Prologue

I Wanna Be Sedated

1987

    The room was a barrage of power chords, backbeat and high pitched teenage voices screaming in unison.  A toxic mix of hysteria, electric noise and confusion.  It was a typical day at work for Stevey Richards but something was wrong.

    He wasn’t quite sure of exactly what the problem was.  The drugs and alcohol were certainly a part of it.  The fact that he hadn’t been to sleep in almost three days couldn’t be helping any either but it wasn’t like his condition was anything out of the ordinary.  Just another day in the life of a rock star.

    Glancing out over the stadium crowd, he tried to focus his thoughts.  The rest of the band was still playing the song but he couldn’t seem to pick it up.  He couldn’t get himself in synch with the music and it all sounded foreign and haphazard.  It was especially strange because he had written the song himself without any collaboration from the other band members.  If anyone knew the song from top to bottom it should have been him.

     Opening his mouth he tried to sing but nothing came out.  Was it that he didn’t remember the words or was it that he just couldn’t physically sing them?  He wasn’t sure.

    He looked back over his shoulder.  Most of the band looked as though everything were perfectly normal.  They were each lost in their own parts and in the distinct roles that each played in the make up of the song.  Kevin, on the other hand, had a confused and concerned look on his face.  Or was it anger?  Stevey couldn’t tell.

    Kevin was his drummer.  He was also his closest friend in the band.

    Squinting through the bright lights, he tried to get a look at the audience.  There were arms flailing back and forth and fists pounding in the air.  He could make out bobbing heads and bodies and behind them he could almost see what looked like empty seats but that couldn’t be right.  Why would there be empty seats?  Next Exit always sold out their shows.  It must be a mistake.  His eyes must have been playing tricks on him through the murky fog and colorful lights.

    When the song came to a sudden stop, it caught him by surprise.  Everything seemed confused and out of place.

    “Why did everybody stop?” he heard himself ask over the PA system.

    “Cause the song’s over.” Someone answered.

    “Oh.” He laughed into the microphone.  “Good reason.”

    His glance fell to the base of the mic stand at his feet, as though he could no longer hold his head up.  “Who took my shoes?” he asked, realizing that he was bare foot.

    In his ear he felt some ones hot breath and he heard them say, “What the fuck are you doin?”  It was loud and harsh and it hurt his ear.  “Get your shit together.  We’re in the middle of a concert.”

    He looked up to find Ronnie, his bass player, standing over him.

    “It’s all good.” He slurred.  “I’m cool.”

What was it about bass players?  Why were they always assholes?  He wondered if he’d just said that out loud.

    “For our next song…” he began, trying to take hold of the deteriorating situation.  “For our next song, we’re going to do one from our first album.  It was the first single we ever released and it was a big hit.  It’s called Eyes For You and we’d like to do it for you now…”

    The crowd was cheering wildly.

    “We’ve already done that one.” Ronnie said sternly into his microphone.  “We just finished doing that bloody song.”

    “Bloody?” Stevey said, holding onto the microphone with both hands and pulling it into his face.  “Who says bloody?  You’re not even British.”

    “We just finished playing that fucking song, Stevey!”

    “Well, we’ll do it again.  What’s wrong with that?  That’s the one everybody came to hear anyway.  That’s the one everybody knows.”

    There was a loud crash to his right and he looked up to see Ronnie’s bass guitar lying on the stage.  Ronnie was nowhere in sight.

    “Fuck him.  We don’t need him.  First rule of Rock And Roll is bass players suck.  They always suck.”

    “What are you doing, Stevey?” He heard a voice say over the PA.  He looked up in the air as though the voice had come from above but then realized it was Kevin’s voice and he turned back towards his drummer. 

    “I got it, man.  We’re good.”

    “You’re fuckin up, Stevey.”

    “No, I’m good, man.  I’m good.  I’m just tryin to give the people what they want.  I just want to play the song.”

    “We already did that one.”

    “I don’t remember playing that song.  I don’t remember playing it.  I don’t think we did it yet.”

