"That's fucking bullshit and you know it!" Matt thundered both times. "There's a goddamned reason why we had that rule and this is fucking it!"
Unfortunately, whenever they tried to argue, or demand, or even plead for a return to the sobriety rule, Greg would step in and remind the two members of the rhythm section that they were free to do what they wanted before a show or even during it. "I'm your boss," he would tell them. "Matt and Jake are your peers. You don't have to give in to peer pressure. You can just say no to them."
"I don't think that is exactly what Nancy Reagan had in mind when she wrote that little catch phrase," Jake said sourly the fist time he heard this.
Darren and Coop were certainly saying no to no drugs on this night. Upon arriving in Austin at two that afternoon, they'd forgone the coffee in favor of three lines of coke. Throughout the day, as the band rode from place to place, signing autographs and greeting fans and talking to Austin disk jockeys at the local hard rock station, the two of them drank beers and took pipe hits and snorted line after line of cocaine. After the sound check, as the hour to hit the stage rolled closer and closer, they kept it up, draining bottles of beer and tossing them in the trash, hitting the pipe whenever their high started to dissipate, and begging another line from Greg whenever these first two indulgences started to make them feel tired. By the time they hit the stage both of them were keyed up and sweating, their eyes dilated and sluggish, their movements alternately clumsy and over-fast. They were, to put it mildly, fucked up beyond recognition, in the stratosphere, annihilated to the gills.
Coop screwed up his drumbeats three times during the set. Twice the rest of the band had been able to cover for it without the audience noticing, but the third time he played the drum roll build-up to the bridge of a song after the first verse instead of after the second, throwing the entire song out of whack and causing all of them to fumble around for the better part of ten seconds, their instruments jangling in opposition as Bill and Matt tried to blend and follow the mistake while Jake and Darren tried to transition them back on track. The audience emitted a shocked laugh and even a few boos before they were able to pull themselves back together and continue the song. The applause after that song was the most muted they had ever heard.
More embarrassing, however, was Darren. Though he hadn't made a mistake in his actual playing, he was still creating quite a spectacle of himself by trying out new dance moves to his routine. He was jumping up and down, kicking his feet out, making leering faces at the crowd, spinning back and forth, and generally doing everything he could to draw attention to himself. Jake supposed he thought he was being cool but in reality he was looking like an intoxicated dork — the performing arts version of putting a lampshade on your head at a party.
As the cries for encore reached their peak, Jake and Matt shared a look of anger and helplessness, both knowing they had put in a substandard performance because of the two fuck-ups and both hating the fact that there was little they could do about it. Neither could know that the worst was yet to come.
Darren took a final hit from the pipe, actually burning the resin in the pipe-stem since the pot had all been smoked away. He handed it and the lighter back to Bobby, blew his hit out, and then took a last drink of his Gatorade. He smiled as he felt the latest surge of THC working its way through his brain, restoring the coveted high. Yes, he was ready to go knock off the last two songs now. And he was determined to show these Texas fans what he was all about. Jake and Matt thought they had some moves? They didn't have shit. He was the really important one in the band, him and his bass. After all, without the bass, the rest of them wouldn't have a rhythm to play to, would they? Why did those two prima donna assholes — three if you included that nerdy dickwad Bill — get all the credit for Intemperance's success?
So intent was he on these thoughts that he didn't notice that the other four had already gone back through the stage left door and onto the stage. Not even the applause roaring back from the crowd clued him in. It took a slap on the back by Bobby and a shouted "Go!" into his ear to get him moving. He stepped through the door to find the rest of the band already in position, instruments in hand. There was another burst of laughter from the crowd at his late arrival and both Matt and Jake were glaring at him.
He didn't acknowledge them. He simply picked up his bass and put it in position. Just to show who was the real talent of the band he strummed out a quick, twelve note bass solo, something that was most definitely not part of the encore performance. He expected applause at this but what he got was a gasp of confusion from the crowd instead. Obviously his talent was a little too sophisticated for these Texas assholes.
Coop hit the four count and they launched into the first encore song: Rules of the Road, from the new album. It was one of Jake's songs and one of Darren's least favorite to perform. Jake was fond of changes in tempo in his songs and this one was absolutely full of them. It started out fast, slowed down during the first verse, sped up to almost heavy-metal intensity during the chorus, and then slowed back down for the second verse and the bridge. Jake himself kept having to switch from acoustical sound during the slow parts back to distortion on the faster parts, said switch being accomplished by hitting one of the effects pedals arrayed around his mic stand. The rapid and constant changing in tempo meant that Darren couldn't perform a lot of the new badass moves he was trying to incorporate into his stagecraft.
When Rules of the Road ended, Darren perked up considerably. The final song was his absolute favorite that they did: Who Needs Love? It was a true rock masterpiece with a fast, heavy, and fairly consistent beat that he could truly pound out on his bass like rock music was meant to be pounded out. They launched into it with a roar of approval from the crowd. Darren's hands did their work automatically, his left hand pushing on the frets and moving up and down the neck, his left picking at the thick strings with perfect precision. He jumped up and down as he played, moving back and forth, making harsh faces that he thought were just the coolest fucking thing ever. Twice as the song progressed he was so intent on his jumping and moving and face making that he forgot to go back to his microphone and sing the backing to the chorus. Oops, he thought when this happened. So fucking sue me then. It wasn't like his voice was actually needed anyway with Matt, Coop, and Bill chiming in their parts. In fact, maybe he would talk to Greg about taking him off singing duty completely. Having to hit the microphone all the time detracted from his stagecraft.
As Matt launched into the main solo of the song and Jake backed off to give him the spotlight, Darren stayed at the front of the stage, deciding that more moves were in order. He jumped up and down a few more times and then bounced his way to the right to get next to Matt. His intention was to bump shoulders with the guitarist, one of those camaraderie type of moves that looked so cool, but instead he slammed into Matt with considerable force. Matt flew sideways from the impact, stumbling twice and nearly falling down. At the last second he managed to keep his feet and, though he shot a murderous glare at Darren his fingers never missed a string and the solo went unbroken.