Mt Druitt Image Taskforce

by Michele deBes

Sovka wasn’t good at doors and that entrance with its greying sandstone and dark panelled timber came straight out of his childhood. Everything he’d seen since he arrived was modern, but this community hall was gothic.

He stepped back, hands darting into his pocket and rummaging through the many things he carried with him. His shaking fingers found the loose and dusty almonds, and he pressed them inside his fist. It brought instant relief. This was his new life. He could eat when he liked. He could do anything he wanted. Even walk away from this door because he was 18 now and a free man.

Light burst into his eyes as the door swung open.

“Hi There. Are you here for the music because we are just about to start.” Said the short square silhouette.

The male voice was friendly and Sovka understood the word music. He nodded.

“Anyone else out here? No? Cool come in. I’m Josh.”

Sovka followed the man across the hall. He could see over the ring of grey curls and bald head, to the group of people seated in a rough semi circle below the stage. He dropped his gaze to the floor as he strode quickly to keep up with the mans fast pace.

Josh ushered Sovka to a chair and stood back.

“Lets get started.” He said and waited for the last voices to die down. “I’m Josh Macgregor, the musical director of the Mt Druit Image Task Force. First thank you all for coming. It’s a great turn out.”

Sovka soon lost his meaning and watched him instead. Big square hands swept around his barrel chest as he talked. His ruddy face was always smiling and Sovka was reminded of the old innkeeper back home, the big blunt fingers that could play wonderful folk songs on his violin. He relaxed a little and glanced up at the gabled rafters. This could be the old school hall back home and a tremor ran through him. There was so much he wanted to forget but it was mixed in with the good things he wanted to remember. Like the music and the orchestra. He stole a glance at the people around him and noticed their colourful and varied clothing. Maybe wearing the suit had not been a good idea. That’s what his Australian cousin had been trying to tell him before he left to come tonight. He smoothed a hand through the curls of his short blonde hair and was glad he hadn’t had the haircut.

“This year we are doing something a bit different.” Said Josh. “Our production of ‘Street Dreams’ is based on the original score of one of our talented young people from the local high school. Sharon McKenzie.”

Sovka’s blue eyes were drawn to the big woman that rose to stand beside Josh. He recognised her position immediately. The opera singer stood head and shoulders above Josh, her impressive figure covered from shoulder to the ground in a flowing black dress. Her red hair was a long mane around a theatrically beautiful face. By the amount of dark makeup around her eyes he guessed she was already in costume. Several of the young people cheered and clapped. Sovka joined in, as was only polite behaviour from the orchestra to the principal singer. He started a ripple of applause around him.

“Sharon’ s rock opera topped her year in music composition and the task force decided it would be perfect for the community-based performance section.”

Sharon swayed on her big boots, gave a bow to her entourage and received another round of applause.

“Sharon has a band she’s been working with. I’ll get you to stand up too so everyone can recognise you. Lizz on Bass,” A small dark haired girl jumped up in big shorts and pumped her hand in the air for more applause. Voska thought she looked twelve years old until he noticed her breasts under the tight singlet. “And Brad on percussion.” A blonde youth eased himself from his seat to move in close to Liz.

“These guys already know all the music so we will be creating the band around them. Thanks guys, if you can finish setting up that would be great. Ok, we only have a limited number of positions and as I said it’s been a surprisingly good turnout. So I’ll keep it organised and everyone will get to audition. So I’ll go around the circle and get names and details.”

The three left the circle and there was another round of applause. Sovka joined in eagerly. He remembered when an opera singer from the capital came to sing with the school orchestra. His father was the music master and it was considered a great honour. Voska had polished instruments for weeks but on the day, his fathers sleek white hair shone brighter than the trumpets. The stylishly dressed woman had walked into the music room and everyone knew, even Sovka, seven years old on clarinet, that they could play better than they’d ever played in their lives.

His neighbour nudged Sovka back into the proceedings.

Josh stood expectant in front of him with his clipboard.

“Name?” He said with his pen cocked ready.

Sovka wasn’t good at clipboards. He swallowed.

