Sound Effects

by L. J. Greene

“Why was he yelling?”

  He shrugged. “Some kids had taken his guitar, and they were fucking around with it. He was so pissed. But there were three of them, and it wasn’t exactly an even fight.”

  “So you stepped in?”

  “We were nine,” Danny said, brushing off any overstatement. “But yes, I was always big for my age, and my uncle had taught me a few things. Truthfully, though, I think Jamie would have fought to his last breath for that guitar. It was this beat up old piece of junk, but you could tell it was really important to him.”

  “From what I know, it was probably everything to him.”

  “Yeah,” he said, holding my gaze for several counts. “Anyway, I’ll spare you the details, but needless to say, we went home with the guitar. And we’ve had each other’s backs ever since.” His angular jaw set firmly, and for a moment he fell quiet. “Mel, it killed me not to be here for him when all of this was going down. The only thing that made it easier was that I knew you were here.”

  “I love him, Danny.”

  “I know. So does he.” Danny nodded his chin in Jamie’s direction. “Just look at him.”

  Jamie stood about twenty feet away, arms crossed over his chest, and he was laughing with Killian and Derek White. He was nearly impossible to overlook in a room on a normal day, but Danny was right, today his glowing, vigorous presence felt disproportionately large. He was happy–and the emotion fell from his body like glitter in the air. It was an effort just to tear my eyes away.

  “So, what’s next for you after graduation?” I asked him.

  “I just put in my application for the master’s program at Stanford. It looks pretty promising.”

  “Wow! Danny, that’s great. You could be back on the West Coast this fall.”

  “Yeah. Keep your fingers crossed. I’m pretty excited.”

  “God, your parents must be so proud of you.”

  Juvenile as the words sounded, they were a revelation. Clearly, they illustrated my point of reference, having grown up in an environment of unconditional support. And as I considered the possibility of my own major life change, I realized that external obligations weren’t holding me back. I was holding me back. Yes, my parents had invested in my education, but they had done so for the same reason most parents do: because education enables choices. Provides opportunity. Creates empowerment. Their intention was never that I be limited to a career I didn’t love.

  No, any restrictions I felt were of my own creation, born of fear, and I had to either break them, or own them.

  But just as I was coming to understand this about my circumstance, Danny laughed in a way that made me question his.

  He shrugged circumspectly. “That’s another story for another time.”

  He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he quickly glanced away, his hooded green eyes seeking distance and privacy. And in honor of the friendship that was beginning to grow between us, I did him the courtesy of letting it go.

  §

  Jamie finished packing up the Cadence merchandise and strode in our direction. When he was within earshot, Danny turned to me with a wry smile.

  “So, apart from the whole sensitive songwriter thing, one of these days you’ll have to tell me why in the hell you chose this guy over me?”

  “It’s quite simple, mate,” Jamie answered easily as we started for the exit. “She gave me a little rub down at the barbecue and found I was packing more than a banana slug.”

  At the first chance I got, I was going to kill Jamie.

  I had no idea what a banana slug had to do with anything, but Danny’s gaze snapped to mine, and he assessed my face with his trademark intensity.

  It was a supreme effort to meet that look with a poker face worthy of his scrutiny. Then, Danny smiled widely with perfect, supermodel teeth.

  “Yeah, sure she did.”

  Jamie, too, was grinning like the idiot he was, as he held the door open that led onto Geary Street.

  “I’ll tell you this much, mate–I wasn’t talking to her about leeks.”

  Danny shook his head, laughing. “Noted.”

  The corner of Geary and Fillmore was a busy place at nearly any time of the day, and the noise of the nighttime traffic assailed us the minute we stepped outside. Buses passed in a near constant flow, and the activity around the Kabuki Theater in Japantown, which was just across the street, gave one the feeling that this part of the city never slept.

  “Jamie?”

