Bandwagon

decided that Riff should start as soon as the curtain started to rise and that the others should gradually join in until the stage was totally revealed. Vid’s suggestion that the spotlights should remain off until the moment that Ben began to sing had been outvoted on the grounds that none of the robots had infra-red vision and that only Riff was capable of playing in the dark.

  The lights were, however, down at the moment. The band stood in the dark, listening to the rumbling of the audience beyond. Listening to nothing it certainly wasn’t. Eventually, however, the subtle whine of servo motors announced the show was ready to start. Riff, spotting the slight light beneath the rising curtain, picked out his first chord. The audience fell silent, the vestiges of conversation fading like waves of a retreating tide.

  The chord became a riff, became a melody. Then Riff put his foot down on the pedal he’d been experimenting with and the sound grew so complex it was almost as if there were two guitarists on the stage. The band was so transfixed they almost missed their cue. But then, only a microsecond late, Vid and Nutter brought their own instruments in together.

  Keys started playing just as the curtain was disappearing from view. Ben closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking out over a sea of cheering humanity, only visible in outline, but definitely evident in large numbers. Momentarily put off by the sight, he entirely forgot the opening line. The band, however, were ready – they performed an extra couple of bars to give him time to regain his composure. As the signature riff came round again, Ben took one more breath and sang.

  There was a cheer from the audience and the band responded by adding more energy to the performance. They finished the opening movement and Nutter’s drumming began a steady, insistent beat. Some of the crowd began to clap – some of them almost in time.

  Riff, punctuating the beat with short stabs of staccato strumming, noticed that there seemed to be a distinct group of people who were clapping to the off-beat and some who were clapping to the beat of a different song entirely. Shrugging, he played a last couple of strums before carefully adjusting his fingers for the closing chord. The song faded below the level of the screaming and applause.

  They rode the adulation just a second, then Nutter counted in their second number – an out and out rocker with a beat so fast that even the least rhythmically inclined members of the audience would seem to be in time for some of the beats. The screaming was still loud but, thanks to the improved technology provided, the band members could hear themselves over it.

  Vid, watching the crowds from the sensors behind his glowing face, contributed a steady bass beat to the track as he projected rapidly changing images and colours across the auditorium. The repetitive nature of the backbeat allowed him to concentrate more on the images, giving him licence to experiment with impressionistic swirls of light and colour, chasing across the crowd like a living thing.

  Keys concentrated on his playing. They reached the bridge of the song and he underscored Riff’s guitar playing using his lower right hand on the second keyboard; he really felt that the lyrics to the bridge needed work – perhaps if he added a syncopated backing vocal? Not something to try out in a live gig, he decided, but he’d probably bring it up later – Vid was bound to have recorded the concert and he could try adding the vocal over the playback.

  He glanced at the audience – there certainly seemed to be a lot of them – and wondered whether this was some kind of first night thing. There was a flash from somewhere in the crowd. Was it a reflection from a spotlight? It was hard to tell with it being so dark beyond the edge of the stage.

  Ben, taking a bow at the end of the song, was feeling exhilarated – the audience thrilled to the sound of his voice and responded with cheers and applause at the parts of the lyrics that they could believe to be directed at them personally. He’d been stupid to feel nervous in the earlier gigs, he reflected: the screaming girls that thronged around the front of the stage wanted to see him, after all. He waited impatiently for Riff to finish the drawn out introduction of Ten Miles Up then launched into his lead vocal with Keys soft backing just audible through the monitors in front of him. He smiled from the corner of his mouth – he couldn’t see them going wild over a robot lead singer.

  Nutter, staring at the backs of the heads of his colleagues, kept up the beat. All in all it was relaxing: steady work, nobody hitting you around the head – he felt he could get used to it. He couldn’t see much of the audience from where he was, but he knew they were out there somewhere so he didn’t mind.

  15

  The final notes of Listening to Nothing faded away and the curtain fell over the bowing performers. Once the curtain hit the floor Ben stood up and turned to his colleagues – sweat was pouring off of his brow, but there was a smile on his face.

