Mr. Twang: A Fake Relationship Romance

2

Brendan

Accompanying Song:

“Gone Country” by Alan Jackson

“Sawyer, this sounds so fucking stupid. Who wants to listen to a song about falling in love in a damn dive bar?” I pushed the microphone away and sighed.

“Everyone.” My producer walked over and opened the door to the soundproof studio. “We tried recording stuff you wrote and the radio stations wouldn’t even play it. If we’re going to get you any time on the air, we’ve gotta do the cookie cutter stuff people love.”

“So much for every ounce of fucking creativity left in my music.” I snarled and grabbed the microphone. “Okay, fine—let’s take it from the top again.”

“You didn’t come to Nashville to be creative. You came here to make money.” My producer walked out of the soundproof studio and motioned for the audio engineer to start the track over.

Sawyer Young was the best in the business—well, the best in the country music business. He was also one of my father’s childhood friends. I spent most of my teenage years and my early twenties trying to become a rock star in Chicago where I grew up. My band was close to signing a record deal when everything went to shit. I found out my girlfriend was secretly fucking my bass player, Adam, and their betrayal shredded the band to pieces. I put together another band, but all of the songs I had written with Adam were co-owned, so that meant starting from scratch.

My frustration led to rage and alcohol fueled benders that went on for days. I missed practices, recording sessions, and eventually the record label got tired of waiting. The final knife through the heart came when they decided to sign Adam’s new band. I woke up one morning and realized I had to do something different. I wasn’t a fan of country music, but I did have one really good connection that had offered to help me if I ever decided to go that route. I didn’t feel like I had anything to lose at that point, so I decided to turn to Sawyer. I packed up my equipment, put some miles on my tires, and tried to start over in the neon dream called Nashville, Tennessee. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a road that

led to instantaneous success. I was waiting tables at night and recording during the day, trying to get a song that would earn some money.

“No, fuck.” Sawyer stood up and pushed the door to the soundproof studio open again. “You need more twang in your voice. That’s what has been wrong with all of your songs. You still sound like someone from Chicago faking their accent.”

“I am!” I pushed the microphone away and glared at him. “I don’t sound like Garth Brooks!”

“I know, but you have to make those people believe you do. Take it from the top again.” He closed the door and stared me down as I started trying to sing again.

Sawyer had been incredibly patient with me. He set me up with a vocal coach and I was pretty good in a conversation, but when I started singing, I lost the sound I was going for before I made it to the chorus. After the first few songs I wrote failed to even get played on the radio, he enlisted a songwriter that had worked with some legendary artists to produce the most cookie cutter song ever. It wasn’t meant to be a hit, it just needed to get me on the radio, so people could get used to my name. I was skipping a lot of steps because of Sawyer’s influence, and I was damn lucky to have his support, but I had no passion behind what I was singing. It sounded like I hated every note, and I did.

Seriously, who listens to this shit?

“Okay, that’s a wrap. I want you to practice this for a few days on your own and then we’ll see if we can get the track down.” Sawyer stood up and dismissed the audio engineer.

“Fuck!” I stood up and kicked my stool. “I didn’t realize it was going to be so fucking hard to sing a song that rednecks would listen to!”

“It’s going to be hard to get people to listen to your music if you hate your audience.” Sawyer pushed the door open and motioned for me to exit the soundproof studio. “Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

“How do you do it?” I lifted my beer and took a sip. “How do you sit there and listen to this trashy music all day and figure out what people want to hear?”

“What bands did you listen to growing up?” Sawyer turned towards me and leaned against the bar.

“Weezer, Good Charlotte, Linkin Park and Cold Play usually, but I liked stuff like Nirvana and Pearl Jam too.” I shrugged and sighed. “None of that translates very well into what I’m trying to do here in Nashville.”

“I love every band you just named, and can tell you most of their good songs, but I also like Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Alan Jackson. My tastes are diverse. I even listen to Eminem sometimes.” He chuckled. “But I’ll deny that if you ever tell anyone.”

“I wish I actually liked country music. That would make this process a whole lot easier. It figures that my only connection in the music industry is someone that produces the exact opposite of what I want to sing.” I sighed and drained my beer, immediately requesting another one from the bartender.

“You’re very talented. I wouldn’t have agreed to work with you if you weren’t, even if your father is one of my oldest friends. You’ve got something that needs to be shared with the world, but if your heart isn’t in it, then we’re both wasting our time.” Sawyer shrugged and sipped his glass of whiskey. “I like to believe I have a good ear for talent and if we can get the sound right, I believe you’ll have a very long career in Nashville.”

“I don’t really have anything else at this point, unless you want to make me the only rock star on your roster.” I chuckled and took a drink of my beer.

“No, I don’t have the right connections to make that work. We’re at a point where something has to happen, though. I get a lot of creative liberties because I’ve produced a lot of top ten hits, but eventually they’re going to want me to move on to something else.” He sighed and shook his head. “You’ve got to figure out if this is the right direction for you. If we have another session like today, I’ve gotta pull the plug.”

“So, I guess I’m going to have to sing the most cookie cutter song in history or go back to Chicago with my tail between my legs.” I exhaled sharply.

“Look around you.” He motioned to the bar. “What do you see?”

“Drunk people?” I leaned back and quickly scanned the bar.