Chapter Text
Friday, 19th May 1972;
Raymond, as it turns out, doesn’t help set up the gear. They do find some assistance in the helpful man who’d come out to open the gates for them, who tells them they’re in the ‘second room’. A jolt of adrenaline runs through Brian at that; The Greyhound down in Croydon where he and Roger had seen Electric Light Orchestra had multiple rooms, one of which was dedicated to live music.
He pauses, glancing at Freddie. The man hadn’t mentioned this when he was describing the place earlier.
With a shrug, the frontman offers a little smile. “It was a long time ago; I think we must have only stuck to the one room.”
“The green one,” John murmurs as he passes and Roger, following, giggles around the big kick drum.
“That drum just laughed at me,” Freddie tells Brian, and joins the small procession down the hallway.
Bringing up the rear, Brian chuckles. His laughter fades as he steps out onto the stage and takes his first sight of The Keep and Candle’s inner. It is, as Freddie had dimly remembered, green; a dark, muddy green, lit by two large, clearly fake, chandeliers high up on its tall ceiling. The golden glow they emit echoes off the lacquered floor, sharpened by the polish underfoot, clear and bright close to the source and reflected less cleanly the further out the floor stretches. There’s a couple of people milling about, and a ripple of noise echoes in the room as they spot Smile.
Raymond, incidentally, isn’t one of their number and Brian wonders where the man’s sloped off to.
“Right, pick your places, eh?”
The call comes from the helpful bloke and Brian tears his gaze away from his surroundings to help direct where each of the band members would like to be. They make short work of the set up with the additional pair of hands, who then points them in the direction of the green room.
“First time, right?” he notes, and Brian hopes it’s just that he’s aware of the acts in the establishment, and not that it’s glaringly obvious they’re new. He doesn’t wait for confirmation. “I’ll nip back when it’s time.”
“Thank you,” Freddie trills, unable to supress his delight with the whole venture.
They wait for him to leave, before Freddie spins towards his bandmates.
“Soak it in, darlings,” he cries. “Glory, fame and fortune lie within our reach.”
“It’s only one place,” Brian attempts, keen not to get too carried away.
“S’better than what we’ve had before,” Roger replies and Brian smiles. The boy’s large eyes have been wider still since they got here and there’s a hushed sort of wonder about him. He turns to John. “We got Dennis tonight?”
“I wasn’t sure we were still going that way,” John shakes his head. “Besides, we only paid him for one gig.”
“We’ve not got the cash for anything more,” Brian gently tells a clearly disappointed Roger. “Not right now.”
“Shake off those worries, angel,” Freddie advises, determined not to let anything spoil the night. “Before long, we’ll have money to spare and coins aplenty.”
“Magic,” John smiles. “Got a few things I’ve been eyeing.”
“Trust the frugal one to have designs on our funds,” Freddie teases, wagging a finger in the bassist’s face playfully.
“We just have to get through the next few weeks,” Brian smiles and imagines he can already feel the burden of juggling bills lifting off him. “Then we can look at things.”
“What things?” Roger asks of John, who gives the teenager a lopsided smile.
“Might see if I can pick something up for stage wear.”
“Really?” This news delights Roger, who turns to Freddie. “All right if I do as well?”
“I don’t see why not,” the singer replies happily, before giving John a bright smile. “Am I to guess you’ve come around to the need to impress when we gig?”
John’s shoulder lifts. “Think it’s more that I’d like to wear my own stuff,” he replies, as Brian laughs in realisation. “So I’m not at the mercy of your wardrobe.”
“Beast,” Freddie exclaims, brushing his hair over his shoulder and letting his dark gaze shine. “I should have brought that lovely red top of yours for tonight.”
“That’s a point,” Brian notes, remembering the railing still sat out in the van. “Suppose we’d best bring it in and get ourselves kitted out.”
“I’m not wearing glitter,” John announces as they depart for the van once again. “Not here.”
“Spoilsport.”
Arching an eyebrow at Brian’s declaration, John tells him, “You can have my share, if you like.”
