Chapter Twenty-Nine
The following morning, Theo dug out the cassette that August had made for him. CRASS on one side and THE SUB HUM ANS on the other. Determined to like it, he put it into the Panasonic music centre and turned up the volume.
It didn't sound to Theo like Crass had the aural enjoyment of the end user in mind when they created their music. Were you expected to quietly nod alomg to it? Were you expected to lose yourself in a reverie as you listened on your headphones? Theo just didn't get it. Presumably the message was the most important thing here. But if you couldn't hear the lyrics, was there a message? That's where owning the album would come in handy - Crass albums always had the song lyrics on their album sleeves as well as combative artwork to get their message across.
He had more luck with The Subhumans. A lot of their songs sounded quite similar to X-Tradition stuff - pounding bass lines, screeching guitar, melodies you could whistle and words you could hear. Theo was pretty sure he could play these songs on the guitar. It still wasn't quite the sort of music that he would willingly listen to, but he could see how people could like it.
If this was the sort of music that Wells felt so strongly about, Theo felt that he could get on board. Surely once they had patched up their differences over The Dead White Sky, they would be able to work together again? Maybe it didn't matter if Theo did not have that drive, that anger that Wells had. All Theo had to do was put August's words to music, something he had clearly demonstrated an ability to do.
He spent the afternoon at the fountain, making the most of the sunshine in his now cut-off Dead Kennedys t-shirt, borrowed from Wells all those weeks ago. He made casual enquiries about August and got confirmation that he was indeed spending a lot of his time with the new X-Tradition drummer and hanging out at the Hat & Feather.
Plans were made for that evening: everyone was to go round to Pete's to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre on video. Theo said he'd come along but in truth wasn't at all that keen to watch such an apparently terrifying film. He knew from past experience - crying during a screening of Jaws and having to be escorted out by his parents - that horror movies were not for him. This made the decision to visit the Hat & Feather all the easier to make - had he a viable alternative, he might not have had the resolve to go to that notorious pub by himself.
Theo left his friends in the late afternoon and told them he'd see them at Pete's later. He then took the bus to Chippenham to visit the off-licence by the train station where he stocked up on Consulates, a litre bottle of white wine and a four pack of Holsten Pils. He managed to smuggle the booze and fags up to his bedroom upon arrival and joined the rest of the family just in time for Saturday tea. He ate a double helping of lasagne, guessing it might be wise to line his stomach for the evening ahead.
After tea, he headed upstairs and reached under the bed for the first of his four cans of Holsten. He coughed as he cracked it open, and then put on side one of The Hollies 20 Golden Greats while he thought about what to wear. His first choice of outfit was his old Vans skate shoes, his recently-tailored school trousers with roll-ups to reveal while socks (a style that copied from the jacket-wearing guy he saw the other day), and the Dead Kennedys t-shirt. He checked this look in the full-length mirror in his parent's room. Too monochrome, so he needed to re-think. He liked the look of the Vans, white socks and drainpipe black trousers, so it was just a matter of finding a more colourful top half. After rifling through his own clothing options, he thought about asking Jon if he could borrow the checked Levi shirt again, but then recalled that he was wearing that shirt the last time he saw Wells. He needed something different. Then he remembered another of his brother's choice buys - a blue and white Breton top from American Classics in Covent Garden. This would go perfectly with the rest of his outfit and he could top it off with the beige sports jacket.
He finished off his first can and knocked on Jon's door. "Come in!" came the reply. Theo opened the door to find Jon lying on his bed smoking a cigarette and listening to Steely Dan.
"Hiya. I was wondering if I could borrow that Breton top you've got?"
Jon sat bolt upright and put his hands in the air. "Finally!" he said. Then again, louder: "FINALLY!!" He then got off the bed and ran out the door, still shouting "Finally!" at the top of his voice. He ran downstairs, into the kitchen, the front room, shouting as he went. Then back up the stairs, into their parent's sitting room, then up the stairs again to Theo's room and the bathroom all the while shouting "Finally, finally!!" He ran back down the stairs, back into his room, reached in to the open wardrobe, grabbed the Breton top, handed it to Theo, said "there you go" and closed the door.
Theo took the top back to his room and tried it on with the rest of the outfit. He was pleased with the way it looked, but decided it could do with even more colour. So he rooted around in his sock drawer and came up with a green silk handkerchief. He positioned it in the breast pocket of the beige jacket, and nodded in approval as he looked in the mirror.
