Chapter 2: Backsliders
Louvel tapped on the microphone, hearing it ring out into the empty club. "(Testing, one, two, three.)" He spoke. He looked towards the technician across the room, giving him a thumbs up in approval. He then moved away from the microphone, sitting down on a nearby stool and picking up his guitar. He always felt a surge of pride whenever he held it.
It was a fender jazzmaster and his first ever electric guitar. The same kind that anyone could buy out of any shop. Though what made it special was its pickups. Rather than using ones already inside the guitar, Louvel had opened up its body and replaced them over the years. The end result was the perfect guitar in his eyes. It wasn't just a fender guitar - it was his guitar.
It's age was showing, too. The grey paint across the body was chipping away and the stickers across it were tearing away, the once pristine, white pick guard was fading to an ugly yellow. Even the guitar's head was wearing away and he would soon have to replace it. However, the guitar itself would see use until it was inoperable. Louvel had used it to record their album, EPs, and used it during their tour. This was their final show, ending in his Paris - his home - and he was determined to end the tour with a bang.
The musician plugged it into a nearby amp, strumming a few chords and letting them ring out. He frowned, noticing that the tone was all wrong. It was far too clean-sounding. Louvel adjusted the amp's knobs, looking for the Nirvana-like tone he loved so much. After finding the right settings, he played a simple power chord. The amp responded with a distorted screech.
Cursing, he scrambled to turn the amp off.
Louvel heard the bassist, Jacques, laughing behind him.
"(Lou, what the fuck was that about?)" Pierre, the lead guitarist, asked. Like himself, Pierre was sitting on a stool with his guitar in his lap and a cigarette in his mouth.
He gave his amp a light kick. "(I think it's fucked.)" Louvel replied. He looked at the amp sitting on top of the faulty one. Hopefully that was alright. After switching their positions and trying it out, he got the exact tone he was looking for. Thinking the problem was solved, he plugged the faulty one in. However, it began its distorted screaming again. "(It's fucked.)" he confirmed.
"(Just go out an use the spare one then.)" Sophia chimed in from behind her drum set.
Jacques responded, gesturing to his own amp, "(I'm using the spare amp.)"
Louvel sighed, lighting a cigarette and taking a quick drag to calm himself. He needed a second amp. Otherwise, Pierre's guitar would drown his own out. Considering that Louvel was the rhythm guitarist, that was a big problem. He despised the idea of their band, Backsliders, giving a sub-par performance. It didn't matter what the size of the crowd was, Louvel would play the same show for fifty people as he would for fifty thousand people.
But fortunately, an idea struck him and he turned to the technician who was across the room. "(Do you guys have any spare amps?)" He asked.
"(Yeah, we have a Fender '65 Twin Reverb in storage.)" Replied the technician.
Louvel paused for a second, glancing at his band mates. Who just had an amp that expensive and placed in storage? It was criminal. "(Bring it out.)" He said. After Louvel acquired the amp, he plugged it in and adjusted the values. After giving it a quick try, he knew he was in love. Its tone was perfect.
And after some fine tuning, Backsliders was ready to perform.
An hour later, the concert started and opened with their supporting act. A punk band also native to Paris, Seek Destroy. One thing Louvel loved about them was that they knew how to whip the crowd into a frenzy. After the supporting act, it was their turn.
Only two hours ago, the club was totally empty. Now, it was packed with people. It was dark, save for the purple lights illuminating the stage. After some last minute adjustments to their gear, Backsliders began their set list. Each individual member gave their all; Jacques' bass was thick and heavy as he jumped around the stage like a lunatic, the same could be said about Pierre, Sophia was an absolute monster on drums, and Louvel gave his best vocal performance. In between each song, the crowd went wild, giving frenzied cheers.
Louvel knew that tomorrow he would barely be able to speak, but he could live with that. And when he wasn't singing, he was bringing his usual swagger to the instrumentals. The vocalist walked around the stage like he owned it because, in that moment, he did.
It didn't feel like any time had passed before their concert was almost over. There was only one song left to play for their encore. Drenched in sweat, Louvel swept his long, wet hair out of his face. Taking a quick look at the other members, he could see their clothes were also damp with sweat and alcohol. The stage lights didn't help either.
"(This is the last song of the night. Fuck you all.)" He panted into the microphone, ignoring the few boos that came from the crowd. Just before they started playing, the vocalist removed his patch-covered, denim jacket and threw it behind him. It landed in a crumpled heap. It helped cool him down a little, however he still felt he was on the brink of melting into a puddle of sweat.
Louvel rasped his knuckles on the back of his guitar, letting the sound it created ring out for a few seconds before playing the opening rift. By this point, a few people recognised which song they were playing and screamed in excitement.
After a few seconds, Sophia joined him with a drum roll.
More people caught on.
She was followed by Jacques' heavy bass.
Louvel could barely hear his band over the ecstatic crowd.
