Frontman

by Acologic

Chapter II – Impression

Frontman
by Acologic

2.

Impression

***

The cellos hummed and then entered the oboes, playful at first but growing fainter, more mournful. A countermelody, motif reintroduced with slight variation this time.

How loud they were in this little studio. Dec gulped. He was expected to play alongside these, compete for a place among their ranks: in over his head. He couldn’t prevent the thought. Stupid though, he knew he could. But of course, it wasn’t about just the playing. Parlance, etiquette, know-how. The culture itself. All of these he was far, far behind on in comparison. And any one thing could let him down were a pony to suspect the facade.

‘And off!’

Gevanni threw his hoof skyward. The music stopped at once.

‘Leonard,’ he said, stroking his chin, ‘you’re too withdrawn. Louder, more vigour. The pauper finding the ring, this is a moment of victory. Right now Joseph next to you, he’s drowning you out. I noticed he was adjusting there. Don’t.’

The clarinet, Joseph, nodded.

‘Lighten up, that’s the long and short of it, you’re meant to sing it out like you’ve just struck gold! Now I know to a young lad that doesn’t mean much, but I’ll ask you to put yourself in the beggar’s shoes, please, and no, you won’t catch anything.’

A few weak chuckles.

‘Alright, let’s take five. Toilet break, cup of water, you know the drill. Dec?’ He beckoned without turning. Dec’s stomach sank lower.

Quentin Gevanni was an Earth, thickset and crinkly, with saucer-wide eyes and a short, grey-speckled goatee. His mane, also greying, was close-cropped and his coat was linen white. His stance was square-on, relaxed, and wasn’t helping Dec’s nerves any. He gulped as Gevanni surveyed him, waited for him to speak.

Gevanni jerked his head at the disbanding orchestra. ‘You recognise that piece?’

Dec nodded. Gevanni raised an eyebrow. Dec cleared his throat. ‘The Rat Town, one of Alek Walker’s tone poems.’

‘You like Walker?’

‘Sometimes I listen –’

‘No? Who do you like, then? Guitar, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Eiger? Borrelli?’

‘Not really, I… Pajarin, I like.’

‘Ah. Which works?’

‘Sonata no. 5.’

‘Piano?’ He seemed almost amused. ‘Alright then, Dec, here’s how it works.’ He spread his hooves, smiling pleasantly. ‘See this? All of us? We’re pressed for time all the time. That’s the first thing you’ll learn. We’ve always more to do than we can manage, but we always manage. And to do that, it’s all about being economical. You follow so far?’

Dec nodded.

‘Now, I could tell you all about the countless commitments these musicians and myself have elsewhere, but there’s no point. Wouldn’t be very economical now, would it? And we’ll learn very quickly whether you fit in here. If you’re a good player, a good team player. Still with me?’

Dec nodded.

‘Aaron Blake, that’s him over there.’ He indicated a well-groomed Earth laughing with friends by the door. ‘He’s struggling today, bad hoof. You’re going to replace him. We’re doing Intro and Allegro next, plenty of guitar. Get ready. Aaron!’ he called. ‘I need your music!’

Aaron Blake looked up at the sound of his name, came over quickly and handed Gevanni the papers, who passed them to Dec.

‘You’ve got… three-and-a-half minutes. It’s going to sound rough, of course it is. Doesn’t matter, just give it your best. Chair over there, Dec, let’s get busy.’

He sat, placed the sheet music on its stand, gave it a look-over. As luck would have it, each passage was mercifully brief. To his surprise, he was actually smiling. No small talk. No questions. Straight to business, and that he could handle. That was, in fact, ideal. He opened his case, pulled out his lute, his hoof tips tingling.

All he had to do was play.

It was in the bag.

***

‘Off!’

Dec let go. His lute stopped.

Everyone was looking at him again, Gevanni from the front, Aaron Blake from the dusty desks, Joseph the clarinet and Leonard.

‘Well, how about that!’ Gevanni, although shaking his head, was also smiling, eyes heavy with interest and something else. Dec prayed it wasn’t suspicion.

‘Dec,’ said Gevanni, beckoning, ‘a word.’

In one corner of the studio was a sliding door, which, Dec realised as they stepped through, covered a walk-in storage space, long and narrow, linking Studio 3 to 4. Like Harriot’s room, there were books here too, and cables. No guitars, but plenty more music stands, and on an upper shelf beater boxes and glockenspiels.

‘Well,’ began Gevanni, ‘I did wonder, when Harriot dropped me his little note, whether you were too good to be true. How long have you played like that for, young man?’

The Q&A session he’d expected. And had prepared for.

‘I started when I was seven,’ he said carefully, holding the tone.

‘And what are you now? Eighteen?’

‘Nineteen.’

‘Nineteen. And you’ve never tried that piece before?’

Dec shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

Gevanni nodded, visibly impressed. ‘Alright, Dec, well, first, congratulations. You’ll be joining us at rehearsal from now on.’

Dec felt a swooping sensation somewhere down below.

‘Who’s your father?’

And his heart skipped a beat. ‘What?’

‘Don’t have a parent who plays?’ Gevanni’s eyes widened quizzingly.

