First 20ish pages of my novel DAWN.
—Dude, wanna start a band?
She was new our senior year and not the kind of girl most people
would notice in high school, though I had. Her locker had magazine
cutouts of Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath and bands I didn't even
know. No white blouses with bras showing, no dresses, ever, no make
up, no hairspray. In fact, she looked like me: jeans and a black band
t-shirts with pentagrams and upsidedown crosses and ümlauts over
vowels. Her Chuck Taylors purple, mine black, but both of us in jean
jackets, but no more than that, because even though we lived in
Michigan, metalheads did not wear more than a jean jacket, even in
blizzard. That would not be cool. Even our hair was mostly the same
too: shoulder-length brown, though she had bangs.
She made eye contact. And smiled. —You play bass, right?
I nodded and finally managed, —Yeah.
—Yeah dude, I seen you at a party once. You opened up for Die Fast
that one time.
I put my history book in my locker and nodded again. —Yeah.
She pointed at her chest. —I'm a singer.
I looked at her chest, then looked away quickly so she wouldn't see I
was staring at her chest. —Oh.
Despite my monosyllableism, she kept talking to me. —You're into
metal, right?
I was wearing my Iron Maiden t-shirt, so that was kind of obvious,
but for a third time, I said, —Yeah.
Bodies streamed past us, laughing and yelling. Someone bumped into
me. I received inspiration from somewhere, and was able to ask, —What
kind of stuff are you into?
She did what I later learned was her kinda-laugh, more like a
snicker. —Dude, I mean, lots of stuff. I mean like, yeah, Iron
Maiden. Are you like into Venom? Or Celtic Frost?
Wow, those were obscure European death metal bands that I knew of,
and had maybe heard at some point, but I was like, —Yeah.
—You know anybody that's into stuff like that? Like a drummer and a
guitar player and shit?
—I think so, yeah.
—Well let me give you my number and maybe we can get something
together.
The halls had emptied. She scribbled out something in a notebook and
tore out the whole page, which is how I learned her name: Dawn.
I knew some social etiquette to at least look at her and say, —My
name's John.
She smiled. —Yeah dude, I know who you are!
—Do you have like a PA?
—Nah dude, do you?
—No but we could maybe play at my house.
The bell for sixth period rang. We should have already been in class.
—Cool dude! Well give me a call tonight or sometime and we can talk
about it! Later dude!
She gave me a wave and walked off.
A girl had given me her number. But, she was serious, she actually
was a singer, or wanted to be, and was just trying to get in a
band, talking to me just as a musician, not a boy she was attracted
to—wanting me to take her seriously and not try to get in her
pants. Still, I didn't know that it was generally known by anyone in
my high school that I was a musician, much less a bass player. At
least she recognized my existence, I though. Nobody cares about bass
players.
I'd been in bands since I was fourteen, playing parties, and one-set
shows opening for 'real', older bands, in bars or in rented halls
around Jackson. I'd always been the young one, the guys in my bands
who'd gone to Jackson High School were a couple years older than me.
Any other friends I had back then were Dungeons & Dragons
nerds I'd played with back in middle school, though we, or I, had
grown out of that, and they'd drifted into Drama Club.
I didn't think anyone ever noticed me: I didn't go out, I didn't
drink, not back then, not at first. I just stayed at home and played
my bass, and worked part-time Friday Saturday Sunday at a party store
up the road.
Dawn lived over on the east side, which in Jackson was the 'bad' side
of town, where the blacks and poor whites lived (though each in their
separate areas, of course). We didn't have any of the same classes:
my mom made sure I took college-prep classes, which was fine, they
were mostly as easy as showing up. Dawn was in the 'regular' classes,
meaning all those who didn't plan on college, or couldn't conceive of
it, the kinds where all the teachers were alcoholic smokers and fell
asleep in classes.
High school a joke anyways, something to get through, sleep through.
For other kids it was the high point of their lives, which is sad,
though they had friends, groups, cliques to belong to, because being
in orchestra or band or marching band or drama club or the football
team or the basketball team or the girls volleyball team gave them a
purpose and a tribe and a reason to exclude others. Those were all
the people going to college. For the rest of us, high school was
nothing but something to put on your McDonald's application. I was
technically from a middle class family, my dad still was anyways,
with my mom barely earning enough to survive while she taught
part-time at two different community colleges. Without my dad's child
support money she couldn't have been able to keep the house.
