London Harmony: Doghouse (4 page)

I looked around mumbling, “Post office...” Then pulled out my cell and Googled the closest post office.  I patted my bag where my demo CDs were.  I grabbed my notepad and a pen from my bag and wrote a quick note to send off.  My spirits were looking up again and I put in my earbuds and cued up one of Tabby Cat's harder beats.  I played the air bass as I went.

After mailing off my package, I decided I'd wait until Monday to scout out any of the dozens of Jazz cafes in the city.  The pay at those were chicken scratch, the real bread was in subbing.  So I looked up the local music shops.  They'd have all the want ads posted by band members or substitutes for gigs.  Not much call for string bass, but I was just as proficient on the electric bass.  Beggars can't be choosers.

I was sitting on a bench in a gorgeous park, it wasn't huge, like Central Park in Manhattan.  But it was quite relaxing.  I'd have to look up the name of it later.  I took a picture for my scrapbook.  Then I scrolled through the listings of one of the most musically affluent cities in the world.  Louie's Horn, there were a ton!

One caught my eye, it stood out from the rest, probably because they had a picture of the place.  It appeared to be a half run down building, with so many instruments and parts in the windows that you couldn't see through the windows.

It looked like a junkyard to the music gods and it was making me salivate. Broken Note was its name.  You can never judge a book by its cover.  They specialized in instrument and equipment repair but also carried instruments, and some really obscure brands were listed, marking them as elite to me.

That is the kind of place that real musicians would flock to, not those antiseptically clean shops that treat instruments simply as stock on the shelves.  It was also the only one out of two hundred listings, thirty of which were in the city core, that had a perfect ten-star rating.  They were bound to have a public board I could scour and pin some cards.

Unfortunately, I was a couple miles away at the moment.  I sighed and pulled up the transportation maps on my cell.  I grinned at it, amazed at the functionality of a modern phone, it was like having a complete office in the palm of your hand.

I frowned as I read.  Apparently the buses and the tube only take Oyster Cards or credit cards for payment.  No cash, I wouldn't use my only credit card, I'm sure it was expired by now anyway.  I looked over at the taxis rushing about.  They would cost an arm and a leg.  So I looked up how to purchase an Oyster Card.  I grinned and looked up at the entrance to the Tube across the street.  I could get one at the station below.

Minutes later I was the proud owner of an Oyster Card and on a bus heading across the city core toward Broken Note.  I hopped off the bus and a block later I was standing in front of music nirvana.  I noted a Tube entrance just across the street.  That was good to know, it would make getting back to the hostel easier.

I looked around.  The building was plastered with playbills on every available square inch of outer wall.  It looked like an old auto repair shop or gas station to me.  That added to its charm.

As I entered, an old style bell, on a coiled metal spring, tinkled above the door.  I was amazed at the dusty stacks upon stacks of instrument parts and instruments all haphazardly grouped together in some sort of chaotic semblance of order.  If you didn't know what you were looking at, you'd think it was someone's old uncle Jerry's stash of hoarded junk. To me, it was like looking at rolling hills of gold.

I caught myself popping my earbuds out and whispering in awe, “Wow.”

I heard a man cussing with a heavy Welsh accent, “Bloody hell.  One moment!”  I found a rack with an eclectic mix of music books and was surprised to find an old Jazz book, dated nineteen forty-eight.  I looked inside and there were some classics in it.

The back counter had an antique cash register on it, and behind it a curtain parted and a thirty-something man stepped through with a gruff expression.  He had tanned skin, dark hair, and a beatnik patch of black hair on his chin.  Every inch of the muscular man was covered in tattoos, including his face.  I'd swear he just walked out of either a nineteen sixties television show or that modern Ink Artisans show.

I smiled at him, he was a walking contradiction in the way he looked.  His gruff expression turned into a smile.  Then he asked, “And what can I be doin' for you, lassie?”

I almost chuckled as he poured on the Welsh charm.

I looked at the music I was holding.  “Well for one, I don't see any prices on these.  This one has the  Duke's originals.”

