The crowd responded, whistling, cheering, and screaming their agreement.
“Shit—San Fran. Yeah. Just gettin’ that shit mixed up in my head.”
Oh, Jesus. How much had he drunk and how long ago?Mixed uphad come out slurred—and I hoped the audience couldn’t tell.
Oh, Zack.
“Anyway, we’ve gotta helluva show for you all tonight and we wanna thank you for coming out tonight. The critics—well, they trashed us about this album. They called ushacksandhas beens. Can you believe that shit?” The crowd booed their support—and one person near the front cupped his mouth and yelled, “You guys rock!”
But Zack was in his own little world. He let his guitar hang off his body as he reached in his back pocket and pulled out his phone. “Thanks, guys. But I have some questions for you. Do you guys think our new stuff, uh, belongs in the sewers?”
“No!” came a collective shout from the crowd.
“And do you guys hate ‘Sweet Love,’ a supposedly good tune with ‘insipid lyrics’?”
Again, the crowd told Zack with their reactions thattheywere not critics. Cy glanced at Braden and Braden nodded. Then Braden gave me a quick nod, urging me to bang my sticks together to get “Sweet Love” started. When we’d seen how much air time it was getting and how much it was streaming, we knew that would have to be the second song on our playlist.
Zack didn’t start playing right away—but, over the beginning bars of the music that Braden and Cy played, he said, “Well, since you guys don’t hate it, we’ll play it for you.”
The crowd continued to cheer and clap…but I wondered how many of them had already figured out that Zack was blitzed out of his gourd.
Because Zack rarely played this song and only sang, Cy kept the groove going—and with all of us singing backup, Zack wound up sounding good. Of course, the girls in the audience went crazy.
As I listened to the lyrics for what felt like the hundredth time, I wondered if Zack had written those words for Gabi. The second verse seemed to confirm it.
I’d giveit all away for you.
‘Cause nothing matters if you’re not here.
Take an entire mag of ammo to the chest.
Go all the way to hell but never you fear.
But it wasthe bridge of the song that killed me:
I’mon my hands and knees; do you want me to beg?
I searched the world over looking for you.
I didn’t know you were here all along, babe.
But I don’t know how I can prove my love to you.
To you.
To you.
It wasthose words that made me ache—because Gabi had been there “all along” and he’d finally found her…but I’d been there longer.
I pounded the shit out of my drums. When the hell would I let all that go?
Cy was finally wowing the audience with his smoking solo and I was relieved no one had caught on to Zack’s drunkenness—but Mick had. I knew because I spotted him in the wings keeping an eye on Zack. Would he yank him off the stage if something happened? And, if he did, would the three of us be able to cover?
Not long after that, he disappeared, but I felt some relief that he knew what was going on.
The song finished and the crowd was loud and rambunctious, and I felt grateful that they were enjoying the show, despite what the rest of us knew.
Zack pulled his guitar from where it was draped on his back so that it was situated at the front, and he gripped the neck as he leaned into the mic. “You guys are awesome, and me an’ my friends up here appreciate your warm reception.”