“I wasn’t thinking of doing the makeup here,” Freddie reveals, tone concerned. “Should I have, do you think?”
“Reckon we’ll manage without,” Brian snorts, hauling the van door open ready for the frontman.
It doesn’t, of course, require all four of them to bring in the rail, but it seems they’ve decided to stick together for the time being; therefore while Roger mans the back end of the unwieldy clothing rail and Freddie tugs at the front, Brian and John perform a sort of honour guard around it. Freddie had had things to say about the choices placed upon it, but tonight they’ve not allowed him to take charge of the stage gear and looked for their own tastes to be allowed.
Not that Freddie has reason to complain, Brian thinks; his blue striped jacket with the three-quarter length sleeves and white tee beneath is perfect for the sort of venue The Keep and Candle appears to be; likewise, John’s favourite red rollneck coupled with his coveted dark blue jacket is nothing to sniff at. Roger had apparently been torn between his loose, open altered shirt and something a bit more every day, settling eventually on his black, beaded top while Freddie, watching the way the wind was blowing, abandoned his purple outfit in favour of his black velour trousers, with the soft black top Roger likes to borrow, with the gold plume stitched on the from. Considering the importance of the gig, however, he’s further dressed up the outfit with his string of pearls once more acting as a bracelet and plenty of big, heavy rings to decorate his fingers with.
Once everyone’s changed, Freddie contemplates which rings he prefers, offering John and Brian the rejected ones.
“Might as well spice up your wardrobes,” he declares, fishing out the gold chain Roger often borrows and handing it across to the boy.
Surprisingly, or maybe not considering John is in his own way as fashion conscious as the rest of them, the bassist chooses a signet ring from the small amount.
“Why not?”
“Just watch yourself around water with that, mate,” Brian chuckles, himself eschewing the jewellery, content with the simple knotted chain hanging from his own neck. “Drag you right down, that would.”
Peering wistfully at a gold and black ring, Roger sighs softly. Not impossible to drum in, but why make extra work for yourself, Brian supposes, watching the teenager’s expression brighten. Turning large, hopeful eyes up to Freddie, the small drummer catches the man’s eye.
“Any chance I can borrow this for Lawrence’s do?”
Nodding, Freddie acquiesces amicably. Roger’s barely brought up the impending party he’d been invited to and Brian’s glad their singer’s not made a fuss of his request. The fifteen-year-old’s not going to appreciate anyone highlighting the small antagonism Lawrence’s invitation was accompanied by. Whatever bee in the older teenager’s bonnet, Roger’s proven to be a bit sensitive to the wind-up.
Instead, Freddie focuses on another or Roger’s pet peeves and, slinging an arm about his slim shoulders and dragging him close, he trills shrilly in his ear, “They grow up so fast!”
“Piss off,” Roger grunts, pushing away from Freddie with a large smile, unable to hide how much he enjoys the frontman’s playing.
Seeing this, Freddie reaches back out. Snagging the teenager once more, he pulls him close once more. “Let me hold you while I can, darling,” he coos. “Not going to be this small forever.”
“Another few months and he’ll be towering over you,” Brian jokes, as the wrestle – one for escape, the other for a cuddle.
“M’not small,” Roger protests, gaining his freedom. “Fuck, m’a mess.”
“You most certainly are,” Freddie agrees disapprovingly, dark gaze bright with laughter considering he was the one to cause most of the disaster that is Roger. “Messy child. Come here.”
“Not a chance,” Roger declares, shaking his hair out with his hands. “Tosser.”
The hijinks look set to continue, until Raymond enters the room.
“All set?” he asks, eyeing the bunch of them. He doesn’t comment on their clothing, but the gaze isn’t quite as cold as it has been, and Brian presumes he approves of their look tonight. “Don’t need to remind you how important tonight is.”
“No,” John nods seriously, the amusement for once not making an appearance.
They’re all keenly aware of this gig’s lasting impact, potentially. Should The Keep and Candle not find Smile to their liking, word is going to spread. The pub’s clientele, and the reputation it’s built up for itself, is either going to make or break them. At least, for this level of success.
