Chapter 1

Mick could only conjure five hopefuls, despite advertising in every publication he thought relevant. Only five, and the first four had been shit. Mick was resigning to the situation - few girl singers wanted to do the material.

Anna Kuznetsova was the last. Born of Russian immigrants, she was tall, willowy and impressive in appearance.

Anna arrived with her own guitar and material. Mick, his real name was James but he'd always been called Mick, after Mick Ronson - asked her for a key so he could accompany her on the piano, but she didn't read music.

"Is that an 'A'?" she asked.

"'A' flat," Mick said dryly. He hadn't much hope, but thought he had to hear her just the same.

She started strumming, her face betraying self-consciousness. Anna's voice began - frail, and barely able to sustain a note. Mick looked at Geordie, who was going to play base. Unspokenly, they knew she'd be another disappointment.

Then she let rip - full throated and with such power it rocked back the two old musos in their seats. Mick looked at Geordie in astonishment. 'What the Hell have we here?' was the unspoken communication.

Mick's mission had been to form a covers band, with music mostly from the 70s. There was a good market out there for that stuff and he was confident they'd find enough work for most of the year.

It was Mick who decided they needed a 'chick singer.' That'd go down well in the provincial pubs he intended to find work. Geordie was always sceptical of the idea.

The girl finished as she began, with a frail voice full of loss. The silence was deafening.

"Ah, give us a moment?" Geordie told her.

"Have I got the job?" she asked.

"I said..."

"Hang on a minute," Mick interrupted, "Anna? You know what sort of band this is?" She nodded. "Then tell me, why do you want to play covers?"

"I don't."

"Huh?"

"Listen, you guys have been around a long time, right? I go to Uni. We have a band called 'The Curse.' I thought if you heard us you might be able to help us get really going, y'know?"

"Hey, this is an audition for a singer..." Geordie started to say. Mick could tell he was irritated.

"Wait!" Mick, again, interrupted his cohort, "so why the charade? Why didn't you just come out and ask?"

"I did! I wrote to you. I even came around to your house, but you were out."

"Huh? Why me? There's a lot of musicians out there who're younger and have a better feel for that kind of music."

"Michelle's Dad said we should call you. She plays base guitar. Her father used to be in the 'Frontal Lobes.'"

"The Lobes?" Mick said in surprise, "go on! Hell we had great parties with them in the old days." Mick looked at Geordie who was also smiling at the memories. "So, who's her father?"?

"Roger..."

"The Dodger? He has a daughter?"

"Mick," interrupted Geordie, "I have to be somewhere?"

"Sure, sure. So the Dodger's daughter is in a band?"

"Michelle said her father told her that you were the best rock guitarist in the country and there was little you didn't know about stage performance and arranging."

"Her father said that? Thank him for the plug, but I'm not sure I'm the best person..."

"Mick? I really gotta go. We're having people over tonight," Geordie told him.

"Sure, sure," Mick replied, dismissively. "So, Anna, what stuff do you play?"

"Kinda alternative, punk, maybe? I dunno, we just play what seems right."

"Ok, so who have you got in the band?"

"Michelle's our base player and we have a drummer, Karen. I play guitar. We're still learning..."

"All girls?" he raised his eyebrows, "and only a three piece? That's kinda hard work for a rock band."

"Tell me about it? It's hard, y'know, playing guitar and singing."

"A lot harder than people think," Mick agreed, "especially with two other guys, er, girls."

"Michelle's probably our best musician. She hasn't a base so she plays guitar tuned down to 'D'."

"That's clever!" Mick said.

"And she reads music. Karen, well, she finds it hard sometimes to keep time. She keeps speeding up."

"Ah, has she tried a click track?"

"Huh?"

"Like a metronome except through headphones. Tell her to practice like that for a few hours."

"I don't think we have that kind of thing."

"Yeah, well, we can lend you what you need. You have your own PA?"

"Kinda, it's shitty!"

"All right," Mick told her, "bring your band in here one day? Maybe we can work something up? Let me know what gear you need and I can arrange it?"

"That'd be great," Anna told him.

