The Tolerance Wars - 6
no simple answers
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begin at the beginning—Chapter 1
The Tolerance Wars
6.
no simple answers
I didn’t see sparechange again for a couple of days. I still wasn’t sure what to think. About anything, really. Situation normal. When I did see him it was just in passing, nothing special, he gave me the nod as I was on my way back to my place after hitting the market. Come to think of it I hadn’t seen any of the three wise guys neither. Mind you my scientist friend was on her way over so all bets were off. She sure didn’t seem like the type to be getting this kind of attention. Whatever type that was. Whatever this attention was. Nope, no idea what to think.
“So don’t.” I said to myself as I unlocked the door. “That’s easy for you to say.” Came my immediate reply as I made my way up the stairs. I figure if you’re gonna talk to yourself the least you can do is answer, it’s only polite.
The system was hot and the coffee was just coming online when she arrived. “So you alright?”
“I’m okay,” she smiled, and I almost believed her. “It’ll be good to get some work done, at least while this project is still paying me something. And after that maybe I’ll go work for a nice quiet hospital, where things almost never blow up. You’re sure this isn’t an inconvenience?”
“No, I’ve moved all the tunes I have to for the moment, every mix is out the door. Now I wait for the reviews. People will tell me they hate what I’ve done, but they have no idea how they would change it. After a bit they’ll get used to how it sounds. A little while later the sheer genius of it all overwhelms them, at which point they become convinced that every note was their idea in the first place. That’s what makes them a producer. Which is why they get paid the big bucks. That I don’t really care whose idea it was as long as it sounds good is what makes me a musician. And usually a friend of the band. Which is why I don’t get paid at all. This is why they call it the music industry. No one notices that’s an oxymoron. Mostly because producers can’t spell. Or count.”
“You don’t mind all of that?”
“Hey I’ll put up with every last two-bit dork who thinks he’s an artistic genius, if it helps sister who’s actually got the goods put it together. See there ain’t no manual out there when you’re first figuring it out. So I do what I can to act as a guide while she gets her feet under her. A little luck, a little smart, a little work and she’s steady enough to know what she wants to do and how. Arm the people and let ‘em loose. That’s how you make art.”
“That’s pretty solid of you.”
“Nah, anybody’d do the same. Besides that way I get to stand at ground zero when art is born and the big bang happens.” She flinched. “Sorry, stupid choice of words.”
“No, it was beautiful. I guess I’m still not quite normal.”
“Suits me, you’ll fit in fine around here. System’s up, connection’s hot. And coffee’s on. D’you wanna play?”
We got her started and I took up a bunch of the couch in the front room so she could do what she had to. You spend enough time helping people be creative you learn that half the job is knowing when to turn invisible and let them do what they do. The other half is making sure there’s food and water. And knowing how to offer a break without making it a demand. Trouble was, I knew how to gauge time for an artist. But this was science. So I had no clue. I chilled and watched the parade while I ran chords in my head.
After a couple of hours she surfaced. “I don’t suppose there’s any more of that coffee?”
“I can make, won’t take a second. You gonna roll back into it, or are you on a break?”
“I should keep at it a while longer, if you don’t mind.”
“Hey, no problem. Java’s a house speciality. And I deliver. Go do what you do.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and went back into the bat cave. Yeah, I was starting to like that smile. Not necessarily a good thing. Note to self—get a grip. I made for the kitchen, but something out the front window caught my attention. What exactly? There. Yup, our blond friend sitting on the bench down the street. Nothing subtle about this guy. Maybe that was the point. Nope, no idea what to think. So I made coffee.
By the middle of the afternoon she was done enough to call it quits for now. “Get enough time to make a difference?”
“I think so.” She nodded and took a bite. I’d hit the bakery on my way home and scrounged enough fixings to be able to make a decent sandwich. So we were back by the window watching the parade. No sign of mister secure, so I didn’t mention. Apparently he takes a late lunch too. “Although I’m still not sure what to do about the data I’m missing.”
“Your fishing friend?”
“He’s not my friend, he’s a colleague. But yes, he’s still offline. And the other has been confirmed dead. Although reports are now that it was an accident.”
“You don’t seem broken up.”
“I’d never met the man. Sad anytime a human life is lost, of course. But it’s hard to feel grief when it’s not really a person somehow. I know that sounds callous…”
“Sounds pretty normal to me. And isn’t that exactly what the war business is built on? Kinda depends on us being wired that way, no?”
“What do you mean?”
“War needs people’s support. But normal people don’t kill people. No how no way. Anybody who tells you different is trying to sell you something, probably guns or insurance. So I figure the war business has two choices. Turn the enemy into evil monsters. Or anonymous statistics. Either way it’s not a person. So yeah it’s hard for us to feel grief. And easier for them to do business. We feel better, they make money. Everybody wins.” Okay, maybe a little cynical even for me. But I was getting tired of every day hearing skunkass politicians butcher geography so they could ram a bunch of hate down our throats just to help their gunrunning buddies make a killing. Where’s the love in that?
