It was during their rendition of Rock and Roll when Jake began paying more than superficial attention to them. It was the drummer he pondered first. The guy was pretty good, he realized. He was not just keeping the beat, but was also hitting all the flourishes that Jon Bonham had put into the same performance, and he was hitting them exactly as they had appeared on the album. And then he noticed the bass player. He too was laying down the exact rhythm required for the tune, keeping the other musicians in time, just like a good bass player was supposed to.
Life is just not fair, Jake thought at the time. We can’t find a goddamn rhythm section to save our lives, and these fucking hackers up there managed to pull in a decent one.
He shook his head, went back to sipping from his beer, and watched as Black Dog finished up Rock and Roll and went onto the number that would close out their set: Kashmir. Again, Jake paid primary attention to the bass player and the drummer and, just as the singer began declaring he was on his way, a simple thought occurred to him. Why don’t we see if we can steal these guys from them?
He mentioned his idea to the Nerdlys, both of whom had to agree that, for their purposes, the two musicians just might be what they were looking for. They both had some concerns though.
“Isn’t it a bit unethical to steal musicians away from an established band?” Sharon had asked.
Jake simply shrugged. “It’s an unethical world,” he said. “If they want to come of their own free will, what’s it to us?”
Nerdlys concern was more practical. “We know nothing about these people,” he said. “How do we know their level of commitment? Their personalities? They may be incompatible with our basic level of camaraderie.”
Again, Jake shrugged it off. “They gotta be more compatible than what we got now,” he said.
Nerdly had to agree that this was a valid point.
And so, the three of them hung around after the set was done. Soon enough, the band began to filter out, one by one. The singer and guitar player both headed directly for a group of women hanging around at the bar. The drummer, on the other hand, came out and started working to disassemble his set. He was a big guy with a beer belly and a balding head. His face was haggard and drawn, as if he were in perpetual pain. Jake guessed his age at around fifty, although he soon found out that Ted Duncan was only forty-one.
“Hey there,” Jake greeted from the edge of the stage.
“Hey,” Duncan grunted back, not even glancing in Jake’s direction.
“That was a good set you put on,” Jake told him. “You seem to know your way around the drums.”
“Thanks,” he said plainly, continuing to unscrew wingnuts on his snare drum.
“My name is Jake Kingsley,” Jake said. “Maybe you’ve heard of me?”
That got Duncan’s attention. He turned and looked at Jake, his eyes focusing on his face. He obviously did not like what he saw. “Jake Kingsley, huh?” he said. “And my name is Jon Bonham. Nice to meet you, Jake.” With that, he went back to work.
“I really am Jake Kingsley,” Jake insisted. “I just cut my hair and grew a mustache.”
“Of course you did,” Duncan said. “Look partner, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I need to get this stuff taken apart and back in my truck. I have to work a shift at six in the morning and I really need to get some sleep, you know what I mean?”
“I understand,” Jake said, “but I thought that maybe I could talk to you for a minute or two. You see, I’m putting together a solo album and it just so happens that I need...”
Duncan turned back to him and gave him a dangerous glare. “Goodbye, Jake, or whatever your name is. I’ve been about as polite as I’m going to be.”
The exchange had caught the eye of one of the club’s bouncers, a large Hispanic man with tattoos that looked like they had been put there by the best goddamn tat artist in San Quentin Prison. He came over and stood next to Jake, uncomfortably close to him. “Is there a problem here?”
“No,” Jake said, holding up his hands. “No problem at all. I was just leaving.”
He walked back over to the bar, where Sharon and Nerdly were waiting.
“That did not look like it went well,” Nerdly observed.
“He doesn’t believe I’m Jake Kingsley,” Jake said.
“Unsurprising,” Nerdly said. “Your current style of grooming precludes immediate recognition. Maybe I should go try?”
Jake shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Here comes the bass player. Let me go talk to him instead.”
And so he had met Ben Ping. Ben took a little convincing, but soon he realized that he really was dealing with Jake Kingsley and that Kingsley really was offering him an audition to play bass for him and Celia Valdez in their rehearsal studio.
“I’ll have to leave Black Dog,” he said.
Jake nodded. “Is that a problem?”
“No, no problem at all, but I also have a full-time job as a music professor at LA Harbor. That might be a problem. They kind of like me to show up for work.”
Jake was actually impressed that the guy was a music teacher. “I see how they might like that,” he said. “Do you teach summer classes?”
“No.”
“It’s May 16th right now,” Jake said. “How much more of the semester is left?”
“Only two weeks,” Ben said, “but I’ll need to be back in the classroom on September 3.”
“So, you’ll be available for the entire summer?”
“Well ... yes, but that can’t possibly be enough time to get two albums recorded.”
“We’re not trying to record right now,” Jake explained. “We’re just trying to put the tunes together and we’re somewhat hampered by the fact that we have no rhythm section. All I’m asking for right now is a competent bass player and a competent drummer who can help us out until it is time to hit the studio. We’ll cross the bridge of what musicians will actually record with us when we come to it. The summer should be enough for us to get things in gear.”
“I see,” Ben said. “I guess I’ll have to say that I’m in. I’ve been an Intemperance fan since you released Descent Into Nothing. It would be an honor to play with you.”
“Assuming you pass the audition,” Jake qualified.
“Naturally,” Ben said. He did not seem the least bit nervous about the prospect of playing for Jake.
Jake nodded over in the direction of the drummer. “What’s his story?” he asked. “He seems like he knows what he’s doing.”
Ben nodded. “I’ve only known him since I hooked up with Black Dog, but he’s a good drummer. He says he used to do sessions back in the day. Claims he did some studio work for Graham Nash, Sammy Hagar, Don Henley, and a few others. He’s working these days as a paramedic over in Pomona.”
“A paramedic, huh?” Jake said. “That’s interesting.”
“He’s kind of fucked up in the head, if you ask me,” Ben opined. “I think maybe he’s been doing the paramedic thing a little too long, that maybe he isn’t so good at forgetting about the shit he sees in that job.”
“Really?”
Ben nodded. “Really. He’ll tell you stories that’ll have you almost puking ... or almost crying. He’s pretty emotional.”
“But a good drummer?”
“Probably the best I’ve ever played with. He could do a lot better than this tribute band, but he seems to have lost his ambition over the years.”
“Well,” Jake said, “maybe I can get it back for him. You think you can convince him to audition for us as well?”
Ben nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
And he had. It took a little convincing, but both Ben and Ted came to KVA’s studio two days later and showed what they had. Jake, Nerdly, and Celia had all been impressed by both of them and had made them an offer on the spot.