Chapter 8: Spectrum: The Origin

Chapter 8: Spectrum: The Origin

Monday came. Once again, to the reluctance of Dad and I, no one other than the members of the band were allowed inside the meeting. As we pulled up to the building, Dad leaned over, kissed me on the forehead, and wished me luck. He apparently had an important phone call to make, and told me he would wait for me in our car. I briefly stopped to wonder who it was he was calling; he’d been making an awful lot of business calls lately. The thought quickly passed, however, and I nervously made my way towards the building.

Sugarspring Tracks was a violently red, brick building whose doors were rumored to have been walked through by great artists back in the day. I felt very small walking through the doors of the run-down yet impressive building, and smaller yet seeing the lobby filled with gold records of famous artists from fifty years ago.

In the middle of the lavishly furnished room was a woman who looked thoroughly agitated, pacing back and forth. She looked up when I walked in.

“Who are you?” It was the same musical voice from the phone call, with a tone of irritation peeking through.

“Er…Oasis Dawn, uh…ma’am.” 

“Good.” Her features softened. “You’re the first one here. I was starting to worry.” She walked over to me, and stuck out her hand. “My name’s Canary Sugar. Call me Canary, call me Sugar, whatever you like. I’m the band’s manager.” I shook her hand and smiled, then opted to sit in one of the out-of-date chairs that lined the room.

Canary continued to pace the room frantically, I guessed she was waiting for the rest of the band to arrive. I heard her pacing stop and looked up to see a man with hair to match the rest of the building’s exterior walk in. Canary smiled.

“Oh, you must be Blaize! Glad you’ve made it! This,” She indicated me. “Is Oasis Dawn,  our keyboardist. And, Oasis, this is Blaize Crimson. He is the band’s drum player.”

Blaize shot me an odd look, which seemed to be a mixture of appraisal and amusement. I waved from my seat, unsure of how to act around these new people. Blaize, ignoring Canary’s outstretched hand, walked over to me, his step bursting with swagger and confidence. He sat in the seat next to me, still wearing the strange expression.

“Hello, there. Your name is very preetty.” He purred, his voice low and smooth, with an accent French like Cerise’s, yet calmer and more intimidating.

“Um, thank you…Blaize.” He was making me nervous, as even when he first spoke, he was slowly leaning closer and closer to me. Not wanting to seem rude, I did my best to lean away from him as inconspicuously as possible, but he leant closer and closer still. 

“Are you not from ‘ere? I don’t think I’ve e’er seen you around…” I could feel his breath on my face, wanting nothing more than to escape the red arms that were slowly coiling around me….

“No, I just don’t get out…much.” I scrunched up my eyes, hoping he’d leave me alone…

“Shame, shame…I would very much ‘ave enjoyed your com---OI! What in ze WORLD did you do ZAT for!?” Blaize whipped around, thankfully giving me some space in the process. Standing over him was an elegantly dressed berry, glaring at Blaize, and cracking his knuckles threateningly.

The berry, who had evidently just hit Blaize over the head, folded his arms and spoke. “What did I do that for? You know exactly why I did that…I’m sorry about him.” My rescuer turned to me. “He thinks that just because he’s got an accent that he’s God’s gift to women. And I’m sure with the new band his ego is going to get even bigger…So I’ll have to run around behind him doing damage control.”

Blaize looked as though he wanted to speak, but the elegantly dressed man held his hand up in warning. “I’m Espresso by the way. I play guitar.” I stood up to talk to him, escaping the once-again wandering hand of Blaize.

“I’m Oasis…and, thanks.“ I smiled awkwardly, inwardly extremely thankful for being rescued from Blaize. 

“No prob, Oasis. He hits on just about every pretty girl he sees, so I’m pretty used to throwing him off.” Espresso smiled, and jabbed his thumbs into his pockets. He rocked back and fourth on his heels, teetering on the tips of his suede shoes. Then he stepped forward, looking inquisitively at my neck. “Is that a guitar pick around your neck?”

My fingers instantly flew to the iridescent guitar necklace that Lion gave me, and I smiled when I replied. “Yes, it is.”

“So, is that what you play? I play as well, and I heard there were two guitar players in the band.” 

“Well, yes, I play guitar. But for the band, I’m all piano.” Espresso looked a little disappointed, but quickly recovered as another girl walked in the room and started to converse with Canary. “Do you think she’s the guitar player? I kinda wanted to compare techniques.”

“Why don’t we ask?” Espresso and I padded across the old carpets to Canary and the newcomer, who Canary introduced as Mint Greensleeves. 

Canary also informed us that, to Espresso’s pleasure, Mint would be the second guitar player for the band. Mint, Espresso, and I all began to discuss our favorite aspects of the guitar, and ended laughing and joking and getting along great. Meanwhile, Blaize sulked in the corner, still glaring at Espresso.

