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The Concert |
| Written by David Wasmuth | |
| Thursday, 10 May 2007 | |
It had been two years since we played in our hometown of Spokane; two years since Brad, our drummer, died on stage here. We needed time for the publicity and the rumours to die down. It's good to be home. We passed the opening band and exchanged nods. They’re some local band. I can’t remember their name. “Flesh” something I think. It’s obvious by their sound that they’re just starting out. Every band has potential though. When we first started out I never thought we’d go this far. I’m the lead singer and I write most of the lyrics. I’ve found that the secret to popular song writing is to be as vague as possible. It gives the audience something to think about; if they're paying attention, that is. Also, that way they don’t realize how self-gratifying the songs really are. Instead it just comes off as being pretentious, which I can live with. The lights went out on the stage; our cue to go on. The stage crew had already swapped the opening band’s instruments for ours. I still remember what a chore it was to track down a sound system let alone set up instruments by ourselves. John and Steve don’t even have to tune their own guitars anymore. Steve still does anyways and never lets his bass guitar out of his sight. John and Steve are twin brothers and in school they were the troublemakers. The school had to separate them but the only way to tell if they were in their respective classes was to check their mouths. Back then John had braces so there were many meetings in the hallways of the school where teachers tried to figure out who was who. Now I have to rely on a flaming skull tattoo on Steve's arm to tell them apart. Today, Steve is still the troublemaker he was but John "found God". Steve and I try our best to be supportive but we really don't understand it. I guess when you've done as many drugs as we have sooner or later you're going to start seeing God. The three of us have known each other for a long time now. We’ve jammed together since grade school. John played lead guitar, Steve played bass, and back then I was on drums. We’d find whatever singer was around at the time. If they quit, we’d just rename the band and hire a new singer. Brad joined the band later on after high school. We knew him from school and since I was sick of doing the same patterns all the time I switched to vocals. I didn't like Brad very much from the start. On top of that, he had dated my sister in high school and broke her heart. It was hard to look at him the same after that. Steve and John got along with him though so I left well enough alone. As the four of us found our positions on stage, I turned and saw John miming his opening riff as usual. It doesn’t matter how often we practice, the fear of a slip-up or a wrong chord is still there. Richard, our newest member, waited until we each gave him a nod and began his drum intro on the toms. This was soon followed by long-held high notes on John’s guitar. It’s a pretty typical intro but effective nonetheless. As generic as it sounds, it still gets a roar of recognition from the crowd since it's the opening track off our new album. The more songs we write, the more limited I feel with our options. That seems to be the draw back to most musical genres, including the one we fit into. We’ve been called everything from scream-o to punk-core to nu metal but we try not to buy into those labels. We try to be ourselves with as little outside influence as possible. That’s very hard to do when you’re immersed in this culture all the time. I only hope we’re not part of the movement that's destined to kill hardcore music the way punk was brought up from the underground and burned by the proverbial sunlight of wanna-be punker boy bands. All good things must come to an end though. It was my turn now. I took my cue and screamed... "IT'S GONNA CATCH UP WITH YOUUUUU!" A few people in the crowd chanted along with me while the rest began moshing; a trained, dedicated musician's worst enemy. How do you get people to stop jumping around and running into each other and just listen to the music? It's getting old. "BURY IT, IT'S GONNA CATCH UP WITH YOU! BURY IT, IT'S GONNA CATCH UP WITH YOUUUUU!" I knew it would catch up with me. I just didn't know when. I don't know if it was the LSD or just being back in town again but I had the most vivid flashback while singing that song. I turned around, and sitting at the drums was Brad. We were playing our closing song in this stadium two years ago. Brad was doing his big closing drum solo. We had a pyrotechnics display set up around his drum kit waiting to explode into a fury of fireworks and blasts of flame. At the moment of impact, one of the flame cannons loosened and blasted Brad in the face. He leapt up from the drum set and collapsed in the middle of the stage next to me, his head still on fire. For the first year after this incident, my dreams were haunted by Brad, charred and blazing, running toward me. I thought I was finally freed of that