Lukey Kid

The week inched by slower than ever, anticipation tingling away at my fingers. High school seemed easy so far, but that might have just been because we were reviewing the stuff we did in eighth grade.

None of us expected our notability. I mean, we foresaw some teasing and all, but this kind of exceeded our expectations. It wasn’t like they were picking fights with us, since a good chunk of people wore Plaster Caster shirts, but they treated us like siblings despite none of us even knowing half of them. I couldn’t help but smile since for some reason it made me feel at home.

Promptly, I got a ride from Thomas to Ren’s house for the big day, a beautiful Saturday with a warm sun shining down from the background. He encouraged my music, but wasn’t a fan of the kind I played. Still, he drove me with an unmistakable grin. It sure beat having anti-creativity folks, and I always loved the way that seemingly none of our parents thought our band was a silly little phase. Nobody grunted at us for having ambitions in music. Ren’s parents and Soria’s dad encouraged it, even – they’d go outta their way to clear their garages for band practice when we held it at their houses. It was awesome.

Ren’s mom greeted me even before I knocked on the door. I kind of had to wonder if his family was rich, since their house was huge - two stories high, and the soundproof recording room his dad had…but I never asked. That’d just be awkward.

“Luke, honey! Hi! Your friends are upstairs! Do you want something to drink?” she beamed, palms face up.

I shook my head and made my way inside. I heard something like a big stack of tapes fall over, followed by a loud, “BRENDAN!” that sounded like Soria said it.

I snorted a laugh.

The stairs seemed larger than life as I took each one step by step, the hard case of my bass guitar - I named him Rudy - thumping against the carpet. My head pounded and my hands sweated…but I didn’t really know where I was supposed to go. I didn’t even know Ren’s dad had an entire room dedicated to recording.

All of a sudden, Brendan swung out of a doorway with a can of pop in his hand. “Dude! Luke! Where were you? Get the heck in here!”

His socks skid across the hardwood floor as he turned to go back in; I followed. We walked through what looked like the master bedroom, and then way back in a closet, he opened another door.

There sat Ren’s dad, hunched over a keyboard, peering into a widescreen monitor that was hooked up to a giant mixing board. His long black hair was slicked back into a ponytail, his brow furrowed as he clicked the mouse every few seconds.

The room was pretty big, actually. There was a door leading to another room that had microphones at different heights, all hooked up to the computer. Way in the back of that room, Brendan’s drum set was set up, wired and ready to go. The mixing board was covered in buttons as far as the eye could see, each one arranged differently than the one before it. The entire room was glazed in a deep velvety reddish color, dark but curious.

It was like being in a castle, or a fairytale to me…only instead of princes and princesses, there were guitars and drums. Or, Soria and Ren if we’re talking humans.

“Like it?” Brendan grinned as though it were all his, squeezing my shoulder. I couldn’t speak.
Ren’s dad stood up from his chair and turned to face the four of us. We were quiet, but Brendan wouldn’t quit touching the buttons.

“Paws off, kid,” Mr. Hawker growled. He leaped at attention.

Still, he continued. “Okay, drummer dude, get in there, and when I say go, play the first verse.”

He mock-saluted him and went into the other room, sitting on his stool with drumsticks in hand, ready to rock. I elbowed Ren. “What song are we doing?”

He whispered back, “’Melody.’”

Mr. Hawker said go, and Brendan started to play. I heard him through the speakers, since the glass was soundproof. His drums were shrouded in microphones, and the sound escaped through speakers.

He smiled and banged his head along with the music, playing from memory. He was the first to lay the groundwork for the song. “Melody” was kind of silly; it was about a lengthy period of time in which Soria was looking for a song, but she didn’t know where to begin. It had a catchy tune, but lyrically, it was a little shallow.

“What’s up, CoolTube? We’re recording!” Soria whispered, grabbing my attention. I turned to see Joey holding a video camera in her face, while she and Ren said a few words explaining our recording process.

“But shh! We can’t be too loud,” Ren smiled.

I bent down and put a finger to my lips. Then she put her hand over the lens to signify the end of the video. Joey then turned off the camera.

Mumbles of, “Excellent,” came from Ren’s dad as Brendan stopped playing the first verse. He threw his hands up but opened the door just a bit, peeking in.

“Yeah, cool, but can I try again? I think I screwed up on this one part,” he said. Mr. Hawker nodded kind of grudgingly and set up everything again.

“This is so freaking cool,” Soria gushed quietly, cupping her hands over her mouth. Ren held her around the shoulder.

“It’s like a dream come true,” I spoke, enchanted.

I heard the drumming stop, and Mr. Hawker spoke into a microphone that led to the other room.
“Done?” he said. Brendan waved over the towering cymbals with a thumb up.

“Okay, now just play the pre-chorus.”

In twenty seconds, he did what was told.

“Now, play the chorus. Later on we’ll splice it into the other parts, but we need the initial recording to…”

By that point I’d stopped paying attention since he just trailed off with a bunch of big musical words. After a ten second delay that I’d bet was Brendan trying to understand, he smashed the drums in to lay the basis of “Melody’s” chorus.

And to think! Here I was, in a recording room, thanks to Ren. Thank God his mom and dad were music nuts. How cool is that?!

Joey pulled out what looked like a very manager-like PearBerry. His mouth dropped open upon glancing at the screen. He shook our shoulders as we gathered around - and then we saw why. An order of twenty Plaster Caster t-shirts just came in for an unofficial street team that was based over in Gainesville.

