THE SOUND: "The honest truth is that I'm seriously trying to avoid a genre label," Collins says. "We play loud music. I guess we got lumped into the garage-rock scene because I was in the Gories, but we're more glam than an ordinary garage band." Blackwell agrees, saying, "it's one of the hardest questions to answer. It's rock 'n' roll with a soul influence, a garage influence and there's a definite punk influence there as well." If you did try to put their music into words, a garage-rock-meets-soul hybrid would probably do the trick.
Summary: Rosalie and her band “By Elliston” move from Nashville to Detroit to continue their music careers and move away from their demons. Rosalie notices an unhappy face in the crowd of their first show, and is instantly drawn to him. While she doesn't mind that hes easy on the eyes she does mind his less than stellar attitude about their music.
Word Count: 3K
Warnings: Drug use, language, and mentions of abuse.
Notes: Well this has been brewing for A WHILE. I’ve been everywhere deciding on a plot, but after tedious planning this is finally a reality. I hope the 5 Jack White fans on here enjoy this. This will be a series so strap in folks. We got young jack. we got old jack. we got everything in between. (also series names are hard) Enjoy! Appreciate all the research i did!
Chapter Two
“Do you want another?”
He holds his hand above me, his dark eyes burning holes into me, he pulls back more as if ready to strike again. As if on command, I recoil from the movement, feeling smaller than I ever had.
My head shoots up, suddenly back in Zoot’s coffee house. I blink a couple of times, trying to wake myself up. I couldn’t remember what she asked.
“What?” I asked her, phasing back into reality again, and not what was a horrific nightmare.
Sat next to me was my best friend and singer in our band was Harry, or Harriet if you want to be technical. Her head was held high, and she was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement, she seemed more than ready for our first show in a new town.
She moved one of her two shots in front of me and asked again.
“Are you deaf, Lee? I asked if you wanted another shot before we go on.”
I quickly sat up and grabbed it off the makeshift bar, anything to shake off what I was feeling.
We clinked our drinks together, and she yelled out a toast over the crowd of people behind us.
“To fresh starts and new stomping grounds!”
We clinked our drinks and quickly downed them, both of us coughing from our burning throats, but as soon as we saw our red faces, we burst out into laughter.
“We are horrible at shots, aren’t we?” I said in between wheezes of laughter.
“We truly are.” She paused and grabbed the bottle. “One more for good luck!.”
It seems like this is the night, if any, to drink.
We’d just gotten to Detroit. Like just got here a week ago and are already booking shows. We all decided to move her for reasons I won’t mention, but I’ll just say that we needed to switch up our scene a bit.
Our band “By Elliston” had grown pretty big in the Nashville scene, we played pretty frequently at the Exit/In. Which is not the biggest venue in the world, but it means something for the Nashville scene. I mean, we technically shared a stage with Muddy Waters and BB King, so that’s at least something to brag about.
We were known in the Nashville punk scene and had made some significant headway, but thanks to shitty people and our big egos, we decided to move to Detroit. Known for its great music and cars.
And here we are at Zoot’s Coffee shop, which is arguably a coffee shop honestly. Off a dark street, that no person with money would venture down, and the outside seems like nothing is out of the ordinary, it’s just a house on a street. But the inside. Its a home, its a coffee shop, and venue for anyone who has an instrument.
Its packed wall to wall with people, barely any standing room, especially near the stage, which is just a raised corner of the living room. Its the perfect venue for any rock band. Small and loud.
We (being the band and me) all lived for music, and it is our life’s blood.
I grew up in a very southern home and was always surrounded by music, thanks to my dad. Id never met a man who loves Johnny Cash more than him or country music for that matter. Cash would always play through the house, or Hank Williams, Waylon Jennings. That kind of thing. However, I can’t stand to listen to any of them now. Overplayed and over appreciated is what I always said.
That did spark something in me. I started playing guitar, thanks to my dad… and then I picked up the bass and then drums. And so on and so on. The moral is that If you hand me any stringed instrument ill know how to play it.
The other girls. Jo, Harriet, and Ezra. All got into good music when they were in high school, which also when we all met. Thanks to the high school band or orchestra. I played violin, as did Jo and Harriet, Ezra played the stand-up bass and continues with the bass to this day.
Now we’ve all moved on the from hot cross buns and into a world of rock and roll. We used to be terrible, covering a lot of Alice in Chains and Nirvana.
Graduating class of ‘93 for all of us, and we lived in a world of grunge. Five years later and we’ve since moved on from our teenage ways. We’ve embraced the blues and everything around it. However, we get a bit heavier than our inspirations, with my heavy fuzz and Harriet’s raspy yelps. With the look of punk dads (a lot of fun button-ups, dark makeup, and Dr. Martens boot) and the sounds of 4 angry ladies, we tore up Nashville.
We played a lot of house shows, met many a band, lost many a group, met a dumb boy who won’t be named (its John), and had a lot of fun tearing up the Nashville scene.
