Zaki, looks at me intently. A stifled smile battles with a cool steely demeanour. His head tilts back slightly, but dramatically. His eyes are locked on me, the smile threatens to win… ‘2,2,3,4’. The trigger is pulled and a bullet is released signaling the commencement of battle.
I’m conscious that the first chord of Lemon Tree needs to be strong but cushioned. It rings out against the walls of the rehearsal space and the band start swaying. The union of smiles wash into an offensive stance and we let the music dance around us and through us.
And then the audience, as large or as small as they are, become lights. And we become oblivious to them as we look to each other, in turn and out of step. I look at Tom’s tapping toes and wait for Sarb’s drums to come in on the off-beat and work against the tide to stay in time.
And remember the groove of the bass line – it holds us together and we pray it doesn’t collapse as it threatens to do so. And then it does. And then it doesn’t. And then it bleeds into the guitars. And that bleeds into the vocals.
Registers switch from high to low. And lights turn on and off. And times switch between signatures. Moods change. We each turn to face different members as we look to find the right space to jump into, the correct hook to hang our notes on. And we remain together until we don’t. And we work the changing moods. Fuck me, the changing moods. And ultimately, there’s a silence again.
And then Zaki looks up post frenzy. His smile no longer stifled. ‘What’s next?’
