Rock Star (3 page)
“That was okay,” says Grant. “Seems like you caught on after a while.”
“Yeah, after a while,” says the drummer. He’s a really tall guy, unshaven. He looks about twenty. I can tell he’s not my biggest fan.
The audition lasts an hour. Basically, Grant calls out tunes, the drummer counts in and we blast it out. Or at least, they do. I’m just trying to catch up, like a water-skier trying not to fall.
Then it’s over. Everybody’s packing up. No one says anything to me, so I figure I was pretty horrible and will now slink off in total disgrace. I’m surprised that when I leave, Grant follows me outside.
“We practice once a week. Every Wednesday at four. The band’s called Primal Thunk, by the way.”
“Huh? You mean…I’m in?”
“Oh yeah. Guess so. You’re not the greatest bass player, McCann. But then again, you’re the only one who answered the ad,” says Grant. He’s grinning though.
“Wow. Thanks!”
“But you’re gonna have to grow out your hair. You don’t look metal enough.”
“Okay.”
“And buy some better clothes,” he says. “Jean jacket, or leather or something. You sort of look like a dork in that outfit.”
I don’t even mind that Grant called me a dork, although that’s usually the kind of comment that makes me mad. I’m so happy, I don’t even phone a cab to get home. It’s not that far, anyway. I can walk—you know, burn off my energy. And I have lots of energy now. I’m in a heavy-metal band! Unbelievable. How cool is that? Pri-mal Thunk, Pri-mal Thunk. And on bass…Duncan McCann! Yeah! Welcome to my life as a rock star. I’m grinning from ear to ear, no doubt looking like a total goob as I walk along lugging my bass in one hand and my weeny amp in the other.
At home Dad asks me how it went. I tell him it was good, even give him a hug (he looks surprised), then run upstairs to my room. I get a call from Jason.
“How’d it go?” he says right off.
“Good, man,” I say.
“Well?”
“I’m in the band. It’s called Primal Thunk.”
“Hey, that’s so cool!” Jason says.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe if you guys record your music, we can use it for the movie.”
I don’t say anything for a second. Jason’s talking about this thing we’ve been working on since grade seven. It’s kind of embarrassing. I don’t talk about it. It’s our version of
Raiders of
the Lost Ark
. We’re doing it ourselves, with an old video camera Jason’s mom gave him.
Jason plays Indiana Jones, wearing a fedora hat and all. I play all the other characters because I’m good at doing different voices and stuff. The problem is, we’re three years older now than at the beginning of the movie. So at the start it looks like Harrison Ford’s a little kid. It’s a stupid movie. But Jason’s really stoked on doing it, and I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ve lost interest.
“Duncan?”
“Yeah. I’m still here. I don’t know, Jason. We’ll have to see. I mean, I just joined the band.”
“Sure, sure. No problem. Keep it in mind though.”
After dinner, I pull out a mix
CD
that Grant has given me and shove it in my player. It has all the songs that the band does. About nine in all. The music is pretty hard. It’s so fast, and it changes all the time. After about half an hour, I get discouraged. I unplug my guitar and just lie back on my bed. It’s been a pretty long day. But all in all, one of my better ones, I’ve got to admit.
The next day everything goes wrong. First of all, I’m still ignoring my homework, and I’m catching hell in every one of my classes.
Biology. Forgot to do my homework. Mrs. Meyers bawls me out in front of the whole class. Then math. Pop quiz. I know I blew that one. Then English. Another test that I forgot to study for. Man, I didn’t even read the book it was all about. Probably lost it, in fact.
When I get home, I slam the wooden screen door. All I want to do is go to my room and practice my Primal Thunk tunes. But then Dad calls me.
“Duncan? Can you come in here for a minute?”
So I walk into the living room. Dad’s sitting on the couch with Terry.
“Duncan, I have to run out now. I forgot something at the office. So can you keep Terry company? I should only be an hour.”
Dad leaves. This all seems a little fishy to me. An hour? Jesus. I plop myself into the easy chair across from Terry. What a day. First I’m screwing up at school. Now this.
“So, how were your classes today, Duncan?” says Terry.
“Okay, I guess.”
I don’t feel like talking. Especially to Terry. She’s trying hard, all cheerful, asking about school and what kind of movies I like. I’m giving two-word answers. I’m being kind of a dork, I guess. But why did Dad leave me with his stupid girlfriend anyhow?
