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28
OCTOBER
DYLAN
Life is fucking awesome.
Our baby is due in less than two months and my album recording, my other baby, travels along smoothly.
Steve snarked and dropped heavy words about legal action if I drop Phoenix before my contract ends, but I don’t intend to. I promised I’d be back to record the new Blue Phoenix album next year. Bryn and Jem are cool about the situation, but Liam’s opinion differs, and he voiced his thoughts I’ll drop Phoenix now. I assure him this is a one off and the band is my priority, joking we’ll still perform when they need to push us out in wheelchairs.
I need this. To be me, to have the control and freedom to do and return to the person underneath the image. Over the last two years, my life’s changed. I broke away from the world’s stranglehold; with Sky’s support and faith, I can do this. Never underestimate how the strength of another person can push you hard enough in the direction you need to go. Sky pulled me out of my tailspin, and I stopped looking backwards. Sky believes in me. In us. The future— our future—and that’s where I’m heading.
The interest in Dylan Morgan’s solo project sends ripples through the music industry, but rumours about the split die down as I’m seen with the guys; stories of animosity and arguments don’t stick. Jack produces a different sound to Phoenix; he worked with Chainsaw Babies recently on their now-acclaimed albums. I’m sure some industry pundits wait for my efforts to be a spectacular failure, but I’m confident this will be awesome.
One downside is my producer’s pre-existing commitments. Jack is booked out by the time I’m brave enough to commit, but the prestige of working with me stops an outright “no” from him. This forces me to Europe to work with him, on and off between his other projects; otherwise, I’ll need to wait for him to return in the New Year.
Sky laughs at me pursuing people when they should be the ones chasing Dylan Morgan. But hey, if I want the best, this is my only choice. Besides, this album needs completing before our baby arrives. If I don’t finish in time, the album release will be pushed back, which isn’t an option with promotion already booked. By January my sole focus will be my new family.
My family.
My heart swells at the word each time it comes up in conversation or my mind. The new start I’ve watched Jem experience. I’m impatient for her to arrive, and as Sky grows, so does my excitement. My incredible, amazing Sky carrying our child and our future. She takes pregnancy in her stride, although Sky voiced worries I wouldn’t find her attractive when her body changed. What’s more beautiful than the woman who you love more than you can express carrying a new life, a part of us?
Sky’s cool about my trips to Europe and refuses to let me use the pregnancy and protectiveness as an excuse to stay behind. If she ever felt the need for me to stick around, I would drop my visits to the studios in France in a heartbeat.
I return from one of those trips, a long week away from Sky. I hate when there’re miles between us and so does she, but there’s nothing for her to do if she joins me. My time working when I’m there leaves room for little else; more intense than usual with the time constraint. Here, she has Tara who occasionally stays, or Sky visits Bristol. I love she has a friend who has no interest in the benefits of a rich, famous friend and I’d hate to think Sky’s lonely.
I play some of the new tracks to Sky, as we sit in my personal studio; the place only she’s allowed to visit. She rests back on the tatty sofa, legs across mine, and I massage her feet as she listens intently.
“This is different, Dylan.”
“Good different?”
“Mellower.”
“You like?”
“More than Blue Phoenix, yes.”
Pride replaces the anxiety. Sky loves the songs, the creativity I lacked on the last Phoenix album poured into them. My heart is back in the music, and if this passion shows to Sky, my harshest critic, others will recognise it. I played a couple of tracks to Jem the other day, and he gave the thumbs up too. There’s a strange relief in the people closest to you loving your work.
“I think it’s funny you still won’t listen to the band,” I say and swap to her other foot, digging my fingers into the arch.
“I’ve listened to some.” She shoves me in the shoulder. “Only the earlier tracks because I half recognise them. I think.”
“You’re hilarious. Two of our songs are inRolling Stonemagazine’s all-time Top 100, you know?”
“I’m not saying they’re bad, you’re talented, Dylan. There are reasons I don’t like listening to the band.”
“Because you hate our style?”
Sky laughs. “No. Because I don’t like the aggression in your early tracks. Then in later songs, there’s something else... I can hear your struggle, Dylan. That’s why I don’t listen—it hurts my heart.”
“Oh.” I stop massaging her feet. “I never knew you felt like this.”
“The angry stuff I understand. You were a bunch of teens, but the later albums say too much about you and the place you were in.” She indicates the speakers where my new song, “Evermore," filters through. “This is the new you.”
“This is what you make me, Sky Morgan.” I lean across and kiss the spot between her eyes. “Happy, contented, loved.” I place a hand on the bump between us. “And a dad.”