  A young girl was waiting for us by the entrance of The Fillmore. She could not have been more than fifteen years old–tall and lanky with curly brown hair and braces. She looked painfully nervous.

  Jamie recognized it, too, and smiled encouragingly, shifting the black duffel bag on his shoulder as he paused to return the greeting.

  “Hi. I was…I was wondering–”

  “What’s your name?” he asked kindly.

  “Eliza.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Eliza. Would you like me to sign something?”

  It wasn’t hard to see that she did. She was holding a Sharpie, a little notebook, two of Cadence’s self-produced CDs, and two band t-shirts.

  “Could you sign this?” She fumbled with the mass of items and finally handed him a pen and the notebook. He signed it with a flourish and handed it back.

  “And these, too?” Next came both CDs and t-shirts.

  Jamie laughed. “I think you may be my biggest fan.”

  “My friend and I have been following you for a while on MySpace. That’s actually how we found Cadence.”

  “Really?” Jamie asked, and not in an idle way.

  “Yeah,” she said, now with more confidence. “You guys have been posting a lot of music. And you and Greg always respond to my questions.”

  The expression that came over Jamie’s face was one of pure fascination. MySpace was a curious thing for him. He’d been engaging in it much like a science experiment–unsure of the outcome, or even the merits of the process, but possessing enough conviction in his hypothesis to give it an earnest try.

  “Well, I’m glad to know it’s been useful for you. It’s been quite useful for us, as well.”

  “I saw on your page that you were playing tonight, so I came up here for the show.”

  “Up here?” Danny asked.

  Danny towered over this girl. And whether it was the intimidation of his picture-perfect face or the fact that he wasn’t a member of the band, Eliza ignored his question completely and quickly turned back to Jamie.

  “From Southern California. I got my dad to bring me.”

  The mention of Eliza’s father seemed to conjure his presence. A tall, slight man in a button down shirt and jeans pushed off of the wall he was leaning against, and stepped forward. I hadn’t noticed him, and had no idea how long he’d been there. Jamie seemed surprised, too, and held out a hand to shake.

  “I understand you were brought here under some duress,” Jamie said good-naturedly.

  The man laughed. “Pretty much. Eliza insisted we come.”

  “Well, then, I may owe you an apology,” Jamie responded, winking at Eliza.

  “Not at all, actually,” he replied with the same humor. “When your teenage daughter tells you she wants to spend time with you, you jump at the chance, believe me. Even knowing you’re just the wallet and the ride.”

  He smiled widely in Eliza’s direction, a warm, genuine look that made me like him instantly. Eliza, on the other hand, was mortified. Although, in fairness, she probably could have had Bono for a dad and felt the same way.

  “Besides,” he continued. “It was one of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “That’s kind of you to say. I’m Jamie Callahan. And this is Melody Grayson and Dan Moore.”

  “Paul Westergard.”

  Jamie’s expression changed in a way that I didn’t yet understand. It was just a slight shift, but knowing him as I did, I noticed it. Danny did, too.

  Jamie glanced peculiarly at Eliza, who was beaming, a
nd then back at Paul. I looked to Danny in question, but he didn’t seem to get it either.

  “D’you mean–?” Jamie started to ask.

  “EFI Records.”

  The words just hung between us for what felt like an eternity.

  And as they did, they voraciously consumed all breathable air.

  Danny’s eyes grew comically round, darting back and forth between Jamie and Paul, as the pieces fell into place. I found that my ability to speak was severely limited by the fact that my stomach had promptly relocated to my throat, and showed no inclination of returning to its proper location.

  Jamie, too, appeared embattled in a momentary struggle for his composure. I watched the muscles of his neck contract with a forceful swallow. Thoughts moved rapidly behind his eyes as he took measurement of every conceivable implication. Then his chest cavity expanded with a restorative breath, and his expression relaxed.

