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Butler Collins was headlining Thursday night, but the band we were really after was Blacksmith Sugar, Ziggy’s friend’s band. They were on two bands before Butler Collins. His friend Brock was one of the roadies, so we were going to wait around for him to finish up and say hello.
Brock was probably on the stage setting up when we got there, but Ziggy managed to get us to the side of the stage. He pointed out Brock who was setting up the drums. “He helped me out back in the dark days when the Hunt wasn’t together.” I should have guessed he was the drum roadie. Everything with Ziggy was drums. Sometimes, I didn’t think he even realized there were other people in the bands we were watching.
Brock finished up and jogged over. “Zig-man!” He gave Ziggy a bro hug.
“Brock, this is my boyfriend, Coleman. He’s a promoter.”
“Coleman Hicks? Shut the front door.” He shook my hand. I was always surprised when people knew who I was since I was totally a behind the scenes guy, but I had made a name in the rock world for putting together some of the best shows.
“Nice to meet you. I don’t get to meet Ziggy’s friends much.”
“Friends? He told you we were friends? Oh, I don’t think so.” He shook his head and took a step back.
And Ziggy attacked him, smacking his arms. “You mother fucker.”
They both burst out laughing and hugged again, and I had the feeling they’d done that routine before. Brock put his arm around Ziggy’s shoulders. “You’re going to have to tell me how a low-life second-rate drummer like you landed the best promoterin the business. He’s cool.” He jabbed his thumb toward me. “You’re not.” He poked Ziggy in the chest.
“Mother fucker. I sure don’t have a chance of getting an inflated ego around you.”
Brock laughed, throwing his head back. He was big, bigger than Ziggy, and boisterous. “After the show, we’ll catch up. The guys are about to go on.”
The band passed us as they took the stage, and we turned to watch them play. Blacksmith Sugar was not bad at all. In fact, their music grabbed me quickly. Surprisingly, the bass player was a woman. She was totally rocking out, too. I didn’t think she was as good as Wolf, but not many were. I’d learned earlier that the guitarist was Anton Sweet, but I didn’t know anything about the others.
Brock leaned into me and whisper-shouted as he pointed to each one. “Guitar is Anton Sweet. Lix Ward is the singer. The bassist is Piper Lee Morris, but uses they and them for pronouns. And the badass motherfucking drummer is Carl Amsel.” Said drummer pounded out a killer rhythm. Piper slammed their head back and forth, hair flying as they played. And the singer, Lix, was wailing. Holding long notes and showing vocal dynamics that I’ve rarely seen in rock bands. “They’re good, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I want to meet them after.”
“You got it.” He did a gun-finger thing at me, before he squatted down and eyed the drums. I didn’t know what he was doing, and I didn’t ask.
After the set, the band ran off the stage, did some high-fives, and settled down. They drank water and poured it over their heads. But they were going back up for one more song, so no one moved to grab the equipment. They formed a circle and chanted. “Blacksmith fuckyeah Sugar kick ass!” Onassthey got super loud and raised their hands over their heads. Many bands hadmatras like that before going on, so it wasn’t unusual. Normally, I’d seen it before the show, not at the end, but I wasn’t judging.
They stomped back up on the stage, threw hands and horns, and got the crowd riled up. “Hey-hey, Black Rock! We love to rock you!” Lix yelled into the mic. “On bass. Piper Lee Morris.” They pounded out a killer riff on the bass while shuffling their hips back and forth in a showmanship tease. “Our baddest of badass drummers…CarlAmsel.” He made the name one word. And the drummer pounded out a killer solo. When he was done, he kept up the rhythm and Piper added her part.
“And you all know our founder, the sweetest guitarist on the planet. Anton Sweet.” Anton started plucking out some notes that weren’t incredibly dynamic.
Brock bumped his shoulder with mine. “Watch this shit.”
And I did indeed watch as what Anton was playing slowly grew in complexity, building riff on riff, until he dropped to his knees and leaned back, positively shredding. He was good enough to go up against the big boys in the shred competition they’d done in prior years. That was something I’d like to see, though I didn’t know if it would happen. And when he was done. He stopped playing and leaned forward over his guitar. After a beat, he stood and picked up the opening of their song like he’d only been strolling around the stage instead of shredding a killer solo.
“I am Lix and this is Blacksmith Sugar.” He started screaming the words to their song. I couldn’t tell what they all were but something about blasphemy and death and winding up walking the streets of hell. Not my favorite theme, but the crowd seemed to go crazy over it.
“That was their last release. Topped the charts.” I could barely hear what Brock was saying, but I got the gist of it. These guys were too good, with a solid following. I would have been surprised at the early billing had I not heard about the last-minute changes. But I totally wanted to book these guys on a tour. I needed to meet their manager.
After their final song, they left the stage. “That’s my cue. Catch you after, Zig-man?”
“You bet.”
“Hey, dude.” The drummer, Carl Amsel, came up. “You’re from Midnight Hunt, right?”
“Yeah, I’m Ziggy.” They did a fist bump thing. “You fucking killed it out there.”
“Thanks. You’re friends with Brock, right? I thought he said he was friends with you, but I didn’t believe him. He’s such a fucking show off.” But the guy laughed. It was just the way they teased each other. “Come to our bus and hang while you wait. Brock will be by when he’s done. Seriously, he’s a good guy.”
“Sure. Sounds good.” Ziggy turned to me and grabbed my hand. “This is my boyfriend, Coleman.”
“Rad.” I got a fist bump from Carl.
The guitarist, on the other hand, came up behind him. “Coleman? As in Coleman Hicks, the promoter?”
