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Alex was taken by The Little Flames since the very first time he saw them.
And that wasn’t all that long ago really. Only a couple of weeks back he was sprawled on his parent’s couch late on a weekday night, blankly staring at MTV playing on the TV, dead tired but unable to sleep. It was one of those nights, when his brain just didn’t seem to get the memo that when his limbs were too exhausted to function it ought to switch itself off and give in to sweet, sweet sleep. There was too much going on in there; bits of words and pieces of melodies, images of the dog he petted on his way to the station, grainy scraps of that argument he had with Matt in fifth grade- all tossing and turning and whirling into a thick, sluggish, chaotic soup. At least the glaring neons of the television screen are distracting him enough to not get lost in it. Though he’s sure he’ll open his eyes to a terrific headache tomorrow morning.
It was then that he first saw the band. Their first single, ‘Goodbye Little Rose’. After an endless stream of pointless dancing and annoying pop tunes, the music video immediately caught his attention. The dark silhouettes on the stark red palette. The zany guitar riff. The low, smoky vocals. All those tears you cried, makes you hard to like, go and earn your depression, won't you. The abrupt ending.
The next morning he rushed off to the record store to look for the band and after an hour of looking, found a CD of the single. Played it over and over and over all afternoon till the words and the chords were etched crystal clear in his mind. Rummaged hungrily on the internet for any bit of information he could find about them. There wasn’t much except an article in a local Liverpool music magazine accompanied by a tiny photo of four guys and a girl. Formed in Hoylake, in December last year. Signed to Deltasonic. Somehow related to The Coral. But their zingy 60's infused underground rock sound seems to have hit it off with quite a few on MySpace and MTV, obviously has taken note.
That very evening Alex told Matt when the boys were at rehearsal, "I think I've found who we should talk with for the tour."
Alex might've been a little obsessed.
You couldn't blame him, could you? The song was good . It fingered something just right in his brain. They were really solid live too, as he would soon find out.
And their frontwoman was stunning. Alex was a little obsessed with her too. More than a little maybe.
Eva was a good two years or so older than Alex and his friends. And she carried herself with such a coolness too. The effortless, captivating kind that makes you want to watch the person like they were a moving painting. The kind of coolness that never seemed to come within Alex's reach. The way she strutted onto the stage. The way she flicked her hair over her shoulders. Every little detail was worth pondering and obsessing over.
She was tall and moved with feline grace. Jet black tresses that crawled down her shoulders that matched the kohl she lined her eyes with. The sharp heels of her boots clicked on the wooden floor authoritatively, and she took up space like she knew it belonged to her. Eva commanded the attention of every single person in that tiny club that night; it seemed to come easily to her. She certainly commanded every inch of Alex's mind.
He specifically came down to Manchester tonight to see her and her band.
The four others looked like ordinary blokes. Alex might've gone to school with them or caught them sitting at the pub, and wouldn't have glanced twice. Except their second guitarist. That boy looked much younger than the rest, maybe younger than him too. Barely out of school, if his baby face is telling him anything. He stood behind Eva clutching onto his Fender Jazzmaster. Was he even supposed to be here?
Alex grabbed himself a beer from the bar and then snaked through the small crowd to find himself a space to stand. Not too far away from the stage, not too close either. Good enough to grab the perfect view of the fascinating frontwoman.
Their set starts.
Put your dukes up, John, yeah put your dukes up John
Elegant fingers wrapped around the mic stand, Eva gazes into the audience, her dark eyes glistening in the stage lights. Her voice is deep and dripping in smoke.
You were preened and sanitised, struck dumb by good advice
Oh Alex would like some of that. He'd like to be able to look the crowd right in the eye and sing these words he's so proud of. They've played almost every other week in the past year or so, but that feeling that the audience will somehow rise up into a gigantic monster and swallow him whole hasn't loosened a smidgeon of its vice grip on him.
He would like to be like Eva.
Your integrity was bruised, you celebrity a ruse
He sympathises with Guitar Boy up there. Poor lad has barely looked up from his guitar at all.
Seems like he’d prefer to curl into himself and disappear. Alex knows that feeling, he feels dp often. But that's not what a frontman makes, he's been told. If you can't make people hear what you want to say, what's the point of it all? If you can’t make people gawk at you, who’ll buy your music then?
They pulled the rug from under, made way for new pretenders
Eva, for instance, makes it nearly impossible to take your eyes off her. Alex stood enraptured as she spit her words into the mic. She was very, no dramatic head-whipping or air-kicking yet so alluring.
Alex would really like to be like her.
Change your tune and change your hair; or you're not going anywhere
Alex feels the eyes on him before he sees where they are coming from. Something pings at the back of his head, hairs at the back of his neck spring up in attention.
