“Why play games? I bet you don’t.”
“Oh, I do, interesting games…”
The music fades as the band pauses, set finished and the encore cheered for.
The girl sips from her glass. Seriously, did this chick come here tonight to fuck Jem Jones? Girls as forward as this set off my ‘media alarm’. Will our night be an article on the internet? Night? Huh. She’ll be lucky. I consider all this as I weigh up whether I’ll indulge her fantasies.
Groupies come in several categories, some less pleasant than others, but this kind I enjoy. Wide-eyed and breathless, she introduces herself as Sara and tells me stories of her relationship with Blue Phoenix - you know, first heard us, first gig, blah, blah. She apparently tried to get backstage a few times, but never succeeded. I apologise and slide my hand underneath her dress. This kind of girl is my favourite type, pretends to be brazen, but melts into star-struck the moment I touch them.
“I see you made a friend, Jem.”Nice timing, Bryn.
“Sara.” I gesture between the pair by way of introduction.
Her star-struck look grows. “Hey, Bryn.”
Bryn picks up my coke from the bar and drinks. I bristle. “It’s fucking Coke!”
“Yeah, okay.” He sets the glass back down.
“Don’t big brother me.”
Before our exchange cools any further, I’m alerted by a familiar sound. The opening bars of “Rising”, Blue Phoenix’s first hit. I look over to the stage and Ruby is staring straight at me, one hand gripping the mic, the other on the stand. I count the familiar beats before the lyrics start and every single one pushes another person around us out of my awareness.
Usually when I hear a cover version of “Rising,” I cringe at how badly the lead guitarist fails to reach my expectation. This time I’ve no idea whether this guitarist does or not, because I’m waiting. Waiting to hear Ruby’s vocals, how she interprets the song I wrote with Dylan about moving through the fire and coming out the other side burned but alive. Nobody ever sang the words with the same understanding Dylan has.
Ruby? She’s almost there but she should stick to her own songs. Harsh? Yeah, but these tracks are my babies. This is a song you need to sing like you mean it and not pretend you do. This isn’t a song you can perform to the crowd and hope they get sucked in.
Realisation rips through me. Ruby-who-isn’t-really-Ruby is playing a role and her whole self isn’t in the performance. She’s still in the fire and until she pushes through the other side, she won’t sing this convincingly.
Bryn nudges me and gives the thumbs up. Seems their interpretation is good enough for him, but the band killed the mood for me the moment they covered one of my songs. Ruby Riot is phenomenal and don’t need to play other people’s work.
I turn back to the girl with the long dark hair. The band is halfway through the set and I’ve heard enough for now. Bryn can stay and let me know what he thinks.