Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
The beat of the drums rings out in the amphitheater like a thunderous roar from the skies and fades into something similar to summer rain. The band’s drummer, Blaze, is one of the best in the business. It’s rare for a drummer to create a rollercoaster of emotions in less than ten minutes, but Blaze does that and then some.
The other two members are also brilliant: Mayhem, the keyboardist, the Mozart of rock’n’roll. The man blends electronic, jazz, and classical into a new fusion that’s never been done before. Then there’s Striker, the lead guitarist. That man’s fingers move on the strings like he’s chasing the devil through hell.
The four of them are pure magic, something many record executives try to manufacture but can’t. Recreating a sound as raw and uninhibited as Gutless Void is like searching for a nugget of gold in a rushing river. It springs from pain and passion. You can’t repeat something so primal with a manager and random musicians. The band merges into a musical symphony that bends convention.
“You’re a fan, aren’t you?” Kaye asks, pulling me from the hypnosis of their music.
“Oh, yeah. I still remember the first time I heard ‘Grave of the Undead.’ It was like those lyrics were embedded in my soul. I’m not sure what it is about the band, but they’ve always spoken to me. Well, except for the album Rich Poor Man, I’ve always been a bigger fan of Satan’s and Blaze’s lyrics than Gunner Shaw’s. An opinion many don’t share, but the band’s lyrics are much more visceral without Shaw.”
Kaye chuckles as if she’s in on a secret I’m not privy to. “You’re a real one. You know many compare Satan and Blaze to Lennon and McCartney?”
“No offense to the Beatles, but they’ll never compare to Gutless Void. Lennon and McCartney were brilliant, but I always assumed they were too scared to look within themselves. As well-crafted as their songs were, they lacked a level of pain. And you know what they say: the best songs are written from personal pain. Without it, there’s a lack of invoked emotions.”
I turn away from Kaye, and right there on stage, Blaze is bent over, and Satan is fucking him. “Um, are they doing what I think they’re doing?”
Kaye grabs my shoulder and tries to pull me from the stage. “We’ll meet the guys in the green room.”
But there’s no way I’m missing out on this show. I dig in my heels and force Kaye to push me away. “The show’s just getting good.”
“Remember, the guys have the final say on the interview, and that part cannot be in your article.” Kaye sounds exasperated.
I’m not surprised. Must be a handful dealing with these guys.
***
Two hours in the green room, and not one of the band members has shown up. I stay where I am as the opening band plays, catching up on emails, but as soon as their set ends, I head to the side of the stage in time to catch Satan strapping on his guitar.
He turns his head and nods toward me. His eyes are intense and eerily familiar, golden honey like the beam of a lighthouse bringing a sailor safely to shore. He clears his throat, and the crowd goes wild. They chant his name until it echoes through the amphitheater.
Looking directly at me, he says. “Remember when you took the pain away, Billie Goat Gruff?”
He strums the same old beat-up Fender guitar from a time when he only had three adoring fans, burning me with the lyrics of “Disarm” by The Smashing Pumpkins.
My throat dries up, and tears I haven’t cried in eight years spring from my eyes.
Lars.
3
Lars
Cain throws his arms around me as we rush from the stage. The audience still chants our names, clamoring for more.
“Way to go, outing us all,” Cain whispers in my ear.
“She can’t out us. She has an ironclad contract,” I shout over the roar of the crowd as we leave the stage area.
The chatter dies as we open the door to the green room. We haven’t even taken one step inside before the PAs and roadies scurry like rats exposed to light. The only two people who don’t budge are Kaye and Billie.
Kaye glares at me. I’m pretty sure she thinks if she concentrates hard enough, she’ll light me on fire until I disintegrate. Billie stares at a spot on the floor, refusing to look up.
What I did tonight was fucked up. I was shocked that Cain let me fuck him on stage. Usually, we pretend to bang, but something came over me, knowing Billie was there. He said nothing and took it like a champ, but I know I’ll be paying for it later. Cain doesn’t like surprises, but it was worth it to make Billie nervous and unsteady.