It was a late night at Live House OGU. The venue was bustling with chattering guests. The noise died down as the stage lights lit up. Smoke filled the stage.
“Thank you, everyone, for showing up tonight.”
A spiky-haired figure emerged from the fog.
“There was some traffic on my way here, so I didn’t think I’d make it. Hahaha… ahem. Well, enough about me. I have a question for everyone here.”
The figure slowly raised his arm.
“Are you ready....to ROCK!?”
He threw his hand down against the guitar, creating a wave of noise that made the crowd go wild. Quickly, the venue filled with the sounds of thunderous notes and keys that twisted and turned. The man’s hand flew across the string. His face was a blur. His energy was contagious. Chants from the crowd. Overwhelming riffs. The sound was like fireworks - you could feel the booming in your chest. And with one final strum, it was over. Just like that.
The man stood tall as the crowd shouted his name. His debut performance was legendary. That night, the King of Head-banging had been crowned.
“J.J.!”
J.J. Rocker turned to face the voice.
“There you are, J.J., it’s almost time!”
“Ah, right. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be out in a minute.” It was his producer, Mr. Octo. He was a lanky, cheery old man with blonde hair that curled into a spiral. He had round glasses and his arms were tentacles which flapped around whenever he spoke. Mr. Octo never seemed like the type to be a producer for a rockstar, but J.J. got used to it. Besides, he’s grateful to him for helping him get this far.
“Oh?” Mr. Octo leaned over J.J.’s shoulder. His phone showed an old recording of his show. “Ah, reminiscing about the past, I see! Where do the years go?” Mr. Octo patted J.J. on the back as he spoke. “I wish I can be as good as you! Why, even with all these hands, I couldn’t pluck as fast as you.
“Heh, um, well, it’s not really about the speed, y’kno-”
“Right, of course! And your spectacular… ah, what do you call it? Head throwing…?”
“Yeah, thanks. Look, I should probably head out for the show now.” Forget about the show. He wanted to leave as soon as possible. Praise was still pretty embarrassing, even after years of performing. Mr. Octo wished him luck as J.J. walked out.
The dark hallway had walls filled with posters from upcoming and previous performances. There were many familiar faces on these. Many with amazing skill. He understood how many of them were as normal as him, but J.J. couldn’t help but feel amazed by their talent. But no, they were the same as him. They worked hard to get here. J.J. trudged on stage to the sound of cheering. The stage felt massive, with a giant “P” in the middle where he stood. He let out a deep sigh.
“Let’s get ready… to ROCK!!”
The audience yelled as the song started. The intense chords filled everyone’s heads. J.J. swung his head around like there was no tomorrow. The show seemed to be going well. But he could’ve sworn he missed some notes and did he miss that one section in the song?
‘G, E, D, G, G, F- shit!’
It was fine. It wouldn’t be that bad. At least the audience was having fun, right? The tempo picked up. The pitch became more chaotic. Finally, it all ended with a grand twang. Great. The audience exploded in applause. As he stood there, breathless, waving to his fans, J.J. felt a faint pain in his neck. He should probably get that checked out later. He probably just strained his neck. Nothing serious, right?
Of course, he was right.
“The neck brace should help you support your head without pain, but I suggest you should refrain from any rapid movements for a while.” The doctor said, wiping her glasses. “Other than that, you should be good to go.”
“Thank you very much.”
J.J. looked around. His mind felt empty, with only the clacking of the hospital floor against his shoes. So he couldn’t perform for some time now, alright. It’d just be a few months, and then everything could go back to normal.
But should it?
Isn’t this his chance? To step aside and let someone else take the stage? All his new songs felt like chores at this point, so what was he still doing this for?
He grabbed a seat on the bus. ‘Just stop thinking negatively.’ J.J. thought. He worked hard for this. Just like everyone else. Something across the street caught his eye. It was a young busker. She was playing a peaceful tune. It was wonderful. The melodious tune reached his ears from across the street. And yet, the crowds walked on. Not a single person stopped and listened. Rhythm Heaven was filled to the brim with aspiring artists who had better ideas. And here J.J. was wondering if he should continue his style-over-substance performances.
He was seriously about to lose it. Too many reporters getting in his face, looking for his attention and bombarding him with questions. ‘I’m actually gonna explode,’ he thought. If head-banging didn’t turn his brain into mush, this would.
“J.J. Rocker!” A reporter with brown hair tied into a ponytail jumped in front of him, catching him off guard. “Now that you’ve had a serious neck injury, what will you do now?”
“The injury wasn’t serious…” He mumbled.
“Your fans are dying to know!”
Did he really have to answer that question?
“Well?”
Whatever. The news would come out, eventually.
“I’m retiring.”
“Eh!? Is that true!?”
“Yes. I… I’m sorry to all my dearest fans, but I won’t be performing anymore. Thank you for all your support.”
Cameras flashed in J.J.’s face. Tsk. He turned back to the reporter. “Since you’re retiring, what are you planning on doing? Will you be pursuing another career? Are you going to settle down?”
“...No comment.”
Years later…
It was a bright day. Huebirds were chirping, which was enough to brighten J.J.’s mood as he walked out of the repair shop. He slung the guitar case over his shoulder. Though the nice weather and beautiful birds weren’t enough to make him forget what was bothering him. Yellow ended up breaking his guitar while being reckless, as always. He was going to give him hell once he got home. J.J. glanced at his guitar. He still plays it from time-to-time. Nothing serious or anything. Nowadays, he usually spends his time hanging out at the local bookstore and obsessively watching the newest shows. He’d say his life was going good. The only problem was that something felt… missing. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. Oh well.
J.J. continued down the sunny streets of Rhythm Heaven. Today was quieter than usual, but sometimes a little break from all the noise is nice.
“Hey, old man!” A voice from behind shouted.
‘You have ten seconds to take back what you just said- uh oh.’ Right behind him was a kid with a pink sweater and orange side swept hair that obscured their face. They were gripping a guitar case in one hand as their other hand was in J.J.’s face. As they lifted their head, J.J. was met with a murderous gaze.
“You. Me. Guitar duel. Now.”
‘Yellow, Blue, if I don’t make it home tonight, take care of my guitar for me.’