Page 94 of The Ballad of Us
“It’s Marcus,” I say, pulling my phone from my back pocket and putting him on speaker phone for all to hear.
“Gray!” Marcus's voice is bright with the kind of artificial enthusiasm that sets my teeth on edge. “Please tell me you've come to your senses about this tour.”
“No, we were just about to call with a counteroffer.” I hope the man comes to his own senses and allows me to focus on my career while also giving what matters so much to me the attention it deserves.
The pause is long enough that I start to wonder if the call dropped.
“A counteroffer,” Marcus repeats slowly. “Gray, this isn't a negotiation. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that requires a yes or no answer.”
“Then here's my answer—we've decided to only do regional tours. These would have a maximum run of three weeks, with at least two weeks at home in between. We'll still play every major market but only on terms we can handle, for the health and stability of the band.”
“That's not how the industry works, Gray. You strike while the iron is hot, or someone else takes your spot.” His reminder is cold and callous.
“Or maybe we build a lasting band and tour, instead of something that burns bright and crashes,” I offer him a unique perspective.
“Jesus Christ, what has happened to you down there, Gray? You sound like some kind of monk instead of a rock star.” Marcus scoffs at me.
The comment hits harder than he probably intends, because it forces me to confront a truth I've been dancing around for months.
“Maybe I'm not a rock star anymore, Marcus. Maybe I’m just a musician who wants to trade the blinding stadium spotlight for the comforting glow of a campfire. I want to make music and then go home to the woman I love.”
“And maybe you're making the biggest mistake of your career,” he counters.
“It's my mistake to make.”
Another long pause. When Marcus speaks again, his voice has lost all pretense of friendliness. “You know what, Gray? I've been in this business for twenty years, and I've watched many talented people squander incredible opportunities for trivial reasons. But this takes the cake. You're choosing a small-town girl over millions of dollars and international fame.”
The way he says “small-town girl” makes my blood pressure spike. “I'm choosing my life over your version of what my life should be.”
“Fine. Have it your way, but don't come crawling back when 'Solid Ground' falls off the charts and no one remembers your name anymore. This label isn’t here to hold your hand through your recovery journey. You want to play it small? Find yourself a small label.” The call ends.
I let it sink in for a long moment.
We just got dropped by our label.
A sense of relief mingled with anxiety and hope washes over me—a weight I barely knew I was carrying falls away. For the first time in a long while, I breathe freely.
When I return to the studio, six pairs of eyes are watching me expectantly. “I guess we're free agents.”
Silence. Parker drops his head in his hands. Wyatt stares at the ceiling. Cody looks stunned.
“Fuck,” Zep says finally. “I mean, fuck.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Fuck.”
“So, what now?” Andrew asks, and I can hear him trying to keep the accusation out of his voice.
“Now we prove we're right.” Calmly, I outline our decisions for moving forward: select a label that aligns with our mission, define actions to ensure sustainability, and prioritize well-being over industry norms.
“First, we’ll write new songs that reflect our current state and what matters to us, focusing on resilience and authenticity, using our own stories to create music that connects with people.” Writing together isn’t just about making music. It’s also about healing. We want our songs to be honest and focus on hope, so that listeners can see their own stories reflected in them. We’ll work as a group, sharing ideas and turning them into music that means something to all of us.
“Next up, looking for independent labels that share our vision. We can even consider Red King Records, which both Kip Knox and Henley Hendrix helped to start with their bandmates. It’s just down in Atlanta. We’ll review their artists and see if their values align with ours. The right label would allow us to experiment, help us reach more people, and support our touring plans without compromising our creative control. Reaching out, sharing our requirements, and exploring whether we can find a partnership that works for both parties.
“Finally, we need to set up some small shows close to home to reconnect with our fans and share our new music. We want to play in places where we can truly interact with people and build stronger ties within our fan-based community, crafting setlists that showcase our new direction and focus on making each show feel personal.
“For marketing, we can connect authentically with social media— behind-the-scenes, live sessions, interactive Q&As, and newsletters. This nurtures a direct relationship and organic growth.”
“And if we can't pull this off?” Parker asks quietly.
