Debut, p.22
Debut, page 22
“What happens in these labor camps?” asked Erin.
June was too wrecked to respond. She leaned into Sun-hee’s shoulder and sobbed.
Grace took it upon herself to answer. “Nothing good, Erin. Hard, dangerous physical labor, long hours, lack of food, no medicine, exposure to the elements, torture, abuse, you name it.” Heather angrily but silently urged silence for June’s sake. Grace complied, but not without finishing her thought by miming a throat-slitting motion to indicate death, taking care to prevent June from seeing her gesture.
“That’s a perfect example of how birthplace can determine your fate,” said Sun-hee.
Rehearsal was over for the night. Grace offered rides home to anyone who needed them. “Remember, we have the music festival this weekend.”
20
SO PUNK ROCK
To his credit, Arnie had scored a big booking. Made in Heaven’s most significant thus far. The fact that he kept the details to himself should have raised red flags, but Heather was too excited to care. The group had been signed to play a festival ‘somewhere in the desert,’ according to their manager. While Heather initially conjured up visions of Coachella, she was admittedly relieved to hear Arnie describe it as ‘smaller than that.’ Much as she would like to believe they were ready for the epic magnitude of the Indio festival, the reality was quite the opposite. On the other hand, she hoped wherever they were headed was more substantial than a couple of amateur bands in a city park.
“I didn’t know the trip would take this long,” she said. Heather had lobbied for an early start so they’d have time to settle their nerves before going on stage. However, traffic through the Cajon Pass was heavier than expected, and their rented van had only reached the vicinity of Victorville. Arnie explained they had another forty minutes to go before their destination. Steve, who had come along eager to demonstrate his support, grimaced noticeably whenever Arnie spoke.
This particular show worried Heather for practical reasons. For the first time, the band and the dance units would perform one after the other. June and Vanessa were to sing backup during the band portion while joining the complete dance unit later. Heather was concerned about switching from wired mics to a wireless set. The group lacked the proper equipment to practice transitions. The sound crew would not be familiar with their act. Plus, their only two dances were rudimentary and largely imitative. “Feel the Heat” was not ready for debut yet. Vanessa had only recently made her membership official and dance rehearsals had been few and far between for the other songs. Plenty could go wrong.
As the van approached the festival grounds, traffic slowed to crawl. From appearances, it seemed like a family affair. Pedestrians walked alongside the road carrying backpacks, portable chairs, and coolers while shepherding their children away from traffic. Vehicles were being herded onto vast expanses of grass that rose from the parched desert soil as if by miracle.
“So many people here,” remarked Erin.
“This is exciting,” said Mindy.
“Yeah,” said Heather unenthusiastically, fearing a myriad of possibilities.
The van reached the parking entrance, where Arnie asked for directions. As they made their way to the designated artists’ area, Steve, too, appeared increasingly anxious. “What type of music festival did you say this was, Arnie?”
“Who cares? It pays.” Arnie no longer made much of an effort to hide his contempt for Steve.
They passed by a large sign which Heather read aloud, “High Desert Lighthouse Festival.”
Steve assessed the surroundings, unusually alert. “Arnie, when did you last see a lighthouse in the desert?”
He looked at the group in the rearview mirror. “I dunno. It’s sort of poetic, doncha think? Why you gotta get on my case for? It’s a festival, ain’t it?”
Erin seemed to vibe on Steve’s wavelength. She, too, grew increasingly nervous as they proceeded to their designated parking spot. “Are you thinking what I am?” She whispered to him
“I’ll let you know once we’re inside.”
After parking and unloading, they were met by a volunteer who directed them to the staging area. A large tent had been erected as a makeshift general ready room. Inside, a host of musicians were engaged in tasks ranging from rehearsals to prepping equipment to napping. Interaction between groups was limited. Large floor fans were blowing at both ends of the structure to improve air circulation, but it remained uncomfortably warm inside. The Made in Heaven troop was met with curious stares as they occupied their assigned space, which consisted of a group of chairs and a table close to the porta-potty entrance.
