The press release is coming out in a few hours, but I thought I should say it directly, from me, to all of you wonderful people who have loved us and our music. The Woods have broken up. It wasn't something Aric, Oria, Key and I were planning on doing or even wanted to do, but circumstances… you know.
Counterfeit Records, which we founded just last year, has gone bankrupt. The blame lies solely with me. I made some bad decisions, hired some wrong people, and as a result we've been forced to shut down. I hope that we can reunite sometime in the future if our luck changes, and I hope that all of you can see us in concert sometime again.
This blog will still continue; if you're really that interested in what happens to musicians when they're out of work, keep checking back to hear about my sure-to-be scintillating adventures. Unemployment! Guitars getting dusty! A 9-to-5 job! Sure to be dramatic. Thanks for all of your support over the years. Peace. –Mel T.
---
Meliara walked into the café just like she thought a fallen rock queen should. With her aviators, striped leggings and baggy torn-up Bowie shirt, she figured that her outfit should distract those in the grungy café who might recognize her blue-streaked hair and wonder if she was Mel T. of the Woods. She caught herself and amended her thoughts- the Mel T. of the now-defunct Woods, thanks to a certain Mr. Debegri. She stopped mid-fume. Gingerly easing herself into a chair, she decided that she should give up her grudge. Surely it wasn't good for her karma.
But it sure helped soothe her outraged mind.
She was plotting different revenge plans when Bran walked in. She grinned at him as she drained the last of her mocha.
"Bran!" she shouted gleefully. More than a few patrons glanced her way.
He rolled his eyes as he sat down. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he asked patiently. "Bran is what you called me when you thought you were a clever six-year old. Now that you're an adult, you're completely capable of calling me Aric."
"Or I could just call you Bran," she retorted. He sighed.
"Fine. I love being named after a fiber," he replied dryly.
"You said you had some news?" Mel asked.
"Yeah, I got a job for us," he replied.
"Really?" she asked, puzzled. "You look so… happy."
"I'm sure your reaction will be less than pleasant."
"Why?" Mel asked suspiciously. "Right now, I'm willing to work at a Cheapo, as long as it involves music."
"There was a tech and roadie opening," he replied. "I figured I could do the roadie and you could do the tech."
"For who?" Mel asked, her eyes narrowed.
"Uh… well…" Bran rubbed the back of his neck. "The Midways."
"What?" Mel exclaimed. "No!"
"I took it already," Bran said quickly. "Mel, we need the money."
"No way," she said quickly. "I will take that job at the gas station before working for the Midways."
"They pay a lot better than the gas station, Mel," Bran said patiently.
"Yeah, but the gas station didn't sell out to Merindar Records!" Mel retorted. "What about Sleater Kinney? Or Interpol? Burn it, I'll lug amps for The Polyphonic Spree, just not… them!"
"Sleater Kinney didn't need anybody, Interpol isn't touring right now, and… the Polyphonic Spree? I think their pep would kill you by the second show," Bran replied easily, stealing her mocha and frowning when he found it was empty.
"The Midways, Bran," she said pitifully, trying to stave off his rationality with her best puppy-dog eyes. "They killed off Counterfeit Records by switching to Merindar. They're the reason the Woods don't exist anymore."
"You're conveniently leaving Debegri's role out of this," Bran retorted.
"Fine, Debegri and the Midways murdered Counterfeit," Mel amended. "But that doesn't change anything."
"Mel, it's not like we're doing this for life," Bran said persuasively. "We just need the short-term money. Once we find a different job, we're out."
"I'll be checking the job postings every day," Mel muttered. Bran grinned.
"I take that to mean you're going to do it," he said cheerfully. Mel glowered at him, stuck her aviators back on, and left, making sure to slam the door loudly as she did so. Of course, she and Bran shared the same studio apartment, so it wasn't like she was walking out on him, but still. Fallen rock queens had to make big exits.
---
The Midways paid for Mel and Bran to fly out to Minneapolis, where they were kicking off their tour. Mel was silent the entire trip, her headphones on her ears, devotedly listening to Bruce Springsteen's encouraging and world-weary words. At the baggage claim, Bran glanced over at her iPod. He rolled his eyes.
"Bruce Springsteen," he said wearily. "For being a self-proclaimed rocker, you listen to such crap."
Mel yanked off her headphones and glared at him. "Don't insult the Boss," she said haughtily, grabbing her duffel off the carousel and heading for the door. She fingered her blue streaks wearily as she waited for Bran. Techie. What had the world come to?
A girl with a beat-up messenger bag was staring at her curiously, and Mel grew apprehensive. She fought the urge to look down at her clothes as the girl came over.
