Rushing Whispers

      Despite the band’s modest worries about ticket sales, the two weeks since the release of Lion Rampant in America had brought enough excitement to fill the 1,800 seats at the venue in London. The whole night had gone remarkably well, and the next day we’d set off to the airport to travel to France.      Only three French cities had the chance to see Amoeba this round— though six others and a second night in Paris would be the first gigs in the new year— and yesterday’s drive from Bordeaux to Bilbao went smoothly. The concert would only be in three days, so I’d gotten excited at the prospect of time off and couldn't help being mildly ticked off when Harry made an announcement after this morning’s breakfast.      “Have you got your overnight bags packed?”      Colin put down his toast. “Were we supposed to?”      “Why did no one tell me?” Dale let out a sigh. “I can’t be blamed for being late ...

      I had bought a journal before we began the tour, to keep track of the cities Amoeba played in and any other interesting happenings. I figured it would be a useful aid to memory when writing letters— there was no doubt I’d be writing many in the coming months, having had so little time off since the North American tour.      Only two nights had been written about so far; Friday’s tour opener in Newcastle and the Lancaster gig the following day. After yesterday’s show in Sheffield, we got a night’s sleep at a hotel before heading onto the bus for the ninety mile journey to Birmingham, the site of tomorrow’s performance. We’d all checked in to the hotel around an hour ago, and the band was set to film a promotional video in an hours’ time.      December 12th - Sheffield!      Overnight drive from Lancaster — nearly peed laughing at a sign an hour before arriving here: a town called Broadbottom (Wide-Ass), ...

      “How far did you say his house is?” I asked Cameron, just as he flagged a taxi for us. We were on the last part of our trip to the house of James Wyle, Cameron’s old bandmate and friend.      “Fifteen-odd miles,” was the answer, and Cameron held the door open for me to get into the taxi first. We’d gotten off at Dalmeny station after getting on a train in Aberdeen over two hours ago, but a car was needed for the rest of the way.      Cameron sat beside me and told the driver our destination; I could feel his excitement. He and James had spoken over the phone a few times since we’d returned from the tour, and more than once the calls had lasted well over an hour. Now that we were less than thirty minutes from their reunion, Cameron was nearly vibrating with anticipation.      Throughout the last week, I’d been asking him about his friendship with James and learned more about Seven by Eight. The band hadn...