No, they aren’t the eyes he (so, so desperately) wants on him. They are pretty, though. Pretty and shaped like lotus petals. The loveliest shade of hazel. Like caramel been cooked for a little too long. Or water left in mud, perhaps.
Guitar Boy is looking straight at him
Be a C-Y-N-I-C. Be a C-Y-N-I-C
Alex can feel his face warm up. Oh, he's pretty alright. Lovely eyes framed with lovelier overgrown brown fringes, high cheekbones and cherry lips, slightly parted in concentration. Long, dainty fingers dancing with fluid confidence up and down the fretboard. Willowy limbs fluttering from the effort of keeping all his frenetic energy in.
Alex has thought guys were pretty before but this one's really pretty.
The profit margin blinds them , they groomed and ostracised him
Guitar Boy is still looking at him. His heart has picked up the beat. Does the guy realise that he is staring? Did he recognize Alex or something?
His cheeks warms up immediately thinking of the prospect that the boy has noticed him. Is he sizing Alex up from his pedestal too? Inspecting his fidgety hands, shaggy hair and the worn collar of his slightly faded polo. Were his eyes tracking the acne scars scattered on his face and the rose tint that has surely spread down to his chest?
Thank goodness he's here alone tonight, for Matt or Jamie ever saw him like this, he'd never hear the end of how Turner blushed like a schoolgirl at the Little Flames guitarist. And they might tour together soon, that'd be the worst nightmare.
His calm makes my blood boil
Alex fixes his eyes on the intricate patterns on Eva's shirt to distract himself from the boy. How embarrassing- he didn't even catch the second verse of the song they were singing properly.
But his mind keeps getting drawn back to the guitarist. Like those Impressionist paintings he saw at the museum when his class went down to London in the summer of Year 11. Swirls of violets bleeding into pinks, cobalts and ceruleans smudging together in a way that one couldn't tell where one ended and the other one began, browns and greys forming pine tops and church spires. He remembers standing stone still in front of the piece, the expanse of the painting filling every corner of his vision. Gazing and gazing at it, and each second revealing a new stroke , a new shade or a new grain on the fabric of the canvas. He couldn't look away.
Change your tune and change your hair; or you're not going anywhere
Large hands and pink knuckles and supple fingers. Bending and pulling at the strings, sliding down the fret and wrapped around the neck of his instruments.. In a split second, an image flashes like lightning behind Alex's eyelids-- those hands curled around a glass, curled around a cheek, wrapped around a palm, a neck- a different one.
The images are squashed swiftly, like a cigarette on its dying breath.
The boy is a solid guitarist, that much Alex is cognizant enough to observe. He yields that one like he absolutely knows what he is doing. Alex wonders if he is one of those prodigy kinds, the ones who seem to know naturally what to do and how, to whom guitar playing seems to come as easily as talking or laughing. Or does he spend hours and hours on his bedroom floor with his guitar on his lap, perfecting a chord over and over till his fingers start stinging.
Will he teach Alex the parts to this song, if he asks him? Will he recognize him, remember seeing him on the club floor?
Be a C-Y-N-I-C
The bassist leans in to mutter something in the guy's ear, pointing towards the audience. He turns towards him, brushes a sweat-matted lock of hair over his eye. He smiles. Mouth stretched to a wide grin punctuated by dimples at the corner of his lips. Eyes sparkling like marbles in the flashing lights.
Alex's pulse drums. Oh, he is so so pretty.
Be a C-Y-N-I-C
The song comes to an end, the handful of revellers erupting in cheers. They'd be a great choice for headlining partners, Alex thinks he's made the right choice. They do a couple more tunes before bringing their set to a close
Among them was a Bunnymen cover, which goes down superbly with the patrons. All were drinking and dancing, enthusiastically shouting the lyrics back at the band.
Alex spends the entire time gawking at the guitarist like a dumbstruck fool. Eva's rapsy drawl has, by now, receded to a hum in the back of his skull. The other boy sneaks a few glances at him too, or so Alex hopes.
What was his name again?
There was Eva and Mat, then Greg and Jim? No, it was Joe. Yes- and what was the last guy- Miles? Yeah, his name is Miles.
Miles Kane.
Alex will go backstage and introduce himself to the band. Invite them all for a drink. Strike up conversation with Miles. Ask him if he can teach him the guitar parts to the song that they played. See if Miles really had his gaze and mind fixed on him too, or did Alex just imagine it all.
He has never done anything like this before but he will do today.
Later, much later, Alex is leaning against a wall in the alley behind the club. The bricks are damp and cold on his back and the sole of his shoes are digging uncomfortably into the rain-soft soil. But he doesn't pay any mind. He is just about to go in and meet the Little Flames. A cigarette is dangling from his fingers, another one lies dead at his feet already. He is anxious at the best of times, but this is is so much worse.
A string of words is tumbling around in his brain. He can taste them almost.
You probably couldn't see for the lights but you are staring straight at me
.