Chapter 24
Freddy rang around the four members of The Fishermen and asked them to meet at his flat at six thirty that evening. He then went down to his local off-licence and bought four bottles of the best champagne they had in stock.
Walking home along Belsize Park Road, Freddy acknowledged his relief.
After weeks of wondering whether he’d put his reputation on the line for nothing, his persistence had paid off.
Okay, so it wasn’t RCA or EMI, but after an intense negotiation with Brad, Freddy reckoned he’d got himself and his lads a good deal.
At six twenty-five, Todd arrived with a sullen-looking Derek.
‘Come in, come in,’ said Freddy jovially. He led them into the sitting room. ‘How are you, Derek?’
‘Fine, thanks.’ Derek nodded and sat down, his hands in his jacket pockets.
Freddy glanced at Todd, who shrugged.
‘Well, Derek, I just might have some news to pull you out of your blues.’
‘Really?’ said Derek unenthusiastically.
The doorbell rang again.
‘Todd, let the others in whilst I organise the drinks.’
Waiting in the sitting room, the four band members heard the pop of champagne corks.
‘Do you think . . .?’ began Todd.
‘If there’s champagne, I presume . . .’
‘Now wouldn’t news of a deal be grand, Derek?’ said Con.
‘Yeah, it would,’ Derek replied morosely.
‘Right, here we are.’ Freddy brought two open bottles and five glasses through on a tray. He placed it on the coffee table in the centre of the sitting room.
‘Now, before I start pouring, I want to tell you the news and give you a brief outline of what has been agreed between myself and Brad Owen of Metropolitan Records.’
‘Metropolitan? They have The Trojans, don’t they?’ murmured Todd.
‘Sure do, and Brad wants to add The Fishermen to the label. We’ve got a deal from Metropolitan on the table, lads.’
Freddy studied each of their faces in turn. Todd was grinning from ear to ear, Con looked stunned, Derek managed a raised eyebrow and Ian wore the same serene expression he always did.
‘Metropolitan, eh?’
‘Well, feck me, it looks like we’ve done it after all, lads!’
‘Hey, just think of the groupies, man.’
‘We’re gonna be rich.’
Freddy let the boys chat amongst themselves for a few minutes as he poured the champagne.
‘Now,’ he said, handing them each a glass, ‘there is, of course, lots to go through with you, but I’ll give you the bare bones now.
Metropolitan want to sign you for two albums and five singles, the first single being released this Christmas.
Brad Owen thinks “Can Someone Tell Me Where She’s Gone? ” is a potential seasonal hit.’
Freddy paused to let this news sink in. ‘As far as the money is concerned, the advance isn’t going to make you millionaires overnight, but the royalty rates are one per cent above the norm to make up for the smaller upfront advance.
This really starts to work in your favour if The Fishermen begin to have major success. With me so far?’
There was a general nodding of heads.
‘Good. As far as Metropolitan are concerned, I’m impressed with their track record.
They’ve only been going a short time and as you mentioned earlier, Todd, they’ve had a big success with The Trojans.
It shows they can cut it amongst the big guns.
They’re not RCA, but there’s no reason why in a few years’ time they shouldn’t be joining the top five record companies.
And the advantage to signing with a smaller label is that you will be a big fish in a small pond.
Metropolitan have to make you work if they themselves want success.
That means they’ll be putting in a huge amount of effort.
’ Freddy ran through the order of business in his head.
‘And of course, last but by no means least, you’ll have a producer who I think is one of the best in the business.
Brad Owen worked with a lot of the top groups when he was with RCA.
Having him on the recording side is a huge bonus.
So, there’s the nub of it! I highly recommend you accept the offer. ’
The boys looked at each other uncertainly, overwhelmed by the reality before them.
‘I can’t take it in,’ said Todd. ‘I’d convinced myself it wasn’t going to happen and now we’re sitting here talking about albums and singles and . . .’ He shrugged. ‘It’s amazing.’
The others nodded their heads in agreement.
‘So, would you say there’s a chance that you might consider accepting Metropolitan’s offer?’ Freddy smiled.
‘What do we think, boys?’ asked Todd.
‘What kind of dosh can we expect to begin with?’ asked Derek, who had perked up a little.
‘Approximately double what I’m now giving you each week.’
‘Wow,’ commented Ian.
‘And of course, once the records start selling, we could be looking at ten, twenty times that and upwards.’
‘What about the publishing rights to any songs we compose?’ asked Con.
‘Metropolitan have them, I’m afraid. Pretty standard practice unfortunately. But the composer will obviously get an extra royalty payment on sales of any of his own songs.’
Con nodded.
‘Any other questions, or can we drink this champagne before it goes flat?’
‘I think we’d be idiots to turn this down,’ said Todd.
‘Me too,’ said Derek. ‘Just think of the money. We’d be able to buy whatever we wanted . . . I could . . . well, we could achieve . . . anything. Nobody could touch us.’ He stared into the distance.
Con cut short the awkward silence. ‘If the producer’s as good as you say he is, then I’m for it,’ he beamed.
‘Man, I’m game,’ smiled Ian.
‘Then we’re agreed.’
The four boys nodded.
‘Great. To The Fishermen,’ Freddy said, raising his glass.
Todd, Con, Ian and Derek raised their glasses too.
‘To The Fishermen.’