Kevin Emerson - Exile

“Dude,” Matt whispers, and I can feel us all holding our breath as Eli starts to play.

“That was, D,” Jon says, peering at the screen. “A minor . . . to F?” He’s asking Caleb, but Caleb doesn’t seem to hear him.

“F,” says Randy.

Eli starts strumming. Slow and hypnotic chords in progression. Like when Caleb played “On My Sleeve,” there is something solitary and almost more engrossing about a single guitar.

“That bathroom has awesome reverb,” Jon says randomly.

Eli repeats the chord progression, head down. He’s lost in it. Then he starts to hum, a wordless melody. It’s lonely and searching, and . . . huge. Like if Coldplay had soul.

Then the chords change, slightly more busy, the tension higher, and Eli’s head comes up. His eyes are still closed, his face looking pained, and he sings:

Living in Exile, without you . . .

Living in Exile, without you . . .

He hangs on a minor chord . . . then starts back into the verse. Humming again. There are impressions of words here and there, like ideas are coming to him.

But pounding on the door cuts him off.

Eli’s reaction is sudden. His face contorts all the way to rage, and he shakes in an all-over tremor. “Motherf . . . ,” he starts, mumbling a slew of swears to himself. It’s one part deeply angry, and yet one part . . . well, a little crazy-person. Unstable. The other side of Eli. Or one of many.

There’s a muffled voice.

“All right, already, fuck!” Eli shouts. “I’m coming.”

He looks back to the camera. His face switches back to calm. It’s unnerving how fast it happens, especially with the mirror skew. “Okay. I’ve got lyrics, just need to get them worked into the melody. I’ll record more tomorrow night.”

He reaches the camera. Sound of fingers on buttons . . . the screen goes blue.

We all watch the blank screen. Waiting for more.

After ten seconds, Randy starts to fast-forward. There’s only the whine of spinning tape. “Huh.” The rest is blank. He pops it out. “The next night must be on another tape.”

“Whoa, okay, just hold on for one sec,” says Jon. “Did we just see what I think we saw?”

“You did,” says Caleb.

“‘Exile.’ One of Allegiance’s lost songs,” Jon breathes. “Do you think he recorded all three?”

“No idea,” says Caleb. “His letter made it sound that way.”

“Son of a bitch,” says Val.

“You okay?” Matt asks.

I look over and see Val wiping her eyes. When she sees me noticing, she makes her deepest scowl yet. “Yes, fine. That’s just, really freakin’ sad, you know? That song was going to be amazing. That bastard had it all right there in his head . . . but he put it in the ocean instead. So self-destructive.”

It’s odd to me to hear this coming from Val, who seems right on the edge of similar behavior.

“Okay, but,” Jon wonders, “are we thinking there’s actually another tape?”

“If there is, he would have hidden it,” Caleb thinks aloud. “He said, ‘tomorrow night.’ Maybe at the next show?” He looks to Randy. “Where did they play after LA?”

Randy scratches his beard. “Can’t remember. Their last show was in New York City, but that was about a week after the Hollywood Bowl. That’s when Eli took off. Like, literally he went AWOL and the band had to cancel the rest of the tour. But after LA . . .” Randy sounds distant.

“Were you at that Hollywood Bowl show?” I ask him.

“No,” he says. “Not any shows on that tour. It’s just weird to see him now . . .” He trails off.

“I’ll look up the tour,” says Jon, his finger flicking over his tablet. “Mmm, late nineties are thin for detail online, like looking into ancient history . . .”

“Wait,” says Matt. “Guys . . .” We find him turning around and pointing his thumbs at his back. “It’s right here.” The back of his Allegiance shirt has a column of show dates.

“Nice fashion choice, Matty!” Jon jumps up and runs his finger down the dates. “San Francisco,” he reports. “They played the Fillmore.”

“Would the tape be in a restaurant again?” Randy wonders. “The place they ate after the show? That was always Eli’s favorite part, when the pressure of the show was behind him and he could just unwind.”

“Eli’s letter mentioned a Daisy,” I offer. “Maybe that’s the clue for the second tape.”

“We’re talking about this like it might be real,” says Matt, sounding awestruck.

“That looked pretty real to me,” says Jon. “And, if there really is another tape, and Eli wanted you to have it, shouldn’t we definitely do that?”

Everyone looks to Caleb. He’s been quiet. He seems so overwhelmed by all this. Finally, he says, “How are we even going to get to San Francisco?”

