Page 3 of From Drummer to Gamer

“I just want it to be perfect,” I muttered.

He rolled his eyes but returned to fiddling with the controller as the band sank into the chorus.

I kept my ears trained—listening—in my head, I saw the music, the harmonies splitting with each note, cascading with the flow, perfect when they met and dissonant when they didn’t. I could see it all.

“Great work, guys. I think that was good,” Trevor spoke through the microphone when the song ended. “What do you say?” He slanted me a glance while the band looked at me expectantly through the glass window.

“The tempo on the bridge sounded off. Let’s take it down a notch and start from the top,” I replied, my voice even-toned.

If they were disappointed, they didn’t show as they agreed and hit the notes once again. This time it was in flawless sync—perfection.

Some might call me a few choice words for chasing perfection, but I didn’t know life without it.

When I picked up my first pair of drumsticks, my life changed.

Suddenly, music became my everything.

Music became my life.

And I owed it all tohim.

Music was the sole song that sang in my heart.

And my drums were the beat that thrummed it alive.

As much as I loved smashing my drums on stage, I loved creating music—behind the scenes. Over the years, I learned and studied production and worked with some of the most talented people in this industry to produce some incredible albums and songs that added to my discography. Now, I had enough experience to start my own venture and finally dive deep into my lifelong dream I’d been putting aside for years.

Trevor was a longtime friend of mine, signed with Retrospective Records, leading the production for KORA’s next studio album,INDE-X. Initially, I wasn’t game. I had a lot on my plate since the move and the label launch, but Trevor insisted, and I was glad I had taken the chance because KORA had some mad talent.

“Ah, thanks for doing this for me, man.” Trevor stretched his hands over his head, groaning as he rolled his neck. “I needed your touch on the album.”

I nodded, sipping the last of my drink.

“When are you guys putting out the next album?” he asked.

“Probably in a year or so.”

“A source told me that Saint-Clair’s going to win album of the year.”

“He’s good, deserves it.”

“Are you going to the ceremony?”

I shrugged. “No.”

“Also.” He flashed a grin my way. “CINDY finally got signed. With Red, no less. Heard she sucked Gilbert’s dick a year for theopportunity.”

“Good for her.”

“Are you kidding me?” He shot upright. “That bitch can’t sing for the life of her and has been plagiarizing her whole life. She even slapped her poor backup dancer and got caught on camera.”

“Is that so?” I asked as I stood. I wasn’t much for industry gossip—never cared nor paid much attention to it. I kept my head down and stayed in my lane, which worked out fine for me.

“Yeah.” He huffed out a breath. “Sometimes I wonder how you’ve even survived in this business.”

“Turned out just fine,” I replied, lifting a shoulder. “I gotta go, T. I’ll see you later.”

“Give the boys my love,” he said, twisting his chair back to the console. “I’ll wrap this up and send you the final file. Thanks for helping us out.”

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