Chapter Text
London Concert Stops Short
Melinda Warner - Classist News
Rafael Barba, world-renowned classical pianist, cut his run of London concerts short after he noticed audience member recording his performance. Reports state that when Mr. Barba noticed the audience member recording, he stopped playing and asked the member to put the device away. When the audience member refused to comply Mr. Barba announced the concert to be over and left the stage in annoyance to many of his fans. Neither Mr. Barba nor a representative has been available for comment.
Excerpt from “Secret Vicious is Anything But Unknown”
Declan Murphy - Rolling Stone Magazine
Proving that the punk rock scene is still strong, Secret Vicious Unknown, or SVU to its fans, ends its European Tour in London with a bang. As the lights lowered electricity was felt throughout the stadium… Drummer Amanda Rollins’ sticks seem to fly through the air, her arms indiscernible… Bassist Nick Amaro’s dark rifts complement guitarist and lyricist Sonny Carisi’s dark melodies… When frontman Mike Dodds led the band through its final crescendo the entire stadium was in awe...
Director Alexandra Cabot Looks to a New Future
George Huang - Classist News
Hudson Music Hall’s recently appointed Director Alexandra Cabot is looking to make classical music more accessible to Hudson's students and the general public. With pianist Rafael Barba returning to headline this season's program and rumors of production company Benson & Tutuola becoming involved this reporter has to wonder if Ms. Cabot has bitten off more than she can chew. More to come as new developments unfold.
It was bitterly cold the morning Rafael Barba walked into his studio at Hudson Concert Hall. The London concerts had been an absolute nightmare as he was forced to play the same dull pieces and they refused to let him play a single one of his original pieces. When he saw the man in the audience, his iPad over his face blatantly recording Rafael's performance, the pianist had lost his patience. He had asked the audience member to stop recording and when that failed had asked security to remove them. When security failed, he completed the piece he was playing, apologized to the audience and walked out. The screeching phone call the next day from his manager hadn’t been surprising, but the flyer someone had left on his piano certainly was.
Secret Vicious Unknown featuring Rafael Barba and the Hudson Concert Orchestra
Less than a minute later Rafael had his manager on the phone. “Mr. Tucker,” Rafael said, barely hiding his contempt for the man.
“Welcome back, Mr. Barba,” the familiar tinny voice sounded amicable enough. “I’m sure you’re glad to be back stateside.”
“What is this?”
Tucker let out a long-suffering sigh. “I can't see through the phone, Mr. Barba,” he said with more patience than Rafael normally gave him credit for.
“‘Secret Vicious Unknown ’,” Rafael read out loud, spitting the words as though they physically wounded him to read.
Tucker sighed again and Rafael could practically see him rubbing his forehead. “They’re a band.”
“Really? With a name like that?” Rafael’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Why am I being featured on a flyer with them?”
“Alex wanted to try something different this year, appeal to a younger audience. You’ll add a softer element to their songs.”
Rafael pulled his phone away from his ear and glared at it. “I refuse to do this,” he said flatly, the conversation already over in his head.
But Tucker seemed undeterred by his tone. “And if you do, you’ll be in breach of your contract, and lose your rehearsal space and your performance dates.”
Only the threat of losing his precious (and free) rehearsal space could’ve moved Rafael and he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why is Alex doing this to me?” he asked, knowing that he sounded petulant and not caring. “Surely there has to be another pianist who would be more interested in working with this band and suited for this kind of work?”
“Alex specifically requested you.” And damnit, Tucker sounded amused by that. “Wants you to return to your roots or something like that. Who knows, maybe you need some humbling after London—”
“Ed—”
Tucker cut him off before he could even get a word of his ready excuse out. “No Rafael, we discussed this, it was immature and we lost thousands of dollars.”
Rafael hated when Tucker was right and he sighed heavily, weighing his options for a long moment before asking, “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“There’s always a choice,” Tucker said reasonably, but Rafael could tell by the triumphant edge to his voice that he knew he’d won.
Which left Rafael with no other option but to sigh again and tell Tucker reluctantly, “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” Tucker said. “I’ll let Alex know. She’ll be thrilled.”
Rafael ran his fingers lightly across the keys of his piano. “She’s the only who will be,” he said darkly and hung up on Tucker before he could offer any platitudes, they were the last thing Rafael wanted to hear.
He sat down at the piano and stared blankly at the keys before his hands moved of their own accord, launching into Liszt’s “Totentanz”, the only piece he could think of off the top of his head that would even begin to channel his frustration.
“Look who’s finally graced us with his presence.” Rafael didn’t even need to look up to know that it was Rita, and he ignored her. “Judging by your song choice, I’m going to assume you heard about our orchestra’s latest collaboration.”
Now Rafael did glance up, only briefly, to glare at the violinist as she sauntered towards him. “Rita, what brings you to my personal hell?” he asked dryly. “Coming to stoke the fires?”
“Can’t I just check on a friend?” Rita asked innocently. “See how they’re doing?”
Rafael snorted. “Well, you’ve seen me, so I’ll let you be on your way then.”
Rita ignored the dismissal, leaning against Rafael’s piano — she was the only one who could get away with touching his prized instrument, and thus did so every chance she could, just to piss him off. “I knew you’d be annoyed,” she told him.
Rolling his eyes, Rafael scoffed, “Annoyed? I’m not annoyed, I’m—”
“Such a diva?” Rita supplied.
Rafael hit an incorrect note on the piano and abruptly stopped playing, his hands dropping into his lap as he glared up at her. “Remind me why we’re friends again,” he huffed.
Rita smirked at him. “I ask myself that everyday.”
He rolled his eyes again and put his hands back on the piano keys, picking out the opening notes for “Für Elise”, knowing that it was one of Rita’s least favorite songs. “Seriously, did you actually want something, or are you just here to mock me?”
