The Hush Society Presents... Izzy Matias (read any book .TXT) 📖

a learning process," I say. "You’ll get better with more experience. Besides, it’s your first tour. At least next time you’ll know."

"Is there any way we can couch surf with the leaders of each hub? That would save us money," Benji says. "You know, like what we did with Lily."

"Great suggestion," Cassie says. "I’ll make the calls and cancel our hostel bookings."

A knock interrupts our brainstorm session and one of the crew from the London hub tell us the show’s going to start in fifteen minutes.

"We can continue this discussion later at the hostel," Cassie says, clutching her mobile. "Good luck, everyone."

I head towards the exit sign to clear my head as we disperse. "Be back in five," I tell my band mates.

"Wait up," Eric says, getting out his pack of smokes from his Hawaiian t-shirt.

I push the metal lock and we make our way to the front of the street as Eric lights up.

"It’s like the blows never stop coming at us," he says as he puffs a ring of smoke in front of us. "Sometimes I think we carry around bad luck with all these things happening on tour."

He’s echoed the dark sentiments we promised Benji we’d keep at bay.

"Don’t tell Benji, but that thought crosses my mind sometimes too," I admit.

"We’re horrible promise-keepers," Eric chortles. "Ah, well."

"Let’s focus on giving our best at tonight’s show," I say. No use focusing on what we can’t control. Besides, ever since we put out a four-track EP online, we have been garnering positive feedback. "Brick Walls" has already raised close to a hundred pounds in just a few days. And then of course there’s our shot at Willowfields, thanks to Callum. I smile thinking about how far we’ve come in only a few weeks.

"I love that tonight’s show is going to be a silent gig," Eric says, puffing out another ring of smoke. "Imagine hearing the performances through headphones."

"But there’s no way of hiding if we make any mistakes or miss a note or two." I point out.

"Who cares?" he says. "So we mess up a note or two. Nobody’s perfect. The trick is to play on. Let the listeners think it’s part of the song."

Across the road, there’s a busker setting up shop. He plops a cardboard box for spare change beside him. An idea crosses my mind as I check the time on my watch. We only have five minutes until show time, so we head back inside.

The yellow lights and reddish wooden floors make the place warmer. I take a seat on the floor beside Benji and Eric, who pass me a pair of black metallic headphones and the first set of performers get up on stage: two lads with a keyboard, fancy DJ equipment and a MacBook Pro. In a matter of minutes, our heads bob in sync to the melody. When they drop the beat, Eric pumps his arms in the air as if we are in a rave.

I wave my arms up and join Eric. Within a few beats, the majority of the crowd has joined us. The DJs smile at us and I laugh at how we must look like to someone who can’t hear the music. I’ve been to more than ten Hush Society episodes, but the feeling of belonging in this sea of melody—with complete strangers—never gets old.

By the time the second performer gets off the "stage," we stand on the side, in queue for our turn.

I am ready to surrender to the music. Nothing will ever compete with the feeling of performing, dissolving into the state of the present, of my atoms creating the music until I forget who I am and just be the music.

Our performance goes by without a hitch. My fear of playing the wrong notes or forgetting a lyric have not materialised and as we play the concluding note of our last song, the audience erupts in hollers.

"Cheers," I say. "Thank you, London. We are The Fortunate Only."

"You can stream our music or download ‘Brick Walls’ at thefortunateonly.com," Benji puts in.

Amber closes tonight’s episode. After we pack up our gear, I slide beside Cassie. She’s bobbing to the beat of Amber’s opening song, but there are creases on her forehead and a tightness in her lips.

Those deep, red lips…

"I may have another solution to our current financial plight," I say. She turns to me, and it’s so reminiscent of our first encounter that I close the space between us.

"But you have to have an open mind."

She gives me an are-you-serious look. "What is it?"

"I don’t know what you have against charging a door fee—"

"It limits the audience attendance," she interrupts me. "I want the focus to be about the music."

I stay silent.

"Sorry."

"This is a sort of… twist to charging a door fee. I was outside before the gig, and saw a busker. Got me thinking…what if we ask for money the same way buskers do?"

"You want us to put a hat or cardboard in front of you as you perform?"

"Not exactly. What if we pass the hat, or tip box, or whatever you want to call it? We won’t force people to pay if they don’t want to, and it’s up to them how much they’re willing to donate. Like what Eric suggested we do for ‘Brick Walls.’ It seems to be working really well."

She digests this new idea and, though her eyebrows are creased, I like to think it’s a good kind of crease—her opening up to the idea. "Wouldn’t it be unfair to keep everything because we need the money?"

"Everyone gets a share. A way to pay for the venue or sound system instead of relying on people who can lend us their equipment for free."

She remains silent.

"Up to you, really," I say and let the idea hang between us.

"I’ll talk to the London crew and see what they think about it."

I smile and wink at her as she walks over to the organisers of tonight’s show.

As Amber wraps up her thirty-minute set, Cassie