Free Deadly Night by Aiden James Page B

larger garden varieties, we’d been given the ‘heads-up’ from our manager, Michael Dickinson, that a few A&R folks (label people for those unfamiliar) would be in attendance. At a frigging party, no less. But that can happen when the invitees have deep connections via the industry here in Music City to their kin in New York and L.A. Or so I’m told.
    “ We’re gonna start with ‘Primetime’ and move on to ‘Natural Religion’, ‘Mary’s Candy’, and ‘Little Miss Walker’,” Max advised, his blond Mohawk shimmering in a strange mix of blue-green hues from a pair of colored spotlights just above his head. A slim cigar balanced precariously between his thin lips, he regarded me like I’d just grown a third eye in the middle of my forehead. Perpetual contempt for the married guy in the band.
    He’s always reminded me of what Rod Stewart would’ve looked like if he were part of Billy Idol’s band. The most surly and eccentric rocker among us.
    “ Any particular reason we’re moving through this arrangement of our tunes?”
    I admit to a little smugness here, since I co-wrote three of the songs, and the other was completely written by me a few years back. Actually, all of Quagmire’s tunes are creations of Ricky and me, with a few newer ones that Max has contributed to. Mongo prefers credit on arrangements, since actual songwriting is not his forte.
    Mongo’s the one guy that Michael wasn’t keen on at first, in terms of image. Balding with non-descript eyewear and plain facial features, he sort of resembles a thumb with a bandana. Mongo could blend easily into any crowd, never to be noticed or missed. But the guy can’t be topped as far as laying a syncopated beat and creating a powerful groove. Really, his work has inspired us all to get better. So, in affect it’s like this: no Mongo equals a lesser product and no promising record deals.
    “ I think the order adds a certain flair, setting the tunes off as the potential singles they could become,” offered Chris, before Max could answer me.
    So, I guess it’s his doing, then. Max’s indifferent shrug just confirmed it.
    Christopher Grimes is our brand new front man. At one of our last gigs in May, Chris approached us about becoming Quagmire member ‘number five’. Twenty-three years old with blond wavy hair ala Led Zeppelin’s Robert Plant down to his ass, he brings a commanding stage presence. Not to mention he’s a virtuoso violinist who can run circles around either guitarist as far as tearing off screaming arpeggios. Add that to his Geoff Tate--Ronnie James Dio operatic voice, and we have our meal ticket to the illusive big time. At least that’s what my ears and gut tell me.
    Dude’s prettier than the rest of us, too. But even with Chris’s boyish good looks and Kid Rock energy, it seemed a long shot that we’d take him in. That is, until he took a dozen downloads of our tunes and learned them all in a matter of a week. Then he added his special flavor and presence…. My God, you could’ve heard a pin drop in our rehearsal room when he finished his run-through. Then we had to work especially hard not to fawn over ourselves in telling this kid he could join us. Even Ricky’s cool with it, since he’s grown progressively weary of the strain on his voice that our complex melodies have brought on. Now he can stay in the background with me, adding our strong harmonies to Chris’s lead vocals. It sounds frigging awesome.
    “ Once we come to an agreement on the order for the remaining thirty-three tunes, we’ll be able to support a longer show, say an hour or two,” continued our young progeny.
    The only thing I worry about is whether Chris’s condescending tone and over-the-top sophistication will eventually chap my ass. Lord knows I deal with enough of that shit at my day gig.
    “ Well, okay dudes,” I said, grabbing the wireless receiver for my amp and plugging it into my bass. “Let’s get rollin’.”
    Mongo set the tempo