“I can take you guys,” says Randy.

“My parents aren’t going to let me road trip to SFO without a reason,” says Matt. “I know, very little brother of me.” He fires a glance at me.

I let it go, already typing in my phone. “What if we had a gig up there?” I have one idea in mind, and pull up the show calendar in the SF Weekly.

“They might be cool with that,” says Matt.

I see two things on the calendar that could work, both on the same Friday night in two weeks. One is an underground pop series called Forecast: Sweaters! that happens at an all-ages space called Tea & Crumpets. I’d wanted to book Postcards into it last year, and I still have contact info for Petunia, the girl who curates the show. I send a quick message to her.

The other opportunity would be the show happening over at the Rickshaw Stop that very same night: Sundays on Mars. Jason’s band. There’s only one opener listed so far. We could still get that show . . . but I can barely stomach the idea of Jason being near the band, or the secret we’d be carrying with us. If Eli really did hide songs, someone from Candy Shell records is about the last person on the planet he’d want to get them.

“There’s a pop showcase,” I say. “It’s supposed to be cool.”

“Is that the weekend of the Harvest Slaughter?” Caleb wonders.

“Ah, yeah, it is. And I got you guys into that.”

“Nice work,” says Caleb.

“Thanks, but that’s Saturday.” Except I’m also remembering what else I said I’d do that weekend. The college visits.

Crap.

“I’m not seeing anything about what Allegiance did after that San Fran show . . . ,” says Jon, swiping his finger back and forth across his pad, “or anything about a Daisy. No restaurants, nothing.”

My phone beeps. A reply from Petunia. That was fast. “Okay,” I report to the band. “Got the gig.”

“Wow, well done!” says Matt, his eyes regaining their innocent sparkle for a moment.

“Cool,” says Caleb. “We’re going on tour.” He sounds excited, but doesn’t quite smile.

“Can I just ask,” says Jon, “what are we going to do with these tapes if we find them? I mean, besides geek out over them?”

I look at Caleb. He meets my gaze. “Summer thinks we should learn them,” he says.

“And you?” Jon asks.

Caleb’s mouth tightens into a knot. “What do you guys think?”

“Are you going to storm off again if we say something you don’t like?” Val asks.

I have to give her credit for that one.

Caleb nods. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t trust you guys, and I fucked up. But I’m trusting you now, telling you about all this.”

Jon and Matt share a look. Val picks at her finger.

“I think Summer’s right,” says Jon. “If we find any songs, we should learn them. And then play them for the world.”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees. “That would be the biggest show ever. Val?”

Val just looks at Caleb. “It’s your call. Eli chose you to give the songs to.”

“I know,” says Caleb, staring at the floor.

Still staring. None of us move.

And finally: “I don’t know yet.”

Jon sighs slowly, but no one says anything. I’m glad he heard it from everyone else. Not because it means I wasn’t the only one thinking it. But I think we all can sense that, now that he knows what we think, he still might need time to come around to it.

“Okay . . . ,” Jon says. “But at the very least, we are going to play a gig in San Francisco, and if the next tape does exist, we’re going to get a private concert of a never-before-heard song.”

“Yes,” says Caleb.

“I can live with that.” He turns to Matt and brightens. “Road trip!” They high-five.

“Now that that’s settled, can we please go practice?” says Val. “Hopefully nobody’s forgotten that we still need to be, like, good when we go to San Fran.”

“Let’s meet up in an hour,” Caleb says, and gets quiet again. “Randy, can you rewind that thing?”

“I’m not watching that again.” Val is on her feet. “Goddamn depressing. I’ll be at the Hive. Caleb, why don’t you just come now?”

“I’ll stay with you,” I say to Caleb. He’s just staring at the blue screen.

Val mutters to herself and leaves.

“We’ll meet you over there,” says Jon. “Thanks for showing us this. Craziness.”

As they leave, Eli’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey, far comet.”

Caleb sits on the edge of the couch. I sit beside him. We watch it again, saying nothing. And then again.

MoonflowerAM @catherinefornevr 14h

RT and vote for your favorite song for Dangerheart’s set list on tour!

One week to SFO!

The band settles into daily practices. They are getting really tight, adding new songs. The only problem: Val is almost always late. She complains about the traffic getting up from Mission Viejo, but I keep an eye on traffic before the next practice, and it’s totally fine. And she’s still late.