Warlord Metal (2 page)

The two men jumped onto the stage. The guitarist began checking over his instrument while the other man rummaged around behind the drum set and pulled out a clipboard. He handed the clipboard out to the first applicant in reach.

"Hi, I'm Tom Middlestead, drummer for Warlord. I want you to go ahead and write your names down and a number we can reach you at. If you have any references, jot them down, too. This is Chris Fleming," he said, indicating the guitarist. "He's the one we need a replacement for. Max Hampton and Lando Atkins, our bassist and other guitarist will be here shortly and we can get underway."

Eventually, the other two band mates arrived from their chores out back. The second guitarist was tall and well muscled with a strong jaw, long brown hair, and a wicked grin. Hampton was short and stocky, his chin sporting a stylish goatee and his head shaved. The two settled down in chairs at the base of the stage with the drummer, Fleming staying onstage under the lights.

One by one, each applicant was called to the stage. Each was required to first do a few samples of different styles of music to show aptitude with metal, funk, and blues. Next in line was a jam session with the guitarist on the stage - Fleming would play a few bars from one of Warlord's songs and the applicant was required to pick it up and go with the flow in keeping with the song. And finally, if any of them had any songs of their own, they were encouraged to play a couple of tunes.

Actually, it was a fairly quick weeding process. One man bowed out even before his name was called, citing a doctor's appointment and maybe next time....? The preppie went soon after. The third to be called appeared quite competent and had definite potential. He was been asked to stick around for a while longer. Numbers four and five were good, but not good enough. One didn't compose and the other wasn't able to pick up the band's tunes. Next came the punk rocker.

Sonny sat at the bar, keeping time on the brass footrest beneath her shoe. She'd already decided that it was going to be either the third one or the last one who got the job. She could tell by the tilt of her brother's head when number three had been playing that he was interested. The blond man on stage appeared to be pretty impressed with him, too. As for the last guy, she was merely giving him the benefit of the doubt, since she hadn't heard him yet.

As the kid with pink and green hair climbed under the spotlights, she frowned. Her eyes squinted and she scanned the slight form. Her dark eyebrows raised in amazement and she interrupted her friend. "That's a girl!"

"What?" Rita turned her head and looked up on the stage. "No way!"

"Yes, it is! The hips are too wide. See?" The dark teenager watched in fascination.

Middlestead looked back down to the clipboard. "Jordan Smith?" he repeated. He looked back at the young woman on the stage, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, that's me." The hair was shoulder length with stripings of the aforementioned colors. It was messily parted in the middle with long bangs hanging into the eyes. Near the scalp was a reddish gold hue where the dye job had been growing out. The apparition was clothed in baggy black trousers and a black, sleeveless "Pantera" t-shirt, the combat boots dyed a rich green. She hefted a beat up guitar, plugging it into the system.

The drummer glanced at his companions. Atkins shrugged and leered at him. The bassist scratched at his goatee. Fleming, on stage with the newcomer, wasn't paying any attention, keeping an eye on the woman.

Middlestead cleared his throat and looked back at her. "You are eighteen, aren't you?" he asked with concern. The last thing the band needed was an underaged member getting into trouble at the bars they played in.

The woman bristled and turned to glare emerald daggers at him. "Yeah. Need to see my ID?"

The dark man pursed his lips and decided to let it drop. Hell, it's not like it's an issue. "No, no problem. Let's go ahead and get started." He gestured for the punk rocker to begin playing. She can probably only play punk and ska, anyway.

Sonny's eyes were riveted to the stage. It wasn't often she was able to see a woman play in the rock genre, though it had gotten more popular over the years. Usually, the women played pop music, not metal.

There was a moment of silence, almost spiritual, from the woman on stage. And then she broke into the strains of Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway to Heaven'. A few moments there and the music melted into an old Muddy Waters tune. From there, it floated on to Black Sabbath, and then Eric Clapton, B. B. King, Van Halen, Pink Floyd, and Hendrix. She spent three to five minutes on each artist, moving effortlessly between them. Her eyes were closed under the spotlight, and she seemed far away. Finally, the music faded.

