Chapter 7
Angus
I put a lot into my live performances.
From each individual song to my solos to the theatrics I’ve come up with—it’s rarely spontaneous. That’s why we have rehearsals, and why we did so many small shows before the tour, to test out what works.
The decision to play my drums with water washing over both me and the set happened on a whim the first time, but it’s turned into something everyone loves. We’re even planning to use it in the next video.
We’ve had bands refuse to let us open for them because of the mess it makes, but Nobody’s Fool has no issue with it. In fact, they think it’s great. We made sure it wouldn’t be a problem before we signed with Hart Records.
So it’s part of the show now.
It adds a lot of work for the roadies, which I feel bad about, but I take good care of my drum tech. Hell, I take care of all of them, slipping them money whenever I can. They think that it’s a sacrifice I make, because I want them to know how much I appreciate them, and not to let the other guys know so they don’t feel bad.
For the hundredth time, I wonder how long before someone recognizes me and figures out who I am. Well, who I used to be. I’m not August Hollingsworth anymore, I’m just not. My father tries as hard as he can to pull me back into the fold but I keep my distance. Luckily, my paternal grandfather, the family patriarch, thinks what I’m doing is a hoot.
He loves the fact that I’m a musician.
He just thinks that I’ll get bored with it and fall in line soon.
And he’s the only one I don’t want to disappoint.
My father is an asshole.
There’s no way to sugarcoat it.
As successive CEOs of Holland-Burke Pharmaceuticals, he and my grandfather have made billions. My grandfather started the company in the seventies and made a lot of money. My father took over in the nineties and—well, did I mention my dad is an asshole? He tripled and quadrupled the prices, got in bed with a bunch of politicians, and essentially made us stupidly wealthy.
My grandfather sits on the board, but, even though he’s not the jerk my dad is, he likes money and power. So they lord over the company and continue making money, usually at the expense of sick people.
And I hate every minute of it.
That’s why I changed my name.
That’s partly why I joined a band in college.
That’s why I do most of the things I do.
If word got out that I’m the first-born Hollingsworth son, the heir to the family dynasty, it could tank Crimson Edge. Sure, there are people who think my family is awesome, but it’s not the masses. Most people hate pharmaceutical companies and none more than the one my family owns. If all those people decided to boycott the band, we could lose everything we’ve been working for.
It’s complicated, and never more so than tonight, since we’re playing in our hometown.
It’s past time for me to tell them who I am, but at this point, I don’t know how.
“You ready?” Tate comes up behind me just before the show, bouncing on the balls of his feet, nervous energy practically radiating out of him.
“Let’s do it.” I rub my hands together and roll my shoulders.
I love to play, and once I’m out there all the background noise in my head will go away.
I’m always the first one out, checking my set and making sure everything is in position for when the first wave of water comes down. The other guys come out one at a time, with Jonny last, and as soon as he grabs the mic, the water flows down in a rush, I hit the drums, and we go right into the opening number.
It looks wild from the audience, especially the way we have colored lights flooding the stage, and Jonny leans into the excitement. We have to be careful not to let the water go everywhere because of the electricity involved with the amps, the guitars, and so forth, but we’ve got it down to a science now. The crews from both bands are always in the wings, just in case something goes wrong.
There’s plastic beneath me, and a clear polyurethane half-wall set up to keep it from going down to the lower level of the stage since I’m on a raised dais. The water flows into some kind of receptacle Bobby came up with that catches and recycles it, so we’re using the same water the entire show.
It’s a hell of a lot more complicated than it used to be, when I’d just have water bottles next to me and dump them out at strategic points in the show.
On the plus side, being wet keeps me cool, which is nice.
“Minneapolis—did you miss us?” Jonny yells into the mic. “We’re home, motherfuckers!”
The crowd goes wild, the lights come up, and I close my eyes as the water washes over me. Then I hit the bass drum hard and let my sticks do their thing, sending water in every direction.
Everything slips away as our music blasts through the arena.
We start with “Rough Around the Edges” because it’s got a gritty but memorable melody, and the hope is that it’s as popular as “Living on the Edge,” which is the single that features the duet with Lexi.
