The Beatles—Future Perfect, Part 14

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Year 1969—Captured Magic

Xap and Julian were relieved by the arrival of Ray, who had used his connections to ensure that local deputies kept a close eye on the rental homes during their routine rounds. Things finally felt normal again, and the days began to whiz by; the creativity was off the charts as everyone prepared for the upcoming WOOD concert.

George and Future Perfect revealed "My Sweet Lord," "Here Comes the Sun," and "Behind That Locked Door" for John and Paul—the tracks meant for George's portion of the WOOD concert in San Francisco.

Those songs seemed to trigger a fierce competitive spirit in John and Paul. Within a week, they wrote three completely new tracks, bearing almost no trace of anything they'd done before.

George revealed another new song he'd been working on. "It's not right for WOOD, but I'd like your help with it." To everyone's surprise, the classic Bacharach effect had indeed surfaced. He looked up, matter-of-factly. "Zack, I don't have the range for this. I'd like you to try it."

He handed Zack the lyric sheet, then turned to Maya. "Maya, I used a slight variation of those chord voicings you showed me."

He picked up his guitar to demonstrate, laying down the sequence: Dmaj7 / C#7(b9) / F#m7 / B13—a languid, funky groove settling in just over 80 BPM. "Play that for me."

She began, and Kyle quickly filled in the beat behind her. Zack joined in, laying down a simple, tight run on the tic-tac bass. Once they locked into the groove, George picked out the vocal melody on his guitar and gestured to the sheet.

Zack took a breath and leaned into it, instantly proving why George had chosen him. His voice cut through with a deep, soulful resonance:

Running 'round in circles,

Trying to find a way.

Chasing down tomorrow

Before you've lived today.

You're looking for a truth

You'll never find,

Until you clear the chatter

From your mind.

They stayed on the progression for a long time, letting the loop ride as George floated over the top, searching his fretboard for melodic hooks.

Chloe asked for the title.

George smiled. "Serenely Funky." He paused, letting the thought settle, then added, "Yeah. That works."

During this time, Julian, Kiran, and Xap had been commuting to San Francisco, meeting with George Lucas, whose star had risen dramatically after the Apollo film. Lucas was excited about the WOOD project; he wanted to "capture intimacy" in front of an audience utterly unaware of who they were about to see. His vision was to build expectation from the performers' side, capturing the anticipation in Tahoe right up until the unsuspecting audience filed into the venue.

Four days later, the time for WOOD had arrived. The recording truck was parked out back, and film cameras—both mounted and handheld—were positioned throughout the hall.

Friends, film students, and an assorted guest list were ushered in. The stage held guitars, a fiddle, the tic-tac bass, percussion, a snare with brushes, a high-hat, a mandolin, and a lap steel. As the lights dimmed, Chloe stepped out. A fair portion of the audience immediately recognized her from the Apollo film and reacted enthusiastically.

Chloe motioned for silence. "I'm Chloe, from Future Perfect," she said, signaling no applause. "We're ready to perform, but the audio truck needs another twenty minutes. We ask for your understanding; we'll see you soon."

Future Perfect, Xap, Julian, and Kiran huddled in a back room with George. Kyle sighed. "When we lost the tether, it felt so strange, yet now... this feels like home." Maya was full of adrenaline. "I can't wait to get out there. How about you, George?"

In that instant, Kiran exclaimed, "The tether is back! Do you feel it!?"

Xap grabbed George's arm in a panic. "No matter what, don't let anyone in this room. Promise me, George."

George looked perplexed, but nodded. "Yes, okay, okay." A sign of relief escaped Xap, and within five seconds, all seven of them collapsed onto the floor. George shook them, but they were lifeless. He yearned to scream for help, but he checked himself.

In that instant, all seven awoke in the CCE transition room. The space was filled with friends and coworkers looking on expectantly. Xap scanned the crowd and found the director, who was beaming, awaiting recognition for having restored the CCE.

Xap thundered, "Everyone except me goes back immediately!" He looked at the six. "I will be here for a few minutes. Kiran, make up a plausible excuse for my loss of consciousness." He then looked deeply into the eyes of Zack, Chloe, Kyle, and then held on Maya, "Play like their world depends upon you."

