I Wanna Be Somebody

Simone’s voice reverberated through the venue, sending goosebumps across my flesh as she held the note long and strong. I stood, one hand on the neck of the purple ESP guitar and ready to rock. My mouth moved with the words originally from the choir and I stepped back to give myself proper footing for when I took to the strings and headbanged. The world became a blur of flashing light from between the strands of my hair, my fingers quickly strumming the intense instrumental opening to Epica’s “Cry for the Moon”.

Mark and Jessii’s growls combined to form a voice of demonic power and, pausing in my headbanging, I grinned at the macabre sound. Mark and I faced each other, hair falling over our eyes, he nearly screaming in my face as I played the artistic piece he created with a sense of honor.

When the Epica duo left the stage, we continued our concert for the Swedish crowd, their enthusiasm roiling off them and onto the stage in waves. We entered into the song “Hypodermic Needle”, a heavy opening with more gristle than the cleanliness of an Epica song. In the midst of my jamming, I saw the front row of fans nearly hanging over the barrier, headbanging and screaming at the top of their lungs.

The sudden ending to the song made the crowd’s screams rise. We let them settle only for a second before Kris began tapping out symphonic sounds on his keyboard and I began plucking the slow and somber beginning to a song--though written over a year ago--that still made my skin prickle and mixture of bitter resentment and sadness.

Jessii took a deep breath before her lips formed the lyrics I had poured onto paper.

“Protection like a diamond shield
instead its made of glass
easily shattered, easily wheeled
at the hands of chauvinistic discipline
You're a disciple of the corrupted
easily manipulated and hacked away
until you're nothing but a bloody puppet
Tangled in the strings of manipulation
and too weak to fight the actions
that gain damnation!”

The final word growled into the mic. Each time we played that song, I sent an unspoken “fuck you” to my mother, for the song’s name was “Sommer”, same as the miserable wretch who birthed me. I peeled out the guitar solo, bending over the instrument as my fingers danced close to the base of the neck, providing a solo that screamed almost as loud as when I was locked in the basement closet.

Every ounce of pain and torment I kept to myself during the day wrenched free during the song and when it ended, I regained my composure and looked out into the sea of faces, many of who maybe felt the same way I did. Out of the corner of my eye, Jess was looking at me with a calculating glance, one she gave me many times. Trying to find a crack in the wall formed by passionate emotion I often kept bottled away.

By the time we ended with our cover of “Memento Mori”, the corset around my torso was unbreathable and stuck to my skin. My heart was pounding in my chest and I took a deep breath as the lights shown upon the crowd. We said our farewells to the fans, lips pressing to the tips of my fingers in salutation as I backed off stage after Jessii and Kris.

“Nice job, Ry!” Scott said, white teeth flashing as always as he took his stance behind me to undo the tape stuck at the nape of my neck that kept the earpieces in place and untangled me. I thanked him while I undid the adapter from my studded belt and handed it to him as well as my guitar, the black Horizon ESP I had traded three-fourths the way through the concert.

Milla, one of our temporary roadies handed me a new bottle of water, which I took with a nod of thanks and gulped down. Kris wrapped a sweaty arm around my neck as we walked to our green room. “Great show tonight,” he said and butted heads with me.

“You as well,” I smiled, tipping my head back to finish off the bottle of water.

Ecstatic shouting came from our green room; Kris and I shared a look as the shouting increased in volume and we heard a great amount of Swedish being hurled about. When we stepped into the room, Avaa and Oblivion were in brotherly embraces with a group of men that made fangirl instincts kick in.

The six men from Sabaton stood in the middle of the room, grinning and in conversational Swedish with the twins. At the sight of us, they exclaimed and threw up their arms, and we were introduced to them all individually. Their beastly lead singer Joakim Brodén, keyboardist Daniel Mÿhr, Rikard Sundén and Oskar Montelius were their guitarist duo, bassist Pär Sundström, and drummer Daniel Mullback.

When I questioned the twins on the origins of their relationship with the Swedish band, Obliv threw an arm over Joakim’s shoulder, a legitimate smile on his face(for once). “We met them back in 2001, through the local music scene that was happening--when I was playing with Original Sin.”
“Ah, yes,” said Joakim, his infamous grin spreading across his face. “Imagine a time when Oblivion was angstier than he is now.”

Our bassist punched him in the arm, a faux scowl across his face, but he didn’t bother to defend himself. I laughed.

Though I was completely exhausted, meeting a band who I thoroughly enjoyed--and greeted so warmly--gave me an extra energy boost. Joakim’s grin was infectious and soon we were pouring drinks while the other concerts carried on. Internally, I’d promised myself to hold back on the drinking, but challenges were thrown down and I never backed away from having my honor challenged. No matter how stupid it made me.

Soon, I was attempting to out-shoot Rikard in Vodka, with the rest of the band members cheering us on. By the time the rest of the bands finished, all I can remember is thinking “Isaac is gonna be fucking pissed”, but I was leaning on Avaa’s shoulder as we giggled drunkenly over something stupid he’d said. I had a cup full of Coke and Jack and was happy as could be, even if I could hardly walk three steps without stumbling.

Sure enough, what I recall of Isaac being there, I was drunkenly slurring out words that hardly made sense. Kris tried to keep me from face-planting when my legs about gave out. I hardly remember Isaac after that, but I’m sure he was far from pleased with my state. Because when I woke up on the venue’s bathroom floor at four in the morning to vomit, it was only Kris watching over me.