“Believe it or not — and I know you won’t — I really did want to see how you were doing,” Rita said, and she had that slightly concerned tone of voice, the one that set Rafael’s teeth on edge because he could see where this conversation was going. “After London—”
“London was a mistake,” Rafael told her, a warning edge to his voice. “And believe me, this newest abomination — I mean, collaboration — of Alex’s is punishment enough.”
Rita was many things, but stupid was not one of them, so she dropped the topic. “Fine. Drinks tonight? I believe it’s your turn to buy.”
“That depends. Are you going to try to get me to go home with every Juilliard groupie that so much as makes eye contact with me?” Rafael asked, recalling all too well the last time they went out drinking.
“As much as I think you need to get laid, I promise I won’t,” Rita told him, though she couldn’t seem to stop herself from adding, “But one of these days, you’ll find the perfect doe-eyed, dimpled fan and you’ll wish I was there to be your wingwoman.”
Rafael rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right,” he snorted.
He had no idea just how right Rita would end up being.
Olivia cleared her throat, attempting to talk over the sounds of Nick and Amanda trying to one up each other by playing the loudest they could, the discordant noise echoing through the converted rehearsal space they were temporarily using. “I’ve got an announcement,” she said, but no one paid her any attention, Sonny and Mike too busy egging the others on to listen. She rolled her eyes and crossed to Nick’s amp to unplug his bass, smiling almost grimly at the horrible shriek of feedback from the amp. “Do I have everyone’s attention now?”
“Sorry, Liv,” Nick said, but he was grinning. “What’s up?”
Olivia held up the flyer in her hand. “What’s up is that I’ve got your next gig all set up.”
Sonny made to take the flyer from Olivia but Mike beat him to it, frowning down at the flyer. “Hudson Concert Hall?” he asked, doubt clear in his voice. “You really think our kind of music is going to fit in there?”
But Sonny’s heart had skipped a beat and he repeated Mike's question. “Hudson Concert Hall?” He tried to keep from sounding too excited. “Does that mean we’ll be working with—”
“The Hudson Concert Orchestra, yes, but mostly we’ll be collaborating with their pianist, Rafael Barba on some new arrangements,” Olivia said, nodding.
Amanda’ head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at Sonny. “Barba?” she repeated. “Isn’t he that classical snob you’ve been obsessed with forever?”
“I’m not obsessed with him,” Sonny snapped, snatching the flyer from Mike and staring at the simple words ‘Secret Vicious Unknown with Rafael Barba’ as if afraid they might disappear from the page. “And I’m sure he’s not a snob.”
At least, Sonny hoped he wasn’t, because Amanda was closer to accurate about his obsession than he would ever admit and he would probably be a little devastated if his musical icon turned out to be a snob. Sonny had been a fan of Rafael Barba since he was a child, after his nonna had recognized his rhythmic banging on her old upright piano as more than just childlike messing around and gotten him a music teacher who introduced him to the music of New York’s very own piano prodigy.
His music teacher had probably meant for it to be inspiring, to let Sonny know that if he worked hard, he too could be playing Carnegie Hall by the age of 15. Instead, Sonny found his own type of inspiration, the kind that left him scribbling horribly sappy love songs about a man ten years his senior in the margins of his math homework and abandoning the piano for the electric guitar in high school, where he and his friends formed a band predominantly so that Sonny would have somewhere to perform those songs.
While college separated the band, Sonny kept playing, busking on the streets or opening for local acts at various bars. And after stints playing with different bands in vastly different genres — indie rock, heavy metal, and for one memorable stint that had lasted only a week, Kentucky bluegrass — a friend of a friend told him that Olivia Benson, manager for the legendary punk group Secret Vicious Unknown, was looking for a new guitarist.
It had taken Sonny calling in favors from every person he could think of, but finally, finally, he had managed to snag an audition.
And then almost promptly ruined it.
Maybe it was the mustache, a mistake he regretted to this day, or the overly-gelled hair or the hoodie and faded jeans, but nothing about Sonny had screamed ‘punk’, and judging by the look on Olivia Benson’s face when she met him, she was thinking just that.
Even his overly-buoyant “Domick Carisi Jr., but call me Sonny” had been met with a flat look that implied that Olivia would never in a million years call him ‘Sonny’, and he knew he was off to a bad start when she took a deep breath and asked, mostly rhetorically, “I asked for a talented, experienced guitarist, and they sent you?”
“I’m talented,” Sonny had said, unable to keep his big mouth shut as usual.
Olivia merely arched an eyebrow at him. “Then prove it.”
So he did.
As soon as he sat down and started the opening chords of one of SVU’s older classics, he had felt his nerves melt away because Sonny was talented. And this was his opportunity to prove it. Sonny glanced up at Olivia as he played, subtly reworking the guitar riffs to put his own spin on the song, and as he saw the surprise on her face settle into something like grudging respect, he ducked his head to hide his triumphant grin.
And when he finished playing, Olivia had merely cleared her throat and asked, businesslike, “Did I hear that you write songs as well?”
This time, Sonny hadn’t bothered to hide his smile as he dug in his guitar case for one of the many songs he’d written. Olivia had read it over, her expression inscrutable, and when she glanced back up at him, it was to tell him, “I think the band will want to meet you.”
And the rest was history.
Of course, what Olivia hadn’t known then, and what Sonny certainly wasn’t going to tell her now, was that the song he had given her to read had originally been scribbled on the back of a Hudson Musical Hall program when inspiration had struck during a solo concert performance by one Rafael Barba.
Sonny believed in a lot of things, and as he looked down at the flyer in his hand, he couldn’t help but believe that maybe, just maybe, this was fate twenty years in the making.