fame • greta van fleet

II • Backstage

The ramp door closed behind us as the bus slowed to a stop. The girls were a flutter of excitement as they surrounded the door, eagerly awaiting the musicians. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, peeking around the crowd. I'll admit, I was nervous. This was my first time actually interviewing a band instead of reviewing them. Though they weren't a large band yet, it was still uneasy. Shrieks came from the girls as the bus door flew open, and I spotted the tops of heads as they exited the bus and moved quickly towards the stage. The girls followed after them. The pink-sunglassed one turned to me and beaconed.
"Well? You want your interview or not?" She called. My feet started working again as I ran towards her. She took my hand and we chased the crowd to their dressing room. The room had a heavy scent of liquor and cigarettes, years of harbouring rock-gods staining the room with the scent. There were five men in the room. A dark haired man, quite a bit older than the other four, had sank into a chair with a breath of relief.
"Well, boys, what did I say? Told you we'd get here on time," he bragged to the others.
"Yeah, well now we'll be expected to be on time. Ruining our image, dammit!" Chimed one of the younger men jokingly. I recognized him from my posters as Jake. He was sitting on a couch at the side wall, tuning his guitar between two of the girls I met outside. Everything about him seemed loose, from the way his cigarette hung between his lips to his half-buttoned shirt. His hair was long and greasy in the way that was almost cool, and he flicked it out of his face to give the girls a grin. Classic guitarist behaviour.
"Miss Delilah, glad to see you and your girls hadn't forgotten us," another boy chimed, having spotted us in the doorway froms the mirror. He turned to approach us, kissing the girl next to me, who I now knew as Delilah, on the cheek. He looked near identical to the guitarist, save for the mop of curly hair on his head. He wore a black vest with nothing underneath and leather pants, feathers adorning his head. He was Josh, the frontman, without a doubt.
"Who's your new friend? Haven't seen her around before," he inquired, offering me a hand. I accepted and he brought it to his lips, kissing the back of my hand. I felt myself blush but shook it off. Professionalism is key.
"Oh, she's not with us. We met her outside. Kicked out, like the rest of us," Delilah explained.
"I'm Ellie Smith, I'm a freelance rock journalist," I explained, trying to push the nerves out of my voice. I heard a groan come from the man bent over in the corner.
"Ugh, not a rock journalist. Here to tear us to shit like the last one, are you?" He said, standing up, disgust evident on his features, "We've heard enough Led Zeppelin comparisons to last us a lifetime, thanks." I threw my shoulders back and stared him down, trying to make myself as confident as possible.
"For your information, Sam, I think you and the rest of Greta Van Fleet are one of the most unique bands out there today. Bringing back the peace and love from the sixties with the rock and roll of today. Not to mention your immense individual talents," I explained, "I mean you're what, nineteen? Playing like most fifty year olds wish they could. And Jake, your guitar chops rival some of the greatest blues acts of all." Jake grinned gloatingly, while Sam stood aghast. I continued my speil, getting more comfortable with each passing second as I pointed to the drummer leaning against the wall in the corner. "Danny, you are one of the most powerful drummers seem in this decade, not to mention inventive. Josh, you can connect with an audience effortlessly, making a huge space seem small. You guys are onto something." I finished. The room fell quiet, all eyes turning to me. I shrunk into myself, feeling I had crossed a line.
"Well, keep going, don't stop there," Sam prodded, finally letting a smile cover his features. I let out a sigh of relief as Delilah wrapped a proud arm around my shoulder. I sat on a sideways trunk as the boys continued getting ready to play and the girls re-aquainted themselves with the band.
"You really know your stuff," the dark-haired older man said to me approvingly, "how old are you."
"Twenty-five, graduated from university just a few months ago," I lied. I hadn't even graduated highschool yet, but if there's one thing I had learned it was to make yourself seem more impressive than you were. I mean, who are you more apt to respect, an 18 year-old hobbyist or a university graduate? The man believed me either way, nodding.
"Well, I'm Troy, their manager. I'll make sure you get your interview after the show," he promised. I thanked him. I was getting more comfortable with the space around me the more time went on. A roadie stuck his head in the door, informing the room that it was 2 minutes to showtime.
"Woo! Let's go! First show of the tour!" Jake called, leaving the room with the girls following him. We all filed out of the room and through the halls to the stage. Delilah fell in step next to me, looking around like one would their own home. The closer we got to the stage the louder the crowd and music over the P.A. was. Finally, we reached the door at the end of the hallway, leading us to the stage. The music stopped and an 'oooh!' resonated from the crowd. The boys lined up, ready to enter the stage. The girls crowded together, anxiously waiting for them to beginning. Delilah looked at me and grinned, eyes alight.
"Now, introducing, from Frankenmuth, Michigan, Greta Van Fleet!" The announcer cried. The boys ran out and the crowd cheered, along with the group of girls around me. As the first few notes of the guitar twanged out, I felt my own excitement flourish. I was offstage at a rock concert, going to interview the band afterwards, all thanks to a group of groupies I met about 5 minutes beforehand. Man, groupies can do amazing things.