Musical Monday
Every Monday, we’ll be
featuring a piece of writing either to do with music or inspired by a piece of
music. Not only will the musical inspiration be shared, but we’ll talk a little
bit about why we found it so inspiring and what motivated the writing of
the piece we shared. We welcome other musically inspired authors to drop us a
line and tell us about their own musical inspirations and would be happy to
feature them on Musical Mondays as well.
Rocktoberfest is coming. Fans
of Rockstar romances know that October is when we launch the Road to Rocktoberfest
series. This year’s collection features 12 authors with 12 unique books
all featuring their band’s Rockroberfest journey and the events unfolding in
the characters' lives both before, during, and sometimes after the desert
festival. This will be the third year season of Rocktoberfest, the first
appearing in 2020 and the second in 2022. Plans are already in the works for a
2024 Rocktoberfest lineup with new and returning bands already gearing up to
make that desert trek again. The first book of the 2023 season: Rocking Karma
by Kaje Harper releases on Oct. 3rd, to be followed by Axe to Grind
by Gabbi Grey on Oct. 6.
The entire Rocktoberfest collection is currently available for pre-order and can be found here:
Like the other authors in
the Rocktoberfest collection, I’ve been inspired by music for most of my life. From
blues to classic rock, grunge, alternative, and heavy metal, music is a huge
part of my daily life and something that is as essential to me as breathing.
Need a pick me up – find a song. Want to cry – find a song. Looking to capture
or create a particular mood – you guessed it: song. There are songs I will
forever associate with particular moments or people in my life, like Pride and
Joy, which my old man loved to air guitar and dance through his apartment
singing, and Only Women Bleed, a slow, somber Alice Cooper song a friend
learned to play on his guitar so we could sing together. The first car wreck I
was ever in, Monkey Business by Skid Row was blaring from my CD player, back
when you still had to connect a Diskman to a car via the tape deck unless you
wanted to drive with headphones on. I still remember the last song I listened
to while sitting at my favorite creative writing spot out at West Island Beach
just outside of Fairhaven Massachusetts. It was Take it to the Limit, and there
were tears streaming down my face because deep down I think I knew it would be a
long time before I ever got back there again, and never with the person whose hand I was holding as we watched the sunset.
All of those moments came
crashing back, recently, when I was writing the second version of my
Rocktoberfest story for this season. In it, the band, Damaged Saints, has
brought in a new singer after an accident the previous year left their longtime
frontman unable to perform with them. Jagger isn’t used to playing with anyone
but cover bands and he’s not used to dropping his walls and being as
emotionally invested in a song as they need him to be in order to perform with
them, though there is one of the band’s songs he is intimately familiar with.
When he is finally left with no choice but to sing it, it becomes the moment when
the band members know that with patience and practice, he’s going to be an
amazing fit for them.
The lyrics are original, I wrote them as part of a songwriting class last year, when I was trying to process a loss much like the one Jagger will eventually be forced to open up and talk about. For now though, he’s all about the superficial and keeping from having to feel anything too deeply. This song cracks his armor when he has to sing it and the crack only widens the longer he’s with the group and the deeper his connection grows with Kayden, Robbie, and ultimately the rest of the band too.
I was fortunate enough to
have someone perform the song I wrote at an open mic night, a song originally
inspired by the Black Label Society song In This River. Hearing it live, even if it was more of a country version than a rocker one, at least gave me some idea of the depth of feeling that Jagger would need to pour into it to make it come alive.
I hope you will check out Damaged Saints when it releases on October 27th and see the hilarity that ensues when these five individuals and two large St. Bernards come together to prepare for the journey out to the desert.
“So, here’s how this is
gonna work,” Robbie said, mercifully cutting to the point. “You’re gonna write
down the songs you know and we’ll pick one and work from there. Shouldn’t take
more than a handful to see if Johnny was bullshitting about you being good or
not.”
Jagger choked back a
snarl on the way to the microphone, resisting the urge to spit a retort at him.
If Robbie’s point was to bait him then the last thing Jagger wanted was to make
it easy on him. Wasn’t easy, but he could keep his mouth shut until it was time
to sing, and they could make up their minds from there. He took the notepad
Mickey handed him and scrawled the names of the seven songs he knew best,
leaving out the god damned ballad he’d choked up on the first time he’d tried
to sing it. The damn thing packed a punch, one he wasn’t sure he could deliver
they way they’d want him to, so best to not let them think it was on the table,
despite knowing it word for word.
