“Sure. Anything. What’s up?”
He was my best friend and knew all my secrets, including that I was a little. Like him. I hadn’t realized he was like me until he said it, but looking back on things, I saw the signs. I’d been too close to figure it out at the time. But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. “I made an appointment with a doctor to maybe get something for anxiety before the next tour.”
“That actually sounds like a good idea. You were really stressed last time.”
“I’m already stressing over the next tour, and we haven’t actually started recording yet.”
“Then it’s absolutely a good idea. I’m taking on a lot of new clients and also managing all the existing ones. That means being with you on tour might be rare.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
He huffed, “It is. But this is what I wanted.” He was an incredible lawyer, and he also learned a lot on tour with me, not only about the music business but about clients.
“I’m pulling into the studio. Hold on.” I had to swipe the badge Jinx gave me to open the gate. They’d been increasing security lately, and I wasn’t opposed to that. Once the gate had clattered open, I drove through.
“I can let you go. Call me when you get home tonight and give us an update on the session.”
“Sure will. Love you.”
“Love you, bye.”
Don always supported me and cared about my best interests. Any time he had a better idea, he shared it. He was fearless and proud. And he cared about me more than anyone, allowing me to have more confidence in my decisions.
After parking, I took a long, deep breath, switching gears. It was time to get to work. Since Ziggy went to rehab, Bramble Punk had more time in the studio, and I actually enjoyed that a lot more than performing. I was ready for it.
Inside, everyone was congregating in the common room. It was set up to provide musicians with a comfortable space to discuss the music and brainstorm ideas. There was also a conference room with a long table, but that was more business-like and less artist-like, so I grabbed a bottle of water and leaned back on the couch. When we worked something up to play, we’d head into the sound room.
We were kicking some ideas around, not having written much on the tour, when special guests showed up. Ziggy had successfully completed rehab, but Midnight Hunt was still on hold with recording for a while. He was here for moral support, along with Wolf, who would most likely produce the record along with the other Midnight Hunt guys. They all had a vested interest in our little band, and we knew it, but it didn’t feel like pressure, more like encouragement and assistance. I was good with that.
Wolf was discussing reworkingHouse and Homeand recording it, since it hadn’t been released on an album, but we were debating that. Most of the band wanted to work on new stuff. Before we made any decisions, we had another visitor.
Pierce Lawrence.
He was the lead singer for a punky rock band out of LA called Surf Sons. But more recently, he’d recorded a single with Midnight Hunt and sung with them at a couple of shows on tour. The song was calledDip and Grind, and he sounded fantasticwith Miami, but Miami had practically growled at him to fuck off.
I saw it in a different way. “Hey, guys. Maybe Bramble Punk could do something with Pierce?” That possibility gave me the excuse I needed to express my feelings about things. I’d probably never get the nerve again. I had to go for it. “I want to play more guitar. I mean, being the frontman is fine, but I miss laying down some killer licks. And Pierce is all frontman with that voice.” I gestured to Pierce to get everyone focused on him instead of me.
Joe didn’t seem to like the idea at all. “What about me?” We broke out into an argument at that point. We normally got along well, but Joe took it personally, like an attack on him, though it was anything but. And Matty jumped in defending him, but Randy thought we should keep an open mind, while Dave looked at everyone, his head swiveling back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match. Ziggy tried to remind him that other bands had more than one guitarist, and we already had more than one with or without a new singer.
I had to end this. “Hey, hey. Stop. I don’t give a fuck what anyone else does or thinks. I play well with these two guys, so let’s do that. Two leads, off and on, playing against each other, and a rhythm guitar providing depth. It’ll be cool as hell as long as we don’t get too muddy with it. Come on. Can we try it out and see what it sounds like?” It shouldn’t have been too much of a shift from what we were already doing and would give me the balance I needed. “It’s not a huge change, only adding someone else for vocals. That’s all.”
Jinx agreed. Pierce was willing.
We went into the studio, talked about what we wanted to do with it, and then started playing. Joe and I were in sync, weaving the melody around each other before taking it back to the top. Joe was a beast, really shredding, and I kept up. It was incredible.
“That felt good.” I gave Joe a fist bump. “I’d love our sound to be this good on every song.”
“I admit that was killer. As long as we keep it crisp.” Joe pinched his index and thumb together to indicate how tight he wanted it.
“Exactly.”
Then Wolf came into the sound room and handed us a song to look over.Pine Box. Ziggy wrote the lyrics, and it was kind of dark but not off-brand for us. I saw why they offered it up. I had a hard time imagining Miami’s vocals on these lyrics, but not Pierce’s.
Wolf left the room and got behind the board. Looked like he was jumping in to produce, which I had suspected. When he called for us to go, Randy gave us the intro, and then Pierce sang out a few of the first lines. “You threw my heart in a pine box…My love went deep, six feet. Can’t claw my way back—nowhere left to dance…” It sounded like Ziggy had written this specifically for Pierce to sing.
We worked on it for a bit, getting some killer riffs in, before Wolf made the cutting motion. “That’s a wrap. Now can we work onHouse and Home?” Going back and recording individual pieces for it later was inevitable, but sometimes it was also good to let it sit for a while.
Joe groaned. “Seriously?”