The radio’s on in the kitchen. It’s the CBC, which is Dad’s favorite. I never listen to it because it’s so boring. But then this really cool song comes on. There’s no singing or anything. It has this really great keyboard riff. Really grungy sounding. Grinding, you know? And at the end of each riff, an electric guitar snaps, really hard, like a whip.
Terry’s talking about something, but I’m not listening. I’m tuned into that song on the radio.
“That’s ‘Green Onions,’ ” she says.
“What?” I’d almost forgotten about Terry. It was like I was dreaming.
“The song on the radio. That’s what it is.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. I was… distracted.”
“That’s okay,” said Terry. She smiles. “You sure like music a lot, huh?”
“Yeah. I guess. That’s a good song.”
“It’s by Booker T. and the MG’s.”
Man, you could have knocked me over with a PEZ dispenser. I didn’t know Terry knew anything about music. I mean, Dad knows zip. Even Mom didn’t know that much, aside from liking the Beatles. Maybe Terry is cooler than I thought.
“Really?” I say. “That one crunchy riff they play? I really like that.”
“You mean the organ? That’s a Hammond B-3 organ. That’s what Booker T. plays.”
“An organ? You mean like a church organ?”
“Well, yeah. They used them in churches,” says Terry. “But all the old soul bands used Hammond organs too. They’re the best.”
“Sounds great. All raspy.”
“That’s because the organ’s overdriving the speaker. Those speakers have tubes in them. Too much input, and they get that great grinding sound.”
I thought about that for a second.
“Soul music? What’s that?”
“It’s like rhythm-and-blues music,” says Terry. “You know—Otis Redding, James Brown, Aretha Franklin. All soul singers.”
“Soul singers. Hey, how come you know all this stuff?”
Terry laughs. When she smiles, the corners of her eyes go all crinkly.
“My brother, Houston. He’s a professional musician. Or was. He’s a Hammond B-3 player.”
Holy crap. This Terry is way cooler than I thought. The sister of a real musician. How about that? Then she starts asking me about my music, about playing the bass. Unbelievable. Dad never asks me about that stuff. Never. I tell her what kind of music I like and all about the heavy-metal band. I’m talking way more than normal, like I do when I get excited about something. I tell her about walking over to Grant Newson in the cafeteria and the fight. I even told her about Mom and the Beatles records.
Then Terry starts talking about her brother, Houston. He used to be in a lot of soul bands. One of them, The Amazing Rhythm Kings, used to play clubs all the time and even got their music played on the radio. They opened a few times for some big bands at the Royal Theatre, which is a famous theatre in Victoria.
“Hey, maybe I can go see his band sometime?” I say.
“Well…no. He’s not playing in a band anymore,” says Terry.
“How come?”
“Well…Houston has some problems. I think the stress got to him. He used to run everything. You know, booking the band, producing their
CDS
, running the rehearsals, driving the van. It got to be too much.”
Terry looks away for a second. I think maybe she’s choked up or something. But I can’t tell, not knowing her that well. Plus, with older people I never know what’s going on.
“Oh. That’s too bad,” I say.
“Yeah. Well. Maybe you’d like to meet him sometime. Houston would like that.”
That sounded okay. Then something funny happens. It sounds weird, but I suddenly figure Terry is being too friendly or something. Like maybe she’s trying to be my mom. You know, take the place of my mom? Sounds crazy. But that’s what I feel like.
There’s a crunching sound in the driveway. It’s Dad pulling up. Got back early, I guess.
“I better go up and do some homework now,” I say.
“Okay. Bye,” says Terry.
“Yeah.”
I run upstairs and toss my backpack of books into the corner. Bad aim. The bag slams the bottom of my bass, which is leaning in the corner. It falls over with a kind of
ker-plang
noise, like a cartoon. I swear softly and grab my bass. It’s okay. Thank god, because I have no money for repairs. Then I put on the Primal Thunk practice
CD
. I can hear Dad and Terry talking downstairs. I can’t make out the words. It sounds like “Babble, babble, babble.” I turn my bass up a little, not too loud, and play along. It’s starting to sound not too bad, if I do say so myself.
