The Singer Page 4

substances they had taken to leave their blood system, they regained a certain degree of coherence and proved grateful and willing pupils, fast learners who were able to turn their hand to any instrument they were given.

  It would be nicer if the second story was the true one. This version recounts the hopeless and arduous task of auditioning for other band members. By the end of the day, Reese and I were at our wit’s end and tempted to simply settle for the weird mandolin girl and the man sweeping the floor, who happened to play the kazoo. We were just about to act on this injudicious decision when we heard a polite knock on the door. On opening it, we were presented with a pair of rather singular individuals. The first thing that struck us was that they were negative copies of each other. Whichever item of clothing was black on one was white on the other. Beneath their huge hair (one dyed black, one bleached) they wore enormous film star sunglasses, as if they were already famous, making it very difficult to make out their features. One of these curious beings spoke, to tentatively ask if they were “allowed” to audition for our band. Once we had assured them that our initial negative response was a phenomenon known as “sarcasm”, a concept which they are still unable to grasp, they proceeded to perform such skilled musical feats that they had uttered a polite “thank you for having us” and were nearly out of the door before we recovered sufficient speech to tell them they were hired.

  In the band, Richard was usually the drummer (and now, apparently, wind-chime operator) while Bazooka played the melatron, unless he was needed on the saxophone, double bass or euphonium. Occasionally, they would get bored and swap over, or sometimes just dance around for a whole song instead of playing anything (which could be a bit annoying) but, as it was hard to tell which one was doing what most of the time, it was best to leave them to it. The twins were, in fact, rather an enigma to us. We found it very difficult to comprehend how they could skilfully operate so many complex instruments (although, to be fair, the saxophone is one of the easiest wind instruments to learn to play) and yet be incapable of tying their own shoelaces. After we’d tucked them up in their bed at night, Reese and I used to speculate on what the deal was with them. Reese thought they’d just never grown up, but I knew they had, and I suspected they knew a lot more than they let on. One thing was for sure - they definitely weren’t real twins.

  Now, with them cheerfully engaged in a game of scrabble, I attempted to broach the subject that had been on my mind for some time.

  “Reese?”

  “Yes?” He said, looking up from his seventh cake.

  I sighed. “Well, I’ve been wondering what direction the band is going to take from now on. I mean, we’re pretty successful now, aren’t we? Our album’s selling really well and we’ll get plenty of money from this tour –” I broke off. “Look, this is really distracting. Do you realise you’re wearing a girl’s scarf?”

  “No I’m not.” He replied defensively.

  “Yes you are, I can see it—it’s round your neck right now. It’s got sparkly bits and everything!”

  “Oh, this… no, this isn’t a girl’s scarf, it’s a very dashing and stylish accessory for the modern man about town. Definitely a man’s scarf.”

  I looked concerned. “Who told you that? You haven’t been taken in by those shopkeepers again, have you? Remember what happened with the pink jelly sandals?”

  “They were the latest in practical hiking attire!”

  “Exactly.”

  “Anyway,” He continued, “I didn’t buy this one.”

  “Oh no, you haven’t stolen it from one of your girls again have you?” I asked apprehensively.

  “No, of course not! Actually I found it.”

  “Ah, right. Might I ask where, exactly?” I enquired with increasing trepidation.

  “Well, actually it was… kind of… on the pavement outside.”

  I sighed. “So basically you picked up some old scarf off the floor in the street and wore it for the whole show, without even washing it? An old man might have died in that.”

  “But you said it was a girl’s scarf!” He retaliated. “Besides, it looked so useful somehow - I thought it would add a certain je ne sais quoi.”

  “Je ne sais quoi what you’re on, mate, but you know you can’t go about doing that! We’ve got appearances to keep up here—we’re in a band, we’ve got to look cool and edgy, not go prancing about in some girl’s scarf you found on the floor. I will have that cake, actually.” I added, distractedly.

  “OK.” Replied the famous pin-up Yellow Emperor, eagerly sorting through the tin of cakes.

