March 16, 1974
University of Stirling

We never meant to start a riot.It just... sort of... happened.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's start from the beginning.

We're halfway through the second song when I spot Skylar winding her way through the crowded auditorium. She's dressed casually in tight denim flares and a snug navy t-shirt. Her cheeks are flushed as if she's been running, and her eyes are zeroed in on a particular blonde fellow behind me.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as she elbows her way towards the stage, not quite making it to the first row. She jumps up and down, trying to get Roger's attention. But he's as blind as a bat and, sitting behind the drums, can't hear a thing unless it's coming from his monitor. So, once again, I take it upon myself to help out these star-crossed lovers.

A word in your ear from father to son
Funny you don't hear a single word I say

But my letter to you will stay by your side
Through the years because Skylar's here today

I hear a stray beat on the tom-toms as I glance over my shoulder to catch Roger's questioning look. I grin mischievously, indicating with a tilt of my head that his long-awaited visitor has finally arrived. He squints in the general direction of the audience, where Skylar is now waving her hands in the air with a massive smile on her face.

Father to son, father to, father to, father to son

Roger leans over to the mic to harmonize on cue, a gleeful and self-satisfied smirk on his face. Well, I'm happy for him. We've been giving him loads of shit for the past few months, but it's all in good fun. Although I do hope that those two start fucking like rabbits soon because my bandmate is a grumpy bugger when he's not getting any.

"We have a special someone here tonight," I croon into the microphone as Brian starts playing the opening chords to the next song. "Let's just say that one of us will be having an exceptional night."

The crowd roars, and Roger responds with an extra-loud thump on the bass drum as we transition into 'Ogre Battle.' Throughout the song, Roger tries to play it cool but, finally, gives up and grins like a fool. As I strut towards the front of the stage, I see that Skylar has the same giddy smile on her face as she dances amidst the crowd.

Those two are good together, I'll give them that. I've never before cared so much about someone else's love life, but Roger's scheme to woo his lovely doctor-to-be has become sort of a group project. Now we're all invested in it working out... or at least him seeing it through.

Not that we haven't tried to talk him out of it at various points of time. Lack of sex aside, their relationship seemed rather one-sided from the start. Did Skylar actually give two shits about him? For a while, it was touch-and-go.

But, a few weeks ago, they were all over each other at the studio. The sexual tension was palpable, but there was something else there beneath the surface. Something less sexual and more intimate. And that isn't a word that I often, if ever, use when it comes to Roger and a woman. If there's anyone with intimacy issues, it's him.

And now, here we are in Scotland on a makeshift stage in a cramped auditorium. The audience is too close for comfort, and the energy of the room becomes increasingly frenetic as the minutes tick by.

It's halfway through 'Seven Seas' when I get the first hint that this gig is about to go tits up.

As soon as I start to sing, the crowd goes wild. This in itself isn't unusual, as audiences have been responding well to the song ever since it was released a few weeks ago. But usually, they respond by singing, dancing, cheering, that sort of thing. The typical reaction is not to throw bottles, cushions, and empty aluminum cans onto the stage, which is what happens tonight.

Look, I pride myself on knowing how to read the audience. My job is not only to sing but also to have a relationship of sorts with the crowd. I can tell when they're into us, when they're bored, and when they just want us to fuck off. And tonight, I can sense that the mood is turning on us. The air is full of overexcitement, and the energy is getting darker by the moment.

One glance at Brian shows that he feels it too. He usually takes a leisurely stroll towards the front of the stage during his guitar solo; tonight, he retreats towards the drum riser.  Deaky also keeps his distance, sticking close to the amp at the back. We're all wondering what the hell is going on, except for Rog, who's too busy making gaga eyes at a certain someone. Under any other circumstances, it would be downright adorable, but tonight I'm more concerned about the mob mentality that's fomenting in this roomful of people.

And then, it happens.

In the middle of the first encore, a few blokes jump on stage just to see if they can. Our security--all two of them--manage to right the situation while we finish the song quickly and walk offstage to re-group. Behind us, the audience gets increasingly boisterous, and I'm genuinely worried that a fight will break out.

"What the fuck is happening?" Roger brushes damp hair out of his face as he squints over to the melee.

"I don't know," I reply. "This is fucking crazy."

"Do we go back on?" Brian looks over his shoulder where the crowd is roaring for more. "I think they might kill us if we don't."

"What if we play a super-fast version of 'Jailhouse Rock'?" Roger suggests.

"We just played that." Deaky points out the obvious as he takes a huge swig of a vodka soda hidden behind the amp. 

"Yeah, well, maybe if we play it again, only faster, they'll get bored, and we can go home." Roger shrugs and turns to walk back on stage, no doubt eager to be done so he can be reunited with Skylar. The crowd goes wild when he reappears, and he gives an uncertain wave as he walks behind his kit. Brian, John, and I trade wary glances before following our drummer's lead.

"Listen, this is how it's going to work. You've got to stop throwing rubbish at us if you want us to play," I say into the microphone, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. I turn to nod at Roger, who squints into the lights, presumably to locate Skylar in the throng of people.

"Let's get this over with," I say off-mic. Roger nods and, after a moment's hesitation, starts to play.

We're twenty seconds into the song when the tide turns. All of a sudden, there's a massive hoard of people onstage. I'm talking 50, 60, maybe even a hundred people who storm the tiny stage. It's a disorderly, confused clusterfuck.

John grabs my arm, tugging me to the left. Brian holds onto his guitar tightly and makes a run for it. Roger is momentarily trapped behind his kit but manages to extract himself and hurry offstage.

