True Rock

In any other place in the world, Friday, October 15 would have been expected to feel like a crisp, Autumn-is-rapidly-approaching type of evening. But in the island town of Alameda, the weather was hot and muggy. October was Indian Summer in the San Francisco Bay Area, and it was during this time that the air and everything it clung to felt suffocating and sticky. Even the leaves on the trees seemed to stick together.

October 15 was not a particularly significant date to the naked eye. But for Tom Beckett, Matthew Yin, and Heather M. Fellaway, it represented something much bigger. Something harrowing. Something gut-wrenching. 

That afternoon, the three were sitting in the faculty lounge during lunch period, at a table in a corner where they were confident that their conversation would not be overheard by any of their colleagues. 

“I’m only going to say this one more time,” Matthew told Tom and Heather. “We. Are not. Ready.” 

He was speaking, of course, about playing their first public show that evening at the Blue Danube’s weekly Open Mic Friday Night. The Blue Danube was a coffee shop on Alameda and Park where restless citizens of the sleepy island town came to study, read, type away on laptops, or simply drink cappuccinos in public. 

“It’s not about being ready,” Tom told Matthew. “It’s about being bad.” 

“Oh, we’re bad,” Heather assured him, clutching her turkey sandwich in both hands so tight it looked like she was about to tear it in half. “We’re real bad.”

“Then we’re ready,” Tom concluded confidently.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Heather shook her head. “I’m really starting to freak out.” 

“There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Tom,” Matthew countered. “You’re not the lead singer. Heather is and of course she’s terrified. And so am I!”

“Listen,” said Tom. “All we have to do is go up tonight and suck. Since we already are good at sucking, it shouldn’t be so hard, right? I mean, haven’t either of you ever bombed or failed at anything before?”

The table fell silent. Matthew’s mind flashed back to the time he’d had to fight those five guys in middle school who wanted to kick the shit out of him for coming to school dressed like David Bowie in The Spiders from Mars music video. Heather remembered the afternoon the woman who had given her all those tests at Juan Crespi Middle School told her she wasn’t actually smart enough to attend the gifted academy after all. 

Heather sighed. She was tired of feeling bad about the past. A part of her knew she couldn’t move forward unless she figured out how to stop feeling this way. Sometimes she felt she would do anything to experience the freedom of finally being able to let it go.

“If we’re gonna go up there and bomb,” Heather said, “I think we have to agree, right now, that we’re gonna have each others’ backs no matter what. I mean, when we’re onstage, all we’ve really got is each other.”

Matthew nodded. “Together we stand, divided we fall, we fall, we fall, we fall…” he sang. 

Heather shot Matthew a weird look.

“Pink Floyd,” he raised a teasing eyebrow at her. “Don’t you ever listen to anything besides Shakira?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “What about you, Tom?” she asked him. “What have you failed at?”

Tom pondered the question. He knew he was fortunate in many ways…except that he had never become the kind of person he’d always dreamed he would be as a kid. Part of it, he knew, had to do with how he could never finish anything he undertook, particularly writing. That was why he was teaching English at Alameda Senior High, reading and re-reading books whose authors had actually managed to complete them. Tom’s mind flashed to the folder on his laptop: a million starts, but no finishes. He’d never tell Heather or Matthew this, but sometimes, it felt like his whole life was one big bomb. And tonight meant more to him than either of his friends realized.

The owner of the Blue Danube was a woman by the name of Arissa Svengaarten. When reading her name on paper, nearly half the population thought that it was pronounced A-RISS-uh, rhyming with “wrist,” and the other half thought it was pronounced A-REES-uh, rhyming with “Reese’s” Peanut Butter Cups. The truth was, Arissa Svengaarten didn’t even know how her own name was meant to be pronounced, because mere hours after her parents filled out her birth certificate, they’d both died in an unexpected air raid that laid waste to their county in Sweden. Arissa was adopted into an American family and her new parents kept the name, even the Svengaarten, because they thought it infinitely more exotic and fascinating than their own. They didn’t know how to pronounce their new daughter’s name, but after a little contemplation, realized that they actually liked the ambiguity and concluded that the rest of the world would learn to like it, too.  

“Are you ARISSa?” Tom asked the woman behind the counter upon entering the Blue Danube.

It was 7:05 and the open mic was set to start in precisely 25 minutes. The band had driven over together in Heather’s Honda Fit; Matthew and Heather were circling the block in search of a parking space.

