BACKSTAGE PASS XXXIV
961 Words
What in the hell was Malcolm’s problem? He seemed to be making an effort to not enjoy himself. Claire had wandered off to chatter with a roadie and the lead singer of one of the opening bands, who obviously didn’t realize he was hitting on Brian Sinclair’s mother. Claire didn’t seem to care that her son easily kept ten thousand people entertained with his talent and charm. She paid him no mind.
No wonder Brian desperately needed love and Myrna’s constant approval. Stupid parents. Myrna had the strangest desire to just hug Brian. Hold him. Tell him how wonderful he was. How his father’s approval didn’t matter. He had the approval of hundreds of thousands of fans, but she knew that wouldn’t fill that hole in him she hadn’t recognized until this evening. Only one thing would fill that.
“You know what you should do,” Myrna said to Malcolm as nonchalantly as she could muster. “You should get up there and show these kids where their guitar heroes got their influence.”
He glanced at her, but quickly covered his look of interest with annoyance. “Why are you talking to me?”
Myrna suppressed the urge to kick him in the teeth.
She shrugged. “Well, if you can’t…”
He grunted, the arms crossed over his chest tightening until his biceps strained the sleeves of his T-shirt. “There’s a difference between can’t and won’t.”
“The outcome is the same.”
The band started the next song. Myrna watched with her usual enthusiasm, pretending to ignore Malcolm, who tapped his toe occasionally and shifted his hands into his pockets during Brian’s solo. This might be easier than she thought. He wanted to be up there with Brian. She knew he did. So why was he holding back? And why did he find it necessary to belittle not only Brian, but his entire band?
The majority of the crowd was a mosh pit—bodies ricocheting off each other in chaos. When the song ended, the audience surged toward the barrier as individuals tried to situate themselves closer to the stage.
“Wild crowd tonight,” Myrna commented. “Ever had a crowd like this one?”
Malcolm snorted. “Ever heard of Woodstock?”
“Oh yeah, you played there when Winged Faith was first starting out. That was what? Forty years ago?”
He scowled. “Yeah, I guess it has been that long. Best four days of my life.”
“I’m betting the days your children were born were right up there with them.”
“I was on tour in Cleveland when Brian was born. New Orleans with Kara.”
“That must’ve been hard. Being on the road and missing your children’s births.”
“Being on the road all the time is hard. I missed a lot. But not being on the road is harder.”
“You could get a little taste of that back tonight. I’m sure Brian would love to play a tribute to Winged Faith with you on stage. He said so himself.” Forgive me for lying, Brian.
Malcolm’s brow furrowed with what Myrna hoped was consideration. He glanced at his wife, who had found several more men to add to her entourage. Myrna counted two drummers, a bassist, and a guitarist, in addition to the lead singer and roadie. Malcolm rolled his eyes, removed his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms again.
She could tell he wanted to be on stage, but apparently he needed more pushing. “I need to apologize to you for calling you a—”
He lifted a hand to silence her. “Do you always talk this much?” he asked. “You must drive Brian insane.”
She laughed. “No, I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”
He looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time. “Why are you nervous?”
“I’m in the presence of one of the original guitar greats. I don’t think anyone could make me more nervous. Unless Jimi Hendrix rose from the grave and stood beside me.”
“A Jimi Hendrix zombie would make everyone nervous.” They laughed, continuing to talk loudly because the next song had started on stage.
“Did you meet Hendrix at Woodstock?”
Malcolm shook his head. “I watched him, though. That man could play.”
“Brian’s one of a kind, but I hear Hendrix’s influence in his sound. And yours.”
“Mine? He doesn’t play anything like me.”
“Sure he does. Listen to him. It’s your style with embellishments.”
“Lots of embellishments,” he said, but he listened. Myrna suspected this was the first time Malcolm had actually heard Brian play. She watched Malcolm’s expression change from indifference, to disbelief, to interest, and finally pride. “He does sound a lot like me,” he murmured. He glanced at Myrna. “With embellishments.”
“The fans love his soloing style, but without the sensual undercurrents that he borrowed from you, he’d sound flat.”
“Look at him go. I could never keep up with him. He has crazy fast fingers.”
Myrna flushed and averted her gaze. “Yeah.”
When the song ended after a particularly embellished guitar outro, Malcolm clapped and thrust a fist in the air. “That’s the way to play it, son,” he shouted.
Myrna wished she’d gotten that on tape. She almost had him. Just a little more pushing and she knew she could talk Malcolm into joining Brian on stage. She’d better hurry though, because she only had the span of two songs to convince him.
- Writer
