“Trevor will be right down,” she said, and now her accent did sound more noticeably foreign. I said thank you, and I went and stood by the window, thinking of Tristan’s warning. Not the friendliest of places, and not for the first time I wondered why so many people in the music business wanted to be as off putting as possible. Strange, I thought. You’d imagine they were all happy people, hanging out, listening to music, going to concerts, doing a little work. But it’s a business, the business of cool. Which means it’s all a facade. I was just typing the idea into my phone, thinking it might come in handy some time, when the door swung open, almost like they did in those old vampire films, like the door was on strings, and in walked Trevor. I knew him instantly, from the pictures, but I was still taken aback. He moved very stiffly and precisely, and he was tall—maybe even taller than Tristan—and dressed in what appeared to be an expensive French suit. He wore glasses, designer grey metal, almost frameless, very severe, like his short grey hair, styled and coarse. He had the appearance of a gallery owner. Instead of the slick bouncer look—banker with ponytail on holiday via the mafia—that so many of the music folk affected, Trevor looked elegant, unconcerned, cold cool. One would notice him without knowing why. Nothing screamed out “I’m in the music industry! Can’t you tell?” Instead he gave off a slightly intimidating aura. He turned towards me, and smiled. I was reminded of the Dracula movies again, but I found him oddly fascinating. His nose was from a statue of a Roman emperor, and his eyes were slightly empty, like a shark. He peered down at me from his height, and his eyes narrowed. I had the impression he had heard my thoughts, and his expression was hardly welcoming.
Then he spoke, with a voice that was both trained and polished. Another surprise. Sharks are silent. But this one had made sure that when he did break the silence, his voice was a weapon, a warning bell that sounded out before him, alerting you to the danger you were already in. I already felt like I was being swallowed up. But just as I figured I really was in too deep, water was over my head, I flashed on Tristan’s text—don’t take his shit—and suddenly I was breathing again. I didn’t have to like it, but I could survive it. Maybe even better than that.
I stuck out my hand, half expecting his to be ice cold. It wasn’t, just a little dry and dusty, a light covering of hair. His skin transmitted an odd feeling. “I’m Lily Taylor. Nice to meet you.”
“Of course. I know who you are. Your reputation, in all things, precedes you.” He looked at me quizzically. I should have had some witty comeback, but I had nothing. Perhaps that was better. He indicated the door at the back of the office. “Let’s go upstairs, and we can talk.” Said the spider to the fly, I thought. His voice cut through the atmosphere again, but he was speaking to short shorts woman. “Alina, bring us up some tea please.” She responded curtly, and walked in front of him, heading off to what must be a kitchen. I wondered if he slept with her. Power was power.
He turned to me. “Come.” And I followed him out of the green carpeted office, and up the stairs, which went up to an ugly landing, then turned. The spectacle that greeted me as we rounded the turn in the stairs was surprising. There were gold and platinum records in neat frames lining the perfectly painted bisque walls. The carpet was wool, and red, and plush, made to cradle your feet as you climbed. Once at the top, the sliding cream painted wooden doors were open, giving way to a large room, with three sets of windows that ran nearly floor to ceiling, and a chandelier dangling over a mahogany desk, whose curved legs sank slightly into an oriental rug. There were two yellow silk covered wing chairs, placed at an angle, facing the desk, and it was towards one of these that Trevor waved a long arm, the suit jacket moving up slightly to expose a fine, neat white cuff, and a miniature guitar cufflink, a small diamond where the volume control would be, a ruby at the head stock. A bit tacky, very revealing, and I felt myself relax a little as I sat down.
Trevor was looking at me, expectantly. Oh, ok, I was to begin. A chess match. Fine. And so the wary circling begins, I thought. “Do you mind if I record our conversation? It will help me fill in any gaps and check on my recollections of points we raise.”
“Did your legal department give you that speech, or did you make it up all by yourself?” Trevor looked down at me. The first rocket launch. And the fight was on. I wondered if he would just go this route for a while to satisfy himself, or if the whole interview would be like this.