Mick watched her leave. She was a fox, he thought, and projected tons of charisma on stage. She had a great set of pipes and her voice control was spot on - possibly the result of vocal training. Her guitar playing was pretty average, however, and not really up to the mark for performance.

But was he really up for this, he wondered? This 'alternative' music wasn't really his cup of tea. At 53 he was just too out of touch. Hip hop? He couldn't stand it. He hoped they weren't going to play that stuff or he'd be out of the room so fast...

Anna was excited, as she walked down the stairs carrying her guitar. She hadn't told Mick that their band really sucked, but, she hoped, he'd see the potential.

Michelle had urged her to go to the audition - to talk to Mick and convince him to help them out. Their base player was the most accomplished, having been raised in a musical family. Anna, herself, had had voice lessons from the age of 6, back when they lived in Russia, and her mother had paid for private lessons in this country. She knew she had a good voice and she had faith in her fledgling band.

Their biggest problem was Karen. It wasn't her fault because she'd been barely playing the drums for 5 months. She'd good upper body strength and knew all the shots but she just couldn't keep time. 'What was this click track?' she wondered.

Michelle was waiting for her in the van. "Well?"

"He wants to hear us," Anna informed her friend.

"Uh, oh!" she grinned.

"He knows it won't be perfect," Anna explained, "we'll pick our best number!"

"Sure," she laughed, "like what would that be?"

"'Indigo!'"

"Maybe?" she considered, "I still think it should go down to A minor."

"That's too low for me."

"Oh, bullshit! You've got a great range. I think it's your natural key."

"Y'think? I don't like the chord fingering. It's too hard!"

"Then let me carry it? Just do a little riff. I'll show you?"

"Suppose," she replied, unenthusiastically.

They both knew, though, it will be a tough mission to impress the likes of Mick Johnson.

Mick's flat was a clutter of band gear. Through the front door, he had to squeeze past a guitar amp. Guitars littered the lounge, together with an effects pedal, another amp, boxes of strings and sundry other gear. A Gibson SG Custom was his favourite axe and there was a Stratocaster, which'd seen quite a few stages over the years.

'Best rock gutarist in the country?' he mused. Well, he'd damn little to show for it. But what did an old muso like himself do but grab whatever gig paid the bills? His chance at superstardom had long passed into oblivion. Not, he thought, that there was much chance of that happening in this country. Maybe there'd been riches overseas, ripe for the plucking? His forays, however, had fallen foul of bad and dishonest management, excessive drugs, a surfeit of great guitarists - all seemingly more pretty than he - and just plain bad luck.

'Performance and arranging?' Well, he'd picked a little up over the years. He'd written some good material as well. But, what would appeal to 'The Curse's' fans, he'd little idea. Punk? He could do punk, or grunge. If that's what they wanted, well, he could do that, he supposed.

Anna called a little while later. She told him she could get the band along tomorrow, unless that was too soon? 'Yeah, why not?' he told her. He'd maybe get his mate Freddie along to coach their drummer. 'You good for that?' Of course they were. It was refreshing to work with a young band that hadn't acquired the attitude, the arrogance, and the competing egos.

Mick searched through the mass of flyers, bills and competing letters that graced the floor by the front door until he found what he was looking for. Anna Kuznetsova's handwriting was elegant. Opening the letter he found a photo of the band, clearly taken by a friend.

Anna stood in the middle, her mass of untidy blond hair highlighted by a orange streak that had clearly now disappeared. Michelle, the base player, was also a blond but her hair was curly and tied at the back. She was shorter than Anna, but her eyes reminded Mick of her father. They were blue and full of mischief. On the other side stood Karen the drummer. She looked younger than the other two, but had well-developed upper arms. Dark haired - she wore it cropped in a fashion Mick would've called 'Dykish.'

But you can hardly tell, these days, he thought. In any case, their sexuality hardly mattered, except out of curiosity. A little work on their image would be all that'd be required. All three of them were good looking. He was kinda looking forward to tomorrow.

Freddie George was game. A real ladies' man, Freddie thought Mick was having him on. 'Coach a girl band?' 'Oh, sure, ' he'd said, 'pull my left one?'

