I just turned to pick up my drink, that was all. I waited for Alex to speak but it wasn’t Alex. It was Razer.
I’d barely said hello when Alex joined us.
Razer finished his beer and set his glass on the bar so Alex finished his and called for a whiskey.
"Make it two," said Razer, a glint of rivalry in his eyes.
I wasn’t sure if Razer could afford the expensive whiskey that Alex drank but hey, it was his money.
“Enjoy the set?” Alex asked him.
Razer had been watching? I hadn’t seen him in the band room. He must’ve been in a dark corner somewhere because he wasn’t an easy guy to hide.
"It's shite, isn't it?” Razer asked. “You seem all grandiose but it's toying around. There's nothing real behind it. No raw emotion."
Razer wasn’t known for holding his punches.
Alex rolled his eyes. "Not caveman enough for you, you mean?"
And so the argument went. They'd gone from trying to impress me to forgetting me altogether in their attempts to outdo each other. Fine by me.
"What do you think, Violet?" Alex asked.
"Huh?" I’d tuned them out.
"Who do you pick? You've heard us both play. You must have a preference."
I held up my hands like stop signs. "Keep me out of this. I have no preference. I just work here and, with the way things are at the moment, my preference is for the band who brings the most punters in through that door. I need to keep my job and keep the place open."
Razer kept on with his reasons for being the best.
“Have you had anyone cry, genuinely cry because the song you are playing reminded them of the sweetest moment of their childhood? Have you ever had someone lose control? Jumping around like a crazy thing because the music makes them realize that today is all they have? It’s not just about playing chords, mate. It’s not about manufacturing emotion. You can fool people with that but you can’t fool their hearts. You have to get your hands dirty and you have to turn nasty. If there’s something within you, a part you hate or you are scared of, or that embarrasses the absolute shit out of you, if that’s not in the music then it’s nothing.”
Razer surprisingly made a few articulate points. I’d never thought of Razer as being an articulate type of guy.
Alex didn't respond. He seemed to be miles away with his face twisted in thought.
Suddenly, he slammed his glass down on the bar. "Listen up. This is what we do."
I looked at him and even Razer stopped talking.
Alex called Carlie over. "We need witnesses for this."
Carlie raised her brows in curiosity and left the customers she was serving to come down our end of the bar.
"We can argue all night and well into tomorrow over who is the better rocker," Alex said. "It proves nothing. We have to do this scientifically. It's like Violet says. The one who brings the most punters into the club is the best band. That is the way to prove it."
My tired brain ticked that over.
"Wait, that's balls," said Razer. "The one who brings the most people in is the best band? But what if One Direction played here? They'd bring in more people than either of us could. You saying that we’re more shit than One Direction? Because those are fighting words."
"Well, since One Direction isn't about to play here, it's a non-issue. It'll take me a month or so to get a band together and get them up to speed. So how about it? We take one Saturday night each and the one with the greatest numbers gets the prize."
Razer scratched his head.
"Works for me, but hey, what's the prize? Some lame 'best band' trophy? I don't need that shite."
So that's how this whole stupid thing started. And it was stupid, on the scale of stupid ideas in this world, their dumb idea would’ve been Nobel Prize winning stupid, if there was a Nobel Prize for stupid ideas.