Chapter 8 I Don’t Know Where I Went Wrong, but I Can Write a Song
I Don’t Know Where I Went Wrong, but I Can Write a Song
RIFF
I fidget with my watch as I sit with several members of the Glambam “family” in the VIP lounge of Notes, a club for the likes of executives and moguls in industries such as my own.
It seems Charles, Glambam’s Head of A it’s to make the public think you’re romantically involved. ”
Harmony and I exchange a horrified glance and say “What?” in unison.
Braden grips one of my shoulders. “Look, man. Deny it all you want, but you two have chemistry. I thought the idea was pretty mid when I first heard it, but Stefanie made a good point: People are really into these kinds of stories.”
“What kinds of stories?” Harmony demands of her manager.
“Hate to love,” Stefanie replies. From her purse, she withdraws a brightly colored book with two illustrated characters on the cover, male and female, glaring at each other in front of a bakery.
“It’s huge right now. Even made-for-TV movies are making a killing on it.
You two can bring that kind of story to life.
Everyone already knows you both and loves you.
They know there was something good between you once and they’ve watched you fight over the fallout. Now let them see you falling in love.”
I shrug off Braden. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
“For once we agree,” says Harmony.
“People are going to figure it out,” I say.
Stefanie shakes her head. “Even if they suspect it’s a lie, they’ll tell themselves it’s not.
Just look at how obsessed people are with ‘reality’ TV.
There have been tons of exposés on how scripted and staged and manipulated those shows are—but nobody cares.
They want to believe it, so they do. And they’ll believe this too. ”
I scoff. “We’re musicians, not actors.”
“Well, you seem to be pretty familiar with playing a part,” Harmony mutters.
Yeah, I think, a part I’ve been forced to play by anyone who’s ever agreed to produce my music. Maybe now she’ll get a taste of what that’s like and she’ll see it’s not as easy as just ‘being yourself.’
“It’s just for a few months,” Stefanie says in her best soothing tone. “Long enough for both your upcoming albums to release, along with a special EP.”
Harmony scowls. “An EP? With what tracks?”
“To begin with,” Charles replies, “all the songs you’ve been writing to each other since the FANTASIE release party. Plus a few more.”
In a choked voice, Harmony guesses, “The duet …”
Why that idea has her looking sick to her stomach is beyond me. I mean, sure, it was more intimate than I would have liked, but we’d only have to record it once, and we might even be able to persuade the producers to let us lay down our vocals separately from each other.
Stefanie nods. “That, and we’ve also planned for some …
segue tracks. Songs that detail the transition from hate to love.
Basically we want to show the public the whole process—a sort of progressive playlist so that listeners can follow along on the journey.
A hate-to-love playlist, if you will. That way it’ll be immersive, like a book. ” She holds up her rom-com book again.
“Absolutely not.” Harmony snatches the book and flings it across the rug. “I’m not doing it.”
“Me neither,” I say.
“Actually, you are,” Charles tells us. “You both signed a contract with Glambam Records, and we own your careers. Everything you do, everything you say, we have a right to question and redirect, because it affects our public image and our bottom line.”
I shake my head. “Legally, you can’t force us to fake a relationship. That has to go beyond the scope of our contracts.”
Charles nods. “That’s true, to an extent. Except it falls under the ‘promotion and publicity’ clause. You must ‘participate in promotional activities reasonably requested by the label.’”
“The key word being ‘reasonable,’” says Harmony.
“We’ve been more than reasonable,” Charles argues, “letting you run wild for the better part of a year. Thankfully it’s been to our advantage, but now we’d like to take things in another direction.
In the end, feuds always become tiresome to fans, not to mention divisive.
If the two of you were working under separate labels, it might make sense to keep it going—and to make sure our own artist always had the upper hand.
However, since we’re all on the same team here, there’s no reason to force fans to take sides.
More importantly, we don’t want them looking at you with an either-or mentality when it comes to whose music or merch they’re going to buy.
Both of you have upcoming albums, so now is the time to strategize. ”
Objectively, he’s right. It’s late March right now.
