Page 47 of Echoes of a Muted Song

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for. I justdon’t know what the logistics of it all would look like, or even how I’d need to divvy up the set if it came down to it. I’ve heard of other bands doing things along those lines, but I have no idea what it looks like, or what any contract would need to entail,” Ozzy admitted.

“That’s what you’ve got me for. I’ll look into all of that,” I typed. “As soon as you get their information to me, I’ll make arrangements to fly them in, get them set up with accommodations and have Sully make sure there are a few more extra guards on hand to watch out for them.”

“Right on, man, thanks. You’ve sure taken a load off my mind. I’m gonna get out of your hair now and let you do your thing, but I will get their information to you as soon as possible.”

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you, I’ve been stressed as hell trying to figure out how all of the pieces were going to come together without letting anyone down or fucking up a booking, and you’ve just made it so much easier.”

“Next time, come talk to me first instead of stressing. If I don’t know how to set something up, I’ll reach out to some of the other managers I met at Rocktoberfest. They are a good group of guys who have already helped me out in other phone a friend situations.”

He chuckled at that, shoulders no longer asrigid as they’d been when he walked in.

“Phone a friend, I love that,” Ozzy said as he headed for the door. “Man, I’m glad you were willing to manage us as well as the Saints. You’ve been amazing.”

“Let’s see if you’re still saying that when you have a series of meet and greets, interviews and podcasts to appear on all before you go on stage.”

“Bring it on.”

I laughed as he left, then grabbed my laptop to get to work on research and emails. I’d forced myself to get into the habit of checking several times a day, and not delaying my responses unless I was waiting to see how other pieces of the tour would come together. It was hard, because I’d never been the kind of guy who liked being glued to their phone, let alone their damned laptop. When I was still performing, emails were something that tended to pile up until they reached the point of being overwhelming, especially when the spam filter didn’t catch a bunch of shit. Now I had a system that worked.

Several emails in, I came across one from Savage Roar. Cool. I was glad they’d reached out after we’d popped in on their show in Portland.

Dude,

We can’t thank you guys enough for the shout out during your interview on Cyril’s show. In the last week the hits on our website and the listenson our streaming feed have tripled and we were invited to do the Enraged and Engaged festival and the Primal Destruction festival. When we saw that you guys were doing both, we couldn’t wait to hang out again and have the chance to have a sit down with you about managing us, if you’re interested. We know you’re super busy with Damaged Saints and Blissfully Immune, and that we are nowhere near their caliber yet, but if you’ve got the space and the time, or even the time to let us pick your brain about a better way of going about lining up bookings, that would be awesome, too. We just wanted to thank you guys for being so awesome and giving us the confidence to keep fighting to make a place for our music within the industry.

It was signed with the names of each band member, and I felt a special sort of pride at learning that they’d finally gotten the opportunity to show what they could do in front of a much larger audience than the ones that they were used to playing in front of.

As for managing them, that’s the reason the guys and I had gone to scout them and spend time with them in the first place. While three bands might seem like a lot to handle all at once, there was a specific reason we’d discussed the prospect of adding an additional band to the tour I was putting together.

I’d come across a number of venues with multiple showcase slots open, where they werelooking for three to five bands to come in and play on the same night, one after the other. Just from being on the other side of things, I knew how important those kinds of shows and venues were. Smaller and more intimate, they were the perfect places to test audience reactions to new songs and sounds. I’d also received several emails offering us bookings and asking if we knew of any other bands who might be interested, which was what had sent me down the path of scouting when we’d had down time in Portland and Seattle. Savage Roar’s vibe both on and offstage had meshed beautifully with ours, so it was a no-brainer to send them an email telling them that I was absolutely interested in discussing being management for them, and would set up time to meet with them at the Primal Destruction festival to ascertain any needs and concerns they had before we finalized the deal.

Email sent, I turned my attention back to Ozzy’s issue, and learning all that I needed to in order to best help him in every way I could. While he might be right, and there might be no fixing the issues he had going on with his hands, for as long as he was able, I wanted to make sure he could make music and be a part of the band, and the industry he loved.

Chapter 23

(Johnny)

“You guys rock!”

“Ohh, ‘Stairway to Heaven!’”

“This is heaven.”

Holy shit, the vibe was crazy but only in the best possible way. We were poolside, at the hotel in Oceanside where the event we’d be performing at tomorrow was hosting one of the best before parties I’d ever attended. These guys had created the kind of vibe I wished someone would bottle because holy shit. There were no lines, no tables and no screaming people shoving things in our faces to be signed. This had the sort of old school hippy vibe that my grandfather and great uncles used to talk about from their days of outdoor festivals. Every chair was full, and folks floated around the pool in large inflatable rafts and chairs with drink holders, heads tipped back, the stars overhead, as we just jammed.

Rebel and Keegan had brought out their acoustics and Jagger and I were singing, but we weren’t singing alone. Hell, we weren’t even singing our own music except occasionally when Rebel or Keegan slipped in a song. We played classic rock, old school grunge, anything folks could sing along to, because they were singing with us, man and it was amazing just to be in the moment, swaying beside Jagger as we broke into “Big Yellow Taxi” right after we finished singing “Signs.”

It didn’t even feel like a performance. We were all just vibing with the music, rolling from one song to the next, passing around the bud and swaying to the beat. Sometimes feet stomped and hands clapped or were patted on knees to the beat of the music, creating a rolling rhythm that just fueled the desire to play more. Security was tight, too, and I knew without needing to turn to look at him that Christine was at my back just like Sully was behind Jagger. Alert and watchful, they still swayed to the music in a way that allowed them to blend into the crowd and oh man, what a crowd we had.

All around me were serene, blissed out faces, heavy-lidded eyes, soft smiles, tranquil expressions. The best part was seeing the way that no one looked uncomfortable, or like they were struggling to have a good time around the anxiety of being in a crowd. It was like therewas this undercurrent of magic happening, weaving everyone together for all eternity.

Glancing left, I saw Kit, one of the two drummers who’d been brought in to spell Ozzy while he went back home. After the weekend, one would be sticking around until Ozzy returned and the other would be given a ticket to get them back to where they were from.

He both sang and hummed along, his voice a rich, melodic alto that he wasn’t afraid to share. As I watched, he tipped his head back and sang to the stars on a series of yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, ohhh yeahs, that just added to all of the harmonizing going on.

After Kit had been introduced, he’d hung back from interacting past the first few minutes of his arrival, an act I’d initially mistaken for shyness, until I realized that he was listening and observing as Draven laid out the itinerary for the day, unlike Claude, who’d been busy giving Dash as many details about himself as he could cram into a sentence without taking a breath. I doubted he’d heard even half of the instructions for the day.

---