It was right after Mint told a particularly witty joke about two flute players that the door of the cramped waiting room swing open a final time. In walked a familiar face, and a flood of relief that I hadn’t realized I needed coursed through me---Of course I was worried over whether or not Calypso had made it, there was just so much going on that it had been pushed to a corner of my brain, just like the still seated, somewhat hostile form of Blaize.

Upon sight, she yanked me into a tight hug, which I gladly returned.

“Hey, Oasis! You made it!” She was laughing, relieved over the fact that we’d both made it into the band.

“Yeah! So did you! Congratulations!”

After a few more minutes of talking, Canary cleared her throat and spoke loudly, her sing-song voice carrying over all of the newly formed band’s conversations, and quickly snuffing them.

“Well, now that we’re all here, I think we should all go back into the practice room that Sugarspring so…kindly provided. Knowing them, we’ve probably been shoved into an old janitor’s closet, but it’s a start.” We followed her through a wooden door in the back of the waiting room, and then through a series of hallways decorated with, mostly, names I’d never heard of. Occasionally, I’d see a name that was very popular several decades ago, and I knew that the rumors of the fallen record company were true.

Finally, we stopped in front of a door that was coated in dust, accumulated after years of no use.

We stepped into a room that was, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen.

Canary, however, did not agree.

“WHAT IS THIS?” Her voice turned shrill, suddenly very unpleasant on the ears. “How dare they stick us in here? In this BROOM CLOSET? This out of date INSTRUMENT STORAGE ROOM?!?” She stalked around the room, cursing the “dilapidated wall paper” and the “inadequate instruments”.

I thought it all to be absolutely grand. Sure, there were several racks of old costumes from music videos from years ago, and the corners were filled with half-broken-down wooden crates and moth-eaten cushions, but I thought that it all added to the allure of the room. In all, it was actually very nice. Red filled the room, continuing the theme from the rest of the building. In the back corner stood a platform that was raised a few inches off the floor, on which were just enough instruments for all  of us. I wondered who the instruments had belonged to, it would have been really cool had they belonged to someone like the Butterflies or the Rolling Scones.

In the meantime, Mint and Espresso were quietly trying to hide their giggles, as Mint had yet again blurted out something witty.

I was really like just about every member or the band---I had my reservations about Blaize, but I was sure he was a good person, just a bit full of himself. I hoped that wouldn’t ever cause problems, but that seemed far off, and my mind drifted to something else.

It took Canary a good ten minutes to calm down, and after she’d done so, she announced that we first needed to discuss several things regarding the band’s future, before anyone touched the instruments. I figured she had noticed me slowly gravitating toward the keyboard that sat upon the small raised platform in the middle of the room.

The entire band sat in several stray chairs and sofas, and Canary stood on the makeshift stage, preparing to address us.

“First thing’s first,” She began. “The band needs a name. It needs to fit the designated style of the band--which, by the way, my “advisers” have informed me will be a mixture of pop and classic. I suppose it’ll be something like that kid with the violin… anyway, does anyone have any suggestions?”

We sifted through a parade of ill-fitting names, anywhere from “The Classic Poppers” to “Two Guitars and Some Other People”. (Strangely enough, it was neither Mint, nor Espresso who suggested that name.)

It was, however, espresso who finally sprang to life with the announcement that he had an idea. It was nearly comical, the way the idea seemed to literally hit him. He suddenly sprung up strait in his chair, his hand hitting the arm of the sofa.

“I have an idea!” That much we could have guessed. “Okay, so we here are all different colors, am I not correct? One could say that we sort of resemble a rainbow, right?” Nods and murmurs of confused agreement spread around the room, and soon Espresso continued. “…And we have a very diverse music style… pop and classical are on two different sides of the range of genres…and another word for ‘rainbow’, or another word for ‘range’ is…?” He motioned for us to fill in the blanks.

“Spectrum!” Calypso shouted, smiling.

“Yes! What do you guys think?” He leaned forward in his chair, looking sheepishly around the room for approval.

“Yes. Zat feets quite well, I like eet!” Blaize first.

“Yeah, that’s perfect, Espresso!” Then, Mint.

We all followed them, giving our approval. With that, Canary smiled, and clasped her hands happily. 

“Great! I’m so glad I thought of that!” Espresso opened his mouth to contradict, but Mint put a hand on his arm and stopped him, smiling in amusement and warning, as if to say, 'just leave it.'

With that, we were dismissed, and told that we Spectrum would begin rehearsals in two days, on Wednesday evening.

I felt great as I walked out to Dad’s car, waving goodbye to Calypso and laughing at Mint’s antics. Dad smiled at me as I climbed into the car cabin.

“Hey Dad! What’s got you so happy?”

“Oh, nothing.” His smile widened and he almost appeared to be blushing. “My business call just went really, really well.”

I contemplated the meaning of this as we rode home, but for the most part I was too absorbed in the beautiful rays the sun was casting on the landscape to really register what he meant.