Beautiful Addiction by Ella Hudson

Author:Ella Hudson [Hudson, Ella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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I’ve heard that offstage drama is more times than not what catalyzes musicians into all kinds of furious acts on stage, but have had no personal experience to prove it. What I didn’t know is that tonight would provide all the validity I’d ever need to back that theory.

The crowd roars as Albatross comes back out. They open the second set with a rock ballad and then pick the pace right back up with a blazing cover of Guns-n-Roses’ “Paradise City.” Cash is at his best when screaming vocals and that song shows off well for him. He calls it the greatest rock song of all time. And the crowd reacts with every pitch and moan.

Toward the end of the set, they launch into their own high-intensity, wailing guitar anthem—a la AC/DC’s “Let There Be Rock”. I’m back in the crowd now, though not in the same place I stood for the first set and am totally avoiding eye contact with Tear Drop. I have no idea if Cash said anything to him or not, but his body language tells me probably not. Nonetheless, I fear an encounter with him after the show.

Cash finishes the second chorus, steps back and methodically strums a steady rhythm on his guitar. Tear Drop follows the queue and rips into a solo. Cash stares at him intently, pacing toward, then away. His face scrunches into a scowl. Brows down. Eyes glaring.

Suddenly, as Tear Drop resolves his solo, Cash runs to one side of the stage. He’d normally be going into the third verse, but instead frantically pulls his guitar over his head¸ swinging it by its strap.

As Tear Drop picks up the rhythm, Cash approaches his side of the stage. I envision a terrible scene, but Cash pulls up right before getting to him and diverts his energy, and his guitar, directly into the stage itself. The crowd erupts and he looks up as if to ask, “Again?”

Nods of agreement throughout the crowd result in another swing. The guitar slams into one of the monitors. All manner of screeching noises— those never intended to pass through the guitar maker’s pickup— nearly pierce the eardrums of the people adoring this band.

An unrelenting wry grin comes over Cash’s face, fueling the crowd ever more. And it’s an unbroken circle lasting several minutes—him feeding off of the crowd and them feeding right back off of him—as he systematically destroys every last shred of the guitar he’s had since high school.

At the end of its second set, and without a rhythm guitar with which to continue, the band is through. A memorable finish by any standard.

Cash retreats first and is gone before the rest of the band. Tear Drop is last— soaking up every spark of energy the crowd still has to offer. He throws both hands up, flicking his picks out into the crowd. When all are gone, but one, he looks around, surveying the room.

A cold chill comes over me and all the little hairs on my neck stand on end.

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