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J Lionel Anderson

"Step 1: Plug in. Step 2: Kick ass. Step 3: Profit."

0 · 859 views · located in Some shitty place

a character in “Born To Raise Hell”, as played by Erik7622

Description

Full Name: John Lionel Anderson

Stage Name: Lionel Anderson (he goes by this most of the time)

Age: 29

Birthday: 3 March 1984

Appearance: Image He stands about 5 foot 9 and weighs 150 lbs soaking wet. On-stage he either wears a white T-shirt or no shirt at all, with deep blue jeans and old sneakers. Offstage he has a collection of band shirts, like any normal metalhead, which he'll wear instead along with jeans.

Role: Rhythm and Lead guitar, Vocals in Sturm

Musical Style: Lionel's lead guitar playing mixes quick flashy licks with more "singable" melodies and bends inspired more by blues and hard rock than death metal. In rhythm, he tends to write the simpler, "thrashier" riffs, though he frequently links riffs with small melodic flourishes, and also writes most of the guitar harmonies. He calls this overall approach "power and texture," mostly because it sounds nice. In terms of screaming, he favors a midrange-type bark or snarl, but for emphasis will occasionally lower his voice to a more guttural sound. His favorite guitarists are Mike Sifringer, Mille Petrozza, and Glenn Tipton, and his favorite screamers are Mille Petrozza (again), Jens Kidman, and Jeff Walker.

Instruments: His Number 1 guitar up until Trap was a white LTD V-300, his first "real" guitar after a cheap BC Rich V that he sold. Shortly before Trap's split-up, he got an ESP Standard Series Viper, hoping the shorter scale length would work better with his bend-heavy style. Both have EMG 81/85 pickup sets. He ended up using both in Sturm for a while, with the V-300 in drop C and the Viper in D standard. On the "Unexpected Tour," he only took the Viper, and from then on used the Viper primarily.

His "signature effect" is an MXR Flanger, which gets punched on for some riff flourishes and solos. His RAT distortion forms the core of his rhythm sound. His amp is a Randall 45w head into a 4x12 cabinet.

Personality: Unlike his fellow guitarist Ted, Lionel is very gregarious and earnest, which has helped his early career in music. He also believes in the principle of "better is the enemy of good"; while he has definite standards for what is a good song, lyric, or solo, once something meets that standard he isn't going to bother with improving it except as an idle thought exercise. He has a strong Baltimore accent, much thicker than Ted's.

Biography: John Anderson grew up in Downtown Baltimore, the only son of a single father. When he was 13, his father was arrested and incarcerated for what amounted to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. John being a minor at the time, he ended up with the closest family he had, his uncle Maurice, out closer to the edge of Baltimore. Maurice was a career musician (trumpet and flugelhorn) and insisted John learn something. John chose guitar and began learning, first under Maurice's tutelage, then under a local teacher, then on his own.

When he turned 21, he moved back to the downtown area for a job as a bellhop at the Baltimore Harbor Hotel. Dissatisfied with the money, he took up music, playing with bands ranging from the insipid Maiden-worship Prowler to the surprisingly-good death metal band Blasphemme. While in Blasphemme he switched to using his middle name, Lionel, to avoid confusion with both Jon Anderson of Yes and Blasphemme's drummer, John Michaelson.

Blasphemme's downfall came, like with many bands, from conflict between vocalist/bassist Jo Garcia and guitarist Evan Caul. Lionel ended up siding with his co-guitarist, and after the demise of Blasphemme they went on to form Trap. Unfortunately, upon taking leadership of the band Caul showed his true colors, insisting on taking the lead role in composition and lyrics, as well as vocal duties. He respected Lionel enough to give him freedom to write his own solos, but that was his only concession. For a while, Lionel felt more than a little trapped (no pun intended), not liking Caul's dictatorial leadership but seeing few other options. In 2010, Trap played a show with avant-garde trio Cor Leonis. Lionel struck up a friendship with their guitarist and leader, Ted Marubini, and was invited to jam. They gelled very well, with Ted's style and Lionel's mixing and contrasting well. Trap fell apart shortly after, and Lionel officially joined Cor Leonis for about a month before they decided to change their name to Sturm.

Lionel's bandography:

Flyer (hard rock) (1999) (rhythm guitar)
Überschnell (speed metal/metalcore) (2000-2002) (rhythm guitar/backing vocals)
Death Sentence (thrash metal) (2002-2005) (guitar)
Prowler (NWOBHM worship) (2005) (lead guitar)
Hornets (Arghodeath) (July 2-9, 2005) (lead guitar)
Blasphemme (death metal) (2006-2009) (guitar/co-vocals)
Trap (thrash metal) (2009-2010) (lead guitar)
Cor Leonis (fusion/experimental metal) (September-October 2010)
Sturm (melodic death/thrash metal) (2010-present) (rhythm and lead guitar/vocals)

So begins...

J Lionel Anderson's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Victor Holden
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11 September 2013 — 16:34

"I swear to God, the day I can afford it I'm getting a Kemper."

"Th'fuck's a Kemper?"

"It's a modelling amp. Trivium uses them, I think."

"You're gonna go digital?"

"Either that or I'll start lifting. I hate carrying this head everywhere."

"You bought it, you carry it."

"Bite me."

"Okay."

"..Ow!"

"What? You said bite me."

The biter was a Black man in his late twenties, muscled like the cord of a whip, wearing a T-shirt for Metallica's Black Album and jeans. The other was White and in his mid-thirties, wearing the bottom half of a skinny black suit with a sleeveless white undershirt. He had the other half of the suit, a real shirt too, but he was saving them for the show proper.