The man had a twinkling of humor in his eyes and replied, “Ahh... not many come in here that would even know that.”  Then he straightened up a bit and said as if he were repeating an often spoken mantra, “All music books are cover price.”

I blinked as I looked at the back cover then said, “Umm... but it says fifty pence.”  That wasn't even one dollar U.S.

He nodded and explained, “Music is not to be profited off of here.  We make enough off on sales and repairs than to be profitin' offa' someone who appreciates the music.  We all need to love music for the music's sake, not to be linin' our bloody pockets.”

I smiled at that and hugged the book to myself as I asked, “Is there a public board here I can post my cards or look for gigs?”

He nodded and was about to speak when the bell above the door tinkled.  A tiny woman that looked as though she stepped right out of an anime show walked in.  She had bright and colorful tattoos all down her arms, and her hair was a light sky blue with a pink shock down the middle.  She wore, of all things, a Hong Kong Phooey tee.  Oh, dear lord, she looked like cotton candy that I just wanted to... The man growled out at her, “You're late Tink.”

She walked right past him, punching him in the gut and saying, “Save it Scooter, Abigail needed me to drop her at London Harmony.”  Then she shot him a wink and disappeared behind the curtain.  The man chuckled and stood back up from where he had doubled over a little.  I grinned at him, he was such a guy, there is no way she could have hurt the musclebound man.

He grinned back and I stretched my neck a little to try to see between the doorway and the curtain.  The man actually chuckled at that.  “Yes, our Tinkerbell is quite the looker.  But alas, her heart belongs to another woman.”

I blinked and looked back at him. “Way to splash cold water on a girl's fantasies...”  What had she called him? “...Scooter.”  This got me some boisterous laughter from him and I caught myself smiling at the display.

He pointed at a few wares of the walls that weren't covered floor to ceiling with instruments and gear.  “The whole building is a public board.”  Then he headed back through the curtain still chuckling a little.  “Keep the book.  It was worth the chuckle.  Call if you need anything else...”  He left it hanging.

I called out, “Liza.”

As the curtain settled he repeated, “Liza.”

I stepped closer to the walls and blinked.  Every square inch had playbills, flyers, pull tabs, want ads, and business cards.  I moved around the shop to find it was like that everywhere, even on the front and sides of the counter.

I took a couple pull tabs for people looking for bassists.  There was one Jazz band that wanted to just jam, I took a tab for them too.  I could jam with them and see if they knew any place I could get some scratch for a gig.  I pinned up multiple cards in every place I looked.  I paused and looked around the shop again.  This was definitely the right choice for me top start.  Broken Note seemed to have the pulse of the underground music scene here.

I was about to leave with the book Scooter had gifted me when my eyes strayed to a picture on the wall behind the counter.  There was a small area that had bunch of Polaroid pictures of Scooter, posing with various people.

One had caught my eye, because it had that awesome Tink person in it.  It had Scooter, Tink, a tall brunette and a golden retriever working dog.  Good lord that was Abigail Addison!  The one woman band!  Then I looked at the curtain.  Tink was dropping this Abigail off?  That was the woman who had her heart?

I couldn't douse my smile as I put my earbuds in.  Inspired by the picture, I cued up ‘Ice Cream Van’ by Abigail Addison as I headed out the door, the little bell tinkling.  I crossed the street, this had been a busy day and I still had to get to the rave later.  Before I went down the steps to the Tube, I took one last look at the little shop, it was supermurgitroid!

After a short ride on London's Tube, which was much cleaner than New York's subway system, I picked up something to eat and headed back to the hostel to call the people I found on the boards and prep for the night.

I caught myself staring at the music book multiple times before I chuckled and gave in.  I took Audrey out of the cage and pulled her out of her case.  I flipped the book open to a random piece and played.  By the time I was singing the tag, everyone in the hostel had gathered around and they sang the tag with me.  That is what music is all about.

