Chapter 1: "The Times They Are A-Changin"
The guitar sang out its distorted tune. John's fingers pushed and bent the strings while they cried out a furious arrangement of notes that seemed to fit perfectly with each pluck. This is why he became a guitarist. That sweet moment when a band is in the ideal key and they all knew what notes to play before they even played it.
The song ended with a thunderous explosion and all lights being shut off leaving only the dark void of a stadium. The audience gave their approval with an array of screams and claps. John gazed upon the sea of people that had come just to see him. A single spotlight landed on him as he walked up to the mic. He griped his Gibson and spoke to the people with a sly smile.
"Are you out there?"
The stadium reacted by sending a wall of sound that prompted john to step back in awe. He knew that he had their full attention when his ears started ringing. Thinking this was due to the shriek of the people he spoke once more.
"I want to thank all you fine people," the ringing became louder with every passing second. "I'M GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT THIS WONDERFUL NIGHT!" John began yelling into the mic, he then gazed upon a bright light coming closer to his place on the stage. "You have all been a great audie..." within seconds the light was too much and the sound defining to his ears.
John's eyes shot open and stared at the ceiling, sunlight shining on his face, and tried to realize what had just happened. He heard the ringing again and looked over at the nightstand where his alarm was placed between a lamp and a couple of beer bottles.
"Fuck!" he said while attempting to find the snooze button, missing it three times before finding the thing he desired most.
He slammed his hand on the alarm and looked at the clock to see that the time was going on ten-thirty. He knew that he needed to be at the studio at eleven and hastily sprung up from the bed, kicked off the sheets, and ran to the bathroom.
'Ok where is my toothbrush' John thought when he inspected the counter only to find an empty sink and a bar of soap. With little thought, he gave up and ran to get dressed.
Picking up anything he could find, John put on his dad's old Fleetwood Mac T-shirt and a pair of dirty jeans he hadn't washed since a time not remembered. He came up to the mirror and gazed at his reflection for a short moment. There stood a twenty-four-year-old male, standing at six foot nothing that looked as though he hadn't slept in a week. He tried to pat down his greasy brown hair to see if he could make himself look halfway decent but to no avail.
"I always look like shit..." John sighed to himself while looking at the clock once more to find that it was already ten-fifty.
"And now I'm going to be fucking late too!" He hurriedly laced on his shoes, grabbed his Gibson, and set off out of his apartment. Putting the guitar in its case he smashed the door open and ran out letting it close behind him.
John took a breath of fresh city air and smiled. This was the time that John had to himself. He walked down the sidewalk of downtown Nashville with his guitar case in hand. Digging his hand in his pocket John knew his Ipod was in this pair of jeans due to the Frequent use of them. His hand searched each pocket until he found just what he was looking for. Putting his earbuds in he scrolled through his list of artists trying to find the perfect one.
John soon came upon the band that never failed to get him in a good mood. He clicked shuffle and the music started to flow into his ears instantly energizing his body.'Nothing like a little CCR to start your Friday morning' he thought to himself while heading down to the studio that he knew all too well.
The sun seemed to be unusually bright today, but that did not falter johns steady stride down the street. Today was the day he finally finished one of the worst albums with one the worst bands he had played for since he began his job as a studio guitarist. A jumbled mess of Pop songs that sounded more like a cat's scream for help than an actual album. John was always there if they needed him, which was rarely, and only played a very quick two tracks on the whole damn thing.
John had always liked music since he was a kid going to his sister's piano lessons in his dads' car. The first album he had ever heard was a plain white album entitled "The Beatles" which his dad popped into the CD player on the way. The first track started with the roar of a plane that seemed to fly right through the car and a crunchy guitar soon followed afterward. Listening to every tune on the album he instantly became hooked and wanted to recreate the sound for himself.
Before too long John's dad had bought the boy a Gibson guitar and amp for Christmas and a few guitar lessons. John started right away by learning every chord his teacher taught him and then some. His hands became more flexible and calluses developed on them. John still remembers the first song he had ever learned as a kid, Sunshine of your Love by Cream. His fingers slowly came into place and copied the sounds he heard from the speakers. With his new guitar, he was going to rule the world.
Years passed and John became an avid guitarist and never missed a chance to practice his skills. He had joined a couple of bands in high school and even played at graduation, but that still wasn't enough for him. He had always wanted to perform at a stadium for once in his life. He spent countless hours strumming the chords and trying to make himself better. Fiddling with his amp and listening for that one good vibration that ran softly through his ears.
After high school, he opted to skip college and get a job at a local recording studio, which had taught him since the beginning, as a guitarist. Knowing how good John was with his guitar they welcomed him with open arms as soon as he walked through the doors with his instrument in hand. With things looking up for him he was hoping this was going to be the job that would land him a record deal with the big companies, but the deal never came.
Bands came and went, John's guitar getting in worse condition as the years passed by. He witnessed how each group that came in seemed to be always worst than the last. Every band thought they were the next big thing and would lead a revolution in the music business, but they just faded into the cloud that was mediocracy.
Five years had passed since the first time he walked through the doors of the studio and he was about to walk through again, but first, he needed to cross the same old crowded street.
John waited for the perfect time to cross. He then looked for a clearing in traffic and when he saw it, he took off to the other side narrowly dodging a speeding car in the process.
'One car? I think that's a record' he thought to himself while he walked up the stairs to the small studio building. He looked up and read the small letters that labeled the structure. They were brown from rust and looked as though they weren't cleaned since 1964, but he knew exactly what they said.