"Excuse me… but are you Mel T.?" she asked hesitantly.
"Yeah, I am," Mel replied, smiling at the girl. "Are you a fan?"
"God, yes," the girl said fervently. "I can't believe the Woods broke up. I mean…"
"Yeah," Mel said, her face darkening. She still couldn't believe it either.
She signed a piece of paper for the girl and then foisted her off on Bran. Getting a cab, Mel let Bran handle the luggage and crawled into the backseat.
"Don't tell me you're still angry," Bran sighed as he got in beside her.
"I'm not angry," Mel said pensively. She reconsidered. "Well, actually, I am. I'm just pissed off that the Woods are gone, Counterfeit is bankrupt, and we're working for a band that helped it happen."
"Hey," Bran said softly. "Lots of bands sell out to the big labels. Don't blame it on the Midways. If anybody, it's Debegri's fault."
Mel frowned. "Debegri was a dumbass with ambition. I should have known it was a dangerous combination before I hired him."
"Mel, don't blame yourself. What Debegri did took everyone by surprise," Bran said, slumping on his seat and looking out the window. Mel gazed at him for a minute before doing the same.
"Yeah," she muttered. "I think the biggest surprise was that what he did was actually legal."
Bran laughed softly, and she felt better.
"Is the tour coming back around to L.A. anytime?" she asked with a frown. "I don't know how long we can depend on Key to hold our crap. I should have asked Oria, but she's barely managing with that waitress job and I felt bad to ask."
"Key's in a new band with the guitarist from Rilo Kiley," Bran replied. "I think he'll be able to hold on to everything. I looked at the schedule, and the West Coast is the last stop. We've got about three months of the Midwest and the East Coast."
"Bran…" she said uncertainly. "Isn't this a little quick? I mean, yesterday we were sitting at the coffeeshop and you were telling me and now we're leaving?"
Bran promptly hugged her. Although it was awkward, she was wordlessly comforted. "Thanks, Bran," she whispered.
"Whatever happens, Mel," he replied softly, "we'll face it together."
---
When he was sure Mel was asleep in the bed next to him, Bran slipped out of their room. The Midways' lead singer had told him to come to room 1216 without his sister, and although the request was odd, Bran was sure that pissing off his boss on his first day was not the way to go.
The man who opened the door was taller than he was, which was surprising. His pale blond hair was long and fell into his gray eyes. A quick glance at Vidanric Shevraeth's face and rangy figure explained much of the Midways' newfound popularity.
"Hi, I'm Aric, the new roadie," Bran said, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets.
"I thought so," Vidanric replied. There was no pretense in his voice or arrogance in his posture, something that also surprised Bran. "Come in."
"Sorry for coming so late, Mr. Shevraeth," Bran said, walking into the luxurious suite. "Our plane just arrived a few hours ago and I had to wait until Mel fell asleep."
"No problem," Vidanric said, sprawling into a chair. "And call me Vidanric. We're the same age."
"We used to be from the same label, too," Bran said frankly, taking a seat. "Mel's not too happy about working for your band."
Vidanric looked over at him, his face inscrutable. "I can't really blame her," he said. "We helped bankrupt Counterfeit. Although, in all fairness, Debegri was the one who really brought it down."
Bran couldn't manage to hide his surprise. "It's interesting to hear you of all people say that," he said, wondering what Vidanric was trying to get at. First the summons, now what he was saying… he was sure this man had an ulterior motive, he just couldn't figure it out.
Vidanric smiled. "Heresy, I know," he said easily. "But nobody from Merindar Records is around. Anyway, the show is tomorrow…"
Bran listened to Vidanric explain what he and Mel would be doing, but his mind couldn't concentrate. Why would the man partially responsible for his label's downfall be admitting as much? And why did Bran's instincts tell him that Vidanric was to be trusted despite all evidence to the contrary?
"Your sister will be working with Nimiar, so it shouldn't be too stressful for her," Vidanric was saying and Bran snapped to attention.
"Nimiar? Do you mean Nee?" Bran asked curiously.
"Yeah, Nee," Vidanric said. "How do you know her?"
"She did tech and sound for us on our last two tours," Bran explained, grinning. "She's a genius." He realized belatedly that he had admitted he had been on tour. He and Mel had decided to keep that information low-key in their new jobs. "We used to play in a band," he explained hastily.
At this, Vidanric actually smiled. Bran blinked. "You think I didn't know who you were?" he asked, grinning. "Aric and Mel T. of the Woods. The entire tour is dying to meet you two. We're huge fans."
Bran thought this just a little odd coming from the man who had put them out of business, but he accepted the compliment with a nod. Vidanric continued talking about the tour until he glanced at the clock.