“I’m sure they’d agree. But I’m happy to write notes, if you’re happy for me to rely on them.”
“If you’re competent,” he snapped.
“You’ll tell that from the article.”
His voice became a silky threat. “No, I intend to decide that much sooner, Miss Taylor.”
We glared at each other for a moment and then I smiled at him. He’s a little too aggressive, I thought. Didn’t really go with the suit. Must be part of the house of horrors act. So let’s get him talking about himself. God knows everyone loves that.
“So, Trevor—may I call you Trevor? What in your background led you to the business?”
“I thought we were focusing on Devised here, not me. The Guardian just did a piece on me a few years ago. You should have read it.” He turned away slightly, almost inviting me to end the interview. But I wasn’t letting this one go. Oh no. He’d have to try harder than that to get rid of me.
“I did read it. And I thought how neo-left wing of them to brush over your background. Perhaps that worked during a Labour government, some lovely notion of equality. Now that things have changed, perhaps your deprived past, given a lift by grammar schools, might be of more interest. A reminder, if you like, that all talent—and money—isn’t just inherited.”
He was silent for a moment, deciding which piece to move. “So you’re going from the point of view that my sense of ambition helped me recognize that drive in Devised when I met them?”
“Did it?”
“Look, Miss Taylor, let’s not play games. I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed, and my point of view in terms of Devised is fairly well known. Why are you doing this piece? What’s Dave’s angle here?”
“I didn’t realize you knew Dave well enough to be concerned about his motives.”
“Everyone knows Dave, eventually. And questions his motives. So what does he want?”
“You’re asking me a question now.”
“Well spotted Miss T, or may I call you…”
“Lily. Don’t bother with the Miss, we’re obviously all feminists here.” I couldn’t resist the little jibe, but it was said more to amuse myself than score points.
He laughed. I smiled and pressed my advantage. “Trevor, listen. I have only a vague idea of what Dave is planning with all this. Movie, book, TV rights, who knows? World domination, as usual. A boost to Tristan’s solo career. A boost to back catalogue sales, maybe he bought the publishing rights, and neglected to tell anyone.”
“No, I own the publishing rights.” This was surprising.
“You do? Still? How did that come about?” Now we were getting somewhere. I was holding my breath with excitement.
“I’ve had them right from the start. Before anything happened. You don’t know the story then. Tristan, it was always Tristan who did the business, called me up from America. He’d managed to get my private number—to this day he refuses to tell me how. I think it was Alina’s predecessor, Karolina—she always was a pushover. He said he had some songs he thought I’d like.” Here his voice slipped into an odd mix of upper class huntin’ and fishin’ and cockney. It made for a strange, compelling mixture, one that betrayed the overwhelming self-confidence that was expected at both ends of the class system. “Didn’t want to share them with ‘just anyone,’ he said. He’d chosen me, because I would understand. I agreed to listen. I don’t know why. He always was a convincing cunt.” Trevor looked to see if I flinched under the profanity. I was still scribbling notes, but I smiled up at him when he stopped. “And then?” I felt like repeating it over and over again, like the
scene in that ridiculous movie, but I resisted the giddy temptation. Somehow, he was telling the story, and I was just going to smile and nod and get it all out of him, the bastard. “What songs did he play you?”
“No, he Fed Ex’d me two different formats of music– and photographs. The only musician in the history of the world who isn’t allergic to doing the sensible thing. He understands so well all the tools at his disposal. Innate charm and intelligence. And when I heard the songs, three of which became the singles off the first and second albums, I knew there was something there. Naturally I held back on the first song until the second album. But you never sign someone on one song alone. You want to hear that longevity, a range. The last single we released was by far the heaviest and hardest of the lot. But it surprised people when it came out, as it was intended to. Timing.”