As we grew, we played bigger venues, the show of ‘96 at The End being the staple of our career. We’d never played as good as we did then, and none of us are convinced we’ll play as well as we did that night.
Either way, we were thrust forward, and our movement grew, we were making money from our shows, plus we played bigger venues. The Exit/In and The East Room, to name a couple. Last month we felt we needed a change of scenery to grow. As incredible, the Nashville scene is, its also quite small. Few venues and fewer people. That’s the other girl’s excuse, at least.
We scrounged up what we could, found an apartment here, and moved as soon as we could. Unlike the others, I had to burn some bridges to get here, but more will be made here. We scooped out the scene the moment we arrived and set up a show here, and we are all buzzing to perform again.
“So, who are we opening for again?” I asked as we headed to our van to start and unload our gear.
“The White somethings.” Jo absentmindedly answered, wrapping her jacket around herself for warmth.
Harriet quickly cut in, “The White Stripes, you mean.” Correcting her.
We all arrived at our shared van and started grabbing our mess of cables and cases.
Harriet continued, “I’ve been asking around all night about them, you know. To learn about the enemy and such.”
Jo popped her head up from the front seat and asked, “When have you had the time to ask around? I was with you literally all night.”
Harriet picked up her small load for the night and parked a seat on the car next to ours, lighting a cig while she sat.
“I have my ways.” She said, wiggling her eyebrows before taking a long drag.
“Anyways, here’s what I’ve learned. They’ve been around a year, the drummer learned when they got together, and guitarist leads the show.” She spoke with her ever-present dramatics, waving the cig around after every word.
“They can’t be that good if the drummers new, and they’ve only been playing a year.” Said Ezra, who was effortlessly carrying what seemed to be the world’s most massive bass amp.
“I don’t know, Z. It seems agreed that they know how to rock a room.” Harriet pipped up.
“What does it mean for us then?” Asked Jo who’s joint was lit and already in her mouth, and arms were full with various drums. Explains why she was digging around the front seat.
I quickly cut in, not about to let them get nervous over a baby band. “Absolutely nothing. We’ve got six years on them. These Detroit kids won’t know what hit them, we’re from music city for god’s sake.”
“That’s the spirit, Lee! Now get your asses inside so we can set up.” Harriet popped off the car and started walking towards the door, beckoning us towards her.
“Feel like helping us speed up the process, Harry?” Joked Jo.
“You’re big girls. I’m gonna go try and spot the enemy.” She yelled back to us.
“Oh, have fun, we will just be here carrying your band!” I yelled out.
“I knew I could count on you, darling!” She called out, throwing a wink and cigarette butt our way.
When we had finally reached the stage, the already crowded room had doubled in bodies. While most bands would be shaking in their boots, it only spurred us on more. While we all have our fair share of disagreements, we have one thing in common. Our shared headspaces before a show. All ready to take on anything, and our confidence is unwavering. The bigger, the better. It’s honestly what’s kept us together this whole time.
Now all eyes were on us, and it was a tough crowd, it was dead silent. The girls and I all exchanged a look and nodded. I always started us off. We had a set opener, it never changed and worked every time, but after that was a free for all. I usually took charge and just chose whatever I was feeling, but if not me, then Harriet. The other two just flowed with whatever we threw their way.
I always started first with the heavy riff, joined in by Ezra, then Jo, and finally Harriet.
The riff is what pulled them in, and it was always quite the sight. I got fully into it every time. It was dark, straightforward, and full of fuzz and feedback.
By the time Harriet joins in its mayhem, I speed up and play power chords. It’s not slow, but it’s not so fast that it’ll make your head spin.
As the short show progressed, we felt like how we used to feel every night. Pure joy, which is what we all fucking needed.
We improvised. I mashed up whatever songs I even threw in a little Stooges to thank the locals for letting us play. Though I did notice the gaze of one oddball in the back, who was just… watching.
While that doesn’t sound weird, it was sure out of the ordinary. He sat in the back, arms crossed leaned against the wall. The whole mysterious boy schtick was down pact. He wasn’t scowling, but he didn’t seem happy. It was off-putting and kept my focus over towards that corner of the room, but didn’t hinder the performance. Maybe it fueled it.
The show couldn’t have gone better, though. The crowd did not hide their whoops and hollers when we finished our last song of the set. I was already riding that performance high and will be for the rest of the night.
“Thanks for a great first night, Detroit! We’re “By Elliston,” and we hope to see you next time!”
Screamed out Harriet for a final goodbye as we headed off the stage, their applause carrying us off the small stage.
The moment we put down our instruments, we about took each other out, tacking one another to the ground.
As tradition carries, after every show, we used to just aggressively group hug, but over time we’ve grown more and more… excited. At one of our last shows at The Exit/In, I accidentally knocked out Jo by slamming into her too hard. If that gives any frame of reference to what our dog piles look like now.
“Ladies. If every show goes somewhat like that here, I think we will rule this scene.” Ezra said from the bottom of the pile, her words garbled from the mass of bodies.
