Lonely People

To Record

Recording, as I have learned, is not that bad. It gives you a chance to experiment with new sounds and new techniques that you can't do on the stage. You don't have the rush of adrenaline you get during a live performance or the excitement of the crowd. The studio was quiet; it was sort of like a break from the rush of live performances.

That studio was anything but. I had only ever recorded once before, and that was an in and out thing. The Quarrymen all went in, recorded two songs in an hour, and left just as quickly as we had arrived. There was no stress, nobody breathing down your necks, and no sexist producers criticizing everything you do.

"Terrible, absolutely horrendous, do it again," Markus' voice filled the studio.

I clenched my drumsticks so tightly; my fingers began to turn white. We had been playing the same song over and over again for the past five hours, all because we couldn't satisfy the big man in charge. The day before, we had played for six hours straight. After the big argument with Markus Beckham, I could barely hold a drumstick let alone play, but I managed.

Molly and Janice looked like they were about to drop. Janice's legs trembled to the point where she had to sit down to avoid a mouthful of carpet. Molly kept taking deep breaths in order to calm herself.

My hands felt like they were going to fall off. All of this drumming was beginning to eat away at me. I already had to take a break to wrap gauze around two of my fingers in order to stop the bleeding. My new drumsticks had been christened with dark red stains.

"It was our best performance yet!" I argued.

"It was terrible," Markus replied, "Too many drums, not enough bass, and the blonde's voice sounds worse than me grandmother's."

"Alright, that's it, I'm coming up there and-"

Ellen gently pushed my shoulders, "Amelia, it's alright. I'll handle this one."

She smiled at me. I took a deep breath, allowing my anger to exit through exhaling. Ellen left me at the drum stand and made her way into the production room.

"Don't listen to him," I came up behind Molly and placed a hand on her shoulder, "You're the best bloody singer in all of England."

Molly smiled, "Nah, any ole singer could do better than me."

"Molly, don't make me shower you with compliments, cause I will."

Molly chuckled. Janice leaned around me to smile up at her, "Melly's right, you're a beautiful singer."

"Ole Markus just doesn't know how to spot true talent," I stated, "One day, we'll be famous, and he'll regret it."

"He'll never stop kicking himself in the arse," Molly laughed.

All three of us belted out laughing. I could just imagine it, the beefy Markus Beckham seeing our songs at the top of the charts and screaming like a little girl. He would never be able to sign anyone else ever again. That, I would make sure of.

"Alright, girls, we're going to use that take," Ellen came back out of the production room, "Onto the next song."

We had only recorded one song in two days. Markus was as strict as a drill sergeant with no mercy. I knew he would never be this hard on a male band, but we were girls, and that meant he would never let up on us.

I sat back at the drum stand and picked up the sticks. My drum kit was tucked away in a corner, surrounded by muffling plywood. A microphone was provided to pick up the sounds of my drumming, and I was given headphones to better hear Molly and Janice. They were nearly on the complete opposite of the room. I was hidden from the view of Markus and his team, but they were perfectly in view.