Dissonance (Country Roads #3) - Chapter 1

I was running late, as usual.

Ever since I signed my music contract, my life seemed to be speeding up to the point where I couldn’t really control it anymore. There were times I almost missed being just a high school student who played music on the weekends.

Here it was, the beginning of summer, and I spent the last two weeks either on phone calls with my new manager or someone from the label, working on new songs and practicing the ones we already had with the band, or sleeping.

It wasn’t all bad. I did get to spend every day working on music, which was my favorite thing in the world. Plus, my two best friends, Hanna Phillips and Kathrine Moore, were there with me every day, so it wasn’t like my life was on hold or anything. I just think I’d like to have a little time to sit on a porch with my friends and bullshit, instead of always having to constantly prepare for the next thing.

“Bye Mom,” I said as I rushed through the kitchen of our small trailer on my way out the door.

“Not so fast,” she said, her tone pulling me up sharp.

“I’m running late. I’m supposed to be at Mr. French’s in fifteen-minutes for rehearsals. You know we have to be in Raleigh to start recording in like ten days, and we’re not even close to being ready.”

“You still have time to eat breakfast. I called to check in yesterday and Hanna told me you had the band play through lunch yesterday and the day before, and she’s just as worried about you as I am. You need to eat something if you’re going to have the energy to keep up with this pace. Besides, we’ve barely said two words to each other all week, and I want to hear how things are going.”

I looked at the table, back to the door, then went and sat down. I was running late, but that’s because I liked to be there the whole time the band was setting up. Partly because I liked everyone and enjoyed spending time with them, but mostly because I felt it was my responsibility. Although I’d made sure we all got paid the same, the actual contract had been made for me alone, with the stipulation that I could include them in any project. I didn’t want them to think just because my name was the one on the contract that I somehow thought I was above doing the work of setting things up or taking stuff down again. I knew they didn’t think that, or at least I think they didn’t, but that didn’t keep my inner paranoia from worrying that I might give them any indication that I thought I was somehow better than the rest of them.

I could eat quickly and still make it there before they’d gotten very far in setting up. During the year we’d set up in the Blue Ridge, a restaurant and bar we’d been playing at since the beginning of spring, to practice in the afternoon between their lunch and dinner rushes, but we’d had to move once we decided to get more intensive. Chef, my mentor and the reason I’d been able to get my start in music in the first place, still had to serve lunch, which meant we’d had to find a place to practice. The whole band had agreed that we needed as much time as we could get before we headed to Raleigh to record our first record. Thankfully, my high school choir teacher who was also one of my other mentors, had a garage he didn’t mind us using as long as we took our instruments with us when we were done, so he could park his car in it again.

“It’s going okay. We’ve got enough songs to fill an album plus a few extras, just in case the studio says there are some they want to cut, but we’re not ready to do them for real yet. Mr. French keeps saying that’s what a producer will help us do, tighten up the songs and get them radio-ready, but I want them as tight as we can make them before we show up.”

“Just be careful you aren’t trying to overdo it. Your father used to say being a perfectionist was the main reason he never made it big.”

“Was this before or after he stabbed someone in a bar,” I said, my tone going flat the way it did anytime he came up in conversation.

“Don’t be like that Charlie. I know you’re mad at him, and you know I feel the same, but when it came to the music business, he did know what he was talking about. He was the one who taught you how to play the guitar.”

“In between bouts of drinking, sure. And then he went and stabbed a guy, went to jail, and left us drifting in the wind, with you having to hold down two full-time jobs just to keep our bills paid.”

“All of which is beside the point. I think he was right about trying to do too much, make your music too perfect. There’s a point you take the energy out of it. One of the things people love about your music is the way it makes them feel. You have to make sure you don’t lose that. Has Mr. French had anything to say about it?”

“Uhhh … no,” I said, lying.

She gave me a look and I said, “Okay, yes. He said something very similar. He thought we might be fine-tuning Country Roads a little too much.

“See. If you don’t want to listen to your dear old mother, listen to him. I know you’re excited. I just want to make sure you keep your head on straight and make good decisions.”

“I will,” I said, and saw an opportunity for something I’d been putting off for several days. “Thinking of making good decisions, I actually have something to ask you.”

Mom gave me one of her patented stares, clearly seeing through my charade. I was, however, already too far in to back out now.

