Cory's Dilemma
Page 4
“I got your email, and I gotta say, the track blew me away. I mean, I knew you had it in you, but, you know, you really changed things up.”
“And you thought I wasn’t listening.”
“Glad I could help. You said you had a couple more tunes.”
“Yeah, I’ve been writing every chance I get.”
“Are they like the one you sent?”
“Definitely. I kept them in the pop genre.”
“Well, you got my attention. If they’re as good as this one, we got something to work with. If not, it’ll be tough to convince the label to put up any advance money into a recording. They’d push for a straight royalty deal.”
“No worries. The others are all in the same style.”
“Sounds good. How do you want to handle it? You want to come down? We haven’t seen each other in a while. It’d be good to spend some time together. How about you get here around noon, we’ll have a listen, and then I’ll take you for some lunch?”
Dave had never even bought a hot dog for Cory. “I don’t have the time today. Maybe I’ll send them over later.”
“Oh, when are you going to send it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going to be going out later, have a bunch of appointments, and I’m not in tomorrow at all. Maybe not even the next day. I’m extremely busy, and I’d like to hear what you have before things get crazy again.”
Cory wondered if Dave was aware of how transparent he was being. He wanted to call out his phoniness, but he realized he wasn’t any better. “I’ll get them to you right away. Check your email in five.”
After he sent the files, Cory paced the apartment. If Dave didn’t like the tunes, what were his options? Jay Bird’s former label was the natural, but Cory didn’t want to take any chances.
There were three other companies he thought about, but what if everyone passed? He flopped onto the couch. He couldn’t bear the thought of shelving his dreams for a nine-to-five gig.
Chapter Nine
Though Cory had taken the RR train into Manhattan, he felt like he was floating. When a lady saw the wide smile on Cory’s face as he stepped into the elevator, she slipped out. He tried to remember what Dave said on the phone. Was it—We got to lay this down and get it out there. I think it’ll go platinum?
Dave was at the elevator to meet him and slapped him on the back. “How are you doing, buddy?”
“Good.” A wall of gold and platinum records led to a glass conference room overlooking Central Park. “Place looks different.”
“Really? Last time we redecorated was about three years ago. Let’s go to my office.”
Dave slid behind his desk and Cory settled into a chair that had a view of the building next door.
“This is a new office, no?”
“Yeah, when they built the conference room, I had to move, lost my view of the park. But it doesn’t matter. I’m hardly here anyway.”
Cory knew the downgrade meant his stable of artists wasn’t producing. “That’s a nice shot.” He pointed to an overhead shot of a band on a stage in Central Park.
“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? Let’s try and get a picture of you like that out there.”
“Be nice.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Iggy is going to produce yours.”
Cory’s heart beat faster. “Good. Like I said on the phone, I want certain players in the studio when we cut the album.”
“I know. I already reached out; everybody is on board.”
“Good. What about having everybody sign nondisclosure agreements?”
“NDAs? Why? Didn’t you file copyrights?”
“Did it this morning.”
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“It’s going to take some time to get the music out, and I don’t want anyone talking.”
“Today we can get it to market as fast as we want. We just need to get the marketing lined up to get it to soar.”
“I get it, but I’d feel more comfortable if everyone signed.”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll get it organized.”
“Good. You sure your guys are going to want to put it out?”
Dave leaned forward. “I’m sure they will, but if they pass, I’ll take it to Semi-Tone. They got a huge hole to fill with Jay Bird gone.”
“No, not them.”
“Why not? They’re a perfect fit.”
“I don’t like those guys. They’re too arrogant.”
“Believe me, they’re going to have to get real after losing Jay Bird.”
“I don’t care, anybody but them.”
“We’ll worry about that if and when we have to. Just leave it to me.”
“Okay.”
“Everybody is available tomorrow, which is no small feat. I blocked out a couple of hours at Mirrortone Studios for tomorrow.”
“No, I don’t want to record there.”
“Oh, come on, man, you know it’s the best one in the city.”
“I gotta have the right vibe to do this, and after what happened there . . .”
“I see. Let me check with Platinum. See if we can get Studio K.”
“Good, I love the sound of the Yamaha grand they got there.”
* * *
Cory popped a Rolaids in his mouth before pushing through the door. Dave and Iggy were huddled with the sound engineer. Cory ran his hand over the scores of buttons on the control board. He’d played a bunch of sessions in the studio, but it was the first time he saw it through the control room’s window.
His eyes bounced around the wood-floored room. Donny was setting up, and Paulie was tightening a cymbal. He caught a glimpse of Joanne’s inner thighs as she swung her legs onto the piano bench. With her looks, Cory thought, if she could sing, she’d be bigger than Diana Krall and Eliane Elias combined.
He counted the horn players; they were all there.
Gerry Riley walk into the studio and Cory said, “What’s he doing here?”
“Vince couldn’t make it. He flew out to Chicago to meet up with the Pinkletons. Their rhythm guy got into a bad accident.”
“But I wanted Vinny.”
