TRACK SIX:
OUR HOUSE

❝ our house is a very, very, very fine house
with two cats in the yard
life used to be so hard
now everything is easy 'cause of you ❞
— graham nash, joni mitchell (demo)

.•° ✿ °•.

To say that they bombed might be putting it a little harshly; but that's as nice as the assessment of Rusted Rose's set could be. Without Richie, as loathsome as he was, they all fumbled after the carpet had been yanked from beneath their feet. Hank seemed lacking in his usual energy, Goldie was struggling to keep up after learning Richie's parts last minute, and Carlo counted them in too early on 'Rumble'. Francesca remembers her palms sweating against the guitar strings, as her eyes scanned the crowds for any sign of a producer keeping an eye on them...

But nothing. There was no one there, not that she could see, anyway.

All of that was for nothing.

     Dejected, the band exit the building and lean against the outside wall, Hank taking out a cigarette to light (which Goldie keeps away from; she abstains from smoking, a firm believer that her vocal chords will then be better maintained, and how could any of them argue with that?). The night air is suddenly a little cooler, Francesca shivering slightly as her hairs stand on end.

     "I mean... it could've been worse," says Carlo, at last breaking the silence.

Hank lets out a harsh laugh. More than anything, he seems embittered at the way things have turned out.

"Yeah, there could've been a big-shot from a record label in there to watch us crash and burn..." Victoria adds glumly. "Did you guys see anyone in there?"

"Nope," Francesca sighs with a shake of her head.

"Look, this doesn't have to be it," Goldie interjects, hoping to raise their spirits. "People bomb onstage all the time. You just have to get up again and keep trying, trying and trying."

"Easy for you to say..." Hank mumbles. Then, catching himself, he stubs out his cigarette. "Sorry, forget I said that, I just..."

Victoria entertains the idea of a witness to their disaster for a moment. "Imagine if you'd looked into the crowd and seen, say, Eddie Kramer, or—"

"Teddy Price," Goldie says.

"Yeah, him too I suppose, but—"

"No, Teddy Price," the singer says again, stunned, as she starts looking pointedly over Victoria's shoulder. The rest of the band turn around to look themselves, onto where the marquee lights splash onto the pavement. It takes a moment for the figure to register in her mind — but surely enough, Francesca soon registers who it is. But no... it can't be... could it? Sometimes she forgets that they are in L.A. now, and this place is crawling with star-studded faces up and down the Hollywood hills.

It is the producer, Teddy Price, in the flesh.

He's smaller than Francesca thought he would be. Once she thinks it, she cannot believe herself — that's the first thing that pops into her head? Maybe it's because she has always built up the giants of music as gods, and to see them as normal humans in front of her is something else entirely. His leather jacket squeaks around his movements as he squints at the band.

"It's Rusted Rose, isn't it?" Teddy asks.

"Yes," Hank quickly replies, his voice breaking like a thirteen year-old's. He clears his throat out of embarrassment.

"I saw your set in there. It was, uh..."

Oh no. Teddy doesn't finish his sentence, as if he need not elaborate. Great. He came over here just to remind them that they have no hope, just what they needed to hear. Francesca braces herself for the worst, only for Teddy to ask:

"What's the deal with you kids, anyway? You weren't on your best form tonight."

"Well, we just lost our keyboardist, sir—" Hank says, then stops himself; he seems to have this realisation along with the rest of the band. Why did Teddy word it like that? "... Tonight? Have– have you seen us before?"

Teddy just shrugs, which might as well be a Yes. Hank looks as though he might just skyrocket into the heavens. He must have been in and out of clubs across the Strip, scavenging for talent. The producer walks up to them, a strange glimmer in his eyes. Like he hasn't quite given up on them yet. He glances over at Goldie, who simply stares at him as though willing him to believe in them. Almost taking her word for it, Teddy nods decisively.

"Look, I'll be honest, you were a mess tonight... but there's something there."

Francesca perks up. It might be one of the first times they, or even she, has been outright told by someone of this calibre that's they have potential.

"But, guys, there's a lot of work," Teddy emphasises. "I could get into all the technical mumbo-jumbo, but you wanna know your biggest problem? You all look so disconnected. Up there, on that stage, you didn't feel like a team. You looked like five strangers who got pushed up against the wall to play something or else."

Some of the band cower at this, recognising some truth in the statement. He isn't wrong — when Francesca looks around her bandmates, sure, they're nice enough and not short of talent, but does she really know them? Hardly.

Teddy looks as though he can't believe he's about to say what he does next, but he does is nonetheless: "This is a huge gamble I'm making here, but I'll make you a deal. If you can all get your shit together, and in the summer, bring something fresh and original to the table... then we can see where we'll go from there. Do you think you're up for that?"

Several jaws drop. Goldie turns to Hank and the others, her eyes shining with hope and the readiness to jump headfirst into this. The others are more apprehensive — it just feels too good to be true. It's all depending on whether they can pull through, of course, but if they do... could this finally be it? Their path to becoming established musicians? The singer eventually turns back to Teddy, her lips pursed into a smile of familiarity with the producer.

