Chapter 15

Without a chance to get used to the idea of having a “bog monsta” in the band, Kim Kissably and the Red Lips Sextet began recording at Theory of Sound. The place was huge and modern, painfully white. It had a mixing room that resembled more a hall than anything else, lined with machine upon machine that consisted of switches, dials, levers, and blinking lights.

Chatha had stood shocked in the doorway when they first arrived, staring, bouncing a little each time a light turned off or on. She stepped timidly into the room, tip-toeing down the row of mixing boards. “Wha’s tha’?” She pointed at one, but didn’t give James Carroway (who was actually a very important bloke in Beggars’, not just a talent scout) the chance to answer before she’d found something else to ask about. This continued until she was veritably buzzing, and looked up to see a large window in front of her that looked out onto the recording room itself. “Cool!” She dashed out of the mixing room, into the hallway, and tested every door she found until she stumbled into the room.

Kim, standing in the mixing room with her hands drifting over the dials, watched Chatha in amusement. “Such a child,” she murmured as Chatha gazed up at the vaulted ceiling and scurried from wall to wall to inspect the materials it was all made of.

A hand brushed Kim’s, and she looked over to see Jessie. She smiled at her plain friend. “We’re here.”

Uneasy that she couldn’t tell what Jessie was feeling, Kim crossed over to her other side, running her hand along her back. “You brought us here, Miss Founders. Any words of acknowledgement?”

Laughing, Kim shoved her. “Bloody American heritage. I’m not sure if I want you to speak the opening lines to our recording session anymore.”

“Fine.” Jessie flashed her a playfully defiant look, then stood up as straight as she could. “Let’s begin with style.”

James, who was standing in the doorway watching them, flicked a switch that allowed those in the recording room (which was now all the grrls but Kim and Jessie) to hear what was going on in the mixing room. Jessie glanced back at him and smiled, then she tapped on the window to get the grrls’ attention.

“Here we are,” she said, waving a little in response to Chatha’s immense arm swinging. “Our oldest is 18, our youngest is 16, and we’re recording. We’re signed, we’re recording, and we’re going to be awesome! A teen-fuelled, grrl-fuelled, powerful album is going to come out of this. Who’s to say how well we’ll sell with something quite so controversial, but we’re living a dream that some people wouldn’t even dare to imagine. Grrls ... and guy--” she looked over at James again “--welcome to your grrl punk fairy tale.”

It had been decided from the top that only the extremely feminist and in-your-face songs would be on the first album. The logic was, if that sold, anything would.

James gave them free reign, but he sat in on all their sessions. Kim kept insisting they would produce their own album, so they didn’t need him hanging around. He replied with the fact that he wasn’t producing. He was just there to see how they operated.

They were given two people to help with the technical things like mixing and using all the materials available to them. Darius Stronghold, a punkish bloke with short, precise blonde spikes and a thing for chains; and Marian Covers, a tall girl with long hair and glasses.

About a month into recording, listening, disapproving, and re-recording a handful of songs, the album’s title was decided: Torn Horses. Kim’s reasoning was based, of course, on a song by Siouxsie and the Banshees called Swimming Horses. The girl in that song was being hurt and held back and Kim wanted to make it clear (in her own way) that neither she nor her grrls would ever be in the same position. No one contested the title, so it stood.

It was also at about a month through the process that they decided they didn’t like recording one at a time then putting it together later. Even Kim agreed that it seemed to have no soul. The final decision had been made when Chatha was recording the sax-line for Cornerstore Brothel, a tiny pink grrl alone in the middle of a huge white room, and had burst into tears, saying she couldn’t feel anything but the huge emptiness around her.

Regardless of the hostilities going around, the grrls worked well together when they were all behind their instruments. Heather fit with them perfectly, a force to reckon with both behind the drums and in any of their frequent tiffs.

Chatha had quite a childish dislike of Heather. The only reasons she could ever give Kim for antagonizing the ratty drummer were “sh’ looks weird” or “sh’ started i’!” (Though the only confrontations that Heather started were with Kim.) The rest didn’t really seem to mind her, but Kim knew that Jessie didn’t think of her as part of their band. Heather was just their new, human-looking drum machine. Heather’s dirty look and pessimistic defiance clashed with Jessie’s warm class and calm confidence. They spent most of their time pretending the other didn’t exist.