  I pressed on. “Well, we’ve kind of reached the point where we can’t get much bigger unless we start playing to more people—you know, festivals and things. Think of it—Reading, T in the park, maybe even Glastonbury—just think of how successful we could be! But to do that, well…”

  Reese cut in at this point to enquire whether I would prefer a fairy cake or a butterfly cake.

  “I don’t know, anything!” I blurted exasperatedly. “Anyway, to do that, I’d basically need to become a Singer.”

  For the first time since we’d entered the room, there was silence. Reese looked at me with a shocked expression, properly paying attention now. Unfortunately, before he could react, I started choking quite violently. It appeared that, in my nervousness, I’d crammed the whole cake in my mouth at once and was now finding it very difficult to breathe. Reese came to the rescue by hitting me quite hard on the back, which, although providing no help whatsoever in dislodging the cake, did act as a very effective distraction from my imminent suffocation. After a few minutes, I had regained the capacity for speech.

  “So, what do you think, then?” I said, gasping for breath.

  Reese stared at me worriedly. “Why, aren’t you happy with the group as it is?” He asked, concerned. “Does this mean you’re leaving the band—do you want to go solo?”

  “Of course not!” I reassured him. “I need all of you—I couldn’t do anything without you lot. We’ve got to stick together. But it’s just something I’ve always wanted to be, my whole life, ever since I can remember. That’s my whole purpose in life. Besides, it’ll be good for all of us—just think of how successful we could be!”

  Reese’s relief was tangible. “Well, I’m OK with that.” He said. “If that’s what you really want to do, then I’m all for it. I mean, you’ve obviously thought about it properly and, if you’re prepared to go through with it, then I’ll support you.”

  “Really?” I asked. I wasn’t expecting such a calm reaction as this.

  “Of course. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how difficult it is, what you’d have to go through. But to be honest, we’ve suspected for a while that that’s what you were planning. I mean, nobody’s as devoted to singing as you, and if you’re that determined, there’s nothing we can really do to stop you.”

  I grinned, relieved that he had taken it so well. “Thank God!” I said. “I suppose all we need to do now it break it to the twins.”

  “Yes,” Said Reese, glancing over at them huddled together in the corner, their arms round each other, playing a particularly contentious game of scrabble (“I tell you, wernut is a real word!”). I felt a sudden jolt of pity and hoped the news wouldn’t upset them too much. It was very difficult to break something like this to people who still did each other’s hair every morning and held hands when they crossed the road. It was probably going to be even harder than explaining to them what Reese did with those girls. But it had to be done.

  And of course, at some point, I’d have to tell you.

  Information: Hydraulic Resonator Device

  A relatively new invention originating from the late fifties, this is a great advancement on the horn amplified gramophone. The original sound, be it from a gramophone stylus or a specially modified musical instrument such a a Keytar or a Melatron, is amplified to the highest degree by a hydraulic resonator which is powered by a small remote diesel engine, finally driving a huge cardboard co
ne speaker in massive wooden cabinet.

  The Hydraulic Resonator Device (HRD) is a simple diaphragm under high pressure from a hydraulic oil or air feed. The amplifier using complex hydraulics accurately amplifies the signal and transfers it to larger diaphragm device, which powers the huge speakers. As the HRD is relatively small and comes in many forms, some can be attached to string instruments such as a double bass, but they are not as efficient as the direct feed versions.

  Pneumatic versions are becoming increasingly popular after audiences and performers were often sprayed with hydraulic fluid when the pipes burst.

  The direct feed instruments such as keyboards are by far the most efficient, followed by the HRD attachments used on string instruments, which are less than 50% as powerful.

  In spite of the advanced technology, there is no way of externally amplifying the voice. By the nature of its design, using high-pressure fluid, the HRD is just not sensitive enough to amplify the weak vibrations of the human voice.

  The only way it can be done is by using the same technology used in the direct feed instruments such as keyboards, keytars and melatrons. This can only work by incorporating a device which can drive the HRD from within the voice box.

  Grace

  At last, it had come, the news I’d been dreading.

  “I won’t let you!” I said, tears misting my view of the city laid out before