Yeah, I know, I should learn to say what I really mean instead of dancing around things like that. Maybe one day.
“I mean, whether it’s war or religion, isn’t it all about how we treat the other person? And mostly how we treat them really sucks.” I was staring out the window, not really talking to anyone. Not angry. Mostly just sad. Looking for clues. Finding none.
“You really believe that don’t you?”
“I’ll tell you what I don’t believe. Any scumbucket who lobbies hard for hate and then ducks behind ‘support our troops’ for cover. Used to be they could just wrap themselves in their favourite flag. Then we got smarter. So now they’re using human shields. And that’s vile no matter how you slice it. No, anybody who does that I most specifically do not believe. Nothin’ they say. Nothin’ they do. Did I mention scumbucket?”
There was quiet for a while. That was a long riff, even for me. I was still staring out the window, the afternoon sun was shining across the street. Neither of us moved. I guess she blinked first, I was still gone. She said, “So what do you believe in?”
“Really?” I saw her nod in the reflection. “Love.” It hung in the air for a moment. Then I shook my head. “And if that’s not the most foolish thing I’ve ever said I don’t know what is.”
“Why is it foolish?”
“Because after a million songs, and a bazillion choruses, and a gajillion jingles, we’re drowning in it. Love is plastered all over everything, mostly things we’re supposed to want to own real bad. So now we have no clue what it means.”
“And what do you think it means?”
“Genuinely caring for the other person. What it’s not about is ownership.” I took a breath, time to break the mood or this was gonna get serious. Oh no, too late. “But what do I know? I once said that Ringo was one of the greatest rock and roll drummers of all time. Which is why I stopped doing drugs.”
“Really?”
“No, but it makes people laugh. Which is a helpful skill to have. Gives you a bit of distance, then we can look at things all new again.” I stood up and grabbed my plate. “You want another? It could happen.”
“No, that was perfect, thanks. And I’m sure I’ve been enough of an inconvenience in your day. I should go.”
“Hey no bother, no worries. I got to sit still and play tunes in my head for a couple of hours. So now I’ve got two new arrangements, and one loopy groove I think the guys are gonna dig. Never would’ve taken the time if I’d been on the system. Worked out fine.”
“You do all that in your head?”
“Sure. The instrument’s just for gettin’ it out to other people. Your heart’s where you write. Besides if you compose with an instrument in your hands you’re gonna be limited by how well you can play. Your imagination doesn’t have those limits. So I try to get it solid inside of me first. When it’s solid, that’s when I grab something and start making noise.” I shrugged, no big deal. Anyone could do all that given enough time and inclination. “Mind you the problem is I’m forever writing things I can’t play. I’m just not that good a player. So I end up scrambling to keep up with myself. Good thing I have talented friends.” I stopped and blinked. “Man, I am talking way too much. Good thing you have to go.” I scooped her plate and made for the sink.
She laughed and raised her voice over the running water. “And why’s that?”
“Because I’m way funnier in short bursts.” From the kitchen.
“Funny is nice. Serious is good, too. Having both is best.” I stepped back into the front room. She stood up. “You’re right, though, I should go. Thanks. For everything.”
“Glad to help, sister. Come back when you need to.” I led the way down the stairs and opened the door. “No big deal, you’d do the same for me.”
She stood in the doorway for a second and looked at me. I held myself very still. “Maybe I would.” There was that smile again. I had no idea what to say, so I gave her a hug and kicked her out into the sunny day. Then I went back upstairs to try and sort my thoughts out. Good luck.
I sat down in front of my box and hit the screen. Figured I’d do a bit of system maintenance, nothing like housecleaning to help you get your head straight. What can I say, I like doing chores. Chop wood, Carry water, make fire. The guys always said I’d make somebody a good wife one day. Like that’s gonna happen.
I was only a few minutes into cleanup when I saw it. At first I thought it was a bit of software I hadn’t shut down properly, but all of my stuff checked out. Then I figured it was something my friend had left dangling. Well whatever the reason I’d done this before, whether it was a legitimate piece of software or a virus or a keylogger or some other bad-vibe device, the drill was the same. So I wiped the system, called in the backups, threw in my tweaks, et voilà! Good as new.
Except it wasn’t. There it was again. No idea what it was, but it sure was persistent. After two more restarts and still no joy I figured it was time to rattle my man. Despite what my fellow musicians think, I’m only a part time geek, my guru would know what was up. So I sent him a note asking for help, left the system on autopilot so he could poke around, and let it go. I was out of my depth, so worrying about it wasn’t going to fix things any faster. Once he sorted it buddy would clue me in.
So i walked away from it and started to get my brain wrapped around that night’s gig. By suppertime I’d pretty much forgotten about the box and had my focus where it needed to be. Tunes and grooves. My gear was already down at the club, so I slung my guitar and headed down early so I could grab a bite. By the time I was finished the rest of the happy gang was wandering in.
