Being a musician is a commitment, one that requires passion, a strong understanding of rhythm and pacing, and undying loyalty to the craft. Phil has never had a problem with any of this. Music is all he’s ever known; he barely finished college because he was more focused on songwriting and music theory than anything else.
Now, 10 years post-graduation, he’s still thriving.
Spiritually, anyway. Paying rent, on the other hand, sometimes proves challenging, but like AC/DC says, “it’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock n’ roll.” So, what better way for a starving bassist to earn some more credibility and cash than by shredding the competition at a bar?
Phil’s local metal-themed joint, The Breakdown, hosts The Rhythmic Rumble once a month. It’s like a battle of the bands, but with less bands and more burnt-out uncles who think they’re Dave Mustaine. And while Phil has played live many times before—for crowds consisting of friends, colleagues, and his mom—he’s never done anything like this.
Nevertheless, he’s confident he has everything he needs to win.
“That thing vintage?” a cheerful voice asks him, catching him off guard.
Sitting with several other competitors in what passes for a green room in the back of the bar, Phil snaps himself back to reality and stares at the young woman trying to get his attention. “Uh, yeah,” he mutters, holding his worn-down, black bass guitar in his hands. “It was my dad’s, so, you know, kind of hard to let it go.”
“Word. I dig it. I just got a new one, actually, but I guess that doesn’t really matter. So long as it plays, right?”
Phil offers a smile and a quiet nod, trying to return to his thoughts.
The woman has other ideas, moving her seat closer to his. At the same time, she pulls over her guitar case, much of which is covered in glittery, holographic My Little Pony stickers, complementing the woman’s bright attire and flowing pink hair. In truth, everything about her aesthetic clashes with the dark, moody atmosphere of the bar.
By comparison, Phil blends in much better, adorned in black jeans and a faded TOOL t-shirt and sporting deliberately messy hair. Though if anything, his glasses help him stand out a bit.
“I’m Cassie, by the way,” the woman says, as she pulls out a smooth, glossy-red bass guitar.
“Phil,” he replies, looking back at his own instrument.
Cassie shoots him a smirk. “Not much of a talker, are you, Phil?”
He grins, he eyes never leaving his guitar. “I actually almost failed public speaking in high school, if you can believe it.”
She laughs in response. “I always thought that class was basically an automatic A.”
Phil chuckles as well. “Well, for me it was a D, so…”
“Well, I assume you can play, at least?”
Phil responds with a confident laugh. “Absolutely.”
“All right then. Play me something.”
Realizing she probably won’t take “no” for an answer, Phil gives in to her request. Not that he minds having an excuse to just play anyway. After tuning his bass, he leans back in his chair and starts playing a new melody he’s been working on.
As his fingers glide along the strings, he adds a few slap beats against the wood to accentuate the tempo. Since he’s not plugged in, the sound isn’t quite right, but the general flow and rhythm are easy enough to latch onto. And that’s the key. After all, the bass line is the unsung hero of any good rock song, providing a rhythmic core that listeners can feel in their soul.
As he rounds out the tune, Cassie offers Phil a few snaps before taking her bass in her hands. “That’s what’s up. You just might be a real contender.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Mind if I copy you a bit?”
“Uh, sure. If you can remember it, I guess.”
She smirks and adjusts her hands along her instrument. “Check it.” And without a hitch, she plays back Phil’s song with confidence and vigor, nailing every beat of every measure. She even makes slight adjustments that improve upon his work—though he would never admit that.
As Cassie plays, Phil chances a look into her cobalt eyes, and he recognizes the fire within. This is someone like him, someone with passion, understanding, and loyalty to their craft. He makes a lackluster attempt to hide his enthusiasm, but he suspects she can see right through him. And as she finishes, it hardly matters, since he gives her a well-deserved slow clap.
“Damn.”
“Good, right?”
“Yeah,” Phil confirms. “Pretty good. How long you been playing?”
“Honestly, not super long. I only picked it up about a year ago, and I’m still learning, so I mostly just play what I hear.”
Phil nods, hoping he wasn’t too quick to judge. Is she one of those people who just so happens to be a savant with a guitar, someone getting by on nothing but their own “natural gifts”?
“I’m still not sure what I’m trying to do with it,” Cassie continues, “but I know I love it, and I figure that’s all that matters. For now, anyway.”
Phil mentally answers his own question with an affirming “No.” He’s never been fond of those with little regard for proper practice and study, but Cassie doesn’t strike him as one of those. New as she may be to playing, Phil still can’t argue with her talent and drive. It’s clear she cares about this, and that counts for more than any amount of memorized music theory.
It leaves him wondering…
“You know, uh…”
Phil doesn’t get to finish his question, as the MC addresses the bar’s audience over the speakers. “Ladies and gents, I hope y’all are excited, cuz it’s time to begin tonight’s Rhythmic Rumble!” A round of cheers echo through the bar. “For the first round, let’s show some love for the bassists in the house. Could I please have Phillip Reese and Cassie DuBois come on up to the stage?!”
