𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎 & 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

43. Someone Different

June 1973

'Reid employs a range of methods to discover new and genuine talent. One of these approaches involves visiting recording studios of all kinds, recognising the potential for obscure and independent groups of aspiring musicians jamming in closed-off live rooms. John Reid, being just as young as some of these musicians, seizes every opportunity to provide them with their own chance to shine. It is in these situations that his charismatic personality truly comes into play.'

"Bollocks this!"

I glanced up from my paper towards the live room window, where Brian had propped his foot on one of the many amps, the Red Special resting on his thigh. He muttered under his breath, hurriedly replacing a broken string. Returning to my work, my pen immediately resumed its dance across the page. My wrist was beginning to ache, but I couldn't stop. Inspiration and motivation surged through me that day, but it happened to be the same day I had promised Brian to accompany him to Trident. He wanted to lay down some tracks and practice, feeling guilty about missing a recording session while we were up North.

So, being the supportive girlfriend that I am, I brought all my university materials with me to the studio, determined to be there and get some work done. My dissertation was nearly complete—I had realized how much easier it was to write about John Reid now that I had met him in person and experienced his energy first-hand. I knew I had at least three more paragraphs to go, but they seemed like a breeze compared to what I had already written. I just hoped it would be enough to pass the year.

Sitting next to a monitor wasn't the smartest decision I had made, I could tell you that. Brian began strumming once he had fixed the broken string. The full stop I was about to write turned into a squiggly line, the sudden sound of his guitar catching me off guard.

The notes he plucked, the velocity and rhythm with which he played, emitted a sense of angst and raw emotion. Since we returned from my parents' house, Brian's mood had taken a hit. At first, I wasn't entirely sure why he was acting the way he was, and being me, I grew anxious and paranoid. We even had a near argument because I couldn't believe he wasn't angry at me.

Glancing up again from my work, I focused on Brian. His face contorted, clearly channelling his frustrations through music—an outlet I was grateful he had. Many people go through their teens and twenties without such an outlet, leading them to act out. Not Brian. When he needed to release energy, he would almost always turn to creating music, often resulting in a hit song. Well, it wasn't a hit publicly, but I knew it would be one day.

This time, however, it was evident that he was furious. The riff he played was grungy, thick, and heavy. Surprisingly catchy, I must admit. As much as I loved listening to him play, it was clear that he was on the verge of breaking another string, if not more, if he continued to play with such anger.

So, I set my pen down and made my way into the live room, doing my best to block out the overwhelming noise. I knew calling his name wouldn't grab his attention, so I extended my hand into his peripheral vision and snapped my fingers. He stopped strumming, looking up at me, the anger still etched on his face.

Meeting Brian's gaze with a gentle and warm smile, I said, "Come and take a break, Bri..." I intentionally softened my voice to make it sound more friendly and inviting than usual. His expression softened, and eventually, he nodded, letting out a heavy sigh and carefully setting down his guitar.

Returning to the control room, I resumed my seat in front of my work, patiently waiting for Brian to join me. And he did. He pulled up a chair beside me, sitting suspiciously close. I arched an eyebrow at him, chuckling as he draped his arm around me, leaning in to observe what I was doing.