Going Back for the Back Beat

John Lane

Description

The Freightrain Hobos are a red hot pub rockabilly trio, struggling with their music and their personal lives. Lead singer Ethan is slowly convinced through repetitive time warp experiences that he, his two band mates, and indeed their music, have origins in the past; a connection with early rockabilly legends and a destiny with musical history. Trips back through time have Ethan, Denny and Brian not only questioning their sanity but also wondering in which world they really belong. The transitions tighten their music to a degree of perfection and they finally make a decision on a reality which they realise had perhaps already been made for them a lifetime ago.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 30 avril 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528953924
• Langue: English

Extrait

Going Back for the Back Beat
John Lane
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-04-30
Going Back for the Back Beat About The Author About The Book Dedication Copyright Information © Chapter 1 Present Day Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16
About The Author
John Lane was born in Sydney in 1948. The first of a Yorkshire emigrant family to be born in Australia. He is a life-long surfer and has travelled extensively throughout the United States, Central America, England and Europe. He is now retired, and lives with his wife, Mary, in the beach community of Nelson Bay on the New South Wales mid coast. This is his first novel.
About The Book
The Freightrain Hobos are a red hot pub rockabilly trio, struggling with their music and their personal lives. Lead singer Ethan is slowly convinced through repetitive time warp experiences that he, his two band mates, and indeed their music, have origins in the past; a connection with early rockabilly legends and a destiny with musical history. Trips back through time have Ethan, Denny and Brian not only questioning their sanity but also wondering in which world they really belong. The transitions tighten their music to a degree of perfection and they finally make a decision on a reality which they realise had perhaps already been made for them a lifetime ago.
Dedication
To my beautiful wife, Mary, for her encouragement, research and love. Without her, I would still be chiseling onto granite.
Copyright Information ©
John Lane (2019)
The right of John Lane to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528953924 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Chapter 1