"I think that sounds perfect, Teddy," says Goldie.

.•° ✿ °•.

(Footage from the Teddy Price interview with Merv Griffin: 1982)

MERV: Wow, so– hold on, let me get this straight, Teddy... you met these young wannabes at the club, and just based off that one performance, you offered them a record deal?

TEDDY PRICE (producer, Ellemar Records): Oh, no, I'm not crazy, Merv! It wasn't a record deal there and then. No, I guess I saw... I saw promise in them. They were all over the place, sure, but their individual talent just stood out straight from the beginning.

MERV: Do you think seeing Goldie Rhodes perform with them affected your decision? Seeing as she was already a professional musician in her own right?

TEDDY: Yes and no. I'd never worked with her before, actually, but we'd met a few times when she was younger. Incredible talent, always. But you can't base a decision like that just off one person. It's unprofessional and, well... stupid. [Laughs] I guess I saw in them the potential for what Solstice — or Rusted Rose, back then — could be as a team. It was just sitting there. Dormant.

Sometimes you have all the right ingredients, but the recipe comes later.

.•° ✿ °•.

HANK: We really had to start from scratch. Teddy had given us this golden opportunity, and I think we all knew we had to take it. The question was... where the fuck do we begin? I mean, don't get me wrong, I have never regretted kicking Richie out of the band. But still, I'd been playing with him since we were kids. This was new territory, and I didn't know these people. Not really. None of this was part of the plan when I started out.

FRANCESCA: You can't just magic up inspiration like that — [She snaps her fingers]. So, until we figured something out, we all had to rely on other means of making money. The band was pretty much dispersed for the first month or so.

CARLO: I got a job at a steakhouse downtown. I remember coming home from work every night, and I just stank of the grill — it stuck to my clothes, my hair... [Chuckles] To this day, I get flashbacks if I'm ever at a barbecue or something.

HANK: Me? I worked at a gas station in West Hollywood. Filled up tanks for the people who came in. There might've been some famous faces. Definitely some pricks.

VICTORIA: I'd never really had many jobs until that point, I just lived off my family's money. But I managed to get a job as a receptionist at a dental practice. I took lots of calls — apparently, according to a lady who I worked with, I've got a very authoritative voice for the telephone... can't think why. [She stares pointedly into the camera]

FRANCESCA: I had the great fortune of working in that record shop, near where Vix and I's old apartment was — you know, the one where I met Marigold? [Smiles] I was at the front desk, got to see all the new releases and everything. Picked up my own copy of Sweet Baby James when it was barely out of the shipping box.

I have no idea what Marigold did in those first months, though. She never told me... I guess she was still kind of a mystery to us at that point. But about a month into the new year — the new decade, actually — she'd come up with something.

.•° ✿ °•.

On a sunny February day, Goldie summons the fragmented members of Rusted Rose to meet for lunch at a diner in downtown Los Angeles. Do they really feel like a band anymore? It's difficult now. Unlike the gruelling days of practice and poorly-attended gigs they used to do, Francesca now spends most of her time working at the record store. Greeting customers and seeing all the new releases is great... but it's not what she came to L.A. to do.

     When she has a break from her shift, she heads down to the diner, searching the sea of booths for the one where the rest of the band are sat. Francesca is pretty sure this is the first time they've all collected themselves together since Teddy Price gave them that offer-which-wasn't-really-an-offer. Since then, they have all floated aimlessly — the spark of joy Francesca feels at seeing them together again surprises herself.

     "Oh, good, you're here," Goldie turns in her seat and smiles. "Work going okay?"

     "Yeah, just the usual," Francesca replies. She squeezes in next to Carlo, who often smells distinctly of the steakhouse he works at these days. Then she takes the opportunity to glance around at everyone else sat at the table: Victoria, of course, she knows as her roommate dresses more formally for her receptionist job; then there's Hank, whose eyes seem lifeless with boredom and lack of inspiration. Goldie, however, seems full of energy and by far the most motivated one at the table.

     A red-headed waitress arrives at the table and asks if she can take their order, but Goldie politely dismisses her, not having looked at the menu yet. "Sorry, how long is this going to take? The last thing I need is to get the sack because you wanted to age a little chat with us," Victoria asks with a downwards glance at her wristwatch.

     "Well, that depends on you guys, actually," says Goldie, leaning back in her booth. "Do you really wanna do this?"

     "I mean, yeah, I'm starving—"

     "No, Carlo, I meant the band."

     Hank stops fiddling with the paper packaging where a straw once resided, squinting across the table at her. "Did you hear what Teddy Price told us that night?" he asks sceptically.

     "Yeah, I did, and it's an opportunity."

     "No way! We'll just fall flat on our asses. And he's right, we– we don't even know each other that well, and maybe all of this was just a big mistake..."

     Goldie sighs, folding her arms together on the tabletop and leaning her chest forward. "Hank," she says softly, "You're right, I don't know you all that well, but one of the first things I noticed about you is that you always fight the fight. Do you really wanna give this up so easily? Something you travelled all the way from Boston for? And what about Francesca? I'm sure she sacrificed a lot to come here and follow your path."

