August 24th, 1970

    Amoeba had smashed through the rest of the French tour in fine form; even getting positive reviews in the various Europeans journals and magazines that provided the masses with photos, reviews, and interviews of all the popular rock bands on tour at any given time.
    Yesterday’s performance in Stuttgart had been the first Amoeba show in Germany in nearly eighteen months, and the crowd had definitely missed them. There was a second show at the same venue tonight, and then off to two nights in Munich and one in Augsburg before the month’s end.
    Two writers from Rock Galaxie, a prominent German music magazine based in Stuttgart, were backstage with us tonight. There would be questions before and after the performance to cover multiple facets of musicianship, I was told. I had never been a big reader of magazines, mostly getting news of the music world from my local record store, but I was excited to see how artists interviews really played out.
    As the soundcheck came to an end, I poured myself a glass of whiskey and sat on one of the more comfortable-looking seats I saw. Sylvia had opted to stay at the hotel for tonight’s show, complaining of a headache, and I found the relative solitude enjoyable. I had time to take a few sips before everyone came back into the room; Cameron joining me on the couch.
    One of the journalists, Kurt, politely asked for Lee and Clyde to join us so he could begin the interview. As they came over and sat in chairs beside the sofa, I turned to Cameron.
    “Should I be sitting here?” I asked worriedly.
    “With me? Of course you should,” he said with a wink.
    Kurt began to set up his tape recorder on the small table between him and us. I noticed his coworker, Ada, setting up an identical device between herself, Willie, and Dale.
    “Should she be alone with those two?” I asked quietly. “Seems a little dangerous,” I added, only half joking.
    “We will switch after the performance,” Kurt informed me, his voice thick with a German accent. “I will interview them and she will interview you all.”
    I nodded, not saying another word as I saw Kurt press a button and the red recording light turn on.
    “So, welcome back to Germany, first of all,” Kurt began, “The rock fans here have certainly missed your presence in their clubs and concert halls…”


    “What are the plans for the future of Amoeba? Is there another album in the works, or will you take a break after the tour is completed?”
    Ada was more direct than Kurt had been earlier, I noticed, and wondered how that had been received in her earlier interview with only Dale and Willie.
    Cameron was the first to speak. “What does the future hold for any of us?” he said with a laugh. “There’s no way of knowing! But I know that, and I think we all feel this, that as long as the chemistry-”
    “The groove!” Lee chimed in. He was happily tipsy and more outgoing than usual.
    “The groove, like Lee said, is still there, we’ll continue to be Amoeba.”
    Clyde spoke next, answering her second question. “As for the next album, I think the only true answer is we don’t know when it’ll be out,” he admitted. “We all keep writing music and Dale mostly does lyrics, but we all keep writing while we’re out playing for the fans.”
    “We’re taking Christmas off,” Cameron inserted. “And New Year’s. We’ll all be at our homes, that’s set in stone.” He turned to me and smiled sweetly as he spoke.
    Lee nodded in agreement. “We usually do, anyway, take the holidays off.”
    “I know I certainly don’t want to be working with you bunch on Christmas,” Clyde scoffed. “Not when I could be in my own bed getting my cock sucked.”
    I snorted, having not expected Clyde’s comment. Lee turned a light shade of red, evidently not tipsy enough to stave off embarrassment. Seeing this, Clyde howled with laughter and I thanked God that Sylvia had a headache.