The White man sighed and continued lugging the Blackstar head into the Ottobar's back door. Inside, the headliner was already set up, though the drum riser had been wisely moved back from the front of the stage to make room for the other drummers. The venue's cabs were set up on either side of the under-construction drum kit. The White man paused, trying to choose.

"Ted!" He whipped around to see the soundman. To call them friends would be pushing things, but they knew each other. The soundman pointed to the left side. "It's the side she's playing on! Irony, eh?"

Ted couldn't make sense of that remark, so he shrugged as well as he could and shuffled over to the cabinet, setting his head on top of it.

"Did you hear what I said?" The soundman's voice boomed through the venue's PA system.

Ted jumped, then chuckled. "I heard it, but I didn't get it. Who's she?"

"Didn't you see who else is playing?"

"Think so. Legion, right?"

"Yeah, but there's another band. You didn't hear?"

"I didn't, but I'm not surprised. Is there a point in the near future?"

"That chick you told me about, it's her band!"

Ted was about to ask for clarification, then he realized. Though he had worked with several female musicians, only one would have been notable enough to just be "that chick" to the soundman. Only one he could have known so easily.

Psychosis. Izzie Martinez.

Ted stood on the stage for a moment in that realization, staring at the drums blankly. Then he burst out laughing.

The Black man entered on this scene, lugging his own amplifier. He took in the scene for a second, then shook his head and put his amp up on the other guitar cab.

"Inside joke, Lionel," the soundman explained.

"Whatever," Lionel replied. "Want me to run soundcheck first?"

"Sure. Give him some time to laugh it out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ted explained things afterward over a cigarette, and Lionel had to admit the coincidence was pretty funny. Sturm made a commitment to kick even more ass than usual, just to show Izzie, who no doubt would be watching. Lionel had only heard of her tangentially, but apparently she had made quite an impact on Ted, not only with the failed "Sturm & Drang" collaboration, but in forcing Cor Leonis into its final lineup before metamorphosing into Sturm.

And now was the moment of truth. The the Terminator theme's coda boomed over the speakers. A little bit of homemade fog floated through the air. In the darkness behind the fog, Charlotte sidled past the riser and settled behind the kit.

From the left of her, Ted emerged with his Ibanez Destroyer slung right at stomach level. On the other side, Lionel emerged with his Viper slung an inch below where Ted's was. Victor was right behind him. The Terminator theme faded out to nothing.

Ted picked a silent note, slowly turned the volume knob from off to full. The single note crested...

Behind him, Charlotte's sticks clicked one, two, three, four—

And off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first number finished with a bang and a held out chord. "Make some fucking noise!" Lionel yelled into the microphone, the first comprehensible thing he had said into the microphone. The crowd roared. "This next one's called Killer of Worlds!"

Charlotte counted five, and Ted started the pentameter riff off. Lionel harmonized it, Victor played the counterpoint. Ted had written this, basing it off a Cor Leonis jam. It certainly felt a bit out of place at first, but when Ted slammed from that to the main riff and the crowd roared, he felt vindicated. Finally, he was playing music people loved. Hell, he looked to be playing to quite the crowd.

Well, many of them were probably here for Legion, or even Psychosis, but still, having a crowd was nice.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini
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"...And once again, thank you all so very much for coming out, stick around for Psychosis, stick around for Legion! We are Sturm and we have one more song! That song! Is! THE EXECUTION BLOOOOOCK!"

The crowd roared again, then died. Ted held the pick in his mouth and concentrated. He was a bit frazzled and didn't know why. Maybe it was knowing Izzie was out there, probably judging. Maybe she liked it because it wasn't Cor Leonis. Maybe she hated it because it had too much consonance. Why did he care?

-----

By the time The Execution Block reached the seven-minute mark, Ted could feel the sweat beading on his hands. He should have ditched the jacket. He should just not bring the jacket in the first place.

The harmonized soloing and duet finale began. It had been Lionel's idea, after accidentally layering two solo tracks together and discovering they could work well together. Though the whole 16 bars seemed entirely improvised, like a conversation through guitars, it was actually the product of nearly a week of nonstop writing, figuring out the harmonies, counterpoints, and fills. Lionel was inordinately proud of it all.

The duet closed with a final harmony leading into the classic Big Rock Ending. Lionel let Ted make the guitar noises and took the mike again. "Thank you Ottobar, have a great fucking night!" With a flash of the horns, Sturm's set ended. Now to break down and take the gear out so Psychosis could set up.

Fun.

-----

All loaded. Psychosis's set had been...almost the same, but not really. Ted had to admit, their musicianship was exceptional, especially Izzie's. The whiplash between slow and fast caught him off guard, but surprisingly it worked. When the last song finished, Ted whooped and cheered with everyone else, then turned around and headed outside. The creeping urge was coming back.

Time for the evening smoke.

He'd quit for a brief period after taking up his position as singer in Cor Leonis, but when that gig passed, the cigarettes returned. He kept himself carefully rationed to two or three per day, and made sure to make up for it in other ways. He considered that fair. He'd quit again eventually. Hopefully not too late.

Right now, he really needed to smoke out the unexpected stress. He stopped about ten yards from the venue entrance and pulled out a pre-cut strip of paper. Holding it between his fingers, he pulled out the tobacco pouch. He set the paper on the ground and knelt by it, carefully putting just enough tobacco on it, then rolling it carefully and sealing it up. He then lit it up and took a long drag.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini
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"One T-shirt, please. Medium."