     Francesca feels her skin burn at being mentioned. Yes, she has sacrificed a lot. Her home and family, a life in New York... Graham... but would she go back and change any of that? Would she be where she is now, if she hadn't done any of that?

     "Do you realise what Teddy has done for us? Sure, it's not a solid deal, but in music industry terms this is golden. Look, if you want out, then that's fine, but we can't all just stay in limbo any longer. We have to commit to something now."

"Well, I'm in," Francesca pipes up. "I'm all in. What have we got to lose?"

"Me too," Carlo adds cheerfully.

Even Victoria says her piece. "We've come this far, we might as well go for it."

After that, it's difficult for Hank to back down. It isn't that he is against it by any means — if anything, he just dreads being let down again. Don't they all? But if he never agrees, there will be no way of really knowing. With a sigh, he leans forward a little himself, rubbing the fair-haired stubble that has started to dot his jaw. "Alright, fine. Do you have a plan?" asks Hank. "Or are we doing this by the seat of our pants?"

"Oh, we always do things by the seat of our pants," Goldie grins, "but we could at least do it together. And I figure this could be a good start."

Right on cue, she unrolls a newspaper that has been, until now, sitting in her lap, and slides it across to Hank's side of the table between the cups and condiment bottles. He lifts up the section she gestures to. Francesca also gets a glimpse over his shoulder — the obituaries, mentioning a vacant, falling-apart house with one too many rooms for its own good.

"Laurel Canyon?"

Goldie nods with a smile. Hank glances down at the paper, and up at her again.

"What, you want us all to pack up and move to Laurel Canyon?" he asks once more, as if her intentions have only just become clear to him.

"If we wanna be artists, we should live with the artists," says Goldie.

"Can we even afford that?"

"This house? Absolutely. I was looking for my own place in the canyon until I met you guys. It's up to you whether you want to join me or not."

"Maybe we could use a little fire under our asses, to get us moving," Carlo suggests with a little chuckle. "The faster we can keep up with the rent, the better that is for our careers, right?"

Francesca reaches over his arms, taking the paper to look at the house for herself. The description details a house nestled deep into the hills, surrounded by nature and saturated sunny landscapes. There are enough bedrooms for them all, especially if a couple of them don't mind being roommates, then — as Goldie eagerly points out — there could be enough room for a piano in the living room. It is a fixed-upper, no doubt about it, but it sounds... picturesque.

FRANCESCA: We moved in a few weeks later. It must've been March or April, 1970... I know, that's pretty fast, but we didn't wanna waste any more time. Houses were also way cheaper back then. That place we saw in the ad, I think it's somewhere ridiculous in the million-dollar range now.

I really loved that house, you know. It wasn't perfect, but it was the first place in a while that felt like a home.

     The uphill walk to their home is absolutely worth the sting of lactic acid, for Francesca feels a strange pang of familiarity when she first lays eyes on it. The front gate with chipped paint squeaks open, leading them down a brick staircase that winds through black sage bushes and towering sycamores and willows above them. Sunlight bursts through the branches in dappled spots, like a golden trail leading the group to their home.

Nestled between the flora and fauna on the hilltop is a tall cabin, more like a treehouse, the wooden exterior faded in a light green oceanic tint — it could definitely do with a fresh lick of paint. The cobblestones leading to the entrance haven't been swept with the few fallen leaves and branches. Already, Francesca spots a balcony above a couple of the windows, planting the seed of eagerness to get a glimpse of the bird's eye view herself.

The house echoes with relative emptiness as they walk around, the acoustics bouncing back to them with the promise of opportunities. Even the living room, with a small wood burner situated between two windows looking into the trees, feels like home already. "Wow" seems to be the word uttered most often, everyone racing around each room and bagsying their own to get a good look. With only four to go around, the boys end up sharing, while the girls are lucky enough to get their own rooms — Francesca, herself, speeds straight to the top room, brilliant daylight bursting in. Two birds sing on the rail of the small balcony, soaring away when she walks out to see the view...

Below, all Francesca can see are the treetops and the various houses dotted around the canyon. It feels so close to everything, to Sound City and the buzz of Los Angeles, and yet so secluded and tucked away. For the first time since she left Waterbury, Francesca might dare say that this place feels like somewhere she could get used to.

"Quite a view, ain't it?"

Goldie's voice is silky and sweet as she comes up behind her. While she comes to rest her elbows on the balcony rails, Francesca sighs. "It's beautiful here," she says, at a loss for any other words.

"The house needs a lot of work," Goldie admits.

"I can live with that. Besides, I've seen a lot worse. Actually a tornado hit my town when I was fourteen, and for a couple of months I had to share a room with my brother... also there was a flood one time."

"Wow, sounds like you're ready to roll your sleeves up, then." With a little chuckle, Goldie stares contemplatively out at the canyon. She lifts her warmly-tinted shades up over her bangs, revealing the concentrated cluster of thoughts that seem to be going through her head; all mirrored in her eyes.

