Chapter Thirteen
RAVEN
I STAND in the center of the venue space, arms folded and eyes closed, listening as the last note of the song the Nightshades are playing dissolves into a haze of uncertainty.
“Okay,” I finally manage. “That was…”
“Iffy,” Zeke offers.
“Yeah. What’s going on?” I ask them all, “Yesterday you all seemed tight. Imperfect but solid nonetheless.”
“We are all a bit more familiar with the set-list from yesterday,” Octavia says. “It’s been a while since we’ve played together. Some of these songs are practically new.”
I nod along.
“Okay,” I say, “so starting tomorrow, everyone brings music, so it’s sitting in front of you.”
“Like sheet music?” Knox asks.
“It doesn’t need to be a notated score. It can be lyrics. Rhythm sheets or chord charts…something you can reference.”
“That’s gonna slow things down, don’t you think?” Knox says, leaning back thoughtfully, “Some of us haven’t looked at sheet music in years.”
“Yeah,” Zeke adds, “I’ve kind of always just learned by ear. I don’t really read it well.”
I nod, acknowledging their positions. But I’m not backing down from mine either. I have enough experience on the job to know that everyone eventually looks at their music, no matter what genre they are playing or how little they’ve used it before.
“Look, I’m not asking you to sight-read perfectly or suddenly become experts.
But I’d rather you have something than nothing when we need to make changes on the fly.
Future rehearsals will move much faster.
We’re going to tighten transitions and refine details daily.
I’ll have new standards you’ll need to practice outside of the time we have here.
Having sheet music available for yourself is going to set you up for success. That’s always my goal.”
Zeke’s head bounces along to my words as he listens. “So even if it’s messy, even if we don’t really use it…”
“Bring it anyway. Highlight it. Scribble on it. Ignore half of it. But have it here. Because the moment you need it and don’t have it, that’s when it matters most.”
“Okay,” he says. “That makes sense.”
I glance at Knox, expecting him to push back more, but he just nods along. I turn my head at the sound of the back door opening, and I realize I’ve run out of time with the Nightshades. Victor, Davis, and Nat are entering.
“Thanks for your time today, everyone,” I say.
“Please work on the transitions in Slow Motion Sky and Drift. Same time tomorrow, 9:00 am,” I stress the time, glancing at Knox.
I know he’s the only one likely to miss that call time.
Because, of course, he was late again today with another flimsy ass excuse.
Craving another caffeine boost before the Heirs begin their rehearsal, I duck into the small office and pour myself another coffee.
Knowing I am creating a vicious cycle, I nevertheless drink the dark brew in a few delicious gulps.
I glance through my email as I drink, seeing several pressing items that need my attention.
I go to open the first, but the tuning of instruments pulls me back onto the main floor as the Heirs of Dillusion start.
Like yesterday with the Nightshades, I only watch and listen to them, taking notes of areas for improvement that we can discuss in the coming days.
Truthfully, they are tighter than the Nightshades as a band, their rhythm so constant across every song that I would swear they all have metronomes for hearts.
Nat is a solid alto, with her more sultry tones adding a nice layer to their folk and country covers.
Two hours with them come and go. As they are leaving, I remind them that we’ll cover my notes tomorrow morning at the beginning of their rehearsal slot.
The afternoon drags by, filled to the brim with business matters. First, a phone call to the city clerk to check up on the status of our liquor license renewal. Next, reviewing the contracts of several touring artists that will be making a stop at House Band Featuring. And then…and then… and then…
I hardly look up from my computer screen for the rest of the workday.
I’m actually pleased for the distraction when Danica comes in just after five to discuss our promotional plans.
The need for an entirely new sound system has pushed our relaunch date into late July, if we’re lucky.
However, that also allows us to do a proper promotional plan to implement over the next month.
“I finally got the cross-posting up and working again,” Danica says, “So now you only need to be logged into one of the accounts, and the post should go to all of them.”
That’s a huge relief. I swear someone is making a new social media app every other Tuesday, and it feels impossible to keep up sometimes.
“Thank you for working on that. How are the metrics looking on engagement in general?”
