Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Because I’ve already done the major label thing. I know what those contracts really mean. You’ll own everything I create, tell me who to write with, what to record, how to sound. I’ll end up making music that means nothing to anyone, including me.”
Mitchell starts packing his briefcase. “Bishop can’t offer you what we can. He’s indie, with limited resources, regional distribution at best.”
“Bishop respects what I’m building with Rye.”
“Bishop’s being polite. You think he doesn’t know she’s holding you back? He’s just too professional to say it.”
“Get out.”
“Think about this rationally—”
“I am thinking rationally. I’m thinking I don’t want to work with people who see authentic songwriting as a weakness.”
Mitchell heads for the door, then pauses. “When you’re ready to stop playing house with the bar owner, Apex will still be interested. But the offer won’t be as generous.”
“Then I guess I’ll never be ready.”
“You’ll change your mind. They always do when the money runs out and reality sets in.”
He leaves, and I stand there processing what just happened. Not the offer—I’ve had plenty of those. But the casual dismissal of Rye, like she’s some groupie I picked up instead of the most talented songwriter I’ve met in years.
My phone rings. Bishop.
“Heard you had a visitor,” he says without preamble.
“Word travels fast.”
“Mitchell called to gloat about poaching you. Seemed pretty confident.”
“He was wrong.”
“Good. But Darian, you know this is just the beginning, right? Now that you’re releasing your own music, every label in town is going to come calling. They’ll all try to separate you from Rye.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s unknown. She’s a risk. Labels don’t like risks.”
“She’s brilliant.”
“I know that. You know that. But they see numbers, demographics, social media presence. She has none of those things.”
“She has talent.”
“In this industry, talent is maybe twenty percent of the equation.”
“Then the industry is seriously more fucked up then I thought.”
Bishop laughs. “Now you’re catching on. Look, I’m calling to say I support whatever you decide. If you want to work with Rye, we’ll make it work. But be prepared for more Mitchells. They’ll all offer you the moon to leave her behind.”
“Let them try.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. See you in the studio Thursday?”
“We’ll be there.”
I hang up and grab my keys. Rye needs to know about Mitchell, not because I want credit for turning him down, but because she should know what we’re up against.
The Songbird is quiet when I arrive, afternoon lull before the evening crowd. Rye’s at the bar, working on the books, ledger spread out in front of her.
“Hey,” she says without looking up. “If you’re here for the open mic list, it’s already full.”
“Not here for that.”
She glances up, notices something in my expression. “What happened?”
“Apex Records just tried to poach me from Bishop.”
“That’s good, right? Bidding war means leverage.”
“They made it clear the offer was for me solo. They called you—” I pause, not wanting to repeat it but needing her to understand. “They said you were a nobody holding me back.”
She sets down her pen carefully. “They’re not wrong about the nobody part.”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s literally true. I have no industry presence.”
“You have The Songbird. You have your songs. You have—”
“A ten-year-old daughter and a business that barely breaks even and a bar owner who threatens to shut us down every month. I know what I have, Darian. And I know what I don’t have.”
“You have me. As a writing partner, I mean. If you want that.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “Even when labels are offering you stupid money to work with their approved writers?”
“Especially then.”
“You saw the number, didn’t you? The offer?”
“Yeah.”
“And you still said no?”
“Without hesitation.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Probably.”
She comes around the bar, stops just close enough that I have to look down to meet her eyes. “They’re going to keep coming. Other labels, other offers. They’ll all want you without me.”
“Then they don’t get me at all.”
“You say that now—”
“I’ll say it every time. We’re creating something real together. That’s worth more than any advance check.”
“Is it though? Can you pay rent with artistic integrity?”
“I’ve paid rent with a lot less. At least this way, I can sleep at night. I’d rather have my integrity than a record deal. I’d rather be someone people can count on, then on a world tour with sell-out crowds.”
She reaches up, touches my face briefly, then pulls back like she’s surprised by her own action. “Thank you. For choosing the music over the money.”
“I’m choosing you. The music is just an excuse.”
“Darian—”
“As a writing partner. Collaborator. Whatever you want to call it.”
“Right. Collaborator.” But she’s smiling now. “You really told Mitchell from Apex to fuck off?”
“More or less.”
“Because he called me a nobody?”
“Because he doesn’t understand what we’re building. And because anyone who can’t hear what you bring to the music is tone deaf.”