One of the blessings of having a middle class family, at least when I
was younger, was having books around the house. My mom read a lot,
and even my dad used to before he settled into watching tv all the
time. I started off reading comic books, and then Dungeons &
Dragons lead into fantasy and science fiction books, so that by
high school, a mythology class or an English class reading Julius
Caeser was at least vaguely interesting. Homework was never a big
deal if you were content with getting Bs and Cs. Maybe somehow
somewhere if I'd been asked to play in the orchestra, a big double
bass or the cello, life would have been different, but I got an
electric bass instead, after seeing pictures in Hit Parader
magazine of bass players, and basses, which were bigger, with those
thick strings, and the low evil percussive sound. My dad bought me a
cheap one, with an amp, for my thirteenth birthday and I was playing
in bands almost immediately because bass players are always in short
supply
In the meantime, I floated though classes, eating a Snickers bar and
Pepsi for lunch every day, everyone in lunch hall sitting with the
same crowd they'd been sitting with since elementary school: all the
black kids at their own tables, the middle class popular preppy white
kids at others, the band nerds and drama nerds together. My old
friends the Dungeons & Dragons crowd, who I still said hi
to. I sat with the metalheads, middle-class and dirtbag, with a few
girls who may or may not have been metalheads—hard to tell since
girls adapted to whatever boy they were with.
After school, before I had my bass, I'd come home and watch tv,
afternoon cartoons like G.I. Joe (in love with Lady Jane) or
old Starblazers reruns off Channel 41 out of Kalamazoo, or the
Monster Week Godzilla movies on Channel 7 out of Detroit, then dinner
with or without my mom, usually pizza she'd bring home on the way
back from Lansing or making myself spaghetti, watching MASH
reruns, then retreat to my room to read science fiction and fantasy
books, or X-Men and Daredevil comic books, jerking off
to my dad's Penthouse magazines. Once I got my bass, I started
reading Guitar and Guitar Player magazines, figuring
out basic bass lines, like "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath,
getting a compendium of tablature for the first four Iron Maiden
albums, for guitar, but figuring out, gradually, the bass lines from
that. Listening to and playing with albums, two or three a night
after a while, having them memorized and learning others, like Dio
and Kill 'em All by Metallica when it came out, including
Cliff Burton's bass solo "Breaking Teeth." Still watching
tv sometimes, a lot of times, but sitting with my bass noodling,
picking up commercial jinglie melodies just because. Still reading at
night, still jerking off to glossy older confident women who would
smile at me unlike the girls at school.
I called Dawn that night. My mom was gone, teaching a class up at
Lansing Community College. She taught part-time at both LCC and JCC.
My sister had moved out two years ago to live with my dad and
stepmom, so I usually had the house to myself. Fortunately Dawn
answered the phone and not, like, her mom or something, where I would
have had to be embarrassed (or even more embarrassed than I already
was) to ask for her. —Hey dude, what's up? Thanks for calling.
We did the usual back-and-forth between musicians, trying to see what
was in the middle of our Venn Diagram. You like Iron Maiden? Yeah
dude they're cool. You like Judas Priest? They're alright. Oh dude,
have you heard their Unleased In The East album? "Victim
of Changes," dude. Metallica? Ride The Lightning, dude.
None of the bands we talked about had female singers, much less
female musicians. The most I could think of was Joan Jett, but she
wasn't quite metal, more like rock with a side of punk, and Dawn was
like, —Dude, I mean, she's cool, but that's not what I'm into.
Usual procedure was to get a few cover songs together, something the
singer could pull off, and then maybe try originals, so I was trying
to get a possible list I could tell other guys we could do. —So
what kind of songs would you want to sing? Like, do you know any
Metallica? Or do you like Dio?
—Dude, I actually love Dio, but I really want to do originals. I've
been writing stuff, lyrics, like in my journal.
—Cool. Like what kind of style is it? Is it like rock or—
—Metal! I want to do heavy shit!
—So like Slayer?
—Maybe. But not so super fast maybe.
—Like not the chainsaw guitar?