“Up across the board. With the first month’s worth of headliners set, we’ve been seeing boosts across every platform, most likely from their fans but also from locals who are expressing interest in attending the upcoming shows.
Hen is meeting with an influencer he knows for dinner tonight.
I checked her out. She has almost two hundred thousand followers as a textile artist or something like that, so it could make for an interesting collaboration. ”
“That could make for an interesting collab,” I agree. “I look forward to Hen’s thoughts on what we can do with her.”
“Also, I finally got a hold of the plumber to look at the men’s bathroom on the second floor.”
“All good news. Good call on the Heirs, by the way,” I say. “They are young but have a great firm base. I think they have real potential.”
“I feel the same about the Nightshades.” She pauses in thought. “Yeah, they are a bit messier, but that’s to be expected.”
“Is it?”
“Well, yeah. You know what happened a couple of years ago with them, right?”
I’m unable to stop myself from leaning forward in my chair. “No, what happened?”
“Knox left the band years ago. They were pretty vague about the reasons at the time, but my guess…probably drugs. It’s usually, sadly, drugs with musicians in my experience.
If you check their social media, he disappeared from their page about four years ago.
I’m pretty sure this thing they posted the other day is the first time I’ve seen him on their official page as far back as you can scroll. ”
Danica holds her phone out for me to see the screen.
The video is muted, but I see Octavia’s mouth moving as she sits between the other members of the Nightshades.
Knox looks less relaxed than I’m used to seeing him.
He keeps playing with his right shirt sleeve, pulling my focus to his three-quarter sleeve tattoo on his right arm every few seconds.
My eyes begin narrowing in on his arms, my brain wanting to focus not only on the details of the tattoo but on the strength that clearly lay dormant in those muscles at the moment.
Nope, stop that.
Instead, I read the caption and see that it’s indeed a special announcement video letting fans and casual viewers alike know that Knox is returning to the stage as the frontman.
There seems to be a lot of people flooding the comments, showing a lot of love for him and excitement for his return.
Most of them are upbeat and encouraging, however, I clock a few that probably need to be scrubbed from their page.
Whoever @ms.gill.pill is should probably consider a career in writing erotica.
The highly sexual nature of the words is not helping me and that commentator is not the only one like that.
That is not how I want to be viewing Knox right now.
“So he really hasn’t played regularly with them in years,” I say aloud, handing Danica her phone back.
His inability to stay in tempo with the rest of the band makes sense. And why his hands seemed to be tired by the end of rehearsal these last two days.
“I don’t think so. Which says a lot about him as a musician. He hasn’t played in years, and he’s still that good,” Danica sounds impressed.
And honestly, I am too. I’m realizing that I’ve only ever heard him play wildly out of practice by most people’s standards. I think it’s time to start listening to the Nightshades backlog of music.
Danica and I finish our mini meeting just as my energy from the last coffee break fades. I consider pushing through another hour or so of work, but my tiredness takes over in the moment. Before I know it, I’m waving goodbye to Danica and getting in my car.
The moment I turn on the car, I’m bombarded by a series of sounds.
The tamed purr of the engine, jazz music spilling from the radio, and an ominous ding, reminding me that my fill tank light has been on since yesterday morning.
The car display insists I can only go six more miles.
My sublet is less than five miles away, but with city traffic, I will probably run the tank dry before I make it.
I want to complain and curse, but instead I just put the car in gear and head towards the exit, looking for the nearest filling station sign.
I wait for the length of the stoplight, watching as fellow cars, pedestrians, and cyclists pass by.
Right before the light turns red, a city bus flies past, leaving a bright yellow streak in my vision and an idea on my mind.
The next morning, I wake feeling energized. One of my favorite parts of my job is working with bands on a granular level to improve their musicianship. My notes are organized, and my mind feels sharp as I walk into House Band Featuring.
I want the Heirs to focus on training their ears.
Their original and cover music suffer from the same problem.
Their chord structure remains too basic.
By practicing unusual interval training, they will be able to grow as artists.
The Nightshades’ focus will be on more deliberate practice.
I know all four of them are superb players as individuals, but their lack of coordination is hurting the overall sound.
Twenty minutes after I arrive, I hear the back door opening, indicating the Nightshades are arriving.
