Here is part of the chapter - with 2 songs.....
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South Dakota is beautiful in the summer, and for over 125 years the annual Sturgis Rally had lured the motorcycle crowd from around the world. Over the years townsfolk had seen the crowds grow from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of bikers, all of them converging on a small town that even in 2073 had a population of less than 10,000.
Shortly before Bike Week, a transformation begins in Sturgis. Hundreds of vendors arrive with canopies and merchandise. Church basements become cafeterias. Backyards change to campgrounds. The same store that sells baby clothes and toys becomes an emporium dealing only in black leather. Convenience stores become motorcycle accessory shops. Bank tellers begin dressing in sleeveless T-shirts that expose racy tatto’s. And the bikers arrive, hundreds of thousands of them, Sturgis becomes Motorcycle City USA for a full week. Attendance for the 133rd Anniversary in 2073 exceeded 1.4 million bikers!!
Bikers of all stripes and persuasions from all over the world flock to Sturgis for the week-long party. The mix includes Harleys by the thousands, custom-built show bikes, choppers, motocross rigs, glitzy touring trikes, antique bikes, custom rigs and even trashed out cycles they call "rat bikes" Four rows of motorcycles line Main Street for blocks and there's a noisy, non stop promenade of cruisers through this orgy of chrome and spokes. It's a spectacle, a happening, and nobody can claim to really be a biker if he hasn't been to Sturgis. For bikers, Sturgis is a rite-of-passage, and whether you rode a purely electric, dual gas/electric, or bio-solar, it didn’t matter. What mattered is that you came.
The Buffalo Chip Campground in Sturgis, South Dakota was celebrating its 75th anniversary, and the main amphitheater had been moved to the north side of the campground. A massive four story concrete structure had been built housing 12 large apartments, a drive-thru warehouse, indoor pool, communications center, and a series of conference rooms. The roof held two landing pads for helicopters and pulse-jets, as well as wind turbines that produced enough power to qualify as a small utility company. Celebrities performing at the Chip were now assured of first-class accommodations and enjoyed a truly professional state of the art environment for their performances.
The entire south face of the building was given over to the main stage, flanked on both sides by massive plaz-screens built in to the walls. But the crowning touch was the technology used to power the acoustics, called ‘inertial resonance”. This technology allowed supreme control over the delivery of acoustical metrics, meaning simply that sound was delivered uniformly over an area up to a mile away from the center stage. Everyone in the audience would enjoy hearing the same thing, no matter where they were located.
This was the final night, and many of the street vendors had already packed up and left. The biker packs had dwindled down to less than 500,000 and most of them were scattered over a twenty mile area stretching from Deadwood to Rapid City.
The cool evening breeze still held the gentle promise of a summer that might linger just a while longer, and a half moon greeted any who gazed at the heavens.
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Right on cue the base player started a low marching rhythm, not with a pick – and certainly not with a steel fingered fret – but the old-style way, with his bare fingers. And after a 6 beat, the drummer began thumping the base drum, perfectly complimenting the beat and making it sound as if the volume level had increased, when in fact it had not.
Chewie Alvarez – actually Jesus ‘Chuy’ Alvarez - pushed the neck of his guitar down behind his leg, twisting the main body to lie flat against his back. Already the crowd had recognized the music and had begun clapping along, some of them yelling in delight, others whistling their approval. He waited, knowing that in a few more seconds the rhythm would suddenly stop – and then start back, louder and more urgent.
“Century Of Pain” had become the trademark of his band – named simply ‘Chewie’ – more than 3 years ago when the Flat Busted album had gone Platinum… and then Double Platinum… and then Triple Platinum. The song and the music had power, and the power was stronger then ever.
As he knew it would – as it always did – the change-up brought the entire crowd to its feet. These were his people – the tattoo’s, the leather vests, the heavy motorcycle boots. And when his crowd stomped their feet – as they did now in sync with the base drum – there was no mistaking the sound. The very walls seemed to shake.
Silhouetted against the shadows his tall frame seemed huge – he was a big man, and even in the dim light the muscles on his arms and shoulders were unmistakable. The thin leather vest fit him perfectly, accenting the small waist and making his shoulders the point of focus. What was hidden in the darkness were his tats – the beautifully intricate ink art he had collected over his lifetime.
One last time, Chewie reached over and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels. Two long swallows and his throat was on fire, forcing him to take a deep breath. The adrenalin flow increased quickly, and he coughed to clear his throat, shaking his head reflexively. Damn he loved this song!