"Cool." Lionel sorted through the box of shirts, found a Medium. "That'll be ten," he said as he removed the shirt from the box.

One green Hamilton-fronted bill passed from hand to hand, and the shirt passed the other way. "Don't forget to follow us, y'hear?"

"Already did," the buyer said with a grin. "Thanks, man. Great show!"

"Thanks," Lionel said. Fuckin' smartphones. Keep forgettin' how easy it is.

The Robocop theme started playing over the speakers. Lionel craned his neck to see the stage. The next band looked to be set up already. Nice gear, or so he supposed.

Is Ted seriously going to get a digital amp? He thought about it. Nah. Probably not. I'll hook him up with some lifting.

That'll do it.

Speak of the devil, Ted wove behind the merch tables. "You go on in," he said. "I could use a sit."

"Suit yourself," Lionel said. "Who's the band?"

"Aborticide. Izzie said they're really good."

"Izzie? I thought you hated her!"

Ted shrugged. "She's mellowed out some from the person I remember. You and she might get along."

Lionel looked at Ted skeptically for a moment, then said, "Whatever you say, man." He ceded his seat to Ted and eased out around the others at the merch tables, then moved with the crowd into the pit.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini
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"Fuckin' traffic," Lionel muttered. "Dunno why we gotta go all the way out to Tranquility before we have fun. Nobody's gonna steal all that shit. Hell, this van looks more of interest to the police than a gear thief."

Ted snorted, but said nothing. His own paranoias had put them in this situation, and though he admitted it had backfired, it was a sound idea. Get the gear out of the 10-year-old van, behind locked doors, THEN go and get drunk. Of course, Lionel freely chose to drive, so he bore partial responsibility for being caught in the traffic while untold hijinks went on at the bar, whichever one it was. Probably the one near the venue.

Thus, there they sat at another red light. Ted had shed the suit jacket to try and cool off a bit from the set. Lionel changed almost immediately after they had finished loading out, donning his In Waves (more properly, IN WAAAAAAAAAVES) tee.

Ted's phone buzzed after a moment of silence. He picked it up and read. "They're at Liam Flynn's," he said, then started typing out the response. "Traffic...shit...be there in...fifteen?"

"Twenty," Lionel grunted. "At this rate, anyway."

"Traffic shit, be there in twenty," Ted read, then clicked send. "Alright, now they know our situation."

"Do they know it's your fault we're going to be late?"

"Hey, I volunteered to drive. You insisted on driving."

"Yeah, yeah, bite me." Lionel returned his eyes to the road as the next light hit green. He glanced right in time to see Ted leaning over. "I see you there!"

"You said bite me."

Lionel sighed. "Fine." He held out his arm. Ted bit lightly. "How do I taste?"

"Like shit," Ted said without a beat missed.

Lionel gave up being angry, and focussed on driving.

~~~

After unloading the gear at Tranquility Studio, the duo turned back. Traffic had lightened considerably by this point, and they made it back more quickly than Lionel had anticipated. Ted put his suit jacket back on, leaving it open, and led the way into the ba—sorry, pub, where he was immediately greeted by the sight of a drunk man on the floor, yelling at the bartender. Ted immediately recognized him as part of Psychosis.

Upon this sight, he turned and walked directly to the bar. "I'll take a Vesper, please," he said. This was going to be...interesting.

Lionel entered a few seconds later to the tableau of the drunk man on the floor. "Here we go," he muttered, before moseying over to Ted, who had decided to pay straight up rather than open a tab. "Gimme a single of Captain Morgan, neat," he said after Ted had paid for his cocktail. "And I'll open up a tab."

Upon receiving the wondrous spirit, he gulped down a mouthful and started looking for Charlotte. Or Victor.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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12 September 2013
"When I'm...er...concentrating, I never have more than one drink before dinner. But I do like that one to be large and very strong and very cold and very well-made." -James Bond

Piss off, James Bond. -Ted Marubini

~~~~

Goddammit, my head...

Had last night really happened? Had he really seen Izzie Martinez after a year?

No, he couldn't have. She hadn't been the Izzie he knew. Must have been a dream.

If it was a dream, how did he get the hangover? According to the dream, he had met her, he took the gear to Tranquility with Lionel, they went back to the bar, he got a Vesper and drank it at the bar. Then what? Then what?

Then nothing. It had been a dream, nothing more. They had played the show...and then what?

No, then a taxi home. Crash on the bed. Wake up, curse James Bond for that blasted martini, doubt it ever happened.

The light cast his eyelids into bright red, red like the lights at the venue, red like Don's old bass, red with a side of orange, the bright orange Tolex on Victor's amplifiers...where had he gone? He texted about the drinks, had Vic texted back? The bassist had been distant lately, a bit strange. He had chalked it up to difficulty adjusting to Sturm's new schedule, as with the more "popular" brand of melodeath on their music they found more billing, as thrash bands, death bands, and trad bands alike didn't mind association with Sturm's hybridized style.

He finally opened his eyes and they filled with blinding white pain and regret. He screwed them shut again, the afterimage flashing every color against the dark.

Bang bang bang

The drums echoed in his head, the rhythm from...what was it from?

Bang bang bang

Was it a Sturm song? Or had it been Cor Leonis? Or even Sturm&Drang?

BANG BANG BANG

"Ted, I know you're in there! This is important!"

It wasn't from a song, it was from his door, banging and voice alike. He knew the voice too. Lionel.