Man, life is good.

Brendan was finishing up the bridge for the third time. He kept messing up, forgetting one of the rhythms that tied in with the vocals. Other than that, he was doing fine. And after half an hour, we had approximately three minutes of the drum beat to “Melody.”

He came out all sweaty, a ring of moisture on his collar. Still, his smile was wider than ever and his voice boomed louder than his heart, which was beating so loud I could practically hear it from three feet away. “Awesome!” was all he said.

It took ten minutes for Mr. Hawker to tie together all the audio bits. When the beat was ready, clicked into a new window on the computer program he was using.

“Plug the headphones into the mic, then play over the drum track,” he instructed. I grabbed my bass and just sat down in a chair by the mixing board, thankful that technological advancements allowed for me to not have to stand in a soundproof room.

I did what was told and plugged everything in. Mr. Hawker told me to play the first verse.
Brendan’s drumming erupted through the speakers. My fingers twitched as they lay on the frets quicker that a bullet, music surging through my veins. Too soon, I had to stop while he commanded me to play though the pre chorus.

Playing bass gave me chills. I never got the same sensation while holding a six-string, tapped a snare, or crooned backup vocals. It kinda made me feel important, you know? I’m just giving an underlying force. Like, I don’t know, really. It’s hard to describe. Nothing else really ever sparked my interest. Not even football when I was on the team in junior high, and that’s why I eventually gave it up in high school. It got in the way of bigger things.

I guess it finally made me feel important. I barely had a say in what happened in my life - my parents and brother were taken away without a word from me. But with music, I had something that was all my own, and I could hold the right to be proud. I could create tunes with kids I felt connected to.

Before I knew it, I had completely zoned out throughout the process and the bass track was done. Still, when the bass and drums were spliced together by Ren’s dad, the wait was worth it.

“Dude!” was the only thing I could say after hearing it. I guess now I knew how Brendan felt.

“You kids can take a break,” Mr. Hawker shooed us out of the room. We stood on the balcony outside the bedroom, winding down.

Soria beamed up at Ren for a full ten seconds. I guess we were all doing it too, since he was quick to take notice. “What?”

Brendan grabbed him around the waist and lifted him high in the air. He let out a big grunt in doing so, Ren flailing and yelling at him to put him down.

“No!” I denied, taking part. Finally, he was put flat on the floor.

“What the heck was that for?!” he squeaked, straightening his shirt.

Soria was having a complete gigglesnort. “I’m pretty sure that was a thank-you,” she explained, and she was right.

“Dude, this is so cool of you to get your dad to let us record,” I thanked. He smiled, trying to hide his face.

“It wasn’t easy. He wasn’t all over the idea of letting random kids use his stuff.”

“Come on, we practically live here! He knows we wouldn’t break anything! Er, not on purpose, anyway,” Brendan countered.

The door swung open and Ren’s dad popped out, curling his finger. “Rhythm guitar time,” he grinned, almost evilly. His son trudged in first since he was our backup guitarist.

He did fine, but he took a little longer than the rest of us. I hate to say it, but he wasn’t the best guitarist. He was better when he played live, but he was probably more nervous than usual. A lot of the chords were muffled out. Nonetheless, he never stopped until he was absolutely sure it was perfect…which took over a half hour.

When he was done, he was breathless and cherry. Soria patted his shoulder. “I guess I go now,” she said, aiming the comment toward his dad. He held a finger up, telling her to wait a second.

“Okay…go,” he said, motioning towards the chair Ren had just occupied.

Soria knew “Melody” like the back of her hand, and I wasn’t surprised - she wrote it, after all. But like the rest of us, the bridge screwed up her train of thought. That part was just beastly. She ran through the song in a fraction of the time we spent, and the entire track was almost done. The only part left was the vocals…I braced myself, imagining how long that would take.

Ren was warming up outside the room when she finished, guitar in hand. Then he came back in, took a sip of water, let out a good burp, and waited for his dad’s signal. He took a pair of headphones and ventured into the soundproof room that Brendan had drummed in.

With one word – “Go” – from Mr. Hawker, Ren was singing the first verse flawlessly. His voice had grown a lot in the past two years, I’d realized. Before, he kind of squeaked every now and them, but with the help of puberty, it sounded stronger and more mature.

“One song
And he says it’s way too overplayed…”

It only took one shot for the chorus, surprisingly. I couldn’t get over how concentrated he always looked - eyes closed, hands in the air as if they’d help him reach those high notes. It would almost be funny if he didn’t sound so good.

Unlike the rest of us, though, he only took one try to get the bridge right. He smiled at the part where we screwed up.

“Another sleepless night without it
I don’t want to talk about it
Missin’ the rhythm already
Keep it slow and keep it steady-” he smiled there -
“The beat is my best friend
‘Till we die, until we end…”

That earned him applause. A little one, mind you - we were still recording and trying to listen to it all. Once Ren was done with the singing, he came out, breathless; then he darted over to his dad’s side while he spliced together the audio.

With a celebratory clap, Mr. Hawker clicked the mouse and burned “Melody” onto a CD.

Brendan took it straight from the disk drive and held it like fine china. “With this…we make history.”

And when we put it on our FlySpace that night, Ren’s Internet connection crashed from the traffic on our page.