“Alright, Lee, get your ass off the top, you’re gonna snuff me out down here.”
Without much warning, she slid out from underneath us, and the rest of us went down to the ground, causing all of us to erupt in laughter.
Once we all straightened ourselves out, we went to the van and had a celebratory cig, the first of many “celebratory” cigs of the night,
To my right was Harriet leaning against the tail light, and Jo and Ezra were sitting in the van next to me. Harriet broke the silence.
“You know I missed this, Lee. I’m glad you’re back.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Har-” While talking I’d noticed three figures a few cars over walking to their own. My eyes widened in surprise. I grabbed Harriet’s arm suddenly and dragged her in with the rest of us.
“Shut up. It’s him.”
“What I wasn’t even talking-” she stopped and sat up to face, she wasn’t upset, but she sure looked confused. “Wait, who is “Him?”
I looked around to check to see if he could hear.
“I saw him when we were playing. He kept just… staring at me. It was weeeird.”
“Why’d you pull me in the car then??”
“I panicked! It was just weird!”
Ezra peaked her head out of the car in curiosity and asked. “Which one is it, the young blondie or the black-haired beauty?”
“Gah Jesus, not the child, Ezra! It’s the hot one.”
Harriet whipped her head out of the car to look at them, speaking a bit too loudly.
“Lee, you need to start off saying it was a HOT stranger! You have my interest now.”
“I’m going to kill both you. Get your dumbasses back in the car.”
We huddled back up, Harriet has a look in her eye that I don’t like.
“So, what’s the plan of action here, Lee?” Asked Harriet.
“Nothing. He’s a scowler. Sure a hot one at that, but if he can’t enjoy what we make, then what’s the point? When we played that stooges song, he looked like he was going to blow his top.”
“I think you’ve missed the point here, Lee. Point one, You’re fresh out of a toxic sludge of a relationship. Point two, hot stranger. And finally. Point three, he’s a hot stranger in a band. I’m not passing up this opportunity.”
She gave us a wink, took a final drag of her cig, and hopped out of the car. She was going over to them.
“Harriet, you fucker don’t you dare,” I said with gritted teeth. “I’ve tackled you once today, and I’ll do it again.”
She chuckled. “You’re all talk, kid. I’m off to make friends!”
“Bastard!” I yelled, leaping out of the car and towards her. I was too late, she just about ran over to them, and I was quickly in tow behind her.
“Well, look at that, Lee! New people. Hi there, I'm Harriet, but you can call me Harry. and this is Rosalie.” She extended her hand towards the three strangers.
“Its Lee actually, she’s just an asshole.”
All of them looked slightly taken aback. They were sure as hell wasn’t expecting her hand in their face, or two random ladies in their space. The newly named “hot stranger” was the first to speak up. He seemed rightly hesitant.
“I’m Jack, and this is my sister, Meg. This over here is my nephew, Ben. He’s our pinball wizard. Or Roadie in technical terms.”
“Well, good to meet Y’all!” Once she shook ben’s hand, he spoke up. Man he was young. Was he maybe 16? Not over 18 is the point.
“You guys played a hell of a show. The Stooges? Blues? You’re going to give these two a run for their money.”
Jack shifted on his heels when ben mentioned this. Same face as before, and little less friendly than introductions.
“Well, its all that Tennessee blood in us. Now we arent from Memphis, but Nashville’s close enough, right?” Harriet winked at the kid. His cheeks flushed a deep red.
Jack shifted his eyes back to me, but they wander somewhere else.
I clear my throat, he snaps his head up and makes eye contact with me, a small smirk falls on his face.
“Well, you all seem busy, so Harriet and I are going to go back over there. Have a good show.”
I grab her arm and try to drag her away casually.
“What the fuck are you doing?” She whisper yells to me. We find ourselves on the other side of our van, out of their sight.
“Lee, You have never been one to shy away from new people. Especially men. Remember us, fresh out of high school? You practically had a different man in your bed every night. That whole nervous persona is new. Go seduce a hot stranger!”
“Jesus, Harriet! Lower your goddamn voice! First off its Jack, And yes I know. Different times though. I’m not going to go over there in front of his sister and prepubescent nephew to try and get in his pants.”
“Aw, come on, Lee! It’d be fun! Plus, you need a fucking rebound, girl.”
“Okay, well, talk me into this when its not a family reunion.”
“You got yourself a deal, Rosalie.”
We started to make our way back to the other girls.
“Alright, ladies, let’s go catch our headliner,” I said, opening the van doors. A plume of smoke rolled out of it the moment the doors opened. I grabbed the joint from Ezra, taking a hit before going inside. I handed it back to the faded bass player and headed back inside.
(Jack receives the first White Stripes fan letter in the mail, 1999.)
”The first fan letter came in 1998,” comments Ben Blackwell.
“It’s kinda strange that they got a photo of it.
How would you know when fan mail was coming?
I smell a hoax.”
~Photo’s Dave Buick
~From the book ‘The White Stripes and the Sound of Mutant Blues’