“Hey, hey, baby, do you like what you see?” Jonny’s leaning forward, wooing the ladies in the front row. “Let me take you for a ride, it’ll be worth the energy…”
By the time we get to the chorus, we’ve reeled them in, and they’re starting to dance.
Don’t tell your mama what we do, no one has to know
We’re dancin’ in the moonlight, finding love in our glow
Ridin’ on the back of my Harley, all the way to town
I’m rough around the edges, but I’ll never let you down.
It’s wild to see them singing along to a brand-new song that most people don’t know yet. Yes, it’s on our album, but we haven’t sold enough copies for the bulk of the crowd—most of whom are here for Nobody’s Fool—to know the words. But by the time we’re halfway through it, they do.
This is what it’s all about.
The energy, the excitement—the power.
When it’s all said and done, that’s what it boils down to.
The power of the music.
And we provide that.
We’re new to the world of rock and roll, at least on a big stage, but we’re already making an impact. That’s what we’ve been working for, and this is what I hope will be the beginning of the culmination of our dreams.
I thump the bass drum a few times, gearing up for my solo. With the rest of the guys off the stage and away from all the electronics, we go full force with the water. I’m really impressed with how Bobby manages to funnel it up, over me, off the stage, and then back for more. He was an engineering major in college, so it makes sense that he ran with it.
It’s the first gig of this tour where we’re doing solos since we can’t do them every night. When a newer band opts for solos it’s always tricky because you don’t know if the audience cares enough about them as a whole to want to hear each member individually.
Apparently, this crowd does.
And this is when I shine—show off a little.
Okay, maybe a lot.
I grew up worshipping the drum gods of rock and roll. Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham, Rush’s Neil Peart, and Motley Crue’s Tommy Lee. I wanted to be them.
And now, I get to pretend I am.
I’ll never say I’m as good as they are, but I’m pretty damn good.
On regular nights, we only have forty minutes, and that’s barely enough time to play the ten songs from our album, but the guys from Nobody’s Fool told us to take an extra fifteen tonight since this is our hometown.
They understand how special that is.
The crowd is quiet as I start out, my feet bumping out a steady rhythm. I have double bass drums, so I use my feet almost as much as my hands.
I add some light taps on the high hat before starting a slow, steady roll on the snare. I keep the pace moderate as I change up the rhythm and then begin to pick up speed. My arms and legs work in tandem and once I find my groove, I just keep going. Faster and harder, droplets of water flying in every direction each time my sticks touch the snare drums.
The audience is starting to get into it, and it feeds me, pushing me to go harder and faster, until my sticks are nothing but a blur. But I don’t need to see—I simply become one with my set.
I’m in the zone, completely focused on my solo, so much so that I barely hear the crowd or notice the phone flashlights that have filled the room.
And I’m still going.
“Minneapolis—can this motherfucker play drums or what?”
Jonny’s voice finally penetrates my musical haze, and I bear down for a few more seconds before I begin to ease off. The applause is deafening, and I reach out a hand to grab the towel Bobby’s holding out.
Fuck, that was intense.
The crowd must think so too because they’re still on their feet, whooping and cheering, calling my name.
“I love you, Angus!” I don’t know who yelled it, but the voice is female so I lift a drumstick to salute her.
Then I settle into a light back beat, giving Mick some rhythm for his bass solo.
I’ll get a little break when Sam does his solo, but I’m on top of the world right now.
It never gets old.
It’s not my first drum solo but it feels different than any I’ve ever done before.
This one rocked an entire arena .
I try not to toot my own horn too much, but I know when magic happens.
And that’s exactly what that was.
Finally, as Sam starts his solo, I leave the stage for a quick break. Bobby is waiting with a towel and a bottle of water, which I chug down in four or five deep gulps.
“Three minutes,” Bobby tells me.
I nod, rubbing the towel over my head and face.
I’m still buzzing with adrenaline from the show, trying to stay in the zone as I wait to go back out there.
In my peripheral vision, I see a pair of long, shapely legs.
Normally, the groupies don’t get back here until after the show.
I lift my head and find Ryleigh watching me intently.
My body reacts like she touched me.
What is it about this woman that twists me up inside?
I’ve never had reactions like this to anyone.
And it’s starting to piss me off.