Later that night, it was getting dark and I found myself stepping off a bus with Audrey, and I started hoofing it three blocks over to the Kent in Bromley.  The area was sort of in a tucked away pocket behind a gated residential development near a major thoroughfare.  It was a stark contrast to the neighborhood I went through to get to the back road.  If you didn't know it was back there, it would be easy to miss.

There were three old brick industrial looking buildings.  The middle one had big white faded letters painted on the brick, Kent Butchery.  There were no telltale signs of a rave, the odd cars sprinkled around the streets, purposefully not bunching up in any one place to draw attention.  But then again, I was extremely early.  What self-respecting raver shows up at eight?

I looked at all the chained and locked doors and boarded up windows facing the street.  There would be no entrance there, they wouldn't want to draw any unwarranted attention from the local authorities.  While they might have the permission of the property owner, these raves weren't exactly legal.  Thus the 'underground' in the name underground rave.

Then I headed to the alley between two of the buildings.  There was a single light lit, illuminating a back door, and I could hear a well muffled electric generator running behind a little half wall where I would assume the trash dumpsters were housed before the place was abandoned.  Jackpot!

I looked around, then banged on the door.  I waited a minute and heard some shuffling then someone pounded back.  I looked around again then slid the playbill under the door.

A moment later a slim punk rocker of a man, dressed all in black, with dozens of facial piercings opened the door.  He comically blinked and pulled his head back at the sight of Audrey strapped to my back, her neck towering over my head.  He gave me a crooked smile. “Bloody hell, that's a big axe.”  He gave me a wink to let me know he wasn't really that daft.  Then he squinted an eye. “Are you sure you're in the right place love?”

I rolled my eyes at the man as I unshouldered my load.  I offered a hand, “Name's Montrose, Eliza  Montrose.  Are you Ronnie Marx?”

He shook his head. “Pleased to meet you, Eliza.  No... he's setting up the equipment, we didn't expect anyone for another hour.”  Then he added as he offered his hand, “Everyone just calls me Skeeze.”

We shook and I smiled at him.  He had a flair for individuality, but I had a feeling he hadn't chosen that name.  “Is that what your mother calls you?”

He chuckled. “No, she calls me Steven if she talks to me at all.  She's not really supportive of my life choices and all.”

I inclined my head and gave him a little smile. “Well I'm very pleased to meet you, Steven.  You can just call me Liza.”  Then I pointed back. “Ronnie is this way?”

He nodded and replied, “Yes, I'll walk you back.”  He looked at my bass case.  “You need help with that?”

I shook my head. “No but thanks, I've been carrying her for years now.”

Then he led me down a dimly lit back hall and through a sheet of hanging plastic into a massive room that was lit up everywhere by strings of clear Christmas lights.  Near the far wall, there was a man setting up a deejay board on a makeshift stage made of what looked like a few construction platforms lashed together.

He looked up as we approached.  I blinked a couple times.  Well hello there.  He was a tall, handsome man with dark hair, who had the classic bad boy looks.  Complete with the scruffy whiskers of a man who hadn't shaved for a couple days.  The man wore black slacks and a charcoal grey dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, its long sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  He was quite roguish and dashing.  Yum.

Steven saw my hungry look and bumped my shoulder playfully. “Down girl, he's spoken for.”

The slight smirk on his face told me the story.  They were together.

I let my grin grow as I said, “Damn.” 

He said to the man, “Ronnie, this is Liza.  She want's a word.”  When Ronnie nodded once, Steven inclined his head to me and he peeled off, heading back to man the door.

Ronnie gave a smile as he set down the cables he was working with and smoothly sat on the edge of the stage in front of me so we were at eye level.  I saw humor sparkling around in his eyes as they flicked down to Audrey.  He offered a hand.  “Pleased to meet you, Liza.  What can I do for you?  Things won't be hopping around here for about another hour.”

He had an iron grip, he didn't try squeezing my hand or anything like that, it was just that there was no give in it, it was like shaking hands with a brick.  I was impressed that he had that much finger control.  He'd make a good bassist.