Then Pierre finally joined them.
Their cover of Nirvana's Breed was in full swing now. The reinvigorated guitarists were jumping and stumbling around the stage, more wild than ever before. Their energy was picked up by the crowd as those closest to the stage began moshing. Still playing, Louvel leaned closer to the microphone and began to sing. His voice was more raspy than before, which was especially noticeable on certain parts of the song.
After the last of the vocals, Louvel moved backwards. He took the whammy bar of his guitar and just went to town, pushing it over the strings and towards the body of the guitar. The outcome was a continuous, droning moan that was constantly shifted pitch and tone - it never stayed the same. The rest of the band followed, playing random chords as Louise hammered on her drums. Despite the chaotic sound, it was somehow uniform.
Then - to end the show - Louvel played a single power chord.
The crowd went ballistic, clapping and cheering and whooping. Louvel stood there, panting heavily and holding his guitar loosely. He stated up to the microphone, sweeping his hair backwards. "(That was Breed by Nirvana. They're really underground, you've probably never heard of them.)" He said dryly, a small smirk on his face.
After the show, the band began to put their equipment back into the van. As Louvel was the only one who hadn't been drinking, he was the designated driver. Jacques and Pierre had put away the first lot of amps, coming back for the remaining ones. The vocalist handed the bassist the Fender amp, the one the technician gave him, "(here.)" He said.
As soon as Jacques realised what was going on, he grinned.
Louvel picked up the faulty amp by its handle, handing it over to a technician. He made certain that it wasn't the same guy who had given it to him in the first place. "(Thanks for letting us borrow the amp, you're lifesavers.)"
"(It's no problem, man.)"
After all the amps were in the van, the instruments and pedals were placed inside and the side door was shut. Louvel opened the driver's door when someone shouted on him. "Hey!"
For a split second, he froze, thinking one of the technicians realised Louvel had swapped their amps. But he quickly relaxed upon realising the voice was in English. He turned around, seeing two men standing against a brick wall, each eating some street food.
The first one was tall, a few centimetres taller than himself. He had black hair and green eyes. The second one was much shorter, probably standing at 170-odd centimetres. He had chin-length hair - much like Louvel's own - that was platinum blonde in colour. He was wearing one of his band's t-shirts.
"You guys killed it in there!" The taller one shouted, "awesome show!"
Louvel responded in English, "thank you." he gave him a thumbs up before he got in the van. He briefly wondered if the tall one, clearly an American, had flew his way over to France just to see them. But the more likely scenario is the short one dragged him along. Maybe it was a friend he was visiting, or maybe something more.
Louvel and Sophia sat in the front, with Jacques and Pierre in the back as they set off. The bassist laughed hysterically, tears in his eyes "(I can't believe you stole the fucking amp!)"
Louise sniggered as Pierre did a double take, looking back at their equipment. "(Holy shit.)" He muttered, "(well, we can't ever play there again.)" Pierre added with an explosive sigh.
"(I mean, that's a really expensive amp - who the fuck just leaves that in storage?)" Justified the vocalist. "(It's fucking criminal.)"
"(I'll drink to that.)" Sophia commented.
Jacques just giggled from the back seat, leaning backwards and clasping his hands together. Pierre turned to him, "(why is this so funny to you?)"
The bassist just shrugged his shoulders, an amused grin plastered on his face. "(I dunno. It's just funny.)" He replied.
(Oh yeah,)" started Sophia, "(who were those guys you were talking to, Lou?)" She asked.
Louvel replied, "(Fans, I think. I guess we're getting more known because one of them was American.)"
"(Really?)" Pierre asked, a mix of wonder and surprise in his voice. Then, something dawned on him which brought out an edge of irritation in his voice, "(I bet it was because of that fucking show we did in Orléans.)"
The vocalist laughed, "(or the one where I got glassed.)"
Those two infamous concerts had been back to back, both being the result of Louvel's tendencies to antagonise and aggravate those he didn't agree with. The Orléans show simply resulted in them being kicked out of the club after he wore a gay pride shirt to antagonise the owner. They played out on the street instead, only earning money through sold merch and ticket sales. Louvel was fine with that, though - he didn't want that guy's money.
The next concert afterwards in Bourges? It ended with Louvel taking an empty beer bottle to the face where it shattered after aggravating a heckler throwing homophobic slurs at him. Miraculously, it only left a few cuts and scratches rather than slicing his face open as it should have. Clearly, Pierre wanted him to be more reserved. He briefly wondered if Sophia or Jacques felt the same. He was playing a dangerous game, after all - he learned that the hard way. Still, it was worth it.
"(Pints?)" Louvel suddenly asked.
"(Pints.)" The rest of the band replied in unison.
...
Louvel brought the glasses to the table, three pints of beer and one glass of wine, and sat them down; the three beers for himself, Jacques, and Louise, and the glass of red wine for Pierre. "À ta santé!" He smiled, clinking his glass with each of theirs. In the middle of their table, an old thing with one leg shorter than the rest, sat an ash tray with two still-lit cigarettes.
