Rocked Up

Better, even.

The meet and greet is standard—some quick conversations, a few pictures, signing a few things. There’s slight tension between Calvi and Lael from the earlier incident, and I can tell Calvi has something up his sleeve for revenge. Lael is on guard when he’s close.

“Okay, gang. Time flies, doesn’t it? Let’s do a quick sound check so we can go relax and have dinner,” Arnie says, waving his arms as if to push us toward the stage.

The theater is empty save the crew, the Rolling Stone interviewer who is scribbling something, and a small group of VIP ticket holders. It’s a strange feeling looking to those empty seats, but I take the time to always visualize things going well as I walk around the stage, strumming my guitar, making sure I can hear myself.

While we’re making a racket tuning and adjusting, Lael is messing with the knobs on her teal pedal that I think will be the focal point of the Rolling Stone interview, the cause of her newly signature sound.

“Test one, two. Okay, let’s play something,” I say into the mic.

“Let’s do ‘FuzzFace,’” Calvi says.

I glance at my three bandmates and it looks like they’re ready to go.

Lael starts the song off ringing out long, deep, rattling notes on her bass. Her eyes are closed and she hits the bass with the side of her fist. I can tell it’s for the benefit of the Rolling Stone guy who is watching her closely.

Then, right on the beat where we all jump in, right at the moment when Lael theatrically throws her long hair forward and slams her foot down on her pedal, an extremely loud fart noise rumbles out of the main speakers.

My jaw drops open and I have to stifle a laugh. I did not see that coming.

Clearly, neither did Lael.

Calvi falls over with tears in his eyes, and Switch drops his sticks and hunches over laughing. Lael is in shock, frozen in a power stance with her foot on her fart pedal. The Rolling Stone guy is feverishly writing on his pad.

“You bastard,” Lael yells, pointing to Calvi.

“Okay, so we’re even now,” Calvi says with a shrug.

From behind the drum kit Switch shouts, “Welcome to And Then!”





Chapter Eight





Brad




We’re in New Mexico and everything is lined up for total chaos. I have witnessed self-annihilation my entire life and do not have the capacity to put a romantic slant on drugs. We have the day off and Switch and Calvi keep on exchanging mischievous looks, which can only mean one thing. Arnie also feels what’s in the air and makes an attempt to keep them busy, flipping through his iPad, looking for something to do in New Mexico.

“Aye, how about this,” he says. “The Sandia Peak Tramway, or wait, a history museum. That could be interesting, aye boys?”

“What do you say, Calvi? Want to go to the museum today?” Switch asks sarcastically.

“Oh, that sounds just wonderful,” Calvi answers, matching his sarcasm, then they both break out into laughter.

Arnie throws his iPad to the side and says, “Okay, ya bastards. Do your own thing. Just remember tomorrow comes fast and we have a show to play.”

Our bus stops at our hotel and Arnie hops out to get everything sorted at the front desk. Lael is reading a book in her little corner in the back, trying to ignore us. Every now and then she and I exchange a private glance and a smile, but at the moment she has all her focus on her book and her coffee.

To their credit, Switch and Calvi always seem to be able to dust themselves off and show up for work the next day, no matter what drugs they do or how much they drink. And it’s not like they go on a tear every time we have a day off. Our schedule is too intense and expectations are too high. There’s no way anyone could keep this pace up while getting wasted every other night.

But this isn’t just any day off. We’re in Santa Fe, New Mexico, Switch’s home town. Strangely, And Then has never played Santa Fe so I haven’t been here with Switch before. I have heard the stories, though.

In the past, it seemed to make things worse when I tried to stop Calvi and Switch from partying too hard. They would get defensive. Case in point, at this very moment, Calvi is looking my way, waiting to see how I’m going to react to the impending doom.

“Hey, man, it’s none of my business, as long as you’re ready to go tomorrow,” I say, trying not to rile them up.

“Why don’t you come along? Roar is going to pick us up and take us to the country,” Switch says.

“Roar?”

“Yeah. Fucking Roar. You met him like ten times. The Norwegian guy with the beard,” Switch replies. Testy, testy.

“Right-O, ladies and gentlemen. Here are the room keys. The day is yours, so try to stay out of trouble,” Arnie says as he hands out envelopes to each of us.

We’re all getting our things together when a rather large Viking-type character steps into the bus. We all stop what we’re doing and stare at the imposing figure.

“Roooooar!” Switch yells.

Roar responds with a Viking warrior yell, fists raised and clenched, his eyes wild.

“Oh, right. That Roar,” I say to no one in particular.

The bus seems to get smaller as everyone moves around, greeting Roar. Arnie waits for the moment that Roar moves so he can get off the bus, muttering something under his breath as he goes.

“How have you been, old friend?” Switch asks.

“Good, man,” Roar says.

“Still in the same place?”

“Yup. I thought we would head that way, have a barbecue…I have some new toys to play with.”

“I’m sure you do,” Switch says then gestures to Lael. “Roar, meet Lael, the newest member of And Then.”

“Pleasure,” he says with a polite nod that is at odds with his crazed appearance. He then addresses everyone else. “I hope you all will be coming along.”

Silence follows. I don’t want to go to the country with Roar to play with his new toys, whatever they are. As I’m trying to find the words to get out of this social corner, Lael breaks the silence. “All right. Let’s do this thing.”

I guess I can see how she would be intrigued, or perhaps she couldn’t stand the silence and wanted to be polite. Either way, if she’s going then so am I.

We pile into Roar’s old Suburban with the roof cut off. It takes some effort to get the engine started, but once it gets going he revs it and turns his head back to look at us, laughing like a wild man. Then he looks at Switch in the passenger seat and they exchange more crazed laughter and a fist pump, a sort of primal communication that does not require modern language.

Roar fishtails out of the parking lot, creating a wall of smoke and dust behind us. Their laughter is getting louder, as if they’re competing with the engine.

The journey is shorter than I thought it would be. We barely have time to listen to more than a couple songs of a Metallica album Roar has blazing. The song “Struggle Within,” is playing when he pulls into the dirt driveway and kills the engine.