Our tea came, and he waved Alina away when she tried to pour, following with his eyes the tight jean shorts disappearing into the curve of her ass at the tops of her thighs as she walked away. If he hadn’t had her yet, he was planning it. He waited until she had left the room, and turned his attention back to the tea. “Milk?”
“Yes please.” I didn’t really like milk in tea, but it would do. I didn’t want to waste time discussing preferences. Luckily he was efficient, and tea poured, sugar stirred, he took a long sip, then another and put down the cup. “Where were we? Ah yes, publishing. The package.”
“How long did it take you to decide?”
“Yes, there’s a question. Was it during the first chorus? I think so. I recognized instantly the light touch of a real genius. A songwriter of phenomenal talent. Rhythm, sex, and lyric. But I made myself wait until I’d heard all the songs, and even then I did nothing until the next day. But I knew right away. And the band—of course. The chemistry. Fantastic. And the photos. When I saw what they looked like, I saw all the pieces falling into place. But for the publishing, which is a big part of the business, and the money, as I am sure you know, I went on the songs alone. And that, like it or not, is Tristan, no one else.”
Had he actually just complimented me, assumed that I knew something? Between the pride I felt for his appraisal for Tristan’s talent, and for myself for making some headway, I nearly started to like him. Stockholm syndrome. This would never do. I gazed at him warily, and felt protected by my caution. “The publishing really is everything. The average person has no idea it even exists. So you recognized talent and smarts in Tristan. When did you first meet the band, face to face?”
“I flew Tristan out the next week. Just him. He wanted all the boys to come, so they could play for me, but I told him that as he’d had the balls to contact me and send me the music, he could have the balls to meet me one on one, without his gang.” Another sip of tea. “I remember him laughing. He knew I was right. In some ways, he was smarter then than he is now. Sharper. But success does that, it’s unavoidable. You see it in everyone. Things get fuzzy. At least he didn’t self-destruct, or should I say he stopped himself. Fantastic will power. But you don’t get to the top by being just a pretty face.”
I nodded. I really needed to record this. There was no way I was going to catch every inflection, every turn of phrase. And he was a fascinating speaker. I picked up my cup. “Wedgewood. Very old fashioned, old values. Craftsmanship.” He looked at me to see where I was going with this. I’d thrown him at least. That was something. “Trevor, I would consider it a huge personal favor to both myself and Tristan if you would allow me to record this. You’re very witty, you know—I’d like to be able to quote you verbatim and do credit to your descriptive powers.”
Trevor was silent, and looked away, then turned back towards me. “You and Tristan, hmm? Interesting.”
I started to protest and he raised his hand. “Don’t bother, Lily. I’m quite amused actually. Dave hinted that he had bagged you for himself. How pleasurable to see that his considerable ego has come unstuck.” He studied me for a long moment, pressing his fingertips together. “But it’s obvious there is more to it than that. He always was an inveterate liar. But he’s so rich. Why argue with success? Yes, go ahead Miss Taylor. Why not?” He leaned back, and pulled open a drawer in the desk. “We’ll make a deal. You record, and I’ll fill the room with smoke.” He then proceeded to chop the end of one of the largest cigars I’d ever seen, rolling it between his large thumb and forefinger, testing the moisture. “Havana. A beautiful place, which ships beautiful cigars. Have you been? Do you smoke?”
“No, never, sadly. But I’ve been known to indulge in the odd cigar.”
“Nothing odd about these.” He took an old fashioned ceramic match striker off the table and swiped a big wooden match down until it burst into flame. He lit the cigar slowly, carefully, warming the end and puffing out finally a large cloud of smoke, with a huge degree of satisfaction. Between his hawk-like nose, piercing eyes and now giant cigar, I almost felt as though he was a giant phallic symbol—all testosterone and repressed violence. It was sexy, I couldn’t help thinking so. He noticed my change of expression, and gazed at me evenly, blowing out another cloud of smoke. “Are you ready for me, Lily?”