—Maybe dude. I don't know. Let's see what happens. You know
anybody?
I actually did. This really good guitar player that I'd been in a
band with, briefly: Larry. And there was this drummer, Donny, maybe
the best in Jackson. He was older, but I didn't think he was playing
with anybody right then.
—Cool dude. What about gigs? Can you get us gigs? Not parties, but
like clubs? Like Detroit or something?
—Um, yeah.
I wasn't sure about that, but something about her enthusiasm made me
want to say yes. Surely it was possible. I wanted to make her happy.
The hard part was going to be getting Larry and Donny to go along
with having a girl singer. I called Larry first.
—A girl?! No way! What are we gonna do, play fucking Heart?
—Dude she's like into fucking Celtic Frost and shit.
—No way.
—Way. Plus she wants to do originals.
—Can she sing?
—Um. yeah. She's a girl, most girls can sing decent.
—Grr. Alright. What songs are we gonna do?
—I don't know, she wants to do originals. She likes Metallica,
maybe we could do "Creeping Death" or "For Whom The
Bell Tolls." She likes Dio too.
—Fuck Dio.
—Larry, I know you know "The Last In Line."
—Alright....
Donny had a large Tama kit, black, with double bass drums, and could
actually play double-bass parts in songs. I never knew him
through school, I think he went to East Jackson anyways, just from
seeing him in bands in places kids under eighteen could get into, but
I knew he'd played in cover bands too, so had made money as a
musician. I actually didn't have his number, I had to call an older
bandmember to get another guitarist's number, to get Donny's, but I
finally did. I wasn't even sure he'd remember me, but he did. —Oh
yeah dude, you're that good bass player. Quick fingers. Hey man,
what's happening?
—Well, I was wondering if you might want to play in a band I'm
getting together.
—Maybe, man. Who else you got?
—Remember Larry? Guitarist?
—That mexican guy? Yeah I think so. He's good.
—Yeah, and so there's this girl I go to school with, Dawn. She's
the singer.
—A chick? I'm not really into Pat Benatar or anything like that.
—No, she says she's into Metallica and Judas Priest. And like,
Celtic Frost.
—Really? How old is she?
—I think she's like my age, so like seventeen. How old are you
anyways?
He laughed. —Twenty-two. I'm an old man!
Actually, he looked older. The drugs and booze.
—I don't know, man. Yeah, I'll try it. You got a place to play?
—Yeah, my basement. Hey do you happen to have a PA?
He did, though it was a shitty Radio Shack special, the kind more for
a church auction or something, hooked up to an old refrigerator
thing, like a black couch with speakers. One microphone, no mic
stand, with a mic chord that shorted out sometimes. So, a typical
garage band set-up.
I had to do a round of calls to everyone, setting up a practice for
that next Saturday afternoon. It was cool with my mom. She liked me
having friends over. She liked that I even had friends, since I spent
so much time alone. She said she'd be gone all day, doing something
with some of her friends.
My basement musty and dirty. Whoever originally built it had some
plan to make it a recreation area, with a fireplace, and a bar, like
to serve drinks at. But Michigan is a peninsula surrounded by the
Great Lakes, with lakes and rivers all over, so basically a big
swamp, and most winters it sometimes flooded about an inch of water.
But in the warmer months it was a large enough space to set up drums
and amps. The cement floor and wood-panel walls weren't the best for
sound-proofing, and the neighbors could hear us, though we never got
any complaints. Not that we would have heard the phone or even anyone
knocking on the door.
Larry didn't have a ride, didn't have a license as far as I knew, so
Donny picked him up, and we helped unload Donny's drums and the PA
from his van while he set them up in the basement. Dawn arrived right
on time. Some guy who I later learned was one of her brothers dropped
her off, but he didn't stay. I introduced her. Neither one of the
guys shook her hand or anything, busy noodling on their instruments
but they said hey (or, what's up). I gotta admit, I was impressed
that she'd come alone to a strange house with three dudes she didn't
know. I handed her the mic. She smiled and lowered her mouth to it.
—Check check. I don't hear anything, dude.
I checked it and turned on the on switch. Larry rolled his eyes and
shook his head, looking over at Donny.
—Check check! Oh, there I am.
High-pitched feedback screamed through the speakers.