Soon I forget school. And I forget about talking with Terry. The only thing that matters right now—just this second—is hitting the right note. The next note, the one that’s right in front of me.
We’re playing a concert at Victoria High School today. I don’t mean Primal Thunk. I’m talking about the school orchestra with the corny Walt Disney tunes. And, worst of all, we’re playing our so-called rock medley. Ever hear a school orchestra play tunes by ABBA, the Jonas Brothers and Britney Spears? Yeah. Case closed.
But it’s okay. Because Jennifer’s in the school band too.
The concert’s in the school gym. Not that I care that much, because the music is quite lame, but the acoustics are really horrible. Everything echoes. And the kids from Vic High seem kind of bored by the whole thing. Hey, I would be too. They’re sitting in the bleachers, kidding around. Our band teacher, Mr. Craigson, turns around and yells, “Please, would you give us the basic courtesy of keeping your chatter to a dull roar!”
I guess he thought he was being funny and all. It’s weird that adults think they’re being funny or cute, and they’re so obviously not. It’s like they come from a different country or something. The country of the uncool. It’s like my dad, who used to call my skateboard a surfboard.
Anyway, the concert’s finally over. I’m packing up my bass and pulling off my tie. Did I tell you we all have to wear ties and white shirts for the school orchestra shows? Another one of Craigson’s brilliant ideas.
“Hey, Duncan.” I look up. It’s Jennifer.
“Hey,” I say. “How’s it going?”
We joke around a little about the concert and how the Vic High kids seemed bored and all. I’m getting better at feeling relaxed with Jennifer. This is good, because I’m usually not too cool around girls, if you want to know the truth.
“What are you going to do now?” she says.
“Oh, I’ll probably hop the bus.”
“My parents are going to pick me up in half an hour,” Jennifer says. “Hey, do you want to grab a coffee? We could walk over to the coffee shop on the corner.”
Man, does this ever make me happy. Jennifer wants to hang out with me. I’m over the moon. So we walk over. I carry my bass and her clarinet case, even though she says she could manage it herself.
Jennifer’s really easy to talk to. For one thing, she always seems to know the right thing to say. She says my bass playing is good, even though I think she’s just being polite. For one thing, with the school orchestra, it’s so loud it’s almost impossible to hear any one player.
At the coffee shop, which is almost empty, Jennifer orders herbal tea. Jasmine. I have a Coke and tell her all about Primal Thunk. The whole story—even the part about walking over to Grant Newson that day in the cafeteria and getting into that fight. I haven’t seen the guy I got into the scrap with again, by the way. Hope I never do.
I also tell Jennifer how Grant wants me to look more metal. You know, grow my hair and get some new clothes.
“They want you to change how you look to be in the band?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Really? I like the way your hair is now,” she says. “You know, short. Or shortish.”
“Well. It’s all about image, I guess.” I shrug. “You know, if you’re in a metal band you have to look the part.”
“I guess,” says Jennifer. “What do your mom and dad say?”
“My mom isn’t around anymore.”
“Oh. Sorry. Your parents are divorced?”
I didn’t say anything for a second or two. I’m still not that comfortable talking about what happened to Mom.
“My mom passed away a couple of years ago. She had cancer.”
“Oh. Duncan, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well.” I look out the window for a second. I can see a mom yelling at her kid. The kid’s crying. Weird.
“Anyway, my dad probably wouldn’t care that much if I had long hair and stuff. He’s mostly interested in his new girlfriend.”
I tell Jennifer all about Terry. The funny thing, though, is that while I’m talking, I realize I really do like Terry. It’s cool she knows about music. As I talk, I make a mental note to take Terry up on her offer to visit her brother, the musician.
“So you’re gonna buy some clothes? Like, for the band?” Jennifer says after sipping her tea.
“I guess. I don’t know what to get though. I’m not that into fashion.”
“I could help you shop. I love clothes shopping.”
Jennifer looks kind of shy when she says that. Like she isn’t sure how I’m going to react. I know how she feels. I’m always nervous when I ask someone new if they want to do stuff.
“Sure,” I say. “That’d be great.”
She smiles and stands up.
“I better go back to the school. My parents will be there in a few minutes.”
I’m so happy, I feel like hugging Jennifer or something. But I just say goodbye. Then I sit by myself in the coffee shop for a while, drinking my Coke. Another good day. Imagine that.