“You remember how well spring break went? Where we got through the week meeting all of our obligations and made it back home, safe and sound with no one ending up in jail?”

“Yes, although I’d suggest that’s a pretty low bar for success.”

“Well, most of that trip Hanna was the only person over eighteen years old. I was thinking …”

“No. I told you someone would have to be there to chaperone everything, and I meant it.”

“I get it, and I understand why you’d insist on that, but we’ve tried everyone. You have to work and can’t disappear for two months, Mr. French has summer school, Chef has the restaurant, and Mrs. Phillips has to work … I could keep going, but you get the point. Two months is a long time and there’s no one that can take that much time off. This is my one big chance, and I don’t want to blow it. We can’t tell them ‘ohh, we need to postpone till we can find a chaperone.’ We agreed to all of this when we signed the contract, and it’s not like I will be constantly unsupervised. While we’re in the studio, I’ll be staying at Hanna’s aunt’s house with Hanna and Kat and once we’re on the road, we’re going to be so busy I won’t have time to get into trouble. Besides, we’ll have the manager the label is assigning to us, so there will be another adult present. I just need someone we trust to sign documents for me and check us into hotels and stuff. We don’t know this manager, but we do know Hanna and I trust her.”

“I don’t want it to sound like I don’t trust you, but you’re sixteen. I know what these clubs are like and what kind of things goes on backstage. You know your father …”

“Is nothing like me. Do I drink? No. Do I do drugs? No. I saw what that sh… uhh, stuff did to him, and I’m not going to become a drunk like him. I’m there for the music, and it’s all I want. You let us go to Raleigh and the beach for a week, and everything was fine. You didn’t get one call that something bad had happened. Sure, I sometimes make bad decisions, but not about this kind of thing. I need you to trust me.”

Mom looked at me hard, weighing the decision.

For a second, I thought she was going to still say no, which would basically end my chances to get my fledgling music career off the ground, until she finally sighed and said, “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But … I expect a check-in call every single day. I am trusting you here. Remember you still have two more years of being a minor and needing my permission to go off and do these things. School comes first, and anything you do that will get in the way of finishing school will get this all shut down. I know this is your dream, but you’re still very young and I won’t let you sacrifice your future. You can always make another go of it when you’re older.”

I put down my fork and hugged her hard, “Thank you. Thank you. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

She kissed me on the forehead and then held me out at arm’s length, a much less stern expression on her face.

“You’re a good kid, Charlie. Don’t let all of this stuff go to your head. Remember who you are and where you came from, and you’ll be okay.”

“I will. I also really have to go,” I said, looking at the door to the trailer.

Mom looked over at my plate, which apparently met with her approval, because she let go of me and said, “Go.”

I hugged her again and was out the door.

***

“Look who decided to join us,” Marco said as I walked into Mr. French’s garage.

I flipped him off, causing him to laugh. Although we’d been practicing nearly every weekend for months, this last week we’d spent almost every waking hour together practicing and writing music, and it had really started to bring us together.

“Sorry, my mom wanted to talk to me,” I said, putting my guitar on its stand and plugging it up to the amps they’d already set up.

“Did you ask her?” Hanna said, stopping her work setting up Seth’s drum kit.

“Yep. She said okay, although I have to check in with her every day.”

“Yes,” Hanna said, pumping her fist.

“Sweet,” Kat added. “This summer is going to be so great.”

“Just remember we’re there to work. I want this album to be really good and the number of shows we have scheduled is pretty intense.”

“We can play a little though, right?” Lyla asked.

Lyla was our bass player and a notorious hound dog. In the four months I’d known her, I’d counted six women who’d reached the level of girlfriend, plus mentions for numerous other one-night stands. She liked to party hard.

“Sure, as long as we keep our eye on the prize. If we’re going out until late every night, we won’t be able to do what we need to do in the studio. This is our one chance, guys.”

“She’s joking,” Marco said, and then paused, giving Lyla a side-eye. “Probably.”

Lyla followed my lead and flipped him off.

“Okay, so where were we,” Seth asked, sitting down behind his now assembled drum kit.

“I was thinking about what Mr. French said last night when we were packing up. I think we’ve made too many changes to Country Roads. Can we go through it a few times like it was, dropping the harder sound we tried to add?”

