For Two Nights Only Page 5

  You need to understand the dichotomy of what I do. Hours of mapping and planning for one song, hundreds of small rewrites. Extend the chorus. Come back to it again. Take out a verse. Write a new bridge. Now shorten the chorus. All intellectual, based on what I know about songwriting. Then comes the rigidity of recording, having a click track beating out the measures and playing each instrument to that precise rhythm. All calculated. But then when you’re done, every little detail you so carefully scrutinized makes up this whole that becomes something flowing and emotional, which I’ve always felt stands in contrast to the tightness and exactness it takes to get to that endpoint. And when you get there, and you’re pushing the speakers in the studio to their max and relaxing with a drink, it’s the greatest feeling. Murphy and I were always able to share that, because he got both sides. Some musicians, some music men, only want that celebratory stage and so the music suffers, because they can’t focus on the mathematical side of the song’s creation, they don’t construct a tight song. And some people get too wrapped up in the precision of a song and lose focus on the end product, which should be joyous. Murphy and I always saw eye to eye on how the process should be, and he got where I was coming from and enjoyed taking the journey with me. If he didn’t like the drums on a track he’d tell me, we’d go back and fix it, we’d make it better. If he thought the guitar line was too weak he would say something, and I trusted his opinion enough to go back and write something new. And then when it was all done, we could both celebrate the things we’d created.

  It sounds like things clicked between you two.

  They did. He pushed me, he’s my positive adversary.

  What caused the riff?

  Right. So when Murphy gets excited something clicks inside him and there are no limits. It’s a part of his personality, and I think it’s how he got through all those long tours where he was supporting bands he signed. When he gets like that he barely finishes a thought before the next idea comes. “We can do this better, We should try this sound.” It’s why he’s brilliant at what he does. The first time we worked together it drove me nuts, but by the end of “9 Songs” I was hooked. And I’ve never worked with another person since.

  He was a couple bottles of wine in and wanted to hear the songs in another way. He was excited by the sounds coming out of the monitor and said he wanted to get inside it. I rolled a joint. Now Murph is not a smoker. He likes to be in control, to have that mechanic’s precision to tweak things if necessary, so he always stuck to alcohol. You may have read about my affairs with drugs, most of the characters are true, all of it’s exaggerated, but I tend to keep myself well stocked on the soft stuff. It didn’t go well. Murphy shut down, his body didn’t take to it and he felt nauseous, got paranoid, saw walls spinning violently. He ended up lying on the floor, begging me not to move him. I let the album play through once and then tried to get him up. He got pissed at me, so we listened to all twelve tracks again and he was asleep by the time “St. Matthew’s” finished. I got Oscar to help me carry him to bed, and when he woke up the next day he was upset with me for giving him weed. I told him I didn’t make him smoke it, but he maintained I knew his alcohol-only rule and I shouldn’t have let him cross that line, as a friend. We didn’t speak for a few months, and then eventually he calmed down and we sorted it out.

  And that was it?

  I think you’re missing the deeper symbolism of the story, Chris. It’s about a man betrayed. Trust lost. Confidence shattered. Murphy had boundaries so that he could work, be productive, and not go over an edge. I brought him over a line he had not crossed in a long time, and it went poorly. It justified his rules, and made me untrustworthy. It took a while to get past it, but we did. Now we joke about it like it was a schoolyard spat. He’s the only guy I’ll work with, it’s always been that way and there’s no reason to stop. If I feel stagnant with him I’ll move on, but I never have.

  Are you working with him now?

  Yes. He’s in the States at the moment but I send him songs over email and he critiques. When I get close to being done he’ll come over for a month and help me mix, probably polish some.

  So you’re working on a new album?

  I’ve got songs finished, yes.

  Can I hear them?

  Would you like to?

  Of course.

  Come on then, I’ll give you a quick preview. Let me get another one, stay here and check your phone, make that call you couldn’t get to earlier.

  He smiled at me, stood up and left the room. I stopped the recorder and pulled out my phone, found Claire’s number and dialed. She picked up on the third ring.

  “Hi.” She sounded either groggy or distracted.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Mm, no.” I had. “Tell me about it,” she asked.

  “There isn’t a lot to tell just yet, we’re moving through his early life. I’m trying to get him comfortable so he’ll open up.”

  “Is he being difficult?”

  “No, why?”

  “I don’t know. You told me he doesn’t like journalists.”

  “So far he’s treating me more like his guest and less like an intruder. I think it’s going well.”

  “I’m sure it is. You’re the best.”

  Claire was a flatterer. She never shied away from telling me how great I was, and while it seems callous to shirk those compliments, I found myself envying Darin’s relationship with Murphy, the way they found a professional balance that pushed each of them forward. Sometimes I was looking for a challenge to greatness, rather than a cheerleader.

  “Thanks. What’s going on there?”

  “I read for a little bit but I can’t focus. It’s too quiet when you’re gone.”

  “You need someone clacking away on a keyboard in the other room. I’ll tell you what, I’ll get someone to record me typing on my laptop and put it on a CD. You’ll always feel like I’m there.”

  “Brilliant, Chris. Why haven’t you done this already?”