“Gerry’s a monster. You know that. He played on all the Jay Bird stuff.”
“Isn’t there anybody else?”
The producer said, “Gerry is right for this. And we don’t have time. Come on, let’s get something down.”
Wishing he had the power to throw a hissy fit, Cory said, “All right.”
* * *
The sound engineer’s voice came over the speaker. “Okay, that’s a wrap.”
Cory looked at the clock. Nearly four hours had gone by recording seven songs. Cory had stolen eight but held one back. If this album did well, he wanted to have a tune to use in a second project.
Grinning, Donny stuck his fist out. “Well done, my man.”
Cory bumped it. “You think so?”
“You kidding? I can see your fan club already. A sea of teenagers in braces.”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously, man, it sounded good. Real good.”
Gerry Riley walked over. “Yeah, he’s right, thanks for having me on it.”
“Glad you made it. You sounded good, supporting everything.”
“Thanks. You know, I gotta say a couple of the tunes, especially the first two, reminded me of Jay Bird.”
“Really?”
“Definitely. I was with him a couple of weeks ago, and man, what he was working on was just like what we recorded.”
“Yeah, well, I started writing some for him, and since he’s no longer around, God rest his soul, I decided to use it myself.”
“But Jay Bird never played anything he didn’t pen.”
“I’m just telling you we worked together.”
“That’s strange, man. I’d been with him from the jump, and he never collaborated. And he could’ve worked with anybody. People sent him tunes like crazy, but he wouldn’t even look at
them. I know for a fact a bunch of them charted, but he didn’t care. He needed complete control.”
“Sounds like a good position to be in. Look, I’ve got some stuff to do in the booth. I’ll see you around.”
“I’ll be around. You can count on it; it’s not going to be easy to get rid of me.” Riley’s laugh sent a chill up Cory’s spine.
Chapter Ten
Dave was talking nonstop, and the sidewalk was packed with people in motion. Cory couldn’t concentrate and caught about half of what his agent was saying. A car pulled up to the curb and Cory said, “It’s my ride. I’ll see you later.”
Dave said, “Okay. Again, that was great, man. I’ll call you after I talk to the marketing gurus.”
Cory climbed into the Uber. Before the driver pulled away from the curb, his mind cranked up. Did Gerry Riley know he’d stolen the tunes from Jay Bird? What was it he said? He was with Jay Bird when he was working the song out?
Riley said Jay liked to work alone. So, he probably didn’t contribute to the song. Did he see it or hear it? Would Jay have shown him, or would he have somehow seen it when Jay wasn’t around? Riley had great ears. If he’d heard it, he’d remember some of it.
Cory wondered if Riley had said anything or would say something. Some songs, especially those with similar rhythms, chords, or bass lines could feel like another tune. But Riley was an accomplished musician; he’d know the differences. Was he signaling he knew?
If he had a strong suspicion, what could he do about it? It was his word against mine, Cory thought. He had no proof, and Jay Bird was dead.
Cory leaned his head against the seat. It was all going to be good. It was probably just a coincidence. He closed his eyes and pictured himself performing at Madison Square Garden. He was on his way. The only thing that could possibly be better would be if his father could see he’d been wrong and that he was making it.
Wondering what his father would say, he remembered what Riley said when they parted: that he’d be around and it wouldn’t be easy to get rid of him.
What the hell did that mean?
* * *
“Daddy! Can we hear your song on the radio?”
“I hope so. But we’ll have to wait a little while.”
“Why? When you do it yourself, we can hear it right away.”
“It’s just a different way of doing it. They want to make sure it’s the best it can be. They play around with it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, even though everybody is playing together, they record each instrument and my voice separately. Then, during playback, if the guitar is too loud or my voice too low, they can fix it in the mixing process. Sometimes they add violins or want to record a part over. That way just one player has to go into the studio, not the entire band.”
“When can I tell my friends it’s on the radio?”
“How about I ask them tomorrow?”
“Okay.”
Linda said, “Ava made brownies to celebrate.”
“Super. I’d really like one now. Can you get a brownie for me?”
“Mommy, can I have one too?”
“Yes, you can. Get the paper plates and napkins.”
Ava took off. Linda said, “How did it go?”
“Really good. I think this is it.”
“Oh, I really hope so. You’ve been working so hard for this.”
“You can’t believe how everyone changed. It’s like I feel all of a sudden they respect me; they’re listening to me. It’s weird, even the players are different, and I’ve worked with them all before.”
“I get the record guys, they’re in it for the money. They follow the trends, but you always said that the musicians were supportive of you, always gave you compliments.”
“I know, but something is different. I can’t explain it. Even Donny wasn’t himself.”
“Come on, you guys grew up together.”
“I know, it’s nothing big, just a feeling.”
“Maybe it’s in your head. Now that you feel like you created something that’s going to be popular, you’re seeing it differently.”
“Some of it, sure, but you see how quick they arranged the session? And they got Iggy to produce it? That guy is behind a ton of megahits. I feel like I’m in a dream or something.”