He forced his eyes open again, forced his leaden arm up to shield them from the light, forced himself to get up and stumble across the room, across the living room to the front door...

BANG BANG BANG

"I'm coming!" he said, immediately regretting it as his throat sliced the words into a hoarse jumble. He coughed and sputtered, trying to wet his throat and mouth. He collided with the door and felt for the handle and opened it.

Finally, he could see, at least enough to see Lionel looking at him quizzically.

"Damn, you look bad. Hungover?"

Ted grunted.

"Are you awake?"

He grunted again, shrugged, began blinking to clear his vision and mind more.

"I can wait..."

Ted waved his idea down silently, beckoned him in, led him to the kitchen. He took out the orange juice carton, poured a glass, and gulped down a mouthful. Clarity returned. The throbbing in his head lost a sliver off its edge.

"Better," he said. "What's up?" Lionel didn't usually drop by the apartment.

Lionel fidgeted, bit his lip. "You might wanna sit down."

Ted led his fellow guitarist into the living room, and they both sat. "Alright, go ahead." He took another sip of the juice.

Lionel took a deep breath. "We've got trouble. Charlotte got a call from Johns Hopkins."

Ted blinked, swallowed the sip. "Why?"

"It turns out she was Victor Holden's primary emergency contact, in case of..."

"Oh Jesus."

"No, no, he's alive. He's just...in shit shape."

"What happened?"

"No fuckin' clue. Cops didn't say nothin'. Sounds like someone fucked him up, though. Like, purposefully fucked him up."

"Like he got mugged?"

"Maybe. Don't think they took anythin'. Police are still lookin' into it an' stuff."

Ted blinked. "Christ."

"Yeah. I dunno what we're gonna do. I've been combing the area looking for a sub. No luck yet, but I got a couple people I know looking around too."

"Good thinking."

~~~~

She sat up. "The hell is melodeath?"

"Melodic death metal, I think."

"Sounds like a bit of an oxymoron," she quipped.

"Look, it's good stuff, and they need someone by tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. They've got a show to play. They're all full-time, pretty much."

Full-time in a melodic death metal band. Apparently anything could be done. She had a hard enough time making a living playing with a fusion group and a covers group.

"Are they gonna compensate me?"

"Of course."

"I can give it a go."

It'd be a paycheck and a learning experience.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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*Knock knock knock*

The bassist sighed, checked the nameplate again. "Tranquility Studios," no doubt about it. The agent had said they'd be here from 3 to 5. Well, here she was at 3:05, and her fist seemed to knock at an empty studio.

This is ridiculous. One more go, then I'm out.

She reached up, knocked again. Just as her knuckle hit the door, the handle rotated, and as her fist pulled back, the door pulled open. A young Black man wearing a Carcass tee held it open and looked at her, then her fist, then back at her. "Yeah?" His voice had a slightly skeptical tone.

Alex lowered her fist. "Is this Tranquility Studios?"

"Yeah."

"I was supposed to meet a band here for a sub gig tonight. Name of Sturm?"

At the mention of the Germanic name, the Black man perked up. "That's us! C'mon in!" He opened the door wider and beckoned her inside. "Our rehearsal room's not too far in, just the first on the right. Name's Lionel Anderson." He held out his hand.

She took it and shook as she said, "Alex Patterson. You the bandleader?"

Lionel shrugged. "Not really. I'm the frontman, sure, but Ted writes most of the music. I guess you could call him the leader? I dunno. We're pretty democratic."

I'm doomed.

Lionel opened the door ahead of her. "Right in here."

She turned the corner in, and immediately faced the largest drumkit she had ever seen. Behind it sat a grinning blonde. Clearly she was not Ted. "Alex" was ambiguous, sure, but she had never heard of a woman named Ted. The incongruity standing opposite the drumkit would be Ted, then. She admitted, at first she wasn't sure what to make of him, wearing an old navy suit and slinging a guitar with almost as many points as strings. Given what she knew about melodeath, more generally death metal, more generally metal, she was surprised not only that he wore a suit, but that instead of a crunching riff or a masturbatory shredfest, he was playing a mellow but quick-paced clean passage, fingerstyle no less! Forget even rock, that sounded more like bebop.

He stopped upon noticing that she had entered, rotated the guitar so it hung behind him, the headstock pointing down, and crossed the room to her. "Thanks for coming in on such short notice. I'm Ted Marubini."

She resisted the urge to bug her eyes out at his surname. After all, Marubini must have been a common enough name, right? Ed had mentioned having a couple cousins. Maybe this was one of them. But no point in bringing that up. She shook his hand firmly as she responded, "Alex Patterson."

He froze, looked at her. "Is something wrong?" She asked.

"No, nothing," he responded, shaking his head. "That's Charlotte on the drums, Charlotte King."

Alex waved to the blonde, then turned back to Marub—Ted. "All right. Where do I plug in?"

Ted indicated the Orange stack, and Charlotte immediately realized the stupidity of her question. "Be careful with it, please. It's our regular bassist's rig."

"I've got a DI box," she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder. She hated strangers playing through her rig, and didn't want to imagine what the regular bassist would think of her doing just that.

"Don't have a PA in here," Ted said, shrugging. "Just don't turn it up to eleven or anything like that."

Don't turn it up to eleven. A lead guitarist who clearly knew some jazz. She might not be doomed after all.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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"...Alright, next song on the setlist is..." Ted consulted the sheet sitting on top of his amp. "Ah, right, Rising Evil. Bass for this is a bit tricky. You carry the intro and outro, but the outro's all improv. Lemme get the recording of that so you can get the intro and basic parts."

Joy, Alex thought. She had been hearing that a lot. Oh yeah, our regular bassist does a kind of weird fill here, but you don't have to copy it exactly. Improvise something. The problem wasn't that she didn't like improvising, or wasn't good at it, but she couldn't help but feel any run she pulled off would be compared to the mysterious regular bassist, probably unfavorably. She tried to ignore it as they ran through the songs, the deadline fast approaching, but ignoring only did so much.

A sudden rumble shook the bassist out of her thoughts, and she listened to the lick, tried to decipher it. It started as triplets in a chromatic pattern, then it went into a strange arpeggio, then the guitars and bass came slamming in.

"Pause it real quick," she said. Ted did so, and in the silence she felt out the right tones on her bass, pressing lightly just over where the frets had once been on her Steinberger. "Start it over; I've almost got it." She had the chromatics down, but that weird arpeggio thing was...weird. She played the chromatics with no trouble, then fizzled on the third note of the arpeggio. As usual.

"Think it's a slide up from there," Ted said.

She looked up from the fingerboard. "What?"

"That arpeggio thing, after that sus-two you slide up a...(He silently played it on his own guitar)...full-step?"

She tried it. It sounded odd. "Can you start it over?"

He did, pausing right as the guitars and drums joined in. She followed along at a slower pace, the slide smooth with no frets in the way. Then down? Yes, perfect!

"One more time," she said.

And then it clicked. Sus-two up into slide, power chord down, repeat a step up.

She played it again from the start, slowly.

"Bingo!" Lionel cried as he launched into what she presumed was the next riff, albeit much slower.

"Alright, give me a few minutes to get it down."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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"You think you're safe in your homes?" Lionel bellowed. "You think you're safe anywhere? There is no safety, no refuge, when the rising evil comes to consume!" His yell became hoarse, feral, at this point familiar to Alex. She'd been listening to it for the past 15 minutes, that felt like far too long. Though Sturm was insistently melodic death metal, they were still melodic death metal. She wasn't sure if the whole Satan thing was true yet, as Lionel might as well have been screaming cookie recipes for all she could understand, but the whole loud and aggressive business? Yeah, that was definitely true.

Of course, now it came down to her. She stepped forward just a bit, not willing to be all the way up front but knowing the audience would want to see the intro, and began the chromatic part. Then the arpeggio.

And then the chaos. Lionel began his incoherent screams, and Ted stood to the side, slowly oscillating as he played. Alex retreated to stay back by Charlotte. They could handle things up there.

