Page 35 of The Battle of Maddox
“Are there lyrics to that song?” Maddox asked.
“Lyrics and guitar,” I answered. “My music degree required me to take voice and two other instruments. So, guitar and cello it was.”
“Where the hell have you been hiding?” Dietrich asked, as the salesman took the card from him.
“At Cornell, earning my chem degree.” I grinned.
“I want those lyrics and guitar,” Holland said. “As soon as you can. That needs to be on the next album.”
I tapped my head.
“Are we going to have these in time to really start rehearsal tomorrow?” Maddox asked.
“Absolutely, Mr. Jones,” the salesman said. “Just let me know where you want them delivered.”
* * *
Whereturnedout to be a warehouse in Jersey they had rented for the next two weeks. It was a big space and they had set up some of the sound equipment we’d be using.
Not only had they delivered, but they set up and secured the set for me. When I got there, all I needed were my sticks.
“This is nice,” I said.
Maddox grinned and slapped me on the back. “You’re going from hauling the setup, to being the reason we have roadies.”
“It’s not just my fault.” I pointed to the cases on the other side. “Look at all the guitars and shit you guys need.”
“Ay-ay, can you really play a guitar?” Holland looked up from his tuning.
“Y-yes?”
Maddox chuckled. “Pick one. Show Fingers what you can do.”
“Did you just call himFingers?”
“That is unfortunately my nickname, yes.” Holland put the Gibson on the stand. “Pick one. Show us.”
I huffed and headed over to the instrument he had just put down and ran a scale up and down the fretboard. It was, of course, a ridiculously nice guitar. So much better than anything I had played from a secondhand store.
For the hell of it, I did the intro toSweet Child o’Mine, and then shifted intoWanted Dead or Alive, thenYoung Guns. To finish off, I shifted down intoLayla,and added in the vocals.
“Dude.” Ora slow clapped for me. “You can sing. He can sing. Guys, we have another competent vocalist.”
“Am I merely competent?” Maddox growled.
“Yeah, same…” I put my hands on my hips. “That was four years of voice lessons.”
“Shut it, both of you.” Ora waved us off. “You know what I mean. Grig was shit at singing. Couldn’t carry a note in a paper bag. I have a terrible singing voice, and those two can’t sing and play at the same time.”
“Hey!” Holland yelled from where he was unpacking another guitar. “I can too!”
“Not if you want to keep the beat.” Maddox flipped him off.
It took nearly an hour for everyone to get set up the way they liked, with the stage crew taking notes and making adjustments on equipment. I sat behind the drums staring at Maddox as he tuned and fiddled with his guitar.
His fingers fascinated me. They were big fingers, but they danced so nimbly over the fretboard. Fast and clean, his notes were easy. I could play, yes, but this was what had made Robot Servant so popular. The easy presentation of the music that had deep and moving undertones. It was why they had been noticed.
Was I really ready for this?
