Page 35 of Feuds and Interludes
One more glance and a satisfied grunt, and he shut the shower door and then the bathroom door.
“That just happened.” A bubble of laughter exploded into full-on hysterical guffaws that racked my body until I couldn’t breathe.
How had we gone from nearly coming to blows to not being able to keep our hands to ourselves? Whatever had happened, I was quite pleased with this new development.
Thirteen
Shane
Despite my lack of sleep the night before, my interludes with Boone, and the fact that I’d forgotten my coffee in my haste to chase him down, I was on fire the rest of the day. We rehearsed the first five songs for the album before lunch, with Lydia sitting in to provide feedback, then after lunch, we worked on the next five until she thought they were pretty strong. But her comments were a little lukewarm for my taste, so when we broke for dinner, I asked her to stay back for a few minutes.
“What do you really think, Lydia? Please.”
Lydia Pride was one of the best producers in the business. Though Morrison was the final producer on all of the Wicked Soul records, Lydia was a good coach. I valued her opinion as much if not more than Morrison’s, especially since I knew she would be brutally honest with me, whereas Morrison would continue to dress up what I gave him until it was good enough, but maybe not as good as it could be.
Lydia pushed her chair back from the control panel and sighed. “Do you feel like this is growth for you?”
My first instinct was to clap back. My spine stiffened involuntarily, and I had to press my lips together to keep from spouting off angrily. I wouldn’t do that with her, not when she was prodding me to be better.
“I thought so until you just asked me that question.” I ran my hand over my head.
She smiled and folded her hands over her midsection. “Shane, you have so much fire in you—much more than the guys in your band, by the way—but I feel like…you’re keeping a lid on it. You only allow enough heat to keep the fire burning, but what if you blew the lid off and burned the whole shit down? What would happen then?”
I opened my mouth to speak, and my throat closed as I choked back that well-guarded vault of emotion I kept under wraps for the protection of everyone around me.
“I don’t know.”
She tilted her head. “You spend so much time trying to make sure that everything is controlled, everything is at the level you approve of…that’s got to be exhausting. I know you compose all of Wicked Soul on your own, and I personally think it’s made your band lazy. Have you ever let the guys in on the writing process?”
I shook my head. “Once.” I laughed humorlessly. “They knew that was the deal going in.”
“That it’s your way or the highway?”
I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees and looked at the floor. “It’s worked for us.”
“What if you let them in? What would you think about having a group chat with the band? All of you. I’d sit in on it if you think that would help. Hear what they have to say about where you guys are as a band now. What do you think?”
“Like group therapy or some shit?” I shook my head. “That seems a little extra?”
She laughed. “I’m no therapist. I’ll kick your ass before I give you a hug. But maybe if your bandmates felt like they had a little more ownership in Wicked Soul, a little more responsibility, they’d help you take this music to the next level.”
“You think I can’t do it on my own?” I didn’t mean it to come out defensive, but was she saying Icouldn’tdo it on my own? I couldn’t be great my way?
“I thinkyoucan do it. You can continue going the way you are with Wicked Soul, putting out albums, and remaining a respectably talented band. You might even be great. But I thinkyoucan be greater. Drew is a decent bass player, and Tucker? He’s a fucking monster on the drums. But he’s playing these prescribed fills and shit. And you and Dean harmonize well together, both on vocals and guitar, and yet you don’t use it as much as I think you could. But that’s one producer’s opinion.” She held out her hands.
“One of the best producers in the business.”
She smiled and did a little bow. “Thank you. Now, how about we meet up tomorrow morning? Don’t tell the guys. And don’t worry, I won’t let this be a free-for-all.” She stood up and turned off the board. “Have some fun tonight. Try to relax. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She smacked me on the shoulder—her version of a hug, I guess?—and I pretended she hadn’t just shaken my whole foundation with her questions.
Do you feel like this is growth for you?
The more I thought about her words, the more anxious I grew. Normally in a situation like this, I’d grab my guitar and fucking play until my fingers bled. But tonight? Tonight I wanted Boone, and in the state of mind I was currently in, that was probably a bad idea. But I had to know. I had to know what he thought. About me, about this thing between us…
My band’s future and my heart’s future seemed to both be on the line right now, and I didn’t like it one bit. I was on the edge of a steep cliff with my mountain bike and as soon as I shifted my weight, I was either going to have the ride of my life, or break everything.
By the time I left the rehearsal cabin, the lights were off in the recording studio and the kitchen was closed, so I made my way back to the lodge. I could hear laughter as soon as I climbed the steps. It sounded like there was a rowdy party going on, but once I got into the lobby, I saw who was responsible for the sound.
