Sound Check
Anna loves drumming but three weeks into her band’s latest tour, she’s ready to quit the rock and roll life for good.
by K.C. Shaw
This story first appeared on The Voice of Dog on October 8, 2020. It's also available in Shaw's story collection, Catfish and Other Stories.
Anna slumped against the bus window and stared at the unmoving traffic. She wasn’t sure what city they were in and didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to yell “Helloooo Tulsa! Are you ready to rock?” that evening. She was just the drummer.
The bus had been in standstill traffic for over twenty minutes, and to make things worse, the AC in the rear lounge was out. The band and their tour manager were crammed into the small front lounge where it was slightly cooler.
Anna’s plans for the afternoon drained away with every passing minute. She wouldn’t have time for a long walk to stretch her legs, wouldn’t have time to find a coffee shop and spend an hour in blissful solitude.
“We’re going to miss sound check,” Jasmine said in a flat, angry voice. She raked her fluffy fur with her claws as though that would help cool her down.
Even sweaty and grouchy, the singer was gorgeous. With their guitarist, Evie, slouching next to her the pair might as well be posing for the cover of a music magazine. Jasmine’s black-tufted lynx ears and the vivid black streaks in her pale coat matched the black face stripes of Evie’s pronghorn markings.
Anna thought about getting her camera out of the backpack at her feet, thought about just opening the camera on her phone. But it seemed like too much trouble.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” Charlotte said. She looked at their manager. “Right, Gavin? Lots of time?”
Charlotte was the band’s bass player, a petite bear with black fur like rough velvet. Ordinarily she and Anna were besties, friends since high school, but today Anna found herself irritated at the whiny note in the bear’s voice.
“We’re fine,” their manager said without looking up from his phone. Jasmine narrowed her eyes as though about to go for the fox’s throat.
Anna sighed. She just wanted a few hours all to herself. She thought of the coffee shop she still hoped to find, where she could sip a caramel latte in anonymity. Unless she was with the band, no one looked twice at her. Half the time she was mistaken for a scruffy wolf or some kind of dog, unless they were out west where coyotes were common.
She peered at the flat horizon beyond the five-lane interstate and what looked like a bunch of warehouses. They might really be in Tulsa.
The bus jerked as the driver put it in gear. It eased forward—barely walking pace, but farther than they’d moved in almost half an hour now. The band cheered.
For a moment Anna felt good. Then the bus stopped again.
Five minutes later Evie said, “Oh my God, Jazz, did you see the review of our show last night? This condescending guy called us a girl group!”
Anna rubbed her forehead. She was getting a headache.
***
They missed sound check. After three weeks on the road the sound crew had everything dialed in, so the band didn’t really need a sound check—but of course Jasmine and Evie complained to Gavin. Anna hung back until they were done venting and had left to find the green room, then said to Gavin, “That’s why we pay you the big bucks.”
He didn’t smile, just said, “Remind the others we’ve got a reporter on the way who wants to talk to all of you.”
“Radio or TV?” Anna asked.
“Local podcaster. Radio is later, at six. Tell Jasmine the podcaster is a big fan.”
Anna left to share the news that instead of relaxing with a drink, they all needed to be presentable and on their best behavior for the rest of the afternoon.
But it was part of the job and they were professionals. Jasmine took the news with barely a sigh. “Fine, but I’m showering as soon as the podcaster’s gone and if there are no towels, I’m going to piss in everyone’s bunk tonight.”
“We’re in a hotel tonight,” Evie said with a smirk. She popped something in her mouth and chewed loudly.
Charlotte had already showered and was frantically blow-drying her fur, standing stark naked under the air conditioning unit. “Don’t eat ice, Evie. It’s bad for your teeth.”
In answer, Evie popped another chunk of ice into her mouth and chewed even more loudly.
Anna found she had no patience today for her bandmates’ usual banter. She didn’t even want a latte anymore. She just wanted to go home. She left the green room and wandered around backstage, getting in the way of the road crew.
“Anna, there you are!” Gavin sounded cheerful, although his wide fox’s grin was slightly forced. “Our podcaster is here for that interview.” A blond dog stood beside him, her fur falling in elegant waves down her neck from silky, lapped-over ears. Anna was surprised at her sudden blaze of resentment.
She schooled her face into a welcoming smile. The dog wore a T-shirt from their first tour six years ago, and a knee-length black skirt that billowed as she wagged her tail in excitement. Anna’s resentment faded into pity. The poor dog had probably spent all day deciding what to wear and fixing her fur, only to be met by the drummer, who was in a filthy mood.
“Pleased to meet you,” Anna said. “The others are still getting ready. They won’t be long.”
Before the dog could respond, Jasmine bounded up to them as though she had all the energy in the world, with Evie close behind. Charlotte followed, dressed now but still damp around the ears.
Anna stood with the others while they answered the podcaster’s questions. The dog was a good interviewer, at least. She didn’t fall back on the usual “Tell us about your new album” and “How’s your tour been so far?” Unfortunately, almost all of her questions were for Jasmine and Evie, with an occasional polite question for the whole band.
