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I’d actually forgotten about that shit since my assistant Valentina had reminded me of it this morning on the way to the studio.
It was fine, yeah, I just… wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.
If it was enough to just keep putting out the shit I’d recorded in my closet with my DIY soundproofing and a fifty-dollar mic from the internet, I never would’ve changed a thing.
But growth was necessary.
Growth had created wealth and that wealth had afforded me the ability to pour back into the neighborhood I grew up in before it became what it was now. And not even on any gentrification shit, at least not in the way most people meant it. For me—and many others—it was permanent, affordable housing, daycare co-ops, community-building type shit. Yes, the Heights had yoga and fancy coffee and organic vegetables now, but that shit was nice. Whyshouldn’t “we” have nice shit in the neighborhood?
That was the whole fucking purpose, to eliminate the need for the kind of activities I’d grown up enmeshed in, the stuff we did out of necessity and desperation. All the amenities of the privileged, yeah, bring it.
And I didn’t want that for justmyneighborhood.
So… growth.
Which meant putting myself out there for shit that wasn’t necessarily my favorite, but added to the bag.
Grudgingly, I nodded, signaling that the session was over. We spent a few minutes going through technical shit and then parted ways, with Noble hanging around with the other two to work on solo shit.
I was barely off the elevator before Valentina was all over me about my schedule, which I wasn’t really trying to hear, but it was what I paid her for. So I checked my agitation to listen patiently, eyebrows going up over one item in particular.
“That startsthis week?” I asked, referring to her reminder that Nick Davison, an indie filmmaker whose work was currently making waves, had engaged me about an artist series he wanted to do.
Well.
He’d engaged Valentina, who said yes before she even ran it past me.
To her credit, it was only because she knew me well and I would’ve agreed to it anyway. The thing was, I’d had so much going on that I’d lowkey forgotten about it and now she was telling me thatTen Thousand Minuteswas right on my head.
She wrinkled her nose at me and I knew I was not about to like the next thing that came out of her mouth.
“He arrived in town today.”
“Today?! Val, comeon,” I complained and she actually laughed at that before she quickly recovered.
She shrugged. “We’ve seen how it goes; he’s very unobtrusive. No crew or anything and he doesn’t use a big, obnoxious camera. It’ll be fine.”
“I’ve got a performance coming up and I’m trying to finish an album.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, which is exactly why Ichosethis week. Lots to see.”
“So you did this on purpose? I’ma fire your ass.”
She smirked. “You’re not gon’ donothing. Now… come on. You’re meeting him for dinner.”
Generally speaking,I could move freely around the Heights.
I grew up with many of the locals, who helped normalize my presence with the people who’d been here long enough to not be called transplants anymore, but hadn’t been here from the beginning. The newer folks were just used to me by now. Of course, this was all based on the people who actually gave a fuck I existed.
Obviously, not everybody did.
But enough did that if too many were on the starstruck shit that happened to me in other places, folks screaming and asking for autographs and all that, it would severely limit my freedom. Which would bleed onto my desire to evenbein the Heights, which would mess up the productivity.
I always came back because it was home, sure, but I also came towork.
“This definitely ain’t the place to hitbeforethe club,” Nick groaned, sitting back in his seat across the booth from me.
I glanced at his empty plate and chuckled. “Definitely not. Unless you’ve got a power nap and a Red Bull on deck or something.”
