Synths and Skinny Jeans

Gareth couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Stu’s eyes bore into his, awaiting a response. The three other lads around the table looked at their shoes.

“I’m…what? I’m out? Just like that?” he said.

“Gareth, this doesn’t need to be unpleasant”, said Stu. He sounded like a banker telling an old woman her pension funds were going to be cut.

“Unpleasant?” He laughed. “Unpleasant? Oh don’t worry Stu, there’s nothing unpleasant about this. Everything is fucking dandy.” Nobody replied. He glanced over at the other three. He had been in this band longer than two of them. Hell, he was one of the founding members. They can’t do this, he thought.

“And the name: ‘The Crotchet Rests’. What about that? I had a hand in coming up with it”, he said. “If you want me to sign my rights over, you can go fuck yourselves.”

“Gareth…let’s be professional about this.” Let’s be professional, Gareth thought. It’s always about being professional to you, isn’t it?

Stu continued, “You show up late to most practices, sometimes without any explanation. And when you are there, I – we, the four of us – get the feeling you just don’t want to be there.”

“I live 25 fucking miles away, is that enough of an explanation?”

“You have a drinking problem”, said Matt, looking at the ground. Gareth turned his head in disbelief. Matt was the one he’d least expected to talk.

“Matt – dude, buddy… you too?”

The silence that followed this was unbearable. Gareth suddenly noticed how the seating had been arranged – the four of them, tightly packed together on barstools, sitting directly across from him. He felt like the last one to be picked for a football match. The space around them was hardly enough to fit a rucksack, and Gareth had had to either sit on his coat or put it on the sticky floor.

“Do you know what I think?” he spoke directly to Stu now, whose eye twitched a little, but didn’t break it’s gaze, “I think you”, he pointed at Stu’s chest, “are worried. You were worried that I was creeping up behind you. That I was going to steal your frontman spot”.

“That is utterly ridiculous, as I said -”
 

“You were worried Stu. I know you were.”
 

Just as Stu opened his mouth to reply, the barmaid arrived at the table with the drinks. Two Cokes, diluted orange and a tea. They must have ordered before I arrived, Gareth thought.

Matt looked up at the barmaid and gave a polite smile. She placed the drinks carefully on the low wooden table, gathered up menus and hurried out of the cubicle. After a few seconds, Gareth sighed.

“I didn’t like any of that new stuff we were coming up with anyways”, he said, as if to himself. “That techno bullshit. I’ve always said it – we should have stuck to the guitars and stayed away from the synth and the skinny jeans.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Stu’s girlfriend Rosa appeared. She put her hand on Stu’s shoulder. “Hiya hun”, she said. She sensed the tension – Gareth could see her putting the situation together in her head.

“Rosa”, said Stu, “what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just in having coffee with the girls. I saw you over here and thought I’d say hello.” Her eyes scanned the table. “Are you guys having a band meeting or something?”

Meeting? That’s what Gareth was told was happening. But they’d given him no time to prepare for this. He carried on as if she wasn’t there. “So is that it then? No ‘thank you’ or ‘here is your money’, or anything like that?”

Stu fumbled in his pocket and withdrew an envelope. Gareth could see from the corner of his eye that Rosa was not happy. He never thought much of her, to be honest. Brunettes didn’t really do it for him, and she had a bit too much puppy fat going on.
Stuart checked inside the envelope and tossed it across the table to him. “Your share of the band funds. Signed and witnessed.” (Why did everything have to be so proper?)

“And the thank you?” Gareth said, looking to everyone, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t be so ungrateful”, scolded Rosa.

Gareth laughed. He checked how much was in the envelope. Then he said, “And who invited you, missy?”

“Excuse me?” she said. Stu intervened, “Gareth, our business with you is done.” At that, the other lads (except Matt, who was still looking at the ground), rose their heads.

“Fine. Fuck the lot of yis.” He got to his feet. The table was knocked off balance and the waterline in the glasses swung like yo-yos. “And watch your backs – rock isn’t dead”. He brushed past Rosa on purpose and swept out of the bar without a backward glance.

When he was outside, he took out his phone and dialled a number. Evan answered almost immediately. “Hello?” the voice said.
“Evan what are you doing Saturday?”
“Em…I don’t know man, probably going to the Cellar.”
“Well guess what, you’re now in a band. Can you make practice from 12 to 3 at the Forge?”
There was silence as Evan considered this. “I suppose so”, he said. “What songs should I look over?”
“Whole Lotta Rosie”, said Gareth. “Oh, and have a look at Crazy Train too”. They said their goodbyes and Gareth stood standing in the street. He needed more musicians. He went to an internet café and printed up an ad. “Sick of Techno? Call Gareth to bring the Rock back to life!” it read. His number was included in the bottom. He printed out 35 copies, gave his money to the guy at the desk, and then set out to plaster the city with his revenge.