~~~

What's she doing back there? Ted couldn't help but steal a glance back at Alex. She had stayed by Victor's Orange stack for most of the show so far, watching Charlotte, presumably to play in better sync. Still, it seemed strange not to have Victor's easygoing presence onstage to give some mobility. Ted wasn't the showman type—okay, maybe a little, but it wasn't the same as Victor's persona.

Change to clean...add chorus. Amazingly, putting that in the otherwise stripped-back song had been Lionel's idea. Something about texture balancing out the power. Ted admitted he had no idea why, but it seemed to work and let him flex his hybrid picking chops, so more power? Whatever.

~~~

"Evil rising in your midst, you never had a chaaaaaaaaaaance!" Lionel stepped back from the microphone and coughed as he tried to resist the urge to spit out the evil ris—the phlegm that had made its way into his throat during that last scream. He focussed on the riff and forced himself to swallow the stuff, grimacing at the awful texture as it went back down.

Probably not healthy, and certainly disgusting, but it would do. He took a quick step back to the microphone as the riff ended and the drum solo began and said, "Charlotte fuckin' King on the drums, everybody! And special guest Alex Patterson on the bass guitar!" He stepped on his tuner and retreated from the microphone to find Ted already setting his Destroyer on the stand and getting the worn-blue Les Paul ready. So un-metal, Lionel mused It does work, though. I guess. He unplugged and unslung his Viper, holding it in one hand and the cord in the other, then switched it for the V.

Now to wait for the bass-drum showcase, then some old Blasphemme songs, Sturm-ified.

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Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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Fuckin' crazy, Lionel called it.

Overwhelming, Alex called it.

The chance of a lifetime, Ted called it.

Who was right was debatable. But the facts of "it" were not. Those facts were the sudden vacancy on the headlining Legion tour and a lucky phone call about said vacancy. With Victor still in the hospital, Ted was hesitant, but he had decided Lionel should know about the offer, at least.

"They what?"

"They wanted us on the tour."

"You said yes, right?" Ted hesitated, and Lionel's face fell. "Aw, come on..."

"I told them I'd think about it."

"Think about it?"

"It's a great opportunity," Ted said. "But I'm not sure. Vic's still at John Hopkins, yeah?"

"That's true." Lionel's tone had turned sober. "I mean, I guess it'd be shitty to go off on a tour without him. But...it seems like something we can't waste. What about that chick who played with us last show?"

"Alex?"

"Yeah, her. She knows the songs." Lionel shrugged. "The tour's not much longer, is it? Only runs until next month."

Ted pondered. "Yeah, I hadn't thought about that. It'd be some good experience for all of us."

"You've toured before, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ted said. "It's a pain. But it's how you get your name out there."

"Yeah, it is. Why don't we talk it over with Charlotte and Alex?"

They talked it over, and the conclusion was go. They got some additional information and set out in a small convoy, the van leading the way with the drums and guitar heads, Ted following in his car that barely held everything else (Blue Fire, ESP Standard Viper, Steinberger bass, pedalboards, Sansamp).

---

The soundman gave the thumbs-up. Lionel wandered out first to the microphone in center stage, and Ted came out on the other side. Alex decided to hang back on her "side" of the stage, as before. They had cut "Rising Evil" from the setlist, leaving her with no showcase, so she was content to sit back and let Ted and Lionel take the glory. Lionel was the frontman, Ted was the lead guitarist. It only made sense. She didn't place that much stock in the "unknown bassist" stereotype, but she wasn't technically part of the band, anyway.

The second number ended, and while Lionel exhorted the small crowd to "warm your necks up", Ted turned around to the bottle of water sitting by the drum set. As he rose, something clicked in Alex's brain, and everything made sense. The incongruity between the waistcoat and the melodeath, his quiet, considered manner both onstage and offstage, and that damn familiar blue Les Paul. It all clicked. Ed!

No, Ted. But the last name was distinctive, and the Les Paul didn't lie. She had only seen it in a few photos Ed had sent her over e-mail, but she had never seen one quite like it. And even if that could have another explanation, it just was him. It had to be. Only three questions remained in Alex's head:

Does he remember me?

Should I tell him?

and, of course:

When did he start going by Ted?

