They had arrived at the festival just in time for soundcheck. 

It was a funny sort of thing to play. The way Rob looked at it, there were two kinds of festivals. One was the well-knowns. The huge ones that get national attention and huge bands. Bonnaroo. Woodstock. Cochella. Austin City Limits. Hell, Burning Man might as well even count. These were massive events, orchestrated by thousands and seen by tens of thousands. Then, there were these. Smaller, shittier. Local’s and regionals only. The goal here was to have absolutely as many bands play as possible and attract the dozens of fans from each to hopefully  get a band that’d blow up one day. 

Because of that, the band had only been given a thirty minute set, teardown included. They had practiced the routine down to a good ten minutes for both, but it was always going to be a struggle to fit in as many songs as possible. Even more so, since a lot of their earlier work (and Rob’s personal favorite tracks) ran six minutes and sometimes more. So, they had eventually agreed to have four tracks; the single, a track Austin liked, a track Jane liked, and one Rob and Sam agreed to; the longest on the setlist. This way, pretty much everyone agreed to a track, and they’d be off the stage for the next local garage band with exactly nine minutes for teardown. 

By the time Jane had finished her sound check, it was Rob’s turn. Walking out on stage, he pulled out a pair of sticks he had loaded in a pocket next to his snare. In there was another four pairs and two drummer’s keys. There was very little room for error in the rhythm section, and he was ready for it. He hooked his IEM’s up to the festival-provided transmitter.

“Go ahead,” the sound came from both the speakers ahead and in his IEM’s. It was almost impressive a festival his small had it set up so well. First, Rob gave a good strong hit to every piece on his kit; high-hat (open and closed), toms, snare, then symbols, and finally bass. 

“I need more on the floor,” Rob said into a mic, hitting his floor tom for reference, “and give me more for kick. The rest is good.”

“The kick is good,” the sound guy came back.

“Trust me,” Rob said, smiling. “It’s not. I don’t play like these other assholes. When I use the kick it needs to fucking [i]hit[/i].”

“Prove it,” the sound guy came. “I’ll crank it for now.” Rob was beginning to like this guy. Smiling, he instantly went into the drum pattern for an unknown band he figured the festival would know; [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIFrzdOdwz0]Metz - Spit You Out.[/url] Not only was a great, simple track. it had the benefit of being heavy as hell. Like playing a [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lhUHekYdn8]Nirvana song[/url], it was just a joy to smash out on a kit. 

At about 1:19 in the song, Rob rolled on the cymbals and threw in a fill for good measure, before slamming his foot on the kick. The smaller crowd in front of him cheered. Even with his monitors in, he could hear Adrianna’s squeal from where he sat. 

“Shit man,” the sound guy came after the last cymbal had rang out. “If your patterns are like that, you’ll kill the first eight rows. Consider the kick [i]cranked[/i].”

“That’s the idea,” Rob said, “thanks,” before standing up and heading off-stage. As he passed, Sam, he slapped him on the back. “Don’t let him tune you out,” he said, jokingly. 

He headed straight for the van, pulling out a change of clothes. After checking that no one was inside, he climbed into the back, and pulled off his familiar hoodie. [i]In order to be the drummer,[/i] he thought, [i]you need to play the part.[/i]

He pulled off his usual black jeans, and threw on a pair of gym shorts. His v-neck was replaced with a loose black shirt, and his shoes were replaced with flip-flops, to be taken off after he had sat behind his kit. If there was one minor thing both Jane and Rob shared about their performance styles, it was that they both liked to play barefoot. For Rob, it was purely functional; he didn’t feel like bringing his double bass petal, and a barefoot accomplished the same task rather well on a single, stronger petal. Plus, it honestly felt better. Never a downside to that. 

As he tossed around his hair for the desired effect, he looked around the van and noticed Jane’s clothes lying around as well. Her tank top had lay strewn over the backseat, and her shorts and shoes were lazily thrown on the floor. After changing, Rob neatly folded his own clothes and threw them in a bag within his own travel bag. He almost laughed at their differences, even in clothing. Still, a part of him envied her spirit. It was certainly freer than his. 

By the time Rob got back, Sam and Austin had finished the sound check, and stood with Jane as the band before them had already started. Rob shook his head to get his messy brown hair out of his eyes as he approached. 

There was a persona he had always put on before shows. It something he almost mirrored after Jane. Freer, looser…

Sexier…

It was something that helped him play songs, and set him in the right mood for a show. Practice was all about perfection to him, but performances were something to be enjoyed. Admired. Embraced. 

It was the first stop on the tour, and he was [i]fucking[/i] game. 

He waited anxiously as the band ahead finished their set. 

“I’m so fucking reading for this!” Sam said. 

“As long as they don’t fuck up our name,” Rob said, referring to an incident that had happened a year ago, “…yeah. I think I am too. Let’s do this.” 


He turned and gave Jane the first genuine smile of the day. They were finally about to really do it. Really be, a rock band.