“Son of a bitch,” Matt said in wonder. Nerdly actually knew how to fight? It was like the universe did not work as he had always thought it did. “What happened to your eye? Did one of them get a shot in?”
“Not the roadies or the sound tech,” Nerdly said, “but their head of security sucker-punched me and knocked me down. Before I could get back up, Jake jumped in and knocked him out with a punch to the face. Then one of the other security men—a huge brute who looks like a football linebacker—tackled Jake and started to punch on him. I was able to dislodge him with a side-kick to his ribs, but by then, the rest of roadies were moving in on us. Things were starting to look a little worrisome for a moment, but then, before we could go any further in the scuffle, the venue’s security team arrived in force and broke it up.”
“No shit?” Matt asked, shaking his head as he pictured it. Nerdly kicking ass? Jake punching out a head of security (those people obtained that position because they knew how to kick some serious ass)? Nerdly kicking a football linebacker sized man off of Jake? Astounding!
“No shit,” Nerdly said matter-of-factly.
“It would seem that the gentlemen did not wish to be advised on their sound adjustments,” Sharon said.
“God knows they could use some advice,” said Rollie, who had listened to the story with the air of one who had been around rock bands his entire career: completely unfazed by it.
“How is Jake?” asked Matt, part of him hoping that Jake would not be able to go on, part of him feeling a strange emotion that was similar to concern.
“He claims he is within acceptable parameters,” Nerdly said. “He has a bruise on his cheek and some sore ribs. He also hurt his hand when he punched the security head, though he says he’ll be able to play for the performance tonight.”
“I see,” Matt said, unable to think of anything else.
“Anyway,” Nerdly said. “That is how I came by these injuries.
“A very interesting story,” Matt said with complete sincerity. “But why are you here, right now, telling me about it?”
“We did not come here to tell the story,” Nerdly said, “but you did ask, so I shared the tale. The reason we are actually here is to extend the same offer to you that we offered to Pantera.”
“What do you mean?” Matt asked.
“We are here to offer our services with your sound check,” Nerdly said.
Matt’s eyes widened. “You want to help us with our sound check?” he asked, just to make sure he was hearing correctly.
“That is correct,” Nerdly said. “I heard your performance from the band city last night and it is clear you could use our help.”
“Now wait just a minute here,” Rollie suddenly spoke up. “I am the head of concert sound for Matt and his band, and I do not require any assistance, even if it is from the Nerdlys.”
“I disagree,” Nerdly said simply. “Your levels last night were maladjusted and detracted from the proper enjoyment of the performance.”
“What?” Rollie yelled.
“He said your sound sucked,” Matt interpreted. He was still capable of translating Nerdly-speak into English. “And I agree completely with that fuckin’ assessment.”
“Exactly,” said Sharon. “Your midrange and your low end were far too loud. Your high range was far too low. The net effect of this is to drown out the vocals and make it impossible to differentiate between the stringed instruments.”
“People want Matt’s music to be loud,” Rollie insisted. “He’s a heavy metal guitarist. His instrument has to be the primary source of output.”
“I disagree,” Nerdly said again. “It is possible—quite easy in fact—to balance the ranges so that all instruments and vocalizations can be heard and enjoyed—even if they are loud. That should be what any sound engineer strives for.”
“The recording studio is the place for that shit,” Rollie said. “We have twenty-five minutes to make things the best they can be here. And speaking of that, Matt, three of those minutes have already ticked away. Can we please get rid of these people so we can get to work?”
“We do need to get to work,” Matt agreed, looking at his sound engineer. He then looked back at the Nerdlys. “But I don’t want to get rid of them. I’m taking you up on your offer, Nerdlys. You’re in charge of the sound as long you can dial my shit in in twenty-two minutes.”
“Matt! I most protest this!” Rollie yelled.
“Protest noted,” Matt said. “Now get on that fuckin’ walkie-talkie and tell the guys on the soundboard that Sharon is coming over there and they will follow her directions.”
“This is not how I do things,” Rollie insisted. “I am in charge of sound.”
“You’ve just been demoted, asshole,” Matt told him. “Now get on that walkie-talkie and fuckin’ talk! And if you can’t obey the Nerdlys’ orders, get the fuck off my stage.”
Rollie, fuming with anger, his face red, did as he was told. He keyed up his radio and told the lead board tech that Mrs. Nerdly was on her way and that they needed to do what she told them. They agreed to do so.
“Very good,” Matt said. “Now give that radio to Nerdly here and let’s get to work.”
Silently, Rollie handed over the radio.
“All right,” Nerdly said, taking it. “We have twenty-one minutes left. Get Matt’s Strat out here and let us dial that in first.”
“You heard the man!” Matt barked. A moment later, a stagehand came running out with Matt’s beloved guitar in hand.
“Plug in and we’ll dial in the basic distortion level first,” Nerdly said.
“Right,” said Matt, nodding. He slung the instrument over his shoulder and plugged in the guitar cord. He turned the volume knob all the way up and then pulled a pick from the microphone stand. Before he strummed out the first chord, however, he turned back to the Nerdlys. “I appreciate the help,” he told them.
Nerdly nodded. “I assumed that you would,” he said.
Approximately four hundred yards away, in the band city, Jake was sitting in a chair outside the trailer. He was munching on a breakfast burrito from the catering truck with his left hand, which was awkward for him. He could not use his right hand, however, because it was currently wrapped in an ice pack. His knuckles were throbbing and his middle and fourth fingers were swollen and painful from the punch he had delivered to Pantera’s security guy. Every once in a while he flexed the hand a few times to make sure he could still move it with the limberness required to play his guitar. It was uncomfortable, but he could do it. The show would go on. It had to. And then, after the show, he might find his way to one of the Vegas emergency rooms to have a little x-ray taken.
The sound of a guitar chord rolled over the band city and then cut off. It had been short, but Jake could tell it had been Matt playing it. Another one rolled out, this one a riff that Jake was not quite familiar with, though he had heard it before. The volume and the range were audibly adjusted while the riff was being played and Jake smiled. He was familiar enough with the Nerdlys and how they did business to tell that the adjustment was being directed by them—Nerdly on the stage, Sharon on the soundboard relaying his instructions to the crew. That crazy nerd had actually gone and convinced Matt to let him help.
“That sounds like the Nerdlys in action,” Laura remarked from the chair next to him. She too was quite familiar with how they did business.