“I was just wondering if you knew any bands looking for a string bass, jazz mostly, or if you had a slot tonight I could show off my skills. Get my name out there.  Just need to pull some scratch to support myself a few days before heading back to the States.”

He pursed his lips as if he were considering me then sort of leaned back casually, supporting himself with his arms on the edge of the stage.  “You understand were more punk, thrash, rock and pop here don't you?”

I nodded as I laid my bass down gently then pulled my card out and handed it to him.  He looked amused at the card.  Then I said, “I have my own fusion sound of modern rock and jazz.”

He grinned down at Audrey. “With that beast?”

I gave him a challenging smirk and he cocked an eyebrow.

He put out a hand. “Hit me with it.”

I dug past my CDs and pulled out a thumb drive and handed it to him.  He hopped up lithely and went to his equipment and plugged the drive into a console and then held a pair of headphones up to one ear as he selected some of my music from the drive.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he started keeping time by tapping on his hip as accurately as a metronome as his head slightly bobbed.  He glanced at the drive, the bass case, and me, then turned his back and listened more as he switched from track to track.

He finally set the headphones down and pulled my drive as he turned to me.  He was tapping his finger on the drive like he was considering something.  As he tossed the drive to me he asked, “Can you do that live?” 

I caught it with my left hand and stuffed it back into my bag.  “All of those are live, at all the venues I've played the last five years.”

As he sat on the edge of the stage again and leaned back, kicking his feet he rubbed the back of his neck then challenged, “Prove it,”

I cocked an eyebrow at him and said with a lilt in my voice, “Alright.”  Then I unzipped my case and pulled Audrey out.  His smug look was gone when he narrowed his eyes at my girl, there was a hint of recognition in them.  He looked, I don't know, shocked?

I slid the endpin down and spun her experimentally.  The rubber tip was getting a little brittle, I'd have to replace it soon.  That would be a pain, Audrey was so old that she didn't use standard parts like a screw in endpin tip.  Slade always had them special made.

Something had changed in Ronnie, he was suddenly more attentive, more intense as he stared at my bass.  What was that all about?

I plucked a bit, adjusting the tuning pegs.  Then I gave him a smartass curtsy and started playing my fusion cover of ‘Snowflakes’ by Satin Thunder.  This one showcased not only my playing but my voice.  Not many people could sing Kimi Solomon's part of this song.  She was the thunder of their group and had such tight control of her tone.  I had to sing a register lower because I was not a soprano like her.

To me, Skylar Roth's parts were actually more difficult.  Not because she was a better vocalist than Kimi, but because she used her voice as a hammer to forge emotion into the tone.  Creating something that was hard to reproduce.  I mean, how the hell did she sing with that much emotion in her voice?  It was hard not to choke up and get swept away by that emotional current.  I made it something new, an emotional rendition of the song with a lot of swing and jazz flavor.

I ended with a walk down the strings worthy of Uncle Slade.  Then in the silence that followed I started putting Audrey back to bed.  There was a slow clap behind me as Steven uttered, “Bloody hell.” From the hall where he was holding the plastic sheet aside.  I gave him a silly bow and turned back to find Ronnie had stood and was at the back of the stage, muttering animatedly into his cell.

Ronnie hung up and slipped his cell into his back pocket as he turned around.  He held up a finger.  “One cover.  After the deejay battle.  That's your one chance.”

I could feel my smile bloom as I said what I have heard all over London, “Brilliant!  Can I keep her safe up there?”

He looked nervous and he swallowed, nodding once as he stared down at my bass.  I handed her up to him and he moved slowly and carefully like she was made of crystal.  He put her against the wall with his own gear.

Then I got bored real fast as I waited.  A couple came in, the first of the crowd.  I finally broke and blurted to Ronnie, “I'm so friggin' bored.  Is there anything I can do to help out?”

He smiled at me then considered it and pointed at the long tables at the far end of the room.  You can set up the refreshments.  Tia will be here in a couple minutes, she's in charge of the drinks and the money.