“Diverse group, I see,” said Mindy.
Heather analyzed the room, noting a sea of exclusively white faces. “We’re not in L.A. anymore.”
Steve left to scout the scene. In the meantime, Heather reviewed the setlist and monitored the well-being of her bandmates. Mindy demonstrated a series of calming breathing exercises to the girls. Her experience was precious in moments like this. When Steve returned, he motioned for the group to gather in a circle. Speaking in hushed tones to deter eavesdroppers, he said, “Um, Houston, we have a problem.”
“This is Made in Heaven; were you expecting anything less?” said Mindy.
“I had a feeling something was off when we arrived,” Steve continued. “This isn’t your average, everyday music festival. It’s run by a shady televangelist operation that’s been sued for fraud. Apart from normal stuff like placing a high premium on family friendliness —” He paused to let a group of festival officials pass without raising suspicion. “They also milk the prosperity gospel for fun and profit. Tax-free, I might add.”
Grace sighed.
“What have we gotten ourselves into?” asked Mindy.
“Whattaya worried about? You don’t have any offensive material,” countered Arnie.
“You’re missing the point, genius,” said Grace. “Let me spell it out for you. We’re not a Christian music band. What do you think’s gonna happen when we start singing about cheating boyfriends?”
“Not to mention we’re helping millionaires beg social security checks out of retirees,” said Vanessa.
“Can’t we simply leave before anyone notices?” suggested Erin nervously.
“No way,” said Arnie. “And forfeit the money? You’re in no spot to chuck a payday, let me tell you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not embarrassing yourself before hundreds who wonder why you’re even here in the first place,” said Grace.
“More like thousands, from the looks of it,” said Steve.
“Thanks for the reassurance.”
“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” said Arnie. “Here’s what you do. You’ve got love songs, right?”
“Yes,” said Heather.
“You’re called Made in Heaven, right?”
“Um, yeah,” said Grace suspiciously.
“Okay, you’re halfway there. Each time you sing ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart,’ just replace it with ‘Jesus’ or ‘Lord.’ And vee-o-la, instant Christian song.”
More groans. “Arnie, we can’t do that,” protested Erin.
“Why not? I bet you half the hacks here do the same thing already. They know a meal ticket when they see one. Besides, how many Korean speakers do ya see?”
“Five,” said Vanessa, looking around at her bandmates. When Erin scoffed, she added, “Okay, five and a half, tops.”
Steve jumped into the conversation. “I hate to admit this, but Arnie’s right with the money thing.”
“See,” responded Arnie proudly.
“Sure, it’s cynical and obviously not ideal, but his plan could work in a pinch, and this is looking like a tight one. Besides, the more money we take from their pockets, the less they’ll have available to expand their timeshare schemes in Boca or whatever.”
“We’ll have to scrap the dance portion, though,” Grace said. “I’m not sure how we’d change that in time.”
“What? No way,” protested Vanessa, “I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”
“Sorry, Nessa, but she’s right,” said Heather. “You and June will still be backup singers.”
“And the outfits?” asked Mindy.
“Uh, I didn’t consider that,” said Grace.
“You should tone it down a bit,” said Steve. “The miniskirt look will mark you as prostitutes with this crowd.”
Heather took offense. “Now, you sound like one of our trolls.”
“I’m not saying I agree; I’m telling it like it is. I was raised in an environment like this. Tell you what. I spotted a thrift store on the way into town. You have 90 minutes until showtime. Let me get your sizes, and I’ll hop over to see what I can find.” Lacking a better option, the girls agreed to Steve’s plan.
“How come I have a feeling we’ll burn in hell after this?” said Heather.
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Vanessa. “The thought of spending eternal life with these grifters is not the selling point they think it is,”
Heather rechecked the time. They were less than a quarter-hour away from showtime, and Steve hadn’t returned yet. The festival implemented a backline setup, which meant the band would simply have to plug in instruments and run a mic check. Unfortunately, the festival operators were competent, so the performances ran on schedule. They’d enjoy no slack.