I stared back at him, more curious than afraid. There were no depths in his eyes, partially hidden behind the glasses—only the hard dark stare of the shark in his element. Yet he looked mildly amused, and I found his blatant symbolic display fascinating. The personal physical power of those who become a success on their own terms. Always electric.
Chapter 14
Although Trevor would obviously make a strange and unusual story all by himself, I wanted his power in service to the story of Devised, his experiences with the band that changed his life and theirs. Their phenomenal instant success had made him for life, and allowed him to continue the record company that not that long ago, he had seemed in danger of losing or forfeiting to some big company’s control altogether. I tried to navigate carefully, hoping I could keep him talking.
“When did you finally meet the rest of the band?” Basic, but there were so many possible questions. I wanted to save the more contentious ones for closer to the end. Any wrong note could stop the interview, potentially. At the moment, that was the last thing I wanted.
“About a month later. It was the spring, April, as I recall. I had set up a few gigs for them, secret sort of show, although as hardly anyone had heard of them, they were fairly secret anyway.” He blew out more smoke. “They came over, all very young and innocent really. I think Tristan was quite protective of them, at that point. And at that point as well, it was fairly obviously they were in awe of him. Naturally, that changed. Love turning to resentment. AC was in love with him I think, quite literally. He didn’t mind, Tristan that is. I’d never met someone before who was so desperate to be loved, while being loved by almost everyone he met. Of course some people hated him on sight, and let him know it. Yet you usually see that kind of starved for love attitude in someone who no one likes. And everyone liked him. He was charming. But he worked like a demon. And he was terribly opinionated.”
“Was that part of the problem the band had? Were they unable to deal with his personality?”
“Well, they weren’t the first band to have problems dealing with success. They all do. Some of them get used to it—the sex and drugs on tap, the knowledge that pretty much anything you want, or anyone, is yours for the taking. Devised were no different. At first, they took—a lot. But Tristan insisted on the music. The stories of him throwing girls out at 3:00 a.m. to go wake up AC so he could play him an idea—well, it became legend. As did the naysayers who said Tristan couldn’t have sex with a girl unless he finished it off with AC.” Another few clouds of smoke followed this, as well as an awkward silence. “I probably shouldn’t be retelling these old stories. I don’t think they were true.”
“Did they have a sexual relationship?”
Trevor looked at me strangely. “If you want to know for yourself, personally, you should ask Tristan. If your personal interest has made you phrase that question od
dly, when what you really meant to ask was ‘were they the keystone of the band,’ then the answer is that their musical closeness and understanding were frequently misconstrued by those of lesser minds around them. Did they use that to their advantage? Of course. It’s as old as the hills. Think of Jagger and Richards, Bowie and Ronson, Page and Plant. The ‘rock and roll dualism,’ I believe Bowie called it.”
I looked out the window for a moment, embarrassed. I would not be put off. I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say or do. I crossed my legs and made some notes on the pad sitting virtually untouched on my lap.
“So they recorded the first album right after the shows they played over here?”
“Yes. The reception they got was incredible. They were ready to record—it was almost like recording live, back in the day. Tristan was obsessive about it, eager to learn. As I said, incredible will power. So it was finished very quickly, and they hit the road almost instantly. Of course, that’s where the legend grew. They toured continually for nearly a year. By the end of it, everyone on the planet had heard of them. The sound bites, the pictures they’d pose for—they loved the attention...” Trevor became serious, suddenly, standing up, and walking to the window, and opening it slightly, releasing some of the smoke into the air. He turned back to me. “They were happy, on top of the world. It was a joy being anywhere near them.” He sat down again, and waved his cigar towards the window, sending a bit of ash to the floor. He stared at the ground, and looked up quickly, at me. “But, Lily, they were driven. Tristan managed, but only just, to keep himself in check. By the time he was writing songs for the second album, he had noticed that the egos in the band had grown at the same time as his own. But while he was determined to explore his talent, some of the others were equally determined to exploit theirs.”
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