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Late July 1982 – Rehearsal Space, San Francisco
The room was hot, loud, and reeking of sweat and beer. The band was halfway through a punishing run of The Mechanix — the guitars snarling like chainsaws, the drums snapping like firecrackers.
Lars called for a pause between takes. "Let's go again, from the top!"
Before anyone could count in, Cliff spoke up, his fingers still resting on the strings of his Rickenbacker.
"You ever think about slowing that mid-section?" he asked, casual, but clear. "Gives the riff more weight."
Dave looked up from tuning his guitar, expression unreadable. "It's fast because it needs to be fast."
Cliff shrugged. "Speed's cool, but sometimes contrast hits harder."
James was sitting on a cracked amp, towel around his neck, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. He glanced between them. "I dunno, man. Cliff might have a point. Letting it breathe could make the ending slam harder."
Dave set his guitar down with a thud. "It's my song. Been playing it this way since before any of us met."
The silence that followed was tight, like the air had been pulled out of the room.
James leaned forward. "Yeah, but we're a band now. We evolve things."
Dave shook his head. "You don't 'evolve' a bullet. You fire it."
Lars gave a half-laugh, trying to defuse it. "Okay, okay — we're not rearranging the damn Constitution. Let's just run it again and then talk changes."
They played it one more time, faster than ever, but something was off. Cliff was holding back. James was thinking more than playing. Even Lars seemed to lose his usual fire.
When the last note rang out, no one cheered or nodded.
Just silence.
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Later That Night – James and Cliff Outside
The gear was packed. Lars and Dave had driven off. James and Cliff stood under a streetlight near the van, smoking.
James leaned against the side panel. "You were right, you know."
Cliff raised an eyebrow.
"About the riff. About needing space. It'd sound massive if it had just a second to settle before the blast."
Cliff took a long drag, then let the smoke drift upward. "We'll get there. Just not with him leading every decision."
James didn't answer right away. He kicked a loose beer cap down the gutter.
Cliff added, "He's a hell of a player, no doubt. But sometimes he plays like he's the only one in the room."
James nodded, slowly. "For now, we ride it out."
Cliff flicked his cigarette. "For now."
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