     "You know..." she says, "I got some really good offers from a couple of labels. Making music on my own, a solo career, you get the idea. I've been trying to write my own material for a little while now. That was the plan — that is, if I could stomach getting into the industry again... then I met you guys. I could've taken those offers, but I didn't. I don't know why. I just got a good feeling... it was fleeting, at first, but now I think it's here to stay." With a heavy sigh, Goldie turns to face her now. "I really believe we could make something special here. Don't you?"

     "Yeah... I do," Francesca replies, and she actually believes it.

     A beat passes.

     With a self-deprecating shrug, she adds, "I just don't know if I could ever be like them."

     By that, she means the other musical giants of Laurel Canyon, who have been haunting this place over the last several years. And Goldie seems to catch onto this immediately. "They're just people, you know," she reassures Francesca. "They are artists, like you and me. And don't go thinking you aren't one yet — no record deal, album or anything like that defines your worth. You're an artist. That's it."

.•° ✿ °•.

FRANCESCA: I have fond memories of those first years in the canyon. It was the first step to us all bonding, really. That was important for us — because we weren't a group of childhood friends who'd formed the band together. Each of us were so, so different, whether it was our background, or our interests. So that time was, uh... revealing. [Laughs] Well, you know, everyone had their habits.

None of the guys helped with the chores, which really wound up Marigold. I was never that fazed, having grown up in a house full of boys... actually, I say that, but Carlo was very into the housework for some reason.

CARLO: In my Mama's house, you got hit in the head with la chancla if you didn't do your chores, so... [Raises his eyebrows]

INTERVIEWER: What about Goldie?

FRANCESCA: She spent a lot of time at the piano — she had one delivered from her old apartment, it took hours to fit it through the doorways and into the room — but anyway, I remember she sat there a lot... just playing, writing. Figuring stuff out. It took a few weeks before one day, we were all sat out underneath the stars with some beer between us, and she came out with a huge box of vinyls. Of course, we were like, "What's this?"

Marigold said, "If we're gonna be a band, we need to know what we all like."

She pulled out a couple of records, I remember Linda Ronstadt was one of them, and she urged us to all do the same. It felt like being back in school, you know, when you have those icebreakers at the start of the year? But it was great — we didn't really know what musical influences we all had. And looking back, we were all... so different.

INTERVIEWER: What did you choose?

FRANCESCA: Well, you know me, folk-rock mostly. Joni Mitchell, Simon & Garfunkel, Joan Baez. But I listened to all kinds of stuff growing up — classical guitar, music from my Italian dad, from my mom's Mexican side. I've always been like a sponge, I guess.

VICTORIA: I was a bit of a Nancy Sinatra fan as a teen, but apart from that, I suppose it would've been what I heard in the clubs back in London. There was some T. Rex, I seem to remember. [Pause] In retrospect, you notice just how many men there were in that sphere, don't you?

HANK: Led Zeppelin were pretty new at the time, and I was obsessed with what they were doing. They were definitely in the mix.

CARLO: Pretty sure I picked Zeppelin too...

FRANCESCA: It worked. It really worked. I think it just gave us kind of a boost that this thing was still happening, that we all had a drive to make music and we just needed the momentum and inspiration. This was an opportunity to re-brand ourselves and find our sound.

.•° ✿ °•.

Up and down, up and down, goes the paintbrush in Francesca's hands — she has perched herself on a stepladder, currently tackling one side of the house to give it a fresh coat of paint. They settled for a mint green with hints of blue, just the kind of earthiness mixed with eccentricity that Francesca would never get away with in her hometown. Painting in her peasant blouse, flared jeans and bare feet, with her brown hair cascading freely down her back (save for a bandana keeping the front strands back from her face), she thinks she might have truly assimilated into the laid-back-Californian archetype she always used to hear about.

From inside the house, the tinkling of piano keys has been trickling out for the last half hour; the signs of Goldie working on a melody. This has become a normality since they all moved in together. All of their creative juices are starting to return in little inklings, but no real songs have been written yet. Meanwhile Hank is fixing a lightbulb in the bathroom, whilst Victoria reads a broadsheet on the terrace.

Francesca, for one, is happy to be kept busy with the painting. It takes her mind off the strange anniversary, which is this late June day — it is around one year since she left Pittsburgh, left Graham and the others. She didn't think it would bother her so much. They had both moved on, hadn't they? Clearly, since they had pretty much zero contact since she left, and they ended things before then anyway.

So why does it still sour her mood?

The piano-playing inside has ceased a couple of minutes ago, and surely enough, Goldie walks out onto the terrace, barefoot in a long gunne sax dress. "Need any help?" she asks, shielding her eyes as she looks up through the sun at Francesca on the ladder.

"No, thanks," Francesca replies, stopping to dab at her forehead with her not paint-covered wrist, before continuing the rigorous up and down strokes.

"You sure? It's just... you've been painting that one spot very violently, for the last ten minutes."

She has? Now when Francesca stops, looking back at her handiwork, there is a particularly thick coat of green on one plank of wood. Admitting defeat, she steps down from the ladder for a few moments, reaching for the glass of water that balances tentatively on the wall. "I guess I'm just thinking a lot today," she reveals quietly.