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Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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"Alright alright alright." Lionel shaded his eyes and surveyed the crowd. Decent size despite how early it was in the show. What was more, most of them seemed happy. "Defiler of the Mind" and "Killer of Worlds" were both pretty good headbangers despite the weird-ass riff Ted had written for the latter. Lionel had taken to calling them the "warmup" songs, to get the crowd interested and prepared for the unholy assault that would follow. Okay, maybe calling Sturm's music an "assault" was a little harsh (or perhaps a little too complementary?), but the idea was there. It prepared them for the fairly wide range material that comprised the rest of Sturm's setlist.

Something like that, anyway.

"You want some more?" A few people in the crowd whooped, and most of them clapped. Not quite the reaction Lionel was hoping for, so he went for broke. "I said, DO YOU WANT SOME MORE?" The exhortation worked, and the crowd's approval this time was much louder, much more resounding. "That's better! Here's a song about the war that destroys the world! War! With! Out! END!"

And off they went for another gallivant into the peculiar hybrid of melodic death metal, going from chug to quick harmonized melody effortlessly. Underneath it, Lionel could hear the fretless b-b-b-bwah-bwah-bwaahing along underneath. It was a unique sound, sure, as Ted would attest to, but Lionel wasn't sure he liked it. He had to admit that the sheer power Vic often got out of his Thunderbird brought a certain...well, thunder, to the parts. Really filled in the low end around the drums and just under the guitars. This was a bit different, more midrangey like Ted's guitar. It was different. Maybe it just needed some judicious re-eqing, but the optimal solution would be to restore the original lineup, because really, come on, Vic had that presence. Ted just sorta stood there, which was his thing, and that was cool, but it didn't work when everyone was just standing there. Lionel had no choice, of course, but Ted and Alex did. Then again, Ted was never a huge showman, preferring a more muted ostentatiousness (if such were possible) to come from his soloing, and Alex was very obviously not used to this environment. But it's still an issue, he realized.

He would have given it more thought, but then the guitar solo came up, and as he focussed on keeping the bend in tune, the other concerns faded away for a bit.

---

"Fuck yeah! Listen up, way in the back! These motherfuckers know how to do a concert! Thanks a million, Raleigh, we are Sturm! Enjoy Psychosis, enjoy Aborticide, enjoy Legion, have a great fuckin' night!" And with that, Sturm's setlist came to an end. Alex watched the guitarists unsling their guitars, and she followed likewise, grateful she hadn't insisted on bringing her GK setup. Sure, it wasn't that big, but it was bigger than the Sansamp, and that van was like a perfect Tetris game. If she had an MB-200, maybe she could slip that in somewhere, but she did not, so she could not. Oh well.

After breaking down, Ted took the merch table, Lionel wandered off to God-knows-where, and Alex ended up with nowhere to go. She felt a little isolated in this kind of situation, but as she looked around, she realized the obvious person to talk to. Her partner in the rhythm half of the band, and the other chick in the band. How had that happened, anyway? She wondered. She approached. But she didn't say anything. Not yet. She wasn't sure what to say, anyhow. Most of her previous friendships had started with offers of sit-in work. This was different.

She supposed she would have to try something like in college. Some kind of icebreaker. She tapped Charlotte's arm and said, "How'd you get in the band, anyhow? You look at Ed and Lionel, it makes sense, but you..." She trailed off, unwilling to say the tired phrase 'not so much,' though it did apply. And then she realized that she had called him Ed. Oops. Maybe she wouldn't notice.

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Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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"It's...interesting," Alex said, before realizing how that sounded. "Interesting" was usually a euphemism for "bad." She was many things, but she wasn't a snob. She couldn't afford to be snobbish about her gigs. "I mean, it's just different. The only death metal I guess I'd ever heard of was Cannibal, uh, something. I'd always thought it was mostly about banging out something and yelling over it, but the more I listen, the more intense it feels. Like, this is probably the hardest stuff I've played since 2008. Red Jack had its own challenges, like walking on the same chords for six minutes, but walking's not that hard."

"Yeah, it's not common," she murmured. "Not common at all." One of a kind, she mused.

~~~~

"You're not going anywhere?"

"Nah," Ted said. "Don't feel like another hangover when we're gonna have to drive down to Charleston tomorrow."

Lionel rolled his eyes. "Then don't get a fuckin' James Bond martini. See, you and I, we're lightweights, relatively," he said. "But there's pluses to that."