As they stood shoulder to shoulder in a line near the stage waiting for their turn, a blonde, muscular, middle-aged male with a trim beard approached, looking irate. His monogrammed yellow dress shirt and black slacks identified him as a member of a large choir from Huntington Beach. He addressed Erin, who stood nearest but spoke loud enough for the rest to hear. “Someone spilled a tub of ketchup over by the generator. Instead of standing there useless, why don’t you do your job? Pronto! People are tracking it everywhere.”
Erin stared at him with her mouth open, pointing to her chest to ensure he was talking to her. The rest remained speechless, except for Vanessa, who was having none of it. She shot back from the far end of the line, “Hey, Chuck Norris, I have a better idea. How ‘bout you go lick it up yourself?”
The man looked horrified. He gestured with his arms as if pushing them away in disgust, then walked away. June looked perplexed. “Why did he say that?”
“I’ll give you one guess,” said Mindy. Before anyone could respond further, a harried stage manager implored them to remain in place. They were up soon. “It’s sweltering. I’m glad we don’t have to dance after all.”
To get her mind off the waiting, Heather reviewed the revised setlist. It was radically different (and shorter) than the one they had practiced. She quietly rehearsed the improvised lyric changes. Her concentration was interrupted when Steve arrived carrying two bags of clothing.
“I bought jeans. You can wear them with your current tops, and they’ll match. Let’s get to the dressing room.” He continued his explanation on the way. “Some sizes are bigger than you’d prefer, but I bought safety pins. You can wear our belts too. Arnie, give them your belt.” Their manager complied, but not without grumbling.
“Where are you going?” the stage manager asked when he saw them walking away from the stage.
“We’ll be right back,” said Grace.
“You better be, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Too late for that,” chimed Vanessa.
Minutes later, the girls emerged from the dressing room wearing their improvised outfits. Mindy and Sun-hee looked distraught. “Must we do this? I look awful,” said Sun-hee.
“This belt’s big enough to fit three of me,” added Mindy. Arnie glared at her with steel in his eyes.
“Don’t sweat it. Nobody’ll notice. You’ll both be in the back, anyway.” Steve helped pin the loose material as best as he could. “How ‘bout the rest of you?” There were no further complaints.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Grace.
When they returned to the stairs, the stage manager admonished them. “You’re cutting it close, don’t you think?”
“Sorry,” said Heather, using her aegyo skills to extract a smile from him. She had already assumed her onstage persona and was raring to go.
The MC finished his stage announcements. “Let’s hear it for our next group. Coming all the way from Japan, here’s Heaven Sent.”
Heather looked at Grace and shook her head in resignation. They didn’t have time to protest.
“Okay, you’re on,” said the stage manager.
“Rock the house!” shouted Steve.
The girls emerged to a smattering of applause. The stage was stifling. Despite the metal roof offering direct protection from the sun, both sides were enclosed, a design flaw that cut potential cross breezes down to a minimum. A massive, metal-bladed ceiling fan turned furiously above their heads but was woefully insufficient. The band members took their places, plugged in their gear, and plunked out a few chords. Mic checks followed. Heather assessed her group. Their smiling faces told her what she needed to know. Grace gave a perfunctory greeting, and they began.
The first number was “From That Day On.” Heather chose it because the song’s mellow vibe allowed the band to ease into the venue. It also didn’t hurt that the singing burden fell largely to Sun-hee and her. In terms of tone, the song could pass as a Christian song to anyone who wasn’t fluent in Korean, even without a change of lyrics. Grace’s guitar solo sounded better than ever. When it ended, the applause was polite, if not enthusiastic. The audience looked confused by the foreign lyrics.
The heat was getting to her bandmates. She, too, sweated and once had to dry her hands on the jeans before continuing.