“It’s real, and you deserve it.”
“I played in a lot of dumps.”
“Yeah, and what about practicing eight hours a day. You’ve paid your dues.”
“That’s for sure. Finally, things are going to change. Look at this place. We’re all sleeping in the same bedroom. I got nowhere to play. It’s terrible. I—”
She grabbed his hand and kissed it. “It’s not that bad. We made it our home. I don’t regret it for a minute.”
“You’re right.”
“Come on, let’s celebrate.”
“You know what? I’m so wired, I could use a drink. It’s a good time to take out that fancy scotch my father used to drink.”
The family had a little party and watched Finding Nemo together. When the film ended, Cory put Ava to bed and they talked about the meaning of the movie
Cory walked into the kitchen and picked up the bottle of Chivas Regal.
Linda said, “You’re having another one?”
“Why not?”
“Because you were slurring your words reading to Ava.”
“It was a big day for me. Just a teeny bit more.”
“Don’t overdo it.”
He sat down next to her and asked, “Do you think a lot of songs sound alike?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you hear certain tunes, does it make you think, that sounds like XYZ?”
“Sometimes when it first plays.”
“Some introductions and chords can be similar.”
“A lot of times, I say to myself this one is the type of song so and so would make.”
“Yeah, that’s what I think it is, the style of the song.”
“Probably, but what about that lawsuit against Ed Sheeran? It’s for, like, a hundred million dollars. They say he copied from Marvin Gaye.”
Cory froze.
“Cory?”
“Oh, sorry. I was trying to remember the tune’s name.”
“‘Thinking Out Loud.’ Sheeran won a Grammy for it.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I think I had too much to drink. Let’s go to bed.”
Cory had never considered the possibility of a lawsuit. The only risk he weighed was the embarrassment of being labeled a thief and forced to give up playing. The fallout from being found out wouldn’t be limited to his career; the damage to his personal reputation would be life-changing. How would he ever explain it to Ava and Linda?
Chapter Eleven
Dave led Cory into the conference room. Cory wanted to look at the view of Central Park, but the people sitting on the window side of the table stood, blocking most of the greenery.
As the introductions were made, he didn’t realize the marketing and promotion department was so large. A reed-thin woman in a black jumpsuit shook his hand. Her perfume was too sweet.
“Marcy Anderson, director of talent branding. Good to be working with you.”
“Thanks.”
Marcy said, “Okay everyone. Let’s get started. We have a lot of work to do and, as usual, a short time frame to do it. Sebastian will give us a quick demographic overview of Mr. Lupinski’s audience.”
“The pop genre, at fifty-six percent, has the largest audience. We believe Mr. Lupinski’s core listeners will be female weighted, and they will tend to be on the younger side, ranging from thirteen to twenty. The majority will be from the suburbs, from families above the median income level. Naturally, there’ll be people who cross over, but other than soccer moms, we don’t believe it will amount to a significant segment.”
Marcy said, “Thank you. We know what to do with this. No disrespect, Cory, but Lupinski isn’t going to cut it. We need a stage name.”
“I need suggestions.”
A flurry of names were bandied about and shot down. A woman with the brightest lipstick Cory had ever even seen said, “Why not keep it simple. Just CL.”
Marcy said, “CL. I like it, but it reminds me of CeeLo. It wouldn’t be clear enough as a brand.”
“Good point.”
A man in a black T-shirt said, “What about Cory Loop? It’s snappy and fun.”
Marcy said, “I really like that. How about you, Cory?”
He couldn’t believe they were talking about him as if he weren’t in the room. “It sounds good.”
“I agree. It stays connected to your family name and it’s fresh, hip, you know? I can see the kids grabbing on to it. I think we’ll go with it. Todd, run a check for any conflicts or negative connotations in the foreign markets, to be sure.”
“Will do.”
“I want everybody thinking of a title for the album. We don’t have much time.”
“Why not title it with his stage name? Cory Loop.”
“That’s a tired and, frankly, lazy idea. Think it over. Meanwhile, Cory needs a look. He’s more mature than some of the others in the genre, so we’ll need to create a timeless look. Bryan, you have any ideas?”
“I’d lean toward using colors in the wardrobe. Maybe neon colors under a dark jacket. It’s energetic and no one’s doing it.”
“I like that.”
“I’m looking at the artist, and I think wearing a hip pork pie hat would be cool. It could be a signature kind of thing.”
“Hm. Try it.”
“He’s got the perfect chin and mouth to carry a soul patch.”
“I like that combo.”
“What about hair? Any coloring? Streaking? What kind of cut?”
“I’d keep it a bit long if we’re going with a hat. We don’t want to hint he’s wearing a hat because he’s going bald.”
Cory put a hand to his head.
“Good point. Todd, we’re going to talk about marketing now. Why don’t you take Cory down to the stylists?”
* * *
Cory cursed the city’s ever-present traffic as the cab crawled along Sixty-Eighth Street. He told the driver, “I can walk faster, let me off here.”