the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 105: Figuring It Out

You learn to sing!
You learn to play!
Why don't the businessmen,
Ever learn to pay?!

That's show business—
Show business!
Show business—
That's the way it goes!

- "Show Business" AC/DC, 1975

Saturday 21st April 1979

Sheila was still burning a hole in their phone bill, still intent on sorting out just when her precious students would be returning to school, but no one could be bothered to stop the fun long enough to explain. Regulus and the others would be taking the train back to Scotland in a few days anyway, bringing a sad end to their fun—but in the meantime Sybill had made good on her promise to host their next gig. The turnout was good—better than expected, even. For whatever outlandish peculiarity she'd projected onto them during their first meeting, Sybill's handle on the UCL student body was impressive. She ran the event seamlessly, directing her volunteers on how to best wrangle the waiting crowd, and she knew where all the plugs would be when it came time to set up.

"You have your own monitoring system?" She'd asked, when they came rolling up to the hall's backdoors with their amps.

"No," replied Sirius, "but I'll wager that if we sounded like utter shit, one of you would've told us."

She hummed at him, then; "You can borrow ours, I suppose."

It was quite the set-up, much more professional than anything they've ever had a handle on anyway. When Remus had first heard about the shows being put on by Sybill's events committee he'd assumed they'd be small, empty ballroom-type things where a few students drifted in between astrobiology and liberal arts classes. As it turned out, these were major college events. Various clubs ran pub crawls for most of the day leading up to every show; even the most donnish student would skip out on an evening of studying to throw themselves around the basement of the university's shabby venue for a few drunken hours.

"Now who're those guys?" James asked, after they'd hauled their equipment inside only to find another group of boys standing at the top of the hall with instruments in hand.

"Student band," answered Sybill. "They're your opening act."

It was startling. Perhaps even more startling than the eager crowd of kids waiting beyond the doors.

"Opening act?" Echoed Peter.

"Mhm. Calling themselves 'The Disciples of Wonder'. They're okay—bit more 'progressive' than you four, but I figured it would be a better suit than anything with a bongo in the lineup. They'll open, warm up the crowd a bit, and afterwards it'll be all you. I'd say be ready by quarter to nine."

She blinked at them—still bug-eyed behind her glasses—and the four Marauders shared a wary glance.

"What's the matter?"

"It's just... We've never even opened for anyone before," James explained. "Seems a bit mental that all of a sudden we have an opener ourselves."

"Now you're complaining about not being the opening act? And here I thought I'd seen it all."

She meandered off, her harem skirt swishing as she walked, and the Marauders had no choice but to be grateful. Admittedly, it wasn't hard.

They were serving drinks in the corner (mostly lukewarm cans of lager), and Sybill had taken the liberty to have one of Peter's poster designs printed and made into a banner they could hang above the windows behind their stage set up. Opposite to the banner, leaflets advertising for all kinds of clubs and classes papered the walls and among them were the various show bills and fliers of all the different bands that'd come before. Remus recognised a few as one-hit wonders that'd only just managed to get on the radio—Moby Grape, The Knack, and the like—but most were unknowns. Scrubs and punks just looking to make it like everybody else. Eventually James pointed to one. Dick Very and the Headways.