She held the mic away from her, which caused it to feed back more.
—Fuck dude!
I turned the master volume down and had her move away from the
speakers. From there I adjusted the levels, though basically just
cranked it as loud as it would go, and as long as she didn't stand
right in front of the leather refrigerator it didn't feedback. Much.
I'd already told her about the three cover songs we all kind of knew,
that we'd try. I'm not sure she was exactly happy with that, but she
had brought a notebook and had the lyrics written out. I suggested we
try "The Last In Line," the Dio song, because it seemed
easiest, the slowest and the least amount of parts. Larry started out
the clean guitar intro and Dawn came in, We're a ship without a
storm / cold without a warm / light inside the darkness that it
means, yeah.
The three of us looked at each other, eyebrows raised. She could
sing! And when the heavy part started, when the drums and bass come
in, and there's that throaty Dio growl, she did that too. And when
the verse came in, she belted it out: We're off the witch! / We
may never never never come home! /But the magic that we feel is worth
a lifetime!
Singing, but with power. Donny was smiling and I knew even Larry was
into it because even though he always mostly just stared at the
floor, I saw his head bob.
Dawn occasionally consulted the lyrics, but mostly just stared into
air, or the floor, facing us so the four of us formed a circle. I
caught her eye though and smiled and she smiled back. —We're the
last in line! See how we shine!
We got through it on the first go, the magic of good musicians
getting together, when everyone has their shit together. After we
finished, Donny put his sticks down and clapped, smiling at Dawn.
—Right on! Good job on the vocals!
Dawn beaming. —Dudes, that was so cool!
Larry only joked when he was having a really good time, he was
usually shy like me. But he did his jokey radio DJ voice. —Would
you like to try some...Metallica?
We went into "For Whom The Bell Tolls," which I liked
because there's a bass solo in the beginning. It was good to play
with Donny, he was solid. Again, Dawn belted it out. Singing, but
almost yelling too. We got through that one pretty much, a couple
flubs. Then we ripped through another Metallica song, "Creeping
Death," though without another microphone I couldn't help out
with the "Die Die Die" backup vocals in the middle section.
After that, I was kind of wondering what we'd do, if we'd go through
the three songs again, or if we could figure out if we all knew any
other songs, but Dawn actually spoke up, into the mic to get over
Donny's cybal crashes. —You dudes got any original stuff? Like
guitar parts or something?
I looked at Larry. He shrugged. We had some stuff from our previous
band, a couple riffs thrown together. He started the main riff, an
evil doomy thing in E once through. Donny listened, bobbing his head,
looked at me, and we came in the next time around. Repeated that part
four times, then Larry and I nodded to each other and moved into the
second part, in F#. Dawn nodding along, notebook open in her left
hand. She looked at me to make sure we were coming back to the E part
and when we did, she sang. Again, more on the power side, belting it
out, though not quite all monotone either. I don't know what the
lyrics were, but by the F# part she was singing, screaming really,
some kind of chorus, repeating the words love is dark! / love is
dark! / love is dark!
I knew Larry was going to go into a solo on the third time through
the E part so, looking at Donny, I changed it and added a new part,
still starting in E, but laying down an eight-note groove, a chord
progression, and Donny changed up the drum groove a little. Out of
nowhere, while Larry was wailing, Dawn came in with her own wail. No
words, just a high-pitched scream. It was fucking cool. After the
fourth time through that progression I looked at Donny and pushed my
bass neck down to hopefully signal to stop, which we did, him ringing
the symbols and me letting the low E string ring. When Larry and Dawn
had finished their improv squeals, underneath the noise, I started up
the first E riff again, two times through, then Donny and Larry came
back in. Two more times through and Dawn came back in with another
verse, or maybe repeating the first verse again, didn't matter. After
the last chorus we kind of flubbed, not knowing how to really end it,
but we were excited! We'd written an original song!
Larry tended to talk out of the side of his mouth when he wanted to
come off as joking but was kind of serious. —It needs more parts.
Dawn kept talking into the mic. —Yeah dudes, I have this other
little section of words.
Donny had the idea to change up the tempo after the second chorus, to
break it down into a 'dum-dump, dum-dump' war drum kind of part, the
time when the mosh pit would start in the audience. Then go into the
E solo part. We tried that, and after a couple tries figured out how
long we needed to go to fit Dawn's lyrics in there, which worked
really well.