Mick was adamant, and Freddie was all for piling into the van that minute to set up.

"Just be here at two," Mick told him, "and keep your hands to yourself!"

Mick had little doubt that Freddie would behave himself around the ladies. He'd been married for twenty years, had mellowed considerably over the years, and, in any case, was terrified of his wife Terry.

Neither of the old bandmates were exactly Brad Pitt material anymore, Mick laughed to himself. 'What would three such pretty girls want with a couple of old fossils like themselves?' No doubt they had plenty of talent to choose from, he thought, for boyfriends, or, for that matter, girlfriends, if their door swung that way?

He slept till 12, as was usual, before loading some gear into the van. Then it was off down to the hall to set up. Mick kept a ton of gear in a room at the back. He'd acquired quite a bit over the years as a professional. He spotted the drumkit, a lockfast Premier twin base kit with a Zildjan cymbal set, and wondered if he should set it up for Karen. It was bound to be way better quality than whatever she brought.

He was pushing the Marshall PA out onto the stage and beginning to plug up when Freddie arrived.

"Hey!" he said, "wanna set up your old kit?"

Freddie nodded. This was still way early for him. "Better be worth the effort," he mumbled.

Freddie's wife Terry breezed in around 1pm bringing plateful's of sandwiches. No doubt she'd want to stick around awhile to check out these girls. She was no slouch as a singer herself and played piano. But she preferred jazz and, in any case, was well out of the business these days.

The woman was formidable with a voice to match. Mick was sure she could've been heard unmiked, no problem. Terry had a good ear for a good singer, too, and all of them went way back. He didn't mind her sitting in. Her opinion would be interesting.

"Tell me?" Terry asked Mick, "where're going with this? You gonna be their manager?"

"Dunno!" he shrugged, "I thought, maybe, they could use a bit of advice?"

"From you old farts?" she laughed, "what the fuck do you have to offer? How to party?"

"Hey!" Mick smiled. He knew she was just having him on. "I'd like you to hear the pipes on this girl," he told her, "I'd say she's voice trained with tons of natural talent."

"Oh, I can imagine the talent you old dreamers would be eyeing?" she laughed.

"No, you listen," he said, walking back, "this girl is really something."

Something in Mick's tone made her sit up and take notice. He was excited like she hadn't seen in about twenty years. He'd a spring in his step, she'd never noticed before and she wondered what was happening. She called her husband over. "What is it with him?" she asked, "is he screwing this girl?"

"Not that I've heard," he laughed, "but he might be a little cunt struck?"

"No fool like an old fool!" Terry told her husband.

At last 'The Curse' arrived. They wandered in as if in a daze. On stage was a glittering swathe of equipment including Freddie's immense drum kit. When Karen saw it her eyes widened out like soup plates.

"Shit!" she said in wonder.

"You Karen?" Mick asked, "this is Freddie George," he pointed, "he volunteered to give you a little coaching. He's been drumming for close on thirty years."

"Ah, hi!" Karen said, nervously.

"Anna? This is Terry George," he introduced Freddie's wife, "she's done some voice coaching in her time."

"Please to meet you," she said, with just a hint of a Russian accent. "This is Michelle... I think you know her father?"

"Roger the Dodger," Mick explained, to gasps of surprise. "Hi, Michelle! I hear you play a six string tuned down? That's pretty cool. Who thought of that?"

"My Dad," she explained, "Corinne Brown of Sleater-Kinney does it."

"Right!" he nodded. Although he'd heard of that Seattle all women's band he couldn't say he was familiar with their music.

"It sounds just like a fuzz base... like strumming chords on a four string."

"Ok," he shrugged, "why don't you give it a shot?"

The three girls trouped up on stage. Mick cast a professional eye as they brought out their equipment. None of it, it seemed to him, was performance quality.

Anna's semi acoustic was cheap and nasty. Michelle brought out a battered Telecaster and Karen's gear was left in the van. No doubt it was second hand.

"May I?" Karen asked with barely concealed excitement. She was pointing at the kit on stage.

