‹ Prequel: Changes
Making the Album
Eulogy.
Why the fuck did I get picked to do the eulogy?
Tony picked up her guitar case and perched gently on the stool. She was trembling and wished she'd thought of something better to do in Barry's memory. She saw Eric Clapton smiling at her from the second row. Robert Plant was winking at her, cheeky bastard.
But she couldn't think about that. This was her time. This was about her, and it was about Barry, and it was supposed to be perfect. And she wouldn't fuck up this time, not when it counted so much.
It was the intro she'd learned at fifteen, with a craptastic acoustic guitar from Walmart and track 17 off the Nimrod album.
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test and don't ask why
It's not a question but a lesson learned in time
It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life
Interlude then, again. Not too loud, not too fast. Gentle and soft, making it into the kind of ballad that made you cry because it was beautiful. Tony felt tears dripping down her cheeks again and she licked them away. The salty taste of sorrow, she thought with a smile and started the next verse.
So take the photographs and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf of good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth, it was worth all the while
It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life
Billie was crying. Mike's eyes were glistening and his fingers were intertwined with Jay's. Robert wasn't crying yet, but Tony could tell he was close to tears. Tom was staring fixedly at her and he was trembling. Tre had his head in his hands. Blondie and Rabbit, Tony couldn't find either of them and she didn't want to distract herself further to do so. She adjusted her fingers and played the last verse.
It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life
It was a beautiful song. It was about loss and how Life could get away from you, or leave you behind. It was about love and hate and everything in between. And even if Billie hadn't meant it that way, that was how Tony interpreted it.
She stood up guitar in her hands, and gazed out into her audience. They stared back, watching her.
"One night, I was working on Steve Clark's guitar solo in the studio. I just couldn't get the right sound, no matter how hard I tried. It wasn't loud enough, it wasn't raunchy enough. I just couldn't please him. And then I asked Barry if I could take a break."
Tony paused, savoring the memory.
"We had a cigarette. I was frustrated, so fucking frustrated with that song. Then I was sad, because I couldn't do it, and what did it matter if I could? Ashlee Simpson sells records now, so where did my band belong? And I said to him, 'How the fuck did this music get so big, Barry? How did we get here?' And Barry looked at me for a long time. And he said...he said,..."
Tony's voice cracked and she stopped, wiping tears from her eyes.
"He said to me, 'Tony, I love rock because it's bombastic. It's amazing and it's never dull. It's always changing, always adapting. Rock is giving people what they want, whether it's smashing your guitar in front of ten thousand people or mooning the photographers at a press conference. It's about giving morals and standards and those righteous, religious, right-wing assholes the finger because you can. And Tony, you're pretty damn good at it.' So I went back into the studio, nailed the solo and then we went out and sold almost a million copies of our record in one week. All because Barry knew what he was doing. This is for him."
She hefted her guitar in her hands, holding it like a baseball bat. Then she grinned. And she smashed the guitar to bits.
Tony picked up her guitar case and perched gently on the stool. She was trembling and wished she'd thought of something better to do in Barry's memory. She saw Eric Clapton smiling at her from the second row. Robert Plant was winking at her, cheeky bastard.
But she couldn't think about that. This was her time. This was about her, and it was about Barry, and it was supposed to be perfect. And she wouldn't fuck up this time, not when it counted so much.
It was the intro she'd learned at fifteen, with a craptastic acoustic guitar from Walmart and track 17 off the Nimrod album.
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test and don't ask why
It's not a question but a lesson learned in time
It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life
Interlude then, again. Not too loud, not too fast. Gentle and soft, making it into the kind of ballad that made you cry because it was beautiful. Tony felt tears dripping down her cheeks again and she licked them away. The salty taste of sorrow, she thought with a smile and started the next verse.
So take the photographs and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf of good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth, it was worth all the while
It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life
Billie was crying. Mike's eyes were glistening and his fingers were intertwined with Jay's. Robert wasn't crying yet, but Tony could tell he was close to tears. Tom was staring fixedly at her and he was trembling. Tre had his head in his hands. Blondie and Rabbit, Tony couldn't find either of them and she didn't want to distract herself further to do so. She adjusted her fingers and played the last verse.
It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life
It was a beautiful song. It was about loss and how Life could get away from you, or leave you behind. It was about love and hate and everything in between. And even if Billie hadn't meant it that way, that was how Tony interpreted it.
She stood up guitar in her hands, and gazed out into her audience. They stared back, watching her.
"One night, I was working on Steve Clark's guitar solo in the studio. I just couldn't get the right sound, no matter how hard I tried. It wasn't loud enough, it wasn't raunchy enough. I just couldn't please him. And then I asked Barry if I could take a break."
Tony paused, savoring the memory.
"We had a cigarette. I was frustrated, so fucking frustrated with that song. Then I was sad, because I couldn't do it, and what did it matter if I could? Ashlee Simpson sells records now, so where did my band belong? And I said to him, 'How the fuck did this music get so big, Barry? How did we get here?' And Barry looked at me for a long time. And he said...he said,..."
Tony's voice cracked and she stopped, wiping tears from her eyes.
"He said to me, 'Tony, I love rock because it's bombastic. It's amazing and it's never dull. It's always changing, always adapting. Rock is giving people what they want, whether it's smashing your guitar in front of ten thousand people or mooning the photographers at a press conference. It's about giving morals and standards and those righteous, religious, right-wing assholes the finger because you can. And Tony, you're pretty damn good at it.' So I went back into the studio, nailed the solo and then we went out and sold almost a million copies of our record in one week. All because Barry knew what he was doing. This is for him."
She hefted her guitar in her hands, holding it like a baseball bat. Then she grinned. And she smashed the guitar to bits.