A cool breeze brought chills to his chest and arms where the sweat was already starting to glisten, and without thinking about it he placed his thumbs on each eyebrow and flicked away the moisture. Normally he would be wearing a headband, but a really hot chick had caught his eye earlier, and he quickly gave it to her with instructions to present it after the show if she wanted to party… they always did… and he smiled at the thought. He knew he would be wired tonight and the thought of those lips working his chubbie…
Chewie brought his hands up to eye level and noted with awe that they were trembling. Quickly, he made two fists and dropped his arms at his side. It was time.
His first few steps from the darkness at the center of the stage went unnoticed, but not for long. And as usual the same thought crossed his mind - it should have been impossible to drown out the music. But tonight was no different, and the crowd roared as he approached the microphone, drowning out everything. For a moment he lost the beat, unable to feel even the vibrations from the drums or the base. And as he finally gripped the microphone with his right hand he raised his left fist to the sky and shouted.
“Hello my brothers!! All 150,000 of you!! Welcome to Sturgis South Dakota!!”
They must have heard him, because the roar got even louder.
Chewie released the microphone and reached for his guitar. By feel he retrieved his signature thumb-pick from where it was wedged under the scratch plate, and swiveled around with his back to the crowd and faced the band. He still couldn’t hear the rhythm, but he could watch Toby the drummer and wait for his signal. The rest of the band members watched too: electric organ, the alto saxophone, second lead guitar, rhythm guitar, and two violins.
Toby sent the signal – a skipped beat – and the band suddenly came alive. The violins worked furiously to keep pace with the beat, and the saxophone began a long lonely wail. At just the right time the organ began the musical chorus, almost demanding recognition.
Finally the roar began to subside, and Chewie gifted the crowd with a quick rift that matched the organ, and just as quickly ended. And then – at the proper moment – he began playing his guitar - loudly at first, wailing with the sax, and then changing up to challenge the base player. With each change-up he began to play less loudly, bringing both the frenzy and the volume down.
It was as if Carlos Santana had been reborn – but this time as a rebel.
After about a minute the entire tempo had changed, with the violins and the organ taking the lead. And finally, when Chewie began his gentle finger-picking the organ stopped. What remained was a mesmerizing tempo reminiscent of something primal, a sound that seemed to stir the instincts, bringing forth both fear and anger… and Chewie spoke into the microphone.
“This is a little song I wrote about Homeland Secure-Eh-Tay…” he deliberately slurred the last, but before the words were done the crowd had erupted again, and he had to wait a few more moments before he could continue.
Scratchy and hoarse at the same time, yet clear as a bell… Chewie began to sing.
Three lives bless the time of man before they cross the Styx
Thrice is three and squared is nine - the inverse of a six
A symbol of both man and beast - the inverse written thrice
Will mark the beast, defeat the faith, and rule with cruel devise
Another roar came from the crowd… the fear… the anger… they could feel it.
Another soft rift on his guitar, and Chewie continued…
The Styx encircles Hades, winding nine times from the East
And Charron transports all who pay - we all must face the beast
The gold of man is worthless there, though thrice we pay the fare
We linger on the banks of fate, and gaze into the lair
Seeking freedom, man is doomed to cast his souls aside
And done will grieve an empty faith, too late to ride the tide
Scheming Saints must bear the weight of untold fervent prayers
And the Beast will feast on man's three souls, defiant to their stares
Chewie gazed out over the crowd. He didn’t have to tell them that the Beast was Homeland Security, and that the souls that were lost belonged to thousands of innocent people.
“And now… now I have a message for you, my brothers. Remember the words – take them home with you. Because I speak the truth!!<i”
Freedom scorned is just reward for smirking clowns and maidens
But prophets blessed with sightless eyes have never gazed at Hades
Honor then, those whose plans to cheat the waiting Beast
Surrendered souls and hide their pride, and grieve for their defeats
Once unleashed the sirens song has lured expectant masses, but
Too late the sign, too dark the crime, the chance for victory passes
Knowledge gleaned from unkind deeds seldom is forgotten
Yet fitful still, the muses sleep, and dream again of Eden
A righteous man steps forth at last to champion a worthy cause
And though shackled by suspicious minds, he labors without pause
This leader rules on fertile ground and guards against the savage
And has a plan to cure the need of all who have been ravaged
Mark the winters solstice when the brightest moon appears
The 12th and 20 measured days give rise to all our fears
All that issues past that time is whispered in the wind
The music stopped, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. Then Chewie almost whispered, almost shouted… his hoarse voice straining for higher notes with each word.