Thankful to be not just standing around, I moved over and started unpackaging the red plastic cups and setting stacks of them on the plywood tables.  I glanced up and Ronnie caught my eye, he seemed to be done and he pointed at me, hitting something on the console.  I tilted my head back and laughed mirthfully as ‘Snowflakes’ by Satin Thunder boomed out of the speakers.  To him I mouthed, “Smartass.”

It was his turn to laugh.  He held his headphones to one ear as he adjusted things on the console.  He and Steven were a riot.  A tiny little gal who had the same coloring and dark hair as Ronnie came in and made a beeline for me as I was pulling out some small single serving bags of chips to put on the tables.

She had the same eyes as Ronnie too, she had to be his sister or some other close relation.  She actually giggled at me as I separated the flavors and was stacking them neatly.  She grabbed the box from me and said, “Hi, I'm Tia.  Thanks for the help.”  Then she unceremoniously dumped the whole box into a little mountain on the table.  She wiggled her eyebrows. “It's a rave woman, live dangerously.”

I chuckled and offered my hand. “Liza.”

She shook and then made a silly face as she grabbed a couple more bags of plastic cups and just slapped them down onto the table. I crinkled my nose at her and stuck out my tongue as I appraised her.  She was one of those cute but sassy gals.  I could dig it.  Then she pulled some taps from her bag and deftly tapped a keg.

She took two cups and filled them and handed one over.  “Thanks again, I was running late.  Unlike Ronnie, some of us Marx's have a day job.”

We clinked cups and started drinking. “No problem. I was here early so I was getting bored.  I was glad to have something to do.”  She tilted her head in understanding and we turned to watch as more people started arriving at ever increasing intervals as we chatted about music over the thrumming beat.

The place was slamming by just after nine, I was amazed at the variety of people who came through the door.  They seemed to come from all walks of life, but the predominant culture appeared to be punk and goth.

Tia was hard pressed to keep people's drink cups full and collect money for the beer and snacks.  She didn't need me yapping with her and distracting.  So I laid a hand on her arm and yelled over the music, which was a great thrash metal piece with a guitarist who was just shredding the axe.  “I'm going to mingle.  And by mingle, I mean press up against some of those hot bodies out there.”  I wiggled my eyebrows at her as she gave a little explosive burst of laughter.

She gave me a quick hug. “Go get 'em, girl.”

I crinkled my nose, gave a mock salute and I was off to dance in the throng of swaying bodies.  I was having a blast, the mix of music Ronnie was playing was varied.  He seemed to have all flavors of rock and pop mixed in and most were bands I had never heard of before.

At one point, during a slower piece, I saw something catch Ronnie's attention.  I turned back toward the plastic sheet across the hallway, following his gaze and the nod he exchanged with a smaller man who was wearing an oversize black hoodie.  I had to blink, he was with two stunning women.

A little blondie who was decked out in leathers and spiked bracelets couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty.  She already had the beat as she started dancing with her hands over her head, and she sort of melted into the crowd, heading toward the mosh pit directly in front of the stage.  She was in the “too cute for human consumption” category.

It was the other woman in an unzipped green hoodie who caught my eye.  She was dressed in stylish rave gear beneath it.  But I recognized most of it from high-end celebrity magazines.  The outfit she wore so easily, making it look good in all the right places, cost a small fortune.  Her wide black belt with the oversize skull was about three hundred dollars alone.  The boots were the dead giveaway.  Those were Gerardo Giuseppe's, the suede leather thigh highs, with those adorable block heels, booked for almost fifteen hundred.

That hoodie was directly out of the Lane Sparrow catalog.  Only the elite hip hop singers in the, “I'm richer than your deity” circles could afford one.  I couldn't see much of her face at all, she had her hood pulled up like her effeminate moving boyfriend who was wearing an outfit that cost maybe five bucks at a second-hand shop.  I could see her lips, though, they were stretched attractively in a broad smile as the beat thrummed through her, making her body start to sway then dance gracefully.