Present Day
In many ways, Friday and Saturday nights are the saddest of the week. More urgent, more frantic, with people rushing to wherever they need to be or wherever they think they ought to be, to either enjoy themselves or at least pretend to do so for appearances’ sake. The twenty-first century is a world of electronic marvel – and slavery to that very same technology – and it epitomises sadness. In eras gone by, one could make an argument for there being less intensity and more respect. People now, for the most part, keep to themselves, walk with eyes downcast, and rarely initiate a friendly contact. Adolescents today show scant regard for police, parents or teachers. Gone are the days when a cautionary kick up the rump by a policeman was enough to halt a misdemeanour, or something worse. Or the fact of being taken home by cops to face parents on the front door was a sign that life is officially over. Today’s cops are just as likely to find themselves in court, defending charges of assault while trying to do their job. “Study hard and hope to pass,” Chuck Berry’s line is also ancient history. Kids fail an exam these days, and the teacher is likely to be bashed in the car park! Parents are struggling because society is crumbling. If police and teachers can be trodden down, then what hope for Mum and Dad?
It’s not the general standard as yet, thankfully, but it’s getting there: too much time, too much money and not enough hard yards covered to appreciate the worth of the effort. Being raised in a yielding society where the inference is that the world owes you a living as an adolescent, then where the hell is hope for a decent, respectful adult to emerge?
Things never changed too much though on any night at the Alamo; an iconic city hotel for almost a century. Most cities have one of course, most places that qualify as more than a village actually, but not like the Alamo. She stood proud still, a welcoming relic of simpler times, a much-loved haven where one uncaringly felt that ‘yes, the damn world can get by without me for a while’. People acknowledging friends from across the room, laughter and bustle, crowded always, but the type of crowded where people make way for someone carrying drinks, valiantly attempting to get back to their table. The type of crowded where a group of solicitors or accountants gathering for after-work drinks will gladly converse with a young rockabilly couple or a group of construction workers still muddied from the job site.
Like most good pubs, but more so, the Alamo seems to invite friendship and conversation. Be it the pub history, visits from the famous over its one hundred years, or the décor; customers instantly feel a warm acceptance, and in any such environment, chatter and debate, opinions and questions are all forthcoming. Especially when in crowds where conversations are overheard, groups joined and banter exchanged.
Whether feeling low and need to see friends, feeling lonely and longing for crowds or just returning for the experience, there weren’t too many places to top the Alamo! Meeting friends or colleagues once again for that special occasion; celebrating Fourth of July, St Pat’s Day or Valentine, everything took on more meaning at the Alamo.
A warm inviting atmosphere of familiarity which entices, and from seven o’clock on most nights, vocal patrons, weekend sightseers and the occasional celebrity come to experience a manic brand of rockabilly music from the resident band – the Freightrain Hobos.
Birthdays were very popular, especially around the sixty mark because that generation had a special affinity and recollection for the type of music the Hobos were belting out.
One hundred year old foundations put to the test on a regular basis with the Hobos in overdrive, and the crowd not too far behind.
Ever smiling Josh is behind the bar serving drinks and acknowledging patrons. He owns the Alamo and manages the band. He watches the scene unfold every day and night with the same pride and joy shown by anyone who has created something. Painters, sculptors, architects, all have something to show for their work; Josh has the Alamo and that is his all. He smiles as he watches the band finish their beers, leave their table and approach the stage; regulars acknowledging them as they manoeuvre through the crowd, the excitement of the upcoming performance already evident on their faces.
With an appearance on stage as diverse as their backgrounds, yet as cohesive as their friendship, anyone who sees the Hobos knows that this unit is meant to be. They just give off that feel-good vibe and the camaraderie evident in their body language is so obviously genuine that no one ever forgets seeing the Freightrain Hobos in full flight.
Lead guitarist and singer, Ethan, stands centre stage smiling broadly, taking in the whole audience. He wears faded jeans, sneakers and white tee shirt with 1950s style vest. Material front with two small fob pockets, black satin backing with small, adjustable cloth belt in centre back. Picking rockabilly out on his Gretsch with all the panache of a man born to do just that.
Brian on up-right bass, strumming, thumping and spinning his instrument is pure energy. Preferring to dress fifties style as he says, he is wearing the cuffed dressy trousers of the era. Baggy from the hips down yet snug and pleated at the waist complete with thin leather belt. Two-tone shoes, brightly coloured shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and matching socks. Face glistening and shirt soaked with sweat, and a smile to light up the whole room.
Surrounded by his drums, Denny wears jeans and plimsolls. Tee shirt with odd surf logos such as ‘Offshore + Swell = Sickie’, or the like, and always the brightest set of braces he can find. All energy and flying hair, drum sticks twirling through his fingers in between snaps. At home, he has as many braces as he has socks. They present a feel-good uninhibited look which fully complements their style.
They come across as a trio of individuals, at first sight ill-suited perhaps, but once the music starts they are completely cohesive and people feel it.
“Hello Alamo,” yells a smiling Ethan and the decibel needle immediately begins its dance. “Rockabilly really ROCKS.”
Yep, spending time in the Alamo, along with its accompanying entertainment was an experience and people of all ages and preferences obviously thought along those very same lines. What Josh had created and maintained was definitely an institution. He was like a fourth band member, and in between sets, on really busy nights, the Hobos would be behind the bar helping out. They served drinks as badly as Josh pretended to play the harmonica, but the customers loved it and waited patiently in lines often three deep, calling out orders and laughing at the chaos.
This had been going on now for just over a decade. Ten years of ‘almost there’, ‘this is the song’ and ‘just waiting for the call’. As a manager, Josh was a good publican, but the guys just wouldn’t quit and move on to the greater success which he always felt should be theirs.
“Hey Josh,” Ethan would say, behind that disarming grin, waving an arm expansively, “if and when we make it, it will be in our own way and in our own time. We’re cool with all this.” Then he would don his serious face and add cryptically, “when we do get big, you’ll be okay too.”
“Hey Josh!” He looks up, still smiling at the memory. “Too jugs of beer and four tequilas.”
Shit, customers, reality. Shaking his head slowly, still smiling he