"You never know just when it begins
"Just when it starts to seed."
His voice did not break. It sounded as good as it always had, amplified with crisp reproduction by the voice amp. Nor did he forget the words. They flowed from him with ease, as easily as they did in rehearsal, or the shower, or while driving his car. His fingers continued to do their work on his guitar as the words came out of his mouth, dancing over the backing rhythm with hardly a thought, the movements actually helping him keep time.
"But it will take root within your soul
"And where it stops... nobody knows
"Compelling bliss, sweet sweet pain
"Down you fall, down the drain"
They changed tempo, Coop pounding out a roll on the drums, Bill hitting a flourish on his keys, Matt and Jake synchronizing a throbbing power chord atop it all. This led them into the chorus, that mixture of Jake's solo voice and five-part harmony.
"Falling without purpose
"Sliding without cause
"No hands held out before me
"No more hope for pause
"Descent into nothing
"Life forever changed
"Decent into nothing
"Can never be the same"
The bridge consisted of Matt pounding out the opening riff again, playing it four times in the raw, without accompaniment. The crowd cheered as he did it, erupting into a chorus of shouted yeah's and whistles. When Jake chimed back in to put them on the next verse, his nervousness was all but gone, his fears forgotten. They were doing it! The audience liked them!
They went through the second verse and the second chorus. There was another flurry of drums and piano and then Matt launched into his guitar solo. If there was any remaining doubt in the audience that Intemperance was a little more than your average opening band, it was dispelled right here. The solo was loud and complex, fitting in perfectly with the rhythm of the song. There seemed an emotion tied to it, emotion as strong as what Jake projected with his voice. Despair, helplessness, and inevitability-the theme of the song-came pouring from Matt's fingers, washing over the now-transfixed crowd.
Jake knew what they were experiencing. You could tell Matt was good by listening to him play a riff... any riff. He was fast, accurate, and almost supernaturally musically inclined. But when you heard him solo you knew you were not dealing with someone who was merely good. You knew you were not dealing with someone who was merely great. A Matt Tisdale solo showed you in the first few seconds that you were dealing with someone who was brilliant, genius even, someone on the same level as Eddie Van Halen or Clapton or Rhodes. Jake-now standing well behind Matt, shoulder to shoulder with Darren, his fingers still belting out the backing riff-could see expressions of awe in the crowd, could see guys leaning towards their friends and speaking into their ears, knew they were saying things like "Holy fucking shit! This guy can play!"
The guitar solo went on for almost ninety seconds. In the last ten seconds, the rest of the band halted their own instruments, allowing it to finish off as a true solo. Matt played it out flawlessly, his fingers whirring near the bottom of the neck, pressing and releasing the high strings and then holding the last note and engaging a slow pull on the whammy bar, increasing the pitch. Just before it faded out, Coop played a brief drum solo and then the rest of them launched back into the main rhythm.
Jake sang out the third verse and then the chorus once again, now totally into his performance. Sweat was starting to bead up on his forehead and under his arms as his legs moved him back and forth, as his shoulders kept time with the beat, as his fingers moved across his guitar. They repeated the entire chorus one more time and then settled into a coarse repetition of the last two lines.
"Descent into nothing, Descent into nothing,
"Life forever changed
"Descent into nothing, Descent into nothing,
"Can never be the same
They did this four times in a row, the backing music become louder, angrier with each one. Finally, on the very last line, Jake sang it out slowly, drawing the words out.
"Can never... never... nevvvvver be the saaaaaaammmmme."
As his voice stretched the final word Coop did a final flurry of drums, Matt did one last winding down solo, and then the five of them together hit a two-beat flourish and stopped, ending the tune.
The audience erupted immediately into applause, yells, whistles, shouted encouragements. It was not quite earsplitting, but it was close. Jake let it wash over him, drawing power from it. There was absolutely no doubt that this was genuine applause, not the polite acknowledgment reserved for most of The Boozehounds other opening bands.
Listen to that, he told himself, a smile on his face, a lightness in his being. They loved us, at least so far. They fucking loved us! This was what performing was all about. The $250 they were getting for the gig wasn't shit compared to this feeling, the feeling of an entire roomful of music fans cheering for you, telling you that you rock! There really was a power here. A power and a magic.
When the applause began to die down Coop gave them another four-count with the drumsticks and they launched into Who Needs Love?, one of Matt's cynical pieces about the dark side of male-female relationships. It was a grinding, fast-paced song, the lead riff yet another impressive demonstration of Matt's guitar skills. Jake-though he had a more idealistic view of interpersonal relationships himself-nevertheless sang the lyrics with raw emotion and a hint of desperate anger, just as he knew Matt had intended them to be sung. Thanks to Bill's careful sound tuning before the show, the audience heard every word and responded to it, seeming to catch some of the emotion, particularly during the chorus.
"Who needs love?
"Love will force you to commit,
"Will make you feel that this is it,
"Life goes on and there you'll sit"
"Who needs love?
"A lie formed to make you choose,
"Just put your neck into the noose,
"Those who love will always lose."
The applause following this song was even louder, sustaining itself for longer. There were more cheers, more whistles, more yeahs and fuck yeahs. They played their third song and then their fourth with equal response. Before launching into number five-a slower song, almost a ballad, heavy on the piano and Jake's acoustic guitar sound-Jake asked them if they were having a good time tonight. They damn near hit the roof in their affirmative outpouring.
"We're having ourselves a hell of a time as well," he told the audience. "It's an honor to be playing here at D Street West and an honor to be opening for The Hounds."
"Fuck The Hounds!" someone yelled out.
"Yeah, fuck The Hounds!" a few others put in.
The applause that erupted from this was the loudest so far.
In all, they did eleven of the sixteen original songs they had to date. By song number six Jake began to realize that he wasn't in as good of shape as he needed to be if this was going to be a regular habit. He was sweating freely, drops dripping down onto the stage and even into the front row of the audience. His shirt became damp, as if he'd run a mile. His heart pounded almost alarmingly. His breath became a little on the short side, though he did not allow it to become so short it would effect his singing voice. He sipped from a glass of water between songs and hung in there, driven on by the intoxicating sound of applause and cheers.