“Sovka Kaskia” he said, hands gripping his knees as he watched Josh’s pen tip run down the page. He knew how important lists were, and your name had to be on them and correct so you could start moving again.

“No sorry your not here.” Said Josh, the pen taking another slow scroll down the page. He looked up into the wide blue eyes and was surprised by their bright colour and pale lashes, and the fear he saw there.

“Mate, it’s cool. I’ll put you on now. Here we go. How did you spell that? S ... O ..?”

Sovka spelt his name and watched it go down on the sheet. This was a great country. They just added your name to the list.

“So what instruments do you play?” said Josh.

“Yes play.” He said, gesturing towards the stage with fine pale fingers. “Speak English. No.” He spread his hands and ventured a small smile.

“Ah I get the picture. That’s fine mate.” Said Josh moving closer. “Do you play guitar, piano, drums uhm flute, whatever?”

“Yes.” said Sovka

“Which one?”

“All”

There was a ripple of laughter and Sovka’s eyes darted around. He smiled briefly but Josh saw his shoulders narrow beneath his jacket.

“That’s good. Pick one, your favourite.” Said Josh with a kind smile and held up a finger.

Sovka nodded and his eyes darted around the floor as he thought. He knew the importance of telling the truth. It could be on a list somewhere. His elder brother had been the soloist. His father said Sovka was not, so he should learn to play every instrument and be a conductor and teacher. But he remembered some precious moments, when pleased with his progress his father had allowed him to accompany him.

“Chello.” He said.

Josh smiled. “Sorry mate no cello, unless you can bring one yourself. We’ve got keyboards ... drums ... guitars?” Josh was miming the instruments as he named them.

“Guitar.” Said Sovka.

“Great” Josh wrote it down. “That’s good Sovka. I’ll help you get through this. It’s hard for everyone. Now. Next victim.” There was a ripple of laughter.

Sovka sat still in his seat and watched the floor in front of him, breathing slowly and rhythmically till his heartbeat steadied and he felt his blush fade. His father had schooled him in the discipline of closing off the senses and shutting away all unnecessary thoughts or emotions. To perform you need steady hands. He looked down at his, clenched together on his knee, and released the long fingers. They were pale and glistening in sweat, the hands of a frightened child. It had been over six months since he’d played any instrument at all. A year since his father died. A month had passed already since he arrived in his new country and he hadn’t really talked to anyone. The language was too different and no one spoke a word of his and he found it easier to cope with all the changes alone in his own world. But music, he must have music. He began massaging his hands back into life, stretching the fingers back one by one, feeling the muscles in his forearm responding. He watched them slowly transform and fill with life.

I can play anything. He told himself.

There was laughter further round the circle and Sovka glanced up. Someone else was being laughed at and everyone was smiling. It was proving to be the hardest thing to get used to in this country. Everyone seemed ready to smile or laugh at any moment. Like when he was a child and mother was alive and Fathers music school was prospering. He remembered laughter in every room of the small town. But that was before ...

A loud noise came from the stage. “Sorry.” shouted Liz, then the sound of bass guitar rose to compete with Josh. He just talked louder.

Sovkas eyes ran over the stage. He had seen electric instruments in magazines, and on television since he had been here, but he’d never played one. His fingers drummed on his knees.

“Ok thankyou everyone.” Said Josh. Trev here will hand out some sheet music. We’ve picked one of the simpler songs. Intro verse chorus in a loop. Nice and easy so we can check out how you play. Ok I’ll get the first group going.” He read out some names and herded the people up on stage with wide arms.

The sheet music was dropped in his lap. At last something he could understand. He quickly flicked though the pages and sighed in relief. This was easy, almost a nursery rhyme. He started at the first page and let the score play. A sweet sad melody unfolded. By the time they were ready on stage, Sovka knew all the parts.

Sharon was at the side of the stage behind her keyboard and looking in. She began playing and Sovka took a moment to associate the loud grand piano sound that come out of the speakers with what she was playing. She played simply but well and the melody drew him in. Her voice was unexpected, it ranged from a big throaty growl to a floating soprano and she often used all in the space of one word. Like the folk singers in the villages high above his town. He had hidden there with his father and the schools instruments for five years. His eyes slid shut for a moment as her voice carried him back there, to the small dark room filled with the screech of violin, to his father’s fear of persecution that in the end was nothing more than an old mans madness. Sovka had lost an elder brother and a mother but the Maestro had lost a soloist and a muse, and in his heart Sovka knew he could never be any consolation and knew he was to blame for his fathers decline.

