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catticry · 1 month ago

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‘Are those things really you? And if not, then what is?’

TMA OC + Statement | The stranger | Gosha (Tomasz Olbrych)

Tomasz Olbrych, lead singer of the 5 person band ‘Gosha’. Grew up as a kid with a love for singing, but a fear of performing for a large audience. After joining his friend’s band and becoming their lead vocalist he learnt to deal with the anxiety.

After years of successful performances with Gosha he lost himself in his stage persona and forgot who he was before their breakthrough. When he gets called in to fill in for a band last minute, he encounters a team of strange make-up artists who make sure his face is ready for the show…

Statement of Tomasz Olbrych, or Gosha, regarding his performances with his likewise named band.

Statement begins.

I used to hate performing when I was a kid. Ironic, isn't it? Considering where I am now, performing my music live in front of an even bigger audience than that little kid could have ever begun to imagine. It wasn't the acting, the singing nor the dancing I hated, it was the performance itself. In fact, I loved to sing and play my guitar back then too. I liked to do it when I was by myself, alone in my room without any prying eyes from people who had opinions. When I did plays at school, I'd always try to get the most insignificant role of the performance possible, or a task somewhere behind the scenes where the audience could not see me. I felt safer behind the thick red curtain instead of on the wide open stage.

I could only avoid participating in our shows so many times before a teacher started to notice. Everyone was expected to put in the work and perform their piece, they said. It didn’t matter how much I begged for them to exclude me, they wouldn't hear it. They’d nudge me forward and put me on the spot for everyone else to see.

That’s what I hated- all of those expectant eyes staring at me… wanting to be entertained. Surely enough the day came where the school had its little theatre show. Family members of my classmates and I flooded through the large doors to take their seats, ready to watch their children perform. Some kids acted out a short scene in homemade costumes, some of them danced to loud music in groups, and some of them showed off their skills on their favourite musical instruments.

My teacher had convinced me to play on my electric guitar and sing a simple song for our audience - despite my unenthusiasm. Something about ‘stepping outside of your comfort zone’. As I heard the teacher announce my name, I started to feel nauseous and short of breath. My hands trembled as I waited behind the curtain. I couldn’t do this, I wanted to go home! I turned to leave, but I was already ushered forward onto stage by kids behind me who were waiting for their own turns.

I stumbled forward. The stage lights directed towards the microphone were blinding and so hot they made my face break out in sweat. In a panic my eyes darted around the audience to find my mother, but I couldn't make out any of their faces against the harsh light. The fact I knew the crowd was there and that I could feel their eyes boring into me expectantly, but I couldn’t actually see them do it didn't make me feel any better. My throat closed up and my fingers curled around my guitar in a tense fist. I tried to fight back the stinging sensation I felt behind my eyes, but it was useless. They wanted to see a show... and I couldn't give them one.

It was humiliating to cry on stage in front of every kid in my year, including their family members and all of my teachers. I ran off stage as soon as I felt the tears run down my cheeks and hurried to lock myself in the bathroom.

That memory still keeps me up at night sometimes. That feeling of standing on stage, feeling so utterly wrong it hurts you at the very core of your being, while everyone stares at you like you’re insane for feeling that way.

It took me a long time to get over that feeling. If it hadn’t been for my roommate Daniel Gater who asked me to join his band when we were in our early twenties, I wouldn’t have been where I am now. I had my doubts when he first asked me, but it turned out I was a great fit for the band’s alternative style and joined them quickly after a few try-out sessions. I was the lead singer, Daniel was our guitarist, he was backed up by his boyfriend Nick Horton on the piano. Then there was our friend Joanne Avery on drums and Ezra Sampson from our school year, who was our bassist. When I played with them I felt composed, that sense of unease I felt on stage started to drift off into the background. We called ourselves ‘Gosha’ at Joanne’s request, she thought it was fun to combine our names together into one catchy band name. I didn’t really care for it, but the others were enthusiastic, so ‘Gosha’ it was.

We played together for years, eventually we got good enough to get small gigs. Sometimes people would come up to us after we finished to tell us they liked our music, or to book us for some other event. The band usually nudged me forward to talk to these people. I was the lead vocalist after all, the face of our band and the first thing people focused on when they saw us together.