We worked that song out, and with a half hour left (we'd said we'd
play for two hours) we played the three cover songs again. It was a
fucking good practice.
While Donny and Larry started breaking down the equipment and
carrying it up, I took Dawn up to the kitchen so she could call her
brother to come pick her up. After she hung up, she gave me the
devil's horn fist-with-two fingers-extended salute. —Dude, that
fucking rocked!
—Dawn, you were great.
—Thanks! It just felt right, you know?
I finished helping Donny get his stuff in his van. He gave Dawn a
fist bump. —Right on. That was cool.
We arranged to have another practice, same time, same place, and to
bring more parts, for more songs. I said I'd call everyone later in
the week.
Donny and Larry took off with a honk. I waited out in the driveway
with Dawn for her brother to come. —So you've got more lyrics?
—Yeah dude, I write poetry all the time.
She opened her notebook and flipped through pages of words and words
scribbled out in chicken scratch, along with some of demons or
devils.
Her brother showed up. She smiled at me one last time. —Thanks
John! This was awesome. Can't wait to do it next week! See ya at
school!
That next Monday she found me in the halls. —Dude! How long you
think before we could play a gig somewhere?
—Um, well, we'd need to get maybe forty-five minutes to an hour of
stuff, to maybe open up for some one. I'm not sure if there's any
metal nights going on in Jackson anytime soon.
—Dude, fuck Jackson. I wanna play Detroit. Can you get us a gig in
Detroit?
—Um, I think so. Let's make sure we're ready.
—Dude, I'm so ready. I was writing some more lyrics last
night.
I would see her at school, between classes. We didn't have the same
lunch, and she would just leave and/or skip sometimes. When we did
see each other, we'd talk about the band, or the next practice. I'd
ask what other covers she might want to do, though she was always,
always, more interested in just doing original stuff. I called her a
couple nights, Larry and Donny too, making sure everyone could still
make it, but with her just to talk.
Next practice, we warmed up with the cover songs we knew, then worked
our way through "Love Is Dark," first trying it straight
off, but flubbing it, and stopping and talking it through, but then
getting it. I'd talked her into trying another cover, and she'd
finally chosen another Dio song, "Holy Diver," which she
sang great on. Holy Diver, you've been down too long in the
midnight sea / oh what's becoming of me?
But as soon as we'd tried it once, Dawn was like, —What kind of
stuff do you guys got? Like, riffs?
Larry did have some, and I had an Iron Maiden-ish solo section, with
a galloping bass line. Donny was happy because, the song worked great
with a drum intro, which was actually Dawn's idea. That one was
called, "Kill Love." Dawn just screaming those two words
over and over for the chorus. Larry raised his eyebrows and nodded
the first time she did that, with Donny's double-bass going
underneath. Pretty fucking powerful, and I think even then I realized
that this was the female perspective, or a female perspective
on metal. I don't think a guy, or 'dude,' would ever write an angry
metal song about killing love, or about love, period.
We ran through everything a second time. At that point, the band
already felt like a step up, I think for everybody. Maybe not for
Donny, but the last band Larry and I had been in had practices more
days a week and got through less songs, if we even had a singer,
which mostly we didn't. It was a combination of getting good
musicians together and something else, I think. Having a singer, a
good one. A motivated one. Dawn made us feel more real.
And at the end, Dawn talked to me still speaking into the mic. —Dude,
I want to play a show! A gig!
Donny and Larry both nodded. We had five songs, maybe six. That was
enough though. It was up to me.
—We also need a fucking name, dudes.
I said, —Got any ideas?
—Totally dude. I was thinking of Perdu.
Larry smirked. Donny looked puzzled. —What's that?
—It's the French word for lost. As in, we are Perdu.
Donny shrugged. Dawn looked at me. I nodded. —Yeah, that's cool.
After practice, when Donny and Larry were almost ready to go and Dawn
and I were standing there waiting, he said, —You guys want to come
over tonight? Drink some beers?
Dawn immediately said, —Sure!
Donny was in the back of the van, but yelled out, —Hell yeah! I'm
down!
I hesitated, but Larry sneered in his joking way. —Come on,
John! All the cool kids are doing it!