"Be my guest?" Freddie grinned. He then shot up to assist her with such indecent haste Terry shot Mick a resigned look.

While the two drummers arranged the kit to Karen's satisfaction - it had to be said, the girl was a little lost by the size of it - Mick helped the others tune up in preparation for a sound check. He was thus able to establish that the instruments they were playing were shit.

Anna's guitar was so heavy Mick thought it had weights inside. He was impressed that she could tote it through a gig.

"Here," he said, retrieving a Stratocaster from his battered case, "you might like to try this?" Grinning, she strummed it a few times and announced she'd give it a go.

Michelle's Tele was in reasonable condition, considering the look of it, and its unusual tuning made it difficult to immediately replace. In any case, the only remaining guitar was Mick's precious SG and no-one but he dear lay a finger on it.

Eventually, the girls sorted themselves out and announced they were ready. Freddie did a brief fiddle with the faders on the PA and decided the levels were okay. All was set.

The number started slow and quiet like Anna's audition piece. After the first 8 bar, however, the girls went into a thrashing, chaotic, screaming, wall of noise in which all but Michelle seemed to completely lose their way. Mick, Freddie and Terry shot each other glances. Freddie's seemed to be asking 'what the Hell?'

Some order was restored for the final 8, although Karen was plainly struggling with her timing.

"Well?" Anna asked, nervously. "I'm sorry, we kinda messed up the middle part a little."

"A little?" agreed Freddie, ruefully.

"Anna?" Terry said, reassuringly, "you have a really great voice."

Mick stood for awhile, his hand combing through his beard. Eventually he looked up from one band member to another. "There's just one question I want you to consider," he said, "are you prepared to do what it takes? I don't expect you to answer straight away, but I wonder whether you've thought about just how much work you're taking on?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?" Anna, replied, suspicious.

"I think I know," Michelle said, nodding.

"Give it a month," Mick continued, "rehearsals 6 days a week starting at six every evening. We'll go on until we nail one number. By the end of the month I want 30 songs ready for the stage. If you can do that, you've got a chance." Mick allowed it to sink in for a minute. The girls were obviously overwhelmed by the scale of the commitment. "Karen, I'm going to ask Freddie to put you on a click track until you can keep perfect time. Anna... Anna..." Mick wasn't sure how to tell her without crushing her ego. "Anna, you're a great singer but you haven't yet learned to play guitar well enough. To be honest, I don't think a three piece is going to work for you all at the moment. I think you should look around for a lead guitar... someone with the ability to add colour and texture. Anna, you should free yourself and concentrate on singing... let someone else take over the guitar."

Mick stood and watched the reaction. If they weren't prepared to accept his advice or commit to the time and work needed, then they'd all be wasting their time. Both Freddie and Terry knew exactly what he was doing, all of them had faced such decisions in the past.

"Can we have a conference?" Anna asked.

"Sure, go ahead," Mick said, "I guess what I'm asking is, do you want to be musicians or just play around for your friends?"

Michelle looked stung. She fixed Mick with a withering glare before turning to confer with her bandmates. Eventually, the girls came out of a huddle and announced they could put in the time, if Mick and Freddie were willing to help.

"One month," Mick replied, "that's all I'm willing to give, at the moment. If you want more, you need to show me you're serious."

Michelle's anger was visibly growing. Eventually, she couldn't contain herself. "Hey, she said, "we're not a fucking basketball team and we're not fucking around. I think we deserve respect..."

"Ok, I respect you," Mick shrugged, "now I want you to play."

"What?" Michelle challenged.

"That number. Except, Anna? Lose the guitar. I'll sit in."

"You know the song already?" Michelle queried.

"Yeah, 'A' minor, wasn't it?" She nodded. "Karen, I'm going to ask Freddie to sit in on drums, just this once, ok?" Karen nodded assent and vacated the seat.

Anna watched Mick take his SG Custom from its case and sling the strap over his shoulder. She watched as he came up on stage and plugged in. "You sure you can play this stuff?" she asked, dubious, "it's kinda weird."

"I'll give it a go," he smiled, "Freddie, count us in?"

