Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Ray and I both giggle and explain to her that Ven’s air conditioner is underperforming.
We cross town once more, scream-singing Cinder and Cress’s most popular song, Lord of Population, when it plays on the radio.
The three of us make ourselves horse by trying to out-scream-sing each other, only for us all to devolve into cackling when Raven declares herself the winner of the impromptu bad singing competition.
Via follows the sat nav to one of the highest-rated ice cream parlors in the Denver area.
When we arrive, there is a line hanging out the door, which we quickly join.
The smell of sugar and dairy lingers heavily in the cold air as we step into the shop. It’s bright and cheerful inside. The black-and-red hounds tooth fabric covers the tables and the booths.
There doesn’t seem to be a free space to sit, but I turn my focus to the huge menu. I count over 75 different flavors and combinations before I give up reading, distracted by a conversation happening behind us.
“Scott, I think that’s them,” I hear a woman saying quietly.
“No, pretty sure you’re just seeing things.”
“Umm…no,” the woman sounds sure of herself. “Look again.”
The man says something too quietly for me to hear, the employee asking us what we want to order. The three of us put in our orders and step out of line. The next thing I hear from them is the woman saying:
“Oh? Seriously, that’s all you have to say. Oh?”
“Shh…Em,” Scott says instantly.
Intrigued by what’s happening, I look over my shoulder. Two customer groups behind us, a man and a woman, are looking directly at me. When I make eye contact with the woman, she gasps.
“Oh, my God, I knew it.” She leaves the line and comes right up to us. “You’re the Nightshades. We saw you playing just the other night.”
“Yes, we are!” Via says happily. “I hope you enjoyed the show.”
“Oh, my gosh, yes.” Em says, looking between Via and me, “Ya’ll are awesome!” she practically shouts.
I look up to see the man, Scott, covering his face and looking embarrassed.
“This is my brother, Scott,” Em says, waving him over. He looks like he wants to floor to open up and eat him whole, even as he shuffles over to us. “We were there to see Lost Queens, but you were the opener. You were great!”
“Emily,” Scott groans as her volume increases. Now half of the other customers are watching as well. I swear I even see a few people pull out their phones and take pictures. “Volume.”
She doesn’t seem to hear him as she continues, “I’ve been catching up on the rest of your music since the show. My brother’s trying to act normal, but he’s a huge fan now too.”
“Yeah?” Raven prompts, looking at Scott.
“Yeah,” Scott says, looking down at his shoes for a moment before looking back up. “Your third album specifically…just wow. It’s really hard to pick a favorite song from that one.”
“Thanks,” I say, turning fully towards the duo now. I remind myself what this is all about. Making good connections and creating lifelong devotees.
“We had a great time recording that one,” I tell Scott and Emily.
My comment spurs a flood of questions from her specifically.
Thank God, Via is here. She’s a total natural when it comes to fan relations, with her easy, efficient manner obvious.
I always feel like I’m just faking it. She makes sure that they are both following us across all our socials.
She takes several pictures with them and a handful of other patrons who seem interested in our minor/local celebrity status.
Via even offers to sign a few items they pass to us.
As we leave the shop and return to the van with our ice cream, both Via and Venny are beaming.
They chatter excitedly about adding those photos to a growing reel of content the Nightshades can use to boost our online presence.
Something tells me that with those two working together, there is a lot more music-making in my future.
“Now those are the kinds of interactions I live for,” Via says to Raven.
She and Venny slip onto the back seats of the van, making me chauffeur them both.
“In-person, face-to-face interactions. Social media interactions can get so weird so fast. It’s like people forget that we are people.”
“If you’re referring to that long ass thread that bozo posted yesterday…” I begin, turning the engine on and putting the vehicle in drive.
“Oh, course I’m talking about that,” Via says, tone annoyed.
“What happened?” Raven asks.
“I’ve been trying to be really on top of our main pages. Liking comments, short replies, just the basics, you know, so they know we’re paying attention. Anyways, I mistakenly scheduled a recent post for 3 am instead of 3 pm, so I obviously wasn’t replying to anyone.”
“Cause no one is replying to comments at 3 am,” Ven offers.
“Yeah. So I woke up yesterday morning to the comment section, my personal DMs, and our other platforms all flooded asking what the delay in responding to them was.”
Via is sugar-coating it. Whoever was on the other end of those messages sent over 30 of them across four different platforms. The tone read like deep agitation from the start, but by the last messages there was clear anger involved.
And the vibe and focus were so off. They threw a lot of nonsense out there, but the messages that really stood out to me were the commenter’s accusation that Via was trying to ruin my career specifically by ignoring DMs.
Fans like ME are the LIFEBLOOD for Knox and the Nightshades. Knox needs to get a new lead guitarist. Nightshades were better as a trio.
Shit like that.
Reading them left a literal bad taste in my mouth, almost like the words carried an untraceable tonal pitch that my synesthesia somehow picks up on.
I shake my head. That’s the part of a journey like this that no one tells you about.
Most fans are some of the most wonderful people I have ever met.
Connecting with others over music is one of my favorite things to do.
Many of those music lovers are deeply kind, curious, and thoughtful.
But there is always that tiny percentage…
“Then to add insult to injury, in the afternoon this person tags the whole band in the longest complaint letter I have ever seen. Seriously, it’s like 12 pages long, and the font is really tiny.”
“People are fucking strange,” Raven says.
“They say they support you, will buy your albums, come to your gigs, sing along to your music and smile to your face. And then when you happen to show up as a real person, hit AM instead of PM, they get angry and try to blast you on social media. They think spending money should give them total access. I hope you blocked them.”
“In a heartbeat,” Via responds quickly. “I just wish it wasn’t so easy for people like that to pivot so quickly into another account.
Like I have no doubt that whoever was behind those messages is already following us again under another name.
The only consequence to their behavior was having to make a new account. ”
“Yikes.”
“Social media makes it too easy for the idea of personal boundaries and common decency to fall by the wayside,” I say, glancing at the two of them in the rear view mirror.
“Have you considered getting a social media manager?” Ven asks after a moment.
“I’ve worked with lots of up-and-coming bands that make that decision as they become more popular.
I could send you some names of agents I know.
Most of them are based in California, but they work with people all over the world.
It doesn’t stop those people and messages, but it adds a buffer between you and them. ”
“Yeah, that’s something to consider. But for now that block button is going to be getting a workout.”
Via laughs.
Venny joins in with her, the sound lightening the mood.