Free The Devil's Metal by Karina Halle Page B

might as well be on stage yourself. It’s
that immense and frightening. All you can see is a wall of people,
staring down at you, watching your every move. Behind that wall are
the stars, pinpricks in the emerging darkness. You have a succinct
idea of what it’s like to be wanted and adored, to have fans and
music lovers alike hanging on your every action, revering you,
expecting you to deliver. It’s a strange mix of adulation and
pressure.
    Aside from giving me goosebumps from the
sheer immensity of people in Hybrid shirts, lighters waving in the
breeze, the side stage also gives you an in-depth look at the band.
Obviously you’d have a better view from the very front, where
gaggles of groupies and long-haired boys competed for space, but
from the side I got to experience the band like few were able
to.
    For starters, you get an inside look at that
moment before the band hits the stage. You can feel that incredible
build-up and tension from the crowd as they wait impatiently for
the band to appear. You can see the anticipation on their stoned
faces, hear the excited talking, the stamping of feet. You also get
to see the band behind the stage. What they do before they step out
into the spotlight. In this case, Noelle and Mickey were in an
embrace, Noelle obviously overcome with nerves. Graham looked bored
at the prospect of handling tambourines while Robbie rubbed his
hands together, jumping from one foot to the other, like an
insatiable bunny rabbit. I had to wonder how much of that energy
was natural and how much was drug-fueled.
    Then there was Sage. He was a strong and
silent presence. He stood at the back, watching over everyone,
calculating mysterious things in his head. I had never seen Hybrid
live except on TV, and I knew that Sage played with the cool
confidence of a cat. But at that moment, it seemed like his
confidence was wavering. It was hard to tell, seeing as I had to
look over the soundboard, past Chip, random people, instruments,
and sections in order to get a glimpse of him. It was dark and his
face was cast in shadows half the time. But, as silly as this
sounds, I felt this uncertainty rolling off of him. Like I was
picking up on an unsaid vibe that something was off. Something
wasn’t right. Sage was worried and that wasn’t the Sage I knew.
    Then again, I didn’t know Sage at all,
except that he didn’t seem to want me there.
    To prove that point, our eyes met at one
instance. I tried to smile. He kept staring right back at me, his
full mouth in a hard line, his eyes glinting dangerously. I had
told myself he was only rude to me earlier because he had other
things on his mind and that I shouldn’t take it personally. Now it
seemed that what Chip had said about Sage not wanting a journalist
among them was true. Sage didn’t like me. He didn’t want me there.
It was personal.
    I looked away and tried to bring my
attention back to the atmosphere of the crowd, wanting to get
sucked into the anticipation. The lights went dim, the audience
erupted into applause, and one by one I saw the band leaving the
backstage area to walk onto the stage, a spotlight shining down on
each of them as they took their place.
    Sage was the last on the stage, and as luck
would have it, he was the closest to me, just off to the side of
the soundboard and Chip. I tried to pay attention to the rest of
the band, I really did. I tried to sneak glances at Noelle as she
played at the keyboards, trying to hide her nervousness and shaking
hands. I tried to watch Graham as he shook the shaker and beat at
the bongo drums with just the required level of lightness. I tried
to pay attention to Mickey as he flew through his chords with ease,
each strum of the acoustic guitar rising sweetly from the stage. I
tried to keep my eyes on Robbie as he struggled to keep his voice
in check, his manic mannerisms to a minimum. I even tried to watch
Chip as he mixed the sounds of the different mics, brows furrowed
in concentration.
    But try as I