Power Trio

Two rehearsals left until Glorie’s, and they’ve started up their full-setlist runs. First up is Fossil Fuel, the song they’ve got down solid as a rock, a swaggering fist-pumper. Evan loves Thekla’s vocals on this one; she’s got a Winehouse bluesiness that she doesn’t get a lot of chances to bring out.

They slide from there right into Escalate, no break, a landslide of drums and a wall of distortion from Sion and Thekla to get some heads banging while Evan thumps a Zeppelin-style riff. Then they go groovy with Commodity Credit, which has fast become his favorite. He, Kell, and Sion propel the song like a perpetual motion machine, and Thekla peacocks across the stage, plays back-to-back (well, back-to-butt) with Sion on the funk-metal breakdown.

Vampire Facial is next. Kell refers to it as their goth slut anthem. They built this one starting with the drums, she’s told him, and her beat is a bruising industrial stomp, contrasting with the sleazy, serpentine line Sion lays across it. Evan gives a lot of open space, sitting back the entire verse before thundering into the chorus with a throbbing, open-stringed voracity. Thekla gets very close to the mic, brushing her lips against it as she breathes the set’s raunchiest lyrics, gyrating her hips in a slow, sensuous figure eight.

It might be because he knows now that Thekla’s a literal work of art under the sundress she’s wearing today, but Evan’s eyes linger on her as she moves to the music. The work along her shoulders and back peeks up past her neckline.

Kell is breakneck energy and trim strength, her skin tight over sculpted muscle, her movements swift and decisive. Thekla is the opposite. Everything about her hourglass body is soft and luxurious, each curve swelling into the next like calligraphy. On their energetic final chorus, she thrashes and rolls to Evan’s oscillating pulse, and the bounce is so distracting that he misses the cue to end the song, lets out an awkward little pluck that they all share a laugh at.

“We want to try putting Trapped here?” Kell says. “I think maybe if we tuck it into the middle, then we’ll just gloss over any fuckups.”

“We could also simply refrain from fucking it up,” Sion says.

“Oh shit, Benefice,” Kell says. “You’ve cracked the set wide open. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

Evan doesn’t love his part on Trapped Like Rats; he’s not sure if anyone is happy with what they’re playing except Sion, who hasn’t changed his curlicued math equation of a lead part since they’ve started. This is the heart of the song, and while it’s gorgeous, it’s also impossible to get a handle on. The rest of the band has settled into holding on for the ride and letting Sion showcase himself, but there’s still a fundamental frustration. Evan knows he could do more, if only he could deduce what.

He’s experimenting with some seventh chord shapes when the sound from his bass clicks and fizzes. Just a hiccup, maybe; he plays on.

Then it happens again, and the fizz doesn’t go away, rising into a garbling mess until his grandfather’s bass sounds like a dying radio.

Kell notices the sound and the stricken look on his face. She brings her drums, and the rest of the band, to a jerking stop. Evan unplugs his cable, tries a different one, swaps amps, growing frantic as his Prelate crackles and pops. By the time he’s plugged back into his customary Titania, there’s barely any sound coming from it. His breathing is shallow. Stop shaking. This instrument is decades old. It’s had problems before. It’s the Bass of Theseus.

“Fuck,” he says aloud. What if it’s the pickups? They’ve been there for decades; they’re antiques. Has he finally busted the last intact piece of his legacy? “Fuck!” If this cabinet wasn’t publicly owned, he might have put his foot through it.

“Evan?” Thekla says. “Can I have a look at that?”

He tries to get his panic under control. You’re not stuck anymore. You can afford to fix whatever this is. He unslings the bass and hands it over.

Thekla crouches at her tote and digs through it. “I’m gonna open up the plate on this, check out the wiring harness. Is that OK?”

“No. Wait. Hold on.” He grabs the bass back, plugs it in again like that’s going to change anything. Still no sound. “God fucking dammit,” he barks.

“Evan,” Thekla says, voice even. “I think I can help.”

“Have you done this before?”

She keeps her face neutral. “I’m not a tech or anything, but I’ve swapped a pickup or two before. You trust me?”

Evan nods.

Thekla pulls a sleeve of tools from her bag, and unrolls a neatly distributed collection of Allen wrenches, screwdrivers, and a slim scarlet multimeter. She picks out a slender Phillips head and unscrews the faceplate.

“You’re pacing like an expectant father, Evan,” Sion says. “Whatever it is, we’ll pay what we need to solve it, yes?”

“Yes. Okay. Sorry.” Evan plants himself. “It’s just… it’s an important instrument.”

Kell’s out from behind the drums, one big stabilizing hand on his back. “You see the problem, Thek?”

“It’s the volume potentiometer,” Thekla reports, and points with her screwdriver to a blackened electronic. “It’s fried. Is it aftermarket, I’m guessing?”

“I think so,” Evan says, sighing with jittery relief. A busted volume pot isn’t the end of the world or his pickups. “Used to have a guy in Tennessee who would handle it.”

“Well, whoever rewired it in Tennessee botched the job on this thing. That or the replacement was old and cheap. All you have to do is swap it out and redo the soldering.”

Sion is already tapping a text on his phone. “I’ve got a technician on the line, fifteen minutes’ walk from here,” he says, smooth and soothing. “He can take it today and have it back for you by next week. You can use one of my basses in the meantime.”

“One of yours?” Thekla looks at him askance. “I’ve never seen you play a bass. How many do you have?”

“Enough,” Sion says, cagily. “I have a PJ I think you’ll appreciate, Evan. It’s quite responsive. I’ll bring it here. We have you, all right?”

“All right.” Evan’s tide of adrenaline is ebbing.

“Can I tag along?” Thekla says. “I have some thoughts about Trapped. We were getting somewhere before we had to break. And I want to see this gear trove.”

“Very well.” Sion looks reluctant. “Just let’s refrain from touching anything expensive-looking, yes? I’ll text you the address, Kellax.”

“C’mon, Ev.” Kell plants her palm on his back. “Let’s go get your baby taken care of.”

He lets her lead him out of the Smoke Shed into the first truly gorgeous day of summer.