“Celestial” was next. Heather rewrote the English lyrics to imply the song was about an angel instead of a physically attractive crush. The Korean parts remained unchanged. Her confidence grew when she realized their crazy plan was working. The song’s harder driving pace meant more work from the band. This time, their performance was not sharp. It bugged Heather that “Celestial” often sounded better in rehearsals than it did live. She encouraged Grace to extend their next intro to buy precious time for the girls to grab some water.
The third song was their newest one, “Back Off.” It required the most extensive alteration because it was a breakup song. Heather couldn’t settle on original lyrics she could live with and therefore took a straightforward approach by singing it entirely in Korean instead. The girls attacked the song with gusto. Easier to play than “Celestial,” their new music rocked. It was an enjoyable experience and was proving to be the best live performance they’d ever given.
Indeed, her moment of euphoria was the ideal time for disaster to strike.
The drumming stopped abruptly, followed by a loud bell-like clanging, then wood clattering on metal. Heather watched as Mindy’s drumsticks skittered right past, stopping just shy of rolling off the front edge of the stage.
“Goddammit. Fuck this bullshit!” shouted Mindy, forgetting the mic positioned right above her drum kit was live. The multi-thousand-watt PA system ensured every man, woman, and child in the amphitheater heard the outburst clearly.
As a result, the band’s playing ground to a disheartening halt. Heather looked over her shoulder, shocked to see the ceiling fan wobbling wildly as it worked to regain equilibrium. Mindy jumped from her seat and stomped to the front of the stage to retrieve her drumsticks. This walk of shame was compounded by the ridiculous need to prevent oversized jeans from slipping off, adding insult to injury. Mindy was furious. Her heavy clomping on the metal floor was magnified as the crowd watched silently, unsure how to respond. When passing by the mic stand, she shot Heather a sideways glance as if daring her to utter so much as a single word of admonishment.
Heather faced the audience with a weak smile. Parents had covered their children’s ears, and some were even ushering them from the venue. Most gave disapproving looks. A few people laughed.
“Say something,” urged Grace, leaning away from the mic in Heather’s direction.
“You say something.”
“You’re the leader.”
“Oh, so now I’m the leader. Gee, thanks.”
Before they could say something, Mindy returned to the drum set and, without warning, resumed right where she had left off. Surprised by the abruptness of her action, the band struggled to find their place again. After eight measures, they regained their form, but it didn’t matter by then. The PA volume was abruptly zeroed by the house engineer. Mindy’s unamplified drumming continued until the MC came on stage with his arms waving, forcing her to stop playing.
“All right, ladies, pack it up. Show’s over,” he said before stepping to the center mic as the engineer restored its original level. “We sincerely apologize for that. We’re having some…ah…technical difficulties, but we’ll be back in a few minutes. Please stick around. I assure you you’re going to love our next act. "
Heather was livid. She unplugged her guitar, threw the cable onto the stage floor, and skulked away, feeling like a pariah under the watchful eyes of the MC, the stage manager, and the crowd. Why does everything I touch turn to crap? she wondered.
“What the hell was that?” demanded Grace when they stepped off stage.
“I was sweating. They slipped,” Mindy responded.
“She was doing her stick-flipping thing again,” charged Vanessa. Mindy shot her a dirty look.
Arnie rushed over to the group, breathing heavily. “Argue later! Let’s go now before they want their money back!”
With Steve and Arnie’s help, the band members gathered their belongings. As they hastened from the tent, a musician from another band applauded and voiced his approval, “That was so punk rock. I’ve been wanting to say that for years.”
Upon reaching the van, they tossed their gear inside haphazardly. Heather remained ever vigilant should officials try to intercept them. Within minutes, Arnie was maneuvering the vehicle off the lot. They dared relax only when the festival grounds were well out of sight.
Heather was livid. Arnie had inflicted another one of his tone-deaf bookings on them without warning. But their manager saved his own skin the following day during dance practice. The news he shared was big enough to deflect all attention away from their disastrous festival appearance. “How’d you like to go on tour?” he asked.
