#mine just hit me with a french version of hotel california | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

behindthespotlightfic · 8 years ago

Text

chapter 9

(Hello! I’m back with another chapter, and I’m really sorry it’s been so long between updates... I’ve been through kind of a writer’s block, and this chapter is again a bit of a filler... Hope you still like it though. Don’t forget the feedback, and see you in the next chapter!)

----

“Well, I got one foot on the platform, the other foot on the train... I'm goin' back to New Orleans to wear that ball and chain”

(House of the Rising Sun, The Animals)

The sun wakes up in New Orleans, and thus, I do wake up too. My eyes take their time to get used to the light, even though it’s not really intense, and even longer to recognise the room I’ve slept in. But eventually I remember it all; the suitcase I packed about twenty hours ago, the plane, the hotel… and the reason I’m here.

It’s January 10th, 2017, and a few days ago I embarked in another journey, otherwise known as the North American leg of the Getaway World Tour.

I’m not really anxious nor especially excited about it; at least, not more than the rest of the tour, that is. But it will be nice not only to be in my homeland, which I did on the 21st of December when we finished with the European leg, but to be travelling around and working here as well, doing what I love the most. Plus, we’ve already done some shows in San Antonio, Dallas and such, so the excitement of the first days is not as intense now.

I should give an update on some things that happened, though.

I spent Christmas with Steve and Lisa, in their home in Irvine, an hour from Downtown Los Angeles, along with their children. I got to be an aunt for some days, which I am really glad for, and I felt extremely welcome there. It was almost like not needing my real family, which is never an option… but we’ll come back to that in another moment.

And so when New Year’s Eve came, it was my turn to go to San Diego. Finn and I had the greatest NYE ever, complete with a late night throwback party in a club where everything they played was from the 70s to the 90s, especially the latter. We couldn’t help laughing out loud when a terrible remix of Californication started blasting, and we jumped and danced as if we didn’t know it, as if we didn’t hear it each and every night of our lives. And as we were singing along to Hit Me With Your Best Shot, by Pat Benatar, Finn, full of joy, took me in his arms and yelled into my ear: “I love you!”

That left me a bit struck. Suddenly, it was hard to keep up with the upbeat tempo of the song, be it for better or worse, and I couldn’t help but feel at peace. Finn’s energy (when he’s willing to be that lively, of course; he isn’t always like that, but it’s my favorite version of him) soothed me so much and made me feel at home, and at the same time, especially because of what he had just said, urged me to raise up and scream with jubile. I think it was that contradictory feeling, in that specific moment, that made me realize it; I could finally say I was in love with Finn. And I said it, I shouted it out loud at last. “I LOVE YOU TOO, FINN HUNTER!”

No one heard it but the two of us, but that was the point; we didn’t need anything else. So right now I feel better than ever, as far as my love life is concerned. (I also have to say that this has made me improve a bit regarding my self-esteem as well, which wasn’t alarmingly low or anything, but I still feel better about myself now.)

When I came back from San Diego, on January 2nd, I spent the last few days before starting work again in L.A., just relaxing and visiting people and places. I was at Clara’s, for instance, but this time with Flea, Loesha (Clara’s mother) and her family. They know about her breakup now, and we all have, more or less, talked to her about it in order for her to go through it as easier as possible. Things will work out, even if it takes time, I’m sure about it. But I won’t stop texting her whenever possible.

So. Back again to today. I dress up in comfortable clothes, and go out for breakfast. I’m used to waking up early; I got into the habit when I was a teen (it wasn’t easy, it’s true, but I eventually got the hang of it) so I could make the most of my day, and I still can’t wake up later than 8 am. Finn is not like me in that sense, so I leave him asleep in the hotel room, amid the dim light of the morning, toned down by the blinds.

I wander around the French Quarter of the city, which I don’t really know but have been eager to explore for some time now. The weather isn’t as sunny as it was in California, but again, there are few places in the United States which are warmer than California. Maybe Florida. Anyway, I walk down the worn streets of the oldest neighbourhood in the city, until I find a tiny cafeteria on the corner between two 18th-century-looking wide streets. I don’t know whether they are truly historical or if it’s a tourist attraction, but whatever, I don’t really mind either, so I sit on a comfy, padded chair and ask for black coffee and a sandwich.