“I’m ARISSa,” the woman replied. “Or AREESa.”

“Well, which one should I call you?” Tom asked, confused.

“I prefer to let people make up their own mind.”

“Well,” Tom said, “What do you call yourself?”

“I call myself both.”

“Like, ARISSa AREESa?”

“No,” Arissa said. “I call myself ARISSa at certain times and AREESa at other times. Depending on whomever I feel like being in that particular moment.”

Tom Beckett fixed the woman with a hard stare.

“You must be Tom Beckett,” she said after a beat. Never before had Tom’s own name sounded so banal to him.

“How’d you know?”

“I recognize your voice from the phone. So your band’s never played in public before. I have to tell you, I usually don’t let any old Tom, Dick or Harry strut in here and play onstage without hearing a demo first, but I got a good ear for telephone voices. Yours struck me as trustworthy.”

Tom nodded, suddenly afraid to say anything.

Arissa sauntered over to the espresso machine and started warming it up. Tom never could understand why those espresso machines had to be so loud.

“Just so you know, I’m putting you on first,” she yelled over the cacophony. “I’m the owner and the emcee…and everything in between. What was the name of your band again?”

“Die Trying,” Tom told her. He turned around to see Matthew and Heather slogging through the front door, looking completely wiped.

“Christ Almighty,” Matthew huffed. “We had to park eight blocks away. It’s a miracle this place has any customers at all with the parking situation in this neighborhood.”

At that moment, Tom, Matthew and Heather caught the eye of Principal Louis, who just happened to be sitting alone at a small,-two person table several feet away.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Matthew asked.

“So glad to see you all!” Principal Louis exclaimed in the grand and appreciative way he always said everything. He rose to his feet.

“Did you find parking closeby?” Matthew asked him.

“No, I rode my tenspeed and locked it on the rack outside,” the principal explained.

“Principal Louis, I didn’t know you came to the Blue Danooby,” Heather said, flustered.

“It’s actually Danube,” Tom gently corrected her. 

“Actually, people like to call it both, and I always let them,” Arissa Svengaarten interjected from behind the counter.  

“I come here every Friday evening,” Principal Louis told them. “There’s nothing I enjoy more in life than watching talented, creative youngsters cutting their teeth in a coffee shop.” 

“Oh God,” Matthew muttered. “This just keeps getting worse and worse.” 

Principal Louis’ eyes caught hold of Tom’s bass, Heather’s guitar, and the drumsticks in Matthew’s right hand.

“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me!” he exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement. . “Are the three of you actually here to perform tonight?”

“They’re in a band called Die Trying,” Arissa Sveengarten told him.

“I love that name!” the principal cried.

“Tom!” Matthew hissed. “You said you were gonna change the name so we don’t sound like a bunch of losers.”

“No, you were supposed to come up with something. Remember?”

“I don’t think you should change a thing,” Principal Louis interjected. “It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. I’m just so thrilled that three of my most resplendent, incandescent, ebullient faculty members are banding together – pun very much intended – to contribute to the most beautiful art form on the face of this earth.” 

“He has no idea…” Tom grinned at Matthew and Heather. 

The truth was, no one in the entire Blue Danube – not even the members of the band tentatively known as Die Trying – had any idea what was about to transpire.

“This is incredible,” Tom beamed. “Our vision is finally going to be realized. And in front of all these people!”

“I feel like I’m gonna have a panic attack,” Matthew blurted.

“Do I look like I’m about to throw up?” Heather asked Matthew and Tom.

“No,” Matthew said.

“Well, I totally am.”

“Okay you three!” Arissa Svengaarten called out. “You’re on first. In about five minutes I’m going to get up there and introduce you, so go up there and start tuning.” 

“Are you gonna lead us in a sound check or something first?” Tom asked.

“Sound check?” Arissa asked incredulously. 

“This is the Blue Danooby, not the Hollywood Bowl,” Heather told him. 

“I suppose it’s better this way anyway,” Tom replied gamely. “The worse we sound the more we suck, after all.”

They headed for the stage. Principal Louis tapped Heather on the shoulder. 

“Are you the lead singer?” he asked.

Heather gave him a desperate look. “I can’t sing, Principal Louis. I just can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t sing!”

“How do you know?”

“Because I can’t!” 

“The first time I laid eyes on you, I thought to myself: I have met a lotta people in my life, but that woman is a born singer. And then when you gave that wonderful rendition of Underneath Your Clothes by Sahara at Matthew’s party last month, I knew my initial instinct was spot on!”