As fleeting as the breath of God, yet feared by those who've sinned
Once again the music was drowned out, the crowd wildly embracing the meaning behind the words. Chewie had no doubt he had the crowds attention. There was no hesitation now, and no second-guessing - he would deliver the message tonight. The brotherhood was out there, listening, recording, analyzing every word in the lyrics.
It was indeed the time, and Chewie had no regrets.
The singer walked back into the shadows and reappeared with a stool and the bottle of Daniels. He walked to the very edge of the stage out front and lowered the stool, placing the Daniels on the seat, and un-strapped his guitar. One of the young stagehands came running out with an old acoustic and Chewie swapped with him. The acoustic had no strap, but it did have genuine nylon strings – 12 of them to be exact – and they were not the standard for a 12 string guitar. Chewie Alvarez had his own special combination, as any good finger-picking artist would.
But first there was a long drink from the bottle as he waited for Manny to move his microphone closer and to stand next to him.
Finally the crowd subsided enough to be heard.
“Thank you – thank you. As you know…” he paused briefly, “I’m from Kansas City…” he paused again to let the Kansas crowd applaud. “And in Kansas City we have this little thing called ‘country’. And I got a new country song for you”. Loud cheers greeted this news.
One more swig from the Daniels, and Chewie leaned back onto the stool with one leg resting on a wooden stool brace. The old guitar seemed to fit perfectly against his hip.
“This one’s called…. ‘Meet Me In Memphis’.“
Manny began strumming an unmistakable country ballad rhythm, and Toby followed with a steady drum beat. Chewie waited for the rhythm to start to flow, and then his fingers went to work. He had beautiful hands – the hands of a pianist is what most said – and as he worked the strings there were few who could follow the nimble touch of a master. A 12 string guitar wasn’t meant to be played this way, and to Chewie that was the whole point.
I got a call from my brother last week
He said listen up brother and just let me speak
There’s a Monster in Memphis who’s calling the 8’s
There’s a traitor in Memphis who’s blocking the gates
Chewie nodded as the calls began. These were his people. He knew they would listen.
“That’s Willy”… “Willy Pepper”… “Memphis Monsters”… “The 8’s”
The Hero of Quartzsite is calling my name
He said ‘Come if you can – if you can’t there’s no blame’
He said ‘People are dying and I can’t hold the line’
There’s a Monster in Memphis – he’s a brother of mine
If it is possible for 150,000 people to go silent all at the same time, that’s what happened.
Toby’s drums signaled the chorus with a loud “thump – thump”, and both Chewie and Manny joined in..
Meet me in Memphis! It’s just a matter of time!
Meet me in Memphis! He’s a brother of mine!
Meet me in Memphis! Just remember the 8’s!
Wont’cha meet me in Memphis – and let’s challenge the fates!
As if on cue the crowd edged closer to the stage, completely awed by what they were hearing.
The Who is a leader with the Titty Boy team
Just gather your courage and fight for the dream
There’s a traitor in Memphis who came from the 8’s
The Angel Of Quartzsite now stands guard at the gates
The fires in Memphis can light up the sky
But the Monsters of Memphis are ready to die
He said ‘People are dying and I can’t hold the line’
There’s a Monster in Memphis – he’s a brother of mine
This time when Toby’s drums signaled the chorus the crowd joined in..
Meet me in Memphis! It’s just a matter of time!
Meet me in Memphis! He’s a brother of mine!
Ohhh, meet me in Memphis! Just remember the 8’s!
Won’t you meet me in Memphis – and let’s challenge the fates!
There was no question the crowd wanted to hear more, but Chewie took his time. It was important.
I got a call from my brother last week
His voice was all broken and he sounded so weak
We ain’t got no power and there’s nothing to eat
I never knew children could die in their sleep
People are dying and I can’t hold the line
There’s a siege around Memphis – and we’re out of time
There’s a Monster in Memphis who’s calling the 8’s
Are there any with courage to break down the gates?
Thuwump - thuwump
Ow! - Meet me in Memphis! It’s just a matter of time!
Meet me in Memphis! He’s a brother of mine!
Awhhh - meet me in Memphis! Just remember the 8’s!
Won’t you meet me in Memphis – and let’s challenge the fates!
The crowd exploded as the music died, and for first time ever Chewie wondered if he had gone too far – if the mob was out of control. Within seconds he had his answer as thousands of fans started chanting.
“Memphis – Memphis – Memphis…”
Chewie stood up and grabbed the microphone.
“That’s right!” he had to yell louder. “That’s right! Memphis!”
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AI