I said alright, probably. I was actually supposed to work, but could
get off, or out early, there was another guy who was looking to pick
up hours.
—Probably?! Lame!
They took off. Dawn tilted her head. —You don't drink?
—A little. I just don't like beer.
—Do you get high?
—Um, I have.
She smiled. —That's a no. I'll bring some pot tonight, you can try
it. You are coming, right?
I was flattered that she wanted me to. —I mean, yeah. You need a
ride?
She laughed. —Yeah dude.
My mom was not exactly happy about me taking off from work, but I
think she liked that I was actually getting out and being social,
especially when Dawn called while I was back in my room and my mom
answered it. When I came out to get it, she held out the receiver
with a raised eyebrow.
Dawn gave me directions and we agreed on a time. My mom was like,
—Who's Dawn?
—She's the singer in my band.
—She sounds like a nice girl.
—Yeah, she's cool.
—Don't stay out late on your date.
—Mom, it's not a date. It's a party.
—Well, get Dawn home at a decent time.
I owned a station wagon, a Mercury Zephyr which I paid for myself,
though bought cheap from my cousin Danny, a mechanic in Detroit. It
wasn't cool, but it was practical: something that could haul my
equipment to gigs. I didn't even have to go get it: His wife Renee
drove it over and he and his motorcycle buddies followed. After I
paid him, she jumped on the back of his bike and they took off.
Despite having lived in Jackson since I was like, seven, I did not
know the east side very well. I just didn't know anybody there and it
wasn't on the way to anywhere. But I got to her house, a small faded
yellow two-story on a small cliff above Page Avenue, down the road
from a strip joint, and across from an old abandoned factory. The
driveway curved around back. No cars. I parked and went up to the
back door. Dawn opened it before I knocked. —Hey dude, come on in.
The back door led into the kitchen, and on into a living room with an
old green couch to match the old green carpet, and a small tv. Her
room was on the ground floor off the living room, next to the front
door, with the one window facing out on the street. She had a
mattress on the floor, a big old-fashioned green trunk, and one whole
wall taken up with a stereo system, record player and tape deck, two
long rows of records, and two large cases of cassette tapes.
—Wow that's a lot of music.
—Yeah dude, the tapes are mine, most of the records I got from my
brothers.
—Your parents live upstairs? Or your dad?
—Nah. My dad lives in a house south of town, way past yours. His
company is down the road. My mom lives out past the mall.
—You live here alone?
—My middle bro lives in the room on the other side of the living
room. Big Bro doesn't live here in Jackson anymore. He in the navy
and stationed in San Diego. But middle bro is hardly here. He stays
at his girlfriend's all the time.
—So you live here alone.
—I guess dude, yeah.
—Wow.
—I thought you said your mom wasn't home a lot.
—She's gone a lot, but she still comes back at night.
She waved towards the music wall. —I'll be back in a sec. You can
play anything you want.
I knelt down and scanned the records. It was a weird collection.
Venom and Celtic Frost and bunch of other European death metal bands
I'd barely heard of, but a whole bunch of David Bowie records. I
pulled out Ziggy and The Spiders From Mars, with Bowie all
make-up-ed out on the cover.
Dawn came back in. —Those are all Big Bro's. He was into all the
60s and 70s stuff. Like that and King Crimson. You like them?
—I've heard of them.
She started singing: Cat's foot, iron claw / Neurosurgeons
screaming for more.
—That sounds kinda cool.
—Yeah dude. And Middle Bro had all the metal stuff. I grew up
listening to all that.
—They don't listen to music anymore?
—Nah. It's weird. Big Bro and got rid of all his stuff when he
joined the navy. Middle bro just works a lot for my dad. My dad works
a lot too. Wanna go?
—Yeah.
On the way out she grabbed a bottle from the freezer and showed me.
—Mad Dog, dude! I got pot too.
I felt like an idiot for not bringing anything. She laughed when she
saw my Zephyr. —Nice stashe!
—I know. It carries equipment.
—No, I dig it!
Once we were in 'The Stashe' as it was thereafter called, Dawn
cracked the bottle and took a swig, making a face. —Fuck that shit
is nasty!
—Why do you drink it?
—Because it's nasty.
