Band On The Run

Red Heart

“Thank god!” exclaimed a faceless woman, “It's two minutes until the show starts!”

“Then I better get on, right?” I replied, walking past her onto the stage.

My back up band was already waiting, as they always were. Their instruments were set up, the chords carefully smoothed out of the way of any stray feet as the both the lead guitarist and bassist huddled about the drum kit.

“Decided to join us finally?” asked John grumpily.

Not fazed by the surliness, I slipped the plain guitar strap over my shoulders. I'd long dealt with John, for my first tour and then the past three. He wasn't about to change.

“I'm here, aren't I?” I answered vaguely, plucking a few testing chords on the maple Stratocaster, finding it tuned already. Stepping up to the microphone, I fidgeted with the bottom of the black Ramones tank top absentmindedly, it went well with the ripped up jeans and boots, very punk rock all in all. Sometimes television producers did get it right, but I maintain that it was rare.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in, just letting myself feel the smooth body of the guitar beneath one hand and the strings beneath my heavily calloused fingers, knowing the microphone was just in front of my mouth. Yes, this was simple. Music.

Slowly opening my eyelids again, I took in the curtain that was in front of us, although that didn't stop the chatter of the crowd on the opposite side. I could imagine just what the crowd looked like, I'd seen them screaming and jumping up and down in their seats the times I'd preformed here before. Although the second time I'd been on the stage the crowd had been in a grip of mania I'd never seen before, but that wasn't a time I was excited to think about.

“You guys ready for this?” I asked, turning around to the backup band I'd pieced together over the past three years.

John stared at me glumly. If it wasn't for his skill on the guitar, although I'd never call him brilliant, I'd played with brilliance before and he wasn't it, the man would have been gone a long time ago. My cheerfull drummer sent me a smile, while my bassist, Fiona, just nodded.

“Well, I guess so,” I muttered, looking back to the curtain.

Almost immediately, I heard the sound of Peter Thompson's deep and booming voice on the other side of the solid curtain. He'd been the voice of music with his own television show for a long time; it was when you were offered a slot during his show that you knew you'd made it. But it had been a long time since I'd felt the excitement when my manager had gotten me on the show the first time, I could still remember the giddiness that had welled in my stomach, but it felt like centuries ago.

“And now, breaking records wherever she goes is one of the nicest musicians I've ever had the pleasure of meeting time and time again, Keely Staub!”

At the sound of my name, the thick curtains pulled back, but at the sight and roar of the crowd I didn't feel the jolt in my stomach, I almost missed that. Not saying a word, I simply listened as John started the song off with the guitar rift.

Taking in a deep breath, I stepped forward to the mic, putting one hand around it as the other gripped the guitar neck, pulling it to the side as I began to sing.

It was a song that we’d been playing together every night for god knows how long anymore. It all felt like a confusion of venues, shifting through my head. But I honestly did know the length we’d been on tour, John kept me well informed. Twenty months, although this leg of the tour had been going for about half of that.

Even if I no longer got that jolt of nerves in my stomach when I saw the small crowd of a couple hundred that packed into the theatre, music still had the same effect. Almost a drug that took up all my senses at once, music would forever a saviour if I needed it. There was nothing else I could give myself to so completely, at least not in front of a crowd, when I played, I gave my heart and soul away whether I liked it or not.