"Such as?"

"Better dollar-to-drink ratio, man!"

"What part of no hangover don't you understand?"

"I didn't say get drunk cheap, though you can do that too," Lionel said. "I mean, you can just bogart the drink, take sips. Nobody'll notice, and if anybody does notice, fuck 'em." He clapped a hand on Ted's shoulder. "You'd be there to have a good time, not to get drunk. They ain't mutually exclusive, but they ain't mutually inclusive neither."

"I'll still pass," Ted said. "Just not feeling up to it tonight."

Lionel could see that was final. He had hoped that Ted's excursion to the bar that one night had been indicative of a change of heart, but perhaps his experiences there had soured him on it. Maybe some other time, he reasoned. "A'ight," he said. "I'll try to call if things go south."

"We're already gone south," Ted quipped.

"Ha," Lionel responded. "You know what I mean. See ya."

Ted touched his fingers to his temple in a half-salute kind of gesture, and Lionel left.

The bar wasn't that far away, and didn't seem too bad a place. He got his usual Captain Morgan, on the rocks this time, and settled in to eavesdrop a bit.

"Hey, are your pants mirrors?" somebody said, not to him, thank God.

"Because I can see myself in them," he muttered along with the rest of the pickup line. Three...tw—

*slap*

He couldn't help a chuckle. Normally something that bad caught a chick off guard long enough to get out of slapping range, or so he had gathered from watching bandmates try the same thing.

After a while, the conversations got boring. Mix it up a bit, he thought, and he started around the bar, looking for an empty spot with interesting conversations nearby.

"I still don't get how you can hate The Dance of Maya," a voice muttered as he passed by.

"When'd I say that?" Now that was a voice Lionel recognized, a little hoarse, but not overly so. "I just said it doesn't have shit on Birds of Fire. Nothing on that record does."

Lionel glanced over his shoulder to confirm that, indeed, he was passing Izzie Martinez and...that other guy. The drummer, but what was his name? The only time Lionel had seen him outside of that was on the floor. Floor guy? He confirmed it, then decided to risk the interjection, "I've heard that opinion before." He stopped by their table. "You're Izzie Martinez, aintcha?"

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Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini
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Ted considered stepping out for a cigarette a few times before finally going to bed without a smoke. It was a habit he ought to get rid of. Perhaps if he could restrict it to a midday thing...but wasn't one supposed to quit cold turkey? Okay, he said to himself. I'll just stop buying tobacco. When I run out...done. Simple enough. But would he hold to it?

That wasn't the only thing on his mind as he lay on the bed, thinking and wondering and drifting off to sleep. He remembered earlier, at the venue...

---------

"Ex-large shirt."

"Cool," Ted said. He turned around to the shirt box and pulled one out. "That'll be ten," he said as he turned back around to find the bill already held out. "Ah, brilliant," he said, taking the money and giving the shirt. "Don't forget to follow us."

"Sure will," the buyer said before disappearing into the crowd. Ted watched the crowd mill around, some heading to the bar, some headed out. Psychosis would probably be playing soon. The merch table was probably far enough away that he'd be able to listen to them comfortably, but close enough that he could still hear them. Good times.

"Ed my friend, you would not believe what I have discovered..."

Ted admitted he jumped a little, though less at hearing that old rendition of his name and more at having not seen Charlotte sidle in behind the merch table. Immediately after that, though, the confusion of being called "Ed" rather than "Ted" set in.

"Ed?" he responded. "That's...nobody's called me Ed in ages."


------------------

20 September 2013

"There it is," Lionel said as the iconic red bridge loomed ahead. "The Golden Gate Bridge." He paused, checking a sign, "Probably looks better in the sunlight." The brilliant red one saw in postcards was in person much duller, but the sheer height was still imposing. The guitarist craned his neck to see the top, then refocussed on the road and checked his mirror to see if Ted's car was still behind them. It was.

Speaking of, he'd been acting weird lately. Lionel made a mental note to talk to him, maybe after the show. For now, there would be time to kill before soundcheck. Maybe there was a vinyl shop around...there had to be at least one, right?

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Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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Illuminating? That was a strange word to use for any conversation, particularly one with a new bandmate. What had Alex said to Charlotte? Or what had Charlotte figured out...or assumed?

"You know," Charlotte added, "I thought your reactions to seeing each other was kind of odd at first, but I guess it all makes sense now."

Oh God, what? What reaction? Sure, her name had surprised him...as well as her similarity to Alex from...Oh God. She couldn't. Not after so many years...but what were the odds that there were two blonde bassists in Maryland named Alex Patterson? Insanely long. And hadn't Alex relocated to Baltimore after graduating? Charm City, where Ted had feared he'd never make a living with jazz? Then again, she had been much more musically open than Ted back then. Probably still was, if this was any indication. But that wasn't important. If he had seriously met Alex after all this time...did she recognize him, as Ted rather than Ed? What had she been up to?

Too much to think about, and far too sensitive information to let Charlotte know, at least at the moment. He swallowed, wincing at his dry throat, then managed the most ambiguous grunt he had heard himself make, then settled back to arranging the already-decently-arranged shirts in the box to his left—more pointedly, the box on the other side of him from Charlotte. He knew it hadn't worked. He had been frozen for a good five seconds in dead silence. That said something. What exactly it said would be up to Charlotte, of course; Ted could only assume the worst.

------------------------

So...what now?

