Everyone freezes and their eyes turn to me. I take a swig from my water bottle, stalling as I try to think of an answer.
“Um, Aunt Cadence just means Sebastian is really good at sleeping, honey,” I say, pointing back at the iPad to shift his attention.
“Oh, what’s going on here?” Dennis’s voice booms through the small space. “Why, pray tell, are you all lolling about on the floor like a bunch of limp sardines?”
“They’re trying to be as good in bed as Sebastian, Uncle Dennis. Aunt Cadence said he’s so good it doesn’t matter he’s not good at cello playing,” Ben tells the older man helpfully.
Dennis stops in his tracks and blinks. I can see the profanities dancing on his lips and I give him a pointed look.
Everyone has had to be on their best behavior around Ben and I’ve truly appreciated their effort, but I’m sure next term at school I’ll be called up to the principal’s office for some colorful language from Ben he’s inadvertently learned on the road.
“Oh. I see. Okay. Well, not time for sleep now lads, time for play. Specifically, music play. Let’s take it from the mashup of ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ and ‘Wings.'”
“Noooooooo, you’re kidding me, right? I can barely hold my head up let alone play Rimsky Korsakov’s torture piece now,” we hear from Brad the molehill.
I can understand his hesitation-as the token violinist, he has to hold up most of that piece, play it like the bumblebee is buzzing to and fro, whizzing back and forth, ducking and weaving. But judging by the way he doesn’t even care that one of his legs is trapped under Jez and his arm is flung over Marius’s face, that bumblebee might as well fall into a pond of water and drown in an untimely death.
“Come on, we’ve got to get the transition right. You guys are rushing the tempo change. It’s a mashup, not a smackdown between Korsakov and Birdy.”
Dennis prods the pile of arms and legs and torsos with his foot and the pile groans. Eventually, it moves and separates into three individual bodies and they take their places again. I’ve heard this piece on their album but not live, and I’m glad Dennis has gotten them back on their feet because I can’t wait to hear it.
Cadence grins at me and bounds over to the piano. Where she gets her endless energy, I don’t know. Something to do with being a teacher, she said, and how nothing saps your energy like that.
Dennis finds a seat and Hailey flips the switch on the recording device so the boys can listen back on it later.
There’s a sense of electric energy in the air. They know this piece is special. They’ve titled the mashup piece “Bumblebee Wings,” and I think it might just be their Grammy-winner.
Brad gives the other guys a nod, their faces serious now, forgetting the laziness of just seconds ago. They’re in the zone, and nothing can break it.
I hold my breath and wait for brilliance.
Emily
The crowd grows silent. Even though they don’t know what’s coming, there’s something in the air that tells them what they’re about to hear is special.
I’m still recovering from my experience of hearing it in rehearsal this afternoon, but here in the front row of this small but atmospheric orchestra hall with a thousand hardcore fans behind me, I can’t wait to hear it again. I want to see it played how it was meant to be played, live and for as many people to listen to it as possible.
As customary, before the opening of any half of their show and encore, the hall and stage fall completely dark. The Rock Chamber Boys’ experience is a full body sensory one. The boys and their crew, their light manager, their backdrop, their decor-they know that every inch of this hall, space, and sound can be controlled to heighten their experience.
It’s pitch black and I can feel Hailey moving next to me on one side, and Hank, Sebastian’s nephew and assistant on the other. They’re watching through different eyes, having been so close to it and wanting to make sure everything runs as they’ve pictured it all these months.
I’m buzzing with such anticipation and excitement, it’s a wonder I’m not lighting up the space like a firefly.
I can hear their footsteps, and not for the first time I can’t figure out how they don’t fall flat on their faces in the dark. I guess it’s partly why they have nothing on stage but them and their instruments.
“And…now,” Hailey whispers to herself, and as if on cue, there’s a plucking of a cello string. A low bass note drives the rhythm deep. It echoes in my chest and takes over my heartbeat. I know it’s Sebastian, and I can imagine the concentration on his face.
Someone in the audience suddenly gasps, and I almost copy them when we see a single bright dot appear out of the dark, cast on the wall. It trembles, not quite moving, but not standing still.
Then as Jez and Brad and finally Marius join in, the dot grows slowly bigger, until it’s the size of a baseball.
It wavers there, like a shimmering light. Then as the notes from Brad’s violin buzz into life, so does the dot.
It’s a bee. A bumblebee. An insect made of pure light, dancing over the walls and ceiling of the hall. A soft ambient light fills the stage and we can only just see the band. But all focus is on the notes, the musical notes drawing a map of the bumblebee’s flight plan. Up here, bee, up here, the notes tell us, and he whizzes up to a crevice in the ceiling. No, no, down here, Brad’s bow sings to the bee, let’s hide down here.
I close my eyes and am transported from the room onto a rocking boat on the sea. This iconic piece of music from Tale of the Tsar Saltan is when the Saltan’s son is turned into a bee and stows away on the boat to the mainland to find his estranged father. It’s one of my all-time favorite pieces of music. And it takes more than skill and practice to play it well; it takes an instinctive feel for the instrument and the sound it creates to make a string of notes conjure the image of a frantic tableau. And not for the first time, it occurs to me the band-each and every one of them-has been touched by the hand of a musical deity.