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Sean cut himself for the first time the same guitar, during what they consider their first official show. On January 7, 2007, the band played to a full room in the small venue of Hogue Barmichael’s, where fat, red pipes line the ceiling, and beer stickers and surfboards line the walls. The bar is in a small complex on the outskirts of Irvine, where white buildings with maroon awnings advertise dentistry, airport travel planners, and a classical dance studio for suburbanites. In order to play the show, the band sold their own tickets to their first real gig under the bright green lights. Their set lasted longer there as well, giving them time to play additional songs like their much beloved “L.O.C.O.H.A” (“Lines of Coke off Hookers’ Asses”) and “Slow Down.” Technically, they had played a show before the one at Hogue’s. At the Beall Center at UCI, they were part of an entourage that welcomed a new exhibit. Their venue was changed at the last minute, so they played in a small amphitheatre outside of the center rather than indoors as planned. They used their own amps, were unable to do a sound check until minutes before stepping up to play, their levels were off, and Sean broke a string and had to play on his backup guitar. On a positive note, he didn’t slice his finger open. And the band got to do a warm-up show, so that people new to performing, like Ismet and Davey, could work the nerves out of their systems. But at the Battle of the Bands there are no nerves. Just boundless reserves of energy as the guys play on. After this night, they’ll consider any show a success if Sean doesn’t bleed all over the place. But, caught in the moment, Sean simply sucks the open cut to siphon off the blood, takes a firmer hold of his pick, and slams on with the song, bouncing around the stage with Bentley. Wes makes the drums swell, and they play faster and faster, building to a crescendo until, with a final crash, the cymbals end it. “What’s up UCI? We are Kearsey,” Bentley shouts to the crowd as Sean whips a blue handkerchief out of his pocket and staunches the blood. “We got one more song for you all. Thanks for coming out. This song’s called ‘Drowning.’” Oh, Messiah, do you see me drowning in this sea of sweat and tears? Becoming everything I’ve feared; do you understand me? Can you hear me now? Does it amuse you? He sings, a catchy guitar rhythm of quick picking underlies it and builds into a bridge, then drops off into the first drum solo of the night. The other members of the band bow their heads toward the drum kit, directing all focus towards Wes, their go-to man. Don’t know what to do with a song? Make Wes play something. Need to put two different-sounding parts together? Let Wes bridge it. Members of the band cite him as half of the talent therein, and rightly call him their Drum God. No one would ever guess now - with his blonde-tipped spikes quivering as he smashes cymbals, toms, snare, and bass in rhythmic ecstasy - that Wes is partially deaf as a result of drumming, and at times cannot hear the lowest notes. He plays flawlessly, an animalistic game of patty cake with the circles of plastic arrayed around him. The rest of the band jumps back in to the quick rock tune, which sounds almost like it could be Metallica; the rhythm is so fast that the fingers on the guitars can barely keep up. Sean jumps around until his strap slips and the Strat nearly falls off. With that, the guitars, bass, turntable, and drums all stop together, leaving Bentley’s voice echoing in the silence, until a thunder of screams, applause, and cries of encore obscures it. Sean raises his guitar and shouts, “We’ve got a bleeder!” As he floats back to Earth, he looks out and sees the largest crowd he has ever played to, hundreds of eyes locked on him. In that second, Sean thinks he knows what Heaven feels like. Sean pulls Wes into a hug as the stage lights on the right dim and the winner of the 2006 Battle of the Bands, Links, hops onto the stage. The crowd migrates over to hear the songs from their album, a mere week away from release. Singer Robbie Arnett thrusts a megaphone up the microphone, distorting his voice and playing music simultaneously. Guitarist Eric Frank gallops around the stage and bounds over to where Kearsey just performed. During the grand finale, the three members of the band surround their drummer, team drumming the same rhythm on their own snares and tossing drumsticks back and forth to one another. Meanwhile, Kearsey gathers off to the side. Surrounded by a circle of friends, girlfriends, well-wishers and onlookers, they wait and consider their performance. They had energy, God yes. The crowd was involved - but they played their 20-minute set in 15 minutes. There had been a few mistakes because of the speed. But how could they control the fervor that had built up for a year? They exploded off the stage and it had never felt better. The seven judges convene, rating each band out of 30 possible points: 10 each for stage presence, technicality, and crowd reaction. The men of Kearsey wait nervously, expecting to hear their name as host Gina Shandler takes the stage. The bright white light behind her transforms her into a silhouette, as she announces: It was a very close race this year, with the winner scraping by with only one more point! The winner of the 2007 Battle of the Bands, who will play at Wayzgoose with Rooney and at the Roxy is… Links. For the second year in a row. Congratulations! Shouts of disbelief echo from the crowd, some calling out Kearsey’s name, others The Jakes. But the decision is final. The previously wide grins of Sean, Bentley, Ismet, David, Kevin, Wes, and Brian, morph into tight-set lines. They load their gear back into the cars and head to Sean’s house for a small party. After all, there’s school tomorrow.
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