"Burn it, it's already three in the morning!" he exclaimed, surprised. "Sorry, I've kept you here forever." As they said their good-byes, Bran decided to puzzle over Vidanric's mystery later. Right now, he was dead tired and had to lug amps in a few hours. He went back to his room and fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed.
---
All Vidanric wanted to do was sleep, but of course that was fairly impossible when you had Russav Savona sleeping in the adjoining room. He was woken up by the Replacements blaring from the speakers and Savona grinning at him across the room.
"I fucking hate you, have I ever told you that?" Vidanric grumbled as he slowly got up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He walked over to the CD player and switched the CD. "It's way too early for Paul Westerberg, Russav."
Savona rolled his eyes when he heard the new music. "Bruce Springsteen. Of course," he said wryly. "For being a rock star, your music is wimpy."
Vidanric poked his head out of the bathroom and spoke around the toothbrush in his mouth. "The Boss is not a wimp," he declared.
"Whatever," Savona replied dismissively. "The interview with Rolling Stone came out today. Want to hear it?"
Vidanric groaned. "When we got into this, didn't we agree to not get famous?" he asked. "I thought we all agreed that being an obscure indie band would help us a lot more than international stardom."
"Well, listen what they have to say," Savona replied. He started reciting. " 'The Midways, if you care to categorize them, fall midway' – ugh, what an awful pun - 'between My Chemical Romance and the Killers in terms of popularity.' Hey, I happen to think that we're cooler than the Killers."
"Russav, who cares? We're out in a few months, anyway," Vidanric called back.
"Well, while we're still here, I'd like to be better than the Killers," Russav retorted. "Brandon Flowers? What has he got on you? More eyeliner?"
"That, more talent, and more desire to actually be in the business," Vidanric replied dryly. "I don't know how this got so out of hand."
"Well, Rolling Stone seems to think we have potential," Russav replied. "This interview is fantastic. They loved you."
Vidanric came out of the bathroom and snatched the magazine. "Fine, you've got me. Let me read it."
The Midways: On Their Way Up
The Midways, if you care to categorize them, fall midway between Panic! At The Disco and the Killers in terms of popularity.
"You're right, that is an awful pun," Vidanric remarked. "I could write a better opening line than that." Savona nodded sagely.
In terms of music, they're a chameleon.
"Our music is divergent simply because each of us worships different types of music," Vidanric Shevraeth, the lead singer and guitarist, explains. "Savona's into 80s punk, Tamara loves alternative rock, and if you let Deric choose, he'd be listening to hip-hop 24/7."
So what kind of music does Shevraeth, the face of the band and its most enigmatic personality, favor?
"Enigmatic personality?"
Savona laughed. "You're the mysterious indie rock child. Probably because you disappear after every show."
"I don't disappear," Vidanric said, frowning.
"Well, you're not with the groupies."
He smiles slightly and shrugs. "I love stories," he says. "Anything with lyrics that tell me something."
At this, his more gregarious bandmate, Russav Savona, snorts. "What he's not telling you," he says, "is that he's a complete sucker for music like Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen."
Vidanric winced. "There goes my music credibility," he remarked. "You had to tell her that, didn't you?"
Savona smirked. "I thought you didn't care?" Vidanric ignored him.
The banter between Shevraeth and Savona, the lead guitarist, makes it clear that their friendship extends farther than the band's history. The two have been playing music since their teens. What's unclear, however, is the band's beginnings.
The Midways began their career by signing with Counterfeit Records with virtually no history and no credentials. A year into a successful indie career, they switched abruptly to Merindar Records. With a second album and heavy radio play, the Midways have been rocketing up the charts.
Asked about how they began and why Counterfeit signed them so readily, all the band members are evasive. Perhaps the best at giving vague answers is Shevraeth, who manages to avoid answering anything relating to himself or the band. Signing? "Mostly luck," he says shortly. When asked about his childhood, he smiles briefly. "You know, it was… childhood," is all he'll say. Life right now? "Living day to day," he remarks. Girlfriend? "No comment," is his reply.
When asked about his rising status, he shrugs. "I was never meant to be the focus, and I think we're all disappointed that it's turning out that way. We'd like to be seen as a band, not a lead singer and some backup musicians," he says. But with his voice – not to mention that he can play the guitar, cello, violin, and piano masterfully and frequently plays all four during concerts– and his androgynous good looks, it seems a foregone conclusion that most of the media attention has been focused on Shevraeth.
"Androgynous good looks?" Vidanric asked indignantly. "I do not look androgynous!"
"Well, you've got the skinny indie boy thing down perfectly," Savona remarked, looking like he was trying not to laugh. "You could model for Urban Outfitters."