Twenty seconds later, the six began regaining consciousness in the back room at the venue. Their first image was George, looking white as a ghost.

They stepped onto the stage to a deafening roar. Maya, sensing the electric energy of the hall, spotted a young man in the front row. As George Lucas had promised her, there he sat—Carlos Santana, with his conga player. Maya knew that in the original timeline, Carlos was a local hero, but unknown nationally until Woodstock—she had had an idea.

She caught his eye and beckoned him up. "Carlos, you two come up!"

Carlos was clearly not expecting this, but he was up in a heartbeat. The crowd went wild as he and his percussionist climbed onto the stage. Maya handed him a spare guitar. "You know Coltrane's version of 'Afro Blue'?" she asked. Carlos winked and smiled, his eyes lighting up. They launched into a high-energy, blistering acoustic version that brought the house down.

After the show, Carlos cornered Maya and Chloe backstage, "In two hours we doing our late show at the Fillmore West," imploringly, "please come." Maya winked at Chloe knowingly, "ride with us, we're got our gear in the trunk of the limo."

Inside the Fillmore, the air was thick with sweat, patchouli, and the low, resonant thrum of cranked Marshall stacks. Bill Graham—eyes wide as Ray uncased the guitars in the wings—personally cleared a path to the stage.

The drummers began the iconic beat of "Soul Sacrifice" as Kyle took a spot with them and immediately brought fire. Zack came out with a roadie and plugged in his bass and began the iconic opening riff, Carlos and his band were taken aback that they even knew of the song, looking at each other in disbelief. Maya extending her arm, offered an open hand to Carlos to start.

From the side of the stage, John, Paul, and George, watched in stunned silence as Carlos launched into the hyper-driven, polyrhythmic pulse of "Soul Sacrifice."

Maya's Gibson was plugged straight into a driven Fender Twin that hissed with raw voltage. Beside her, Chloe locked into the intricate latin-jazz syncopations with effortless precision, trading rhythm patterns with Kyle and Santana's percussionists like she'd played the circuit for years. When Maya leaned into her first lead break, bending a high note until it screamed over the Hammond organ swells, Carlos looked back at her and laughed out loud in pure, ecstatic disbelief.

The performance at the Fillmore West was not just a concert; it was an intersection. By the time they finished the improvised set, that included lots of jazz and blues standards like "Impressions," "My Favorite Things," "Work Song," "Boom, Boom," the atmosphere in the room had shifted from a standard club gig to something akin to a spiritual event. Bill Graham stood in the wings, watching the way the crowd—a mix of weathered street people, art students, and seasoned jazz heads—had ceased moving as individuals and begun to sway as one.

Carlos Santana, dripping with sweat and beaming, didn't want the night to end, but the band knew the limit. As the house lights flickered, signaling the end of the show, John, Paul, George, and Ringo finally moved out of the shadows of the wings and onto the stage.

The roar that erupted was not for a famous band, but for the sheer impossibility of the alignment. Maya, Zack, Chloe, and Kyle turned their backs to the audience and joined in the applause. Carlos simply stood back, hands on his hips, grinning as this magical impossibility unfolded.

In the back of the venue, Xap, Julian Kiran stood together, imagining the telemetry. The 2092 connection was clearly holding firm. Julian looked at Xap with utter sincerity, "Can you feel it, the resonance field is so dense—like it's beginning to warp the edges of the room."

Xap didn't take his eyes off the stage, "Kiran, is Santana truly here?"

Kiran, normally composed, burst out laughing and shook his head. "That guy is here, all right—but he brought there with him."

Maya caught Xap's eye. She didn't look like a musician who had just finished a show. She looked like a woman who had just realized that the dream she had been living was actually a wider reality than the one she had left behind.

The house lights surged to full brightness. The audience, still reeling, remained pinned to the floor, waiting for something, anything else.

The Fillmore West was no longer a venue. This night it was a bridge. And for the first time in his life, Xap had stopped trying to manage the outcome and simply let the music play.

George Lucus, with a hand held camera, captured his expression, and thought to himself, "My God, I've captured magic."