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“Evan, try not to put too many boundaries around it. Sometimes the best things happen when you break the rules.” She winks at me, and I’m embarrassed to be so transparent.
The only thing saving me from continuing this conversation is that the band we came to listen to and offer a contract has finally emerged from backstage where they changed after the concert and are sitting down at the bar where Iris and I are.
“Sorry to bother you. Can we talk?” I extend Jail Record’s business card to the lead singer.
The guy’s eyes widen and he glances at his companions, who seem keenly interested. Despite being a small operation compared to the giants that have been around for years, the Jailbirds’ name and everything associated with it is well-known in the industry. Their fame appeals to indie bands that have not yet broken through. What confuses me, though, is that this guy seems embarrassed.
“Of course, go ahead.” He smiles, turning away from the band, who are relaxing and sipping beer. He’s the spokesperson here.
“You were great tonight on stage.”
“Thanks. We’ve been playing here for years. It feels like home, and the people here know and support us,” he admits sincerely.
“I like your material, and you’ve got enough originals for an album. Would you be interested in coming by our offices to talk about your future? Is making music full-time something you might want to do?”
The guys, even those who pretended not to be listening, look at each other uncomfortably, and I realize the answer is a fat no. But it’s not that unusual for negotiations to not be successful, so I get it.
“I’m sorry, man, but we just signed a contract. You know, when the biggest record company shows up to offer you a deal, you don’t say no.”
I feel my chest squeeze, the air coming out of my lungs, and my heart stopping for what feels like forever. There’s only one “biggest” record company out there, and it’s the one I’m fighting tooth and nail. I feel Iris lean into my shoulder and realize I’m stiff as a board. I force a smile and try to regain some composure. Until a month ago, I would never have lost my poker face over this news. Until a month ago, I still had my life under control.
“I’m happy for you. You’re terrific. You deserve it.” And I really mean it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here to offer them a contract.
“Thanks. With the merger coming up, they’re trying to update their roster a bit. They’ve offered contracts to a lot of up-and-coming bands in New York. They’re really focusing on new artists.”
His enthusiasm is genuine. I imagine how they sold him this career move as the new wave of modern music and the best opportunity for young emerging artists.
I feel the forced smile wavering. This is just the first on the list of bands I had in mind. The discomfort filling my stomach is a warning signal that this path I’m taking to fix my mistakes has hit an obstacle that’s going to make my work almost impossible. Their purpose is to sabotage Jail Records and my career, and they are succeeding.
“You made the right choice. Who’s your manager?” I ask, more out of curiosity than to propose I represent them.
“Mark, a new guy we met only once but who helped us negotiate a great deal. We had to fire our old manager, but we wouldn’t have gotten this far if we had kept him.” He explains with a half-embarrassed smile. It’s obvious the decision was painful and made them feel guilty.
“Did they suggest this manager? Or did you find him on your own?” As soon as the words slip out, I realize I already know the answer. The Red Velvet Curtains are just the tip of the iceberg in the record company’s power games. I’m not the only manager they want to sacrifice, which makes me think there’s a bigger scheme at play that I haven’t yet grasped.
“They did. They were awesome. They treated us like rock stars.” His eyes light up with enthusiasm.
I feel Iris’s gaze on my face, and I can’t stand the pressure anymore. Too many problems crowd my head, and I lose the conversation thread. I want to ask questions, investigate, and get to the bottom of it, but I can’t without giving away too much. I can’t discuss Jail Records’ strategies with complete strangers.
“You deserve it. Too bad I got here too late.” I smile at him.
“Sorry, man.” He gives me back my business card and grabs his beer before turning to a small group of fans waiting for him.
“What’s going on?” Iris’s voice is worried.
“Anthony Flores is burning everything around us in New York,” I answer without daring to look into her eyes.
She grabs my arm and forces me to turn toward her. She frowns and looks perplexed. “Isn’t that a costly way to go? I mean, signing indie bands gets expensive if you have to develop them all into professional musicians.”
“That’s the point. They don’t develop them. They sign contracts with low advances that are only tempting to unknown bands, then make them record an album fast to reduce expenses. They launch them with minimal publicity and see who sells more. If the bands don’t put all their efforts into selling, they’ll sink against the competition. The label keeps only the two or three bands that work the hardest to break through, and they forget the rest—just like they did with the Red Velvet Curtains.”
“Are you serious?” She gapes at me in disbelief.
I nod. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. They prey on the inexperience of these indie bands and lure them in with their big name. They’re only interested in numbers. Out of a hundred bands they sign, they’re counting on at least one to break through and cover the costs of the contracts of the other ninety-nine that are left to themselves.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Right. And if they ruin us in the process, it becomes almost a joke to them.” I finish my beer and put the bottle on the counter. I shouldn’t even drink alcohol because of my stomach, but I’m tempted to get so drunk I forget this night and the last few months leading up to it.