memory. "IT'S GONNA CATCH, GONNA CATCH UP WITH YOU!" I belted out that last line of the opening song and prepared for the onslaught of lyrics that open the second song in our first set. I continued singing and screaming my way through the first set but my mind was playing tricks on me. It was becoming hard to distinguish between past and present. Brad looked up at me through the flames and asked me why he was dying. He didn't have to say the words; I could read it in his eyes. It was very strange that we would have an error with the flame cannon. Desmond, our pyrotechnics supervisor and long time friend, was one of the best in the country at what he did. He had never had a slip up like this before. Desmond lost his pyrotechnics license in Washington for life and was heavily fined because of the incident. Since then he's been the sound operator for another band out of Seattle. I paid off his fine. He was the best friend a guy could have. Two more songs and I could go backstage and take a breather during Richard's drum solo. Brad crawled toward me and grabbed my leg. I dropped the microphone. John and Steve looked over at me, concerned. Luckily, I wasn't due to sing for a few more measures. Why was Brad haunting me? Why after two years did he suddenly show up like this? Was it bad drugs or had his ghost been waiting in this stadium the last two years for my return? I waved at John and Steve to show that I was okay. I needed to keep it together for just a little while longer. Another vivid flashback: This time I was with my sister three years ago at the center she was staying at. She needed to confide in her family with secrets from her past as part of her drug rehabilitation program. Since she wasn't on speaking terms with our parents, she sent for me. She told me about the sexual abuse she had suffered in high school. Before she even told me, I knew it was Brad. From that moment on, I had decided that he needed to die. Steve agreed with me and he and I began talking of ways we could do it. Meanwhile, the tours and recording sessions went on as usual. John and Brad were oblivious to our plans. The first set was finally over. I could take a breather backstage. As I walked off stage, Brad’s flaming head appeared to me again. This time it was on Richard's bass drum, lunging out at me with every pound of the pedal. I knew I needed to talk to someone. When I got backstage, I sat next to Steve who was holding his bass guitar. No one else was in the room so I vented on him. "I think I'm going crazy. These drugs are messing with my brain, man. Brad's haunting me." Steve looked confused but didn't say a word. So I continued. "What if he knows what we did?" Now he looked VERY confused. I looked down at his arm. Where was his tattoo?! Just then, Steve came back from the washroom and took his bass guitar back from his brother who was now starting to piece things together. Just then, a backstage crew member came in and told us it was time to go on. The second set was hard to get through. Brad was everywhere, moshing in the crowd, laughing at me from Steve’s arm, hanging from the lights. Just then I realized why he crawled to me while he was dying. He was trying to tell the world who had murdered him. The last song was almost over. Finally I would be free. I took a look toward the exit. Cops! That bible-thumping ******* already turned me in? I panicked and ran to get offstage. Brad had other plans for me. "Where do you think you're going?" he growled at me from the other exit. I tripped on the microphone cord and landed hard on Richard's drum set. As I lost consciousness, I could hear Brad's fading voice. "Confess to what you did! Confess and you'll be free! IT'S GONNA CATCH UP WITH YOU! HA HA HA!" The next thing I remember is being in a hospital bed. It turned out that the "cops" backstage were actually stadium security guards. A real cop was there to talk to me at my hospital bed though. I confessed to Brad's death but he wouldn't listen. John and Steve had told him about the drugs I had taken so he didn't take anything I said seriously. Even the next day, I went to the local Police Station and they wouldn't listen to my statement. I talked to my agent after leaving there and he told me the only charges I would be facing were for a no-show if I didn't do the second Spokane concert the next day. Steve took me aside when I got back to the hotel. He told me I was going crazy. Any time I mentioned Brad's name he looked confused and changed the subject. I knew from his look that we would never be able to talk about that tragic night again. So now it's the forty-third concert of a never-ending tour. I'm writing this letter backstage as we're preparing to go on. I write it as an explanation and an apology for what has to happen tonight. A crew member has just come in the room to tell us we're on. For the first time ever I don't feel stage-fright. It's show time. Copyright 2007 David Wasmuth {moscomment} |
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| Last Updated ( Tuesday, 15 May 2007 ) |
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