Page 70 of Songbird: Black Kite
Like, seriously. I had no idea what he was doing. I had always just shown up thirty minutes before show time, had a few drinks, and then rocked on stage. Watching him do what was necessary to put this show together was astonishing.
I was so grateful I didn’t have to do it.
“We still need to narrow down our list of participants. Hawk, have you finished going through all the demos that you’ve been sent?”
“I’ve got the list,” I said, nodding and trying to look like I had my shit together. “I’ve been reaching out to the groups all week, but it’s, uh, not going as well as I’d hoped.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Mick asked.
“It means people keep hanging up on him because they think he’s a scam artist,” Alex cackled, clapping his hands and doubling over in laughter.
“It’s not that funny,” I muttered.
“It’s pretty fucking funny, dude.” Alex wiped at his eyes dramatically before continuing. “It’s like one of those celebrity death hoaxes. You’ve been out of the spotlight for so long, people think you’re dead or some shit.”
“Don’t joke about that,” Gavin implored, his eyes wide. “That’s like asking the universe for trouble.”
“Chill out, bro. Our boy Hawk is gonna live forever.”
I didn’t know about that. Every morning my back and shoulder ached a little more. I kept spotting more and more silver popping up at my temples and across my chin, which only reinforced my need to shave my face clean every single morning.
Gray hair at forty-two? That shit was just uncalled for.
“How do you plan on securing the artists, then?” Mick pressed, always business.
I blew out a breath, running a hand through my hair.
“I might have to go in person,” I admitted. “Actually show up on their doorsteps and let them know I mean business.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Mick said, surprising me. “Actually, it might be a great idea.” Moving quickly, Mick flipped his tablet screen to a blank note, then began typing a mile a minute. “It could all be part of the process. Documenting the journey from band to label. Give people some real insight into why you wanted to do this and what it all means to you.” He was mostly talking to himself at this point, typing and nodding and muttering.
“Wait a second,” I said, worried that the whole situation was about to get way the fuck out of hand. “Documenting the journeyhow, exactly?”
“By making a documentary, of course.”
He said it like it was a simple answer, but it absolutely was not.
“I don’t know, Mick,” Gavin hedged, and I nodded, pointing at him in agreement. “I like a documentary as much as the next guy, but doesn’t that seem a little over the top? And intrusive?”
“We are trying to do something outside the box, here, boys. Not only that, but we are going to be doing it in direct competition withCastor Records, the biggest name in music. Once Castor gets wind of the fact that he’s lost his golden boys, he’s going to come at us with everything he’s got.” Mick narrowed his eyes at me. “Including his daughter.”
“Fuck.”
“The power of poisonous pussy, my guy,” Alex offered unhelpfully.
“You want to start a label to help the little guy, right?” Mick asked, and we all nodded. “Then it’s the little guy that you’re going to need on your side. You are going to have to get out ahead of Castor and control the narrative. Make sure that everyone knows exactly who you are and what this means to you. To do that, we have to tell the story in your own words. Make sure that the people know exactly whoBlack Kite Recordsis and what they will stand for.”
“Well, I don’t know about these two sticks in the mud,” Alex declared. “But I’m all for it.”
“You’d sew your asshole shut if it got you a morsel of attention,” I said, and Alex had the audacity to look offended.
“Hey. That’s not even remotely true.” He considered, then added. “Now, other ass play may be on the table. I’d have to consider my options carefully.”
“Jesus Christ, can we focus, please, guys?” Mick barked. “I swear, it’s like teaching kindergarten sometimes. Now, I’ve got some calls to make to see if I can find a documentary crew willing to work with your demented asses. Hawk, get that list narrowed down and send it to me. If you have to start traveling across the country, I want to make sure we have a plan. This is gonna be a good thing, boys,” he said, looking at us solemnly. “As long as we don’t fuck it up, we can make this the best record company in Los Angeles. The artists will be begging us to sign them. You’ll open so many goddamn doors, it won’t even be funny.”
With that, he gathered his things and headed out, the guys leaving shortly behind him. Gavin was heading downtown to do a studio session he’d booked a few weeks ago and Alex said he was just going home, but he was sketchy as shit when he said it. Something was going on with him, but as long as he didn’t land his ass in jail, I didn’t have the headspace to worry about him at the moment.
Locking the door, I was once again faced with an empty house, the quiet of the vacant rooms seeming to echo back at me in a way I couldn’t seem to get comfortable with anymore.