Anna’s mind wandered. She’d bought an actual house six months ago—nothing extravagant; they weren’t superstars or anything, but their last few albums had done really well and she actually had money for once. Her two-bedroom cottage backed up to a wooded area with hiking trails. With a job that kept her surrounded by people, Anna craved solitude whenever she could get it. She wished she was walking in the forest right now, through dappled sun and shade, with just enough of a breeze to keep her cool.
The interviewer said, “I saw a review this morning that called you a girl group. Do you get that kind of dismissive attitude often?”
“All the time,” Jasmine said with a snarl. “No one calls Metallica a boy band. They’d be laughed out of the room if they did, but just because we’ve got a female drummer suddenly we’re a girl group.”
“It’s all my fault,” Anna said with a smile.
“It’s the patriarchy’s fault!” Jasmine struck an angry pose—probably unconsciously—and Gavin snapped a couple of pictures.
Next tour they’d probably rate a band photographer, if their next album did as well as this new one.
Anna sighed quietly. Maybe she wouldn’t be on the next tour. Maybe this was her last one. Maybe she’d retire from music entirely and get a real job—doing what, she didn’t know, but her parents would be happy.
She was relieved when Jack, her drum technician, approached the group with a diffident set to his ears. She gave the interviewer a smile and broad wave that she hoped conveyed regret that she had to duck out for a really important issue with her gear.
“Hey, Jack,” she said as soon as they were out of earshot. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.
“No no no no no! I was bored solid. Something wrong with the kick pedal?”
Jack was holding the pedal in both paws. He was a dog of indeterminate breed, as different from the golden-furred interviewer as Anna was. His brown and white fur had wiry guard hairs like a terrier, but his big triangular ears looked plush and his tail was almost as fluffy as Gavin’s. He was soft-spoken and soft-eyed, a little jowly, and only Charlotte knew that Anna was desperately in love with him. Since Jack was happily married with two pups, she kept her feelings to herself.
Besides, a really good drum tech was worth his weight in gold. She didn’t want to risk losing him.
“I thought something felt off earlier so I took a closer look,” he said. “See what’s wrong?”
He held the pedal out to her. She frowned at it. “What am I looking for? It seems okay.”
“Here.” He pointed with a stubby-clawed finger. “The beater shaft.”
“Is it bent? I should have a spare.”
Jack chuckled. Anna’s tail gave a wag without her meaning to. “The beater shaft is fine.” He unscrewed it to show her. “I don’t know how you managed it, but the beater hub is bent out of whack. I tried pushing it back into place but it won’t budge.”
Anna poked at the hub, which now that she looked at it did appear askew. No way she had done that; someone must have dropped it, and possibly then ran over it with a truck. “Is there a music store in town? I can run out and pick up a new pedal,” she said.
“The promoter’s gone to look through the house gear. If they have a decent pedal, that’ll get us through tonight.”
A tall buck with antlers in velvet approached. He was wearing a neat black suit and stood out as a result among the roadies and musicians. He was definitely Evie’s type. Anna wondered if they’d met yet, and remembered the pronghorn’s smirk when she mentioned they were in a hotel tonight instead of sleeping on the bus. Yeah, they’d probably met.
The buck said, “I found two pedals. Will either work?”
Anna took them both. “We’ll try them out, thanks.”
Her drum kit was on a riser onstage, gleaming under the bright house lights. Jack knelt stiffly to attach one of the pedals to the bass drum. “Okay, try this one out.”
Anna slid onto the throne, and as always when she sat behind her kit onstage, she had a moment of pure excitement. She wanted to grab her sticks and fill the venue with noise.
But her band didn’t go on until eight, which meant several hours of waiting—and not hours she could spend on her own, either. If she was lucky she’d still have time for a short walk and a latte somewhere nearby, but more likely she’d be doing interviews and meet-and-greets until their set started.
She tried both pedals and settled on the Speed King. “Good choice,” Jack said, getting up with a grunt. “My first pedal was a Speed King. I’ve always liked Ludwig.”
Anna’s ears pricked with interest. Jack didn’t talk much about his drumming, although she’d heard him play and he was good. “When was that? I’m trying to picture puppy Jack and can’t.”
He laughed. “Long before you were born, that’s for sure. I think we’re all set here. I’ll call ahead to Tulsa tomorrow morning and make sure we’ve got a replacement pedal waiting when we arrive.”
“Oh, I thought we were in Tulsa right now.” Anna followed him into the wings. “Hey, Jack. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Anna looked around for somewhere quiet enough for a conversation, without luck. Backstage at even a small concert was nonstop chaos. “You did a lot of touring back in the day, right?” she asked him.
“A fair bit, yeah.”
“How did you deal with the burnout?”
Jack looked thoughtful. “I just kept my head down and did my job. That’s all you can do, really. I tried not to party too much, tried to get enough sleep.”
Good advice, maybe, but not what Anna wanted. She waved a paw in frustration, trying to find the right way to phrase her question. “I mean—I guess I want to know why you decided to become a drum tech after you quit touring. You have even worse hours than the band does but you don’t get the high of playing.”