The teenager found herself standing behind her brother. "Wow," she murmured. She's better than number three was.

The blond man onstage appeared to be very impressed. He nodded grudgingly at the woman and began clapping. She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes as the other people in the room also began to applaud.

Middlestead shook himself from his reverie. He had heard his sister behind him and agreed wholeheartedly. But they weren't finished, yet. "Well, okay, Jordan. That was great," he finally said, as the applause died down. "Are you familiar with any of our songs?"

The Christmas colored hair shook in the negative as she busied herself with her guitar. "Nope. Just what I've heard here."

The drummer nodded at Fleming.

"You know the drill, then," the blond onstage began. "I play a set, you join in."

There was a nod from the woman.

As the music began, Sonny felt something hard against the back of her legs. She looked up to see the owner, Lamont Atkins, smiling at her and holding a chair for her to sit. She grinned in response and settled down to watch. Rita joined her, as well, but she was oblivious, all her attention with the stranger on the stage.

Fleming began a strain familiar to the teenager, one of the more difficult sets that he usually played with the band. He hadn't used it with the other applicants and Sonny felt a stab of anger at the thought he might be setting this woman up for failure by playing something harder. Her feeling dissipated, however, as the woman took up the gauntlet and ran with it, her own instrument providing harmony and counter point to his. There was very little flubbing on her part as she played, interweaving the tune with her own and improvising along the way.

In front of Sonny, the three other band members sat in silence. Finally, Hampton left off scratching at his beard to lean over and mutter, "Her," to the drummer.

Middlestead glanced over in surprise. "Let's just wait until we see if she can compose, too, alright?" he asked in a whisper.

The bassist shrugged nonchalantly and resumed fingering his beard.

With the second part of the audition completed, Atkins finally spoke up. "Not fucking bad, girlfriend," he commended.

Green eyes narrowed in suspicion, searching for sarcasm. Finding none, the determined set of her jaw relaxed a bit. A slight blush pinked her skin. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"You write your own tunes?" Fleming asked from beside her.

"Yeah, I've written a couple."

Middlestead piped up, "Okay. Let's hear one."

There was a slight hesitance from the woman. "I'm not that good a singer," she warned.

"Doesn't matter," the drummer shook his head. "We'd only use you as back up vocals anyway. Lando and Max do most of the leads."

The punk nodded and brushed the bangs from her eyes. A few adjustments to the equipment and she began. It was a simple melody, deep and slow and smooth. Unable to help himself, Fleming listened for a few moments and began an accompaniment.

She's right, Sonny thought. She's not a good singer. At least not metal. The woman on stage was able to hold a tune, but her voice was unusually high-pitched for the genre of music she was playing. The lyrics were what caught people's attention.

"I've been crawling on my belly,

Clearing out what could've been.

I've been wallowing in my own chaotic

And insecure delusions.

I wanna feel the change consume me,

Feel the outside turning in.

I wanna feel the metamorphosis and

Cleansing I've endured within,"

And then the woman's guitar and voice became rougher, gaining an edge that grated on the nerves.

"My shadow.

My shadow.

Change is coming,

Now it's my time."

The teenager watched as the punk on stage broke into a solo, the blond guitarist following her lead and backing her up. Pale blue eyes noticed movement to one side and glanced over to catch the second guitarist's fingers twitching unconsciously as he followed along. She grinned as the woman on stage began singing again, her voice smooth once more but with no less intensity.

"See my shadow changing,

Stretching up and over me.

Soften this old armor.

Hoping I can clear the way

By stepping through my shadow,

Coming out the other side.

Step into the shadow.

Forty six and two are just ahead of me."

And then it was over and quiet filled the room. The young woman returned from her walk on the dark side and began disconnecting her guitar from the equipment. Silence reigned as everyone simply stared at her dumbly.