“Make this count,” Raymond continues sternly. “Or you can kiss goodbye to anything else you might be looking for, for the time being.”
Indicating his understanding, Brian nods. The butterflies of excitement drown under the tidal wave of pressure, suffocate in droves with the mounting fear of failure. They’ve all been remarkably casual about the gig, treating it the same as any other, but the way forward hinges on it, for the most part. They still have The Friar’s Rest coming up, but any further bookings could well rely on how they’re perceived tonight.
It's frankly astonishing the place has deigned to offer them a weekend night without an audition. Then again, Brian reflects, thinking of the empty band kitty and their need to book other, incidental gigs for themselves, it’s cost them enough.
A sombre mood settles over the band; John fidgets relentlessly with the buttons on his jacket; Freddie stalks the room as if caged, Roger retreats to a corner to go over his hair without interference. Brian bites his lip. This isn’t how they should go out on stage.
“All right,” he says. “We know how important it bloody is.”
He catches his bandmates’ attention, naturally enough.
“Yes,” Freddie agrees, coiled and tense, a cobra ready to strike.
“Fact is,” Brian continues. “We’re not going to get what we want if we don’t go out there as we normally do.” He takes in his friend’s glances. “We need to have fun – fuck it, why aren’t we excited for this?”
A slow smile pulls at Freddie’s lips, Roger rejoins the grouping. Raymond, Brian notes, straightens but thankfully says nothing.
“Of course we’re excited,” Freddie announces, his normal flare and passion reigniting before Brian’s eyes.
“Fucking Smile, ain’t we?” Roger snorts. “Gonna be bloody brilliant.”
“Magic,” John says, his voice softer than normal but no less enthusiastic. Awed, perhaps, by their undertaking but not cowed.
Brian’s butterflies gain new life. “Fuck,” he breathes, sharing a wide smile with the others. “Fuck. We’re actually doing it.”
“Fucking are,” Roger replies, and if the way he bounces on his toes is any indication, he’s energised once more. “Cunting hell.”
“Cunting hell, indeed,” Freddie chuckles. “Darlings, we’ll be glorious.”
“Won’t know what hit them, the poor sods,” John nods, amusement dancing in his grey-green eyes once more.
“Just think,” Freddie entices. “This time tomorrow, we’ll have venues beating down the door trying to book us.”
“Prepare yourself, Raymond,” Brian laughs. “Deacs, you keep that little diary handy.”
“We’re gonna be famous,” Roger asserts, delight shining in those big blue eyes and stretched wide on his lips. “Be wanted all over the shop.”
They’re dreaming, of course, dreaming large and perhaps a tad unrealistically, but Brian judges this better than the anxious, tight weight of before. Raymond says nothing to deter them; having said his piece, he must recognise the need for this build up.
Before too long, they’re called to the stage where curtains have been drawn along the front of the platform. They hang heavily, and even from the back of the Brian can see the thick, dark yellow material has been highly tasselled down the closing edges. He imagines, considering the expensive look of them, they’ve got big sweeps with more tassels at the top of where the drapes hang. Brian hopes they’re not going to get a repeat of the things going up in flames but has no time to dwell on such things.
Once Smile have assumed their places and picked up their instruments, the curtains swing back towards the thin, marginal wings of the stage with surprising swiftness. The band gaze out on a now packed room, sudden cries lifting from the crowd at the reveal of the band.
Naturally, Freddie’s not fazed by the introduction to their gig and steps forward to being engaging the throng amassed before them. Chattering at them, he briefly introduces the band and its members, before announcing their first song. This proclamation receives a roar of approval so long, the first few bars of their usual opener almost get lost in it. Brian smiles delightedly. The crowd may not know them – he has doubts anyone frequenting The Keep and Candle has seen them before elsewhere – but clearly they’re ready to enjoy whatever Smile bring.
And Smile are prepared to bring everything they’ve got. Having put their own songs back in the mix, John sends the crowd wild with the basslines on Doing All Right and Green, Roger’s drumming and high cries earns him wild applause, Freddie’s masterful vocals on each and every song has the audience in raptures. The frontman lives up to the greeting afforded them; he dances across the stage from end to end, bends to sing to the front row, twirls and spins and pulls John and Brian into little moments with his mic or with their guitars, jumps up the risers to Roger and thrusts and stamps to the beats the teenager drives out.
