AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The music label had tweaked, no, completely changed, their acoustic-rock vibe.
The producers brightened their sound with techno beats and snappy pop refrains. The PR department turned the trio into the bubblegum version of their band, but they had allowed them to keep their name. And thanks to Mitzi Jones, their no-nonsense, tenacious manager who’d seemed to materialize out of thin air, they not only held the copyright to their music, but they also retained the rights to their sound recordings, which was a big deal and gave them control. Many an artist had gotten screwed over, not understanding the importance of both.
But the music label had screwed them in one regard.
They’d played up their youth and pegged him as the dreamy heartthrob lead singer and the face of Heartthrob Warfare, effectively pigeonholing the group as sugary-sweet pop artists.
They didn’t mind the changes to their music at the time, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention.
For the first time, he’d felt accomplished, even talented.
And nobody could see the parts he hated about himself.
He’d welcomed the tsunami of adulation.
They were three naïve teens from Colorado living the superstar dream. They’d agreed they’d get back to the music they wanted to play, one day. They’d harness the acoustic, edgier sound and focus on meaningful lyrics and melodies that stayed with people and lived in the listener’s soul—the kind of music showcased at Colorado’s Red Rocks Unplugged Concert.
There, artists didn’t rely on synthetic sound and pulsing bass.
Raw talent was what got a musician on the stage.
Butone daykept getting pushed back, and with each delay, frustration built and anger festered inside him, until the dream of returning to Heartthrob Warfare’s original sound imploded.
Gone, in the space of a breath.
It almost didn’t seem real—like a dream, no, like a nightmare.
Forget the fame and fortune. He’d give everything he had to go back in time to the three of them laughing and making music in that garage.
Back before the hard choices.
Back before the ultimatums and cruel words.
But there was no going back.
There was only the future—a future that, even from his perch on center stage with throngs of fans calling out his name, looked damned bleak.
He glanced offstage and caught his manager from the corner of his eye. Mitzi had known him long enough to tell that he’d zoned out. She gave him a healthy dose of stink eye, ran her hands through her spiky salt-and-pepper-colored hair, then signaled for him to wrap it up.
The woman was gruff but fair. She’d gone to bat for them back when they didn’t know a thing about the music industry. He didn’t trust many people, but he trusted her.
He nodded, then gripped the mic. “Thank you, Las Vegas. It’s been an amazing run, and you’ve been an amazing crowd.”
“Landon Paige, Landon Paige!” they chanted, the noise near deafening as one thought rattled around in his mind.
Was this the end?
This was his final concert at the Luxe Grandiose. For the last six months, he’d commuted between his home in Denver and a deluxe suite at the Luxe.
He’d gone through the motions, praying these shows would jumpstart his creativity.
They hadn’t.
And worse than that, he feared he was on the cusp of a complete career collapse.
And he only had himself and his shortcomings to blame.
He pushed the vexing thoughts aside.
