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Donovan shredded the beginning of the song before trying to return the guitar. Jamie shook her head. “Hell no. Now we’re playing it.” She straddled the railing, and I was pretty sure Noah was going to literally haul her off, but Donovan gave him a mild shake of his head.
He started the song again, and Zane and Oz layered into the song with him. Jamie belted out the lyrics. She was literally a jukebox when it came to guitar solos, but she didn’t always go with the lyrics end. That tended to be Lindsey’s arena. One of the best things about our band was the fact that we loved all sorts of music. Bush was definitely in our wheelhouse. We’d covered their stuff a time or two, but not this song since it didn’t really suit Lindsey’s pipes.
But damn if Jamie didn’t have the guttural Rossdale style. At least for one song. And Donovan’s richie-rich fingers could fucking shred.
Who knew?
The crowd went crazy, and I was fairly sure Lewis would have the pick of the beauties beneath him if he wanted any of them. Not that I’d ever seen him hook up with anyone in all the years I’d been with Ripper. But then again, he was a private dude.
Finally, Lindsey seemed to settle into her groove. She jumped on the keyboard with Teagan, and they did their hand juggling thing on the keys as they created a new layer in a song that had never contained piano. As usual, they were a seamless pair.
Teagan had become an integral part of the band. She could take any song apart and work around extended solos when Jamie had a wild hair. During the rare times Zane decided to walk on the wild side, Teagan’s compositions always kept the rest of the band on track.
She was amazing. But when Lindsey moved in next to her, she almost always stepped back.
I stomped on my kick drum in frustration. My cymbals crashed and the audience lost their mind, completely unaware that I was playing through a haze of anger.
When the song ended, Lewis tried to hand back the guitar, but Jamie shook her head and leaned out over the railing. Noah came forward and grabbed her hair to yank her back.
She shot a look over her shoulder. “If you wanted to pull my hair, all you had to do was ask, Master Sargent.”
The crowd oohed and Lewis stepped aside to give Jamie more room at the railing. “If I’m going to continue to play, I propose some people open their checkbooks—or apps as it were. This isn’t my usual milieu.”
Jamie leaned back on the pillar in the ornate balcony area. “Always with the fancy words, Donovan.” She leaned toward Donovan, silencing her mic.
He didn’t lean in, but his attention was definitely on her. Noah stood sentry behind them, arms crossed and his spine probably ramrod straight.
Jamie leaned back against the pillar again, her leg swinging over the side. “This is going to be so rad.” She glanced across the now doubled crowd as people came from every corner to see this insane collaboration between us and Donovan Lewis, and then she gave Oz a sign.
He hustled to the front of the stage. “Christ, I hate when she changes the setlist.” He swapped out his bass for another one as Zane grabbed his double neck.
Camera phones were out and recording before Oz made it to the microphone. Zane’s acoustic bottom half started the song off with tinny softness, and Donovan came in with his effortlessly smooth style of playing.
Oz’s rich bass of a voice filled the room for the first verse, and then Jamie picked up the next. Her voice was just as rough as Oz’s, but somehow, it was even huskier. A hush went over the audience as the magic of Pearl Jam’s “Black” became an epic moment in an already pretty amazing night.
Donovan was lost in the song, his head back and eyes closed.
Jamie belted out the lyrics as Oz layered his deeper, darker voice with hers.
Teagan and Lindsey played back to back on the two different rigs we had set up. It was an abbreviated version of our stage set-up, but Lindsey still liked to get behind the keys here and there so we always had at least two on stage. Red and gold curls mixed as they played their hearts out. Blending so well but still distinct. Still so them.
Jamie’s voice reached for the rafters as she pulled the notes out of her chest. Growling them with every bit of the grit that Oz matched.
I could barely keep up with the pace of the end of the song. Pianos crashed and the guitars layered one on top of the other until it was just one sonic wall of perfection.
It was like we’d been playing the song for ages and not for the first time on the stage. In rehearsal rooms and on the bus was far different than jumping in and doing a song cold. Especially with a different sound in the mix.
Donovan was a killer player.
The end of the song spun out and instead of Jamie singing the endless oohs that was in the original version, she and Oz both hung back and let the magic of the instrumental end become the showcase.
By the end, all of us were breathing hard, and I could have slid down and curled up on my drum riser. The applause was thunderous, and I knew we’d made a little piece of history here. Not only because Donovan Lewis was one of the richest men in the free world, he was also a phenomenal talent.
I didn’t know if it was the fact that he’d played with us, but we’d all brought out our A-games and gone for playoff-season crazy.
My whole body was slicked with sweat. Oz had lost his shirt in the third verse, and Teagan and Lindsey were laughing as they hugged. Zane was kneeling on the floor, slumped over his double neck.
Then Jamie actually threw herself into Donovan’s arms, wrapping her Amazonian arms and legs around his whole person. Lewis took a step back to catch her, and I caught his rare laugh through her microphone. Finally, Noah plucked her off of Donovan and shoved her behind him.
