Page 44 of A Country Kind Of Love
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The private recording studio close to music row looks like a house from the outside. It isn’t until Peyton makes her way into the basement that she starts to appreciate the uniqueness. There’s a dedicated drum area and a wall of keyboards and guitars. The black leather Chesterfield sofas provide a luxurious writing and listening space. There’s a black soundproof booth to the left of the recording area. Peyton’s been in recording studios before, but this one is far out. It feels homely, and it doesn’t give off the corporate recording studio feel. Shelikes that.
The introductions are swift. She spots Marvin who nods over in her direction with his phone glued to his ear. There’s a short guy with tussled blond hair admiring the keyboards. Jesse introduces him as Avery Crawford. He has an appropriate name for a country star, Peyton thinks. He’s wearing a brown cowboy hat, a white T-shirt overlaid with a brown flannel shirt, and some vintage jeans.
“His look screams—I’m about to break your heart and write a whole album about it entitled,Whiskey & Women,” Peyton whispers to Jesse.
“Agreed,” Jesse smirks.
They take a seat in the writing corner. Peyton clutches her notebooks to her chest. Marvin told her to bring as much material as she likes, but that would require a U-Haul hire, so she opted for three books of what she categorises as her best work. Marvin joins them a few minutes later.
“I love what you’ve created here,”Peyton says.
“Thank you.”Marvin says.
“What was your inspiration?”
“I think the best environment for creativity is one with a calming ambience. I wanted to take away the expensive time constraints that come with a commercial studio and create a space that feelslike home.”
The canvas on the wall above the sofa reads,Creativity finds you when you least expect it. Scribble down the words aimlessly without reason until they form amasterpiece.
“You’ve achieved it. Your place is amazing, and I love the quote. Who wrote it?”
“I did.” Marvin looks up, and points to the signature in the bottom corner. “I had my friend paint the quote onto the canvas, and I signed the bottom. That was about ten years ago. I had it hanging in my house for along time.”
“It’s cool. If I saw it in a shop, I’d buy it.” Peyton smiles.
“I said the same thing,” a deep, husky southern voice hones in on the conversation. Avery holds out his hand, “Avery Crawford.”
“Peyton Harris, nice to meet you.” In comparison to his, it’s a less country sounding name.
“Ah, yes. The song writing wizard.”
Peyton gulps. “I don’t knowabout that.”
“You said she was modest,” Avery says to Marvin, as he takes a seat in the only remaining spot.
“I write songs in my bedroom.” She smiles politely.
“Some of the best songs ever written came from bedrooms,” Marvin clarifies.
Marvin goes on to explain his working relationship with Avery, the kind of music he would like to record and release, where he sees Avery in the market, and ultimately where Peyton fits in to the whole process. Marvin is taking a chance on her because she’s Jesse’s roommate, but that doesn’t concern her, as her grandmother used to say, “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”. Peyton is being offered an opportunity. She made a promise to herself to fully immerse herself in any favourable circumstance that might betterher career.
Peyton admires the keyboard wall. A Yamaha, a black Waldorf Iridium, and a red Clavia Nord. She reaches out to play a few keys on the Nord. It’s a beautiful piece of equipment and unlike anything Peyton grew up playing. Instinctively she hums the track she’s been working on with Cleo. A few lines from the chorus escape her lips; the song comes naturally now. It still needs some final tweaks, but she’s confident they are on to something good. When she turns, Marvin smilesarms folded.
“What were you just humming?” He asks.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just a little something I wrote earlier.”
“Will you singit for me?”
Peyton stutters. “I... it’s not my song... I wrote it for someone else.”
“For Cleo?”Jesse asks.
“Yeah, she’s been struggling. I wanted to help.” She shrugs. “The songs taken, but I havea lot more.”
“Can I hear it anyway?” Marvin sits back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. She feels the pressure from every set of eyesin the room.