Elke thrilled in the fact that she had been able to get Kim back so badly for what had now been classified as “the whole Gwen thing.” She never admitted what pissed her off so much about Kim dating Gwen, though Kim was starting to get the idea that it was more about her than Gwen; Elke’s aggressions turned more and more now to Jessie as she got closer to Kim.

They were a mess between the sessions and the interspersed gigs, but their anger fuelled the music well. It became acidic and dangerous, filled with a tangible angst. As Kim screamed about hating anything with a prick, it was really her closest grrl friends that she wanted to hurt.

By the third month, James Carroway told them he hadn’t seen so much potential since Bauhaus was signed. Ebony had flushed with pleasure, never forgetting those words; to actually be put in the same category as Peter Murphy was something she had never dared dream.

Raine, her boyfriend, had been there that day. The recording process had been stalled as he dubbed her “Petra Murphy” and drew her off to a back room; probably to fulfill whatever sort of twisted fantasy they had both had about one of the Gods of Goth.

Chatha filled in the time flirting with Darius, who was only three years her senior. She had him explaining, time and time again, the acoustics of the big white room. Darius would take her by the shoulders and make grand, sweeping motions as he explained the vaulted ceiling. (Again.) When she was finally tired of being led on the same tour of the room, she settled down to a conversation about the history of grrl punk (it surprised her how much he knew!), especially the greatness of Lora Logic and her saxophone-punk career at 16 years of age.

While Ebony and Chatha were busy with the boys, the rest of the band had sat down to discuss the place of boyfriends in a band like theirs. Geneveve started by swearing that her boy would never come before the band; Trebor was an interest, but he wasn’t worth losing what could become fame and fortune.

“I think dating guys is cool,” Kim said after a moment’s hesitation, “if it never hits the spotlight. One of Kissably’s grrls being all nice to a bloke in public isn’t going to work.”

“We’re mostly bi, anyway,” Elke muttered. “Besides, it was our darling, innocent little Chatha who coined ‘we only need a few to fuck’. If our pink chick is that aggressive, we’re doing good.”

“And you have to keep in mind that Ebony’s relationships are all forgivable.” Jessie smiled, apparently rather amused with the idea that had made her speak.

“Goths are notorious for their love of sex. Any indiscretion she has in the world of boys is just the fault of her nature.”

“Though Raine seems to be becoming a permanent accessory.” Heather shocked everyone when she spoke, observing them coolly from behind her mess of hair.

“Fine, but does it matter if Eb chooses one thing with a prick to abuse instead of several?” Unsure why she was so mad at Heather right now, Kim tried to stare the drummer down.

“What if she hasn’t chosen him to abuse? Not all of us think like you. Men aren’t th’ enemy.”

“No, they aren’t. It’s just those who choose to tell us what we should look an’ act like that are. Th’ ones who think with their rather unintelligent pricks and assume that we want to be lorded over.”

“’Ow can you talk about their expectations about what we should think and act like? You’re playing into their hands!”

Kim put her hand to her halter top, holding herself as still as she could so she didn’t explode. “I take care of myself.” She spoke very slowly. “I run daily to blow off steam so I don’t start killing people. If I am unashamed of the body that gives me, why hide it? I look like this, I dress like this, for myself.”

As the grrls knew this conversation would lead to murder if it was left to build up, Elke grabbed Heather while Jessie got Kim, and they dragged them to separate rooms. Kim paced and fumed, screaming the odd frustrated insult out the door. Jessie sat on the floor, watching her. When Kim passed by for the sixth time, she grabbed her foot. “Stop.”

Kim lowered herself to the floor. “Why does she do things like this? It’s like she wants our band to break up, and we haven’t even had one album. I want her out! But Elke will leave if she does. We need Elke...”

“How? She has the perfect attacks. What am I doing, being exactly how the things with pricks want me to be?”

“You’re not. You think and act for yourself. You’re a domineering bitch who would be willing to castrate any offending male with a rusty cheese grater.”

“Isn’t that a beautiful image?” Kim made a face. “That would be a bloody mess.”

Jessie smiled. “I love British swears. If you take it literally, it fits rather well.”

Grrls, listen with an open mind. Liberate yourselves! Ride on this wave of sonic madness. You know you wanna'!

Share with me my view of Utopia, where all those things with pricks stand in their place. It's our turn! And we must now fight for each other, never with each other.

Feel the loyalty of seven grrls, and join us in our enclave; the place we all share in our minds when we renounce our chains. Join me! You are yours as I am mine, and we must show the world.

Feel no shame for yourself or your actions! You are in charge. We are all in charge of our own lives.