Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

           I pulled up and started to chug what was left of my energy drink. On my way to the door, I took a huge gulp of water to wash away the metallic, liquid-candy taste that I loved. Ok, here we go… 
           Inside the store, guitars of all kinds floated along the walls, each one hung from a hook screwed into the bright-lit wall. The light reflecting off each guitar was like looking at a solar eclipse, risking damage to your eyes just to see something beautiful. I was scanning for bright red hair and black clothing, which was like finding Waldo with most of the guitars being of the same colors. 
           I checked in every section—drums, guitars, basses, amps, pianos—but didn’t see her. Perhaps, it was just the bassist coming and I couldn’t recognize him. Or maybe they had forgotten. I decided to stick around for a while in the drumming section, just in case. 
          Time passed by, and after a few minutes of playing it was 4:15pm. I sat up from the electronic drum set and looked for the exit. That’s when two young people walked in, a guy in a pink and yellow Sex Pistols shirt and a girl in all black. I knew it was them. 
           She was shorter than she had looked in her pictures, but was drop-dead, glittering gorgeous. She didn’t have the bright red hair I was looking forward to; it was solid black with bright red bangs. Her eyes were masked by her jet black sunglasses that looked custom-made to fit her petite face. In the pictures, she had looked like she was in her mid-twenties, but in the flesh, she couldn’t be a day over eighteen. 
            I had signaled them over and after introductions—they were Matt and Flash—they told me about what they were looking for and what were some of the styles they preferred. 
            I was cool and calm, but inside my heart was racing, bones were vibrating, and muscles were shaking to go ahead and play, and get this over with. They gave me the go ahead after I had told them to keep in mind my muscles were not used to this drum set I was playing. 
           “Oh yeah, we know. I think everybody we’ve auditioned has said the same thing,” the bassist laughed. 
          “Just give us what you got. Don’t be nervous,” she said. 
          How could I not be nervous? They were supposedly going to be a world-wide touring band. I remembered they had asked if I had a passport when I first talked to them online. This was a serious band they were starting—something I had been wanting since my last band had given up. 
          My last band was a jam-band in high school. We had at least fifty to a hundred people come to every show at what used to be The Vibe on sixth street every Thursday and Saturday night. Until the last show we had played, where someone came to us wanting to sign the band. This was during their Christmas break from college. I had asked them, if we got signed and started recording a record then going on tour, would they take a break from school to do that? They each said no. So that was the last I played with them. I wanted to a band that was just as dedicated as I was. I believe this was another thing that fueled my drinking and drug use. 
            And here it was, the dedicated band I had been looking for who played fast-paced music, not some dancing hippie, jam-band crap. So when they told me to play, I sliced open my chest and gave them my heart. 
           I started off banging on the snare and cymbals, kicking the bass pedal in between to the beat of Rush’s YYZ, but a lot faster and harder. After that introduction I threw in a long drum-fill leading into Rancid’s “Maxwell Murder.” I played that from its beginning to the chorus. That’s when Matt gave a “Hell Yeah, Maxwell!”
           I was surprised he could tell what I was playing. But then again it made sense since he was a bassist and that song was written with a wicked bass solo. After a while I had a bad feeling. I sing a lot in my car and my voice sounds great with the song playing in the background but when the song ends and it’s just me singing, I realize how bad I sound. I was thinking perhaps this might be happening so I switched things around and quit playing songs and went for a straight drum solo, improvising the rest. I threw in everything I had known—sick fills, double-bass pedal metal, catching the cymbals with my hand. After about two or three minutes of playing, I ended it. 
           I was off on a lot of different things. This happens a lot but I just play through. That’s all I can do. Plus my muscles were used to my own drum set, not this electronic padded kit. 
           I was sweating profusely. I had almost lost a drumstick in mid-play because of it. 
          “Alright. That was good. Very nice,” Matt said. 
          Flash stood there with glasses still on and a cute smile on her face. 
          “Will you give us a sec?” Matt asked as they both walked a few feet away. 
          I knew I had failed. There was no way they were going to pick me. I was an alright drummer, but for being in a band with her, a guitar-goddess, I was nothing. I prepared my farewell speech in which I’d say, “Aw, it’s okay. Gave it my best. Good luck with your search, and thanks for letting me try-out.” Then I’d never see them again. 
          They’re tiny huddle didn’t last more than two minutes. I couldn’t tell what Flash was thinking because of her dark sunglasses, nor Matt with his straight face. There were no butterflies in my stomach. I was expecting the worst, like I always do, that way when the truth comes, it doesn’t feel all that bad. 
          “Do you want to be our drummer?”
          They both asked this at the same time. I was stunned. How could they have picked me? I knew I couldn’t have been the best they’d seen. 
           “We heard a few screw-ups but we figured it was the drum set issue. But, you’ve got chops and we like your style. And you seem like a cool dude, so yeah, you’re in.”
           We shook hands. I was beyond excited. They started to tell me all about what they’re trying to do.  
           Flash’s dad had been a bus driver for big acts like Paul McCartney, Madonna, The Backstreet Boys, and a bunch of other big name bands. He had also toured along with the Warped Tour for a few years—so we had connections. That’s where Flash came in. She had been with him the entire time and got to meet and hang out with hundreds of different punk and rock groups. That’s where she became a phenomenal guitarist. She had even played a solo act on the Warped Tour. Plus, she was sponsored by Tregan Guitars that made her those custom-made guitars in all her pictures. Matt would soon be sponsored by Tregan, as well, for, he was also an incredible bassist. 
             My luck had returned to me. I must have been doing something right in life because I could not have been any happier. I invited them over to a barbecue my house was having so they could meet everyone. They came over and fell in love with the house. 
            We had one thing to take care of before we could become rockstars. We needed to find another guitarist.