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  He spoke with a clear, steady voice, but I could feel the reserve in his countenance. Months ago, a chance meeting with a record executive–following one of the best shows Cadence had ever played, no less–would have left him brimming with excitement. And there were plenty of reasons to feel that way. But I understood his trepidation. The wounds from Cadence’s break-up were still very fresh in his mind, as was the responsibility he thought he bore for it.

  No, Jamie understood better than most that every opportunity carried real risk. He had been seasoned in a way that was necessary, if not a little disheartening. And suddenly, I could see that the man standing before me, while still hopeful and open, was also more shrewd and cautious than he had been, and probably better equipped now to navigate the perilous waters of the recording industry.

  “I think you may actually have half a dozen of our demo tapes circling your trash bin,” he said with both charm and calculated wit.

  “Really?” Paul answered with a wince. “I’ll feel like a real jack ass if that’s true.”

  “Dad!” Eliza chided.

  His attention flickered to her before shifting back to Jamie in explanation. “My team receives a lot of unsolicited material. We simply can’t get through it all. We try–” he said, shrugging.

  “Of course.”

  “Did I hear correctly that you signed with Spire?” Paul asked, as an ambulance rushed past.

  “We talked to them. But in the end, it wasn’t a good fit.”

  By the way he nodded knowingly, I would have bet my life that Paul understood there was a lot more to that statement than was said, but there was little more that was needed.

  “Are you guys looking for a label?” He reached around to pull a wallet from his back pocket.

  “Under the right circumstances.”

  “Meaning?” Paul removed a business card from the center fold and handed it to Jamie. Sure enough, on it was the logo for EFI Records, a subsidiary of one of the largest media conglomerates in the world. Paul Westergard was Executive Vice President of A&R.

  Danny saw it, too, and his wide eyes met mine excitedly.

  “Meaning that any contract we’d sign would have to be on par with the market, of course, and also allow us a reasonable amount of artistic control. We want to know that the label would respect our choices.”

  Paul looked at him evenly as he absorbed the stipulations. Christ Almighty, this felt like the beginning of a negotiation.

  “I hear you,” he finally said. “The industry’s getting nervous, though. With everything going digital, there’s so much disruption to our business model, and we’re all struggling to get ahead of it. By and large, most labels are taking fewer risks these days.”

  “With fewer rewards,” Jamie said pointedly.

  “Yeah,” Paul agreed thoughtfully. “That’s true. We all know we have to get much leaner. But beyond that, there are a lot of conflicting opinions on how we survive this long-term. Many of my peers are going the route of producing more generic music, hoping they can make up in volume what they’re losing in individual record sales.”

  “But you don’t agree?”

  “No, I don’t,” he said in a way that felt honest. “We need to recognize that big-selling albums like Thriller are going to be fewer and farther between. We can’t rely on that to drive profits anymore. I think we need to offer more diversity of music, and get people excited about hearing it live. And we need to give our artists the tools to build more direct relationships with their fans. Like you’re doing with MySpace. That’s smart.”

  “In a few years, bands may be able to make a go of it on their own–without a label. Your daughter discovered us on social media.”

  “Yes, she did,” he said, looking at Eliza in a proud parental way before returning his focus to Jamie. “It’s definitely not just about radio play anymore. But I’ll tell you this, there’s still nothing like having a label go all in on your record. There’s a lot of marketing power behind that.”

  I could almost see Jamie’s brain at work as he studied Paul for a long moment. Then, very subtly, he shifted his gaze to me. And I knew in my heart what he was asking. What do you think?

  He didn’t really need my opinion–he was savvy enough to make the right call–but I understood his motivation for wanting it. Jamie knew that I would give him a considered answer he could trust.

  And my instincts about Paul told me yes. I didn’t need to say it, though. Jamie could read it, just like he read everything else between us.

  “We’d definitely be interested in talking.”

  “Good,” Paul said. “Because I think we can come to an agreement on terms. I like what you’re doing. And I especially like that you don’t sound like anyone else.”