Mickey only glanced at the
list before passing it to Robbie, who shook his head and cut Jagger a withering
look.
“Kinda cliché, only
listing the most popular ones.” Robbie said.
Shrugging Jagger rolled
his shoulders a little trying to loosen some of the tension there. “Was what
the people wanted.”
“And do you only give
people what they ask for, or do you have a mind of your own beneath that mop of
golden hair,” Robbie shot back, eyebrows scrunching up as he studied Jagger. “That
really your natural color or did someone highlight the hell out of it for you?”
“Pretty sure you didn’t
invite me up here for salon tips,” Jagger snarled, “and for the record, it’s
natural. Now are we doing this, or what?”
Robbie just smirked and swept
his hand towards the mic stand. “After you.”
“You sure you don’t need a
drink or a few minutes to warm up?” Kayden asked as he headed for his guitar.
It was a beauty, with black lines slashed across a purple surface, the Cheshire
cat’s eyes and trademark grin prominently featured in the corner.
“I’ll be warm enough by
the second song,” Jagger remarked as he adjusted the height of the stand.
Apparently he was a good deal shorter than their original frontman.
Shrugging, Kayden turned
his attention to tuning his axe. “Fair enough.”
There was some rustling
going on behind his back and what sounded like pages turning, then Kayden
launched into the opening chords of a song that Jagger knew damned well wasn’t
on the list he’d given them.
He knew it though, and
didn’t miss his cue, launching in with all the intensity he could manage while
doing his best to mimic the way it sounded on the album. About halfway through
the beat changed, throwing everything off as Robbie pounded one of his sticks
on the snare drum, his furious No! No! No! bringing the rest of them
screeching to a halt.
“Robbie, what…” Mickey
began, cut off when Robbie pointed a stick at Jagger and bellowed.
“Sing the fuckin’ song
the way you want to sing it, not how you think we want you to!”
Blinking, Jagger stood
with his feet rooted to the spot, confusion leaving him hesitant to say
anything. Wasn’t the point of him being here that he was damned good at
mimicking the singers he listened to, right down to the particular notes they
drew out? Hell, he could manage a damned good southern accent when the song
called for it, which made fitting into a wide variety of bands and easy thing
for him. He’d even filled in with country trio once and garnered some high
praise from the guy he’d replaced, not that any of that was helping him in any
way right now. Robbie didn’t seem the slightest bit impressed. The brilliant
blue of his eyes had darkened to something almost stormy as they glared at one
another until Jagger finally lowered his gaze and stepped away from the mic.
“I think I’ll take that
beer now,” he remarked, scurrying away from the trio before someone got it in
their heads to start playing another song.
Mercifully, the beers had
twist tops. He opened two, holding the second while he pounded the first, nearly
done with it when he felt someone trying to liberate the second one from his
cold fingers.
Kayden.
Go figure.
“I’m planning on drinking
that,” Jagger said, refusing to let it go.
“Dude, relax and just
breathe for a minute. You down the second as fast as you finished that one and
they’re gonna hit like a son of a bitch about ten minutes from now. Don’t think
that’s going to work out quite the way you’re hoping.”
“Right. As opposed to how
well it’s working out now,” Jagger grumbled, gently tugging the beer away from
Kayden so he could drink that one too.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn
you. Booze hits different at high altitudes, which you’re about to experience
firsthand.”
“It’ll be an improvement,
I promise you.”
“Maybe, but what we’ve
heard already didn’t sound bad at all, it just wasn’t what we’re after.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“Then figure out how to
work with it.” Kayden said before grabbing a beer of his own and leaving Jagger
to get his mind right before returning to the mic.
“Take two,” Mickey said, only
instead of Kayden playing the opening chords to the previous song, Robbie
tapped out the intro to an entirely different one. Like the first one, it
wasn’t on the list Jagger had given them and he was beginning to suspect that
they weren’t going to set him up to sing any of the ones that were.
