Page 38 of Down Beat
FIFTEEN
Rey
“Jekyll and Hyde” – Five Finger Death Punch
Once, just for once, I’d love to finish a show and do nothing. No press ops, no backstage passes for the diehards, no rundown and recap of what and where we’re playing next.
Just pure, unadulterated nothing.
“Fucking awesome as always, guys.” Rick beams, yesterday’s hissy fit at the missed radio interview seemingly dead and buried. “We’ve got your ten backstage passes waiting in the second dressing room for you, but first I need you to do a five-minute interview with Rocking in Rollers.”
Fuck. “Why?” I snatch a bottle of water out of a roadie’s hand before the bastard has a chance to get the first sip.
He grumbles and walks away to presumably find another. Not my issue. Not as though the fucker just spent seventy minutes on stage sweating his fucking ring out.
“What do you mean why?” Rick asks.
“Come on, bro.” Toby nudges my arm with his elbow. “It’s five minutes.”
“Three hundred seconds,” I grumble as Rick shepherds us toward where he’s probably got the woman waiting.
Valerie “Vixen” Carrell is one hard-ass interviewer. She runs her music blog Rocking in Rollers, as a one-woman band, and considering the sheer volume of content she has on there, she must be one busy lady. Probably why she’s developed a ball-breaker of a personality to go with her signature image: bright green hair in rollers, and pinup makeup that makes her look as though she’s stepped out of a fifties print commercial.
“Five minutes,” Rick repeats under his breath as he funnels us into a curtained-off section backstage. “Just kill time with the usual bullshit.”
The usual, aka shit that doesn’t give away any major plans of ours or lock us into having to do something in the future.
Emery takes a seat on top of a crate, earning a smile from the straight-up woman as she fidgets with her question sheets. Toby leans his hip against the side of the same crate, Kris dragging over a road case to sit next to him. I eye the tablet she has set up on a stand to record our interview, and fight the urge to bail.
Fuck. Six days ago I was on a high. We played a sell-out show to a packed events center of four thousand loud, interactive fans. I had faith in our music, was completely in love with life and thankful for where I am.
But then shit started to fall apart. We got stuck at our last stopover when we were supposed to be five hundred miles away, here; then the radio interview debacle made me feel like a right sack of shit; and then watching Tabby play the hell out of our track…. I’m a right cunt, really.
I set her up with the initial hope she’d fail, and she proved me wrong.
She proved what a coldhearted asshole I am. I mean, who the fuck hopes somebody will humiliate themselves like that? What the fuck was I going to gain out of it, other than rubbing my own ego by stomping on hers?
How fucking low do I have to be to make myself feel better by ruining others?
“Rey, man.” Emery clicks his fingers at me, one eyebrow raised.
I cut my gaze to Valerie and find her watching me with a frown. Fuck. I can see it now: “Rey from Dark Tide affected by his demons during our interview”….
“We getting this shit done, or what?” I bounce across and shunt Emery to the side as I take a seat beside him.
Valerie smiles, reaching for her tablet. And just like that, my bullshit sells. “Ready, boys?”
We all nod like the good little puppies we are.
Her manicured finger taps the screen, and then we’re straight into it. “I’m here tonight with the dashing boys from Dark Tide, straight off the back of their impromptu show here in the Regent Theater. Hi, guys.”
We all echo our greeting, Emery’s smile wide, despite the fact he hasn’t had more than the half liter of bourbon he hid in the wings.
“First up—what an opener!” She gives us a “what the fuck” look before continuing. “Whose idea was it to have a classically trained violinist be your support act?”
Three thumbs all get hitched toward me. Thanks for nothing.
“Tell me about it, Rey,” Valerie coos in her sultry voice. “What sparked that idea?”