Rock Hardest (Bad Boy Bandmates & Babies)

I caught some motion from the corner of my eye.

“Nice!” Jake said, peeping over my shoulder.

“Thanks, you?”

“Not so good.”

“That’s a high C+,” I told him, once I was able to glimpse the grade written on his slip of paper.

“It is?”

“Well above average.”

Jake sighed and fiddled with his bead bracelets. He grimaced.

“I’m thinking of transferring to a music major, truth be told,” he whispered solemnly, leaning close.

“Honestly?”

“Please, girl,” he chortled.

“That might be a better idea. Remember, I’ve both seen your art and heard you play. It is clear where your true talents lie. In my opinion, at least,” I said, trying to be nice about it.

“Well, I certainly respect your opinion,” he said, waving his hands airily.

I tried to keep a straight face, but it was rough.

“Want more?” I asked, firmly planting a stern look on my face.

Jake looked at me, exasperated.

“Always, lay it on me.”

“If you’re interested in music, talk to Professor Hernandez,” I advised. “He’s great at that too.”

“No kidding,” Jake said, surprised. “Our art teacher is also a musician?”

I nodded.

“Yep. In his free time, he plays in a band. I can loan you one of his albums.”

“Albums, plural?” Jake asked, his eyebrows ratcheting up.

“Nine, to be exact. Some of them on labels.”

“Wow, our very own Renaissance man!” he marveled.

“He needs a few more areas of talent to truly earn that title, but yeah, basically,” I said.

Jake nodded and I felt confident he’d do fine on whatever path he chose. Like Professor Hernandez, he was multi-talented.

Jake wasn’t Pollack, but he wasn’t a slouch either. He’d get there, eventually, even if he stuck with art instead of switching to music.

If he wasn’t married off to some rich dude first.

“Are you busy tonight?” he asked.

“I’m on an afternoon shift at DreamTime, but I’m off at nine,” I responded.

“Perfect! There’s a show at ten!” he said. “Now that I know you like music so much, I think you’d be into it.”

“Oh, who’s playing?”

“The newest band signed to Suspicious Activity Records.”

That got my attention. I’d been listening to Suspicious Activity since I was a kid. Seth Black and his crew had yet to let me down.

“Oh, really?” I asked, intrigued.

“Yep. Apparently, Black brought them over from Norway.”

“Do they have a name?”

“Loki’s Laugh,” Jake answered.

I didn’t know it yet, but my fate had already been sealed.

Chapter Three – Varg

Roosters crowed, disturbing the perfect silence of the morning. The snooze option came up, and I took it, cutting the digital cock-a-doodle-doos short.

An alarm clock on a cell phone was such a funny thing: a merge of the old and the new, combing the rural existence of youthful summers, and the complicated present of technological adulthood.

It seemed to be a contradiction of the times. No wonder cognitive dissonance was so rife.

I finally popped out of bed like a modern-day Lazarus, resurrected. It was straight to work for me.

I smiled as I started walking around my house. The studio had been a later addition, but the garage proved the perfect venue. It was all mine: a retreat where I could practice and record my secret solo album.

With a working title of Ano’Chimera, it would be a departure from my usual fare.

It was steeped in Neofolk tradition, complete with haunting echo effects. Loki’s Laugh was just starting to get real traction. If I waited it out, though, there was every chance Seth Black would release my own song as a single, too. Maybe even as a companion piece. He wouldn’t even have to pay for studio time.

If all else failed, I could follow the example set by Beautiful Death and release it online. That wasn’t as clear cut as some might think, though.

I knew what the guys thought of me. To them, I was just an ego-driven and fame obsessed asshole. I just wanted groupies and limos and Lear jets. It would be cool, but it honestly was not my major driving force.

I knew I’d never be a Marylin Manson.

My goal was to get the music heard. Music that was made just by me, or music that included Stig and Ragnar. It was all that really ever mattered to me. I’d finally gotten off my path of destruction. Music had saved me from myself. At least, from that monster that I’d been.

Headphones on and guitar in my hands, I ran through the riffs. I didn’t need a set list; it was already in my head.

These were new guitars. Most of the advance from the record, after a down payment on the house, went to studio equipment. I wanted to be able to do it right.

Sure, there were newer guitars, and more expensive ones. Many seemed to be better, in terms of both construction and sound. It didn’t matter, though. My instruments were fine for recording and I used them a lot. Particularly while multi tracking.

When it came to the stage or The Sanctuary, there was only one that would do, though. Nicknamed ‘The Ax,’ I’d gotten the used Epiphone Flying V. I bought it with the proceeds from selling my Dane ax.