  “I can’t dictate when genius strikes. I can only hope to control it.”

  She snorted, either as a laugh or in derision. “I see all the hanging out with rockstars is finally starting to rub off on you.”

  “I fought it as long as I could.”

  “You did well. I’m impressed you held out as long as you did. You stayed modest for a while, it was a good run. I’ll start sorting through the closet, throwing out all your caps and winter hats. You’ll need some for that big head you found over there.”

  “Great thinking. I always wanted a valid reason to stop wearing that cap your cousin knitted me.”

  “No fair, that is a very nice hat.”

  “Agree to disagree on this one. Anything else happening back there? Could you water the plants, I noticed they were dry when I was packing but I didn’t have time to do it myself.”

  “Of course, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Sorry I forgot to do it.”

  “Not at all. You were busy getting ready. I know how it is.”

  “Thank you. Honestly, though, I’m nervous. A lot rides on this. The future I want is close, and it’s a lot of pressure. I haven’t felt this way since I started.”

  “I know, and I’m excited for you. You should be, too. What’s the worst that happens? You end up right where you are, which isn’t that bad.”

  “I know, but if I make this work and Darin and I hit it off, my career goes through a metamorphosis. I’m almost to the other side, where only a handful of people get to live and work.”

  “Enjoy the time you have there. You love this. Let yourself love it. You can’t ever talk about music enough, and he’ll see that about you. He’ll want to work with you.”

  “This is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  “And it’s what you were meant to do.”

  She was right. There was nothing else I was good at, which was why I was so good at this. I’d never thought about it, but maybe that’s how it works with people when they become pa
ssionate. The object of their fascination gets all the attention and the rest of their life withers, until they’re superbly accomplished at one thing while all the other areas have decayed from neglect. I did worry about how my ceaseless enthusiasm for music might affect the rest of me.

  Some nights, hanging outside the back door to a club before a show, passing a joint between friends in the business and bullshitting in the way only experts can by nonchalantly referencing idiosyncratic tendencies of bands and analyzing them within the esoteric realm only we fully understood, I wondered, as a man past the benchmark of 30 years of age, when I might stop getting high and going to rock shows. The answer was always the same: I will stop when it is no longer fun. And then a stoned, jester’s grin would creep across my numbed face and I would think to myself, This will never not be fun. Some nights that thought made me feel like the luckiest man on the planet, and other nights it scared the hell out of me.

  “I appreciate your unwavering faith in my inevitable rise to the top.”

  “Don’t condescend to me.”

  “That’s not condescension at all. Not a bit. I’m being honest, Claire, it’s awesome knowing you have my back on this. You let me do whatever I want, whatever I need to, and it’s awesome.” I also thought sometimes it kept me from growing up, but that wasn’t her problem, it was mine.

  “Am I interrupting something here?” Darin had entered the room without my noticing. I turned and saw him standing, nonchalantly, with a full drink in one hand and a half-finished bottle of Johnny Walker Black in the other.

  Click.

  I just need a second Darin.

  Yeah, of course, don’t mind me. I’ll just be here.

  He collapsed into a chair at the table. I stood and crossed to the window.

  Darin just came back. I should go.

  Where was he?

  Getting a drink.

  You’re drinking together? How nice.

  I’m not drinking, I’m working. Can I call you when I’m done here?

  What time?

  I don’t know. When I’m done. I can’t give a specific time.

  Darin called out from the corner. I have to pick up Geneva at eight. Or maybe seven-thirty? Fuck me, I don’t remember and that happened only hours ago.

  We’ll definitely be done by eight London-time, so three your time. Okay? Go back to sleep and I’ll talk to you later.

  I wasn’t asleep.

  I know you weren’t. Sweet dreams.

  I got you a present yesterday.

  Sometimes Claire’s timing could’ve been better. She was not a person, unlike me, who possessed a sense of urgency.

  What is it?

  You have to wait until you get home to see.

  Can’t you just tell me over the phone?

  No, that would ruin the surprise.

  But you sort of ruined the surprise when you told me that you got me something. The real surprise would’ve been finding out that I got something at all. The ‘surprise’ being the existence of something, not what that thing is.

  Not true. At Christmas opening the gifts and finding out what you got is still a surprise. The finding out can be a surprise.

  Well that’s the only surprise left at Christmas, isn’t it, because everyone already knows they’re getting gifts. But I didn’t know I was getting a gift, so that was the surprise.

  You’re so frustrating.

  I love you.

  I love you too.

  That’s sweet as hell. Tell her I love her too.

  What was that?

  Darin loves you.

  Tell him I say Hi.

  Definitely. Okay, I have to go. Bye.

  Bye.

  I looked down at my phone as the screen dimmed and then, ten seconds later, went black. It was impossible to turn and face Darin any sooner. When I finally did, he wore an amused look on his face. I was expecting worse: a smug grin, a mocking glint in his eye.

  Everything good with the missus?

  She’s not the missus yet. Close, but not yet.

  She sounds lovely. Just from the end I heard, which wasn’t much. She got you a gift of some kind?

  Yeah, but she won’t tell me what it is.

