Scandinavian Heartstrings, in Drop D.

Chapter 9.0 Aquashit

"De Bass ams still ways too highs. Sounds like de hip-hops DJ." Skwisgaar leaned against the edge of the soundboard and put his fingers to his temple as it throbbed.

"And Bassy tracksch are really cool right now. We gotta get with the timesch." Murderface pointed to Knubbler, "Turn it back up." Knubbler reluctantly pushed the bass volume higher in the Mix. "Lischten to that! That'sch the future right there, fellas. That'sch our new sound."

Pickles rolled his eyes, the buzz from his breakfast bourbon was waning. He let out a long sigh of exasperation then threw himself dramatically into the plush, red cushions of the studio sofa. It was day 21 of post-production and they simply did not have time for this bullshit. He was left with no choice, he would have to play the trump card sitting next to him, "Nat'an. Whad do you think?".

Nathan let out a deep, rumbling sigh, then heaved himself up from the sofa to work next to Knubbler at the soundboard. As artistic lead for the band, Nathan had veto rights on all creative decisions. He played the track with the bass up then down, back and forth, over and over, calibrating as it played. Murderface scowled at Skwisgaar and Skwisgaar crossed his arms, very obviously ignoring him. But underneath they shared the same fear of Nathan's finger coming within a 10 button radius of the delete key.

Pickles rubbed his wiry, gaunt cheek as the track repeated for the fourth time. They were all close to breaking point. Knubbler's hair was dishevelled and split from constant tugging. Nathan's chin had been taken over by a hog-bristle stubble. Murderface's arms and legs were covered in little sores from nervous knife play. He turned to Skwisgaar; His golden hair was knotted and oily, his stubble was only hours away from becoming a beard and his clothes had obviously been slept in for several nights in a row. Skwisgaar pressed his fingertips to his brow then sat on the edge of the sofa next to Pickles, resting his chin on his clasped hands. Skwisgaar's eyes were dark-rimmed and switched from sharply focused on the studio conversation to distant and distracted. He exuded a sickly, acrid smell; a sign he was hungover, again. Skwisgaar closed his eyes and placed his face in his palms. Pickles's eyebrows knotted.

"I need a drink. Whad about you?" He said to the sad looking Swede, "A little hair o' tha dog?"

"What makes you tinks I be needings dog hair?" Skwisgaar caught the rancid smell of his own breath as his temple pounded again. He twisted his head to glance at Pickles who returned a raised eyebrow and pursed mouth. "Maybes some coffee." He conceded and moved towards the food and beverage trolley.

"Seriously, dood, put some bourbon in it or you won't make it ta lunch." Pickles said over his shoulder as he lit a fresh cigarette. The lighter slipped as it ignited and rolled under the couch. "Son of a-," He patted his hand under the sofa. It touched something cold, and he brought his face right down to investigate. It was an empty, glass, Akvavit bottle; Pickles counted six of them under there. Hiding full bottles from the other band members he could understand, but empty ones? He quickly grabbed the lighter and straightened up as Skwisgaar returned. The guitarist sat, sipping coffee absentmindedly, staring off into the corners of the room.

Pickles could still feel the cold of the Akvavit bottle on his fingertips. That drink took you to some dark places, so why choke it down unless you wanted to escape somewhere darker? His gaze dropped to the floor as his memory slipped back to that night.

***

"I tol' you, I can't play it, it's too gawd damn hard!" Pickles held the neck of the Gibson Explorer in his lap as he sat on the couch in the lounge room. He lifted half a glass of straight bourbon to his lips.

"Well you're the one who said we're out of options." Nathan stood behind one of the great red chairs and gripped the metal spikes. The low light of the summertime fireplace cast a soft glow on Pickles, Nathan, Murderface and Knubbler as they discussed their impending deadline.