  “I like that you feel that way,” Jamie said wryly, and I knew he was thinking of Spire.

  “On the back of that card is the number for my assistant, Sharon. Give her a call on Monday, if you would, and find a time that’s convenient for the four of you to come down to L.A. We’ll meet at my office. And we can cover your travel.”

  “Thank you. Will do.”

  “Let’s try to make it next week.”

  “All right. That should be fine,” Jamie agreed.

  Paul extended his arm in a firm handshake. It wasn’t a ‘good to meet you’ kind of handshake; it was one full of promise and expectation. Then he nodded to Danny and me, and smiled.

  An elephant-sized chill ran up my spine.

  The Fillmore was, indeed, a magical place. Many great bands had played there, and many careers were launched there. People loved music and musicians at The Fillmore. And I couldn’t think of a more fitting place for Cadence to have that moment that would change everything.

  Paul tucked his daughter protectively under his arm and started to go. But then suddenly he stopped, and turned back towards Jamie.

  “I have a good feeling about this.”

  Jamie laughed. “Oh, yeah?”

  “You guys have a lot of talent,” he said. And then he broke into a broad grin. “And I’m very good at being the wallet and the ride.”

  Chapter 35

  Jamie

  MYSPACE BLOG ENTRY, JANUARY 6, 2005

  I can’t remember who said it or where I heard it so, among other things, you’ll forgive me for paraphrasing badly. But it is said that if you never push yourself to do something you find a challenge, you’ll never be anything more than you are today.

  Creative pursuits are often that way. They are joyful and interesting and lovely. But just as often, they are very, very hard. You have a stellar idea, but you can’t quite do it justice; your work faces rejection by someone you respect, or worse, by someone you don’t; you compare yourself to others and suffer for the comparisons. That’s when you wonder if what you’re doing is too hard–if it’s even worth doing. Or maybe you’re just wasting your energy. I’ve felt like that at times in recent months, felt deflated and not quite motivated to pick up where I left off. In this business, it’s easy to get discouraged, even for the most assured.
It’s easy to get distracted or weighed down by all of the things that make artistry difficult: life and self-doubt, chief among them.

  But that’s where you have come in. To all of you who have shown up, sung out, carried signs, posted reviews and sent your generous words of encouragement, I thank you more than I can say. Your positive thoughts seemed to come when I most needed the reinforcement that I have something of value to offer. You helped me to push through the hard bits, and continue to add my voice to the chorus.

  I tell you this because today we signed a record deal with EFI. And I have no idea where adventure may take us from here. But I do know this: when it’s all said and done, there will be a list of words used to describe me. And this list will encompass who I was, and who I became. Whatever those words may ultimately be, you have added one that I’m quite proud of–storyteller. You see, one can compose music for his own edification and catharsis, and there is some value in that. But add an audience, and the tale he tells to himself becomes a story that grows in meaning with each person who relates to it. There is incredible power and beauty in that, and for no one more than the composer himself.

  It’s magic, really.

  There are a lot of things I may be without you, but I can say with certainty that you continue to make me far more than I could have ever been on my own. And I am forever grateful.

  Until we meet again,

  Jamie

  Chapter 36

  Mel

  AS IT TURNS OUT, RECORD companies are no different than other companies. A few like EFI are visionary; most are just average. Some act like bullies, others like babies.

  And let’s be very clear here, the relationship forged between Cadence and EFI, sealed definitively with a recording contract, was not a relationship rooted in love. Despite Paul’s considerable influence, EFI attorneys had no compunction about dragging Gavin around the block several times before finally agreeing to the terms for which Cadence was asking.

  No, this was definitely a relationship rooted in business. The difference was, it was good business.

  At the end of the negotiations, the label was thrilled with their newest acquisition, and Cadence had the freedom to make their own brand of music in a trusting and artist-friendly environment. It was a relationship that would go on to prove very profitable for all involved, despite the growing challenges that both artists and labels would face in the years that followed.