Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Vol 4

286 SAD SONGS (SAY SO MUCH)

"Okay. I guess I kind of knew that intellectually but never really had to think about it."

"So if you play through the chord progression, I'll play a solo on top of it. Four beats of each: one one, four one, five, four, one, one. Eight-bar blues." I counted off pretty slow, and strummed through it with him one time.

Then I took off and played whatever came into my head–or my fingers–that went along. Because that's how you do it. Yeah, sure, there's a lot underneath that goes into how you pick what note to play and for how long and how it fits together with what came before it and what comes after it, and how it fits with what chord we're on, but... but there's a level at which all that drops to the background and you have to be just doing it. The guy on the tightrope isn't thinking every minute about how much he weighs and how many feet long the rope is and how many feet it is to the ground.

What I played reminded me a little of the solo from the night before, like there was still an echo of it in my ears.

"Your turn." I switched to playing the chords.

Colin struggled a little the first round through, and every time he got his hands out of synch and had a pluck go wrong, or hit too many strings, he'd say, "sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," I said. "It's not like I'm a football coach and you have to do ten push-ups if you drop the ball. Mistakes are part of it."

"But you don't make mistakes."

"Not technical ones, not anymore. But I used to." A really long time ago. "That's why you practice. You'll get better. But that shouldn't stop you from playing. So quit saying you're sorry. Just play."

"Wait, technical mistakes. What other kind of mistakes are there?"

"Shut up and play, Colin."

He found a couple of riffs that he liked that time through, and tried to repeat them in different ways. It didn't sound great, but it was progress. Then he passed it back to me and I played a bit more, digging into that same vein I had mined in the show last night. Might need to do more with that, I thought. Then I found a way to work in "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and that made him laugh.

When we were done, I noticed a guy with long, black hair sitting in the front row. He didn't move until Colin had taken the guitars into the back. Then he stood and came forward. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing his arms and some tattoos.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"I'm Cain." He leaned on the rail of the security pit, too far away for me to reach out and shake his hand.

"Daron."

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to tell you, last night...? You rock, man."

"Um, thanks."

"Seriously. You shred. You could be doing so much more in a metal band." He shrugged like he was trying not to insult anyone but knew he wasn't succeeding.

"I got a crick in my neck that last time I banged my head," I said, trying to make it a joke, but I didn't really succeed either. "You lead guitar?" I guessed.

"Nope. I'm second bass."

Is that like second fiddle? I wanted to ask, but was pretty sure that would also come out as an insult instead of a joke, so I just nodded. "Kind of interesting arrangement," I said.

"Yeah, Bish wanted it bottom-heavy. Works good." He shrugged again like he didn't want to brag.

I hopped down into the pit. "How long you been with BNC?"

"Just signed, oh, three months? Kinda cool."

"Is Mills your rep?"

"Nah, some guy named Harper. Only met him once."

"Ah." Presumably the managers took care of everything. I was rapidly running out of small talk. "So you guys are from around here?"

"Dallas, myself. But we met at school here, and we've got following here and up there."

"Uh huh." Now I was out of small talk and feeling awkward. Was this the moment I was supposed to invite him back to the bus to smoke a joint or something? "Well, nice talking with you." Oh god, that sounded cornball and condescending.

"Yep. Later." He gave me a little wave and walked away.

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