He gripped the sheet music tight and steadied his breathing, till the notes appeared solid before him. Nothing must distract him from his performance. He noticed that the guitars were not following the score. Josh was on stage and conducting but didn’t seem to mind. So improvisation was allowed.

It was hard to hear the music properly behind all the noise of the drums, and jagged strumming guitar, he decided, but it was big and raw and filled his ears with its enthusiasm.

Eventually Josh called his name and he gathered his sheets and joined the milling group of people on stage. A guitar was put on him and he looked down at the white shape hanging down low around his hips. It was surprisingly heavy and made strange noises when his manuscript rubbed the strings. He looked around and grabbed a chair and sat with the guitar balanced over a knee and spread the pages before him on the floor.

The neck was standard guitar he was relieved to see but when he tried a string there was a load noise.

“Hey, here you go.” Said Liz bending over him, holding her bass against her hips with one hand as she reached for the guitar controls. “Just drop the volume, it’s got a dicky jack. Just push it right in. Now, raise the volume, try it.”

When he smiled hesitantly up at her, she plucked some strings and there was a clear sound, although it came from behind him out of the black box not from his guitar.

Liz slapped his shoulder, her short dark hair swinging forward around her cheeky smile. “Go for it, bad boy.” She said.

He was surprised by her perfume and his eyes followed her as she turned back to her amp. Although her shorts were big they barely covered her backside and the little curve in the middle had a tattoo that disappeared down.

The song started and he swung back to the guitar. The drummer, an older man with a grey pony tale, had given the song a different rolling beat that sounded tribal but Sovka could pick it up by the third bar. He followed the simple plucking rhythm in the manuscript. The neck of the guitar was narrow, but the strings were light and he was pleased to see his fingers dance through the simple pattern. The sound of his playing surrounded him and took its place among the other instruments in a most satisfying way. The piano tinkled through a pretty glissando but he dared not look up from the strings. Sharon began singing and it was obvious she was enjoying what she was hearing as she began winding her big voice out.

He added some flourishes in the pauses in the flow of her words and an ascending arpeggio to bring it up to the chorus. Sharon’s voice soared through it and Liz sang close and mournful harmonies.

Sovka felt the blending at the end of the chorus. That moment when everyone unites and the score takes on a life of its own and plays through them. The joy was exquisite, and he rose above and beyond all the confusion and felt the bliss poor through him. It launched him into the next instrumental, and he slid his fingers up the neck as the shapes of chords came back to him. He teased out the melodies, many of which Sharon had already found and it complemented them perfectly.

The drummer’s easy rhythms slid all around Sovkas fast precise plucking in a light dance. He looked up and the drummer was smiling with his eyes closed, letting his sticks dance over the cymbals. Brad was keeping time on the congas and watching Sovka’s hands. Liz had a smile ready for him and was watching him too while she swayed and played, her long pendant beating a slow rhythm against her breasts under the small black singlet. He smiled back and incorporated her base line into his playing for a couple or bars and she flicked her hair and laughed.

He dropped his eyes to the fret board, there was another instrumental coming up and he let his heart play now. As his father had instructed him. His fingers knew the score and he was free to open up to the emotions in Sharon’s voice. She spoke to him even though he couldn’t understand the words. He answered her melodies with variations and surrounded her sumptuous voice with sympathetic emotions.

Josh let them play another couple of rounds through, swaying and keeping time with clicking fingers. He snapped back to reality with a jerk and finished the song at the end of a chorus.

“Good work everyone.” He said. “And Sharon, you were really giving it your all. Nice stuff. “Here Sovka. I’ll help you with that.” Josh came and took the guitar from him. “Excellent playing mate, thankyou.”