"(To your health, guys.)" Sophia smiled, doing much the same.
Jacques grinned. "(chin chin.)" He said, following the other two's lead.
Pierre was last, raising his glass during his toast and afterwards. "Santé." He said simply.
They all took the first sip of their drinks. Louvel loved this beer. It was so smooth, went down easy, and was just the right amount of bitter. This bar was the only place he would drink the stuff, any other place and it had a funny aftertaste. He wasn't what this place did differently, but he hoped they would keep doing it indefinitely. If it did change, then he would simply not come back.
The one beer was the only thing he came for. The bar itself wasn't that great, even if it was popular with older gentlemen, with cheap interior decoration and a faint musty smell in the air. There were old radiators peppered throughout the space though they didn't do anything about the chill. The music they played was whatever was on the top forty radio - which he despised.
If Louvel had to listen to Un Monde Parfait one more time he would break something.
But the vocalist couldn't complain about the stink of ash or tobacco, though. He was part of the problem in that regard.
He picked his cigarette from the ash tray, giving it a quick drag. "(You know, I cannot believe how fucking quick this has all been.)" He reflected.
The bassist nodded, taking another swig of his beer. "(I know, right? I mean, how long ago was it we were in her garage,)" he said, pointing to Sophia. "(Jamming to Nirvana and Operation Ivy and shit after work. Now here we are, just finished a tour around the country.)" He finished with an accomplished grin plastered on his face.
Jacques was right. Backsliders had formed around a year and a half ago, covering grunge and punk songs before they began making their own material. Success had come quick and Louvel didn't think it was going to stop anytime soon. "(See, that guy I talked to was American. I think we could talk Thomas into setting up a US tour.)" Louvel replied.
Pierre shook his head, "(I dunno. I'd rather do a Europe tour first.)" Suddenly, he looked towards Louvel before then focusing on something behind him.
Someone tapped the vocalist on the shoulder. He turned around, finding the bartender standing behind him. "(Are you Louvel?)" She asked.
He nodded.
"(There's someone outside for you.)"
Louvel gave a confused glance to the rest of his band, who looked just as confused as him. "(Did they say who they were?)" He inquiried. Nobody had made plans to met up with other friends, so who could it be?
Perhaps it was a fan. If that was the case, Louvel wouldn't be too happy. He wanted to relax and have a beer uninterrupted.
"(Yeah, he said his name was Patrick.)"
"(Oh, Patrick!)" He smiled. He turned to the rest of the group, "(did you guys know he was back in town?)"
They shook their heads.
"(Yeah, I'll go get him. Thanks.)" Louvel told the bartender, taking a quick drag on his cigarette before getting up from his chair. He made his way across the bar, exiting through the front door. The cool night air was a welcomed change from the somewhat stuffy, smokey bar. Outside, however, Patrick was nowhere to be found.
"(Patrick, are you there?)" Louvel called out, looking around. Suddenly, there was a noise from the nearby alley. It was a violent crash, followed by a thud as something hit the concrete. Quickly, he turned the corner and ventured further into the alley. It was dark and dingy, he grimaced at the sour stench of the place.
"(Hey Patrick, are you-)"
He suddenly stumbled, having hit his foot off of something. For a second he thought it was a brick, but its surface felt far too uneven to be one - even a broken one. Louvel looked down. At his feet was a lump of metal. It was fairly large, with a strange appearance. It looked like it was covered in soot.
Louvel had never seen anything like it before. Out of curiosity, he picked it up with both hands to examine it further. Suddenly, his skin felt like it was burning and he dropped the metal. It landed with a loud thud. The vocalist cursed, balling his hands into tight fists. It felt like had had just placed both of his hands of a stovetop.
All of a sudden, his body felt light as a feather and he could smell smoke. It was such an odd sensation, like his body was breaking apart and he was being pulled. Louvel then gasped in pain, stumbling backwards and leaning against a wall for support. A sharp pain had erupted from his chest, unlike anything he had felt before. He placed a hand over his chest, pulling it back and finding his palm covered in blood.
Louvel slid down the wall, landing in a crumpled heap on the ground. He didn't understand why all his strength had suddenly left him or why he felt so exhausted. Just before he closed his eyes, slumping over in the alley.
Had he just been shot? He wondered before going gently into that good night.
...
"Only two more to go."
"You know, I don't trust him."
"Why not?"
"How do we know we're not just picking random people off? How do we know he's holding up his end of the deal?"
"We just have to have faith in him. Like, what does he gain from lying to us?"
"Not much, I suppose. Still, there's something up."
"We can't fix things here, the world's been broken for far too long, but by doing this we can actually make things work! I just wish it didn't need to be so. . .violent, though. If there was some other way to do this, he would've told us."
"...So, where's the next one."
"Moscow."
