Vanessa Keyes is on fire. Banner could swear the girl is glowing on that stage, actually radiating visible energy. That's how on fire she is. At this moment, she is Bruce Lee leaving trails. She is Jordan sailing through the air, tongue extended. She is Michelangelo finding David within a block of granite. She is the nexus of art and science, the perfect balance of the math of music and the ineffable quality of soul. And she knows it. She knows it because the crowd knows it. She knows the crowd knows it because, well, they're going insane.
Time was, Sonada's was like this every night. Or so goes the legend. Back before Detroit exhibited the first signs of the wasting disease known as outsourcing. Tonight, though, the air is electric. It started around eleven, when a couple of young cats stumbled into the bar, laughing and shouting, fresh from some illicit caper or another. Vanessa had just stepped onto stage then, and was about to give the newcomers some attitude. She wasn't sure what had stopped her, but instead she just cleared her throat, and made eye contact with each of the kids. Their jokes and braggadocio just sorta potted down from max to mute as she fixed each of them with a stare that somehow said, simply, listen to my song.
The bassist began it all, one short note, so low you couldn't be sure whether you actually heard anything or just felt it, gravelly, in the pit of your stomach. Then again. And again. And again. Regular as clockwork. He shifted pitch, ever so slightly. Four more low notes. The keys came in next, just as low, not quite distorted, but crackling, like an overplayed vinyl 7 inch. At the end of the measure, the drummer let her sticks rap across the snare, an almost military drum roll, except for down beat tempo of the whole thing, and muted quality of the drum.
Never taking her eyes off of the crowd, Vanessa opened up.
"I..." she breathed, "been all around the world... just to wind up right back here, exactly where I started from..." And she had them. "Why? Just another little girl... with dreams of fairy wings but when exactly did I part from them?" Cue the strings.
Since that show opener enough people have crammed into Sonada's to take the place from likely fire hazard status to most assuredly fire hazard status. This regardless of the highly dubious wiring supplying the surprisingly adequate sound system with power. Bodies sway and pulse as Vanessa's vocals caress the crowd. At once, old-timers and young bucks (Sonada's is famously lax when it comes to checking IDs) feel a sense of nostalgia for something lost and yet also an anticipation for something yet to come. Time and space are laid bare here, the entire notion of "linear" seems laughably misguided as Vanessa effortlessly encompasses the gamut of human emotion, experience, loss and triumph. The crowd is transfixed. The band sweats over their instruments. Vanessa coos the last note of an upbeat cut, her eyes closed now, satisfied that she has connected. The spell persists for a moment.
"We love you, Vanessa!" somebody cries. And the crowd explodes into applause, cheering, whistles. Stadiums don't make this much noise. Sonada's is in danger of being blown apart by the sheer excitement of the audience.
"I love you too, Detroit," Vanessa says. And the funny thing is, in this moment, it's true.
Vanessa takes a long swing of water, then holds the cool bottle to her forehead. The door opens. Banner. Behind him, the club-goers are noisily going about their business, waiting for the next set. A DJ spins something that on any other night, might be a guaranteed banger, but tonight feels merely like the suggestion of music.
"So..." he says.
"So," Vanessa matches.
"Not a bad haul, so far." The smile stretches from Banner's left ear to his right, no small task given the overall width of the man.
"Two or two-hundred... I figured I'd rock the same show," Vanessa smiles. It feels good. She can't even think of the last time she really let loose like this. She can't think why hasn't been doing this all along. Her skin is tingling. "Isn't that what you said?"
"Wasn't me, originally. I was just passing it along, I guess."
"Well," she says, sauntering over to the guy, "thanks." Vanessa stretches, almost to the limits of human ability, balancing on the tip of her toes, and gives Banner a peck on the cheek. She slides past him, out of the back room, and back to the stage.