Long ago, and in another life, I spent ten years working with musicians. I have so many memories that time, mostly really good but one sticks in my mind. Read this scene from Downstroke, then close your eyes and visualize it. That scene was the Kickstarter idea for Downstroke, so let’s set the stage:
The night had a magical quality to it, a perfect Texas night with stars blinking against a black velvet sky. A very soft breeze whispered over everything, chasing away the last heat of the day. The sense of expectancy in the outdoor concert facility was nearly palpable. Anticipation fairly zapped through the air like bolts of energy. I could even feel it myself, the kind of feeling you got on Christmas morning when you ran downstairs, or when you were right on the brink of the most outstanding orgasm you’d ever had. Seventy-five hundred people moved restlessly in their seats in front of me. An almost equal number were spread out on the rise of the hill behind me, drinking and staring at the stage with binoculars, even though at the moment there was nothing to see. They were all waiting for the same thing.
The curtain was drawn across the stage, heightening the edge of expectancy. Especially for me, much as I hated to admit it. What was behind there? What was his band like now after they’d tasted success once and were back on top with him again?
I could feel the energy sizzling through the crowd. Well, why not? If nothing else, Dallas Creed had always had an electric presence. Add in the staging, his suck-my-tongue voice, and the electricity of his music and you had a knockout winner.
One moment the stage held only the stool where he’d sit, the next the spotlight hit the man himself, sitting with one booted foot hooked on a rung, his hands ready to do magic with his guitar.
And so the renewed saga of Dallas and Charley begins.throw in a stalker, an unknown killer and the excitement of a touring Downstroke was born. I hope you’ll check it out.