It’s beautiful, being in New Orleans, knowing that it was here that jazz began. I’m a visual arts person, but given my love for music, I can’t help but admire the music culture tradition that has endured over the years. To think that Louis Armstrong or the guitarist Eddie Condon may have walked those same streets I just strolled down almost gives me chills. I’m not as acquainted with jazz as I’d like to, but I’ve come to have a huge interest in it, especially when I started playing the guitar. I looked for classic musicians to have as role models, and even though my style is probably more similar to rock than to anything else, I wanted to look up to as many different playing styles as possible. So now I’m as familiar with Melissa Etheridge or Jimi Hendrix as I am with Chuck Berry or Buddy Guy.

One thing leads to another, and the thought of jazz guitarists in New Orleans makes me think of how I started playing. I don’t think I started because of one single reason, but Josh Klinghoffer was definitely one of those motives. He had known the Chilis for a long time when he joined them as their lead guitarist, but in some kind of way he was the new guy, just like I was the new girl. And not only did we quickly become friends, as I’ve already explained, but I started paying attention to his way of playing as well. I think it was a month or so after meeting him that he got me curious and I dusted off the green electric guitar I had had for more than ten years hidden in a cupboard. But it wasn’t only Josh, of course, there was another important factor.

I had been working as a camera operator since I was twenty-seven, quite a long time if you stop and think about it. It’s my passion, it’s my vocation, and I couldn’t be happier about it. But there are some times when one feels like he’s always giving, never receiving. It’s like being behind the spotlight all the time, and it’s not that one wants to be in the spotlight, it’s just the feeling that sometimes you’re not that useful. That’s not true at all, but I still needed something which was only mine, something to do when I felt that way, something like having my own private tiny spotlight. So I picked up the guitar, just as an inside joke and convinced I would give up a week after starting, like lots of other hobbies I’ve tried in my life, but somehow, it got me hooked on, and here we are, six years after, still playing.

The origins of my guitar playing makes me think of Josh, and the thought of Josh leads me to another whole topic, which is John. John Frusciante, who was the most famous guitarist the Chilis have had (so far), a well-earned title if I’m not mistaken. I was too late to get to know him: I started working with the band some years after he left, so I only know him as a myth, a glorified legend who once was such a celebrity, he couldn’t stand it. I’ve never talked much about him with Chad, Anthony, Flea or even Josh, who once was a really close friend of his, so I probably know as much as the general public know about him, or even less, because I have never given him much thought. I suppose he’s doing alright, but once I started working with the Red Hot Chili Peppers I just focused on what was there, as I, although familiar with them, had never been a huge fan. The only thing I remember a bit more was the fact that, even that his departure from the band was peaceful and without the slightest argument, the band has never been as close to him as they had been. But everyone follows his own path, I guess.

I let my mind wander and think about guitar players while I finish my breakfast, and lots of names fly around my head: Hillel Slovak and Dave Navarro (the other two important guitarists who played with the Chilis) Robert Johnson, Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page… and the day unfolds again. I spend the morning walking down the streets of New Orleans, thinking about music and culture and what has shaped the world and myself as well, and with the song “House of the Rising Sun” as an imaginary soundtrack. Later on, I have lunch with Finn and meet Steve and Chad to go together to the arena in which we’re playing tonight. We have a great afternoon, despite the usual, almost boring routine of getting everything ready, doing sound checks and video rehearsals, and by nine (the show starts at ten), everyone’s at their respective dressing rooms, getting themselves ready.

Now, I know it’s a bit like cheating, and I would like to tell my story as a linear sequence of events, but I will allow myself to do something unusual for a second, which is turning myself into an omniscient narrator. I still don’t know it, but something’s about to happen, something really strange which will make the course of things to take an unexpected turn. But that something will have to wait. We have a show to play first.

7 notes · View notes