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The crowd, therefore, was a mish-mash of generations and styles. Watching from the side as the technicians set up, I saw the kinds of old-school rockers that frequented the dingy rock bar that was my regular haunt, as well as very cool looking Gen-Z kids in revived 90’s grunge aesthetic. I saw emos, goths, and some normie-looking millennials in t-shirts and jeans.
I looked curiously up at the two private booths, wondering who could be waiting up there. I couldn’t see through the one-way glass, of course – whoever was paying that much money for a booth was rich or famous enough to necessitate some privacy.
I knew that no one had heard from Apollo since issuing the invitation. It didn’t seem his style, either, to attend something like this in person. No, if there was anyone related to Apollo up there, it was likely his cronies.
Even Priscilla, I imagined, wouldn’t dare risk being spotted here. With all the music buffs around, she’d be sure to be recognized if anyone so much as caught a glimpse. And then, her jig – whatever it was – would be up.
I was the only support act tonight, so the pressure was on. For some reason, I wasn’t nervous. I thought I would be, considering how long it had been since I was last involved in anything resembling the music industry, but... no nerves. There were a few excitement butterflies in my stomach, of course, but nothing that threatened a panic attack or tears or anything. Perhaps my hormones had aligned tonight to stabilize me, just in time for my big gig. Or perhaps there had been so much stress and upheaval in the past few months that nothing scared me anymore. I liked to think that was the case.
The stage manager swept past me, informing me I had five minutes until showtime. The crowd could sense the start time nearing, and they were cheering and singing in one big unorganized mass. They were unorganized for now, but music would unite them, at least whenNeedleheadplayed and they could sing along to the songs they knew. They wouldn’t know my songs, but I planned to end on an energetic cover of an Iggy Pop song to get the crowd pumped up for the main event.
It was time. I didn’t check over my appearance again, I had to live in the moment, not worry about what I looked like. The lights across the entire hall went dark and I strode out onto the stage to an uproar of cheers, though no one could see me yet in the pitch darkness. My long black skirt flapped atmospherically around my legs, and the platform boots under my feet gave me a bit of extra height and power. I wore a simple black tank top so I wouldn’t fumble and get my clothes caught in my guitar strap.
I took my place center stage and played a single chord on the electric guitar propped up there, a signal for the technicians at the lights and sound desks to start up. Sylvester had spared no expense on the light show for this event.
Simultaneously, the lights and projections started up, sending glowing green, yellow and blue lights and kaleidoscopic, almost natural, projections across the stage. The colors and ambience matched my music perfectly.
When the cheers died down, I launched straight into my first song. Not super lively, but not so gentle as to be boring, either. The crowd didn’t know it, of course, but they listened appreciatively, and cheered in all the right places.
When the song finished, and the cheers died down, I addressed the audience. You couldn’t go a whole set without speaking, no matter how much I would have liked to. “Hi,Needleheadfans. Do they call you Needleheads?”
The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter. They, amazingly, liked me. I know it wasn’t the same kind of ‘liking’ as when you really knew someone, but I’d somehow expected an underwhelming reaction, or even boos. I’d imagined they would be impatient, waiting for this unknown woman they didn’t know to shut the fuck up and letNeedleheadget on with it. But the crowd were there for the experience, and they were enjoying it. Then, so was I.
My confidence grew and grew as the set continued. Then, when it was time to play my last song, I was almost sad. I didn’t want it to be over. But I was also growing tired. I was ready to pump the rest of the energy I had into my last song, then collapse backstage.
When I started the opening bars of ‘The Passenger’, a song the majority of people in the audience seemed to know, the crowd went fully wild. They were jumping around, screaming, singing along. My performance picked up energy – I was dancing around the front of the stage, holding out the mic for the popular lines. My voice had never sounded better, though perhaps that was the delusion of being on a stage watched by thousands of screaming music fans.
When the song ended, and the crowd finally quietened down, I muttered a goodbye into the mic. “Thank you so much. And thanks to the guys for having me. They’ll be playing next. Seeya.”
Despite the underwhelming farewell, the crowd once more erupted into screams and cheers. The lights went off, I set the guitar back down on the stage, and crept off
Being backstage was... underwhelming. Being suddenly alone after all of that noise. Sylvester and the band were in the next room over, and I didn’t want to interrupt them before the show. I thought I’d wanted to collapse back here. I thought I’d be exhausted, but I was in fact more energized than I’d been in some time.
I left the green room and ran into the band in the hallway. They’d been heading to see me. I was suddenly met with a clumsy and excited hug from all of them.
I laughed and pulled back. “Did I do okay?”
It was Reed who spoke. “Luna, you were the perfect support. They loved it.”
The rest of the band nodded along with him. I met eyes with Sylvester, who was keeping a low profile for obvious reasons – the band were still a little pissy that he’d dropped me from their first tour, and he wasn’t sure if he’d quite made up for it yet. But he gave me a wink, and I returned a smile.
“I’m going out into the crowd, actually, to watch you guys.”
Sylvester grinned. “Nice one. Keep an eye out for Apollo, will you? I don’t expect he’ll be here in person, but stranger things have happened...”
“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye out.”
I walked through the passage of corridors leading from the backstage into the main bar area, then through into the doors at the back of the concert. The place was packed, and there was no way I would get to the front even if I wanted to. But even a few rows in from the back, the atmosphere was great. I’d thrown on a sweater and a hat to try and disguise myself a little bit. Still, a few people spotted me and exclaimed at me: “Hey, you were great!” “I’m gonna have to check out your music. Don’t you have any merch?” “How have I never heard you before? You were great!”
I didn’t really know what to say. I hadn’t brought merch, I didn’t even have an album out. I just had decades of hobby recordings made in my bedroom, with no plans to ever release them.
Luckily, it wasn’t long untilNeedleheadwere due on stage, so the necessitated small talk didn’t become excruciating.
If the crowd had gone wild for me, they became utterly feral when Sylvester stepped out onto the stage, followed by Reed, Pete and Mark.
They played a bunch of their old hits, and then the lighting on the set changed and the band members, except Sylvester, left the stage. Sylvester took to the mic. “The band is just gonna have a breather for a second before we play you our new songs.” A cheer from the crowd prevented him from speaking for a moment; he laughed into the microphone. “In the meantime, I’m going to play a cover for you. It’s actually a cover of a song by our very own Luna Black, who was so gracious as to support us tonight.”
The crowd cheered, remembering my act. That was nice. But wait... Sylvester was going to cover one of my songs? He hadn’t run that past me. Were there some kinds of laws against that? What was he doing?
