The Prince of Punk Rock (4 page)

Tommy sat
there, smiling and nodding.
 
Jessi wasn’t
saying much either.
 
She always believed
less was more when it came to talking business.
 
Any other time you couldn’t shut her up, and by the way Angel was
rambling on, he could give her serious competition.

He hoped
Jessi was listening to what Angel was saying, because he wasn’t paying
attention.
 
He was spellbound by the way
Angel’s eyelashes fluttered when he blinked, the glimpse of Angel’s tongue when
he spoke, and the little sparkle that was always in his eyes whenever they made
eye contact with each other.

Jessi
nudged Tommy with her elbow, and it broke his trance.

Focus, he
told himself.
 
Focus.

“The band
has a big draw.
 
We play fairly large
venues like the Bowery Ballroom and the
Music Hall
of
Williamsburg
and we have a long standing gig one Saturday a month at The Quadrangle.
 
If you’ve never played The Quadrangle, you’re
in for a treat.
 
It feels like you’re
playing a major concert hall.
 
We play
some dive bars pretty regularly too.
 
I’m
not going to pretend we’re too good to play in a rat hole, just because we get
top dollar at The Quadrangle.
 
In the
summer months, we’re very busy and sometimes do five shows a week.
 
We play the Jones Beach Bandshell in Long
Island and The Stone Pony Summerstage in
Asbury
Park
.
 
Several
times a year we open for nationally signed bands at local venues.”

Angel
finally paused for a breath.
 
“My lead
guitar player means a lot to me.
 
Tommy,
we’re going be a team, you and me.
 
You’re going to be my right hand man.”

Tommy was the most normal looking
one in the band.
 
It was his hair and his
tattoos that gave him the rock and roll edge. Other than that, a heavy metal T-shirt,
jeans and Doc Martens made up his wardrobe.

Jimmy Wilder, the drummer, had his
hair slicked back in a fifties-style pompadour and pork chop sideburns.
 
He had a rockabilly flair.
 
Colorful tattoos covered both of his well-muscled
arms.
 
They were the arms of a drummer.

Damien Diamond, the bass player,
was tall and skinny and he had the full-on punk rock persona: navy blue mohawk,
eyeliner, piercings, leather and studs.
 
And he was tattooed from his knuckles to his neck.

Tommy
tightened the tuning key of his Les Paul and plucked the E string with two
sweaty hands.
 
He had no reason to be
nervous.
 
He spent the last three days
learning two of Angel’s top songs.
 
He
played them nonstop until he knew them perfectly.
 
He could play them in his sleep if he had
to.
 
He even put a little spin on some of
the guitar solos.

Jimmy
counted off four beats on his drum sticks, and then crashed them down on his
cymbals.
 
Tommy was taken back the moment
Angel started to sing.
 
The
clarity of his voice couldn’t be conveyed through technology.
 
The power and pitch that effortlessly flowed
out of Angel’s mouth was indescribable.
 
Tommy was so riveted that he almost missed his queue.

Confidence flew from his fingertips
as they glided over the guitar strings with impeccable speed.
 
He bounced around and whipped his hair
through the air and across his face.
 
He
fell to his knees at Angel’s feet and played one of his elaborate guitar
solos.
 
He was on fire.

Angel swayed his hips and wiggled
his body until Tommy finished the solo, then pulled him to his feet by the
front of his shirt.
 
Angel held Tommy’s
crumpled T-shirt in his hand and sang directly to him, inching closer with each
lyric.
 
Tommy answered with a searing
guitar riff.
 
The chemistry they shared was
incredible, and the energy was electric.

After the last note of the song
left Angel’s lungs, he threw the microphone down on the floor with a dramatic
thud.
 
He walked straight up to Tommy and
looked deep into his eyes.
 
“I want you
to be my lead guitar player.”

Every hair on the back of Tommy’s
neck stood up.
 
He was done with thrash
rock.
 
He was a punk rock guitar player
now.

Chapter Six

The first day of band practice felt
like the first day of school.  Tommy was the newcomer, joining a group of
friends who already found their niche.
 
It didn’t matter that the audition went well.
 
If he didn’t mesh musically, or if they
didn’t connect, he might as well pack up his shit and go home.