Goldie nods, encouraging her to go on. With a sigh, Francesca finds it all unravelling.

"I was in Pittsburgh about a year ago, which I've told you already. But, you see, I kind of had a boyfriend while I was there."

"Oh?" Victoria calls out, lowering her broadsheet from across the terrace. Her bright blue eyes are sharpened with curiosity. "You kept that quiet, didn't you?!"

"Well, I met this guy, and we really liked each other... and it was great. But then I got this opportunity to come here to L.A., and we broke it off. Still, it was kind of amicable, so we gave each other phone numbers and addresses to keep in touch—" Francesca pauses, seeing the expressions on both her bandmates' faces wither at this part, "— and then I just didn't hear anything from him."

"Did you write to him, or call him?" Goldie asks.

"... In the first month, yeah, but—"

     "It's not worth it," Victoria huffs, making her blonde fringe flutter. "If you haven't already, just cut him off completely. It's easier, trust me. Otherwise you're only setting yourself up for disappointment." With that, she returns back to her spot on the terrace, picking her broadsheet up again and reading more headlines.

     "Forever the optimist, Vix..." Francesca mumbles.

     Goldie turns back to face her, pursing her lips. "Or, there's Plan B. Did you guys ever really tie things up, or was there a lot left unsaid?"

     Francesca thinks about this for a moment. Everything happened so fast. Going to L.A. was a sudden opportunity, and she seized it with both hands, though admittedly it was a quick way out of a conversation she was scared of having with Graham — but did she ever tell him any of this? Not really, when she thinks about it. Maybe it's part of the reason why every time she is reminded of him, there's a quiet whisper in the back of her head; a nagging guilt saying she could have done better.

     Reading her expression, Goldie seems to detect all of this in one way or another. "Then it's no wonder you feel that way, hon! It feels unfinished. But maybe Victoria's right about one thing. What's the likelihood that you're gonna see this guy again? And in that case, it is high time you allowed yourself to move on. Let yourself enjoy the fact that you made it here. He'd want you to be happy, right?"

     "Yeah... I guess he would..." Francesca realises, perking up. Then she shakes her head in disbelief at Goldie; she's hardly ever had girl talk with anyone, growing up in a house full of boys with whom they all had to fight for their parent's attention. "That's actually really good advice. Shit. Do you have experience with that at all?"

     "I've known enough boys to know the woes of dating, let's just say," Goldie grins cheekily.

     The click of the gate opening catches their attention — Carlo is returning from an outing, along with another much taller figure behind him. The pair of them make their way down the brick staircase, mid-conversation when they spot the girls. Now that the other guy, surely around their age, is standing there, his long and lanky frame towers above Victoria as she stands up to meet him. But that could be the only remotely intimidating thing about him: everything else exudes an ease of spirit, whether it's his crooked and friendly smile, or the double denim with his jacket and bell bottoms.

    "Oh, good, you guys are here!" Carlo says cheerfully. "This is Doug, if you remember. Doug, this is Francesca, Goldie and Victoria."

     "Yeah, I remember you, from the steakhouse?" Francesca holds out a hand to shake. "Carlo's told us all about you."

     "Nothing too bad, I hope," Doug laughs, completely free of ego.

CARLO: [Grinning] Yeah, I met Dougie at my job, at the steakhouse. He started maybe a month after I did? We hit it off immediately. Doug's just one of the coolest dudes you'll ever meet. Really relaxed, humble, just a great friend. Also insanely fucking talented, which he kept real quiet in the beginning...

     Walking inside the house alongside Doug, having offered him a drink, Goldie asks: "So, Doug, have you been working with Carlo for very long?"

"About a couple of months, I guess. It's better than my old job. I was working as a peanut vendor at the Dodgers Stadium."

"Oh, nice!"

Just then, Hank walks into the room, cleaning grease from his hands when he spots Doug. "Hey, who's this?" he asks, coming off more interrogatory than perhaps intended.

"Oh– Doug Sweeney," the tall man introduces himself. At first he holds out his hand to shake, then, upon seeing Hank's grease-stained hands, laughs and retracts it. Doug's gaze drifts like a breeze over to something past Hank's shoulder. "Far out! That's a seriously good-looking Steinway you've got there."

He brushes past the group, green eyes twinkling in awe at the piano standing in the middle of the living room. Goldie's pride and joy, it was a relic from her own home, one she took to L.A. all the way from Nashville. It has followed her ever since. Seeing his excitement over it is contagious, as the singer steps up to meet him by the piano.

"It's my baby," Goldie says lovingly, smoothing her hand over the top.

"You know, Carlo told me you guys were in a band," Doug suddenly remembers. "Rusted Rose, am I right?"

     "Yes—"

     "Actually, we might change the name," Hank pipes up, startling the rest of the band. That is certainly the first they have heard about it. On his part, judging by his demeanour, it seems like a desperate attempt to distance himself from what happened with Richie. "We just need a fresh start. Some new skin, I guess."

