Short Story: Synchronicity

Synchronicity
David J. Dunn

Dave Browning, a somewhat talented bassist from Saskatoon, had been living in St. John’s for six years. In the first of those six years, he met Evan Settler, and from then on he was known as the flunky. Evan was Dave’s style icon; someone for him to emulate. Evan’s clothes were often garish and raw, as he took much of his inspiration from early-90s grunge, and loved to talk about it. Dave was new in town, and missing his best friend, so he latched onto Evan quickly. He started to incorporate parts of Evan’s style into his own, adorning himself with punk and new-wave iconography and patches.

Evan Settler, real name Evan Keen, was a guitarist, but he played keyboard in a Talking Heads cover band. He was always pretty good on the keys, even if he thought that his real strength was on the strings. He was well-liked by the fans of the group, being the bombastic frontman, but always wished that he’d played folk guitar like his heroes. Amid the patches and iron-ons on his denim vest, he wore political slogans, praising whatever movement was popular that week. Evan’s career was well on its way, but he always wished he could be in the Neil Young cover band with Jeff Jones.

Jeff Jones was a tall, lanky individual with long, shaggy black hair. His style was worlds away from Evan’s; he wore earthy tones and Dylan sunglasses, and played laid-back folk guitar. He was at a point in his life where he was finally starting to get noticed. In fact, he had been shipped up to Toronto to perform for a record exec and won a contract. His supporters back home cried foul, including Evan Settler, but Jones had learned from the best on the mainland, and was looking up to his new mentor, Simon Genial.

Simon Genial, real name Simon Couchepain, was a studio producer from Montreal. He’d been in a few bands in his youth, none of which ever got any further than playing the side stage at the festivals. So, like many other failed musicians, he turned to the studio where he started to churn out hits for young artists. He knew how to tweak a guitar to really capture that live sound, and the album he mastered for Jeff Jones was already starting to hear major play on college radio stations. However, he was still in the shadow of the master, the mega-star producer, the millionaire, Jim Shaw.

Jim Shaw was a star, especially to himself. He thought of himself as a “hit-maker”, and would often walk around his company’s studio giving advice to budding artists. He had a wife, a house and two adorable little toddlers running about his mansion. He would work long hours at the studio where he would occasionally see his personnel manager, and they’d fuck on the mixer. He always regretted it. He sometimes wished it could be easier, wished that he could go back to living in the woods and being able to see the stars. One day, when coming in for a landing on his private jet, he saw some farmland being tended by a 20-something young man named George Peterson, and for a moment, wished he was him.

George Peterson, birth name George Naethaniel Washington, was a young man drafted into farmwork by his father, Pete. He was a smart boy despite his upbringing and he loved to take the train into the city to watch films, get drunk, and listen to music. Often he frequented a dingy bar downtown where no one would give him trouble, and where he could listen to the music that his father hated; George was really tired of his father repeating that Jeff Jones EP. One night he was excited to see that there was someone new, a Talking Heads cover band, so he stayed and listened. He noticed the large revolver-shaped belt buckle on the bassist. He liked it, so he bought one the next day.