“What’s the catch?” After the Revolver proposition, I figure that needs to be a staple question in my vocabulary from now until the end of time.
“Yeah, what’s the catch?” Alvin echoes.
Val stares me straight in the eyes. “No catch. The conversation was only about Kickstart. Apparently, Jared Stone got his hands on a bootleg of one of your U.K. shows and liked what he saw.”
The lead singer of one of the biggest bands ever watched some shitty, underground video of one of our performances and wants us to open for him? For real?
“People are bootlegging our shows?” Jacob shouts. “That’s fucking awesome!”
Val’s gaze travels the length of the table, stopping to give each of us a meaningful look. “You guys can handle this, right? Opening for them right here in L.A. is a big deal. Huge. We need serious rehearsals. I’m not sure you have enough material to cover the time slot. Why don’t you work on a few covers—
“We have the material.” Garrett holds up a hand, stopping Val. None of us have ever been particularly receptive to her advice when it ventures into our music.
“You could do a cover of one of their songs,” Val persists. “A way to—”
“We’ll handle it,” Jacob assures her.
Well, at least we’re all on the same page in one area.
“All right, well, I’m trying to get you a warm-up gig at the Troubadour before the shows.”
“Let us get through some rehearsals, first,” Jacob says.
“Okay, now the bad news.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “The video for ‘Candy Jar’ won’t be receiving any more airplay.”
“What? Why?” Jacob slams his palm on the table. “MTV filmed our show at the premiere, and the video was doing great. What changed?”
Her cool gaze flicks my way for a brief second, signaling what’s about to come out of her mouth. “What do you think? Davey Revolver made good on his threats. That snake has connections everywhere.”
“Jesus Christ.” Garrett hangs his head. “We’re fucked.”
A lot of money went into that video. Money that will eventually come out of the band’s bottom line.
“It’s not the end of the world,” Val assures us. “I have a friend I talked to. They might be able to sneak it on at some obscure times. Like 1:00 a.m. to 3:00 a.m.”
Jacob sits back and laughs. “Joke’s on Davey, then. That’s when our core audience is awake. The video will get its legs back, Val.”
Thank fuck. I expected Jacob to be a lot more petulant about the whole situation. Maybe throw more blame my way. Either he actually learned his lesson—which I doubt—or he’s afraid of another ass-kicking. Both suit me fine.
“We’ll see.” Val swipes her palms together, washing away the bad news. “No matter what, we push forward. New album.” Her gaze slides to me. “Don’t bite my head off but the record label wants to know if you’ll reconsider re-recording ‘Cry it Out.’ I told them—”
“Yeah, let’s do it.” Even with all the chaos swirling around us, I haven’t stopped thinking about the two fans I talked to in England.
“Yes?” Her eyebrows seem to have permanently fused with the top of her forehead. Can’t blame her. I’ve been a real dick about this in the past. “Really? You’re sure?”
“Yeah, let’s do it. No cheesy fucking bullshit video, though.” All this time I couldn’t stand thinking of such a personal song exploited for money. Instead, I should’ve considered all the people it might reach who need the reminder that they’re not alone.
“Fuck yeah!” Jacob thrusts his fist in the air. “That needs to be our first single from the new album.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Ballads are usually the second single,” Val cautions.
Let the exploitation begin.
“This is great news.” Val squeezes her hands together and tips her head back like she’s thanking her favorite deity for my reasonableness today. “Fabulous.”
After her quick prayer to the gods of beleaguered band managers everywhere, Val has a few more points to go over before setting us free. “Do you still have your hearts set on working with Mark Cutter for the new album?”
“Yeah.” Jacob glances at each of us. “Right?”
We all nod. The four of us spent a lot of time researching who we wanted to produce our next album. We decided it had to be someone with a strong, solid reputation who could help us shed the fluffy image smeared all over us from “Candy Jar.”
Val shakes her head. “Cutter’s a slippery one. Only works with a few bands a year.” She spears Jacob with a pointed look. “He won’t put up with any bullshit. Although,” she taps her fingers against the desk as she mulls it over, “he has produced the last five albums Vicious Vandals released. Working with the four of you would be a vacation after those guys.”
The work Cutter’s done with Vicious Vandals is one of the main reasons we want to work with him so bad. I have faith in Val. The woman loves a challenge.