He's everywhere, Brian thinks, no part of the space wasted as he tailors his movements to the current song appropriately. He weaves patterns with his body and his voice, drawing their crowd to him like moths to a flame, enchants them with the spells of his songs, captures hearts and minds as he makes the lyrics so much more than mere words.
Brian’s always been in awe of his friend and has had many occasions to marvel anew at the showmanship and musicianmanship on display, but tonight, as on so many stages before, Freddie lights up the room. It’s hard to take his eyes off him, but Brian’s conscious of his own job. He brings the Fireplace up and makes her howl, bends into the notes and solos, his own body driving the intensity he wrings out of the Red Special.
She screams in ready response, a powerful cry of defiance, and moans at his touch, sings sweetly the songs in his heart. She’s everything Brian had made of her, all he had wished and in this moment, he declares his love for her with his playing. Memories of creating her surface, his dad overshadowing the present and despair and pain swell in Brian. Furiously, he takes those feelings and uses them to enhance the meaning within the notes he plays, heartbreak and hope flowing from beneath his fingers.
Everything he gave up, all he lost, take meaning in the Red Special and the answering desperate ache of each note. Continuing to use his swirling emotions, Brian plays and plays and plays. Connecting with his bandmates, he forges onwards; he dips towards Freddie when the frontman leans in for a bar or two, spins up the riser to share a moment with Roger, lifting the Red Special up as if to play for the boy, to match those snappy, rhythmic beats, slides close to John as he bops along the stage, dipping in time with the bassist’s movements.
Each of his bandmates appear in equally deep emotions, from large shining eyes to serious displays of their talent, and all in between Smile have fun with the gig, and pour their all into it. The audience reacts satisfyingly to their efforts and Brian imagines even Raymond would be hard pressed to find fault in the show.
Eventually, their hour elapses and regretfully, Freddie announces the final song. Ending on Rocket Man, they keep the energy and fire of the gig going right to the last note and are screamed off the stage, wild hands rising from the crowd below as they move to the front for a quick farewell. The continued adoration fuels them all the way back to the green room, where they attempt to wind down and shake themselves free from the high octane of the gig.
Snatching up the small towel kept out for getting off stage, Freddie dabs at his face as the rest of them pick up their own.
“Anyone in the mood for celebrating?” he asks. “I think we deserve it tonight.”
“Wouldn’t say no,” John smiles, as the door to their green room opens.
Wiping the sweat off his neck, Freddie looks up as Raymond approaches. “Darling,” he trills. “What did you think? Wonderful, yes?”
Their manager doesn’t return his greeting, instead glancing amongst them sombrely. “Need to have a chat,” he tells them.
“What is it?” Brian asks, pausing in his own clean up. Around him, the other’s halt also, watching Raymond with wary eyes.
“They liked your stuff,” the man begins, to which Freddie tsks.
“Of course they did.” He sweeps an arm out vaguely in the direction of the stage and the filled room they’d played to. “Didn’t you see the crowd? Hear their reactions?”
“That’s not the issue.”
“What is the issue, then?” John wonders. “In the interest of science, like.”
“They want a bit more cash,” Raymond tells him. “An insurance.”
“Insurance?” Roger snarls, flinging his towel down and staring hard at their manager. “For what? We fucking rocked out there.”
“The crowd had a good time,” Brian insists, lightly touching Roger’s shoulder in an effort to stall the rising temper and perhaps remind him not to go for Raymond’s throat. “You can’t tell me they didn’t.”
Raymond remains unmoved, either by Roger’s anger or Brian’s logic.
“Management are sticking to their guns over this, lads,” he says firmly.
“Greedy cocking bastards.” Going back to moping the back of his neck, Freddie purses his lips. “All right. But be sure to make them understand we’ll only do this for the next two gigs here. After that, we’re here on our own merit.”
That confidence raises Raymond’s eyebrow, but he doesn’t argue against it.
