Page 58 of Songbird: Black Kite
Inside was a letter from a young man who wanted to thankBlack Kitefor writing a fuckload of kick-ass music—his words, not mine—and to let us know that he lost his virginity to our third album,Back In Action.
I put that letter to the side, wanting to remember to send him a signed shirt or something.
Reaching for another, I opened it, this time finding another letter from a fan who said our lyrics saved them from a dark place, letting them know they weren’t alone. That one stunned me. I wrote from the heart, letting my pain and anger pour out into the music, but I never intended for what I wrote to be something that people latched on to, something they’d use to pull themselves up.
It was inspiring and mind-blowing at the same time; maybe it was time to look at what I did—whatBlack Kitedid—in a different way.
I kept on that way, reading letter after letter, most of them from fans who were nothing but grateful for us. For our music and our words. As I read, an idea began to form in my mind, something wild and insane and a way for us to maybe offer something to all the people who had been there for us when we needed them.
I couldn’t wait to tell the guys; it was crazy, but crazy was what we were good at.
Chapter thirty-four
Hawk
Present
“Iwanttohosta concert,” I blurted at Alex and Gavin the second they entered the room. I watched their faces for a reaction, but all I got was confusion.
“Like, you want to go on tour?” Alex asked, his voice rough. It was early, but not that early. It was just earlier than we were used to getting up, but my mind hadn’t let me sleep since this idea had come to me. I started calling the guys at sunrise, and by the time they’d actually answered, it was nearing noon.
Now I was buzzing with energy and the fact that they weren’t was starting to annoy me.
“No, not a tour. A concert. Well, maybe a festival is more accurate. Really draw a crowd, you know?”
“Hawk, buddy,” Gavin said, rubbing his face. “Can you slow down and maybe start from the beginning? I’m totally lost here.”
“Alright, look.” I picked up the box I’d assembled, pulling out the first envelope. “We’ve been listening to all of these demos, right?”
“Yeah,” Alex said, his forehead furrowed in concentration. “Ever since you found all those letters and lost your damn mind.”
“Fuck off,” I replied without any heat. I knew I’d been a bit nuts, but what the fuck ever. “I’ve been thinking. What’s the difference between a lot of these bands and ours?”
“Good looks?” Alex answered quickly.
“A hoard of die-hard fans?” Gavin supplied.
“No, you pair of assholes. Opportunity.” They just continued to stare. “How did we get discovered?”
“Battle of the Bands atO’Reilly’s Pub,” Gavin answered immediately. “Shame that place closed down.”
“A devastating electrical fire will do that to a place,” Alex deadpanned, earning him a middle finger from Gavin.
“My point,” I said, cutting them off before their bullshit could escalate, “is that we had a place that showcased us. We had an opportunity. I want to give that opportunity to other bands. Give back a little, you know?”
“And you think a festival is the way to do that?” Alex asked skeptically.
“I mean, I haven’t ironed out all the details yet, but yes. An epic one-night event. We call in some favors, get some of our friends in on it, and then we let the people decide the winner.”
“And what will they win?”
“A record deal, of course.” I grinned.
“And you think thatCastor Recordsis just going to sign a band because you got them on stage? Have you forgotten how much that man hates you? The fact that you’re organizing this will make him want to blacklist anyone you pick just out of spite.”
Alex wasn’t wrong; Cornelius Castor was a prick of the highest order. He’d hated my guts long before I divorced his precious daughter, so him being on board wasn’t likely.
It also wasn’t an issue.
