Chapter 1 ~ Brax
The dimly lit recording studio hummed with the silent echoes of countless hours spent within its walls. I wandered through the maze of cables and instruments, each step a reflection of the dedication and passion we had poured into our music. The scent of coffee, ever-present, mingled with a hint of sweat and weed, clung to the air, a testament to the long nights and early mornings that had fused into a relentless pursuit of perfection.
I ran a hand through my tousled hair. My eyes, intense and sharp, scanned the room, taking in the familiar sight of my bandmates’ instruments resting in their designated spots. The drum set, gleaming under the studio lights, bore the marks of countless hours of practice, the cymbals still vibrating from the last session. The electric guitars, their strings worn and well-loved, leaned against their stands like exhausted warriors, ready for one last battle.
The room was a symphony of organised chaos. The mixing desk was strewn with sheets of scribbled lyrics and musical notations, interspersed with empty takeaway containers and half-finished bottles of water. The large soundboard, with its myriad of buttons and sliders, stood as the nerve centre of our creative journey, its lights blinking erratically like the heartbeat of the studio itself.
I moved to the centre of the room, my fingers grazing the keyboard. The cool, smooth surface of the keys was a stark contrast to the rough calluses on my fingertips, a tactile reminder of the countless hours spent crafting our sound. I pressed a single key, and the soft, resonant note filled the room, blending with the hum of the equipment, creating a moment of serene harmony amidst the chaos.
Posters and photographs adorned the walls of the studio, creating a visual chronicle. The journey to getting signed by a recording label was anything but fucking smooth. If someone had told me a few years ago that I’d be journeying on tour with a band, playing gigs across Australia, I’d have laughed in their face. Back then, life was a chaotic blur of late nights and bad decisions, all in the name of chasing a dream that felt perpetually out of reach.
I was burning the candle at both ends, not living the best life, and getting mixed up with the wrong people. Desperation gnawed at me, driving me to find inspiration for my music in the most unlikely places. Open mic nights became my sanctuary, the local hotspots in Sydney my battleground. Each performance was a gamble, a chance to pour my heart out on stage and hope someone, anyone, would take notice.
One night, after an unusually raw and impassioned set at a dingy little bar in Surry Hills, I caught the eye of Marcus. I’d seen him in the crowd a few times, a sharp-dressed man with a keen interest in the music scene. But I never dared to hope he’d noticed me. As I packed up, he approached, his presence commanding and confident.
“Hi, Brax,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise of the bar. “I’ve been watching you perform, and I think you’ve got potential.”
My heart pounded in my chest. “Thanks. I’m just trying to get my music out there.”
He handed me a card, the embossed logo of Aushop Studios catching the dim light. “Come by the studio tomorrow. Let’s talk about your future.”
The following day, I showed up at the studio, nerves, and excitement battling within me. Marcus introduced me to the team, and I spent hours in the recording booth, laying down tracks, showcasing my range. They put me through rigorous rounds of testing, assessing my skills, my style, my ability to adapt. The intense challenge was physically demanding, but I savoured every moment. The breathtaking sights, the pulsating sounds, the aroma of determination, and the invigorating feeling of pushing my limits made it all worthwhile.
A few days later, Marcus called me back to the studio. I walked into his office, my stomach in knots. He greeted me with a smile and handed me a contract. “Welcome to Aushop Studios, Brax.”
I could hardly believe it. The dream was finally within my grasp. Marcus wasted no time in getting me local gigs, opening for other acts at the studio. But he had bigger plans. He recognised my potential, yet also noticed that I required further development. I needed a band. That’s when he introduced me to Chester, Mark, Liam, and Shane. They were talented musicians whose previous bands hadn’t worked out. Marcus saw an opportunity to pair us together, and thus, Abandoned Bygone was born.
The chemistry was immediate. We clicked in a way I’d never experienced before. Our first few gigs were electric, and the response from the crowd was incredible. We were the supporting act for the upcoming tour, our first tour as a band, and I was desperate to make my mark.