  That’s sweet. It really is, I’m not fucking with you. It’s nice. No one ever buys me gifts. Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. People buy gifts for other people when they really care. They see something in a store and think, Hey, Chris would like that. Or, He’s been talking about this thing and I’m going to get it for him while he’s away. That’s really sweet, but you sound bent up about it.

  I wasn’t bent up about it.

  Well you sounded bent up. I could be wrong. That’s what I heard.

  He popped out of his seat and crossed to the window, stood about ten inches from it.

  It’s a lovely yard, isn’t it? My mother always had a garden. Every year. When I was young she’d plant vegetables, and then an herb garden on the side of the house, and the whole backyard was flowerbeds. She had to stop with the vegetables when the deer started eating everything. I remember when I was home once, just on a visit, we walked the backyard and she told me about the deer eating the vegetables and her not planting them anymore. She’d given up on her garden. It made me really sad. That struck me, for some reason. He took a sip of his drink. Why do you think that is?

  Loss of childhood.

  Ah, nostalgia. The misinterpretation of the past to make it seem better than it really was. I’ve got my theories on why that’s important, but those are words to be shared when the sun sets. For now let’s go to the studio. He turned back to me, bright eyed and eager.

  Do you look back fondly on the past?

  Completely. His expression darkened. Back in my past I still had all the things I’ve ever lost. Now come on. And don’t worry about the gift she got you, I’m sure it’s great. Even if it’s a piece of paper folded up into a star, it’s something someone did just for you. We aren’t all so lucky to have that.

  He turned and with an exaggerated wave of his arm beckoned me to follow. I gathered my recorder from the table.

  You have people who do things for you all the time.

  They’re paid, Chris, it’s not the same. My staff does things for me because it’s their job. The girls do things to me but not for me. That distinction is important, remember that.

  We passed into the hall and Darin reached out and high-fived a poster of a waving John Lennon pinned to his wall, the slap echoing down the corridor. He must’ve almost broken his hand.

  Do you always high-five Lennon?

  Not always. Only when I’m in a real good mood. Or headed into the studio. Or drunk. So almost always. It’s a great feeling to go up high with one of my favorite artists. Even if it’s a poster.

  Is that’s why it’s not framed?

  I bought it framed, but I cut my hand on it one night. To the studio!

  I followed at a quick pace down the hall, past large rooms that opened off to the left and right and stood barren, undecorated and empty except for a few boxes here and there. I saw the name of a respected amp manufacturer on one box, and in another room a group of guitar cases leaning against a wall.

  Do you use any of these rooms?

  Not really on this floor. I know it sounds terrible, to have all this space and not use it. What’s the point of having the space if you aren’t using it, right? But I bought Mainshead Manor, this place, because I like how removed it is from London. Also it’s good to have places for people to crash when guests stop by.

  How often do you have guests stay over?

  Almost never.

  We passed four rooms on the right, three on the left before we turned down another hallway. The only indicator of a normal life I’d seen in any room was a large, dark brown leather sectional sofa about ten feet from an enormous television that had been mounted to the wall. It struck me that not a single picture, piece of art or poster hung in any of the rooms. Only occasionally did we pass a hallway picture, usually black
and white, of a famous musician or band.

  Do you ever think of decorating any of these?

  We stopped in front of a wooden door no wider than three feet across. It made me think of the small storage areas you sometimes find under staircases. We stood in silence, and I was surprised to find Darin, brow slightly furrowed, as thoughtful as at any point in our conversation.

  The rooms are decorated enough for me. I’m never in any of them and to be honest I like ‘em empty. They’re blank canvases. I’m not filling them in just because that’s the normal thing to do, I’ll decorate when I figure out how. Plus they’re useful the way they are. When I want a particular sound and I can’t get it in the studio I’ll set up an amp and a mic in one and try to get what I hear in my head. The second room we passed on the right is great if you want a muddy, distorted guitar sound, the walls aren’t squared off and they bounce the soundwaves back and forth at weird angles, disrupting each other. Go back and listen to “Pinned Wings Back” and you’ll hear that room.

  He nodded his head sharply, once, and then turned to the small door.

  Okay, watch yourself. The road narrows here.

  He grabbed the handle and pulled, and as he did a light turned on to reveal a winding staircase down to a landing I couldn’t see. Darin descended quickly, calling out behind him.

  Watch yourself please. I don’t need injuries.

  I followed with caution, keeping my hand on the smooth metal railing as I wound around. I counted four full rotations to the bottom.

  I need to ask about the staircase. Why so narrow?

  Do you like it?

  He turned to me, his eyes lit up and anxious for approval.

  I don’t dislike it. But I don’t understand the reason for the dimensions.

  That’s the whole point. I gutted the old staircase, the original was the boring kind that goes straight down, no turns, no odd descent. I replaced it with that. I needed to feel like I was going someplace else when I worked. People who have day jobs complain about commuting to work every day, having to leave home to go to the office. I needed to create that for myself. When I built the studio I couldn’t do shit in it. Coming down here felt like I was still at home. That staircase makes me feel like I’m leaving my home and traveling someplace else entirely. It’s better than renting a studio somewhere that I drive to every day. Gives me the separation without the commute.