Blood And Guitars

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The rhythmic tapping of hickory drumsticks echoed throughout the lobby of the recording studio. Near the door, my best friend O’Shea took another sip from his Starbucks cup and let out an impatient sigh. This was the first time our band, Catalyst, had gotten together on official business since we finished touring four months ago. We’re all good friends, so we’d been hanging out on and off during the summer, but we hadn’t gotten together with the intent of working on new material until tonight. It’s sort of a ritual to play all night and get the creative juices flowing. We’d been on a much needed break, but now it was time to work again and we needed new material for the next record. The rep from our record label, Celebrity Dent, thought we were wasting time. Luckily our manager, Wes, insisted on our behalf that this rehearsal was a necessary part of the process. Jonas, our bass player, had never been what one might consider punctual, but his tardiness wasn’t helping us in the wasting time area.

Chase, our drummer, was rambling on about the bullet bike he’d just bought and O’Shea was at least pretending to listen. My mind was preoccupied with the fact that I didn’t have any new songs to show the guys tonight.

As a musician, it’s rare for me to let a day go by without playing my favorite guitar at home, but lately nothing seemed to come together. It seemed like an eternity had passed since we had started the recording of our last record, Recycled Coma. I had been ready then. I’d come to the studio with sheets of hand written lyrics and melodies and a CD I’d recorded at home with my ideas. Maybe I’d still been riding the high that our first tour had given me. Being part of a newly discovered band had given me a lot of material. We’d been all around the world in a short period of time and, vain as it may seem, we’d had a lot to say about it.

I’d left Aurora’s house last night feeling more upbeat than I had in weeks. After retrieving my car at the lounge, I had driven around town for almost an hour just listening to the radio and sorting out the jumble of thoughts and emotions in my head. Meeting Aurora had made a small part of me feel like a teenager again, and the prospect of getting to know her better was at the forefront of my mind. Unfortunately, I had other things to worry about at the present, such as the fact that I was back in the studio again and expected to write some brilliant songs.

I’d written a few songs during our break which led to the impromptu performance at the lounge last night to test them out on a crowd. The response had been good, but I wasn’t convinced that the material was completely deserving of the cheers. The songs weren’t bad, but they weren’t incredible either, and that wasn’t something I could live with.

I ran a hand through my hair, fighting back the slight wave of panic that was rising within me. I wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. I didn’t have anything to offer this time around. That’s probably not unusual for some bands, but I don’t normally function this way. Was it possible for a musician to have writer’s block? I was just so used to having lyrics pop into my head and occupying my dreams at night that my present lack of inspiration was freaking me out.

The guys were counting on me, especially O’Shea (our lead guitarist and my best friend since middle school). He was always telling the press that it was my innate ability to write with raw emotion that enabled Catalyst to forge our way to the top of the Billboard charts so quickly. I knew that was just his way of teasing me for always wearing my heart on my sleeve, but now, a secure recording contract and two number one albums later, I was afraid that the little creative block I was experiencing might throw the other members of the band into a panic … with good reason.

As if all of that wasn’t enough, something else was on my mind. All week I’d been dreaming of a beautiful woman with long black hair. (Okay, so I was only assuming she was beautiful because I hadn’t actually gotten to see her face. But judging by the rest of her, I was pretty confident in my assumption that she was drop-dead gorgeous.) The dreams were actually quite pleasant with her drifting around vaguely in my subconscious, almost like she was teasing me. Both times I’d woken abruptly, feeling as if I’d been right on the brink of identifying her. As much as I tried to brush the dreams from the forefront of my mind, I couldn’t completely shake my curiosity about who my mystery woman might be. I could already see myself searching the crowds for her, which was a little premature considering we hadn’t even started to record the album yet, let alone release it and organize a tour.