The Mechanic - inspired by Florence + the Machine

I'm a first-time author whose science fiction novel was recently published on Amazon - "The Mechanic”. The band plays a huge role in the final chapter of the book and was a source of inspiration in my writing overall.

Excerpt from the final chapter by author Jon Austin

A few more seconds of anticipatory silence was shattered by the first ethereal notes of a harp, prompting a roar of excitement from the crowd, each string strike part of an instantly familiar cascade signaling where the band was headed.

Spots came up on Florence Welch. Fixed in those spears of light, her presence was commanding and somehow otherworldly. When she began to sing, her voice—an instrument that ranged from raw to rich, full of both power and vulnerability—cut through the air like wind. She prowled the stage as if hunting something, her long red hair flowing, her body in sync with the driving beat of the song. Her voice embraced each word long enough to invest it with hope, longing, sadness, endurance and, above all, euphoria.

The crowd was pulled along by the gathering intensity. Welch wasn’t singing; she was conjuring and the lyrics were an invocation, a summoning of joyful energy from the universe. The Machine was tight and precise at her back, carving an acoustic landscape for Florence to do her work.

Florence does her job as well as any front woman since Joplin took possession of the 1967 Monterey festival. She led the song into its slow bridge, banking the crowd’s energy for what was yet to come. She locked eyes with the crowd and grinned mischievously. The band kept the beat while she asked everyone to put away their devices and be fully present. She raised her arms and counted down: “One, two, one, two, three, FOUR!”

And then she leaped and pulled the audience upward with her. She willed the crowd—including everyone in the Playpen—into the air. The house trembled, the energy of the experience swirling around them, joyous and unstoppable.

In that moment, the song became more than a performance; it was a release, a shared exhalation. Welch was leading them through a cleansing, a celebration of survival and of life itself. Each jump was a defiance. Of gravity, of restrictions, of the body’s limits. For a few sublime seconds, everyone was free.