    A hush was growing over the crowd.  They were beginning to realize that it wasn’t all a part of the act.  They were beginning to get a true sense of what they were witnessing.

    Stevey turned back to the audience and struck a chord on his guitar but quickly realized it wasn’t the one that started Eyes For You.  “Shit.” he mumbled.  “How does it go again?”

    “The show’s over, Stevey.”

    “No.  No.  I got it.”  He said as he hit the opening chords to his biggest hit and began to play a sloppy rendition.  Moments into it, he realized that the rest of the band hadn’t joined in and he stopped and looked around.

    “Come on guys.  A little help here.”

    No one said a word and the entire arena seemed quiet and still.

    “I just want to play the stupid song!”  He yelled.  “What is the big fucking deal with that?  I can play it by myself!  I don’t need you guys to play the fucking song with me!”

    “The show’s over, dude.  It’s time to go home.”

    Kevin had come out from behind his drum set and was suddenly standing beside him.  Stevey looked down at the guitar in his hands as though he were trying to figure out what to do next.  As though he were looking to the guitar for some sort of answer.  He noticed that two of his guitar strings were broken.  When had that happened?  He didn’t remember breaking any guitar strings.

    “It’s time to go.” Kevin said softly.

    “Not yet.  First we’ve got to play the song.  You know the one.  That stupid shit song that everybody loves.  The one they play on the radio all the time.  The one that everyone came to hear.”

    “I know the song.” Kevin shrugged.  “We already did it.  It’s time to go.”

    Stevey looked around the quiet hall for a moment and then unhooked the strap from the bottom of his guitar.  It hit the stage floor with a thunderous roar that echoed over the PA system and through the arena.  Kevin reached out to take hold of Stevey’s arm but he pushed him away and stormed off the stage.

    It was the last time that all of the members of Next Exit would ever appear on stage together.

    Backstage, it was the usual assortment of roadies, groupies and leeches that you would always find at the bigger rock shows but the mood was wrong.  People were quiet and uncomfortable and no one wanted to look Stevey in the eye as he made his way to the dressing room.   Normally, it would take two body guards to keep them from hanging all over him.

    A large body with a thick long pony tail stepped out in front of him.  “Are you ok?  Do you need anything, Stevey?” Francis asked.  Assigned to Stevey by the record company, Francis was somewhere between a gopher, a personal assistant, a pimp, pusher and security guy.

    “Buzz off.” Stevey replied as he pushed his way past the big man.

    He stumbled into his makeshift dressing area and took a seat in front of the mirror.

    “Nice show, Stevey.  That’s one they’re not liable to forget.”

    “Fuck you, Malcolm.” He said without looking up.

    “What are you going to do for an encore, kill somebody?  Sacrifice a virgin?”

    “Did Kathy call?”

    “You’ve got more serious problems then your estranged wife, my friend.”

    Stevey sat motionless staring down at his dirty bare feet.

    “It’s over, Stevey.” Malcolm said flatly.  “We’ve ridden this puppy as far as we can take it.  It’s time to throw it in the trash before it starts stinking up the joint.”

    “What does that mean?”

    “It means you’re out of work.  The label is dropping you guys.  Although, after tonight, I seriously doubt if there’s even a band left to drop, anyway.  It’s over.  We had a good run.”

    “Just like that?”

    “Just like that.” Malcolm repeated. 

    Stevey looked up at Malcolm for the first time since coming into the room.  “It’s all your fault, you know?”

    Malcolm shrugged.  “Ok, Stevey.  Whatever you want to believe.”

    “It was you, Malcolm.  You’re the one that did all this.  You’re the one that screwed all this up so bad.”

    “Lighten up, Stevey.  It’s nothing personal.  It’s just business.  These days, you’re bad business.”  Malcolm got up and walked out of the room without another word. 

    Stevey sat in his chair, staring at his feet and trying to sort out all the cloudy details from the night.  Nothing made sense.

    He was exhausted and he couldn’t think straight.  He needed sleep. It was the only way to clear his mind.  He would worry about it all in the morning.  In the morning he would figure everything out and set things right.  Everything was going to be ok.