Mayhem's Beginning (Everybody Changes)

Chapter 18: The Juilliard School

It was obvious I walked in right in the middle of their practice session, which would explain why the song was so overpowering. Everything was working perfectly together, almost like the gears of a grandfather clock. Everything moved so effortlessly, so on time, articulated flawlessly, I would have guessed this was a recording and not a live song.

A director stood at the front of the ensemble. He was at least fifty years old, not skinny, but not obsessively overweight, bald, and African-American. He was smiling at the group, a gesture that showed he was impressed with their work. When the song finished, the whole band put the instruments at their side. The chatter of a mouse could have been heard in such silence.

“Johnny, that drum beat you were playing, it sounds off.” He spoke loudly, stern and serious, but yet forgiving at the same time.

“What should I do about it, Mr. B?” The drummer at the back of the ensemble said.

“Try adding a bass hit on the and-uhs.” Mr. Bon started clapping a four-four time as he spoke out loud. “One-e-and-uh two-e-and-uh three-e-and-uh four-e-and-uh” The drummer joined in after a few times of listening to the human metronome. “Perfect, do that every time! And oh yeah, get on those fills, man! You're sounding a bit square in some parts. You can't have a jazzy sound without adding the jazz.” He turned to one of the saxophone players.

“Susy, you're not playing with your best sound. Let me hear that C note.” One of the saxophone players blew into the reed, looking up at the man in search of approval. “No, no, no! That's too flat! Mark, give me a C.” The bass player struck a low note. “No, not that C. Go an octave higher.” The bass player struck the same note, just twelve frets up. “Okay Susy, match that.” In seconds Mark and Susy played identical notes. “Good, good! Anything else you guys think we should change?” Susy raised her hand. “Yes, Susy?”

“I think you have a visitor.” She said pointing to me. He turned around as he laid his eyes on me. His face lit up like a candle, his white teeth flashing in the light of the room.

“Mr. Mayhem! I'm so glad you could make it!” He approached me and help out his hand. “I'm Mr. Bon, the Juilliard Jazz Ensemble director.” I took his hand and shook it firmly.

“Really? I thought you were the janitor.” We both laughed at that comment. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Bon. It's been a dream of mine to perform with this ensemble for quite some time now.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed slightly.

“Well alright then.” He flashed his teeth again. “Go ahead and take a seat next to Susy.” He pointed at the woman he had been talking to. “I'll get you a sheet in just a second.” I nodded at him and sat next to the girl. She turned towards me, offered her hand, and I took it. Well, it looks like lots of people are welcoming me today.

“I saw your video.” She said. “It was quite the show. How long have you been playing saxophone?”

“Four or five years.” She scoffed at the answer.

“You're kidding right?”

“No.” Her eyes lit up, realizing what she just said must have came off quite rude.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean--”

“Don't worry! I get remarks like that all the time. It's fine.” I grinned at her. She returned the gesture as Mr. Bon handed me a piece of paper.

“Well, lets get started!” Mr. Bon called as I pulled out my saxophone. “A-one, a-two, a-one-two-three-four.” The band began then, and we ran through the chart several times. It was a lovely ear candy and from my perspective I wouldn't have changed a thing. But I noticed a displeasing look on Mr. Bon's face, as if he wasn't happy with the product at all. I was confused, for I thought the band was playing just fine.

“There's something missing.” Mr. Bon finally announced after about the seventh time of running through the chart. “There is definitely a part missing. Are one of you not playing?” He analyzed the entire band. “Maybe I forgot to pass out one of the parts.” He began ransacking the countless papers he had on his stand. After a few moments a single sheet fell on the floor, but Mr. Bon did not notice it. I set my saxophone down, walked to him, bent down, and ran my eyes across it.

“Choral” was written at the top.

“Well I know what we're missing.” I exclaimed, handing Mr. Bon the music.

“Crap!” Mr. Bon shouted. “How did I not see this before? How could I be so foolish? A singer? Where am I going to find one of those?”

“It's fine, Mr. B.” Mark said. “We can get one of the choir members to do it.”

“No we can't! They have a concert coming up. They are going to be too busy with that to put all their talents forth this band.” He explained. “Where am I going to find someone last second like this?”

I had an idea. One that was just crazy enough to work. There was only one person that came to mind every time I heard the word “Choir.”

“I think I may have someone.”