyons of downtown.
Nowhere else did he feel like he was being swallowed by the city as much as here.
The deeper they went, the stronger his urge to escape.
Far away would have been best—back to the desert.
Or at least to the Gaucho, which sat on the edge of downtown and had always been a kind of refuge for him.
“Nervous?” Andrej asked.
It was only then that Tristan noticed he was tapping his right foot. “Why would I be?”
Andrej chuckled. “You know I’ve got your back.”
That was also something Tristan could rely on with Andrej.
Since the last tour, it had become a routine that they mostly did the interviews together.
And every time the questions became too personal and Tristan was at a loss for words, it was Andrej who reprimanded the reporters with his big mouth.
He didn’t hold back when it came to such matters and wasn’t afraid of conflict.
With a keen sense of justice and politeness, he usually picked up on when journalists had crossed a line before anyone else noticed.
That’s why they had also assigned him the task of compiling a blacklist of taboo questions for the next tour to make sure the reporters knew the limits.
Andrej turned onto Hope Street and drove the car straight to the parking lot of the Standard Hotel.
“The interview is happening here?” Tristan asked incredulously.
“Yep. They’re expecting us in the rooftop bar.”
Tristan reluctantly got out and followed Andrej inside.
It was pleasantly cool in the lobby, and Tristan fanned himself with his shirt.
Andrej did the same, pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, and led Tristan through the hall, past Philippe Starck chairs, Corbusier sofas, and red-lit walls.
A stylized design world where Tristan felt foreign.
“Do you know your way around here?” he asked as they rode the escalator to the first floor.
“Worked here during college,” Andrej replied, the only one in the band with a university degree, in business administration and mathematics, nonetheless. “Room service. Mostly the night shift. You wouldn’t believe what I saw there,” he said with a sly grin.
As they got into the elevator, Andrej pressed the button to take them to the roof. “Clint won’t miss the chance to try and get you to open up,” he said, looking at Tristan with a serious expression.
“Yeah, I can imagine.”
“Just stay cool. No matter what happens.”
“I’m sure the guy’s just doing his job,” Tristan said, watching as the light on the display rose. “Did he get the list?”
“Yeah. Milo is off-limits.”
Tristan nodded and took one last deep breath. Then the elevator door opened, and a young Elvis Costello look-alike with a faded Gun Club shirt welcomed them with open arms.
“Hello! Welcome!” Clint had this exuberant way of covering up his own nervousness, because he wasn’t just a reporter, but also a bit of a fan.
This had never stopped him from coming up with the most impossible questions, often shamelessly probing the boundaries between what was okay and what bordered on stalking.
“Great to see you again! Follow me. We have a corner where it’s nice and cool. With a view of the pool.”
A small team of two men and a woman were in the middle of preparations to go live on time.
“Would you mind if we took a photo first?” Clint’s eyes sparkled like those of a child eager to reach into a bag full of candy—or to show off immediately on Instagram.
“Sure.” Tristan shrugged.
“Toni! Could you take a quick photo of us?” Clint handed his phone to the youngest member of the team, probably the intern, then positioned himself between Andrej and Tristan and grinned. Tristan took off his sunglasses and faced the young man with Clint’s phone.
He had long since stopped feeding the cameras with a fake smile.
He wasn’t a clown but a poet. Plus he was a serious person by nature.
And given the current circumstances, he had no reason to laugh anyway.
So he didn’t care that the others present also asked for a photo.
He would never refuse anyone a snapshot who asked politely.
Far worse were those who snapped pictures without asking—people who had no manners and assumed a rock star wouldn’t care.
“Thanks! Guys! Really appreciate it!”
Tristan exchanged a brief glance with Andrej. He wasn’t someone who pushed himself into the spotlight, but because he and Tristan did most of the interviews together, he had also gotten used to the attention.
“What would you like to drink?” Clint asked, gesturing toward the wooden table. A big microphone sat in the middle, surrounded by water bottles and a tray of empty glasses. “Or maybe a beer, if you prefer.”
“I’ll take one,” Andrej said, heading to a chair. “Where should I sit?”
“Right there is great,” Clint replied. “And you, Tristan? What can I get you?”
“Orange juice, please.” Tristan placed his sunglasses back on. “Thanks.”
The server, who had been lurking in the background, disappeared into the building.
“Excuse me,” a woman from the radio team said as she approached him. She clipped a small microphone to his shirt collar and did the same to Andrej.
“Wasn’t Carol supposed to be here too?” Tristan asked Andrej.
“Yeah, she was supposed to be. Might be stuck in traffic.”
“Okay,” Clint said, also attaching a small microphone to his collar and sitting down with them at the round table.
“We have a few minutes left. Anna will switch to us at two o’clock.
If it’s okay with you, we’ll split the interview into three segments.
We’ll play your songs in between, so overall, I think …
maybe 40 to 45 minutes? Maximum. Does that sound good? ”
Tristan gave a thumbs-up and was relieved when the waitress brought his orange juice.
Andrej had picked him up way too early, but it gave them the chance to grab some tacos before heading to the interview.
But the food was so salty that he couldn’t drink enough to quench his thirst. After Andrej drank his beer, he poured himself and Tristan a glass of water.
The intern emerged and handed Clint a pair of headphones, which he didn’t put on. He was busy leafing through his little notepad, as he absentmindedly pushed up his black horn-rimmed glasses, looking like a nerd.
“Okay,” the technician said as he held up his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Anna is live.”