“Oh God!” Heather exclaimed. “Please. For the love of everything that is holy, please don’t ever bring that night up again.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Principal Louis reassured her. “The point of music is not to be the best or the most artistic or even good for that matter. The point of music is to bring people joy. And I know you know how to do that. In fact, that’s why I hired you.”

Heather stared at him, wondering if he was crazy or if he was maybe the only person in the entire world – as wacky as he was – to see life clearly. Tom wouldn’t want to believe what Principal Louis had just said. According to him, the three of them were there to bomb and bomb badly. But was it possible to bomb and bring people joy at the same time? 

Heather wanted to ponder the question further, but intense panic combined with overwhelming stage fright was making her pulse pound like a tom tom drum in her ears. 

“I have to go get ready, Principal Louis,” Heather said.

“Godspeed, my beautiful, talented, inspirational Heather M. Fellaway.”

That’s funny, Heather thought to herself as she ascended the stage to join Matthew and Tom, I don’t remember ever telling him my made-up middle initial.

They spent a few minutes “tuning” their instruments, though they weren’t exactly skilled at it, seeing as how they weren’t exactly skilled at playing the instruments either. The Blue Danube had their own set of drums, so fortunately Matthew hadn’t had to haul his to the venue that evening. He didn’t exactly know what it meant to ‘tune’ a set of drums. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if such a thing was done. He gave a nervous tap of the cymbals and played a few – rather loose – rolls on the snare. He wasn’t capable of playing them any faster yet.  

Arissa Svengaarten stood behind the counter, wiping down the bar, watching them. After a few moments, she called out: 

“You cowboys ready to go?”

Tom looked at Heather and Matthew. Six pairs of terrified eyes staring at one another in a shared, silent scream.

“Yes,” Tom answered her. “We’re ready.”

“I’m guessing you’ll play for about…twenty minutes?” Arissa asked. 

“Twenty minutes?” Matthew coughed. It seemed like an eternity. “I thought we were only supposed to play one song.”

“Well, interestingly, you were the only act that signed up to perform tonight,” Arissa told them. “Usually we have a ton more acts, but I don’t know what happened. Maybe it has something to do with Fleet Week in San Francisco. Everyone’s in the city gawking at sailors, I guess.”

“We can’t play more than one song!” Heather protested. She gave Matthew a desperate look. 

“You three have gotta be the most humble musicians I’ve ever encountered,” Arissa laughed. “Most of the acts who come through here, all they care about is hogging as much stage time as possible. But you guys aren’t attention whores. I like that.” She smiled at them and shrugged. “Whatever you wanna do is fine by me.”

Arissa Svengaarten jumped onstage and took the mic.  

“Evening, everyone!” she addressed the crowd. The café patrons - most of whom appeared to be deeply engrossed in reading, studying, writing, or a conversation - looked up with mild annoyance. Heather glanced over at Principal Louis, who had donned a red beret. It made him look even goofier than usual, but reminded her of Raspberry Beret by Prince. And suddenly it hit her: as far as Die Trying was concerned, she was Prince. As the lead singer, in many ways it was up to her to carry the show. 

“Hope y’all are enjoying this beautiful, muggy, Indian Summer we’re having!” Arissa continued. No one in the café responded. One woman hooted a little, but the hoot was moderately self-conscious and significantly sarcastic.

“I’m AREESa Svengaarten, owner of the Blue Danooby and your emcee for the evening. We have a terrific new band to play for you tonight. Unfortunately, they’re the only band to play for us tonight…because no one else signed up. And chances are, they’re only going to play one song!”

A few people clapped jovially in response to this news. 

“This is their first public performance. So let’s give a warm, Blue Danube welcome to…Die Trying!” 

Arissa Svengaarten clapped and stepped aside. The café was silent. Heather knew that this was her moment to take over and say something, anything, into the microphone…but she found herself suddenly paralyzed from head to toe. She looked back at Tom, who was smiling and giving her encouraging nods and then at Matthew who, sitting behind the drumset, was holding his head in one hand. 

Meanwhile, Heather’s own head swam. She was trying to remember what Principal Louis had said. What was it? She scoured her brain, which is a very difficult thing to do when 100 percent of your brain happens to be preoccupied with something terrifying. 

Was it possible to be awful and rock at the same time?

Heather steeled herself. She was about to find out.

