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“21,” Petra said.
“Any identification?”
“You don’t need to see her ID.”
“It’s probably fine. Theo’s right. I don’t need to see your identification after all,” Charlie said.
I felt like a Jedi pulling off a mind trick, at least until Charlie turned to me in all seriousness.
“She’s your responsibility, Theo.”
“I’ll be on stage or at her table the whole time.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Charlie let Petra through as I ran as fast as I could to the stage door, rapping three times according to our convention.
“Better haul ass, they’re almost done,” one of our roadies said, once he had opened the door.
“Thanks, Yorgie.’
Dashing down the corridor, my gear clattering on the cement floor behind me, I got to the backstage area just in time for the opener to hit their last note. There were zero seconds before I had to go out and set up.
I’d taken the precaution of dressing like a tech, adding a black baseball cap I kept pulled down, so no one would know it was me.
The stage was set in record time, and I was able to go back to the green room to change before my name was called. I’d never started a gig late, let alone cancelled one. And I was glad that today had been no different, despite earlier being afraid that it would be.
My loyalty and devotion to my fans was one of the many reasons for my unusual popularity. No matter who else was playing or how small the crowd, I could look out and see at least fifty shirts with the name of my project on it.
Following in the footsteps of other one-man music projects, I did everything myself, using some pretty clever techniques that allowed me to play live. That was more than could be said for my predecessors, from Burzum to Evilfeast.
I waved to the crowd as I started my set, and they clapped and hollered out their appreciation. I had to admit, the energy was palpable. If I let it go to my head, I could start to feel like a fucking superhero. So, I tried to stay humble as well as staying focused on my act.
One of the main advantages to Dark Wave music was that drum machines, programming and looping were commonplace. Laying a groundwork of industrial bang-and-hiss from the drum machine, I laid in with the synth.
Then, it was time for layer after layer of simulated strings, creating an electro-orchestra from nothing, augmented by a driving bass plod. The looper pedal connected the synth to the amplifier filled almost to capacity.
When the melody was set, I stepped up to the mic and began to speak-sing, which came out as a sound that was somewhere between an introspective poet and a carnival barker, with the occasional Mad Scientist laugh. That was likely what most newcomers might expect from an act called Mad Alchemy.
And I was delivering it just like they liked it.
Chapter Four – Becca
I couldn’t wait to tell Ashe how much I’d liked the album and that I wanted to go to the concert tonight. After all the work I’d put in on beginning to plan the graduation concert, I was so anxious for the fun to start that I couldn’t stand sitting around at home bored.
So, I decided to take a trip to a music memorabilia and record store to buy a shirt to wear to the concert, and then meet up with Ashe at her job.
As I waited for the bus to arrive to take me there, I listened intently to the words of a Loki’s Laugh song in my headphones, or at least those that I could understand.
Time was moving by at an agonizingly slow pace.
The request that I direct the graduation concert had come out of nowhere, like a thunderstorm on a previously clear Sunday morning. It had been decided that the graduating class in my program would go through a series of seminars prior to the final concert, a somewhat cynical bid to try and get their graduation rates up.
Being regarded as one of the toughest programs in the country had its advantages, but it was still best if potential students saw a point in trying— especially in terms of finding employment after graduation.
So, this concert was meant to be a carrot on the end of the considerably sized stick of the program’s graduation rate, which was only an average of ten graduates out of seventy students accepted.
The seminar wound down without me contributing a whole lot, which was something that would no doubt come back to bite me later, at least in the form of a chewing out by the participation-insistent professor. Not everyone had much to say though, particularly if they were already planning out the graduation program, which I was.
Choosing the music selection wasn’t a difficult decision. It made the most sense to end at the beginning with something deep and Germanic. Not Wagner himself, of course— that would be far too common and predictable.