  Riff seemed unmoved by the experience. ‘Turned out nice again,’ he said, placing his guitar back on its stand. He wandered off backstage. A few moments later, Keys followed.

  Vid put his bass down, then noticed something was wrong. Nutter was still sat rigidly behind his drums.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I th-think my j-joints have seized.’

  Ben attempted to help him, but the big robot seemed immovable. Vid, benefiting from more upper body strength, still struggled for almost a minute before getting the robot to his feet.

  ‘T-thanks,’ said Nutter, flexing his waist gears cautiously.

  ‘You need to take more care of yourself,’ said Ben. ‘We need you back here with those drums.’

  ‘W-we’re Ok to c-come back?’

  ‘I’d have thought so,’ said Vid. ‘There definitely seemed to be plenty of people out there.’

  ‘R-really?’ Nutter turned to Ben.

  The human nodded. ‘It was a good gig.’ He looked to Vid. ‘Did you something flash in the audience?’

  Vid shrugged. ‘Could have been a reflection from something.’

  Keys found Riff backstage having a drink. The guitarist looked up as the keyboardist entered and motioned for him to shut the door.

  Keys did so and then turned to his friend. ‘Are you alright?’ he said. ‘You took off rather quickly.’

  Riff looked at him meaningfully. ‘How do you think it went tonight?’

  ‘Pretty well, I think. The audience seemed to be enjoying themselves, anyway.’

  Riff nodded. ‘Were you watching Ben?

  ‘Not much. I was too busy concentrating on the songs. By the way, the bridge on-’

  Riff raised a hand to silence him. ‘I think the kid’s getting above himself.’

  The set of Keys’ shoulders suggested a frown. ‘How so?’

  ‘I saw him strutting about up there.’

  ‘He did come past doing some odd walk at one point. I thought he was just stretching his legs.’

  Riff shook his head. ‘He’s playing the audience.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I think he thinks they’re here for his benefit.’

  Keys shrugged. ‘Aren’t they? He is part of the band, after all.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I mean he thinks they’re here solely for his benefit.’

  Keys rubbed an elbow. ‘Perhaps,’ he said doubtfully, ‘but I don’t think it matters so much. As long as they keep coming and he’s happy to stick at it. Besides, what do you care?’

  Riff sighed. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t, but…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, he is human.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘Did you know that humans can go a bit funny when they spend too long on stage?’

  ‘I didn’t, no. Why is that?’

  ‘I think it’s the heat from the spotlights,’ said Riff. ‘It gets to their brains.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’ll just make sure he drinks plenty of water. By the way – did you see a flash?’

  Riff shook his head. ‘I didn’t notice,’ he said. ‘Probably just a reflection.’

&n
bsp; There was a knock at the door and Keys opened it. Vid was standing outside. ‘The manager wants a word,’ he said.

  Tony was the very image of a gentleman: so well groomed and pressed that anyone who met him began to wonder how he moved without squeaking. They never asked, however: Tony stood six feet tall from the soles of his perfectly polished shoes to the carefully slicked hair of his head. It tended to dissuade people from asking.

  The three robots made their way back out into the club, Riff and Keys helping Vid up onto the stage. Tony was standing expectantly with Nutter and Ben.

  ‘You the band?’ he asked, his voice like a ferret with tonsillitis.

  Riff confirmed with a nod.

  ‘Good. My name is Tony Ombreggiati; I’m the new manager here. I wanted to congratulate you on your performance tonight.’

  Vid, Keys and Ben nodded agreeably. Ben noticed out of the corner of his eye that Riff’s expression seemed somewhat blank.

  If Tony saw this, he ignored it. ‘You were sensational,’ he crooned. ‘Truly professional. I hope this will be the first of many successful evenings.’

  Ben and Nutter exchanged glances, the human allowing a brief smile to play across his face before quickly banishing it in response to a quizzical gaze from Tony. The gentleman turned quickly away as he noticed a smut on one of his shoes.

  ‘I also,’ he continued, polishing the toe of his shoe on the back of his other leg, ‘have something by way of a proposition for you.’

  ‘What kind of proposition?’ said Riff levelly.

  Tony smiled. ‘Nothing sinister,’ he said.