or die. My dad tosses that saying around the clubhouse when brothers bitch about trying something new. Such as “the government’s coming down hard on drug selling of any kind, maybe it’s time the club look into selling weapons.” Adapt or die in prison, in that case.
My situation is less dire. Turns out, when everyone told us Mark Cutter was a demanding producer, I should’ve listened.
Talk about regimented. We’re not in the studio for a few hours a day and then left to run wild through the streets of Vancouver like Jacob had hoped. No, Mark puts us on a schedule that includes bed times and wake times.
Jacob didn’t take it well. Hell, none of us were thrilled. But Mark wasn’t cheap and we’ve produced some quality material the last couple weeks, so we adapted.
Adapt or languish in obscurity. We need to get this album out before people forget who we are.
The shower spray I’m currently under suddenly turns ice-cold. “What the fuck!” I yell, slapping the water off.
What I haven’t adapted to yet—living with these three clowns again.
Yup. Mark Cutter insisted we all rent a house together. It’s a big house, plenty of room to get away from each other but close enough for Jacob to wander into my room at all hours every single time a lyric pops into his head.
I snap a towel off the hook, wrap it around my waist, and storm out of the bathroom in search of someone to strangle. At least when the hot water runs out at home, it’s because Mallory and I were busy fucking in the shower. “Why the fuck is there no hot water?”
“Sorry, bro!” I only get a glimpse of Jacob’s naked ass scampering up the steps with two equally wet and naked females, but it’s enough to put the pieces together.
“Fucker,” I grumble.
Alvin knocks on my door as I’m finishing getting dressed. “Mark wants to see you.”
“What? Why?” I’m really not in the mood to be scolded or lectured today. Or any other day.
“I think he’s sitting down with each of us individually,” Alvin says. “He held me after our session yesterday, remember?”
I’d been so drained, I hadn’t thought much about Alvin staying to talk to Mark. He must’ve felt the same because he didn’t come find me when he got back to the house.
I’m annoyed, but like a dutiful musician, I hoof it down the few blocks to the studio. Mark’s waiting in the suite reserved for us and I knock on the door as I push it open. “You wanted to see me early?”
He waves his hand. “Come on in. How are you?”
“Fine.” I take one of the seats and pull it around so we’re facing each other. “What’s up?”
A relaxed smile spreads over his face and he kicks back, throwing his sneakered feet up on the table next to him. “Nothing bad. You can wipe that nervous look off your face. I’m checking in with each of you individually.”
I scratch my chin. “Thanks?”
“How do you think things are going?”
“Great.”
“You’re okay with the schedule?”
It’s annoying to admit it, but his grueling schedule is exactly what a bunch of unfocused punks need to stay on track. “I think it’s working for us.”
“Good. I don’t want to squash your creativity, but sometimes we also need to rein it in to produce results. Inspiration is important. But if we waste too much time waiting around for you to be ‘inspired’ you might never write another lick. We want to get new music out there while you’re still relevant. It’s a delicate balance.”
I understand the wisdom in what he’s saying. “If I want to be a professional musician, I need to work at it every day. Treat it like a job. If I were a mechanic in my dad’s garage, I wouldn’t have the luxury of saying ‘I’m not inspired to change those brake pads today, Dad. Maybe tomorrow.’ Is that what you’re getting at?”
“Exactly!” He slaps his leg. “Hell’s fucking bells, you’re the first musician I’ve worked with who’s nailed it so eloquently.”
“It’s not quite the same thing—”
He holds up his hand to stop me. “I understand. I absolutely do. And I respect that. You are an artist.” He taps his temple. “You’re creating something out of nothing. Creating from your very soul. It’s an incredible gift to be able to do that, Chaser. It’s not the same as brake pads.” He holds out his hands palms up. “But I want to help you strike the balance between