“Good. Right, I’ll be on my way then. Had a decent night, lads. Stick with it, and more’ll come.”
“It had bloody better,” Brian grouses as the man leaves. “The amount we’re paying for it.”
“Blimey,” John says, mostly in agreement Brian’s sure.
Dropping his towel, Freddie makes for the clothing rail. “No point crying over spilt milk,” he advises, tugging off his top. His tone indicates his fury over the continued insistence that their band isn’t good enough to warrant a proper pay or booking without a backhander, but clearly he’s decided to focus on what it’ll bring them instead of what it’s costing.
“Fuck’s sake,” Roger growls, but follows the man’s lead and begins to change into his usual clothing.
Once they’ve got their stage gear onto the rail, they trudge back to the stage. The thick, yellow curtains have been pulled shut at the front of the platform, although the noise of the crowded room can still be heard, slightly muffled. From speakers play dance music and Brian imagines all the bodies below, twisting and shaking to the sound.
Stepping out onto the stage where they’d had such a great time, they notice a figure by the drum kit.
“Hello,” John murmurs. “We’ve got help, looks like.”
The man from before, the one who’d helped them haul their gear onto the stage is indeed the person waiting for them.
“Part of my job, innit?” he shrugs when he tells them he’s there to lend a hand again.
“Cheers, mate,” Brian says. “Appreciate it.”
Studying the group, the man tilts his head. “Why the long faces? Had a good night out there, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Freddie smiles, trying to rally once more. “Marvellous night, truth be told.”
Nodding as if satisfied and not too bothered by the pall that’s draped over the band, the man bends to work.
“Yeah, was a corker all right,” he says. He lifts his head slightly, to side eye Freddie. “Might have some work going your way, if you’re interested?”
This gives them reason to pause.
“Oh?”
“Just a little place, nothing like this,” they’re told evasively, before he straightens entirely. “Getting a decent reputation for, uh, underground nights, if you see what I mean.”
“I think we follow,” Freddie murmurs quietly.
“Won’t pay much, but you’ll have a decent name by the end of it.”
“We’re interested,” Brian confirms, not needing to check with his friends on that.
“Not here, then. Kev,” he introduces himself. “Let’s chat outside, eh?”
Hastily, they grab up parts of the drum kit and equipment and follow Kev out to the van.
“Can we presume from your furtiveness, this place of yours isn’t altogether on the up and up?” Freddie wonders, delight shining in his mischievous smile.
“Not my place, as such,” Kev shrugs. “And no, it’s not licensed, not official. That a problem?”
“Can’t see why it would be,” Freddie hums softly.
“Just how are you involved?” Brian wonders.
“M’a spotter. Find likely bands and introduce them.”
“How’d people know about it?” Roger wonders curiously, excitement at this new prospect away from the cares and concerns of the usual pubs and clubs clear.
“Known in certain circles only, if you catch my drift,” Kev continues. “Away from the fuzz, away from the taxman.” He eyes them, as if gauging their trustworthiness. “Place of business changes each time, we rely on word of mouth to get the punters in.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Freddie tells him, and Brian can’t disagree with that.
“So, you recruit us and then what?” John asks. “We get a shout one random evening?”
“Summat like that,” Kev agrees. “You up for it?”
“Darling, this sounds tailor made for us,” Freddie assures him.
“Not a word to nobody,” Kev warns. “Not even that straight suit manager of yours.”
“Raymond?” Brian snorts. “You met him, then?”
“Heard the fucker talking to him inside,” Kev grunts, jerking his head towards the pub and presumably the landlord. “Striking deals and such.”
“We won’t breathe a word,” Brian promises.
“Good. Don’t need no third party sticking his oar in.”
“We’ve said the same thing,” John nods, lips twitching. “Many a time.”
“Right, give us somewhere to contact you, then we’ll get back to shifting this lot.”
They do and not a word more is said on the subject, but the night finally ends on a positive note, one with a tantalising prospect on the horizon. Get Smile known in the dark, quiet underground music scene as well as in the regular pubs and clubs, and the band’s well on its way.