The opening bars were so crisp and clear Anna almost lost her way. Mick added a jangle, with beautiful, precise fingerwork. Behind her, she was aware of the brush of the highhat, and the knocking of the tomtom, all even and exactly in time. She'd asked these old guys whether they could play this kind of music and they answered her with a nonchalance she found oddly infuriating.

Mick looked across at Michelle as they neared the bridge piece. He urged her to carry the rhythm with a nod of the head while he tried out a few runs at the top. The communication was immediately understood - Michelle having a good sense of working with other musicians.

Freddie lead in with some powerful double rimshots and a smash of cymbals, before driving the other guys insistantly with his double toms and basedrum. 'Punk?' he seemed to be saying, 'I'll give them punk!'

Mick followed Anna up the scale while never smothering her voice in guitar flurries. Anna could see why he was considered a great guitarist. He'd heard the number played once, and badly, then took it up himself, improvising as he went. She glanced at Michelle during the final 8 to see her grinning broadly.

Terry clapped and grinned at her husband. She saw him pat Karen on the back in passing, and shot him a cautionary look. He grinned back at her.

Anna looked flushed with excitement. "That's exactly what we want to do," she told Mick, "but I can't play guitar that good."

"That's why you need a guitarist," Mick replied.

"Where'd we find someone as good as you?"

"Oh, there's a few guys who..." he started to answer.

"Why should we?" intervened Michelle.

"Huh?"

"You could play with us?"

"Me?" laughed Mick, "I'm too old for you. I'd look silly playing with you guys... well, look at me, huh? I'm old enough to be your fathers."

"Grandfathers, actually," Michelle grinned, mischievously, "but, so what? Put you in one of those brimmed hats with a feather? Maybe some tight jeans with a big belt buckle?"

"Oh, c'mon? And call me 'Tex' I suppose?"

"Well, no flares and make up, that's for sure. You'll make us a laughing stock," giggled Anna.

While Anna and Michelle continued to give Mick a hard time, Freddie noticed Karen standing dejectedly at the back. He went over to her, at Terry's urging.

"Hey!" he said, "just put the practice in and you'll do all right."

"You're just so good!"

"Yeah, well, I've been doing it for thirty years, love. You really wanna play drums, I'll teach you. Use my kit, but you pay for any damage."

"Have you been in lots of groups?" she asked.

"Um, yeah, I suppose so," he grinned, "can't think of them all at the moment so I must have. Bit of jazz, some rock groups. Hey, I even played in a dance band, can you believe it? Fucking weddings and birthday parties... well I never."

"Punk?"

"Punk? Yeah, well, it's all the same, really. You just keep time and follow everyone else. It's not genius stuff, y'know."

"Who was your idol when you started out?" she asked, "who'd you look up to?"

"Keith Moon... The Who, no question. Absolute master of the drums was Keith Moon. Like fucking war happening, and that was on a bad day," he grinned.

"The Who? Like Tommy?"

"Yeah. Tell you what, get a copy of 'Tommy' and fiddle with the stereo balance until you can only hear the drumming track. You listen carefully to what that guy's doing, then weep. He flourishes all around the kit then comes back dead on cue... not half a beat off. That was in the days before all that digital wizardry. That's organic drumming, just plain God given talent. No-one taught him that, he just did it."

"Mick's good, isn't he?"

"Jimi fucking Hendrix and Bert Jansch rolled into one," he said, "play anything, anytime. He ain't never had the breaks, see, or he could've been up there with the Pete Townsend's and the Jeff Beck's. Covers band?" he scoffed, "he shouldn't be playing covers. He's way too good to be pissing around like that."

"And what about you?"

"Me? I've had my time on the road, love. I've got a family, now, and they deserve my time. They had precious little of it when I was a musician, that's for sure."

"What do you do, then?"

"I teach up at the High School. Mick had a music shop downtown but he went bust. That's why he's trying to get a band going, to pay all the bills. We're all just a bunch of old codgers," he laughed, "dining out on the good times and forgetting the bad. We had all the energy, then, but none of the common sense. Parties galore and women everywhere you look... um, sorry, love..."