June was too wrecked to respond. She leaned into Sun-hee’s shoulder and sobbed.
Grace took it upon herself to answer. “Nothing good, Erin. Hard, dangerous physical labor, long hours, lack of food, no medicine, exposure to the elements, torture, abuse, you name it.” Heather angrily but silently urged silence for June’s sake. Grace complied, but not without finishing her thought by miming a throat-slitting motion to indicate death, taking care to prevent June from seeing her gesture.
“That’s a perfect example of how birthplace can determine your fate,” said Sun-hee.
Rehearsal was over for the night. Grace offered rides home to anyone who needed them. “Remember, we have the music festival this weekend.”
20
SO PUNK ROCK
To his credit, Arnie had scored a big booking. Made in Heaven’s most significant thus far. The fact that he kept the details to himself should have raised red flags, but Heather was too excited to care. The group had been signed to play a festival ‘somewhere in the desert,’ according to their manager. While Heather initially conjured up visions of Coachella, she was admittedly relieved to hear Arnie describe it as ‘smaller than that.’ Much as she would like to believe they were ready for the epic magnitude of the Indio festival, the reality was quite the opposite. On the other hand, she hoped wherever they were headed was more substantial than a couple of amateur bands in a city park.
“I didn’t know the trip would take this long,” she said. Heather had lobbied for an early start so they’d have time to settle their nerves before going on stage. However, traffic through the Cajon Pass was heavier than expected, and their rented van had only reached the vicinity of Victorville. Arnie explained they had another forty minutes to go before their destination. Steve, who had come along eager to demonstrate his support, grimaced noticeably whenever Arnie spoke.
This particular show worried Heather for practical reasons. For the first time, the band and the dance units would perform one after the other. June and Vanessa were to sing backup during the band portion while joining the complete dance unit later. Heather was concerned about switching from wired mics to a wireless set. The group lacked the proper equipment to practice transitions. The sound crew would not be familiar with their act. Plus, their only two dances were rudimentary and largely imitative. “Feel the Heat” was not ready for debut yet. Vanessa had only recently made her membership official and dance rehearsals had been few and far between for the other songs. Plenty could go wrong.
As the van approached the festival grounds, traffic slowed to crawl. From appearances, it seemed like a family affair. Pedestrians walked alongside the road carrying backpacks, portable chairs, and coolers while shepherding their children away from traffic. Vehicles were being herded onto vast expanses of grass that rose from the parched desert soil as if by miracle.
“So many people here,” remarked Erin.
“This is exciting,” said Mindy.
“Yeah,” said Heather unenthusiastically, fearing a myriad of possibilities.
The van reached the parking entrance, where Arnie asked for directions. As they made their way to the designated artists’ area, Steve, too, appeared increasingly anxious. “What type of music festival did you say this was, Arnie?”
“Who cares? It pays.” Arnie no longer made much of an effort to hide his contempt for Steve.
They passed by a large sign which Heather read aloud, “High Desert Lighthouse Festival.”
Steve assessed the surroundings, unusually alert. “Arnie, when did you last see a lighthouse in the desert?”
He looked at the group in the rearview mirror. “I dunno. It’s sort of poetic, doncha think? Why you gotta get on my case for? It’s a festival, ain’t it?”
Erin seemed to vibe on Steve’s wavelength. She, too, grew increasingly nervous as they proceeded to their designated parking spot. “Are you thinking what I am?” She whispered to him
“I’ll let you know once we’re inside.”
After parking and unloading, they were met by a volunteer who directed them to the staging area. A large tent had been erected as a makeshift general ready room. Inside, a host of musicians were engaged in tasks ranging from rehearsals to prepping equipment to napping. Interaction between groups was limited. Large floor fans were blowing at both ends of the structure to improve air circulation, but it remained uncomfortably warm inside. The Made in Heaven troop was met with curious stares as they occupied their assigned space, which consisted of a group of chairs and a table close to the porta-potty entrance.