Clint pressed one of the ear cups to his ear. Anna’s voice came through the other one so loudly that Tristan could hear her across the table. That explained why Clint hadn’t put the headphones on completely.
“Finally, the moment has come!” exclaimed the radio host. “Paradise Rock in an interview with Nightstalker! I’m already excited and can hardly wait. Clint! Are you there?”
“Hello, Anna!” Clint’s voice sounded professional; the fanboy was gone. “We’re here!”
“Don’t keep us in suspense any longer, Clint! Who. Is. Here?”
“I’m here with Tristan James and Andrej Novak from Nightstalker. We’re having beers and … well … we’re ready.”
“Then let’s go!” Anna exclaimed.
Clint finally put the headphones down on the table and smiled. “Yes, let’s get started! Hello, you two! You can’t imagine how excited I was when I got the confirmation for this interview. I feel totally honored to meet you. How are you?”
“Good,” Andrej replied in a casual tone. “Been a crazy couple of weeks. But things are starting to calm down.”
“Crazy weeks, you can say that again.” Clint winked, as if he knew—which he probably did. Thankfully, he had signed that waiver for the interview. “Tristan, how are you doing? What happened a few weeks ago really messed up the whole album launch.”
“Yeah.” Tristan cleared his throat. “Um … It’s been a lot,” he admitted, suppressing the emerging memories of Milo, the night in jail, and the disastrous album release.
Suddenly, the time in the clinic seemed like a place of peace, a quiet oasis.
Hard to believe that a desperate suicide attempt had preceded it. “It was all pretty crazy.”
“Let’s dive right into your new album, Witherin’ Limits in Silverlight. I have to confess, I’m blown away. Every single song is amazing, a masterpiece! Tell me, how did the songs come about?”
Andrej extended his arm, inviting Tristan to take the floor and share his thoughts.
“I’d like to claim that the songs were created similarly to the first album, but unfortunately, that’s not the case,” Tristan replied.
“We were on tour for almost a year, and the label started pushing us to come up with new songs quickly, but our attempts didn’t go well.
So, we made a decision not to discuss the next album until the tour ended.
That relieved the pressure on all of us, and I was able to write new lyrics peacefully. ”
“But …” Clint briefly glanced at his notes. “You just finished your big Acid tour five months ago. Are you trying to tell me …?”
“We came home, relaxed for a week or two, and then met again in the rehearsal room. I had material for more than thirty songs, Leaf was bursting with ideas, and Andrej and José were unstoppable.”
“And … um …” Clint seemed a bit taken aback. “What happened next? I mean, there are eighteen songs on the album! How long did it take you to record them?”
“Four weeks,” Andrej replied.
“Oh, yeah?” Tristan looked at him with a surprised expression. “You remember that so precisely?”
“Yes, remember? Iggy celebrated his birthday with us.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Four weeks? And? How long were you in the studio?” Clint asked.
“Fifteen days.”
“That was quick.”
“Well, the label only wanted to grant us a maximum of ten days,” Andrej explained. “Renting a studio costs money. And they want to keep production costs as low as possible.”
“In the end, the songs for the album were recorded in eleven days,” Tristan added. “But we recorded three more songs. While we were at it.”
“And what’s it like? Nightstalker in the studio. How should one imagine that?”
“Ha!” Andrej laughed. “You get to know each other all over again. Tristan and Leaf are two absolute perfectionists. Especially with the solos, our guitarist didn’t show himself any mercy.”
Tristan smiled, glad that Andrej still took it with humor. Andrej had also gotten his share when he recorded his bass lines in the sound booth.
“And now the next tour is coming up. Are you excited?”
Tristan drank from his orange juice and let Andrej do the talking.
“Of course, we’re excited,” the bassist replied enthusiastically. “It’s gonna be awesome. Exhausting, but awesome. As far as I know, a few more concert dates were added yesterday. All in all, we’ll be on the road for about nine months.”
“You must have enjoyed your time at home. Or have you already given up your apartments with the gypsy life you lead?”
“I would never do that!” Andrej exclaimed, laughing again. “You need a place to come back to. That’s very important!”
Tristan felt a tugging pain in his chest. He had returned once after the tour, when everything had been normal, and a second time just two days ago.
He hadn’t lasted three hours in his apartment and had finally sat down on Leaf’s balcony.
As distant as their relationship was at the moment, Leaf was his home—the only thing he had left.
“Tristan?”
“What?” Tristan glanced up, first at Clint, then at Andrej. He had drifted off in his thoughts, didn’t know for how long, and didn’t know what he had just missed.
“The ‘City Song,’” Clint said. “Can you tell us more about how that came about?”
Tristan cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. The fact that “City Song” was so popular surprised him, as it hadn’t even been planned as a single. Maybe they should reconsider releasing it. “That was, um, more of an accident.”
Clint chuckled, and Andrej smiled as he sipped his beer.
After discussing the first single, “Silverlights” and their first big hit, “Acid,” which they had gained worldwide fame, Clint reached for the headphones again and held one cup to his ear.
“And in case you out there have forgotten how cool ‘Acid’ is, then listen up carefully now. We’ll be right back. And then we’ll talk about tour life, more music, and family. Plus, you still have the chance to win three tickets to the concert on Saturday at the Whisky! So stay tuned!”
Family?
Tristan was glad he wore sunglasses as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the radio host. A quick glance at Andrej told him that he was also becoming suspicious.
When Carol finally arrived at the interview, Tristan felt a weight lift off his chest. Not that he completely trusted Carol, but he felt a little too outnumbered when faced with four radio people.