I'd love to say that we're immediately surrounded by a swarm of beefy security guards ready to defend us with their lives. In reality, we're a mid-level band traveling with a small crew, so it's just us and a few scrawny roadies. Nevertheless, we hustle down the tiny staircase into a long corridor. Someone slams the stage door shut behind us, muffling the pandemonium behind us.

"What the fucking fuck?" I mutter to myself as I wipe a weary arm across my sweaty brow. We walk quickly down the corridor, hoping that someone will find us and help.

"Let go of me," Roger yells. I whirl around, afraid that the crazy fans have managed to follow us.

"You're not going back out there." Roger's drum technician, Jake, has an ironclad grip on the drummer's arm as he struggles to turn around.

"I have to find Skylar," Roger responds, frantically trying to loosen Jake's grasp on him. "Get the fuck off me!"

The concert promoter runs towards us from the other end of the corridor, looking as if he's about to have a heart attack. "They just want one more encore, lads," he says breathlessly as he comes to a halt in front of us.

"An encore? Are you having a laugh?" I stop short, causing Brian to run into Deaky and me into him. I can hear Roger continuing to struggle at the rear.

"Just one more song," the promoter pleads. Before any of us can respond, we hear the loud bang of Roger's kit being knocked over. It's a sound we know well, as Roger has trashed it a few times before. Only this time, he's not the one doing the trashing.

"Well, there's your answer," I reply to the sweaty, overweight man in front of me.

"Get your bloody hands off me," Roger screams at Jake, finally wiggling out of the roadie's grip. He's in such a state that I don't think he's realized that his precious drums are likely in pieces. Without a second thought, he darts down the hall towards the entrance to the auditorium. Jake looks at us, curses loudly, and then runs after the drummer.

There's a loud banging on the stage door, and it occurs to each of us simultaneously that it's a terrible idea to be standing here. The promoter, who looks as if he's about to shit his pants, hurriedly leads us to the one place in the building where he thinks we'll be safe.

As we near our destination, I nearly laugh. A fucking closet? They want us to hole up in this tiny fucking closet? Apparently so, as we're unceremoniously thrust into the small, darkened room.

"What. The. Fuck." Brian finally speaks, knocking me in the face with his elbow when he goes to wipe his face.

"We're just too good," I reply flippantly, trying to hide the fact that I am very much freaking out right now.

"They're going to maul Roger," Brian says.

"Oh, like you wouldn't do the same thing if it were your girl out there?"

"That's different."

"How so? Rog is half in love with Skylar. He's not going to sit on his arse while she's in the middle of a fucking riot."

"In love? Roger?"

I mean, really. Am I the only one who can see that those two are head-over-heels for each other? If I were a betting man, I'd say that he's wholly in love with her, not that he's even aware of the fact. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one paying attention.

Suddenly, I realize that John hasn't said anything in a while. I can barely make out his darkened form sitting in the corner, curled up in the fetal position.

"You okay, John?"

He doesn't respond, so I repeat my question. Finally, he speaks in a shaky voice.

"I'm alright."

"You don't sound alright, mate," Brian says.

"I just... don't like small spaces."

Fuck. I'd completely forgotten that John is claustrophobic. I have a brief flashback to a panic attack that he had on a small airplane somewhere in the Midwest, USA.

Brian stands, hitting his head on the low ceiling. He fumbles around near the door until he finally finds a light switch. We're rewarded with a dim bulb that looks like it was installed in 1963. We look at each other in the flickering light. Through the door, we can hear muffled mayhem from the auditorium, punctuated by the sound of our amps being destroyed.

Just fucking perfect. This night couldn't get any better.

"Can we agree that we should stick to playing venues with proper fucking stages?" I say, running my hands through my sweaty hair. "I mean, for God's sake, it should be at least mildly difficult for people to get on the stage."

"While we're at it, can we agree that we need new management? I'm bloody tired of--"

Before Brian can finish his sentence, the door opens. We tense up before realizing that it's Roger who is backing hurriedly into the room. Skylar follows closely behind, her upper half covered in splotches of blood.

"Jesus Christ, are you alright?" I exclaim as Brian and I jump up in unison. Roger looks absolutely freaked out, whereas Skylar appears shaken but in control.

"We're okay. This isn't my blood," Skylar says quickly.

"Then whose is it?" Brian asks.

"Uh, well, there was a stabbing. I tried to help until the ambulance arrived--"

"A stabbing?" Brian, John, and I have pretty much the same reaction.

She nods. "And two of your roadies are on the way to the hospital. One has a flesh wound, and I think the other has a concussion. The police are here."

All of a sudden, it's bedlam inside the tiny closet. We're all talking over each other, inventive uses of the word 'fuck' being thrown around. I debate turning off the light, wondering if darkness would force us to all calm the hell down.

Roger pulls Skylar into a corner and takes off his shirt. He leans down to murmur something to her, holding the garment out. After a moment's hesitation, she lifts her bloodied t-shirt over her head and I avert my eyes.

By the time I look back, he's shirtless and she's fully-clothed. His arms are wrapped around her as she leans against him. The Yenta in me wants to cheer at my successful love match, but I also realize that it's not the most appropriate moment.

After a few moments, Skylar pulls away from Roger and turns towards where John is huddled in the corner.

"Is he okay?"

"Claustrophobia," Brian replies. "We have to get the fuck out of this closet."

Skylar nods and walks over to Deaky, sitting cross-legged next to him. She gently touches his shoulder and says something softly. He nods, and she replies. Her hand makes firm, rhythmic strokes on his back, after a few minutes,  and he visibly relaxes. Once she's sure that he's okay, Skylar retreats to the wall to huddle up next to Roger.

We sit in silence for what feels like forever until finally, the security guard thumps on the door.

"The coast is clear, boys."