“Hi, everyone,” she finally managed, a bit taken aback by how her voice flooded over the room’s sound system. “We’re the band tentatively known as Die Trying.”

She looked back at Matthew and raised her eyebrows, their signal to start the song. Matthew smashed his sticks together four times before they plunged headfirst into Die Trying’s first and only song, which was appropriately titled: Not Good Enough.

You say I’m not good enough to love

You say I’m not good enough to care

You say you’ve loved before but you can’t love me

Because I’m not her…

They had spent two practice sessions writing the song. The sentiment behind it was simple, and the lyrics were meant to be as cliché and angsty and adolescent as humanly possible:

You make me feel like I wanna die

You make me feel like I wanna be reborn

You make me feel like I wanna turn into a psycho killer

Who will never be loved for who I am

Heather kept her eyes closed as she sang. She knew it was the only chance she had at actually making it to the end of this ordeal. It felt like climbing a mountain: with every verse and chorus, they were climbing higher and higher. And by the time they reached the bridge, Heather couldn’t believe they hadn’t fallen to their deaths yet. Her shaky but strong voice blended with Tom’s uneasy strummings on the bass guitar, and the uneven rhythm of Matthew slapping his sticks against the drums.

I just want you to know

That I hate you so

You’re not good enough for me

To tell the truth

I never found you that physically attractive

You kind of look like a run-over anteater on the street

Before she could register what was happening, Heather realized something:

It was over.

The song was over. They’d finished it. And she hadn’t died. 

“Open your eyes, Heather!” she heard Tom say. 

It took some effort, but Heather did as she was told. She saw that Principal Louis had sprung to his feet and was giving the band a loud and objectively undeserving standing ovation. Scanning the room, Heather saw that most of the other patrons weren’t paying much attention at all. Some of them were shaking their heads in what she surmised was stunned secondhand embarrassment. A few looked amused, as if realizing they’d just been the victims of a harmless prank. 

“Die Trying, everyone!” Arissa Svengaarten announced, grabbing the mic from Heather. “Let’s give ‘em another hand!”

And the people did. Though only a few of them. 

“You guys are epic!” Arissa smiled into the mic. She pointed at Principal Louis. “And you already have a diehard fan!” 

Principal Louis gave Arissa Svengaarten a FireScout salute. She turned back to the band. 

“You guys gonna play another song for us tonight, or what?” 

“Let’s play another one!” exclaimed Tom.

“Tom!” Matthew rolled his eyes. “We don’t have another song.” 

“But this is such a rush!” Tom beamed. “Let’s just play something. Anything. Matthew! Sing your Barney song.”

“I guess that’s it for tonight then,” Arissa Svengaarten said on the mic. “Die Trying, everyone!”  

She switched off the microphone and turned to face Tom, Matthew and Heather. 

“That was really something,” she told them. 

“In a bad way, right?” Tom asked, looking hopeful.

“I’ve been hosting this open mic for three years and in that time, I’ve seen a lot of acts come through.” Arissa shook her head. “Delusional, egotistical pricks who think they’re the next big thing. But you guys…you’re real. You’re not putting on any airs, but you’ve got heart. And I think you’ve got some real potential.”

Tom frowned at Matthew. He’d been anticipating and hoping for a scathing dressing-down, not a rave review. 

Arissa turned to Heather. “And you,” she said. “You’ve got a decent voice.” 

“I do?” 

“Anytime you guys wanna come back, the Blue Danube is game,” Arissa broke into a big grin. “Rock on!”

Matthew stepped out from behind the drum set, approaching Heather.

“You didn’t sound that way in rehearsals, Heather.” 

“I didn’t?”

“No,” Tom said, amazed. “I mean you almost made us sound…good. Have you been taking voice lessons behind our backs or something?”

“Absolutely not!” Heather cried. She paused. “I mean I’ve practiced a little on my own, sure…but did it really sound that good?”

“Oh, it was way better than it should have been,” Tom informed her. “This can’t go on. We’re meeting tomorrow to fix this. Ten AM. Matthew’s house.”  

“Man, why does practice always have to be at my house?” Matthew complained.

“We’re gonna need to suck a lot worse than this!” Tom cried. “Sucking is a critical part of my vision, remember?”

“You guys, you guys, you guys!” Principal Louis rushed the three onstage. “That was the most magnificent thing I’ve seen since banana bread!” 

He lifted his hand and Matthew reluctantly high-fived him. 