     "Oh, sweet. Got any new material yet?" their visitor asks innocently.

"No, not yet. We're working on it..." says Goldie; although she suddenly seems preoccupied with a train of thought chugging away in her head.

Doug shrugs, as if he empathises with the sentiment. "Yeah. That's always the struggle, right? Sitting down and writing a song is never as easy as it looks."

Victoria perks up, furrowing her brows curiously at him. "Are you a musician, by any chance? You seem quite well-versed."

"Well, y'know, I dabble. My mom made me take piano lessons when I was a kid."

"You can play something if you want," Goldie encourages him.

"Seriously?" Doug's eyebrows fly up. When he gets the stamp of approval, he beams. "Alright!" Rolling up his sleeves, he sits down in front of the piano, aligning his long fingers above the black and white keys. There is a moment of silence as he prepares to play. And then...

An explosion of impeccable musical talent. Doug completely commands the piano, in a way so professional and confident that it drops the jaws of every single person in the room. Hank's brows have never been painted so high on his face, and Francesca swears she hears Victoria mutter a quietly awestruck "Fuck..." under her breath.

HANK: Holy. Fucking. Shit.

FRANCESCA: It was insane! [Laughs] I just remember looking over at Carlo, like, "Where the hell did you find this guy?!" And he looked just as shocked as the rest of us.

CARLO: I didn't even know he could play an instrument, let alone like that, I just thought he was a cool guy. If I'd known, I would have asked him to join the band right when I first met him!

Somehow, after that brilliant performance, Doug just casually turns to them on the piano stool with a smile. The rest of the band all gape at one another — as if to say, Are you thinking what I'm thinking? — while the maestro remains none the wiser and blissfully ignorant.

"Where... did you learn that?" Hank asks.

Doug hums, considering the question. "It's a funny story, actually..."

DOUG SWEENEY (keyboardist, Solstice): I don't know, man, I've just always been into music one way or another. I was an only child — and actually, as a kid I was kinda shy and didn't really have any ambitions — and my parents figured I needed some kind of hobby. So they got me piano lessons... which backfired on them, because I got so addicted to playing it. Eventually they stopped the lessons, but I kept playing. Then I branched out into other instruments, just anything I could get my hands on. Percussion, wind, flute, you name it.

Hold on a sec...

[Doug — with a beard starting to grey, dressed in double denim and wearing tinted shades — leaves the frame for a moment. A few seconds later, he returns. The camera blurs and re-focuses on Doug holding a giant didgeridoo, the biggest grin on his face]

This might be my favourite thing. It's so fuckin' cool.

But piano was always where I thought my strengths were. Or the keyboard, you know, interchangeably. I'd started busking around that time. Sometimes I would set up on Sunset Boulevard, just getting some extra cash alongside my day jobs. I was pretty happy doing that until– well, I was still living with my mom at the time, so she said to me, "Doug, if you don't get a good job by the end of this year, you're on your own."

And I was like, "Alright, okay. I'd better get my shit together then."

Luckily, my future career didn't end up in the Dodgers stadium or a steakhouse, thanks to Carlo introducing me to the rest of them. No idea what they saw in me, but I'm so grateful, you know? [He puts a hand on his heart]

FRANCESCA: You know, I'm not sure he even recognised that Goldie Rhodes was... well, who she was. Or if he did, he kept it to himself.

INTERVIEWER: Did you realise it was her?

DOUG: Maybe, like, an hour later after I got home? I thought she looked familiar... and then it occurred to me when I was taking a shower, like, "Wait a damn minute!" [Laughs]

Anyway, uh, they asked me if I was maybe interested in the band. They told me about their situation with the other guy who left, and then this potential thing with Teddy Price, just so I was in the loop. I think they thought I would audition first, or would want to get a feel for the band before joining.

But they had me at record deal, I was just like, "Fuck it!" I was a directionless twenty year-old with nothing better to do. What else was I gonna say?

CARLO: I don't know what to tell ya, [Shrugs] it's just Doug.

.•° ✿ °•.

"Can I sing you something?"

It is a sweltering mid-July afternoon when Goldie asks the question. The band (now including Doug, it seems) are sat under the shade of a sycamore tree, sweating on their collective day off from work and fanning themselves to the best of their abilities. Goldie floats over to them in a flowery butterfly-sleeved dress, a notebook clamped between her hands.

"You actually inspired this one, Hank," she casually adds, as she perches on a deck chair.

Hank sits up in his seat, squinting at her; he almost seems slightly flustered at first. "Really? Why?"

"It was something you said the other day: new skin. You were talkin' about changing the band's name, and it popped into my head."

"You think we should be called New Skin?" Carlo asks.

"No... but I've had this verse stuck in my head for a couple weeks now."

The band nod to her, urging her to go on. Goldie brushes away some of her hair, ducking her head down to the page. It's strange seeing her like this — almost shy, like she has been called up to give a presentation at school. Usually her stage presence is electric, her confidence captivating. Although she doesn't belt or wrestle high notes, her voice stays low and softly melancholic, as she goes on to sing what's written down:

"I'll wear some new skin
I'll change my name
Dust off my footprints
And I won't feel guilty..."