Vidanric glared haughtily at him, then turned his attention back to the article.
It also doesn't hurt that Tamara Chamadis, vocalist and bassist, is stunning – she readily admits that she used to model while in college – and Savona and percussionist Deric Orbanith are also easy on the eyes.
Along with being photogenic, the Midways' eclectic sound has become incredibly popular, despite defying categorization.
"Well, with "Reunion" we're more poppy," Savona muses, "And then "The Bass and the Movement" is definitely influenced by Deric's hip-hop love. Tamara spearheaded "D'Artagnan's Theme" because she loved the ballad aspect of it. It really changes from song to song. We do alternative, rock, hip-hop, and pop. It's really whatever we feel like."
Whatever type of music they play, the Midways clearly have a bright future ahead of them.
Vidanric snorted as he handed the magazine back to Savona. "Well, at least the picture of us is good," he said. "Even if the article was complete crap."
"You didn't see the individual profiles," Savona said. "They did a little box on each of us! I feel so special!" Vidanric rolled his eyes and peered at the small picture of him next to his box. He looked bored.
Deric Orbanith
Age: 22
Instrument: Drums
Favorite Band: "The Fugees. They're so classic."
Superpower: "It'd be rad if I could fly. Could you imagine what you could do at concerts?"
Tamara Chamadis
Age: 26
Instrument: Bass
Favorite Band: "That's so hard. I could name a few: Right now, I'd have to say Stars, Atmosphere and Citizen Cope are at the top of the list…"
Tidbit: Went to Columbia, where she met Shevraeth and Savona. So what did they major in? Tamara admits that she was an English major, Savona was an Economics major, and Shevraeth majored in… biomedical engineering and linguistics. Hardcore.
Russav Savona
Age: 26
Instrument: Guitar
Favorite Band: "The Misfits. Easily."
Why is it called the Midways? "Well, that reason is top secret, so I could tell you… but you know the rest."
Vidanric Shevraeth
Age: 27
Instrument: Guitar, cello, violin, keyboard
Favorite Band: "Well, now that Savona's let out my shameful secret… the classics, like Simon and Garfunkel, U2, Bob Dylan, and yes, Bruce Springsteen."
How did he learn four instruments? "Well, if you knew my parents… I think the idea was for me to be well-rounded, so they got me violin lessons. I got obsessed, and soon enough I picked up the cello, and then the piano… Savona taught me the guitar in college. When I have more time, I want to learn the mandolin."
Vidanric rolled his eyes. "Great. I'll bet you ten bucks that some smartass at the show manages to mention my major tonight," he said dryly.
"Well, it's not everyday a biomedical engineer with a minor in linguistics ends up playing at First Avenue," Savona replied. "We've got to be there at four, so we've got time to waste."
"We have work to do," Vidanric called from the closet. "Or did the rock-star life seduce you into forgetting that?"
Savona winced. "Always business," he chided. "We're playing at First Avenue! The arena of Atmosphere! Prince! Purple Rain!"
Vidanric winced. "Purple Rain is one movie I could happily never see again," he said. "We have to plan our next step."
"Oh, just have Tamara figure it out," Savona replied cheerily. "Come on! Let's go check out this city!"
Vidanric rolled his eyes. "Go ahead. I'll stay here and actually do my job."
"Nice try at guilting me," Savona said smugly, "but it won't work. You can stay in here and be laaame while I go and paint the town blue."
Vidanric raised his eyebrows. "The saying is paint the town red, Savona," he replied wryly.
"Whatever. Are you coming, or not?"
Vidanric huffed. "Fine," he said shortly. "But if we're fired, it's all your fault."
Savona grinned gleefully. "Darling," he said dramatically. "We're good-looking, we're rock stars, and we have a song in the Top 40. We're untouchable!"
Danric couldn't help but laugh.
---
Note: Hi, I'm back! This fic is… insane, basically. It popped into my head as I was trying to write a story about Alaerec… needless to say, the idea of Mel being in a band and Vidanric being the ultimate indie band boy wouldn't leave my head until I started writing. Unfortunately due to my obsession with music, this fic will reference a LOT of bands and songs. If you've got questions, just ask me, I love talking about music! We'll see how much this storyline actually sticks to the original one- as you see, Debegri, Merindar, Bran, Nee, Oria, Vidanric, Savona, Deric, and Tamara have ALL made appearances or been referenced to… we'll see where it goes. If you read it, please review and tell me what you think! Next chapter: Why is Vidanric being so mysterious about this "job" of his? What did Debegri do? Will Nee show up? What kind of music, exactly, do the Midways play? Look for answers with the next installment. :) –Alqualyne