Good, they are early again for their 9:00 am call time. I like early.
Leaving the office to greet them, I see Cash, Octavia, and Zeke all moving across the stage.
“Knox?” I ask them.
“Coming in separate,” Zeke says. “But he was right behind us.”
Turns out right behind us means fifteen minutes late.
I look up at the sound of the front door bursting open.
The entire space is filled with blinding morning light, a shadow creating a break in that brightness before we are all thrown back into the relative darkness.
I don’t even need to look over my shoulder to see who it is.
Knox is breathless, and he enters my line of sight, his hair seemingly still damp from what I can only imagine was a rushed shower.
Some words and general gestures are passed between the Nightshades, and I evaluate the interaction, unable to hear them from where I sit.
None of them seem surprised or even annoyed by his tardiness, a telltale sign that, despite his words to me that first day, lateness is his normal state of being.
This is now the third rehearsal in a row he’s been late to.
I wait until they all settle back into their positions.
Knox approaches the microphone, but I don’t move to turn on the system.
“You’re late. Again.”
“I know, I know. But in my defense, I had to turn around.”
That gets my attention.
“Why?”
Knox shrugs.
“Forgot my lyric sheets.”
A long pause.
I blink at him once. Twice.
A third time.
“What?”
“I was actually on time. But I was halfway here before I realized…”
Another long pause.
“And you turned around?”
I see Octavia and Zeke angle away from Knox, and although I don’t see Cash from this position, I’m betting he is doing the same. Looking anywhere and everywhere that’s not Knox or me.
“You said we always need to have music in front of us.”
“I said that because you keep trying to wing it and half of these songs are new to someone in the group.”
I leave out the second part of my statement and just yell it in my own head.
Someone, meaning you!
Knox smiles. “We’ve always managed to muddle our way through. It’s worked before.”
“Past tense,” I say curtly. “But as long as you’re working for me—”
“Look, I fixed it, okay?” He reaches into his back pocket and holds up the slightly crumpled sheets. “I’ve got them now. No harm. No foul.”
“No foul?” I repeat.
Sweet baby Jesus, give me the strength to not smack this man upside his head.
“Do you know what time it is?”
Knox’s expression shifts, and he drags a hand down his face, losing a few water droplets from his beard. “Five-ish minutes past?” his tone is almost sheepish.
“Fifteen.”
“Okay, fifteen—”
“Zeke, Octavia, and Cash have already been here for twenty minutes,” I point out.
In my book, that doesn’t make him fifteen minutes late, that makes him thirty minutes late. As the frontman and clearly the most out of practice, I expect the most from him, including getting here before his bandmates.
I keep my voice fully under my control to hide my general annoyance with him.
“They are tuned and ready to go. But now we need another ten minutes to get you into the mix. So you are not fifteen minutes late. You have suddenly eaten up a half hour of your own rehearsal time. Because you forgot paper.”
Knox opens his mouth, then closes it again, the action reminding me of a fish.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says.
“I don’t need sorry. I need you here. On time. Prepared.”
I watch him shift his weight. “I am prepared. I just—messed up.”
I lean back a little on my heels, studying him for a moment. He’s got the kicked puppy look down. That contrite expression cools my own agitation after a few more deliberate breaths on my part.
“Fine.”
Knox blinks. “Fine?”
“We’re changing your call time. Starting tomorrow, the Nightshades will rehearse after the Heirs.”
I say it as a statement, looking between the band members. Octavia nods, Zeke shrugs, and Cash is unreadable. Only Knox voices any objections, like he has a leg to stand on here.
“That’s really not necessary.”
“Early morning clearly isn’t working for you,” I cut in before he can keep talking. “You’re either half-awake or missing something essential. Either way, you’re late.”
Knox opens his mouth to speak, but Zeke steps in.
“That would probably work better for us, Ray,” he says firmly. “Thanks for being so considerate.”
From the silent conversation I witness between them, I can tell that Zeke and Knox have known each other for a long time. By the end of their unspoken exchange, Knox looks slightly deflated.
“Later, then,” Knox says.
I smile, satisfied. “Good. Your new call time will be eleven moving forward.”