“Are you ready to hear our headliner for the first night of the Tsunami Sound Festival?” he asked the crowd.
The crowd roared out their approval, that high decibel, ear-splitting wave of applause and cheers.
“I can’t hear you!” the MC told them. “I said, are you ready to hear our headliner for the night?”
Another roar, louder this time.
“That’s better,” the MC told them. “Since you all seem to be ready, let me introduce him. I give you the one and only Matt fucking Tisdale!”
While the crowd roared even more, the spotlight went out, returning darkness to the stage. Jake could see the dim outline of the MC retreating, could see the even dimmer outline of four other figures moving into position. Once they were there, there was a long pause while the crowd continued to cheer. And then suddenly the stage lights clicked on, revealing Matt standing at the center microphone stand, his iconic black Stratocaster in his hands, his right foot making adjustments to a long chain of effects pedals at the base of the stand. A secondary guitarist stood on his left. A bass player stood on his right. The drummer sat behind a ridiculously large set just behind them all. An uncomfortable amount of time passed as Matt continued to stomp on pedals to get the sound he wanted while the others just stood there in silence. Jake was close enough to see an expression of clear annoyance on Matt’s face. Someone had not waited for their cue and turned on the lights too soon, before the band was entirely ready.
Matt finally got the configuration he wanted and fired out an open chord on the low E and A strings—a common show-opener he had used ever since their first performance in Heritage all those years ago. He let that blast out and then fade almost all the way to silence before launching into a brief solo that he then transitioned into a complex power riff. Jake, as well as most of the audience, recognized the riff instantly. It was from
It was nearly three minutes into the tune before Matt actually started singing. This was common in Matt Tisdale solo efforts, which focused primarily on the guitar and not the vocalization. Still, his voice was solid and he knew how to use it. His range was limited to a narrow field at the high end of baritone, but he kept in time and in key and he was not unpleasant to listen to. And the lyrics of the tune were somewhat poignant and thought-provoking. True, it was a variation on the old Matt Tisdale
Jake nodded his head to the beat and was man enough to admit that he was enjoying the performance so far. Matt truly was a master with his guitar—particularly during solos, which he could lay down with a speed and complexity that Jake could only dream of—and watching him play was impressive. Always had been.
At the same time, however, Jake could not help but notice the flaws he was seeing. Chief among them was the sound output. It was not terrible by any means but for someone who was used to having the perfectionist Nerdlys dial him in, it grated on him a bit. The low end and the midrange were simply too loud, the high end too low. This meant that everything was overwhelmed by Matt’s guitar and the bass and that the vocals were distorted to the point that if you did not already know what the lyrics of the tune were, you would not be able to understand most of what he was singing. It also made it difficult to differentiate the distinction between the lead and rhythm guitars.