Harmony’s album releases in July (Braden mentioned that to me a week ago), and mine is set for August. From a business perspective, it makes sense.
From a personal perspective, however, this feels like a vise grip around my neck.
I loosen my tie some more and unbutton the collar of my shirt.
“Let’s call it a ‘stylized collaborative branding event,’” the PR rep suggests. “Or a sort of ‘romantic press tour.’”
After another sip of whiskey, Charles says, “Excellent descriptions. Either way, we believe it will be much more beneficial to say to our audience, ‘Why not both?’ and sell you as a package deal. The best way to do that is to pose you as a couple; better yet, a couple who overcame their very bitter, very public rivalry.”
“What if we decide to talk to our lawyers?” Harmony says.
Charles chuckles. “Surely it doesn’t have to come to that. I’ve spoken to representatives for each of you, and I’m aware that you have certain … wishes … to be fulfilled. Maybe we can consider those and come to an agreement. Hmm?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You, Griffin, have an interest in rebranding yourself—evolving musically, if I recall. Some of the other executives and I have considered allowing you more control over your work.”
Yes, Charles is well aware of my desire to shed my country persona. I requested it when I signed, and begged anyone with authority who would listen. “Not at this time,” I’ve been told repeatedly. “Perhaps down the line it might be possible, but for now, no.”
“And you, Harmony,” Charles continues, “I understand you’ve been eager to retrieve your early masters from FM Sound.
We have the means to acquire them and put them in an artist-controlled trust—with a reversion clause, which means they could be legally yours after a set period that we both agree on. ”
She perks up at that.
Grinning smugly, Charles tells us, “Depending on the success of this ‘marketing campaign,’ how it affects upcoming record sales and so forth … I think we might be able to grant both your wishes. Does that inspire your cooperation?”
Damn.
If I said I felt like a dog doing tricks before, I feel it now more than ever. Charles flashes a treat and I think I might be ready to roll over.
Harmony looks like she’s biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. The image of me once sucking that lip into my mouth cuts across my mind.
How am I supposed to handle this? It’s only distance that’s made it bearable, singing at her from behind the protective walls of the internet. If I agree to appear with her in public, harmonize with her, touch her …
I’m sure physical displays aren’t strictly required, but the media will pick us apart if we don’t really sell the dating angle.
“It’s just for a couple of months,” Stefanie reassures us.
“Then you can stage a breakup, which will give you an opportunity to write some new breakup songs—which will be all the more meaningful after fans have witnessed your whole relationship. Or, at least they’ll feel like they’ve witnessed it.
They like to feel they’re a part of things. ”
“Yes,” Charles agrees. “They like to be ‘in the club.’ So try to think of this as a way to please the people who have believed in you from the beginning. That’s noble, don’t you think?”
I grit my teeth.
Noble?
I haven’t felt noble since the day before I signed with SiNKroNyze.
From that day on, all I’ve wanted was to be authentic, and I kept promising myself that I would be—eventually.
Yet here I am, not only deeper into country music than ever, but heaping more lies onto the pile. Nothing noble about it.
Then again, maybe this could be my way to finally break out of that, the last few lies I’ll have to tell.
Risking a glance at Harmony, we lock eyes.
We say nothing.
If I can have creative control, I’m not going to argue. And Harmony must want those masters very badly, because she doesn’t argue either.
Besides, we got ourselves into this mess, didn’t we? She started it, I kept it going—and even barely knowing her, I sensed she wasn’t the kind of person to let anyone have the last word. Hell, that’s one of the things I liked about her.
It’s also one of the things I loathe about her.
Anyway, nobody would be trying to force us to let this feud evolve into a romance if either of us would have let it go sooner.
Richard, one of the producers, pipes up. “We’re planning a second duet for the EP. It’s called ‘Hate to Love.’ You’ll write it together.”
Harmony and I continue to hold each other’s stare, unwilling to flinch at the onset of more tough news.
As they say, it’s time to face the music.
In this case, the music is … our own.