Goldie looks up at the others, as if to say, And that's it. A beat passes between them all as they digest the tune. Francesca is struck again by how melancholy it feels — the lyrics almost in direct juxtaposition with the message of promise and ambition. It resonates strongly with her. Leaning over her chair, she picks up her guitar. "Can you play it again?" she asks her, beginning to strum it.

     So she goes again, singing the tune, and Francesca starts trying create a backing track of sorts. She tries plucking at different notes on the guitar, finding the right notes she wants to play. Goldie and the others offer input here and there, saying what feels right and what doesn't, until they find chords they like.

     Just four notes, and four lines; it sparks something.

     Hank's eyes grow wide slightly, his whole posture straightening. "... I'm gonna get my guitar," he murmurs.

     Soon enough, everyone is gathered in the living room around Goldie's piano, dragging whatever equipment they need to. Doug is sat at the piano teaching himself the simple melody, whilst Francesca strums along. Hank and Victoria work on ways to include guitar riffs and bass lines respectively, Carlo drumming a beat of his own — almost reminiscent of a marching band — all while ideas for expanding the lyrics are being bounced between them.

     There is a lot of sweat, nearly some tears, and plenty of curse words abound. As the sun starts setting, their voices still bounce off the walks, talking over each other and scrambling for ideas. The notebook turns from a relatively empty page to being heavy with handwriting, both neat and re-scribbled. Francesca can feel her heart hammering with excitement. Something is happening here, is all she can think. And when she looks around at each face, each eager voice and each laugh shared between ideas, she knows it feels right.

     "Okay, let's play what we have so far," Hank rallies them together.

     "I'll sing that verse first, right? And then we can move it to second later when we've got ideas for the—"

     "Yeah, yeah."

     "Alright."

     "One, two, one, two, three, four—"

     Carlo begins drumming on the hand-drum placed between his legs, the heartbeat of the song, whilst Francesca and Hank slip into a duet of guitars — her acoustic rhythm-playing with the croon of his electric guitar. Victoria comes in on the bass too, giving an extra layer of depth, while Doug plays some of the piano (which they plan to change to keyboard later). After the short intro, Goldie once more sings the verse she first introduced to them earlier, along with its additions:

  "I'll wear some new skin
I'll change my name
Dust off my footprints
And I won't feel guilty
     'Where did you come from, darling?'
     'Where will you go?'
     I guess there's some things some folks ought not to know..."

     Then, climbing a little, she enters the chorus, with Victoria lower voice harmonising quietly in the background:

     "And the road is never made for two
     For the ghosts of lovers made blue
     But I'm still walking, honey
     Yeah, I'm still walking miles without you
     Yeah, I'm still walking miles without you..."

.•° ✿ °•.

FRANCESCA: So, yeah, 'New Skin' was the first song we all wrote together. It felt kind of fitting. I've always seen it as a song about transformation, its positives and freedoms, but also the fears of what you're leaving behind, the only thing you've ever known. It applied to all of us at the time.

After that breakthrough, we were on fire. Most of the songs ended up having a folk-rockish kind of sound to them, which of course I loved. My guitar-playing's a lot more prominent on those tracks than anything I did with Rusted Rose.

HANK: The rest of July and the beginning of August, we were working on songs like we were possessed. I don't know what it was, something just clicked while we wrote 'New Skin', and the rest just came flooding out. Not that it was easy, of course, far from it... but it suddenly felt like it was right.

DOUG: I barely went home during those weeks, 'cause there was no point. We stayed up day and night, writing, jamming, experimenting. I think I found my home with the band during that time.

CARLO: It was so much fun, I think we wrote two or three more songs? As demos, so we could bring 'em to Teddy. They were 'Wasn't Born Yesterday' and 'Ashes To Ashes' — they're both really fun to play.

VICTORIA: Unlike when it was Rusted Rose, we all had creative input to some degree. That was when Goldie suggested Francesca and I should do some backing vocals.

HANK: It was the perfect mix — Victoria's got this lower, sultry voice, and Francesca has this really clear and pure soprano that can hit the high notes if she's ambitious enough. Together, their harmonies were fucking perfect. Honestly, I was kinda mad we didn't do it earlier. [Chuckles]

FRANCESCA: I think the biggest surprise, though, was Goldie's songwriting. She really got into it... and she was really good. We were all kind of like, "Whoa," because we weren't expecting this from her. It sounded and felt so different to anything from her solo career before. But I figure she never got the chance to show it off before — I mean, in her heyday, those were the days of song-writers for hire, right? At the time, it was only very recently that people were writing more of their own songs.

I think I got the sense that Marigold was relieved to show the real her... whoever that was.

HANK: When we had three demos of the songs ready to go, we took them straight to Teddy Price in that August.

.•° ✿ °•.

If they have to wait any longer, it's quite possible that Hank might explode. That is what Francesca observes, anyway, as she paces around the waiting room. The four pale orange walls of the Ellemar Records offices surround them, sunlight bursting in through the shuttered windows as they wait for their scheduled meeting.

