Brit again. The girl who did what she wanted to. The girl who had a mom and dad who loved her. The girl who had a regular, if slightly eccentric, life. It was like the music healed me, giving me back myself, my confidence, reminding me that the last six months weren’t my real life. Real lifewas something wonderful, and though it seemed far away to me at the time, it still existed. I still existed.
We finished the set and bounded backstage. The crowd was going berserk. “Boy, they’re really digging us,” Denise said.
“They probably don’t get much music out here,” Erik said. I wanted to tell him that that was what Ansley had said to me, but I couldn’t get my mouth to work. The crowd was still clapping, pounding on the tables, chanting “more.”
“I think we have to go back out there,” Jed said.
“What should we play?” Denise asked.
“I dunno,” Jed said. “That was our entire set.”
“I know. You guys go out and play something without me. It’s cool.”
“No. No way,” Jed said. “That chanting out there, it’s for all of us. We’ll just do a cover.”
“Covers are a cop-out.” Clod did covers at practices, for fun, but we never played them at live shows. It was a point of pride with us. “I have an idea,” I said. “Okay guys, listen. It’s a straight G, D, A minor. Ballady. If I start, can you just fall in? It’s pretty basic.”
“G, D, A minor. I can handle that,” Jed said. “Yougot it?” he nodded to Denise.
“And slowish, Erik. I know you like speed but this one’s quiet. Use your brushes.”
“Got it. Mellow.”
I went out on the stage and picked up my guitar. “This song is for my Sisters. And for my band, too. It’s called ‘I Got Your Back.’ Ready, guys?” And then I started strumming, and as always Jed picked up the riff, followed by Denise and Erik, and it was like we all knew the song, like we’d always played it. After I finished, the audience was on its feet, stamping and screaming. We all waved and ran offstage.
“Is it just me, or was that the greatest show?” Denise gushed.
“It wasn’t just you,” Jed said quietly. “This was special.”
Afterward, we loaded up and, just like old times, went to Denny’s and gorged ourselves. I ordered blueberry pancakes, a burger and fries, a shake, and of course endless cups of coffee. Maybe it was the show or my nerves, or maybe Denny’s food tasted unbelievably delicious after six months of Red Rock freeze-dried crap. When the waitress brought out my multiple entrees, everyone laughed, but thenthey seemed concerned.
“They starving you in there?” Denise said.
“Hmm, nrot quwrite,” I said, mouth full.
“This girl always could pack away her body weight in food,” Erik said. “But chill with the coffee or you won’t sleep.”
“I don’t care. We’re not allowed coffee in that place. Can you imagine six months without a cup of coffee?”
“Whoa, they are starving you in there. Isn’t there some human-rights law about denying coffee?” Like most people from Portland, Denise took her caffeine addiction very seriously.
“I wish,” I said.
“So this Denny’s swill must taste like champagne,” Jed said.
“The Dom Perignon of java,” I admitted.
“Life without good coffee. Dude, it makes you appreciate what you’ve got,” Erik said.
“Amen to that,” Jed said, looking at me kind of funny.
As we ate, they caught me up on all the latest news on the Clod-front. After the Indian Summer Festival that I missed, they’d been booked all over Oregon andWashington, in clubs, even in some bigger venues opening for other bands. A couple of indie labels were talking about making a single, or maybe even a whole CD. They kept reassuring me that when I got back, my place was still there, and they weren’t looking for a replacement. “We make a decent trio,” Denise said. “But we’re better as a foursome.”
“Hear, hear,” Erik said, holding up his cup.
Around two, Denise
We finished the set and bounded backstage. The crowd was going berserk. “Boy, they’re really digging us,” Denise said.
“They probably don’t get much music out here,” Erik said. I wanted to tell him that that was what Ansley had said to me, but I couldn’t get my mouth to work. The crowd was still clapping, pounding on the tables, chanting “more.”
“I think we have to go back out there,” Jed said.
“What should we play?” Denise asked.
“I dunno,” Jed said. “That was our entire set.”
“I know. You guys go out and play something without me. It’s cool.”
“No. No way,” Jed said. “That chanting out there, it’s for all of us. We’ll just do a cover.”
“Covers are a cop-out.” Clod did covers at practices, for fun, but we never played them at live shows. It was a point of pride with us. “I have an idea,” I said. “Okay guys, listen. It’s a straight G, D, A minor. Ballady. If I start, can you just fall in? It’s pretty basic.”
“G, D, A minor. I can handle that,” Jed said. “Yougot it?” he nodded to Denise.
“And slowish, Erik. I know you like speed but this one’s quiet. Use your brushes.”
“Got it. Mellow.”
I went out on the stage and picked up my guitar. “This song is for my Sisters. And for my band, too. It’s called ‘I Got Your Back.’ Ready, guys?” And then I started strumming, and as always Jed picked up the riff, followed by Denise and Erik, and it was like we all knew the song, like we’d always played it. After I finished, the audience was on its feet, stamping and screaming. We all waved and ran offstage.
“Is it just me, or was that the greatest show?” Denise gushed.
“It wasn’t just you,” Jed said quietly. “This was special.”
Afterward, we loaded up and, just like old times, went to Denny’s and gorged ourselves. I ordered blueberry pancakes, a burger and fries, a shake, and of course endless cups of coffee. Maybe it was the show or my nerves, or maybe Denny’s food tasted unbelievably delicious after six months of Red Rock freeze-dried crap. When the waitress brought out my multiple entrees, everyone laughed, but thenthey seemed concerned.
“They starving you in there?” Denise said.
“Hmm, nrot quwrite,” I said, mouth full.
“This girl always could pack away her body weight in food,” Erik said. “But chill with the coffee or you won’t sleep.”
“I don’t care. We’re not allowed coffee in that place. Can you imagine six months without a cup of coffee?”
“Whoa, they are starving you in there. Isn’t there some human-rights law about denying coffee?” Like most people from Portland, Denise took her caffeine addiction very seriously.
“I wish,” I said.
“So this Denny’s swill must taste like champagne,” Jed said.
“The Dom Perignon of java,” I admitted.
“Life without good coffee. Dude, it makes you appreciate what you’ve got,” Erik said.
“Amen to that,” Jed said, looking at me kind of funny.
As we ate, they caught me up on all the latest news on the Clod-front. After the Indian Summer Festival that I missed, they’d been booked all over Oregon andWashington, in clubs, even in some bigger venues opening for other bands. A couple of indie labels were talking about making a single, or maybe even a whole CD. They kept reassuring me that when I got back, my place was still there, and they weren’t looking for a replacement. “We make a decent trio,” Denise said. “But we’re better as a foursome.”
“Hear, hear,” Erik said, holding up his cup.
Around two, Denise
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