We had a pretty solid crew that night. The lovely and talented wonder boy McShane on guitar, Waits playing bass, that’d be me holding down the rhythm on the backline, we’d managed to convince the good doctor T to haul his leslie down so we’d have that classic piece of rotating joy with him playing the organ, and you couldn’t ask for anyone better than Josie to be working the kit woman could rock hard and stop on a dime. Most wondrous of all sitting in on sax we had mister Bill Lennie, Leonard to his friends. He’d been on the road for a long stretch, finally got time off for good behaviour bought a house and settled down. A lifetime playing because he had to pay the bills, “And now I play when I want to.” Which was most of the time, but every musician I knew understood the difference.
Oh yeah this was gonna be some fun.
It took a while to get everyone set up with enough room to work, but this was a cheerful bunch so eventually it sorted out, with much laughter in the meantime. There was a buzz in the room no question. I nodded to Josie. Always thought it was a good thing she liked me, otherwise she’d have me for breakfast.
She grinned. “Haven’t seen you in a while, you ever learn to play that thing?”
“Just as bad as ever. Happily they let me stand back here with the real musicians, so everyone thinks I know what i’m doing.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
A laughed and turned to my amp, dialled in a sound, mellow and round, with just a hint of bite, there’d be time to step it out later, and checked in with the rest of the gang. McShane was ready to crank the guitar on demand, but for now our man of infinite solos was hanging out with the rest of us workin’ stiffs on the backline. For the moment we weren’t looking to the singer neither, she was off the side and ready. No, it was up to the divine mister B to set the tone. And he didn’t disappoint. The man waited for us to pay attention, took one slow turn around the stage, finally came to stand in the centre facing us with his back to the crowd, closed his eyes for a second. Nobody moved. Felt like forever. Then it came.
“Three shots, hit me!” Bam. Bam. Bam. Ain’t nothin’ like a whole band whackin’ you upside the head to get your full attention. Leonard played a mean sax, and like tenors throughout history he made you sit up and take notice from the word. And the word was wail. We set up a tight groove, red hot and rolling, and the man whipped around and rocked the joint. Two bars in and the people were howling with delight. We’re on the move, let’s open ‘er up and see what she’ll do. This was not gonna be an easy night, nope, long and hard, but worth every minute.
Leonard ran us through the changes twice to set the tone. Then like a true gentleman he made the perfect space for Tony and that amazing voice stepped into place, effortless and right on time. “What you want?” the focus was on the vocals, where it belonged for now, the man went and stood beside McShane so they could do the horn shots together. “What you need?” Sax, guitar and organ answered two times. “What you want?” Two more hits and we tightened up the groove even more, impossible not to move, the crowd started jumping. “Tell me!” Sax hit it hard and wailed in the space, seamless and everyone into the shots again, two times. We took it around the turn and rode it head down and rockin’, then came the payoff. “what you need?” Full stop, everybody, no count.
“Respect, yeah!!” The people roared and we took off at full throttle. Let there be freakin’ light.
It just wasn’t possible but somehow we kept that energy going for what seemed like forever, maybe more. Hot grooves, wailing sax, righteous sounds. It was a wild night. Leonard and Tony pushing one another harder and higher. And just when you thought there’d be a break so you could breathe McShane would step up to the plate and send out a solo make you scream with joy. I remember looking up at one point seeing a houseful of happy moving to a groove supplied by some of the finest people I’d ever had the privilege of playing with. Yeah, I thought, I could die now and be content. But first, maybe just a couple more tunes.
When it was over I had a buzz going felt like it’d take weeks to come down. That’s one of the reasons I always work straight, ain’t no sense in spoiling this kinda feeling. Nothin’ but a waste. It was going to take a few hours to settle back to normal, so I packed it up and stowed it, said g’nite to the crew, hugs all round, and took off into the night to shake it out.
It’s a thing every player knows, coming down after a heavy night. And everyone deals with it different. Some folks party until they drop, some find a dance partner for the night and work it off in sweat, I’d known a couple of poor souls were scared by it so much they’d sit down and drink and wouldn’t stop until they passed out cold. Me I’d take off and walk until i started to feel human again. Happily the town was always quiet at that time of night, once you got out of the party zone. Meant that after an hour or so I’d shaken out enough adrenaline to feel like i could at least sit still for a while. Sleep would come later.
It wasn’t until I got home and walked upstairs that I remembered my problems with the box. I knew he’d still be up so I rang my man. Was true, he picked up on the first ring.
“I was wondering when you’d call.”
“Yeah man, was a solid night, so now I’m back home and consulting my friend of infinite wisdom. What’s the good word?”
“Bad news, friend. What you got is made just for the occasion. Looks like someone’s got a special interest in you, and at the moment you are hot, hot, hot. This is not good. You taken up any hobbies I should know about?”
Frankly I had absolutely no idea what to say.
Some days there are no simple answers.
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