Bring Your Ghost to the Fire

Part 3 of Rock and Roll is Dead

“It felt like they wanted to end music with that one—brass, choirs, the whole cathedral job. It kind of did.”

Deak laughed. “You take this so seriously, mate. It’s just music. It’s practically free. Hell, brother, the streaming services own music now.”

“Ach, that just shows you. It isn’t dead. If people want to sell it, it must be worth something.”

“It’s just nostalgia, mate.”

“Ah, mate, that’s an old trap. It’s the moment. It’s the here and now. Somewhere in this town, someone is sitting with a notebook and a guitar, and they’ve got to get something off their chest, something they can’t just say. They’re going to bleed it onto the page. They’re going to shout it into the darkness and, for a moment, even feel the pulse of the universe, feel alive.”

“Shit, brother, I think you just need to have some fucking sex. Go pick up a nice girl.”

“Ha, fuck off, pal. I had a hot time last night with your maw.”

“That’s interesting. She’s been dead for ten years, and we scattered her ashes on some thorn bushes.”

They both burst out laughing.

Even Bring Your Ghost to the Fire couldn’t keep it going, Frankie thought. First album was a classic, but I don’t like their recent stuff. But it sells.

When did Hubie stop giving a shit and write “Boogie Pants”?

There was a burst of static, and Lauren’s voice came over the speakers. “Here’s a song for first kisses.”

The unmistakable sound of Idlewild blasted out across the bar.

They both looked over to the bar, and Lauren gave them a thumbs-up and a smile.

They both grinned back.

“I like her, she’s got the passion, eh?” said Frankie.

“Ach she’s a bit much eh and she’ll not give up that punk band name though,” laughed Frankie.

“You going to the open mic tonight?”

“Aye, maybes,” said Deak.