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10
Austin
Have you ever been a part of “bring your child to work” day? When I was younger, like five or six, I thought it was the coolest thing ever. My mom’s class was fun because I was young, and it was easy to make friends when I was that age. Even as a third-grader, I saw how the class loved my mom. That might’ve been when I first thought it was cool to be a teacher.
But the days my father actually acted like a dad and brought me to work with him were amazing. Walking into Rich Records, feeling like I’m a prince, people waiting on my father hand and foot all while being super friendly to me. Little did my elementary-age brain know they were simply kissing up to my dad. Still, at the time, it was terrific.
Now? Not so much.
“Feral Dive’s last album saw a forty-two percent drop in sales, Daniel,” my father tells Daniel Archibald. He’s the manager of Feral Dive, a rock band that was insanely hot eight years ago. Unfortunately, they’ve since died out, and their album sales have continued to decline.
It’s not so much the words my dad uses. Everything he’s saying is entirely right. I read the reports on them before this meeting. “Make sure you know the numbers,” my dad’s words echo around in my brain. It’s something he harps on endlessly. Feral Dive’s first album was on the Billboard charts for sixty-five straight weeks. Their sophomore album was still on the charts, but only for three months. And it never ranked higher than nineteenth. They released their third album four months ago, and unfortunately, it bombed.
“Jimmy, these are good kids,” Daniel retorts, his eyes jumping between my father and me.
I’ve grown to hate being part of these meetings. They are the worst. It’s the kind where my father either cuts an artist loose, or he tells their manager they’ve got a certain amount of time to turn their sales around.
I get that it’s all part of the business but being here feels like I’m watching a lion toy with his prey. It’s uncomfortable. My father makes sure I not only sit in on board meetings but the other not so fun stuff like this.
“Daniel, they aren’t kids. They’re artists.”
“They’re in their twenties, Jimmy. Yes, their last album didn’t sell well, but if we can get some kind of advertising budget, we can change things around. Their album’s been out for less than six months. You have to give them time.”
I uncomfortably scan the elegant restaurant my father wanted to meet Daniel in. It’s not very full, and the shine from the sun illuminating through the clear windows is almost blinding. It looks out over a section of Rodeo Drive, and shoppers roam around outside, not having a care in the world. Neither do the few customers and servers inside of the restaurant. I can hear their feet tapping around on the white marble floor, and a soft saxophone piece plays over the speakers. Everyone is going about their day. Meanwhile, Daniel is pleading for the commercial life of the band he manages.
“They’ve had time, Dan.” My father glances over at me, nodding.
Taking a deep breath, I open the leather folder in front of me. I still haven’t figured out if he makes me do this because he wants to keep his hands clean, or he really thinks I’m learning something from tearing apart dreams.
For these meetings, I dress a little more formally. Not in the thousand-dollar suits my father wears, but nice black slacks and a pressed button-up, with the top button undone. Sometimes I wish I wore a tie because then I’d have something to nervously fidget with when I have to start talking. Brushing my hair away from my forehead, I point down to the paper in front of me for Daniel to see.
“Mr. Archibald, Feral Dive’s first record sold two-point-two million. It went platinum the third month it was out, and double-platinum by the end of that year.” Handing him his own copy of my report, I continue, “But since that time, not only have the charts shown their decline but the social media relevancy rates—”
“Jimmy, what is this?” Daniel cuts me off, staring at my father. “What does social media—”
“Keep going, Austin,” my father orders, taking a sip of his gin and tonic.
I swallow the nerves. “I know most management firms look at the bottom line, and of course that plays a part, Mr. Archibald. But social media is king. Celebrities like Adam Coleman and Danica Parker continue to index high on not only InstaPic, but the new music app, Tonez.”
“Tonez?” he asks, but it’s not a question of confusion. It’s a question accompanied by a look that says he has no interest in what I’m saying.
“Yes, sir,” I respond. “Billboard rules the charts, but if an artist, regardless of their entertainment field, doesn’t index high outside of the social media platforms, they won’t gain ground on any charts. Whether that’s Billboard, Box Office Mojo, or any other tally marker industries use as a barometer. It’s all connected. This is why artists like Lost Link and Kings of Karmichael continue to sell millions of records, and their concerts still sell out. The public talks about them constantly, and in turn, they aren’t part of the zeitgeist. They are the zeitgeist.”
My father leans closer, interlocking his fingers in front of him over the table. Daniel doesn’t have a drink, but I have a soda. One I haven’t taken a sip from.
“Look, Daniel, I’m sorry,” my dad finally says. “Feral Dive had a great run. But I can’t keep that boat floating anymore. They fulfilled their two-record deal, and I gave you the option for the third. Unfortunately, that record—”
“You’ve gotta be shitting me?” Daniel spits out, leaning closer, staring my father down.
I’ve seen this before. No matter how much they try to act unintimidated by my father—and hey, maybe they’re not— they never get what they want. However, that doesn’t stop them from voicing their unfiltered opinions one last time.
“Third record? Jimmy, you gave those kids a deal with no marketing budget, no touring schedule, and no one in Rich Records behind them. They might as well have released their third record independently.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” My father stays his ground, keeping his hands together, and his gaze still locked on Daniel. After a moment more, Daniel rolls his eyes, scoffs, and gets up from the table. “Pleasure doing business with you, Daniel.”
“Go to hell.”
The man spins around, heading out of the restaurant, while I close the folder in front of me. “You didn’t bring up my plan.”