“Diverse group, I see,” said Mindy.
Heather analyzed the room, noting a sea of exclusively white faces. “We’re not in L.A. anymore.”
Steve left to scout the scene. In the meantime, Heather reviewed the setlist and monitored the well-being of her bandmates. Mindy demonstrated a series of calming breathing exercises to the girls. Her experience was precious in moments like this. When Steve returned, he motioned for the group to gather in a circle. Speaking in hushed tones to deter eavesdroppers, he said, “Um, Houston, we have a problem.”
“This is Made in Heaven; were you expecting anything less?” said Mindy.
“I had a feeling something was off when we arrived,” Steve continued. “This isn’t your average, everyday music festival. It’s run by a shady televangelist operation that’s been sued for fraud. Apart from normal stuff like placing a high premium on family friendliness —” He paused to let a group of festival officials pass without raising suspicion. “They also milk the prosperity gospel for fun and profit. Tax-free, I might add.”
Grace sighed.
“What have we gotten ourselves into?” asked Mindy.
“Whattaya worried about? You don’t have any offensive material,” countered Arnie.
“You’re missing the point, genius,” said Grace. “Let me spell it out for you. We’re not a Christian music band. What do you think’s gonna happen when we start singing about cheating boyfriends?”
“Not to mention we’re helping millionaires beg social security checks out of retirees,” said Vanessa.
“Can’t we simply leave before anyone notices?” suggested Erin nervously.
“No way,” said Arnie. “And forfeit the money? You’re in no spot to chuck a payday, let me tell you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not embarrassing yourself before hundreds who wonder why you’re even here in the first place,” said Grace.
“More like thousands, from the looks of it,” said Steve.
“Thanks for the reassurance.”
“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” said Arnie. “Here’s what you do. You’ve got love songs, right?”
“Yes,” said Heather.
“You’re called Made in Heaven, right?”
“Um, yeah,” said Grace suspiciously.
“Okay, you’re halfway there. Each time you sing ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart,’ just replace it with ‘Jesus’ or ‘Lord.’ And vee-o-la, instant Christian song.”
More groans. “Arnie, we can’t do that,” protested Erin.
“Why not? I bet you half the hacks here do the same thing already. They know a meal ticket when they see one. Besides, how many Korean speakers do ya see?”
“Five,” said Vanessa, looking around at her bandmates. When Erin scoffed, she added, “Okay, five and a half, tops.”
Steve jumped into the conversation. “I hate to admit this, but Arnie’s right with the money thing.”
“See,” responded Arnie proudly.
“Sure, it’s cynical and obviously not ideal, but his plan could work in a pinch, and this is looking like a tight one. Besides, the more money we take from their pockets, the less they’ll have available to expand their timeshare schemes in Boca or whatever.”
“We’ll have to scrap the dance portion, though,” Grace said. “I’m not sure how we’d change that in time.”
“What? No way,” protested Vanessa, “I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”
“Sorry, Nessa, but she’s right,” said Heather. “You and June will still be backup singers.”
“And the outfits?” asked Mindy.
“Uh, I didn’t consider that,” said Grace.
“You should tone it down a bit,” said Steve. “The miniskirt look will mark you as prostitutes with this crowd.”
Heather took offense. “Now, you sound like one of our trolls.”
“I’m not saying I agree; I’m telling it like it is. I was raised in an environment like this. Tell you what. I spotted a thrift store on the way into town. You have 90 minutes until showtime. Let me get your sizes, and I’ll hop over to see what I can find.” Lacking a better option, the girls agreed to Steve’s plan.
“How come I have a feeling we’ll burn in hell after this?” said Heather.
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Vanessa. “The thought of spending eternal life with these grifters is not the selling point they think it is,”
Heather rechecked the time. They were less than a quarter-hour away from showtime, and Steve hadn’t returned yet. The festival implemented a backline setup, which meant the band would simply have to plug in instruments and run a mic check. Unfortunately, the festival operators were competent, so the performances ran on schedule. They’d enjoy no slack.
