the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 51: Make an Abortion of It

I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things,
We can do the tango just for two;
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings,
Be your Valentino just for you;

Ooh, love, ooh, lover boy,
What're you doin' tonight, hey, boy?
Set my alarm, turn on my charm,
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy...

- "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" Queen, 1976

Monday 21st February 1977

Remus set his pencil down and groaned, pressing his palms into his tired eye sockets. He couldn't do this. Tonya had so much faith but it was clearly misplaced.

Oh, could that be a lyric?

Faith? Misplaced?

He wrote it down, but the moment it appeared on paper he hated it. Every time he tried to add anything to the composition it felt wonky. 'Tonya's Song' was quickly becoming the bane of Remus' entire existence. None of the verses seemed to fit together right, and the only parts he actually liked felt too weepy.

You can stay up all night,
Figuring out what to do next;
And everything seems alright,
'Til you run out of cigarettes;

Raven-haired,
Midnight dancer,
If I could give you everything,
Would you ask for me?

Star of those rainy nights,
Now night is through;
You've asked your questions,
I've asked for you.

Songwriting was definitely how musicians went insane, he'd decided that early on. It took all of Remus' brainpower just to place a few rhymes together until they fit—but they never fucking fit! They always felt like they were trying too hard or reaching too far. He needed a smoke, or a spliff, possibly both and a shot of vodka and rubbing alcohol to polish it off, but sadly it was Monday morning and he was sitting in the music room waiting for the bell signalling the start of forms to chime.

Oblivious to his turmoil, Sirius bounded up the music stands in front of him and Remus flipped the little journal shut. He eyed it like he wanted to say something, but resisted and sat down next to him instead, drumming his hands on his thighs lightly.

"Do you want to practice tonight?" Sirius asked. "I've been wanting your opinion on a few different licks. I want them to sound good but not like an exact replica of Clapton or Richards, you know? We need to leave room for some spice if we ever want to make our own music one day."

"Can't," Remus said over a yawn, "told Marlene I'd meet her."

"Oh. Tomorrow then?"

Remus considered. He wanted to call Tomny but that wouldn't take all night anyway. "Sure. But we gotta fit some studying in there somewhere."

Sirius sighed. "Why?"

"Because I gave up my Sunday to write your bloody book report, and I'm still determined to kick your ass come exams."

"How about I just throw the tests again and we play 'Stairway to Heaven' in peace?"

"You do that and I'll snap a guitar string on your face while you're sleeping."

"You'd rather risk the front man of your band going blind than miss an evening of studying?"

"So that's it, you're the front man?"

"Unless you wanted the job."

"What about James?"

"A front man needs to be a sex symbol," Sirius lectured. "Potter's got the looks sure, but how's he supposed to appeal to an audience when all he's got is ginger-on-the-brain?"