Band On The Run

Guns Of Brixton

"I only have a few more questions for you."

"Wonderful," I replied, glancing about the set.

It was just another interview. Nothing had set it apart. All the questions had been by the book; who are you inspirations? Do you like your fans? If I'd answered them once, I'd done it a thousand times.

Maybe having a studio audience would have been better; I puzzled over the thought as my glance ran over the heads of those who were making the whole filming process run about smoothly. I always did better in front of an audience in these sorts of things. Countless people had written or talked about me only to say that I was an artist who was born to be on stage in front of a crowd, and maybe they were right. I was better with an audience. Without them I had a tendency to become a little bit sharp tongued, if truth be told. Well, I started to act more like the person I was off stage. She wasn't always nice.

Gritting my teeth against a yawn, I rubbed my palm wearily against the side of my head, unconsciously making my hair stick up in static. At the moment of silence I'd learnt was never a good sign in interviews I sent him a questioning look even though I remained slouching to the drastic left side of my couch.

"The Spares," he clarified.

"Ah," I responded, being specifically noncommittal. That was my strategy at the moment. I didn't know how the boys were playing it, but I was going to continue to be perfectly unhelpful in the press. The fact was that it drove people nuts, and that's what we were going for, wasn't it? I was always good at stirring up controversy. The Spares had been quite the controversial band, after all.

He considered me for a moment. And during that time I remained relaxed under the scrutiny, until I began to wonder what his name was that is.

What the hell was the dude's name?

"The Spares used to be the most exciting band in music," he stated clearly.

"We were, or so they say," I agreed, but I was barely thinking about what I was saying. I was more focused on wondering what the fuck his name was. To my knowledge I hadn't been interviewed by him before, but that wasn't exactly reliable, was it? I mean, I had huge black spots in my memory. There was an entire three week period during The Spares where we'd been in New Zealand, yet I couldn't remember shit all about it. Blame it on the alcohol.

"But they aren't anymore."

My eyebrows rose at the matter of fact words that he'd said, but my claws didn't come out, I just shrugged. It did help distract me from pondering his name, though. "No, we aren't," I replied, completely unabashed. "We're not even a band anymore."

Apparently he hadn't prepared a response to the possibility of me agreeing with him, because the interviewer – who shall remain nameless, it seems – just blinked at me before continuing. And I couldn't help but notice that his words were trying to back up his claim as if I'd disagreed with him.

"It's the live performances you've been doing that just don't have what they used to have –"

"Yeah," I snorted, interrupting him, "Our songs."

He decidedly ignored that comment. "There was a way that you guys played that was passionate and wonderful all at the same time. And there was always this tension that made each performance by the band so riveting. It didn't matter if you were getting along or not there was always tension. It felt like you could barely hold together the music you lot were playing, it was unhinged and chaotic. The chaos that The Spares used to create was the most magical part of it."

I watched him closely as he spoke, watching the honesty etched across his face that was the same with every fan who spoke fondly of The Spares. It made my mouth feel dry and my stomach drop. And I agreed with what he said, which made it all the worse. However I played it off with a smirk, leaning my head into my palm and messing up my hair.