DARK HORSE STUDIOS
John read it a few more times before he walked through the metal doors and spotted an old, brown-haired woman sitting behind a desk that was busy tapping on her computer doing god knows what. He looked at the clock hanging above a black leather couch and noticed he was a half-hour late. He gave a quick cough before eventually deciding to speak.
"Hey Janis, how are you today?" he said with fear in his voice and sweat dripping down his neck.
Janis looked up from her computer and squinted her eyes at him.
"You're late," she says with venom in her voice and stares right into his eyes, John could feel chills run down his spine as she kept her gaze locked. She then smiled at him and gave a quick wink, "but seeing as today is Friday and you are finishing up that simply dreadful album today with that new group. I'll let you slide."
A shower of relief flowed through John as mercy was proclaimed to him. "Thank you so much! Janis, you are the most beautiful, young, and intelligent boss in all of Nashville!" he yelled merrily as he made a B-line to the door labeled MUSICIANS ONLY
"Don't let it happen again or I swear I will kick right onto the streets!" Janis yelled with anger as she got back to her fifth game of solitary. She stared at the screen for a minute and gave a long sigh, "He honestly needs to get out of here and find a real job."
John walked into the sound studio and sat his guitar in the corner before finding the producer's chair in the other room. He put on the headphones and began to mix different takes for the final tracks. Trying to find which take sounded best with which and listening for the single mix that felt as though it belonged. The minutes soon turned into hours and time was forgotten.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
"There, I think that's the last of it," John said as he turned off the computer and covered the mixing board with a lid. He was still learning how to be a producer and had been for quite some time. It all started when Janis asked him if he wanted to help mix some takes for an album she was working on. He quickly found that it came very simple to him and wanted to learn more by helping Janis with every song.
Seeing that he had a knack for being a producer Janis taught him how to work every nob on the mixing board and what function they possessed. She taught him how to listen to every sound, every messed upbeat, all the differences in every note played, and to hear the harmony that underlined every take to create a symphony of noise that can only be described as music ringing in one's ears.
John stared at the ceiling. The final tracks had been mixed, listened to by Janis, and then redone when she gave her disapproval of said tracks. He got up from his chair and checked to see if everything was in order before he left for the day and soon gave the mental 'Ok' before he started for the exit.
"Alright, Jan the piece of shit is finally done!" John said with gusto as he marched through the door and then suddenly changed directions toward the desk where his boss was still sitting."I hope you have a great weekend because I am now officially finished with the worst album ever made and am now going the hell home!"
"Well I hope that you have a pleasurable weekend as well," Janis said while looking at him with a face as though she knew something that he didn't. "I also hopeyou did not leave something of yours in the studio behind the drum set....... again."
John looked down at his hand and discovered that there was an empty palm where a guitar case handle should have been. He gave a glance at the old woman sitting at the desk and ran back through the door like a speeding bullet leaving her in the dust. Janis just stared at the door and listened to the crashes that came through the wooden door.
John quickly emerged with guitar in hand and ran straight for the two metal doors.
"See yea, Janis!" He yelled, not giving her any time to answer, as he busted through the metal doors in full sprint.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
John let the wind of the cool night air hit his face as he walked down the stair onto the sidewalk. He looked up to see that the moon was giving a radiant light that shined on his face which gave a calm peace to him. There was always something about the moon that seemed to give him a sense of nirvana. Many a night was spent strumming a guitar alone with only the night sky to act as an audience to his midnight serenade.
He stared at the glowing beauty for a few seconds before walking again. He had his whole night planned and even though the time was a little on the late side he knew that he could get a few errands done before checking in for the night. He casually began to go over the mental list in his mind.
'Alright, I need to get a few more guitar strings, a shit ton of hot pockets, some shampoo' he then gave a glance down to his pants and frowned, 'oh, and another pair of jeans that I will hopefully wash in the future.'
As John walked down the street with guitar in hand, mentally dead to the world as he planned on seeing if the guitar shop was still open, the light of the moon had grown more bright and the wind had picked up a bit. John hadn't noticed until the light shined so bright he could no longer even see the stars in the skies. This wasn't strange to him since he lived in the city but as he looked around he noticed that the street he was on was completely deserted.
"Fuck, now I'm going to get mugged..." He said while he picked up the pace a little and tried to exit the street as quickly as possible. The light was now so bright that it looked as though he was walking in clear daylight. The wind became gusty and seemed to push John away from his desired location. He began to run to the end of the street but the wind became violent and the light blinding.
He pushed as hard as he could against the wind but as soon as he made any headway he would crash painfully into a building due to his lack of sight. Figuring out that this wasn't getting him anywhere he quickly decided to wait till the freak storm was over before moving another inch. He stood for what seemed like ages as a storm angrily blew around him.
After about a minute of standing completely still, he was swiftly knocked down by a random plank of wood flying through the air. He tried to get on his feet but the wind wouldn't allow such a luxury. John wrapped his arms around his guitar case and a feeling of helplessness came upon him.
'How the fuck did things turn to shit so goddamn fast!' his mind screamed to himself as he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, but that pain soon began to turn numb. John laid in silence fearfully letting the darkness slide into his psyche. The storm around him seemed to disappear. The flowing river of unconsciousness flooded his mind leaving a cool pool of silence that faded into nothing. John had slipped away from the world.