No one objected, so we went back to the way we’d been playing it on weekends at the Blue Ridge, the restaurant and bar where I got my start. Hearing the song as we had been playing it, I realized that Mr. French was right. I wasn’t sure how we’d actually ended up with the higher intensity, more poppy version of the song by the end of the day yesterday. Maybe it had been the incremental changes that made it hard to notice, but hearing it now versus what we were playing the night before, the difference was stark.

Country Roads was about finding yourself through adversity and finding the people to help you discover yourself, and it worked much better as a slower song. Too slow would have been just as bad, so a ballad wouldn’t have ever worked, but it was definitely more at home as pop-country rather than something harder.

“You’re right,” Hanna said. “I like that a lot better.”

“Really? I still like the new version more,” Marco said.

“I agree with Hanna,” Lyla said, giving Hanna a wink.

Lyla knew Hanna was straight, but she enjoyed teasing her, since she was guaranteed a reaction every time. As if on cue, Hanna frowned and gave Lyla a look telling her to knock it off.

“Seriously though, it fits the lyrics more this way. It just doesn’t work as well when we upped the tempo.”

“Shouldn’t we keep our eye on what we want the record to be, though? Right now, it’s all over the place. We’ve got pop sounds, country sounds, and rock sounds. People are going to be confused as hell by this thing.”

“We should,” I said. “But we shouldn’t choose marketing at the expense of the music. Besides, there are a lot of albums where the sound changes. Look at Sonic Generation. It’s mostly pop/dance stuff, but they have some slower ballads on there, and it works. They’ve even got that one song that has no synth in it at all, which for them is a miracle, and they’re still the second bestselling album right now. People like good music. As long as we get the songs in the right order, it’ll work.”

“I still think our stuff is all over the place,” Marco said, a little unhappy that no one was taking his side.

“My suggestion is to look at each song as it is, and get it to the place you’re happiest with,” Hanna said. “Worry about the rest of it next week when we get into the studio. Your producer will help put that together in a way that makes sense as a complete sound and will have suggestions for you. I mean, the studio’s taking more of each record than you guys get, so make them earn their pay.”

“I guess,” Marco said, but everyone else nodded their agreement, which meant he was outvoted.

We played for three hours, making sure we took the time to go back and look at the changes we’d made so far, just in case we’d gone too far on more than just Country Roads.Thankfully, most of the changes had been positive and we only had to roll back one other change to Hush.

“So, are you guys all set for next week?” I asked as we took a break to eat lunch.

“Yep,” Seth said. “We found an apartment we … could sublet for one month, since the owner was moving and still had a month left on their lease. It’s longer than we actually need it for, but it’s way cheaper than staying in a hotel.”

“All three of you are staying there?” Kat asked.

“Yep. It’s a one-bedroom, so it’ll be cramped, but I figure we’ll be at the studio most of the time, so it won’t matter.”

“Who gets the bedroom?” I asked.

“She does,” Marco said, jerking his thumb at Lyla. “They agreed to leave behind two couches if we threw them out when we were done, so we’ll both be sleeping on the couches.”

“Lucky her,” Kat said. “Why didn’t the guys share the bedroom and Lyla sleep out on the couch?”

“Because I’m the only one likely to get lucky while we’re there,” Lyla said with a grin.

She wasn’t wrong. Lyla had just broken up with her latest conquest/girlfriend, so she’d be on the prowl again, and we’d all seen her success ratio, even in smaller towns like Wellsville.

I was about to make some kind of snide comment when Mr. French walked into the garage, pulling everyone’s attention.

“Hey,” I said. “I thought you were getting ready for summer school.”

“I was, but I have some really exciting news that I couldn’t wait to share,” he said.

I was about to ask what that was, when Rowan walked into the garage behind him.

Rowan was an up-and-coming producer who’d already worked on some big-name projects, including Hanna’s favorite singer Linda Chapman’s newest album. He and Mr. French were old friends, and he’d helped me a few times, giving me pointers when he was in town visiting. He’d also been instrumental in getting me my record contract. On top of all of that, he was a really great guy, so I was happy about the unexpected visit.

“Hey,” I said, hopping up and shaking his hand. “What are you doing here? Last I heard you were still in L.A. working on House of Grace’s newest release.”