Sovka’s hands were trembling as he picked up his sheets from the floor. He left the stage quickly and got caught up in the small crowd at the bottom of the stairs surrounded by people’s backs. All the laughter and chatter he couldn’t understand closed in like a barrier around him.

“Hi Man.” It was Brad, and he was reaching out his hand, all smiles. “Sovka isn’t it. Man you can really play. Dig the classical stuff.”

“Hello.” Sovka shook Brads hand.

“Where did you learn to play like that? Wow man. You nervous? Don’t be. Liz thinks you’re hot and she’s doing the choosing.” Brad pointed up to the stage and Sovka noticed the tight knot of Josh, Sharon and Liz around the clipboard.

Brad introduced Sovka to some of his friends and he could relax a little. Even though he understood none of their fast paced conversation he was enjoying just being with this group of people. They moved in an orchestrated tempo that he could understand, the music still swam through them, syncopating their shuffling feet and animating their gestures.

Josh came down the stairs to make the announcement, his clipboard in hand.

There were woops from people around Sovka and someone slapped his back when he heard his name called.

“So congratulations. Please come up and we’ll hand out the manuscripts and to everyone else thankyou for coming.” Said Josh.

It seems he had made it. He’d heard his name and the people around him were exultant. Some of Brads friends had made it too and he was pushed into a rough triangle with the other two. He stood stunned among their jubilation having reached his limit of people and laughter long ago.

The crowd thinned.

“Sovka.” Josh was calling his mane and he hurried over to the desk.

“This is Sharon, she’ll look after you.” He said. “OK, I’ll see you two later. Really great to have you Sovka.” He turned and strode after someone.

“Hi Sovka.” She said extending a hand.

She was a lot younger that he expected and seemed to be around his own age. Her pretty face under the dramatic stage makeup was still childlike.

In his confusion, he took her hand and bowed over it as he had been taught, noticing her fingernails were pained black. She laughed and pulled her hand away but he could see she was not pleased as he straightened.

“So here it is.” She said as she dropped the thick stapled pad in his waiting hands, giving him a look up and down. He seemed sharp in that retro suit and she could see what Liz was on about. His fresh pale skin and blonde features were striking.

He placed his hand on the cover as if to absorb the music inside.

“Thankyou.” He said.

She stood only a little taller than him but she seemed to look down from a greater height with her green eyes startling against the black makeup and he wondered what he had done to annoy her.

“Your music ...” he said, his hand spinning before him. “Beautiful yes?”

“Thankyou. You can actually read it too, that was a surprise. Look you’re a great guitarist but well ... Liz ...”

She caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes and she smiled knowingly. “ Ah ha. I saw you two looking at each other, you know she’s in my band, she IS my band, my song sister, so you can’t just come in here with your fancy playing and mess that up OK?”

Sovka was trying to follow. It was obviously important and he wanted so much to please her. His father had given him long lectures on the artistic temperament.

“I’ve got enough trouble with Brad. I’ve got a boyfriend too but he’s not bloody well in my band. Look. Hands off Liz.” She said, and noticed his bewilderment for the first time.

“You really can’t speak English can you?” She said.

She saw a light of recognition in his eyes, and then disappointment as he shook his head.

He patted the manuscript. “we speak ... music.” He said and ventured a smile. “Your music.”

“Yes my music, I like that.” she said and returned his smile with sudden warmth. “Sorry, I go off sometimes, you’ll get used to it. But I’ll be watching you.”

Her laugh was surprisingly throaty as she flicked her long red hear around her and Sovka was happy to smile and nod.

“OK people.” said Josh. “Great work everybody. You guys played some hot music tonight. Please have the first three songs down by next week. If you’d like to help us to pack up that would be great.”

Sovka was left alone in the confusion of people and felt it was time to leave.

The doors that held him out before, were now calling to him to escape. He left the stage quietly and walked back across the hall and out the front entrance, into a rush of cool air and relief. He was exhausted and his hands ached from the performance, the tips of his fingers were pulsing and hot, but it had been a long time since he had felt such a rush of happiness.

He began walking, holding the manuscript tight against his chest under one arm as if it held all the faces he had met that night between its pages. It was nothing like the secret dreams he had composed for so long, but it was his orchestra and they were his people.