“Love it!”I write on the board, then erase it, adding the idea to our list but amending it to say crop top. I’m forming an idea of exactly what I want things to look like as we talk, and thisis actually beyond perfect. I want to incorporate elements that have been a part of my journey but embrace them in a way that feels liberated.
“Okay! I like that!” Gill says, her fingers flying over her tablet as she pulls up images reflecting my vision. There’s a playful energy to our back-and-forth as she and Izzy encourage my ideas.
“What about adding rhinestones to the back of your leather jackets? Could be your name or the tour name. Just a brief nod to your pop past.” I instantly give Gill a thumbs up for her idea and add it to the growing list. She gives a pleased smile and returns to her work.
I stand back and take in the list we have so far, one that speaks of resilience and defiance.
“What about me?” Nash asks, an overly animated excitement in his voice. Which is basically just Nash to a T. “I want to know what my stage style will be.”
“What would you like it to be?“ I write out, which starts a trend of building each of their looks, which admittedly isn’t too far off from what they typically wear, but I love how much fun they are having with this process.
The atmosphere transforms, laughter and focused discussions melding into a pulse of shared energy. This is what I’ve been longing for since I left Tristan five years ago—a connection, a collaboration, a journey shared with someone I love. Well, in this case, someones.
I never thought it could be so much fun working as a team, proposing ideas and bringing up images on our phones to share what we’re thinking. We’re crafting not only memories, but a collective dream we can all call our own.
“Let’s think of an album name,” Gill suggests after we finish going over everyone else’s style. “What resonates with you?”
I pause, frozen for a moment. I’ve thought about this, but there’s so many avenues we can take, and it’s not just my decision this time. We’re building these songs from the ground uptogether. It’s their album as much as mine.
Glancing to either side of me, I do my best to convey that point.
“Pretty When I Break,“ Nash says with a wink. “Shows your resilience while also giving a hint to your rage. A good mix of recognizing your pop roots but making them darker.”
Dare chimes in, his voice low, “Sounds like you’ve come through storms. That no matter what has happened, you can have strength while you’re surviving it.” Izzy and Gill nod their heads, agreeing with him.
“What aboutEchoes of Survival?“ Blake suggests. “A play off the label name, but also a reflection of everything you’ve overcome?”
Izzy gives a nod of approval. “It’s deep but powerful.”
Tristan leans forward, his hands clasped on the table. “We could doMirage Theory. It’s a nod to the band name, sure, but it also talks about the illusion everyone saw all these years versus what was actually happening behind the scenes.”
“We could do something with a contemporary flair,” Dare starts hesitantly, like he’s having a flair up of feeling like he’s not really part of the band. The way we all give him our attention seems to embolden him, though. “Rise and Reverb. Recovery paired with the healing power of music.”
“Volume II. Declaring a new start.“ Keaton keeps his suggestion short and sweet, tapping out a steady rhythm with his sticks.
For some reason, my mind goes to the way Tristan twisted my lyrics until they burned me to my very core. “This Is How I Burn.“ I don’t think I need to explain it’s a confessional title, and while I like it, I’m not sure all the songs will revolve aroundmy pain like the last ones we did. The ones Carmen and Dickless stole from me.
We’re all silent for a few minutes, thinking them over. We don’t have to pick anything today, which is good because I like them all.
We continue bouncing the suggestion around the room, charged with potential as we narrow down our favorites, yet ultimately not making a final decision.
By the time we wrap up brainstorming stage design, evening light spills into the room, infusing every corner with warmth. My hands wrap around a mug filled with tea to help soothe my throat. Today has been a lot, if I’m honest, probably a little too much for it. Which is why I sit back and simply listen for now, finding comfort in the soft buzz of conversation.
“Now, you mentioned wanting to relocate in your last email. Is that still something you want to do?” Izzy asks, focusing on me.
I nod my head in answer.
Izzy lays out a colorful map of potential cities, and I lean forward, letting my fingers trace the lines connecting each spot. “If we’re launching this label, we need to be strategic about location,” she explains, her finger circling L.A., New York City, and Atlanta as possibilities.
I shake my head, not liking the idea of being in a big city, even if those are areas where other major labels are located.
Thankfully Blake speaks up before I break my silence. “Everyone typically runs to a big city when they start a label. That’s not us. Survival Records isn’t about chasing trends, it’s about making something real.”
“We want to do the unexpected,” Dare adds. “The label’s not about location, it’s about creation. We need space to think, space to build. Artists will come to us because we’re different. Because we’re grounded.”
Gill leans over, nodding. “We can find somewhere that fosters creativity, where artists feel supported. Did you have somewhere specific in mind?”
“Mountains,” I say. The beach felt like home when all this began, but now I want fresh pine air and scenic valleys.