Jack gave her a wry smile. “I didn’t quit touring on purpose, hon. It just happened. My band broke up about the time my oldest was born, so I didn’t hurry to find a new gig. A friend asked me to tech for his kid’s band a few years later and it turns out I really enjoy it. Low stress and I get to listen to great music every night.”
“Don’t you miss playing, though?” Anna asked. “It’s the only thing that makes touring worth it for me—and I’m not sure it’s enough anymore.”
Jack’s smile this time was kind and a little sad. “It’s the highs and lows that wear you out. You pour your soul out onstage, then crash afterwards and wonder why you’re so tired all the time.”
“Yeah,” Anna said quietly.
***
Late that night, after their show, Anna relaxed with her bandmates in the green room. It was their usual post-show ritual. They drank beer and ate whatever food Gavin had brought in, and people dropped by to talk about the show. Some of them were fans with backstage passes won from local radio stations, some were members of the sound and light crews checking in, some were label reps or promoters or fellow musicians in town—a parade of strangers who came to wish them well.
After one beer, Anna switched to water. It was easy to get dehydrated on the road. She put her feet up on the battered coffee table and let the show’s musical high mellow into a weary contentment.
Before long, though, the talk and commotion started to grate on her nerves. She just wanted to be alone. She found Gavin flirting with the blond podcaster, who was clearly having the best day of her life. Anna hated to interrupt.
“How far is our hotel, Gavin? Walking distance?”
He glanced at her. “Hm? Oh, it’s about half a mile away. Turn right on the main road and walk until you see a Days Inn.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out key cards in little paper sleeves. “Here’s yours. Luggage in your room. I’ve already emailed tomorrow’s day sheet. Bus call is at eight.”
Anna thanked him, but he had already turned back to the podcaster. Anna caught herself smiling as she left the green room.
Instead of ducking out the nearest exit, she went through the venue to the front doors. There were always fans waiting at the door nearest the bus, hoping to talk to the band or at least see them. She’d rather avoid them.
A raccoon was wiping down the bar while a greyhound counted the cash drawers efficiently. Neither of them gave Anna more than a cursory glance. The entrance was locked, but after Anna rattled at it a few times a ginger tabby cat hurried in to unlock it for her.
Anna stepped outside with relief. A few groups of people still stood outside, laughing and talking together, but no one even looked at her. Happily anonymous, she walked down the street by herself.
The hot day had turned into a mild, cool night. The breeze brought an exciting combination of smells to Anna’s nose, from truck exhaust to cooking food, with the chilly scent of impending rain behind it all. As she walked, she felt her tension ease.
Her ears twitched at the sound of light footsteps running toward her. She turned, ears flattened and lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl. But instead of a mugger, a young mountain lion stumbled to a halt nearby.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” the girl said. She had the slender, long-legged appearance of a teenager—surely too young to be out so late, Anna thought. “Um, could I get your autograph?”
Anna forced her hackles to settle and her ears to unfold. “Sure. I didn’t mean to growl. It’s been a long day.” She accepted the pocket-sized autograph book the mountain lion handed her, and took out the Sharpie pen she always carried.
The autograph book looked vintage, its cover decorated with stylized daisies in mustard yellow and avocado green. The edges of the cover were worn and the pages felt loose when Anna turned them. The ink on the signatures was faded.
“Was this your mom’s or something?” Anna asked, interested despite herself.
“No, I found it in an antique shop. I don’t know who any of those people are. Actors, maybe.”
Anna read an inscription in elegant, old-fashioned handwriting: “To Mandy, my #1 fan. Keep the faith, sweetheart.”
“I wish my handwriting was that nice,” Anna said. She found a blank page about halfway through. “What’s your name? Not Mandy, I hope.”
The mountain lion laughed. “I go by Izzy. Um, could you write something about drumming? I’m a drummer too. I mean, I’m not as good as you are but I practice a lot. I just started a band with a couple of friends.” Izzy twisted one foot behind her other ankle in an awkward, nervous gesture.
Anna smiled. “It’s always good to meet another drummer, especially female.”
Izzy twisted her paws together too. “You were the reason I started taking drum lessons. I’d never seen a girl drummer before you.”
Anna wrote, “To Izzy, my #1 fan. Keep the faith, sweetheart.” Then, still smiling, she marked “faith” out and wrote “beat.” After a moment’s hesitation she added another sentence: “Never forget why you started playing drums.”
She signed her name and handed the autograph book back before the mountain lion twisted herself entirely into a pretzel. Izzy stammered her thanks, grinning so widely she showed all her teeth.
Anna continued her walk to the hotel. No one else bothered her.
Instead of thinking about home, Anna’s thoughts ran ahead to Tulsa, Detroit, Vancouver, Portland, and dozens more cities. If they kept getting good crowds, the tour might continue for the better part of a year.
The thought didn’t dismay her anymore. Instead, she thought of a hundred venues across the world. She thought of a hundred girls like Izzy, picking up drumsticks for the first time because they saw her play.
She was humming cheerfully when she reached the hotel.