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Authors: Mark Huntley Parsons
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“That’s exactly my point! Any
normal
boss would at least try and work something out—it’s only an hour or two. But no, this guy is like the Yard Nazi. He
enjoys
the tiny amount of power he has, and he gets off on pushing those poor guys around.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” my dad said. “Even if you join another band, you’re still going to find a real job this summer. Period.”
10
“Dazed and Confused”
One good thing about the audition was I didn’t have to deal with all my gear. They already had a drum kit in their practice room—a converted garage at their singer’s house—which made it easy. It was your basic five-piece set, pretty similar to what I had—all I had to bring was my stick bag.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Glenn said when I walked in. “Glad you could make it.” He introduced me to the other people in the room, starting with the guy who’d opened the door when I’d knocked … the lead singer. “This is Brad Halstead.”
He looked like the epitome of a Cal Coast surfer dude—tall, tan, and blond—except that he seemed to prefer leather jackets and skinny jeans over board shorts and sandals.
Brad nodded. “Hey.”
“This is Jamie Davenport.”
She smiled. “Hi, Zach.”
You know how you’ll see some girls onstage and they look hot, with all the lighting and makeup and hair and stuff, andthen you see them up close after the show and it’s, uh … not so much? Jamie was the exception. Yeah, she looked good up onstage, with her Hayley-Williams-as-a-brunette thing going on, but it didn’t fade as you got closer. It got stronger. Especially when she was smiling at you with those bright blue eyes. Like now. I found myself smiling back, until Glenn got my attention with the last member of the band.
“And Daniel Mendoza,” he said.
“Call me Danny,” Daniel said. He looked more like a motorcycle mechanic than a musician … which meant he looked like what he was: a killer bass player. Ponytail, beard, tats, and all.
“Why don’t you take a second to get the drums the way you like ’em,” Glenn said, “and then we’ll blow through some tunes.”
“Sure.” I sat behind the kit. Whoa … the last guy to play these sure sat a lot higher than I did. I adjusted the throne and moved a couple of the cymbals. I tapped the toms—they had pretty good tone. The snare was tuned a little low for my taste, so I grabbed a key out of my stick bag and cranked up the pitch to give it more of a crack. The kick sounded fine. Fine enough, anyway—there was no way to really dial in the sound I wanted quickly, so why stress about it?
I’ll admit I was a little nervous. No—I was a
lot
nervous. Usually I was relaxed once I was behind the kit, but I wanted this gig bad. Hell, my hands were shaking, and that never happened. Okay … relax … deep, slow breath …
“All right, I’m good to go,” I said.
“Good,” Glenn said. “Do you know ‘Are You Gonna Go My Way?’ ”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you guys play it.”
He nodded. “Great.” He counted it off, and we jumped into it. What immediately popped into my mind was that intricate thing Nate had done on the toms, so I tried to do something similar. It kinda worked, but it was a struggle to make it fit. Definitely not as solid as it could have been. When it was over, Brad and Danny looked at each other but didn’t say anything.
“Okay,” Glenn said. “How about ‘Times Like These’?”
I nodded. “Sure.” I’d heard it on the radio, but that was it. He started it on guitar and I jumped in where I thought I should. Oops—too early. As I started to stress about that, I realized that this little opening section was in 7/4. By the time I figured out that it was in an odd time signature, I had the beat backward. Not the end of the world to fix, and at a gig probably ninety-five percent of the people in the audience would never realize something was wrong, but it freaked me out. So I
normal
boss would at least try and work something out—it’s only an hour or two. But no, this guy is like the Yard Nazi. He
enjoys
the tiny amount of power he has, and he gets off on pushing those poor guys around.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” my dad said. “Even if you join another band, you’re still going to find a real job this summer. Period.”
10
“Dazed and Confused”
One good thing about the audition was I didn’t have to deal with all my gear. They already had a drum kit in their practice room—a converted garage at their singer’s house—which made it easy. It was your basic five-piece set, pretty similar to what I had—all I had to bring was my stick bag.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Glenn said when I walked in. “Glad you could make it.” He introduced me to the other people in the room, starting with the guy who’d opened the door when I’d knocked … the lead singer. “This is Brad Halstead.”
He looked like the epitome of a Cal Coast surfer dude—tall, tan, and blond—except that he seemed to prefer leather jackets and skinny jeans over board shorts and sandals.
Brad nodded. “Hey.”
“This is Jamie Davenport.”
She smiled. “Hi, Zach.”
You know how you’ll see some girls onstage and they look hot, with all the lighting and makeup and hair and stuff, andthen you see them up close after the show and it’s, uh … not so much? Jamie was the exception. Yeah, she looked good up onstage, with her Hayley-Williams-as-a-brunette thing going on, but it didn’t fade as you got closer. It got stronger. Especially when she was smiling at you with those bright blue eyes. Like now. I found myself smiling back, until Glenn got my attention with the last member of the band.
“And Daniel Mendoza,” he said.
“Call me Danny,” Daniel said. He looked more like a motorcycle mechanic than a musician … which meant he looked like what he was: a killer bass player. Ponytail, beard, tats, and all.
“Why don’t you take a second to get the drums the way you like ’em,” Glenn said, “and then we’ll blow through some tunes.”
“Sure.” I sat behind the kit. Whoa … the last guy to play these sure sat a lot higher than I did. I adjusted the throne and moved a couple of the cymbals. I tapped the toms—they had pretty good tone. The snare was tuned a little low for my taste, so I grabbed a key out of my stick bag and cranked up the pitch to give it more of a crack. The kick sounded fine. Fine enough, anyway—there was no way to really dial in the sound I wanted quickly, so why stress about it?
I’ll admit I was a little nervous. No—I was a
lot
nervous. Usually I was relaxed once I was behind the kit, but I wanted this gig bad. Hell, my hands were shaking, and that never happened. Okay … relax … deep, slow breath …
“All right, I’m good to go,” I said.
“Good,” Glenn said. “Do you know ‘Are You Gonna Go My Way?’ ”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you guys play it.”
He nodded. “Great.” He counted it off, and we jumped into it. What immediately popped into my mind was that intricate thing Nate had done on the toms, so I tried to do something similar. It kinda worked, but it was a struggle to make it fit. Definitely not as solid as it could have been. When it was over, Brad and Danny looked at each other but didn’t say anything.
“Okay,” Glenn said. “How about ‘Times Like These’?”
I nodded. “Sure.” I’d heard it on the radio, but that was it. He started it on guitar and I jumped in where I thought I should. Oops—too early. As I started to stress about that, I realized that this little opening section was in 7/4. By the time I figured out that it was in an odd time signature, I had the beat backward. Not the end of the world to fix, and at a gig probably ninety-five percent of the people in the audience would never realize something was wrong, but it freaked me out. So I
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