-Today I don't have music classes, Mom. Mr. Jerry is taking me to perform at a bar in glorious New York, - replied Billy with a smile. He would sing solo; the band wouldn't gather for trivialities, but it was a duty he had to fulfill. Publicizing Billy was key; shaping the image of the tough, charismatic, troublesome, and down-to-earth boy was essential, and he enjoyed immersing himself in the local culture.
-But, sir, my image should be like this, - asked Billy, wearing a leather jacket to ward off the cold, untucked, comfortable blue boots, nothing too metal or rock, along with a crisp white shirt and a Hippi symbol necklace. The ensemble was fantastic.
-We've already discussed this, kid. Your image should be that of the tough guy. Try to smile when necessary, but don't talk too much. Just look, like you usually look at me, with those mischievous eyes, - replied Jerry, laughing at Billy. He was followed by a giant guy, who seemed to be straight out of a fairy tale, more like a troll. The guy was two meters tall.
-Relax, I understand what you mean, - Billy commented somewhat harshly.
-We have a lot of things to accomplish in the coming years. But you must always remember that this circuit is boring, believe me, kid. It's better to get used to it. You have to pretend, without having fun. And when you have the opportunity, be nice to the cameras. Now you have to be nice to the people, - Jerry replied.
-I get it, old man. But where do supermodels fit into this? - replied Billy.
Jerry chuckled. -They sneak into your room when you're not paying attention, and after a while, they bother you to marry them. My advice? Find yourself a lawyer, a businesswoman, or someone grounded. You won't be. And if you're faithful to her, she'll support you in any path you take. -
-Maybe when I'm forty, - replied Billy.
-Pay attention. Women are a topic we'll handle with caution. When you fall in love, make sure to tell me or Mikael so we can set up a trust for when you go bankrupt, - Jerry said cheerfully as if recalling a joke. He was quite a funny man.
-Hahaha, I can't handle two women. Maybe with two, one could support me, and the other could steal my money, - said Billy.
Entering McSorley's Old Ale House, Billy walked in as most university students approached. There was a sound system on the side setting up everything. - Mr. Jerry, there'll be a stage on the side for sound setup, but in a nutshell, it'll be a glorious acapella with a backing track, - the young man said.
-My boy can do it as long as they allow him to sing well, - muttered Jerry, addressing the bar owner to negotiate payment: roast beef sandwich, potato wedges with salt, lettuce, tomato, and olive salad, with a glass of Coca-Cola. The only important singer who did this activity was once a very famous soloist; he ate for free every time he visited.
-The usual deal, - Agustus agreed.
It's the same deal. Make it the best sandwich, make it big because when my boy sings, he's different from others. He's a man with power like no other, but he consumes energy like crazy, - commented Jerry.
-We'll add double potatoes and an order of onion rings, - Agustus replied with a smile.
-Hahaha perfect, I'll talk to the boy, - said Jerry. Agustus cleared the usual table, one they had used since '76. Things always turned out one way or another, but old friends stuck together. Interestingly, in '76, Agustus was twelve years old and sat on his father's lap. Something that always happened was time; the last great singer he brought was an old-school rocker, not so young anymore. Now, at 38, they were great acquaintances, as Jerry only brought in fantastic people, people who would be a milestone in the industry.
Jerry crossed to the table where Billy was sitting, nodding in recognition. For the next three days, he would sing at the three best bars, or so Jerry claimed.
Facing an audience that didn't seem like university students but more like businessmen, all were suited to their respective places. Some were chatting; a small group of young people was at the table. Billy observed them all, pondering on his song choice, one that would fit but he didn't have one for such a crowd. He could only think of "Seven Nation Army" and "Somewhere," his favorite songs.
-Did you choose your songs? - asked Jerry.
-I have two, but I don't know the third one, old man, - replied Billy.
-It doesn't matter. When you're on stage, sing whichever suits you best. I like that one 'Like a Stone' and 'Love Yourself,' but not the rap one, the rock one where you talk about a man who doesn't know himself, - replied Jerry. The good thing about the place was that they respected the music; while he sang, no one would interrupt. It was a blessing for Billy, a novice.
"Lose Yourself," replied Billy, somewhat pleased about his upcoming performance.
Facing the table, and with a happiness that seemed to almost emanate from within, Jerry hoped he wouldn't get burned. There were two types of musicians: those hippies, crazy, living rockers who only sought one thing – to sing, to produce in their own time, without anyone bothering them. Then there were others, musicians dedicated to being part of the industry; they took their time, fulfilled all agreements, and followed a certain line of being. Some were professional, cheerful, taciturn... It was the musician's identity, very different from an actor's. Music requires a type of presence, an effort that is difficult to devote if it were any other profession.
-Well, go ahead and sing. We'll summarize your week, and you can talk to me about everything bothering you, - Jerry commented, beside him was the resemblance to the crow's feet that clung to him. For Jerry, it was his old age, something that couldn't be grabbed from one place. That elusive thing could only be glimpsed in three parts. The first part was that both were supporting each other. How idyllic death is, and how powerful is the feeling that nothing is right, that everything ends. Jerry's end, now he only cared about new winds carrying airs. How sad the moment when everything ends.