Jimmy Wilder was already seated
behind his Tama kit, banging on his snare, when Tommy arrived at the
studio.
 
He was the band’s musical
director and he was serious about his job.
 
Even when they took a break, Jimmy was adjusting his drums or fussing
over a beat.

A few minutes later, Damien Diamond
strolled in with his Rickenbacker bass guitar slung over his shoulder, rattling
on about the congested
Brooklyn
traffic and
lack of parking, and he never stopped talking.  It drove Angel crazy, and
they enjoyed a constant exchange of friendly banter.
 
The two shared a history that Tommy wasn’t
privy to, but their bond was evident.

Between songs, when Angel stopped
to adjust his microphone stand, Damien scampered over to Tommy.  “So,
dude, how’d you get this gig?”

“Angel contacted me.  I wasn’t
looking to change bands.  I was with Psychobabble since college.”

“Psychobabble.
 
That’s a cool name.  Where’d you guys
play?”

“Just local bars.  We had a
pretty decent following.”

“What kind of music? Rock? Covers?”

Damien asked a lot of questions,
and he spoke with such enthusiasm that it made the front of his mohawk bob up
and down.
 
It was distracting, and
Tommy’s kept glancing up at it.
 
“We
played originals.
 
Hardcore thrash
rock.  I love it.”

“Me too.
 
We should jam together sometime.  Get a
couple o’ beers and hang out.”  Damien slugged Tommy on the arm.  “I
like you, man.  It’s gonna be really cool playing together.”

Angel was ready to continue and
Damien scurried back to his spot.  It was time to play.  No more
small talk until the next break.

Angel stopped to fix a wire, and
Damien was back.

“So, I hear you have a degree in
music.”

Damien’s mohawk bounced like
punctuation at the end of his sentence.
 
Tommy took a quick peek at it before he answered.
 
“Uh huh. It was important to me to get an
education.  I wanted to prove to my parents that I was serious about
music.  They thought it was just some kind of whim.  My old man still
harasses me about getting a real job.”

Angel was back and Damien was off
again.  It was comical.  Angel turned or stepped away and Damien was
at Tommy’s side.  Angel came back and Damien was gone.  Tommy turned
to Jimmy, behind the drums, and they shared a laugh.

Tommy liked Damien.  They had
a lot of the same interests, specifically their love of hard rock music. 
Damien also confided in him that he wanted the position of lead guitar, but
Angel didn’t approve.

“Angel was nice about it.
 
He said I was good, but my guitar playing
didn’t knock him on his ass.  He wanted the music to kick him in the
nuts.”  Damien laughed.  “I don’t even know what the fuck that means. 
But he’s a straight shooter.
 
He doesn’t
bullshit.  He’s honest like that.”  Damien slugged him again and
laughed some more.  “I guess you do that to him – knock him on his ass and
kick him in the nuts.”

Damien was boisterous and
entertaining and Tommy envisioned a close friendship in the future.

When practice was over, Jimmy and
Damien plopped down on the couch and thumped their feet on the floor in front
of them.

“Sorry, guys,” Angel pointed his
thumb toward the door.  “You two gotta scoot. I want to talk to
Tommy.  Business.”

It was the first time Tommy was
alone with Angel.  It made his heart beat a little faster, and he was
tongue-tied.  He suddenly forgot all the words in the English
language.  He just sat there and grinned at Angel, like a fool.

Angel pulled up a chair and sat
facing him.
 
“How was it?
 
Did you like playing with Damien and Jimmy?”

Tommy nodded.  “I loved
it.  I never thought I’d play anything but hard rock or thrash metal, but
your music is awesome.  It’s really good.
 
Fast and catchy.  The songs stick in your head.  And the lyrics
are profound and exciting.
 
I find myself
humming your tunes all the time.”  Every word Tommy knew came rushing
back, and they wouldn’t stop.  They all wanted to be heard.  “Damien
and Jimmy are great musicians.  We all seemed to jive together really
well.  I was right at home with them. I feel like I’ve been playing this
stuff my whole life.  I wasn’t sure I’d fit in, but I do.” Finally, he
paused for a breath.  “Did I sound OK?”

“OK?”  Angel leaned
closer.  “Tommy Blade, you are more than OK.  You, my sweet boy, are
a musical genius.”