19. Gerard #2
“After we listened to your debut last night, it made me want to read more of that book.” His sleeve made a droopy arrow in the direction of the music and physiology book that lay open on the counter.
Gerard had mistaken it for a recipe book.
“While the cookies baked, I kept learning more about how the body reacts to music. Studying physiology and pharmacology, I got a three-sixty view of how the bodily systems worked and how various drugs could aid biological processes, but the more I learn how music works, the more it reminds me of a drug—specifically, a therapeutic.”
“Why do you say that?” Gerard asked, happily falling into a pattern they’d developed.
Every time Emory talked science, Gerard sat up straighter and scooted a little closer to the front of his seat as if he were preparing to take notes.
In some ways, he missed being a student.
Since he knew his mind better, he could’ve asked for proper accommodations.
“Music can counteract the release of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline and even lower your heart rate and blood pressure. Of course, I was aware of music therapy, but I never gave it much credence, especially when it came to pain management,” Emory said.
“Therapeutics are of extreme interest to me. I think my serum could be one if I learn how to properly flush it from the body when needed.”
After they both ate dinner, Gerard set the iPod to play Overload, and Emory cleared off a spot on the coffee table for a plate of his cookies.
Even though he was stuffed from dinner, Gerard couldn’t stop himself from snagging one and taking a big bite.
The cookies tasted like leaves crunching underfoot, crisp mornings, and a soft, knitted scarf tied twice around his neck.
So much pleasure wisped over him that he grabbed a second before he’d even finished his first.
“Perfect example! Take chocolate—it has biologically active phenolic compounds, which have been used in medicines to treat disease. Other than tasting good, it’s been studied for helping cholesterol, cognitive function, and cardiovascular problems. You are physically putting that into your body,” Emory explained.
“Music is what—vibrations? Our ears are taking in sound waves and translating them by sending the electrical signals to our brains. It feels too simple.”
“Sometimes simple is effective,” Gerard said as the opening track to Overload filled the room.
Crowded dance floors, world tours,
Bass so good it shakes the floors,
Naaaaaaa na-na, naaaaaaa na-na.
LA? Okay!
Cruising down the PCH
Naaaaaaa na-na, naaaaaaa na-na.
That statement sure accounted for this song.
The lyrics were vapid, and the melody was extremely simple, but somehow the earworm worked, wriggling into the minds of millions of listeners across the world until that summer you couldn’t go to a pharmacy or a retail store without hearing it numerous times.
“I can see why you called this album Overload,” Emory said before licking wayward chocolate off his fingers. It was odd to see food mess but not the hand to which it clung. “It’s like the first album but with every element turned up to a ten.”
Emory was right. There was more production, more dance elements, more … everything. It was a maximalist album that took off on social media from the moment the first single and accompanying music video dropped.
As the song continued, unchallenging and a little long, given its lack of a message, Gerard got sucked into memories of brown eyes, black hair, bright lights, and tangled bedsheets.
“Where did you just go?” Emory asked. By the time Gerard resurfaced, the second track was already at its bridge.
“Nowhere. Just spaced out,” Gerard said.
If he could’ve seen Emory at that moment, he was certain he was making a quizzical expression. “I know spaced out. That wasn’t spaced out. Did the song bring up a memory?” Emory asked.
Of course it did. Being a recording artist was like capturing your memories in zoo cages and poking at them now and again to be sure they were still alive.
“LA? Okay!” unearthed a memory that was hell-bent and hungry.
The only way to quiet its ferocious roar was to throw it a slab of raw meat and hope it settled itself.
“I never told anyone this, I didn’t even write his name in my journal, but I met someone on the set of the music video for that first song,” he said, worried he might regret this later.
He and Emory had been getting closer, but at some point, he was going to be pulled back to his old life, the kind of life where information like this sold to gossip rags for pretty pennies.
Was he unburdening himself to a friend, or handing a stranger the ammunition to implode his life?
That night, he decided he didn’t care either way.
“His name was Toby Stark. He was one of the background dancers in the video. The conceit for the shoot was that we were stuck in gridlock traffic on our way to a headlining show in LA. Our song came on the radio, so we went live on social media to our fans, which gave us the idea to climb on top of the tour bus where there are inexplicably instruments and microphones waiting for us. People got out of their cars and danced around the bus. It was a big production, it took all day, and it was hot as hell. The director was snippy with us, and the choreographer kept getting in my face about me forgetting the steps. We weren’t a boy band.
I mean, we were boys in a band literally, but we weren’t trained dancers.
” Gerard breathed out an iota of irritation so he could continue speaking without tripping over his words.
“Anyway, Toby was nice to me. Between takes, he went over my steps with me, and he complimented how I sounded on the recording. I honestly couldn’t tell he was flirting with me.
I’m so bad at recognizing that stuff. Since the music video doubled as our world-tour announcement, we hired a lot of those dancers from the video to come on the road with us.
Toby and I kept in touch via DMs, then when rehearsals for tour started, it was like reconnecting with an old friend, and that’s what I told everyone we were, even when he surprised me by asking to be more. ”
“You didn’t tell anyone in your family?” Emory asked.
“By that point, we were somewhere in Canada in the middle of our first headlining tour. My dad only wanted to talk business, and my mom was flying back and forth from tour stop to home to help my grandparents move into a fancy retirement community. I saw my brothers more onstage than I did off,” he explained, wondering how he hadn’t run away from it all sooner.
He’d felt so trapped. “When the tour ended, Toby wanted us to make our relationship public, so we didn’t have to sneak around.
The tour was a really great cover for why we were seen leaving the gym together and going into the same hotels, but after …
I guess some decisions make themselves.”
The album played on in the background. Overload went on to be certified platinum, but it sounded like rusted metal being scraped against asphalt that night. Every note, every guitar lick, every riff was chill inducing, in a bad way.
“I was so tired after that tour,” Gerard added. “Not just physically, but mentally tired. Assistants would have to do six, ten, twelve wake-up calls to make sure I was at the photo shoot or the studio on time.”
“You didn’t get a break after that one, either?” Emory asked.