As they stood shoulder to shoulder in a line near the stage waiting for their turn, a blonde, muscular, middle-aged male with a trim beard approached, looking irate. His monogrammed yellow dress shirt and black slacks identified him as a member of a large choir from Huntington Beach. He addressed Erin, who stood nearest but spoke loud enough for the rest to hear. “Someone spilled a tub of ketchup over by the generator. Instead of standing there useless, why don’t you do your job? Pronto! People are tracking it everywhere.”
Erin stared at him with her mouth open, pointing to her chest to ensure he was talking to her. The rest remained speechless, except for Vanessa, who was having none of it. She shot back from the far end of the line, “Hey, Chuck Norris, I have a better idea. How ‘bout you go lick it up yourself?”
The man looked horrified. He gestured with his arms as if pushing them away in disgust, then walked away. June looked perplexed. “Why did he say that?”
“I’ll give you one guess,” said Mindy. Before anyone could respond further, a harried stage manager implored them to remain in place. They were up soon. “It’s sweltering. I’m glad we don’t have to dance after all.”
To get her mind off the waiting, Heather reviewed the revised setlist. It was radically different (and shorter) than the one they had practiced. She quietly rehearsed the improvised lyric changes. Her concentration was interrupted when Steve arrived carrying two bags of clothing.
“I bought jeans. You can wear them with your current tops, and they’ll match. Let’s get to the dressing room.” He continued his explanation on the way. “Some sizes are bigger than you’d prefer, but I bought safety pins. You can wear our belts too. Arnie, give them your belt.” Their manager complied, but not without grumbling.
“Where are you going?” the stage manager asked when he saw them walking away from the stage.
“We’ll be right back,” said Grace.
“You better be, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Too late for that,” chimed Vanessa.
Minutes later, the girls emerged from the dressing room wearing their improvised outfits. Mindy and Sun-hee looked distraught. “Must we do this? I look awful,” said Sun-hee.
“This belt’s big enough to fit three of me,” added Mindy. Arnie glared at her with steel in his eyes.
“Don’t sweat it. Nobody’ll notice. You’ll both be in the back, anyway.” Steve helped pin the loose material as best as he could. “How ‘bout the rest of you?” There were no further complaints.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Grace.
When they returned to the stairs, the stage manager admonished them. “You’re cutting it close, don’t you think?”
“Sorry,” said Heather, using her aegyo skills to extract a smile from him. She had already assumed her onstage persona and was raring to go.
The MC finished his stage announcements. “Let’s hear it for our next group. Coming all the way from Japan, here’s Heaven Sent.”
Heather looked at Grace and shook her head in resignation. They didn’t have time to protest.
“Okay, you’re on,” said the stage manager.
“Rock the house!” shouted Steve.
The girls emerged to a smattering of applause. The stage was stifling. Despite the metal roof offering direct protection from the sun, both sides were enclosed, a design flaw that cut potential cross breezes down to a minimum. A massive, metal-bladed ceiling fan turned furiously above their heads but was woefully insufficient. The band members took their places, plugged in their gear, and plunked out a few chords. Mic checks followed. Heather assessed her group. Their smiling faces told her what she needed to know. Grace gave a perfunctory greeting, and they began.
The first number was “From That Day On.” Heather chose it because the song’s mellow vibe allowed the band to ease into the venue. It also didn’t hurt that the singing burden fell largely to Sun-hee and her. In terms of tone, the song could pass as a Christian song to anyone who wasn’t fluent in Korean, even without a change of lyrics. Grace’s guitar solo sounded better than ever. When it ended, the applause was polite, if not enthusiastic. The audience looked confused by the foreign lyrics.
The heat was getting to her bandmates. She, too, sweated and once had to dry her hands on the jeans before continuing.
