Under the Stars and Stripes (Under Him)

“Hey, Theo.”

“Evening, Charlie, meet my sister, Petra.”

“Hello, Petra,” the behemoth bouncer said, bending down to shake her hand.

“She would like to come to the show tonight.”

“How old are you, Petra?”

“21,” Petra said.

“Any identification?”

“You don’t need to see her ID.”

“It’s probably fine. I don’t need to see your identification,” Charlie said.

I felt like a Jedi pulling off a mind trick, at least until Charlie turned to me in all seriousness.

“She’s your responsibility, Theo.”

“I’ll be on stage or at her table the whole time.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Charlie let Petra through as I ran as fast as I could to the stage door, rapping three times according to our convention.

“Better haul ass, they’re almost done,” one of our roadies said once he opened it.

“Thanks, Yorgie.’

Dashing down the corridor, my gear clattering on the cement floor behind me, I got to the backstage area just in time for the opener to hit their last note. There were zero seconds before I had to go out and set up.

I’d taken the precaution of dressing like a tech, adding a black baseball cap I kept pulled down, so no one would know it was me.

The stage was set in record time, and I was able to go back to the green room in time to change before my name was called. I’d never started a gig late, let alone cancelled one.

That was one of the many reasons for my unusual popularity. No matter who else was playing or how small the crowd, I could look out and see at least fifty shirts with the name of my project on it.

Following in the footsteps of other one-man music projects, I did everything myself, using some pretty clever techniques that allowed me to play live. That was more than could be said for my predecessors, from Burzum to Evilfeast.

One of the main advantages to Dark Wave music was that drum machines, programming and looping were commonplace. Laying a groundwork of industrial bang-and-hiss from the drum machine, I laid in with the synth.

Then, it was time for layer after layer of simulated strings, creating an electro-orchestra from nothing, augmented by a driving bass plod. The looper pedal connected the synth to the amplifier filled almost to capacity.

When the melody was set, I stepped up to the mic and began to speak-sing, which came out somewhere between an introspective poet and a carnival barker, with the occasional Mad Scientist laugh. That was likely what most newcomers might expect from an act called Mad Alchemy.

And I was delivering it just like they liked it.

Chapter Three - Becca

I listened intently to the words of a Loki’s Laugh song in my headphones, or at least those that I could understand.

Time was moving by at an agonizing pace.

It had come out of nowhere, like a thunderstorm on a previously clear Sunday morning. It had been decided that the graduating class in my program would go through a series of seminars prior to the final concert, a somewhat cynical bid to try and get their graduation rates up.

Being regarded as one of the toughest programs in the country had its advantages, but it was still best if potential students saw a point in trying. Especially in terms of finding employment after graduation.

So, this was meant to be a carrot on the end of the considerably sized stick of the program’s graduation rate, which was only an average of ten graduates out of seventy students accepted.

The seminar wound down without me contributing a whole lot, which was something that would no doubt come back to bite me later, at least in the form of a chewing out by the participation-insistent professor. Not everyone had much to say, though particularly if they were already planning out the graduation program, which I was.

It wasn’t a difficult decision and made the most sense to end at the beginning with something deep and Germanic. Not Wagner himself, of course— that would be far too common and predictable. It wasn’t a bad general theme, though.

It was just the sort of thing most people either loved or hated on a gut level. I just had to hope there were more people in the former camp.

The sounds of Loki’s Laugh filled my ears and rattled my skull as I stood in hope. Buses from the loop were notoriously unreliable, the posted schedule being more of a polite suggestion. More often than not, it was due to the disaffected driver moseying over from the nearby café, fresh coffee in hand and a paper under his arm. Nice work if you could get it.

In the back by choice, I rode the bus as far as I dared, stopping far from my home uptown. I was on a mission and there was only one place I could go to be certain of success. As certain as anyone ever was anyway.