The question lingered unanswered in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

------------------------

"Yeah, thank God for that," Lionel said. "Fuck playing outdoors. I tried busking a few times. Rained every fucking day I tried, no lie."

Alex smiled a little at that. She'd played festivals before with Red Jack and cover bands. Usually they weren't rainy so much as hot, though both had the similar effect of making a woman regret wearing a white shirt to the gig with no alternatively-colored shirt. Yeah, that was a mistake she only made once.

Speaking of mistakes...she hadn't made one about Ed. Yet. She wasn't sure where they'd stand. They hadn't exactly ended acrimoniously, just with an apparent understanding that it was done. But that was before he had mysteriously changed his name and relocated to Baltimore...the city he'd said he'd never make it in. Ironic? Sure, but realizing that didn't really help her situation. She glanced at Charlotte quickly, nervously. She was up to something. She hadn't brought up Ed since that night in Charleston, but Alex wasn't stupid. She had learned the fine art of seeing wheels turning long ago, and Charlotte's wheels would have been obvious even without that experience.

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Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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"Looks like a nice place," Ted said, looking at the record player on display.

"Yeah," Lionel said. "Good internet recs. There are a few others around, too, just in case this one's a bust."

Ted shrugged. "Let's find out," he said. Anything to distract from the great question of how to approach Alex, or if to approach her at all. She had probably moved on, just as he had. Nothing to do about it now. Maybe he'd just approach it like a catch-up between friends. That might work.

Lionel went straight for the classic rock section. Ted went for the jazz. He'd work his way over to the rock and metal albums. If there were any. For a while, any worries disappeared, and Ted went back to feeling like young Edward Marubini, looking through the cartons for any old gems, or even just something that looked interesting and had someone he knew sidemanning on it.

"Hey, Ted!"

The guitarist looked up from the Green Street LP (Jesus, $22? Can't find it for less than $50 online!) at the sudden question. "Sup?"

Silently, Lionel held up a cassette tape in a beat-up plastic case. On the otherwise blank ID card, Ted recognized the crudely scrawled words immediately:

Izzie Martinez || Edward Marubini
Sturm&Drang
18


For what felt like eternity Ted stared at that, recognizing the handwriting as his own, trying desperately in his mind to trace how that cassette of those ill-fated sessions from almost eleven years ago could have ended up on the other side of the country. It just didn't make the slightest bit of sense. The hand-labelled cassettes went out to friends only. Number 18...who had taken that one...

"Dave!"

Lionel frowned. "Who with the what?"

Ted ignored him, crossed the store to the main counter where the bemused owner stood. "Dave Burbank?"

The owner nodded. "He used to live here. Moved to LA a few years ago."

"That's it," Ted said. "He must have dropped that off here."

The owner narrowed his eyes. "What makes you say that?"

"Th—" Ted then realized he was about to admit to that. He hesitated, then said, quietly, "I played on that. That's my writing. I gave that to Dave."

The owner looked at the cassette in Lionel's hand, then back to Ted. "You want it back?"

Ted picked the cassette up, looked it over. "How much?"

The owner pointed. Ted followed his line to the sign over the bin. "NOVELTY CASSETTES FREE"

Novelty. Heh.

"Sure, I'll take it. And this Grant Green LP—actually, let me look around a bit more."

"Sure thing, man."

------------------

The soundman coughed into his microphone, then said, "Alright, all hooked up?"

"Yeah," Alex said, flashing a thumbs-up.

"Alright, play some stuff."

Alex played a quick stream of a few different things: the head to "So What," a walking line, parts of "Under Pressure," the usual suspects for her.

"Alright, good," the soundman said, and she stopped. "Everyone, play something. Don't care what."

Alex looked to Ed. Ted looked to Charlotte. Charlotte looked to Lionel. Lionel looked to Ted.

Ted shrugged. "Defiler?"

"Sounds good," Lionel said, then he grabbed the mic. "Need me to yell along?"

"Go ahead. When you're ready."

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Character Portrait: J Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Alex Patterson
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It was some kind of psychological effect, Alex knew it was, but she couldn't for the life of her remember the name of it, probably because she was still trying to stay afloat through the chaos of "The Execution Block." The effect was how everything Ed (Ted!) did seemed familiar now, but she hadn't recognized any of those little Ted-isms before: the quick step up before a solo and step back after the solo, the way he hung his guitar, higher than some metal players (the fellow from Korn came to mind—she'd have to remind Ed they existed sometime just to see the look on his face), but not as high as many people she remembered from Berklee, the fucking waistcoat. It was all so perfectly Ed, but she only noticed how Ed it was now that she knew this Ted Marubini was, in fact, the Ed she had dated for four years (give or take). How? No idea.

She silently cursed the soundman for somehow making her beloved Steinberger's crisp output a deflated-sounding mush. On the one hand, it DID mask her shitty intonation, but she had a wild guess that her intonation would be better if she could distinguish the notes, rather than a mash of BVVVVVVVVBLZZZZZZZZZZBRRRRRPPPP. It was garbage. Not to mention how exhausting every show was. So many angry people, so much sound, so much to remember to stay in time and in tune with everybody else. At first it was novel, even exciting. Now...she wasn't sure.

---------------

"Thank you San Francisco! We are Sturm, hope to see you again! Good night!" The cheers, admittedly a little underwhelming, proved Lionel's bluster right: it had been a good show, all things considered. Sure, the sound had sucked, which he was 90% sure had thrown off at least part of The Execution Block's closing duet, but the crowd didn't seem to give a shit and enjoyed them, which was good. Now if we can just get better than that shitty demo...