AT 29 (10 page)

As she stepped into his office she observed the pile of reports littering his desk. Stacks of trade magazines sat within reach on the floor and she had no doubt he'd read them all. On a credenza behind his desk beneath a window that looked out to the horse fields, were more stacks, this time of albums and cassettes. What has he been up to?

When he looked up he made an odd movement with his mouth and waved his hand for her to take the chair opposite his desk. Was that a smile? She wasn't sure, but she smiled back just in case.

With no prelude, he launched into what was on his mind. “I need your opinion on some of our music.” He pointed to the albums and cassettes.

“Okay,” she replied, uncertainly. “What do you have?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?” She doubted that he'd had the time to locate all the music that Blossom had archived over the years, no less listen to it.

“Yes, most of it's here and I have more at home.”

“That's a lot of listening,” she responded, skeptically.

Miles was used to circumspection from people who were unfamiliar with his style. He sensed that Cindy didn't know what to think of him. They'd only worked together for a few weeks and their interaction was intermittent as he hurried to get up to speed. The hard part was getting past her looks. If she knew she was beautiful she didn't show it. This made him suspicious. Was she just acting? Was she simply unaware? Heads turned when she entered a room. Men stared. He knew because, even on his first day, when he assembled the staff for an introductory meeting, eyes turned toward her despite
his monologue from the front of the room. He wasn't normally affected by a woman's beauty, especially in a business setting. For some unexplained reason she was different. Maybe it was just the fact that he missed his wife.

“I started with every song Blossom released. Most, to be candid, is noise to me. What I liked, the market seemed to like. What I didn't, sold next to nothing.”

“You have a good ear.” No harm buttering up the boss.

“Maybe. I've been listening to the radio. I hear one of our singers, but not often.”

Cindy crossed her legs, glancing at the trades piled on the floor. “Did you read all of those?”

“Yes. Nothing in any of them about our people.”

“Daisy Overton made the decisions about everything we put on the market. I tried to get her to spend some promotion money, but I think it was an area she didn't understand. Anyway, it's expensive.”

“How did she choose what to release?”

“I wish I could point to some logic, but I never understood why she picked one over another. Some of the releases didn't make sense to me.”

“I understand she was intimate with some of the men she signed, true?”

“Yes.”

“Before or after she gave them a contract?”

“I don't know, but she spent time with them before she put them in the studio.”

“We won't be making decisions that way anymore.”

Cindy pondered this statement. Did he think she was involved with the way Daisy conducted herself?

“Are you planning to add talent?”

“Not until I know more about the talent we already have.”

“What we have is one erratic singer/songwriter and nineteen question marks.”

“I'm terminating some contracts.”

Cindy raised her eyebrows. “How many?”

“Thirteen.”

She did the math. “That leaves us with seven artists, not much to work with.”

Miles chuckled. “From what I've read all it takes is one.”

She leaned forward. “There's an incident last month in Atlantic City.”

Miles nodded. “Jimmy Button, I'm dealing with the lawyers on that. Right now, I want to compare notes on the artists I've decided to keep.”

She sat back. “Shoot.”

Miles identified the artists he intended to retain. He explained his reasoning by citing the sales figures indicating there once was an audience for some of them. Then he showed her a list of the songs with the dates they had been released and the revenues derived. He followed that with a list of other songs by the same artists that, for whatever reason, never went beyond the recording studio. These were songs he had culled from listening for all those hours at home, songs he personally liked. He wanted her opinion on several.

Cindy marveled at his command and the energy in his voice. Some of the songs she knew, but others came as a surprise. She chided herself for being unprepared. After all, he had been at Blossom for only a few weeks while she had been at the label for five
years. She agreed with most of his choices, wondering if she should admit that she did not know some of the others. She chose candor.

“I'll need to spend some time with these recordings.”

Miles didn't skip a beat. “That's what I want you to do.”

He turned around, grabbed several cassettes from the credenza and loaded one into a player on his desk. They listened to cuts from several recordings before he turned the player off. “It seems to me that we might be able to make something out of a few of these. I need your input.”

“We have the masters, but the artists will want to sign off on anything we do.”

The reaction from Miles was vehement. “Not a chance. We own the music. Whatever else was willy-nilly around here, the contracts are ironclad.”

“They'll balk at anything they don't agree with.”

“And they won't get a nickel from Blossom if they do.”

She went into her typical diplomacy. “Maybe it would be wise to spend some time with each of them.”

“Can't wait for that. We need to generate revenue now.”

His impatience was probably a good sign, but artists always assumed creative control. This was human nature. Did Miles really fail to understand this or was he merely a numbers guy?

He read her mind. “Look, I don't intend to go behind anybody's back. I'm weighing our options. For now, we need to concentrate on what we have. Then we can draw up a plan.”

Cindy nodded and looked over his shoulder at the credenza. “You have more?”

Miles brightened and whirled around to retrieve more tapes. “I found all sorts of material. I think some of it has promise, music to my ears, excuse the pun.” He put a cassette into the player on the desk. “Listen to this fellow from Australia.”

He played three songs, running ten minutes total. Cindy was astonished at the rich tonality of the singer's voice. He sang the first song without instrumentation, but it made no difference. The Australian, whoever he was, ran through notes and octaves easily. After the first song she figured him for a baritone only to be completely swept away by a lilting tenor, accompanied by a violin in the next. The voice rose from softness to crescendo, exhibiting extraordinary range. The third song surprised yet again when she heard an up-tempo ballad with full accompaniment, drums, guitars and keyboard. Both singer and song were as distinctive as any that ever topped the charts.

