“Come on.” I take Leila and Cookie’s arms and pull them through the crowd to the front, elbowing my way past people as we go. I need to be in touching distance. “We need to be at the front.”
Leila’s new friends and the twins follow us to our spot. The supporting act is a male soloist. Anyone performing before the Basilisks will pale in comparison, but this guy is worse than most. They must have struggled to get any bigger acts with short notice. Despite the subpar support, the air buzzes in anticipation. It won’t be long until they come out now.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for years.
I’ll never forget the first time I heard them. I had a bad day at school. A jock made fun of me for dying my hair purple and cutting a short fringe that sat halfway up my forehead. Looking back, it didn’t suit me, but a younger me thought it was edgy as fuck. At the time, I was really active on internet music forums, and someone posted a link to a song by the Basilisks. Hearing Zed’s voice made everything else fall away, and I stayed awake all night to listen to every song they made. Listening to metal had always been a way for me to de-stress after a long day, but nothing compared to the Basilisks. Their lyrics hit me in the heart and held it in a chokehold ever since.
Cookie nudges me in the ribs as a hush descends.
The support act clears the stage, the Basilisks will be out any second.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
I grin. “I was born ready.”
We’re plunged into darkness for a second, then are blinded by a white light as smoke machines come on. Through the fog and light, three figures emerge. I try to cheer, but my throat constricts. They’re dressed in steampunk attire.
Ripper takes a seat at the drums. He’s wearing a pinstripe gray suit with tattered edges, and several pocket watch chains are strung across his torso like he’s trapped in a time warp. The lower half of his face is covered by a strange beak-like mask. On the top, he has huge brass goggles and a crazy black and white wig that’s spiked in different directions.
Zed holds his bass guitar and moves toward the microphone like a Victorian assassin in a black trench coat. It’s zipped up and has a huge collar that hides his neck, giving the illusion his head is floating. Around his middle, two leather straps cross over his broad chest and feathers are stuck to his shoulders. All but a small slither of his cheek and an opening for his mouth is covered by a platinum mask made up of intricate bronze cogs. His visible skin is painted in a similar metallic shade to make it seamless.
Venom dons a green military suit with a steel pot hat on his head and a creepy old gasmask to disguise his identity. The giant eye holes are painted black, so it looks like you’re staring into the abyss when you look at him. His trousers disappear into the tops of his ten-buckled goth boots that go up to his knees, and the stage shakes as he moves to pick up his guitar, a custom-made Gibson, bright red with orange flames like Buggy.
“Holy shit…” Declan says behind me. “What an entrance.”
They are more perfect than I imagined. Each of them bring their own personalities to the costumes, and they reflect their own quirks. I’d love to meet their costume designer.
My mouth falls open as their first song starts. TheLion Slayer.
“Wait.” Cookie leans closer. “Isn’t this your song, Ash?”
“Listen to how it should be played,” I reply in awe.
They’ve never played this song live before. The rest of the crowd seems confused by the slower tempo and how Ripper sings the entire chorus alone. Tears spring to my eyes. This is a sign I’m meant to be here tonight. What are the chances?
“The lion is a beast,
It rages within,
We must feed it or we die.
One day, we will have no choice.
We must slay…”
I cheer as the song ends, clapping so hard that my hands hurt.
After that, they move onto a more popular song calledOblivion. Zed’s vocals make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and shivers run down my spine. Ripper’s supporting vocals, which are often drowned out in their albums, are even more poignant live.
“They don’t see behind the mask,
The mask is you. It’s you. It’s us.
Enter the oblivion…”
As the song builds to a chorus, a surge of people stir behind us, and a mosh pit erupts.
The sexy emo guy turns to Leila, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. “Are you going in?”