We started breaking through when we were in our late twenties. At that point we decided to put some more effort into our stage presence. Daniel had always been a fan of dramatic make-up and flashy clothing so he suggested we try that. The idea of being on a stage dressed in bright clothing with make-up on my face made me a little nervous, it would surely draw extra attention. We got together and gave it a shot. Nick set me in front of a mirror and painted my face with a white face paint, and my eyes in a deep dark red. I saw my own face disappear in the mirror as he caked it with the dramatic make-up. As I watched him do his work in the mirror, I became an entirely different person in front of my very eyes. I thought it looked crazy at first, but that’s actually what I liked about it. There was absolutely nothing about this face that looked like me. This was the face of the band, the one people would think of first when talking about Gosha. I felt this surge of confidence. He was a new person who could play and sing and dance without being burdened by the weight of the audience's expectations. On stage I could be Gosha, at home I was just Tomasz.

We got a manager, Lila Price, and started playing more frequently, at bigger venues and for a larger audience. We’d even go on tours throughout the UK. The nights were long, we’d perform an entire show and then go to parties for the remainder of the night. The new lifestyle was… tough to keep up with. That’s what made me start drinking. I felt it helped me let loose on stage and give the audience the unforgettable performance they were hoping for.

Once I was out of my make-up and hunched over the toilet bowl for the entirety of the next day, I’d regret my decisions. I finally had time to myself at home and I made myself spend it in my bathroom. I wasn’t really happy when I was off stage either… my band and I didn’t hang out much outside of performances and I didn’t have any friends besides them. I’d sit in my bedroom alone and crave the attention I got when I was on stage. But those people didn’t care for Tomasz, they cared for Gosha.

One day I got a call from our manager, she told me a venue had contacted her to ask us to do a gig that very night. She gave me the details: the venue was quite new, I don't remember their name... it was something Russian I think. Apparently some band had to cancel last minute and they wanted us to fill in for them. I tried to protest, to say that a few hours wasn't enough time for us all to be ready, but she hung up on me before I could even begin to decline the offer. I hurried to call her back but it went straight to voicemail. This was so unlike her, she’d never arrange last minute gigs for us like this! After some time cursing to myself and collecting my things, I set out to drive to the location she sent me.

Sure enough, the evening rolled around and I arrived at the venue. The building looked fine. It was big, grey and unremarkable and I could see some damp stains on the outside brickwork. I saw the van we usually transport our gear in parked near the back entrance, so I figured they were probably already inside and waiting for me. I didn’t see anyone queuing up in front of the building's entrance, so I headed for the doors to register myself at the desk and hopefully find Lila.

To my relief, she was right there at the front desk talking to the woman behind it. Lila was quite short with long brown hair and usually wore her signature blue blazer, but today she seemed to have picked a more flamboyant and colourful option. She turned towards me and smiled when I greeted her. She told me everything was already set for my performance and started to lead me down the hallway that led into the backstage area. I found she was strangely upbeat for such a rushed evening, but I followed along regardless. Her unmoving optimism was so intense that I’d feel bad if I’d messed it up. I wanted to bring up how frustrated I was, but something about her voice, her smile, the way she moved just… made me feel uneasy. It was like her motions were a little too slow some times, and a little too fast the other. I brushed my feelings off and just thanked her for getting us the gig on short notice.

I expected to see my mates when I stepped into the backstage room, but they weren’t there. Lila reassured me that she already ‘took care of them’ and promptly turned around and left. What did she even mean by that? That was the moment where the frustration started to creep up on me again. It had already been a horrible few days full of hangovers, and now I was in this unfamiliar venue without any clue of what to do.

I got out my phone and dialled Daniel's number to ask where everyone was, but he did not pick up. I did my best to get here last minute while unclear on what the plan was, and they couldn’t even pick up when I called? I sat down on a slightly uncomfortable chair and decided to wait, the show didn’t start in a few hours anyway, we still had to do soundchecks too. Luckily the backstage room had drinks ready so I helped myself to… a few. It got me to calm down somewhat.

