“I need your sax, Mrs. Kingsley,” said Jeff Parley, the man Jake had put in charge of the crew. “We need to get it miked.”
“Here you go,” she said, handing the case over. “And please, call me Laura or Teach.”
“You got it, Laura,” he said.
“Is everything wired into the Lux?” asked Sharon, referring to the Luxembourg 970 audio recorder that KVA Records had purchased for thirty-eight thousand dollars just for this occasion. It would sit at the head of the stage and all of their output cables would feed into it, recording everything they played on sixteen separate tracks on two separate and redundant digital drives and one analog backup that used magnetic tape. The output would then pass through the Lux and emerge unaltered out the other side for its trip to the primary soundboard out on the amphitheater floor. This way, KVA would have an exclusive digital recording of the band’s performance to do with as they pleased.
“We’re wired for sound ... literally,” Jeff told her.
“All right,” Jake said. “Let’s get this done. We don’t have much time.”
They made it, but just barely. They plugged in and played each instrument one by one, with Nerdly directing the volume and tone adjustments while Sharon made notes on the settings and offered the occasional suggestion. They then checked each microphone, blending them according to what they were transmitting and adjusting based on the output level of Lenny’s and Jake’s guitars. Last came Ted’s drums. He pounded each one individually and then played out some brief solos to make sure the mix was right. He then played simultaneously with Ben on the bass and Lenny on the lead guitar. Just as they got this at an acceptable level, their time was up.
“I am far from pleased with our final arrangement,” Nerdly said, “but I guess it will have to do.”
“It sounded good, Nerdly,” Jake assured him. “You did the best you could in the time you had.”
“I suppose,” he replied morosely. “I only hope the recordings we make will be usable in the studio.”
“They can be tweaked around even further in the studio,” Jake said. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you and Sharon for twenty-five minutes over any of these other sound teams for three hours. We got this.”
“I suppose,” he said again.
They marked all the instruments and dials with the proper settings and then Nerdly made a hard copy of all the levels for the soundboard. The crew began the task of clearing the stage of equipment so the second band to play—it would be Seavey Circle—would be able to set up their equipment just before the show started. Ted’s drums were wheeled down a ramp to a covered staging area just offstage. All of the guitars, other instruments, microphones, microphone stands, amplifiers, effects pedals, and the Lux joined them. Two armed guards were assigned to stand watch over the area to keep anyone from stealing more than two hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment.
It was as they were walking back to the trailer that another guitar riff suddenly filled the air from the direction of Stage 1. Jake recognized the style and sound immediately. It was Matt Tisdale. He was starting his own sound check. The group made it back into their trailer before Jake had to listen to too much of it.
The festival started exactly on time, with the first band—Backyard Dirt—laying down its opening number at exactly 12:00 PM. Everyone in Jake’s group had the ability to enter a special VIP area just in front of and between the two stages if they wished. This was an area that was separate from the official VIP area just in front of the soundboard where special guests and those who possessed the five-hundred-dollar tickets could sit in a shaded area with cocktail and food service (two of the people in this section had bought their tickets at an online auction website from Matt’s tax lawyer for fifteen hundred dollars apiece). Ben, Ted, Lenny, Phil, and Natalie all went to this section to watch the show. Jake did not have to warn them to avoid alcohol or any other intoxicant. They knew his rules very well.
Everyone else stayed in the trailer and lounged around. They watched television or read books. Just after noon, a catering truck showed up in Band City and provided them with sandwiches and tacos for lunch. Everyone ate well and then went back to waiting. Throughout this period, they could hear the frequent thumping of bass guitars, the occasional solo when it edged into the higher range, and the constant up and down roaring of the huge crowd that had assembled in the amphitheater. Jake had heard from one of the security guys that well over ninety-five thousand tickets had been sold for today’s show and only slightly less for tomorrow’s.
Another catering truck showed up just past five o’clock. This one provided hamburgers, French fries, and bratwurst. Jake ate lightly this time, knowing that he wanted his stomach and bowels empty when it came time to take the stage. His innate sense of mild stage fright ramped up slowly but steadily as the hours marched by. Ben, Ted, and the others all returned just past six o’clock, all declaring that had no desire to see Hole or Pantera, the next two bands to play.
At 6:30, everyone began to get dressed in their stage clothes. This was a bit of a process because there was only one bathroom in the trailer and the company was mixed. The problem was solved by having Pauline, Celia, Natalie, and Laura step out so the guys could get dressed and then having the guys step out so Pauline, Natalie, and Laura could get dressed. Jake dressed simply, as he always had when he had a choice in what to wear while performing. He pulled on a pair of denim blue jeans he had owned just long enough to be broken in, a black, button-up short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of black and white Nike tennis shoes. He combed out his hair, which was back to shoulder length these days, and hit it with a little hairspray to keep it from blowing about too much—they were outside and there was a fairly respectable ten knot wind blowing over the desert. He kept his wedding ring on as he had found it presented no problems with his guitar chording. He did some warmup exercises to limber up his voice as he got ready. Phil, who had had to be told what to wear because his sense of fashion was so terrible (those who knew him considered him the worst gay guy ever as he was a slob, had no sense of décor, and no sense of fashion) joined him in the voice exercises and they took the opportunity to practice up on their harmony a bit. All of the males dressed similar to Jake, leaning heavily on dark colored shirts to keep the sun and the stage lights from reflecting too much and making them indistinguishable to the audience. G added a Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses to disguise himself. Natalie and Pauline dressed in pantsuits with dark colored blouses that accented their breasts. They put their hair in ponytails and used a considerable amount of hairspray for hold. Laura dressed in one of her summer dresses she had brought from the wardrobe of the Celia Valdez tour. It was the green and white one that fell to just above her knees. She wore white sneakers on her feet and dressed her hair in a tight braid that fell down to her mid-back. She wore no makeup but looked achingly cute all the same.
Once everyone was dressed, they went back to waiting. Jake, Phil, G, and Pauline continued their voice exercises and harmony practice, continuing to loosen up the cords. Everyone else simply sat around, fidgeting and watching the clock. Finally, at 7:30 PM, there came a knock on their door. It was the security guy again. It was time to report to the stage.
“All right,” Jake said to his group. “Let’s do this thing.”
Those who would be playing up on the stage or supervising the sound filed out of the trailer and followed the security guy single file, all with varying degrees of nervousness and trepidation spinning in their respective heads. Those who would be watching the show—Obie and Celia—stayed behind. They would make their way to the special VIP section right before Jake and the band took the stage.