Always a Critic

The view from the crow’s nest above the stage was fantastic. We were far enough from the speakers that the mix would come through clearly, but close enough to appreciate the details of the onstage dynamics.

“It’s kind of crazy that you two never met before tonight,” Tony said, picking up the remnants of our conversation fifteen minutes later.

“Yeah, after what happened with Tara and the public outcry back in 2015, she spent a lot of effort avoiding me.”

“You think that it has to do with Tara?” He asked, confused. “Out of the hundreds of people you were in and out with, she was the one that messed up our relationship with Ozean Horizon.”

“Yeah, I mean, OH opened for Tara like they were a packaged deal. 2012 through 2017 they toured together at least once a year. After the incident, OH fired their bass player, Rome, who is still a good friend of mine to this day,” I replied calmly.

“You never did give your side of that story to the media,” he said like it mattered.

“No, I mean, there wasn’t anything to tell. She saw videos of me with her sister. And one of their friends. What was I supposed to say?” I hesitated. “The truth is less scandalous than the headlines, but I still made an irreversible mistake.”

“Yeah, I guess so, but there’s a difference between being the orchestrator and being the one who got played by someone else.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “But if I outed her sister for blackmailing me, I still would have destroyed their family. I didn’t do anything illegal and my career was largely unaffected, so I just moved on.”

There was a brief silence between us as the lights went down to cue Hedgehogs onto the stage.

“You’re an idiot, but that’s alright.” Tony said as the sound of percussion overtook the theatre.

Hedgehogs were a five-piece metalcore band, who despite being in their late-teens and early-twenties, were suspiciously committed to the Myspace-scene era. I was nostalgic for the flippy hair, skinny jeans, pig squeals, and crab core moments, but they were otherwise forgettable.

Their singer had tremendous control over the crowd, who were mainly here for Ozean Horizon, despite Hedgehogs being the heaviest band on the bill by a large stretch. If he joined a deathcore band or tried to launch a more modern-sounding radio metal band, he’d probably be able to sell out ten-thousand seat venues.

The rest of the band were talented enough, but it was clear that they didn’t have the chops to cut it in the big leagues. I was a sloppy musician in my prime, but my mistakes were masked by an unforgettable performance. Unfortunately, these guys were fairly sloppy, and the performance wasn’t dynamic enough to hide it. At least, that was my take. It was obvious they were successful in their own right, and that there was a market for them, but at their age, it was unlikely for them to break through.

The crowd reaction was respectable as they walked off.

“So, would you have wanted them to open for us?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, maybe back in like 2011 or 2012 when everyone sounded like that; they would’ve probably broken through back then,” I said, still analyzing in my head.

“What about now?”

“No.”

We sat in silence, scrolling on our phones as we anticipated Arcadia arriving on the stage. I continued my correspondence with the CEO of Twilight Reverie, who as expected, was asking me about the show. I didn’t pay him much mind, aside from a quick “If anyone is generational I’ll let you know.”

After what felt like the longest fifteen minutes of my night, Arcadia emerged on stage under intense green and yellow lighting.

For a four-piece band their sound was enormous. Their sound was hard to fit into any particular subgenre, but the choice of jazz chords on 8-string guitars and a 6-string bass would probably put them somewhere under the prog-umbrella. The vocals were absolutely soaring with an intensely syncopated beat behind them.

If this were a listening event, they would have been my favorite band, but their performance could’ve put a drunk bull to sleep. The lights were intense to mask the lack of movement and performance brought about by playing such complex music. The obvious solution would be for them to find a fifth member so their singer could move about the stage, but ten years into their career, that change was never going to happen.

At the end of their set I noticed that Tony had nodded off.

“Hey,” I said, nudging his arm. “Why would you even invite them if you couldn’t make it through the show?”

“Well,” he said while stirring. “I figured you’d like them. Maybe you’d want to add them to TR if they brought in a guitar player to become a five piece.”

“Even if they did, the market is too niche. This theatre would be their ceiling in the US.”

“I mean, there have been some big prog bands through the years,” he argued.

“Yeah, and the ones that sold tickets only did because they took indefinite hiatuses.”

The air between us was tense while we waited for A Warm Place. I was annoyed that he didn’t find a more compelling band to play in the second slot.

“I really like this band,” he said. “You’re probably going to need to watch OH again to reevaluate.”

“Oh?” I said, laughing. “I didn’t even know you liked other bands.”

“Yeah, you know, despite how much I’ve always hated every other band in the world, I saw these cats at a festival back in August in Poland, and I was hooked.”

The lights went down.

A flashy neo-classical guitar sequence followed by the rest of the music joining in. A roll of strobe lights and colors drawing attention to the stage as a whole rather than the guitarist. Finally, their singer stepped on the stage letting out an excellent belting sequence to announce her presence.

Yeah, they were as good as advertised.

Every song was simple enough to digest for a casual listener, but complex enough in the arrangement for a trained ear to find some well designed texture. The performance was energetic and dynamic throughout; competitive teamwork as we used to say. Every member was vying for your attention, but whenever a high point in the set arrived, you were always directed to the proper visual.

Their entire set was phenomenal. The crowd had come alive for the first time all night. I was blown away.

“So, how do they stack up against OH?” Tony asked with a smile.

“I don’t know, it's really close.” I said with gears turning in my head.

“I’m going to head downstairs for a second, but not to tell Kiia she’s won.” I followed up.

“Alright, just don’t ruin the show on your way down.”

I raced down the back stairs with my laminate in full view of the security team. The entire staff would have known who I was without it, making me look more desperate than anything.

I got to the green room five minutes before the curtain. By the time I arrived the only member left in the room was Kiia, hunched over with her head between her hands.

I waited for a minute in silence, letting her finish whatever her pre-show ritual was.

Finally, she stirred and walked confidently toward the door.

“Cy, I know you aren’t here to tell me I’ve won,” the candor in her voice was electric.

“No, I just wanted to see you before you went on,” I said flatly.

“Why?”

“I just… I wanted to see if you were still the Kiia I remembered from back when I was with Tara.”

Her expression locked in even sharper. “No,” she scowled, walking past me down the tunnel to the stage.

“Then I’m glad I came,” I said, though she was already gone. My voice just echoed down the tunnel.