Rock Hard

The first, a death metal duo called ‘Infant Annihilator,’ had a line through their column, with a sizeable x next to it.

I was glad I’d never have to listen to them again.

“It’s like a check list?” I asked Seth.

“Sort of, only with eliminations, and you write it out yourself.”

“I see.”

Not too hard, then. It was beginning to look like a pretty easy job after all. Then he put on the next record.

The music absolutely blasted out, and I couldn’t help it; my hands flew to my ears. I liked my music as loud as the next rock fan, but not only was this loud, it was even worse than the first one had been, and I hadn’t thought that was possible.

I kept my fingers pressed tight into my ears until I realized there was no lingering pounding, then cautiously unplugged them.

“It’s safe now,” Seth said.

A hand touched my shoulder. The spark was undeniable. I fully uncovered my ears and looked at him with hope and longing.

“Does that happen a lot?” I asked him. “The really horrible demos, I mean?”

“More than I’d like it to,” he admitted. “One of the downsides to mostly being a Metal label is that there can be a very superficial understanding of what the music is supposed to sound like.”

“It was just screaming,” I said, still wincing. “Not growling, even. There was no control at all.”

“I hear you. It’s shocking at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

He sat back down and picked up the next prospect. Meanwhile I held my breath, praying for better things. Regardless, I folded my hands in my lap and crossed my fingers, determined not to cover my ears again either way. I didn’t want to be unprofessional.

“Loki’s Laugh,” Seth announced. “They’re usually pretty good.”

My muscles melted as the disc spun. Sweet relief in sonic form filled the utilitarian space.

“And that’s a yes,” Seth said, extravagantly adding a checkmark beside the name.

The glory was never to return. As we continued to listen, all subsequent bands fell short of Loki’s Laugh, but they also, mercifully, greatly surpassed the first couple offerings, so the overall experience wasn’t completely agonizing. That was always a good thing.

It had taken most of the morning to get through the stack and was getting to be early afternoon by the time Seth returned the Moleskine to the desk.

“Get your coat,” he instructed me.

I liked the take-charge tone in his voice.

“Where are we going?” I asked him, although the answer didn’t really matter because I’d happily follow him anywhere.

“The Sanctuary.”

He wasn’t just being cryptic. The Sanctuary was the nickname for Suspicious Activity’s main recording studio. No one was quite sure where it came from, at least not that they were willing to admit, but it was the backbone of the label for years.

Seth was halfway to the door before it became clear that it was all actually real. I wasn’t still in a dream from last night; I was actually here and had just been invited by sexy Seth to The Sanctuary! I followed at a dash, just trying to keep up with him.

The scent was palpable when we arrived. Incense mixed with other smells I couldn’t quite identify. Seth was famous for his de facto straight-edge lifestyle, so I knew it wasn’t booze or weed. Still, my curiosity was piqued.

“What are we doing?” I asked, already thinking about us as a combo.

“Checking in on a recording session. I like to keep up on things when I’m not able to produce myself.”

“Which band?”

He rattled off a name that I immediately recognized as a favorite— AGAB— and I nodded, excitement rippling through me.

It was like moving through molasses. The certainty that it was all some sort of beautiful dream reasserted itself, to the point that I was moving as though through fuzzy clouds. I was beginning to realize that working for Seth might always feel like a fantasy because my new reality seemed too good to be trust.

Suddenly another guy walked in.

“Who’s she?” he demanded.

It wasn’t the most welcoming opening, but I tried to keep things professional and to remember my place.

“It’s cool, Sven, she’s with me,” Seth answered him.

“Another intern?”

“Can you think of a better way to find employees?”

“Considering that that was how you hired me, I’m not really in a position to object, now am I?”

“Nope.”

Seth pulled out a chair and I sat down without him needing to say a word. He sat me next to Sven, who I could only assume was the musician Sven Larssen, and got back down to business.

“Okay, that was good,” he told the AGAB band. “Let’s take it from the beginning of ‘Everything You Hate.’”

The gang was all there. It was difficult for the mind to hold, but the band that so often sounded like a standing army only had three members. Each was covered in an almost clownish level of corpse paint and spikes.