tim is fifteen when they busk for the first time, and he hasn’t even got his real drumkit. it’s a box used for acoustics and he perches on it the whole tram ride into the town centre, stomach alight with nerves. these are strangers, and he knows they do not know his inhibitions, but he is all too aware of them himself. they clamber off, a mess of limbs and wires and instruments carried as if they’re made of glass, and set up in a place they know they will get exposure. mel pulls open her bass case, a sign sticky-taped to the top; ‘ MUSIC INDUSTRY OR BUST: NEW BROKEN SCENE. ’ it’s something they’d all agreed on, a slogan fitting for their baby faces and hopeful gazes. it takes them a few minutes to plug in their amps, early morning sun rising and the first few shoppers flooding the streets. “let’s do it,” zach mutters, strumming a finger down his guitar, and ayeesha taps a few notes on her piano. “go for it, timmy baby.”
he counts them in and begins to drum out the first melody, a cover of green day’s ‘american idiot’. an obvious choice, but a special one - that was the first song they had all learned together, and they can all pretend that they are back in mel’s cellar and no eyes are on them. as soon as zach and ayeesha harmonise on the opening lyric, they are all lost unto their instruments, an element apart from themselves. at the end of the song, they have ten english pounds, three euros and fifty english pence. an audience has begun to surround them, some eyeing zach ( dark and moody even then ) and some murmuring and pulling out their phones. tim tries for a grin, and to his surprise, it isn’t a struggle.
“what are you guys called?” a girl in the front speaks, eyes on mel for an answer. the bassist grins, jerking her head towards the sign. “new broken scene, babes. remember it - we’re gonna be big someday.” her voice wobbles incredibly slightly and the whole band notice it - mel’s statement is coated with hope, the driving force for all of them that day. their throats are raw and fingers sore by the time they’re done, shops closing all around them. ayeesha is the one to count up their takings - fifty six pounds, seventy eight pence. there’s a flutter in zach’s stomach because, finally. their band is real. this is real.
they do it for three months, earning, on average, thirty pounds a day. nothing comes of it, of course - there are no agents wandering around their city centre, no one of note to take them under their wing. that is, of course, until they go viral. a boy in the crowd had filmed their cover of check yes juliet from we the kings and uploaded it to youtube, and it had exploded over the internet. captions went from praising their vocal talent to their looks to their prowess with the instruments they handled, and one question was posted the most frequently; where are the new broken scene ?
they are found one day by a man in dark glasses, six rings on his right hand. he shoulders his way to the front of the crowd of regulars they have begun to gather and watches them cover an old pearl jam song, face totally blank. only ayeesha sees him, her poise and level head giving her the notion to leave the rest of the band unaware. they finish the song and take their mocking bows, mel lifting her bass to her lips to kiss it, before zach sees the buisinessman and chokes on his water. the man cracks a smile and introduces himself as jackson fairweather, recruiter and band manager from earthbound records. zach only managed to stutter ‘new broken scene’ before he’s pulling paper out of his briefcase, words setting their skin aflame. “we found you. we found the viral sensation. earthbound records wants you, new broken scene. we see potential in you, and we want to hone it. are you in?”
they gather around to read over the basic contract, a year long affair with the chance to resign once it expires. after checking for anything malicious, their eyes meet in a four way flame, hope and nerves and relief all at once. they had done it. they had won, and they were ready to take on the world.
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