“We finished up on Friday. I called Kevin to find out about your progress, and we got to talking about your upcoming recording session, and he pointed out that I was kind of at loose ends, since the gig I had coming up got rescheduled. He thought maybe I should think about coming out here and seeing if you wanted me to work on your record, since I was available.”

“That’d be awesome,” I said, and then stopped to think about the offer. “But would the studio pay your rates? I mean, from what I’ve read on the internet recently, you’re becoming the go-to guy for some really big names, and this is my first record. I’d hate for you to take a pay cut just to help me out.”

“I was thinking I’d tell them I’d be willing to take union minimums with a little more on the back end, as long as they gave us creative freedom and I didn’t get notes from the label execs.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. I read an article in Drumbeat last week that says you might be up for a Grammy this year, after your work on Linda’s album. That kind of buzz has to make you really sought after. Hell, you probably have groups offering to back dump trucks full of money at your front door to get you to come work for them.”

Although there were a lot of magazines that covered music, Drumbeat was the one that looked the most at the actual industry instead of just the music it produced. I’d started reading it around the time Mr. French told me about the possibility of getting a record label scout out to see us play, and I’d kept reading it after I got my contract.

While most of the stuff in it didn’t really apply to me, at least not yet, I wanted to keep up on what was happening in the industry. My current contract might have been small and the promised marketing only regional, but I want this to be just the start of my music career, and I wanted to be ready when I took that next leap.

“I’m not sure about dump trucks, but yeah, Afterlife is doing really well. But you’ll notice I offered to produce the record for you. You didn’t ask. If a record sells well, the back end is always worth a lot more than whatever upfront payments are made, and it also means less risk on the labels part, as long as the percentage isn’t too high. You’re a rare talent Charlie, and I’m willing to put my money, or at least what I could otherwise be paid, that one day you’re going to hit it big and people will be out there looking for your ‘old stuff.’ So, while I think you’re great and I’d love to work with you, this isn’t charity or a favor. I think, long term, this kind of thing will make me a mint.”

“Well, when you put it like that, how could I say no? What do you think guys?” I said, looking over at my bandmates.

Even though most of the deals were in my name, I really wanted to make sure the other three were included in every decision and got an equal share of everything. The record label might think of me as the frontman or whatever, but I knew how invaluable having my bandmates with me was, and that my music would suck if they didn’t help me shape it into what it finally became.

Seth and Marco kind of mumbled their agreement. Both of them had gone dead silent when Rowan had walked in the door, a little awed that a guy they’d seen on red carpets at the Grammys was standing in the garage we were using to practice. I’d had the luxury of meeting him informally and even spending time with him before I really knew who he was, so for me, he was just Mr. French’s friend who offered me pointers and tips. Even though they’d met him briefly once before, they’d both been too awed to really say much. It hadn’t helped that he’d been there with Linda Chapman and the two had arranged a music scout, who through a series of unexpected events we had missed playing an audition for, to come back out and hear us.

Lyla was, as always, the exception.

“That’d be bitchin',” she said with a grin.

Rowan didn’t really know her, since they only ever met the one time, but he took her in stride. I was pretty sure he had no idea what he was in for.

“I guess that settles it. If the studio agrees, we’d love to have you. I haven’t really talked to our new manager they assigned us yet, so I don’t really know who I should call or talk to about setting that up, though.”

“Don’t worry about that part. Your rep and your manager are going to be two different people, and since they both are being assigned to you from the label, you probably won’t meet your manager until right before you head out to tour. Either way, neither of them has the ability to make any agreements. I know the people I need to actually talk to for anything to happen. I’ll take care of that part.”

“That’s great. I’m still a little lost in dealing with all this stuff. I really appreciate the offer to help and I promise we’ll try and live up to your expectations.”

“It’s no problem, and I have no doubt you will. You know, I was talking to Linda on the plane ride back, after we heard you all play, and she made a comment about a part of one of your songs she really liked. I realized that what she was talking about was one of the suggestions I’d given you early on, that you’d run with and made your own. The way you both took the suggestion, but didn’t blindly just do exactly as I said, and instead found a way to do it that still sounded like you, was one of the reasons I really want to work with you for real. It’s hard to find talent, but it’s even harder to find someone able to actually take advice and criticism and turn it into a workable project. As long as you keep doing that, I think everything will work out.”

“I will,” I said.