Soon after I was startled by the door swinging open with a loud thud from the handle hitting against the wall. I craned my head from my snoozing position on the chair to see who had entered so energetically. Lila was standing there in the doorway, and next to her stood two tall people who I did not recognise. They barged in without saying a word and started emptying their bags onto the vanity mirror. Behind them followed Lila who answered my questions before I could open my mouth. My make-up artists, she said. I stood up and shook my head. No, we did not have make-up artists. We applied it ourselves every show!

She told me to not worry and reassured me I was in good hands with that same optimistic smile from before. I grunted in response. At this point the evening had already been a confusing mess, so I didn’t have any words for her anyway. Lila left me backstage with these two artists I had never met before. Something about them made me feel uneasy. They were intimidating and slightly lanky. Both of them wore colourful make-up and bright clothing that looked like it was a few sizes too large for their bodies. Despite my nerves, I held out my hand for them to shake but instead of the introduction I expected, the taller one yanked me forward by my wrist. I stumbled into the vanity chair and they spun it around theatrically until I was face to face with myself in the mirror. My heart jumped, it was completely uncalled for after all!

I told them off for it, there was no need to be so aggressive about this! I was going to comply if my manager had arranged this for me somehow. I turned to snap at the taller one, but as I did I saw their face up close for the first time. It was… smooth. Unrealistically smooth. Like their skin was stretched taut over their skull without any creases in it. Make-up was plastered all over it, and at this distance I could see their faces were not what they looked like at first glance. Their eyes, their nostrils, even their smiles were painted on. It was at this moment that I realised that neither of them had spoken a single word to me so far. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, the way those eyes stared at me… or rather how they didn’t, rendered me speechless.

When they noticed my attitude towards them change, the taller one rushed to hold me down. The shorter one held up a tube of face paint to me in the mirror. My eyes darted from their face to the tube. Something about their expression made my heart sink. They held it up like it was some sort of torture tool they were about to use on me. The taller person’s fingers sank into my shoulder blades like needles, pinning me to the chair. Before I could scream, the shorter one yanked my head backwards and clamped my jaw shut. I tried to wrestle myself free, to scream for help, but it was no use. I gasped for air when I saw the short one hold up the sponge with the white paint and began to apply it to my face forcefully.

It wasn’t like any paint I’d used before. I felt a burning sensation wash over the areas they applied it to. At first I thought I was having some kind of allergic reaction to it, but that wasn’t it. It was as if my very skin was starting to boil, like the paint was being absorbed into my skin with a scorching heat. I screamed, yelled for them to stop or for someone to come help me, but it was no use. I was sure they were going to kill me, that my face was melting away like hot wax dripping down a melting statue in large gooey chunks.

The taller person increased their grip with surprising strength and looked me dead in the eyes when the shorter one finished applying the white paint. They held a finger up to their smile as the short one placed its cold bony thumbs just below my eyes and began to press. I grabbed its arms, trying to tear them away from my face but it was unmoving, like it had been bolted in place. I thought they were attempting to poke out my eyes, but when I saw the scene reflected into the vanity mirror, I saw they were applying the finishing touch to my make-up look… the dark red eye paint. They pressed harshly, etching the paint into my face. The sight of their unfaltering smile was the last thing I saw before the pain made me faint.

I woke up on the floor hours later… at least I assume it was, because as soon as I opened my eyes, Lila came in angrily gesturing to me about how I should be on stage already. I couldn’t really hear what she was saying. I felt disorientated. I looked around for the two… things that hurt me, but they were nowhere to be seen. I glanced at myself in the mirror, expecting to see my face burnt and bloody, but it was… normal, and the paint looked great. There wasn’t any injury to take note of whatsoever. I was starting to think I had dreamt the whole thing… maybe I drank too much and passed out on the floor after doing my make-up myself? Quickly, Lila began to usher me towards the stage door. I was still feeling nauseous and confused so I just complied without question. If everyone was already on stage, I couldn’t turn around and leave. There were people out here waiting for me… waiting for Gosha to start the show.

