How Not To Be A Groupie

Chapter Sixty Seven: Party Room

"I thought that would be a manager's job," I said. 

"Most of the time it is," Malcolm explained. "An' sometimes it's a roadie's job, sometimes it's our job, usually mine. Depends on the venue. A small pub, one of us can call in our spare time. A large stadium we booked months in advance, they like the manager to step up. It's 'cause he wears a suit an' tie," he added in a whisper. He gestured at his jeans and t shirt. "We're not official enough, so to speak."

"Angus wears a suit and tie," I said. "Isn't that official?" Malcolm laughed.

"I think it's the shorts, darlin'," he said.

Malcolm and I watched as Stevie and Angus played, Malcolm either giving them praise or honest feedback. I always thought they sounded perfect but Malcolm's sensitive musician's ears could detect the slightest mistake. Angus and Stevie could too, and would often stop playing right as Malcolm spoke up. 

"Missed a beat," he'd say. "Harder with no drummer. Try easing up on the fret board, try jus' grazing the string. There ya' fuckin' go...."

Eventually Malcolm and Stevie switched places. Angus was restless on his feet. He'd pace around while playing and even while not. Malcolm reached over to tune Angus' guitar slightly as they started on Chuck Berry's School Days. For a moment I thought they'd leave it an instrumental but Malcolm surprised me when he started singing lead.

"Not quite Bon but he'll do, eh?" Stevie said. 

"It's weird," I said. "I've heard him sing a few times before but I'm still not used to it." I didn't mention his performance of Baby Please Don't Go. His sober singing voice was quite different than his drunken singing voice on the subway. Angus broke into a fit of laughter when Malcolm's voice cracked. Allen the roadie stepped inside, making a beeline straight for the Young brothers. Their song stopped short.

"Got a lad outside, looks like he works here," he said panting. "Said he heard music comin' from this room."

"What'd ya' tell him?" Malcolm asked. 

"Said there was a band rehearsing for a wedding later tonight," Allen said. "He went to check it out himself at the front desk."

"He'll figure it out," Angus said. "Do we clean up?"

"I can keep him away as long as I can," Allen said. "If he mentions police I'll let you know."

"Right then, back at it, Ang," Malcolm said. They continued to jam while Allen ran back out the door in case the staff member came back. 

"Mal's gonna push it," Stevie said. "He's gonna milk this session for all it's worth an' he's right."

"So Keith Moon can blow up toilets," I said. "Other bands can destroy hotel rooms and throw televisions out the window but we can't play a bit of music?" Stevie laughed. 

"Well, different hotels have different policies," he said. "An' I'm sure they paid dearly for their misadventures."

Almost immediately Allen ran back inside, a sheepish grin on his face. Malcolm and Angus once again admitted defeat and quit the song, Angus still plucking a few insignificant chords. "Saw security standing outside," he said. "Big tough guys. One pencil."

"They Sydney's finest?" Malcolm asked. 

"Nah, they belong to the hotel," Allen said. "Think they've been sent down here to-" The door burst open and a large man in a fancy brown sports jacket came marching up to us. Allen stepped outside to let us deal with him, checking around for anyone else.