The crowd cheers again, and Phil chuckles to himself. “Well, that’s convenient.”
“Come on. Let’s go give them a show,” Cassie says.
To Phil’s surprise, she takes him by the arm and leads him out onto the stage. As the two contestants prepare themselves, standing a few feet apart and plugging in their respective instruments, he notices Cassie throw him a grin and a wink. No doubt some attempt to lower his guard, but it won’t work.
Cassie might be talented, but this is Phil’s time to shine.
He’ll be damned if he lets her beat him!
* * *
“She beat me. How in the fuck did she beat me?” Phil mutters to himself as he sits slumped on a barstool, empty pint in hand.
“Another Blue Moon?” the bartender asks him.
“Yeah. Sure,” he replies. He’s trying and failing to ignore Cassie down at the other end of the bar. It seems like she’s having tons of fun over there, accepting congratulations from her new fans. As soon as the bartender slides him his fresh glass, Phil pounds it back. Invigorated by fresh liquid courage, he then marches over toward her.
“Hey,” Phil says to Cassie, trying to sound stern but sensing he’s not doing a great job of it. Her back is turned to him, and she doesn’t hear him over all the background noise. “Hey!” he shouts.
Cassie pauses her conversation, turns to face Phil, and greets him with a cheerful look of recognition. “Oh, hey!” she shouts back. “Good shit up there!” Her expression then goes a bit glum, as Phil maintains a look of drunken indifference. “You good?”
He responds after a drawn-out moment. “Yeah. I mean…no?”
“Are you drunk?” she asks, her face softening as she lets out a gentle laugh.
Phil waves a hand. “Pssh, no. I mean, maybe a little…”
“Do you wanna step outside?”
He’s about to reply, but instead, he simply nods and lets her lead him out of the bar. As they move outside, a relieving wave of cool night air washes over them both. They find a quiet place to stand and chat, but before Phil can start digging into Cassie, she beats him to the punch.
“Dude, I’ve never seen anyone play like that before. Seriously, you were amazing,” she tells him. “The way you strung those few beats together in the middle… Like, how the fuck did you even make your hands do that? Insane!”
Phil was expecting a playful jab or something, but once again, Cassie’s caught him off guard. The flimsy jeers he thought he might say to her vanish from his mind, and his brain buffers before he replies. “Oh, uh, thanks. You were…really good too,” he mumbles. He means it, but he’s sure his tone doesn’t properly convey it.
“I mean, I do kind of feel bad, since I was just bouncing off of what you did and doing it better, but hey, the people like what they like.”
“I guess so,” Phil says with a shrug. Then his eyes snap to her. “Wait, what do you mean ‘better’?!”
“Well, I won, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but when you put it like that, it hardly seems fair. I was the one putting in all the effort!” He puts on a tough face, hoping to hide just how defeated he feels.
Cassie chuckles and takes a step toward him. “Have you ever considered there might be such a thing as too much effort?”
“Maybe. But look, it’s one thing to just play back what you hear and possibly do it better. It’s another thing entirely to really create something. You have to be willing to dig deep and find your own rhythm and share it with others, you know?”
“You’re not wrong,” she admits, taking another step. “Maybe we could help each other figure it all out. Like a little partnership or something. I think we’d make a pretty great team, all things considered.”
“Uh…maybe?” Phil scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know. I’ve always seen myself as a solo act. Like a metal Phil Collins.”
“Didn’t he also have a band, though?” Cassie retorts.
“You know what I mean,” he says with a groan.
Cassie laughs and nods, though she seems to still want more of an answer, leaning in a little bit closer.
Phil obliges. “I guess I’ve just never felt like I could be loyal to anyone or anything other than myself or my music, if that makes sense.” He pauses, then shakes his head. Saying that out loud feels weird, but also somewhat alleviating to him. He’s never actually told anyone that.
Cassie, in turn, gives another nod and a look of recognition and understanding. “Well, would you like to try?” she asks, taking one last step to stand right next to him.
“I…could give it a shot, yeah.” He tries to be slick by leaning against the wall, but he misjudges the distance and stumbles into it instead, which earns another laugh from Cassie. “I meant to do that.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” She sighs, but her smile remains. “How about this? You hang around until I win this whole thing, and then we go somewhere else for a proper drink. After that…well, I guess we’ll see what happens. Sound all right?”
“I can work with that.”
“Cool.” Standing on her tippy toes, she plants a kiss on his cheek. “Cheer me on, okay?”
“Totally.”
And even though Cassie gets knocked out of the contest two rounds later—which Phil can’t help but poke fun at her for—the two ex-contestants do enjoy a proper drink together later on. It’s the first of many beautiful nights in a truly harmonic relationship.