I stepped on the stage, mustering up all of the theatrical enthusiasm I could find within myself at the time. The air in the venue was thick and humid and smelt like the smoke from the haze machine. The bright stage lights hurt my eyes and they were so hot on my face I could feel sweat drip down my face. It reminded me of that awful dream. I greeted the audience enthusiastically, like I usually did at our shows. The large crowd roared with excitement. I was surprised to see how big the room was. The building had looked sizable from the outside, but I had never thought the room would be big enough to have several balconies. From what I could see every seat was taken. This made me feel another pang of nerves. Sure, I had played for large crowds, but I had never played for this many people before. I had to give this my all, I couldn’t disappoint them.

I jumped at the sudden sound of a drum and a riff off an electric guitar. I spun around to see my bandmates. I forgot we hadn’t actually met for a soundcheck tonight, but they were all set up and ready, smiling at me enthusiastically. Everything was so off. Their faces, their limbs, that dream… had it even been a dream? I was uncomfortable. Nothing made sense, but the crowd was looking at me expectantly. I felt their eyes bore into me, into my very being. I knew it, even though I couldn’t see their faces because of the lights. Despite my confusion- I had to deliver. Gosha had to deliver. I couldn’t let them know I was underprepared, I couldn’t let them know I was scared.

My band started playing our opening song, starting out with just one instrument. Nick played a steady rhythm on the piano to hook the audience and to introduce them to our sound. I followed his lead and started singing the lyrics to our song on autopilot as more instruments joined in. Ignoring my uneasiness, I put on a show as the music started picking up. We sounded so alive, and the audienced loved it. I could see they adored us. They cheered wildly for Gosha, several people even tried to reach up to the stage to touch me. Would they have wanted to touch me if I wasn’t on this stage and not in my make-up and costume? Would they want to when I was just Tomasz on the bathroom floor and at my worst?

No. Of course not. They did not love me, they loved Gosha. And I was here to play him for them.

That’s when I heard it- the saxophone. I was caught off guard - not that it didn’t sound good, the opposite actually, it really added something to our music. It was surprising to me because of the fact that no one in my band played the saxophone. I tried to spot which of us was playing it, but I couldn’t make out my friends�� faces through the thick haze of the fog machine. Then, another new instrument played. A trumpet. It was not part of our original song either. The tempo of the music started picking up, it was much faster than we had always played it before. I did my best to keep up.

A cello. A tuba. A violin. None of this was right, but the music was incredible. The crowd seemed to think the same thing. People danced. Wild hands waved in the air. They sang along to the lyrics at the top of their lungs. I started singing louder too. It was intoxicating to sing the lyrics as loudly as I could, putting all of my energy out through my vocal chords. The audience went crazy for it. They loved Gosha- they loved me. The more energy I put into the lyrics, the more wild they became. The dancing became thrashing, the waving hands started clawing, and the singing became screaming. People tried to climb over each other to get to the stage, their arms and legs contorting at strange angles. They were tearing each other up just to try and get closer to me. I felt as if something clicked within me. I smiled. They loved me. They really loved me.

As the music rose to its highest point, I gave it my all. My newfound confidence boosted my energy to really give that final note the fire it needed. I had never felt so connected to my music before. It was as if everything became one sound, the music, my band, the audience and I. When we hit the crescendo of our song, so did the screams of the crowd.

When I opened my eyes the following morning, I found myself at home, face down on my bed. I was still wearing my costume. Usually I’d wake up hungover after a gig, but today I felt great. I got up to stretch my muscles. That’s when I saw my hands. It took me a moment to register what exactly I was looking at.

Blood. They were covered in old brownish blood. My silver rings were crusted to my fingers because of the thick dried substance. I hurried to the bathroom to wash it off. As I scrubbed my hands clean I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. It was equally as bloody and I was still wearing my facepaint. No matter how much soap and water I used, the paint would not come off. My make-up was stuck there, etched into my skin like a perfect tattoo.

All I could do was grin. I recalled the night before clearly. I know what I saw. I know what I did at my performance. I remembered how loved Gosha was, how loved I was. It all made sense. Tomasz could’ve never played like I did last night. He would have been scared. He would have ran off terrified with tears running down his cheeks. But not me, no, Tomasz was dead, and in his place stood Gosha.

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