Rock 'N' Roll Singer

𝗧𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗩𝗘

     5 December 1978
     It's not easy focusing on menial retail work when you've got time in a recording studio. I looked out at the sea of records in front of the register and hoped that someday, our name would be out there. We'd be under 'D' and 'Rock,' right near the door.

     Mick was watching me like a tired, old hawk all day. If I accidentally put an artist starting with L in the K section, would the Earth implode on itself? To him, it would, but I made sure to keep myself under control to save myself from getting fired. It helped that today was a busy day for the store. Christmas was fast approaching, and people do love their records.

     Bon stepped inside the store for the first time around closing time. He thumbed through the Little Richard albums, blending in as any other customer would. I knew what he'd be getting as a gift.

     "Anyone tell you that you look like Bon Scott?" Mick asked. No one suspected AC/DC to be as short as they were. I was an inch or short than Bon.

     "Yeah, but I'm not as good-looking as him. My nose is too big."

     "Huh," Mick shrugged.

     "Let's rock and roll, babe," he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, leaving my boss to lock up.

     He never called me 'babe' before. I grinned to show my approval.

     "Now you've only got a few hours in there since they've gotta clean up the B-side. So make the most of it. It goes by fast."

     He wasn't kidding, either. There wasn't even a clock in the studio to judge the passage of time, except for George Young and Harry Vanda, of the Easybeats fame as well as AC/DC's producers, who wore watches. We had no time to treasure just who we were in the same room as. Bon was making quick introductions for us. I caught a glimpse at the control board and wondered how anyone could memorise when to push a specific button or turn a certain knob. You could've said that there were a thousand and one buttons and I would've believed you in a heartbeat.

"So you're the singer?" George Y shook my hand. "I've heard a lot about you from Bon."

"Only positive things, I'm sure."

(To avoid any confusion, considering that my bassist's name is also named George, he will be George M and George Young George Y.)

"Nice to meet you, now get in there. Time is money."

Joey was already inside with his drumkit, poor guy. Did anyone in the studio help him at all? The rest of us scurried in like the wide-eyed kids we were. George M and Jack clutched their guitars close to their chests as though someone might steal them if they took more than one take. A bump to a microphone echoed in the tiny sound chamber.

"Sorry," Jack blushed, letting his hair fall across his face as he pretended to tune his guitar.

The Norwegian wood walls reminded me of Jack's house, which calmed me for a moment until I realised that the producers, the engineer, and Bon were setting behind the control booth watching us like stalkers. Jack's parents couldn't have cared less what we were doing, however. They never cared enough to ask.

I put on the pair of headphones resting on the microphone stand and felt as though I had plugged myself into rock and roll itself.

Well, Marie, you've managed to get this far. Show 'em what you got.

Guitars were plugged in and tested. The notes sounded a bit muffled through the headphones, but I felt the vibrations shake the ground. no doubt that Jack had come down hard on the poor strings. Joey lightly tapped each drum and cymbal to spare everyone's hearing.