Kayden had been right
about one thing though. That beer was hitting nicely and that ball of nerves
that had been firmly lodged in his gut was rapidly unraveling. Truth was he
loved the fuck out of the song even if the reason why was painful as hell. It
just wasn’t one the beer and vodka crowd ever asked for, considering the harsh
reality of the story it told.
Was far too easy to give
in to the rage and pain steeped words, the emotions sucking him under until he
felt vulnerable and exposed.
We were born dyin’ one minute at a time
First breath, last cry, mere inches from the end
Cliff dive over a sad abyss of hopeless dreams
Broken, frayed now, shredded at the seams.
Restless moments where hopes lie unrefined
We’re still chasing, floundering and blind
Rebels, angels desperate to be free
Always haunted by who we hoped to be.
We chased the ghosts of fireflies
On crazy, moonlit suicide rides
You cursed the pain, the thunder, graveyards, ghosts
and glue
Those clingy moments, failed races never won but in
the end
You cursed the demons who were your friends
You cursed the rain, the summer, purple, spring and
blue
But the one you cursed most…was you.
Was you.
You did the one thing you swore you’d never do
Liar, deceiver
Curse me for trusting you!
Into the abyss you leapt without even saying goodbye
No scream, no note, no reason why
Metal flesh and blood fusing into one,
Jaded, we cling to mad delusions of purple suns
You cursed the pain, the thunder, graveyards, ghosts
and glue
Those clingy moments, failed races never won but in
the end
You cursed the demons who were your friends
You cursed the rain, the summer, purple, spring and
blue
But the one you cursed most…was you.
Was you.
A broken line divides love and hate
Sweeping me away from you
And every empty war we fought
Was one step closer to the end
You ran away, you quit, unfinished business yet to tend
I’m pissed at you my precious friend
I’m pissed at you my precious friend.
You cursed the pain, the thunder, graveyards, ghosts
and glue
Those clingy moments, failed races never won but in
the end
You cursed the demons who were your friends
You cursed the rain, the summer, purple, spring and
blue
But the one you cursed most…was you.
Was you.
The one you cursed the most was you.
Was you.
The one you cursed the most was you.
Tears stung his eyes by
the time he was through, the crushing weight of dozens of memories pressed down
on him, threatening to drown him in their intensity. Swiping a hand across his
eyes didn’t help, nor did holding his breath and trying to count backwards as
far as he could before he had to inhale again. Jagger clutched that mic stand
like a lifeline, his shaggy hair flopping into his face as he pressed his head
against the mic, certain the audition was about to be over. Maybe that was a
good thing. At this point the three of them were probably wishing he’d never
shown up at their door…either time.
“Now that’s what we were
looking for.”
That was Robbie’s voice,
coming from somewhere super close and a little to the left of him. Everything
was a little bit bleary when he raised his head and tried to focus on him. “I’m
sorry. I’ve wasted enough of your time. I need to hit the road before it’s too
late for me to make it all the way home.”
“First off, you ain’t
going nowhere after drinking those beers, and secondly, didn’t you hear what I
just said to you?”
Robbie had a hand on his
shoulder now, the weight of it helping to ground him a little. The fact that they were so touchy feely was
kinda nice, actually, even when one of them was trying to detain him or steal
his beer. He could easily get used to it, even if that made it harder for him
to reign in his emotions.
Pressing the heels of his
palms against his eyes at least meant they wouldn’t be able to see the tears
that lingered. And he rubbed at them until no moisture remained. By the time he
got himself back under control all three of them had surrounded him.
“Damn, dude, do you know
how much of a compliment it is to us that our song moved you like that?” Kayden
asked, staring at him with this strange mix of confusion and awe. “I got chills
listening to you and almost forgot that I was supposed to be playing.”
“You weren’t the only
one,” Mickey said. “I’ve played that song so many times I figured I was immune
to the gut punch it was supposed to pack, but you nearly knocked me on my ass
when you got to the part about the broken line between love and hate.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll be any
good with the rest of your material.”
Robbie snorted at that
and cocked his head to the side like he was trying to figure something out. If
the answers would get him away from the piercing intensity of that bright blue gaze,
then he’d have happily given them to him. It was sharp and intimate and way too
much and yet Jagger couldn’t manage to look away.
“Yeah, it does,” Robbie said. “Only question now is if you’ll stick around long enough for us to prove it to you?”
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