“Thanks, Principal Louis.”

“You guys have to tell me when you do this kind of stuff!” he insisted. “For the love of God, you can’t keep something like this a secret.”

“We only just did it for the first time tonight,” Heather told him. “You heard what ARISSa Svengaarten said.”

“Then I can only thank the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost of Rock and Roll above that I had the good fortune of being here tonight to hear you play. From now on, I plan to be at every performance of this band.”

“Oh God,” Matthew buried his face in his hands. 

“I want you to know that I believe in you all, one hundred and ten percent. And what I witnessed here tonight was beyond inspirational. It was magic.”

Out of nowhere, a Man in Leather Pants and a Leather Jacket that was Too Small for Him tapped Heather on the shoulder. Even though it was dark outside, he was wearing shades. His voice was breathy. Like a male Marilyn Monroe. 

“Hey,” he said to the band. “I dig your sound. Some of the people here tonight don’t get you. They’re haters. But I know real art when I see it. I’m friends with the guy who books for Cargo & Washington. If I see you play again and I still dig you, I’ll get you an audition.” 

He nodded and a gust of wind blew through the man’s Morrissey-like hair before disappearing. 

“Cargo & Washington…” Matthew pursed his lips. “Isn’t that that stuck-up hipster place in downtown Berkeley?” 

“Yeah,” Heather said. “I heard they’re real douchebags.”

“You three are going to become famous!” Principal Louis beamed. “It’s happening already. I have to tell everyone at school, and get this snowball effect rolling!”

Heather’s eyes bulged. “I think it would be best if people at school didn’t know about this.”

“Ever,” Matthew chimed in.

Heather paused, remembering that Principal Louis was still her boss, and she didn’t want to completely shoot him down.

“At least, not at this point in time,” she added diplomatically. “Since we’re still just getting started and all...”

“I completely understand, Heather M. Fellaway,” the principal said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “It shall remain in confidence between the four of us.”

“Forever,” Matthew added, fixing Principal Louis with a semi-threatening stare.

Principal Louis looked at Heather. “You are ebullient. Just like that bright violet scarf I gave you on the day you chose to run with the Alameda Stallions. I see the magic in all three of you,” he nodded to Tom and Matthew. “I always have. And I know that someday, you’ll come to recognize it as well. Until then, I remain your obedient servant and number one fan.”

“Of all the psychotic fans in the world, Principal Louis had to be ours,” Matthew muttered to Tom under his breath. 

Heather couldn't sleep that night. Her mind swam in an uneasy mix of adrenaline, confusion, and humiliation. Earlier on at the Blue Danooby, she’d closed her eyes and simply hoped for the best. Try as she could, Heather couldn’t remember much of the actual performance - hadn’t even been able to really hear herself clearly. But based on the feedback from Arissa Svengaarten and Principal Louis (the latter’s legitimacy remained questionable), she’d apparently managed to not only make it through the song, but to actually sing it somewhat well. 

Sure, she’d practiced on her own a bit, but practicing was in Heather’s blood. After her failure in middle school, Heather had decided that she never wanted to find herself in the position of being “not good enough” again. Practice and preparation - two of the only things she had control over - became the tools she chose to pave a path to success from that moment forward. It was this self-applied pressure and discipline that had gotten Heather a scholarship to college, had enabled her to graduate cum laude, to become a teacher and support herself financially. The debacle made Heather realize that a girl from El Sobrante with a mother like Crystal Fellaway never stood a chance of success and a better life without tremendous amounts of practice and hard work. 

Unfortunately, Heather’s concept of success was at cross-purposes with the mission of Die Trying. “Sucking,” according to Tom, was the objective in this strange, new world. Striving for success had undoubtedly gotten Heather this far…but could it take her into the next stage of her life? After leaving her mother’s house that awful Saturday afternoon, Heather’s spirit had called her to do something completely out of character, to unlearn and free herself of her perfectionistic ways. But unlearning, Heather was finding out, was turning out to be harder than learning itself. 

Arissa Svengaarten’s words echoed in the hollows of Heather’s mind: 

“You’ve got a decent voice.” 

It defied all possible odds of the universe. Shakira was a real singer, a true performer. Heather didn’t know what she was, but she had to admit that the feeling of being up there had changed something in her. At first it had felt awful, unbearable…beyond awful and unbearable. But somewhere along the way, it had morphed into something else. As she finally drifted off to sleep, Heather realized that this feeling was something akin to freedom.