He cracked open another beer and lit up a Consulate while leafing through his record collection. He played the usual suspects - pop followed by new wave followed by punk, followed by pop again. He drank and sat on the floor, his back against the side of his bed.
He thought of Martine, Laura, August, Van Gogh, and finally poor old Eddie Cochran, who died just a couple of miles up the road. A taxicab late at night, the driver loses control, three passengers in the back - Eddie, his girlfriend Sharon Sheeley and fellow rock n roll legend Gene Vincent. Upon impact, Eddie threw himself over Sharon to protect her and was fatally injured. Young, beautiful, talented, and now heroic. Theo often thinks of that taxi, making its way from Bath to Chippenham late at night, its passengers on a high from the just-finished gig at the Bath Pavilion. Gossiping and joking and sharing cigarettes or maybe even booze - after all, Eddie was an American who had just turned twenty one, maybe he was revelling in his new-found freedom.
As their taxi made its way through Lyncombe towards Chippenham, did Eddie look out upon the quant stone buildings of this ancient town? Did his gaze fall on the streets that Theo walks every day? He liked to think so. Lyncombe was the last town Eddie Cochran passed through. Young, beautiful, talented and gone.
He was now onto his third can of beer. He looked at his watch - seven thirty. Still an hour before Pete and the others would start to wonder where he was. If they phoned, he'd just say that he'd decided to stay in with his folks and watch the Hammer horror flicks on BBC2. There was a knock on his door: Roger and Sylvie informed him that they were going out for a meal. He bade them goodnight and leant out the window to wave as they made their way down the path and on to the street. It was starting to get dark, and grey clouds were coming in from the south. He smoked another Consulate. Soon after he heard the front door slam again and watched as his older brother got into a car crammed with raucous friends. He was alone.
He placed The Hollies back on the turntable and then set up the tape recorder. He put a new C-30 cassette in and hit Play & Record. He then put the needle at the beginning of The Air That I Breathe and listened intently, taping his right hand against his thy. When the vocal began, Theo closed his eyes and sang along:
He worried that his voice wouldn't be able to handle the anthemic chorus; that he would cough or gag, or his voice would break. But he continued, steadily, not trying to sing too hard, just making sure that he was in tune. The chorus came. A deep breath...
When the song ended, he tiptoed out to the landing just to make sure there was no one there; that no one heard him. All the lights were off, he was alone.
He sat on the floor and played the tape back. Muffled and faint, he could hear the guitar intro; and then a voice. His voice he assumes; it's certainly not the lead singer of The Hollies. And the voice was in tune, it resonates nicely. But this is the verse; the easy bit. Theo's heart began to pound as the chorus approached. He heard a deep intake of breath (Is that mine? he thinks to himself) and then it hits: All I need is the air tha
t I breathe... the notes are hit cleanly, it sounds in tune, a little bit of vibrato but not too much. He sounded like a singer.
In celebration, he cracked open another beer - no need to hide the ring pull with a cough this time. He glugged it down whilst listening to Depeche Mode's 'See You'.
When the song finished he could hear the phone ringing faintly downstairs - Pete he thinks, bang on time. There was no point in answering it; they could survive an evening without him. Besides, he was sure he wouldn't be able to endure The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Ring ring, ring ring! But what if it's not Pete? What if it's Martine, or August, or even Laura? Or even, bizarrely, that page out of the Benetton catalogue with her sugar brown skin? He bounded down the stairs three at a time, beer in hand, and landed on the tiled corridor floor next to the phone just as silence filled the air. He picked up the handset in desperation only to hear the dial tone in his ear. Bollocks.
He trudged back upstairs, determined not to let the spectre of a missed call ruin the evening. He arrived back in his room and reached under the bed for the litre bottle of wine. He forgot to get a glass when he was downstairs so he used the mug from his breakfast tea that had been on his desk all day.
He listened to Romeo & Juliet as he drank, this time paying attention to the drumming more than the words. Was this guy up there with Topper Headon and Clem Burke? Possibly, possibly. He'd have to listen to more Dire Straits to be certain. By the time he had played the song twice, he'd polished off half of the wine. He looked at his watch: nine pm. There was a bus to Bath at 9:10, so he put the cork back into the wine bottle, checked that he has his wallet, matches and Consulates and jogged down the stairs and out into the night air.