It's like she's a completely different person when she plays, Sonny observed. Everything just stays bottled up inside and then she explodes. Finally, the dark girl stood up and began clapping, breaking into everyone else's thoughts. "That was great! do you have any more?"

Emerald eyes peered through the spotlights to locate the unfamiliar voice. "Yeah, I've got some."

"She's the one," Atkins murmured to the drummer. The bassist on the other side of Middlestead nodded in agreement. On stage, Fleming was looking pointedly at the rest of his band mates.

The dark man looked around. "Alright then, Jordan. Can you stay a bit longer?"

The punk nodded curtly, red and green hair flopping, before stepping down from the stage and resuming her seat in the corner.

For courtesy's sake, the final applicant was given a shot, though he was nowhere near as talented as the young woman had been. After several minutes of discussion, all the applicants were herded towards the door and sent their way - to include number three.

And Jordan Smith, newest member of Warlord, remained seated in the corner, a black stocking cap on her head and the leather jacket she had donned gleaming in the light from the stage.

Sept 25, 1998

Well, Warlord now has a new guitarist. And it's a girl! Well, no, actually she's a 'woman.' She doesn't look much older than me, though!

I got to see Rita today. She's only four months along, but she's definitely showing! Chris should be out of basic training and AIT before the baby's born. He ships out in two weeks. All the paperwork is signed. Rita's hoping he gets a stateside post first. Otherwise, she won't be able to fly over until after the baby's born and she really wants him to be there for it.

I think I might have talked Tom into letting me take that college course this winter. I guess he's worried that I'll go bananas and freak out or something from all the 'stress' of schoolwork. All I had to do was remind him of his obsession when he was fifteen. Rock and roll... And now look at him! His own band, regular gigs, making enough money to live on even if they haven't hit the big time, yet.

I just want to be a journalist. Nothing exciting. Well, maybe exciting. It'd be pretty cool to be a consultant somewhere like Saudi Arabia or something - all that excitement from war and stuff going on. Or maybe working a crime beat in L.A. or New York.... Have my name right up there with Dan Rather and Walter Cronkite. Yeah, I could dig that!

Oh! And Shelly called tonight. The party she was talking about's gonna be next Friday night. She said that Jay will definitely be there, even if he is a jerk. It's gonna be a little scary, though. There's supposed to be a lot of seniors going, too. Hope us poor lower classmen don't get razzed too much while we're there.

"...and the look on his face! It was priceless!" the blonde girl gushed, snickering. "I told you he was a jerk."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Sonny dug her hands deeper into her jacket pockets against the chill air and continued walking.

It was after eleven at night in downtown Portland. The two teenage girls were walking along the SW 5th Street transit mall, heading for the bus stop that would lead them home. Despite the crisp weather, there were quite a few denizens in the downtown area, people awaiting buses or hanging out or just on the move from one place to the next.

The party had been a major mistake. As was often the case with a heavy senior population attending, quite a bit of alcohol had been flowing. Sonny was no stranger to beer and she kept herself limited to one. She was, of course, a minor. And a girl. And a lower classmen, at that. As it turned out, her level headedness had been an asset.

The boy she had been lusting after ever since she'd seen him on the track team the previous year had been there. And he had shown interest in her despite the fact he was a popular young man and could have any girl he wanted. Sonny could hardly believe her luck.

Eventually, the couple had made it out to the deck in the back. They were as alone as they were going to get, what with a hundred teenagers crammed into a three bedroom townhouse and adjacent yards. He had made a pass, Sonny had caught it. There were tentative kisses which escalated towards more heated exchanges. It was oh-so-romantic.

Until the young man had attached one hand rather blatantly to her breast, his lips on her throat and moving slowly southward. She demurred. There were people present and, besides, she wasn't about to do this without getting to know him better. He pushed the issue, insistent, not letting up.