Scandinavian Heartstrings, in Drop D.

Chapter 8.7 Happy birthday til meg

The dawn sunlight broke lazily over the landscape as the high-speed train clattered past open farmland and small woodland slices. The blonde boy yawned at the new day's light and then realised with glee that it was now officially his 18th birthday. His black leather jacket was folded over a few times and acted as a pillow against the cold glass of the train window as he made himself dizzy watching the trees woosh by. The train entered a tunnel and the young man was suddenly staring at this own reflection. His just-past-shoulder length hair was slightly dishevelled and hung broodily over half his face. His eyeliner was slightly smudged from sleeping but it accented the rich blue of his iris. He checked his watch; the train should be arriving in Oslo in about an hour. He stood up to stretch out his body and looked around. There seemed to be no other passengers in the carriage except way up the front so he reached up and extracted his guitar case from the luggage rack; He would get in another hour's worth of practice while he was sitting somewhere away from the cold spring air. He plucked away at his old Gibson and evaluated himself for the trillionth time. He was good, way better than he used to be. He convinced himself that he would be accepted on the spot to the Norges Musikkhøgskole. He couldn't think of a better birthday present than the day he was about to have.

The train pulled into Oslo central station and the young Swede replaced his guitar into its case. He ran his hand over an old 'Dark Star' sticker on the outside of the scuffed case and a mixture of nerves and excitement coursed through his chest. He would surprise him at his house after the audition and Skwisgaar thought again about what dramatic pose and snappy line combo would best suit the grand door-opening scene. On the tram ride up to the music school, he let little fantasies run through the cinema of his mind as he superimposed images of them together at the cafes and shopping malls along the way. He wouldn't blow this audition; he had worked too hard over the last year to improve his playing. He was extremely proud of the piece he had written for today and hoped his muse would be equally proud of how far Skwisgaar had come. They would finally be reunited; living together again, playing music together again and going to the same prestigious music school.

He walked up to the great glass doors of the music school and into the lobby with his guitar slung over one shoulder and his amp head in the other hand. There were many other hopefuls milling about in their pastel-coloured sweaters with their classical instruments and each of them gave the grungy guitarist a dirty look as he walked in. Skwisgaar just majestically flicked his hair and look a seat in the furthest away corner. He crossed his arms and twitched the fingers on his fret hand as he silently ran through his performance piece again.

"Skwigelf?" The woman with the clip board finally called his name. The Swede stood up a little too eagerly and almost broke the cloud of coolness he had surrounded himself in.

The woman seemed to scoff slightly as she led him through to the audition room. There were three panel judges sitting at desks in the auditorium and a single chair and stand was arranged in front of them. One of the panel judges looked over his glasses at Skwisgaar and openly sighed.

"There's always one of them." He said disdainfully. Skwisgaar kept his cool and tried to ignore the old man's insult. "Johann, can you please bring over a cabinet speaker. The applicant failed to mention that this audition was with an electric guitar." The old man said to one of the other judges. Skwisgaar's stomach churned but he tried not to let his nerves show. He simply set up his guitar and waited for instructions. "If you're quite ready," The lead panel judge began, "then you may begin with your individual performance piece."

Skwisgaar exhaled slowly to calm himself and then began his performance. It began slow with simple open strings and soul grabbing bends but then quickly became more complicated. He darted all over the high notes with a perfect sweep pick technique then moved to lower notes with strong, emphasised picking. He glided effortlessly up and down the fret board with precision and speed. The piece was incredibly atmospheric; it took you to the high peaks of a snow-capped mountain range then caught you in a savage snowstorm before it ended slow and quietly on the open strings again, like nothing had ever happened.