“Who is he?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. His name is Nigel Whitehurst. The contract was signed two years ago and runs for another twelve months. We have this one tape with eight songs. We pay him a small amount every month by wire to a bank in place called Aireys Inlet. Other than that we have nothing; no releases, no correspondence and no record of any visit here to Millburn.”

A vague recollection crossed Cindy's mind, a conversation with Daisy just before she left. “I believe this is a contract Daisy drew up sight unseen. She told me she received a tape in the mail from a college friend. I remember that she was very excited. She told me she wanted to lock him up before somebody else found him.”

“Okay, what happened?”

“I don't think anything happened. You say the contract was done two years ago?”

“Yes, his signature, Daisy's and someone named Sister Marie Bonaventuri.”

“A nun?”

Miles opened the side drawer of his desk and pulled out a folder containing dozens of pages of handwritten notes. He consulted a page and then looked up at Cindy. “Her address is Saint Malachy's Boys Orphanage in Melbourne. Did Daisy say anything else?”

“She was planning to go to Australia. This was around the time she met her husband. She lost interest in Blossom and never made the trip.”

“So, no one has ever seen or talked to this guy?”

“My mistake, I'm afraid.” Her recollection was getting clearer.

“What do you mean?”

“Just before her wedding she told me to get him over here to do some work, but her father stepped in and put everything on hold. Expenditures went through the accountants and all travel was cancelled except for committed concerts. I was the temporary head of things so I concentrated on following orders. Most of what I did was keep our one money maker in-line and that was pretty much a full-time effort.”

“That would be Button?”

“Yes.” Cindy turned away. She hesitated then looked up again. “But to finish on this Australian, I never looked for the tape so I'm hearing it now for the first time. For once, Daisy was right. He could be very good. We should get to work with him right away.”

“Exactly how do we bring a talent along?”

“That depends on the individual. Usually, we bring them into the recording studio to see what they can do. Once we have an idea of their skills, we pair them up with various types of material.”

“You mean songs?”

“Yes. Their own if they have some, or we find others from our own writers. Sometimes we license from the market although that can be expensive.”

“Then what?”

“Take after take. Instrumentation plays a major role. For example, a good voice with guitars can be made great with horns and piano and vice versa.”

“That seems simple enough.”

“It's a lot harder than it sounds.

“Who manages all of this?”

“That's the job of the producer. He or she collaborates with the artist on choice of music, selects the arrangements, hires the accompaniments, schedules the rehearsals, oversees the recording sessions, supervises the mixing and brings the final recording on-line.”

“I assume we have people who do this?”

“Not anymore. They all left when we stopped developing anything new.”

“I was afraid of that.” Miles shook his head.

“We could bring in a freelancer, but the good ones are costly and hard to schedule. If we want to develop this Australian we need to see who we can hire for the job.” Miles nodded, skeptically. Then Cindy thought of another idea. “You know sometimes artists do their own thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some produce their own songs. It's happened here”

“Who?”

“Jimmy,” she said, looking away again.

“Button?”

“Yes. Daisy brought in a so-called guru to mentor him. They never got along. The producer was too rigid. He demanded a big sound with lots of percussion, horns, a chorus of back-up singers. He forced Jimmy to record and re-record with all sorts of different mixes for months. Jimmy finally balked. After a nasty blowup, he simply disappeared without telling anybody.”

“He walked out?”

“He was playing in a pub in Vermont. I had just come on board so Daisy sent me to bring him back. I stayed for a week to watch and listen, pure magic. I called her and suggested that if I could get him back to New Jersey, she let him alone and see what he could do.”

“It worked?”

“He went into the studio with a few session players and produced his first album by himself. He had a nice touch with the musicians and the sound engineers. He knew what he was doing, few re-takes, few re-mixes and a nice piece of work when it was finished.”

“So, why do I think something bad happened?”

“Not so bad, just a little frustrating when Daisy got involved. She viewed Blossom as a rock label. She had an attitude about the company's image. She didn't want it muddied by a soft sound, no matter how good. She refused to release the album unless the sound was amped up.”

“There's plenty of power on the recordings I've heard on the radio.”

“She went behind his back. When Jimmy refused she sent the masters to her producer friend and had him add a lot of background instrumentation and percussion. She released the album when Jimmy went home for his mother's funeral.”

“That must have caused some problems.”

“The album sold reasonably well. He became a bit of a celebrity. When concert offers started coming in he got caught up in the moment.”

Miles seemed to be thinking. “You know I have the original tapes of that first album, I mean the ones he must have completed before Daisy added all the noise. Do you remember how it sounded?”

“Vaguely. I remember it was good.”

“He has a lot of other songs that were never released. What did get released represents the only Blossom recordings getting airtime.”

“Jimmy Button has a loyal following.”

“You were at his last concert?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Cindy shrugged. “The band had a meltdown. Not everything reported in the trades is accurate, but his reputation is dirt. It will be hard for him to recover. Even if he puts a new group together nobody will book him”

“What kind of performer is he?”

“When he's on he pours out some real emotion, not an act. Happy, sad, he can bring a crowd to highs and lows with the best of them. The only thing holding him back is alcohol.”

“Do you spend a lot of time with him?”

Cindy shifted in her chair. “We lived together for the last five years.”

“Lived, as in past tense?”

“I broke it off.” She met his gaze.

“May I ask why?”

“I realized there was no future for us.”

Miles leaned back, uncertain. Ordinarily he would retreat by moving the conversation back to business, a topic he could control. Yet, for some reason, business suddenly wasn't what interested him. He didn't care what her words might reveal about Jimmy Button. He was surprised that his unexpected desire was to know more about this lovely woman sitting across from him.