     Hank's leg bounces erratically as he sits in the chair, while Goldie sits with a more distilled anxiety, maybe more accustomed to dealing with record labels before. Carlo and Doug are engaged in a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors out of boredom, and Victoria reads a paper from one of the coffee tables — its headline praising the latest breakout of a star from the UK, Elton John, at the Troubadour just a couple of days ago.

Francesca, looking for something to do, has started examining a modern sculpture stood on a mahogany cabinet. It looks like a skeletal mould of a tidal wave, wooden shutters twisting and turning into an indiscernible shape. She reaches out and touches it, smoothing her hands over the tips, and then...

Snap!

A miniature of the sculpture breaks off between her fingertips. Shit, shit, shit! That was way more fragile than it looks. Francesca frantically looks around, checking to see if anyone saw her defacing the odd sculpture. Then she lets out a small sigh of relief, hovering awkwardly with the broken piece in her hand.

"Sorry I'm late—"

Teddy Price's voice behind them. Shit. His footsteps growing louder, Francesca panics and initially tries to jam the broken piece back onto the sculpture, before giving up and pocketing it. She whirls around to face the producer just as he reaches the group, who've all stood up now.

"Shall we?" he says, gesturing into his office. Teddy shoots the sculpture (and Francesca) a knowing, but somewhat amused look, before following them in.

The next half an hour — how long are they even in there for? — feels like an eternity. Teddy listens to each of their demo songs. First there is 'New Skin', their first work, slower with a hypnotic melancholy. Then the tempo is completely uprooted and changed with the energetic 'Wasn't Born Yesterday', like a more upbeat revision of the first song's theme. Finally, there is 'Ashes To Ashes', an amalgamation of its two predecessors in its sound, the pace alternating between laboured pauses and the rest of the quicker tempo, more desperate in its confessions of fear about the world's disarray.

'Ashes To Ashes' finishes, the tape crackling to a stop. In a thin cloud of cigar smoke, Teddy leans back in his leather chair, considering what he has just heard. He has not spoken a word since he started listening — Hank has probably chewed off half of his fingernails and worn a groove into the carpet with his foot-tapping. Francesca feels her stomach doing anxious knots as she waits for the producer to say something.

"So?" Hank says, almost impatiently, and Goldie nudges him sharply.

A few more seconds of anticipatory silence pass.

"... It's good," Teddy finally says.

That's it. It is both a relief and an anti-climax. Either way, Francesca feels like she can breathe again.

     "Keep it up," he adds, "write a few more songs and bring them in for, say, a month or two from now. Then we can have some serious conversations."

     "Thank you, sir, thank you!" Hank blurts out, barely able to contain his excitement; he is suddenly like a giddy little schoolboy.

     "Oh, but one more thing..." Goldie pipes up. She glances between the other members of the band, checking they are all on board with her saying it, and they nod. "We've been thinking about how this is a fresh start, and we thought we might change the name of our band."

     "Sure. You got any ideas?"

     They had all gone through many ideas. Some too edgy or cringeworthy to mention, others too similar to existing band names in rock and roll. But after various attempts at names, they all settled on one name — it was born at the same time their band as they now knew it was, in hindsight. They had joined at the peak of summer, and the whole season as a result had been one full of inspiration and hope. It was something they hoped to continue for a long time. Therefore their name acted as a charm of good luck:

     "Solstice."

     Teddy hums, his lip quirking into a smile. It's short. It's snappy. It could be a name to remember. "I like it," he says.

.•° ✿ °•.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

solstice is officially together and formed as a band! it took a while, but we got there 😁 whilst they might start releasing albums soon, their 'big break' so to speak is still yet to come. i'm so glad we have finally reached this point in the story.

a note about solstice songs: i'm trying to write snippets of my own lyrics, but it's original tunes i can't think of, so it'll basically be me imagining alternative lyrics to melodies of existing songs (most of which are by the band heart, of course). so the melodies in my head are definitely not original and i don't claim them to bbe. hope that makes sense? some of the solstice tunes + songs used for inspiration in this chapter, which i would highly recommend you check out for the ✨vibe✨ included:

• new skin: thieves (she & him)

• wasn't born yesterday: hazy shade of winter (simon & garfunkel)

• ashes to ashes: new hard times (stone poneys)

the tunes in my head aren't exactly like these, but they are my main inspiration, so do give them a listen if you have the chance!

FINALLY we've met doug sweeney, an absolute king, who is a parallel to warren in that he is just here for good vibes. but as it was shown in this chapter, he is also incredibly talented and arguably the most versatile of everyone in solstice — he can play so many instruments! he's a bit of a wild card, where i feel like anything he does can be justified by, "it's doug." 😂 how do you guys find him so far?

thank you for being so patient during this chapters where solstice is being set up! there was important stuff to get out of the way before the story progressed. however, i've missed writing graham and the rest of the six, and i can promise you won't have to wait much longer before seeing them again... 👀

Published: November 17th, 2023
Edited: October 26th, 2024