One night, I invited Charlie over to my place. From the moment we crossed paths at the bustling studio, our friendship blossomed effortlessly. The day I arrived to ink my contract coincided with her interview for the coveted in-studio photographer position.
Yet, beneath our undeniable connection, a subtle yearning lingered, unspoken but palpable. Charlie’s past cast a shadow, leaving many untold stories. I tiptoed, armed with the knowledge that her fragile heart required delicate handling. Her presence meant the world to me, and I vowed to protect and cherish our bond.
We settled on the couch with a couple of beers, the soft glow of the suburban lights filtering through the window. The conversation flowed freely, as it always did with her. We talked about the upcoming tour, the excitement, and the nerves that came with it.
“Can you believe it?” I said, unable to contain my excitement. “We’re actually going on tour. This is huge for us.”
She smiled, her eyes reflecting the warmth I felt. “I’m stoked for you, Brax. No one deserves it more.”
Her words meant the world to me. “You’re biassed though,” I joked, bumping shoulders with her. “You’ve always been there, supporting me, believing in me.”
She leaned her head on my shoulder, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Just like you’ve always believed in me.” She sighed and whispered, “even when most don’t.”
I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re important to me, you know that.”
She met my gaze, her eyes softening. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging between us. I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me, how deeply I cared for her. But I couldn’t risk our friendship, not when the weight of her unshared past hung in the air. With untold stories, the room became heavy, as if shadows were lurking in the corners. The silence between the distant sound of a clock ticking punctuated us with a reminder of the passing time and the unanswered questions. The scent of uncertainty mingled with the familiar aroma of her and a recently finished joint, creating an atmosphere of both comfort and unease. I could sense the tension in her presence, like a taut wire ready to snap. And so, I trod lightly, respecting the boundaries she had set, for fear of unravelling the delicate threads that held our friendship together.
Instead, I changed the subject. “So, what do you think about the set list for the tour? Any suggestions?”
She laughed, the sound like music to my ears. “You always know how to shift the conversation when it gets too heavy.”
I grinned, relieved to see her smile. “Just trying to keep things light.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “The set list’s great. You guys are gonna kill it out there.”
We spent the rest of the night immersed in conversation, our voices carrying through the air as we shared tales of the music over a blunt and exchanged laughter. As the hours passed, a sense of gratitude washed over me, heightened by the sight of her by my side. Charlie’s presence was an anchor that reassured me, a confidant I trusted, and the sole individual who soothed the depths of my being.
Batman and Robin…
As the tour drew near, a whirlwind of anticipation and unease engulfed me. Restless, sleep evaded me on the eve of our departure. Seeking solace, I sought refuge in the studio, yearning to cleanse my thoughts. And there, unsurprisingly, stood Charlie with her trusty camera, seizing the serene essence of the vacant studio. The hushed atmosphere seemed to echo with the faint scent of lingering creativity.
“Hey,” she whispered, not breaking her focus.
“Hi,” I replied, walking over to her. “Can’t sleep either?”
She shook her head. “Just needed to clear my mind.”
I watched her work, the way she moved, so graceful and focused. “You’ve got an incredible eye for this, you know.”
She looked up, a hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Thanks, Brax.”
We settled onto the cool wooden studio floor, the dim lights casting a soft glow around us. Whispers escaped our lips, blending with the faint hum of distant instruments. I poured out my anxieties, my dreams for the upcoming tour. Her attentive gaze held me, like a gentle hand on my racing heart. The scent of leather and old vinyl records lingered in the air, creating a comforting atmosphere. Her mere presence eased my worries, providing solace unlike anything else.
“You’re going to be amazing,” she said, her voice full of conviction. “You have a gift, and the world deserves to see it.”
I smiled, a surge of confidence fueling my unfiltered declaration. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She leaned in, her hand resting on mine. “You’ll never have to find out.”
The following morning, my band and I hopped onto the bus, the warm sun peeking above the horizon, casting a golden glow on the landscape. As we ventured further from Sydney, I stole a last glance at the city, inhaling the familiar scent of the bustling metropolis, a bittersweet mix of memories and anticipation. This marked the beginning of an extraordinary journey, and I was so fucking pumped for this.
