Read Online Road Rash by Mark Huntley Parsons - Free Book Online Page B

tried to make up for it by putting in some flashy stuff to show them I had skills. I made it to the end of the song, but it was pretty rough. And Danny never even came close to putting his foot up on the monitor cabinet, if you know what I mean.
    “Sorry about that,” I said when it was over. “I got kinda lost there at the top.”
    “No big,” Glenn replied.
    Danny came over and started showing me how the pattern was supposed to go for that last song. I was trying to pay attention, but out of the corner of my eye I could see Brad talking to Glenn. I couldn’t hear everything, but I could tell he wasn’t real happy.
    Glenn said something to Brad and walked over to me, and Danny went to go adjust his amp or something. “How’s it going?” Glenn asked quietly.
    “Okay.… Well, maybe I’m trying a little too hard,” I admitted.
    “Man, I’m glad to hear you say that, because that’s exactly what’s going on.” As he talked, he started pulling the cymbals off the stands. Holy cow—was this his way of letting me know that my audition was over? “You’re overthinking it.…” There went the crash cymbal. “I’ve seen you play.…” He pulled the rack toms from their mounts. “And I know you’re a real solid drummer.…” He stacked the small toms on the floor tom and pulled it aside so that none of them were playable. Nothing left but the kick, snare, and hi-hats. “So …,” he finished, “just play a solid groove. That’s all. Chops are cool in the right place, but a band lives or dies by its pocket.
Comprende?
”
    “Got it.”
    “What do you want to do?”
    “How about we try ‘Go My Way’ again?”
    “Sounds good.”
    This time I figured the hell with it—I’d approach it like I was just doing another gig with the Sock Monkeys. No more trying to channel their old drummer, no more trying to impress anyone. Just lay it down, like always.
    I started clicking my sticks loudly in time, and everyone looked over. Hell, I was the drummer—it was my job to set the tempo and count it off, right? “One! Two! One … two … three … four …” On the
four
I slammed my snare and dove into the song, just hammering it out. I looked at Danny, watching—and listening to—what he was doing. He startednodding back in time. I could feel the vibe—much better. Jamie was smiling, and Brad wasn’t exchanging worried looks with anyone—everyone was too busy getting into it.
This
was how it was supposed to be—all of us working together in sync, like a team.
    When it was over, Glenn nodded. “Exactly.”
    We did three or four more songs, and I approached them all with the same attitude. That’s not to say I just played a bone-head simple beat to everything. I threw in some cool kick and snare syncopation when it fit, and I tried to hit all the accents with the rest of the band. But I didn’t worry about showing all my chops at once. I just tried to lay down the fattest, most danceable, most in-the-pocket groove that I could play. I felt like I’d won a moral victory when Danny spent most of the last couple tunes in front of the drumset, locking eyes with me and rocking hard. When we were done playing, he leaned over the drums and bumped fists with me.
    After I’d packed up my sticks and was doing that awkward stand-around-not-knowing-what-to-do-next thing, Glenn came over. “So, what do we think?” he said.
    “I think I owe you, man. Thanks.”
    “There’s nothing I told you that you didn’t already know.” He looked at me. “You’re you. And that’s a good thing. So be you.”
    I was in the middle of trying to decide if that was stupid or brilliant when Brad walked up. “Thanks for coming by,” he said. “We’re glad we could hear you play.” He stuck out his hand. “Take care, Zach.”
    I shook his hand. “Thanks for having me,” I said.
    He smiled. “We’ll call you when we decide something.”
    And the next thing you know, I was out the door. Boy,
that
wrapped up