‘I – no, it’s just me.’

Gevanni looked him up and down again with intense interest. ‘Now that is a first. No one in your family at all, then? No one who plays?’

‘No.’

‘What made you want to start?’

‘Well, my dad bought me a startup –’

‘Not that one.’ Gevanni was pointing at Dec’s lute, which he realised he was still holding. That he was was good, he noted idly, a habit born of focused care.

‘No. This one – my uncle made it for me.’

‘He makes instruments?’

‘When he can.’

There was a pause.

‘Well,’ said Gevanni, still nodding, ‘it’s quite a gift. He’s a man of some ability, like yourself.’

‘Thanks.’

Dec feared where this might be going. But then Gevanni relented. ‘Good for another go, then?’ he said matter-of-factly, as though he too wanted to change the subject.

‘What?’

‘Intro and Allegro, until Aaron feels up to it.’

‘Oh.’ Dec hesitated. ‘Yeah.’

‘Good.’ He held open the door, and Dec stepped into the room. He could almost feel Gevanni’s eyes on him all the way back to his seat.

***

‘Spiffing day at the office, chum?’ said Jake, and Dec choked on his toffee mid-snort.

‘I’m trying to eat here,’ he gasped, half-smiling.

‘Ah, the musician needs his energy.’

Coach 11 rattled over a speed bump, jerking the packet they were sharing from between his hooves. Cursing while Jake laughed, Dec stooped to retrieve it, hit his head off the seat as the bus rolled angrily over another and swore again.

‘Karma!’ Jake snorted as Dec picked up loose candies. ‘How went Gevanni?’

‘By the end of practice I swear he could have kissed me,’ muttered Dec, massaging his scalp. ‘I don’t know how I’ll go about this, playing in front of him day in, day out. He asks too many questions.’

‘Bet you had the answers though.’

‘Sort of. He asked about Dad.’

‘What, he knows him?’

‘No, just wondered if he plays. He seemed to think I was from a musical family.’

‘It’ll be because they start their kids off young, you know? Work their hooves to the bone till they shit scales and all that. Bet he thought you were one of those types.’

Dec shrugged, said, ‘I suppose he did, yeah.’

‘Anything else? What did you tell him?’

‘The truth. Well, as much as I could.’ For a clever liar tells as much truth as he can, thought Dec, gritting his jaw.

‘Ha. He’ll be watching.’

‘Yeah, we predicted that.’

‘Be careful is all I’m saying.’

‘I’m always careful.’

Jake grinned. ‘Well, we’ll soon find out, I guess.’

‘You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you. Don’t say you’re not.’

‘Maybe a tad.’

Dec snorted, shook his head. Well. That made one of them, at least. He, Dec, wasn’t here for fun, after all. This wasn’t a game; it was his life, his future – these were with what he was juggling. A fumble, one slip-up – all it would take for them to fall and shatter. How could he enjoy himself?

They cleared the roundabout and turned onto the main road. The sun tunnelled through the glass, clawed at the side of Dec’s face. He grimaced and narrowed his eyes against the glare. Simultaneously, however, there was warmth – not unpleasant. He placed his head against the window, relaxed his brow, felt the bus’s bumps and vibrations, at times jolting, even painful.

How many times had he looked back at the locker inside which was his lute? He sighed.

‘No!’

Jake’s eyes were wider than Dec’s own, and his mouth was hanging open. Dec pulled his strumming hoof away at once. But for that of the birds and the treetops above them, the music stopped. He dropped the lute onto the foliage and scurried backwards, his heart pounding.

‘Jake, that – that wasn’t me… ’ Dec stammered.

‘W-what?’ Jake said. ‘H-how?’

‘I – I don’t know! It just… played.’ Dec licked his lips, shook his head inexplicably. ‘It played me.’

‘What do you mean “it played you”? You’re not making sense!’

‘I don’t know how to describe it.’ Dec, his breathing heavy, inched towards the lute, stretched out his hoof and picked it up.

‘Don’t!’ squealed Jake, his voice shooting up to irritating registers.

‘Why?’ Dec sat down, crossed his legs, placed the instrument slowly back onto his lap. He ran his hoof up and down the neck, tested the boiled steel strings. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt right.

‘It’s… Dec, what if it’s dangerous?’

‘Dangerous?’ Jake’s mouth was trembling, his eyes straining, holding back tears. He looked more like a child than a proud colt of 10. Dec sighed with both exasperation and fondness. He positioned his hooves to play.

And it happened again, the sudden, bewildering jerk of his forelegs, their carrying out the actions, producing sounds without any effort on his part, the tips of his left hoof pressing and jumping between frets, those of his right strumming the strings above the sound hole. Daisy Was a Little Cow, the rhyme Uncle liked to hum in the workshop. Dec couldn’t explain it; he felt his hooves moving and could comprehend what they were doing, but he wasn’t playing.

The lute was.

Dec sighed again, turned to Jake, who was still chewing sweets, his expression unreadable. How things had changed for both of them, he thought. Yet together they remained. He turned his head back to the locker. Had Jake been right all those years ago?

Was this really a gift or a curse?