-Sir, today people will see a powerful dawn at the top of a great mountain, - replied Billy, with some sadness in his heart. These were notes he hoped to see; his imagination of small scenarios led him to understand what he liked.
He climbed onto the stage and gave a smile, one of those he always made to hide his sadness. He had been practicing for years, long before... He looked at the people again; everyone was focused on what would happen. The eagerness; perhaps some were only here to drown out their Friday's work; some were only escaping from their reality.
-I wish I could play the acoustic guitar much better, - thought Billy.
-Good evening, everyone. I hope that the next moment can take you all out of this city, that you find something of what I have to show, - Billy replied to the audience. He could see Jerry laughing as he raised a beer to him.
Nobody paid attention to Billy's words, but in his discontent, he only extended his biggest smile. With total charm for others to their souls, he had been doing it for quite some time.
Like a purring, different way of acting, different things to act, many of them... can be sung differently. It's the love of singing. Singing was like telling a story, sometimes they were just images, sometimes they were small moments, other times long moments.
🎵🎶🎶🎵
I'm gonna fight 'em off
A seven-nation army couldn't hold me back
They're gonna rip it off
Takin' their time right behind my back
And I'm talkin' to myself at night
Because I can't forget
Back and forth through my mind
Behind a cigarette
And the message comin' from my eyes
Says, "Leave it alone"
🎵🎶🎶🎵
...
A man walking on a mountain, fearing the costs, as he climbed with all he had in his heart. It was steep, and long, as he wiped away sweat, the wind occupied nothing more than a dark silence.
🎵🎶🎶🎵
Don't wanna hear about it
Every single one's got a story to tell
Everyone knows about it
From the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell
And if I catch it comin' back my way
I'm gonna serve it to you
And that ain't what you want to hear
But that's what I'll do
And the feelin' comin' from my bones
Says, "Find a home"
🎵🎶🎶🎵
...
The wind was an organized outlet that pushed the climber's body, with his heart still racing, he saw a small metal hook, the vertigo couldn't be seen, nothing more than a point of strength. With a leap, the climber continued climbing... while, he saw his next climb, almost falling, he could radiate fear, hopelessness, the feelings that Billy was starting to see branched into loneliness, the loneliness of the mountain. It was in a sense in a war, as he climbed, he cursed.
🎵🎶🎶🎵
I'm goin' to Wichita
Far from this opera forevermore
I'm gonna work the straw
Make the sweat drip out of every pore
And I'm bleedin', and I'm bleedin', and I'm bleedin'
Right before the Lord
All the words are gonna bleed from me
And I will think no more
And the stains comin' from my blood
Tell me, "Go back home"
🎵🎶🎶🎵
...
The sun's glow was at its peak; he saw the peak, what a beauty. A sun over a mountain.
Billy observed the room; it remained silent. His singing reached them; he could see the solemn gesture, contrary to a concert, here it was closer. Some looked at him with deep eyes; those deep eyes were watching him, how distant were people's emotions?
-That one was 'Seven Nation Army,' now 'Somewhere Only We Know,' - commented Billy, as he adjusted his ideas; that mountain was still in the air.
He closed his eyes with some majesty; his jacket was on the floor and his white shirt was soaked in sweat.
-Your boy is quite good, - commented Agustus, mouth agape at the talent Jerry brought. Anticipating a question, only one answer awaited him.
-I'll bring him next month, but he'll come with his mother, two meals, - Jerry said.
-Done, - replied Agustus. Resolutely.
***
-Wonderful, it's the place you were just moments ago, - Jerry replied beside him. Billy ate with some pleasure, totally sweaty, not paying attention to Jerry, but enjoying his meal wholeheartedly. The food was exquisite; he nodded to everything Jerry said, with fabulous pleasure. In the future, people would call it madness. However, the decency of happiness in his heart, a plate of food. You won a plate of food for a song, while my song can give me many things, it's a colorful placebo that burns in his dreams.
-You're not listening to me, what a bother, - Jerry said, shaking his head, while some figures eagerly awaited to ask for autographs or photos, but upon seeing the boy eat the food with such alien pleasure, different from what was expected.
-When you finish, you'll take photos and sign autographs for those who wish. The boy will sign in ten minutes for all of you, don't worry, it'll only take a few moments, - Jerry commented to Billy, with a loud voice, with full dedication. - The kid will sign in ten minutes for all of you, don't worry, it'll only take a few moments. -
The people listening at the tables only waited for a slight opportunity.
-What delicious food, old man, we'll make this a tradition, - Billy asked.
-In the bar, no one will do anything. See, that's tradition, - Jerry commented, looking at the delicate paintings hanging on the walls, like Christmas tree ornaments. The whole place was decorated with many decorations, and the Irish aspect was so delicate and happy that most likely, the next Friday he attended, in months, the bar would have a different vibe.
On the side, Billy approached Jerry with a whisper.
-The autographs, what should I do? - Billy asked.
-I'll send them to you, you stay here, and just behave as we'll remember, resolved, as if it were natural, - Jerry replied.
Billy had brought a notebook; he had been practicing his autographed signature for half a year.