Fame Comes With A Price (In Editing Process)

Sometimes We All Fuck Up

*2 weeks later*

The small studio in New York was filled with the adrenaline inducing sounds of heavy metal coming from large speakers. There was only one person in there. Sweat dripped from Rob's nose as he furiously pounded on his drum kit, his arms and wrists jiggling excitedly as the 27 year old hit the Toms and Snare drums with such speed that his arms were nothing but a blur.

He HAD to get the fill right this time, he was in this goddamn studio for about five hours for fucks sake! Why couldn't he get this simple, five beat fill right?!

Concentrate old man, Rob thought to himslef as he prepared for the millionth time to try and nail this fill.  

The guitar riff quickened and Rob hit his cymbal three times then began, his hands moving with fury and precision over the snare and toms, his left leg bouncing up and down rapidly as he hit his bass drum. After about five successful seconds, Rob felt himself swaying away from the rhythim and suddenly his drum rolls were too slow, his bass drum was too fast, and he could barely hit his toms with enough power to make them sound ok. 

Rob skipped a tempo and returned back to playing alongside the recorded guitars, but after less than a second, he was already off beat. Roaring in furstration, Rob sprang off his stool and paused the recording, then kicked the heavy speakers with his left foot, swearing in furstration.

' Dude! I know your pissed off but if you break those speakers, you'll be coughing up at least a a thousand dollars for a new set' 

Rob shook his head and smiled a little as Cameron Hurley came in and sat himself down on a plushy leather couch, 'Not like a thousand dollars is worth much to us anyway' replied Rob.

Cameron tutted at him,  'Now, now Rob. Don't wanna be acting like a little spoilt rockstar kids. Treat the equiptment nicely, and the tooth fairy might pay you a visit and build you a big golden castle'

Rob laughed as he sat back down in front of his kit, facing Cameron.

' Your are full of shit, you know that?'

' You're kinda stating the obvious. On a serious note, you really should take a break. You've been behind that kit for the past five hours, I'm surpised your arms are still in their sockets! Just come and hang with us' 

' Thanks but no thanks dude, i need to get this fucking fill right. And i won't leave until i do so.'

' Seriously bro! I know how important this shit is to you but you can't sit on your ass all day and all night practicing. You need to socialise, y'know. Like chillax for a bit so you don't start seeing snares in your sleep. All I'm saying is that maybe you should take a break, i mean look at your shirt! Theres not a single dry patch on it. And you need to haul your ass into the shower coz you smell like shit.'

Sure enough, every single inch of Robs grey Slipknot T shirt was soaked in sweat and it was without doubt that Rob knew if Tay, or any other girl came into this room they would either throw up, pass out or both. The smell coming from Robs armpits was enough to wilt a flower from a mile away, so he sorta agreed with Cameron at his shower suggestion. But the shower would have to wait.

' Look, i appreciate you worrying about me and all that but I'm fine. Honestly!'

Cameron looked at his freind, brows furrowed in worry. 

'No you're not. I know what you're thinking about and I need you to stop it. It's all bullshit. Don't listen to any of those dicks, they always find a way to drill into your head and you have to block that shit out or you'll lose your mind' 

Rob sighed and slumped foreward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head on his kuckles. When the band had arrived back home to New York, they were scheduled to play at a couple of small gigs before leading up to their biggest headline show yet; a sold out Madison Square Garden where 21,000 people would be screaming their names.