Soul Music

small, distant world of his own. “With a song. ‘ Sioni Bod Da ,’ it was. I worked on it alll winter. Alll about…home, you know. And going away, see? And trees and things. The judges were…very plllleased. They said that in fifty years I might realllly understand music.”
    He pulled the harp toward him.

    Dibbler pushed his way through the rabble of musicians backstage until he found Asphalt.
    “Well?” he said. “Where are they?”
    “They’re just sitting around talking, Mr. Dibbler.”
    “Listen,” said Dibbler. “You hear the crowd? It’s Music With Rocks In they want! If they don’t get it…they’d just better get it, all right? Letting the anticipation build up is all very well but… I want them onstage right now! ”

    Buddy stared at his fingers. Then he looked up, white faced, at the other bands milling around.
    “You…with the guitar…” he said hoarsely.
    “Me, sir?”
    “Give it to me!”
    Every nascent group in Ankh-Morpork was in awe of The Band With Rocks In. The guitarist handed his instrument over with the expression of one passing over a holy item to be blessed.
    Buddy stared at it. It was one of Mr. Wheedown’s best.
    He struck a chord.
    The sound sounded like lead would sound if you could make guitar strings out of it.
    “Okay, boys, what’s the problem?” said Dibbler, hurrying toward them. “There’s six thousand ears out there waiting to be filled up with music and you’re still sitting around?”
    Buddy handed the guitar back to the musician and swung his own instrument around on its strap. He played a few notes that seemed to twinkle in the air.
    “But I can play this ,” he said. “Oh, yes.”
    “Right, good, now get up there and play it,” said Dibbler.
    “Someone else give me a guitar!”
    Musicians fell over themselves to hand them to him. He strummed frantically at a couple. But the notes weren’t simply flat. Flat would have been an improvement.

    The Musicians’ Guild contingent had managed to secure an area close to the stage by the simple expedient of hitting any encroachers very hard.
    Mr. Clete scowled at the stage.
    “I don’t understand,” he said. “It’s rubbish. It’s all the same. It’s just noise. What’s so good about it?”
    Satchelmouth, who had twice had to stop himself tapping his feet, said, “We haven’t had the main band yet. Er. Are you sure you want to—”
    “We’re within our rights,” said Clete. He looked around at the shouting people. “There’s a hot dog seller over there. Anyone else fancy a hot dog? Hot dog?” The Guild men nodded. “Hot dog? Right. That’s three hot d—”
    The audience cheered. It wasn’t the way that an audience normally applauds, with it starting at one point and rippling outward, but all at once, every single mouth opening at the same time.
    Cliff had knuckled onto the stage. He sat down behind his rocks and looked desperately back toward the wings.
    Glod trailed on, blinking in the lights.
    And that seemed to be it. The dwarf turned and said something which was lost in the noise, and then stood looking awkward while the cheers gradually subsided.
    Buddy came on, staggering slightly as if he’d been pushed.
    Up until then Mr. Clete had thought the crowd were yelling. And then he realized that it had been a mere murmur of approval compared to what was happening now.
    It went on and on while the boy stood there, head bowed.
    “But he’s not doing anything,” Clete shouted into Satchelmouth’s ear. “Why’re they all cheering him for not doing anything?”
    “Can’t say, sir,” said Satchelmouth.
    He looked around at the glistening, staring, hungry faces, feeling like an atheist who has wandered into Holy Communion.
    The applause went on. It redoubled again when Buddy slowly raised his hands to the guitar.
    “He’s not doing anything !” screamed Clete.
    “He’s got us bang to rights, sir,” Satchelmouth bellowed. “He’s not guilty of playing without belonging to the Guild if he doesn’t play!”
    Buddy looked up.
    He stared at the audience so intently that Clete craned to see what it was the wretched boy was staring at.
    It was nothing. There was a patch of it right in front of the stage. People were packed tight everywhere else but there, right in front of the stage, was a little area of cleared grass. It seemed to rivet Buddy’s attention.
    “Uh-huh-huh…”
    Clete rammed his hands over his ears but the force of the cheering made his head echo.
    And