“Celestial” was next. Heather rewrote the English lyrics to imply the song was about an angel instead of a physically attractive crush. The Korean parts remained unchanged. Her confidence grew when she realized their crazy plan was working. The song’s harder driving pace meant more work from the band. This time, their performance was not sharp. It bugged Heather that “Celestial” often sounded better in rehearsals than it did live. She encouraged Grace to extend their next intro to buy precious time for the girls to grab some water.
The third song was their newest one, “Back Off.” It required the most extensive alteration because it was a breakup song. Heather couldn’t settle on original lyrics she could live with and therefore took a straightforward approach by singing it entirely in Korean instead. The girls attacked the song with gusto. Easier to play than “Celestial,” their new music rocked. It was an enjoyable experience and was proving to be the best live performance they’d ever given.
Indeed, her moment of euphoria was the ideal time for disaster to strike.
The drumming stopped abruptly, followed by a loud bell-like clanging, then wood clattering on metal. Heather watched as Mindy’s drumsticks skittered right past, stopping just shy of rolling off the front edge of the stage.
“Goddammit. Fuck this bullshit!” shouted Mindy, forgetting the mic positioned right above her drum kit was live. The multi-thousand-watt PA system ensured every man, woman, and child in the amphitheater heard the outburst clearly.
As a result, the band’s playing ground to a disheartening halt. Heather looked over her shoulder, shocked to see the ceiling fan wobbling wildly as it worked to regain equilibrium. Mindy jumped from her seat and stomped to the front of the stage to retrieve her drumsticks. This walk of shame was compounded by the ridiculous need to prevent oversized jeans from slipping off, adding insult to injury. Mindy was furious. Her heavy clomping on the metal floor was magnified as the crowd watched silently, unsure how to respond. When passing by the mic stand, she shot Heather a sideways glance as if daring her to utter so much as a single word of admonishment.
Heather faced the audience with a weak smile. Parents had covered their children’s ears, and some were even ushering them from the venue. Most gave disapproving looks. A few people laughed.
“Say something,” urged Grace, leaning away from the mic in Heather’s direction.
“You say something.”
“You’re the leader.”
“Oh, so now I’m the leader. Gee, thanks.”
Before they could say something, Mindy returned to the drum set and, without warning, resumed right where she had left off. Surprised by the abruptness of her action, the band struggled to find their place again. After eight measures, they regained their form, but it didn’t matter by then. The PA volume was abruptly zeroed by the house engineer. Mindy’s unamplified drumming continued until the MC came on stage with his arms waving, forcing her to stop playing.
“All right, ladies, pack it up. Show’s over,” he said before stepping to the center mic as the engineer restored its original level. “We sincerely apologize for that. We’re having some…ah…technical difficulties, but we’ll be back in a few minutes. Please stick around. I assure you you’re going to love our next act. "
Heather was livid. She unplugged her guitar, threw the cable onto the stage floor, and skulked away, feeling like a pariah under the watchful eyes of the MC, the stage manager, and the crowd. Why does everything I touch turn to crap? she wondered.
“What the hell was that?” demanded Grace when they stepped off stage.
“I was sweating. They slipped,” Mindy responded.
“She was doing her stick-flipping thing again,” charged Vanessa. Mindy shot her a dirty look.
Arnie rushed over to the group, breathing heavily. “Argue later! Let’s go now before they want their money back!”
With Steve and Arnie’s help, the band members gathered their belongings. As they hastened from the tent, a musician from another band applauded and voiced his approval, “That was so punk rock. I’ve been wanting to say that for years.”
Upon reaching the van, they tossed their gear inside haphazardly. Heather remained ever vigilant should officials try to intercept them. Within minutes, Arnie was maneuvering the vehicle off the lot. They dared relax only when the festival grounds were well out of sight.
Heather was livid. Arnie had inflicted another one of his tone-deaf bookings on them without warning. But their manager saved his own skin the following day during dance practice. The news he shared was big enough to deflect all attention away from their disastrous festival appearance. “How’d you like to go on tour?” he asked.
