Read Online Dead Girl Walking by Christopher Brookmyre - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Brookmyre
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just me and Heike on stage, fiddle and acoustic guitar, a stripped-back sound for a haunting, desolate song, rallying at the end with a defiant cry of hope.
During the intro, without the thunder of drums at my back and with nothing else coming through the monitors in front, I could hear not just the murmur of the crowd, but could make out individual voices. Then when Heike opened her mouth, her lips almost kissing the microphone, I could hear hundreds of other voices sing along. She let them take a final repeat of the chorus, dropping out her guitar so that I was the only accompaniment to the crowd. It was literally spine-tingling: I felt like there was static thrilling through me; that if anyone touched me we would both be electrocuted.
I was supposed to segue into ‘A Square of Captured Light’, but completely forgot. I think it was for the best: Heike looked quite shaken to hear her words sung back to her by so many people, and she needed the moment that was given her by the cheers and applause. There were tears in her eyes, though only I was close enough to see them.
Something passed between us right then: an understanding, a responsibility, a trust. I might have seen something I wasn’t supposed to, but she expected me to keep it to myself.
The applause began to die, and I launched us into the more upbeat ‘Smuggler’s Soul’. That’s when things really got strange.
As per the album version, it starts with guitar and violin beneath Heike’s vocal on the first verse, while the rest of the band quietly file back into position, exploding as one into the chorus.
We were five on stage again, but it was like Heike and I were still a separate unit in the midst of the others. I stayed next to her centre stage, and as the song built towards its long outro, we started dancing around each other.
Most of the time, I sit down to play, as that’s how I’ll be throughout an orchestral performance. Sometimes when I’m playing alone I’ll stand, but it’s like I’m in the naughty corner. I retreat inside myself, and anyway there’s never much space on the stages I’m used to.
But on that night I found myself birling about like I was possessed. The others gave us space as Heike and I spun around each other, approaching and retreating, then dancing back-to-back while below us the audience were screaming in approval.
Suddenly we flew apart on the first beat of a new bar, Heike skipping to the front and thrashing away at her strings before a swell of bodies rushing to be near her.
I found myself heading in the opposite direction, towards the back, and I leaped onto the drum riser, facing Rory. It was a surge of energy, I guess.
He looked astonished, then reacted with aggression on the drums, as if I had invaded his turf and he was trying to drive me out. I came back at him, looking him in the eye as I worked the bow furiously. It was like we were in combat, feeding off each other’s energy and fuelling an ever rising level of performance.
He went to the floor tom to start a roll, swinging around as if he was about to throw the thing, then whiplashed back for a cymbal crash. His taut muscle drove wood against the brass like it was meant to kill, and sweat flew from his arms. It sprayed against my face, and instead of grossing me out, well … I’m embarrassed to write it even for myself.
We locked into each other’s stares again and I felt this surge of aggression that shocked me. I don’t know where it came from and I don’t even know if I wanted him sexually or I wanted to hurt him. What’s for certain is that if someone had teleported us away somewhere in that moment, I’d have launched myself at him, tearing clothes, scratching, biting, like an animal, primal.
I have never felt so alive, and I’ve never felt so afraid. It was one of the most disturbing and exhilarating experiences I have ever had: to be frightened of myself.
Just as suddenly as it began, the show was over. I remember the journey back
During the intro, without the thunder of drums at my back and with nothing else coming through the monitors in front, I could hear not just the murmur of the crowd, but could make out individual voices. Then when Heike opened her mouth, her lips almost kissing the microphone, I could hear hundreds of other voices sing along. She let them take a final repeat of the chorus, dropping out her guitar so that I was the only accompaniment to the crowd. It was literally spine-tingling: I felt like there was static thrilling through me; that if anyone touched me we would both be electrocuted.
I was supposed to segue into ‘A Square of Captured Light’, but completely forgot. I think it was for the best: Heike looked quite shaken to hear her words sung back to her by so many people, and she needed the moment that was given her by the cheers and applause. There were tears in her eyes, though only I was close enough to see them.
Something passed between us right then: an understanding, a responsibility, a trust. I might have seen something I wasn’t supposed to, but she expected me to keep it to myself.
The applause began to die, and I launched us into the more upbeat ‘Smuggler’s Soul’. That’s when things really got strange.
As per the album version, it starts with guitar and violin beneath Heike’s vocal on the first verse, while the rest of the band quietly file back into position, exploding as one into the chorus.
We were five on stage again, but it was like Heike and I were still a separate unit in the midst of the others. I stayed next to her centre stage, and as the song built towards its long outro, we started dancing around each other.
Most of the time, I sit down to play, as that’s how I’ll be throughout an orchestral performance. Sometimes when I’m playing alone I’ll stand, but it’s like I’m in the naughty corner. I retreat inside myself, and anyway there’s never much space on the stages I’m used to.
But on that night I found myself birling about like I was possessed. The others gave us space as Heike and I spun around each other, approaching and retreating, then dancing back-to-back while below us the audience were screaming in approval.
Suddenly we flew apart on the first beat of a new bar, Heike skipping to the front and thrashing away at her strings before a swell of bodies rushing to be near her.
I found myself heading in the opposite direction, towards the back, and I leaped onto the drum riser, facing Rory. It was a surge of energy, I guess.
He looked astonished, then reacted with aggression on the drums, as if I had invaded his turf and he was trying to drive me out. I came back at him, looking him in the eye as I worked the bow furiously. It was like we were in combat, feeding off each other’s energy and fuelling an ever rising level of performance.
He went to the floor tom to start a roll, swinging around as if he was about to throw the thing, then whiplashed back for a cymbal crash. His taut muscle drove wood against the brass like it was meant to kill, and sweat flew from his arms. It sprayed against my face, and instead of grossing me out, well … I’m embarrassed to write it even for myself.
We locked into each other’s stares again and I felt this surge of aggression that shocked me. I don’t know where it came from and I don’t even know if I wanted him sexually or I wanted to hurt him. What’s for certain is that if someone had teleported us away somewhere in that moment, I’d have launched myself at him, tearing clothes, scratching, biting, like an animal, primal.
I have never felt so alive, and I’ve never felt so afraid. It was one of the most disturbing and exhilarating experiences I have ever had: to be frightened of myself.
Just as suddenly as it began, the show was over. I remember the journey back
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