Entry #676466, added on 11-16-09 @ 10:25 pm EST
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The regional championships were a month away, and would be held in a big auditorium in Vancouver.
Braden rode back home with his parents, but before they left, Uncle Razz told the band, “We’ve got to record the rest of your songs and cut your CD asap. I’ll book more studio space, and you guys practice. Specially you, Braden.”
“What about more shows, Unc?” Braden asked.
Uncle Razz looked directly at Josh. “Josh is the youngest of you. Soon as he turns eighteen, you can start performing in bars. Till then, it’s just things like this. Of which there are not too many. But I think we can get your school to host you. And sometimes there are public shows in the park.”
“Dammit, Josh,” Braden said in a good-natured voice. “When’s your birthday? November?”
Josh nodded. “But Bobble-head Jesus were at Zachary’s party,” he said. “We should get Zachary to have another party. Featuring us!”
“Yup,” said Uncle Razz, “and if you get some shows, you will have a place to sell your CDs.”
“And t-shirts!” Matt said. “We should get t-shirts made!”
“Yeah, and mouse pads,” Braden said, laughing. “And travel mugs and keychains. We’ll be like, Disney!”
Back at home, Mr. and Mrs. James said something they said on a regular basis. “Braden, I’m so proud of you!” They were so proud of him every time he got a school report and every time he brought home more school achievement awards. They were proud when he won the province-wide essay contest, and when he was valedictorian, and when he hosted the student talent competition three years running in SWC. But they were proud of him no matter what he was up to. They were even proud when he orchestrated removing every single item from his school in celebration of the last day of his public school career. Braden felt like he could burn down a mall, get the entire cheerleading squad pregnant, and start an underground chicken-fighting ring, and they’d be proud. But with parental pride came parental money. They were thrilled to death to support Braden’s latest endeavors, in this case becoming a famous cover band, with and endless stream of cash and/or credit.
“We’ll be in the recording studio again next week, Dad,” Braden said.
“You bet, son,” his dad said with the enthusiasm of a Miss-America pageant winner, and ruffled Braden’s hair. “You’ve got your Mastercard, right?”
Braden nodded. Dad disappeared into his ‘office’ and Mom was already on the phone. Nice that love and affection could be replaced by Visa and Mastercard in today’s parenting handbooks.
But at least they’d come to the show. For a moment a thought passed through Braden’s brain – nobody had been to see Jess play. That particular thought, unwanted because of the unpleasant emotions it dragged with it, was courteous in that it passed through very quickly and then proceeded to waft up and dissipate, like the steam from the cup of herbal tea Lola walked by with, delivering it to Mrs. James.
“Mrs. James, I got your tea,” Lola called, as she disappeared into Braden’s mom’s world, and Braden went downstairs.
The rest of the studio sessions started. At the beginning of the second day in the studio, they were looking at cover designs for their CD. Uncle Razz had sent their website to his company’s marketing company and they had sent back some logos and some designs.
It all looked very fabricated, very superficial.
“This one reminds me of McDonalds,” Matt said, pointing at one red and yellow Razzamatazz rendered shiny like plastic lightning. “Is that what we are?” he asked. “A McBand? Playing McMusic?”
“Maybe a bit,” Uncle Razz said. “You’re playing songs that are already established with hit-power, and you’re largely relying on your flamboyant front-man’s popularity, not the strength of your musical talents, and your parent’s money to get you known.”
Matt shook his head. “That’s just for now. We’ll have our own music some day, right Braden?”
Braden shrugged. “Why bother? What’s wrong with what we’re doing? I don’t know about you guys, but I’m having fun, and I don’t really want to do any more work than I have to.”
Josh agreed. “Yeah, it’s all fun and games. I mean, I’m going to college next year, so I can’t get too tied down to this band thing.”
“Well, I’d like to take it a little more seriously than this,” Matt said, pointing at the McLogo. “I wonder if we could do something ourselves.”
“I have something,” Jess said.
Matt looked at her. “What do you mean?” he asked.
They didn’t hear Jess speak very often, and were once again surprised by her low, slow, and deliberate manner. For someone as striking and talented as she was, she sure didn’t have much self-confidence. “I’ve been playing around a little with the name,” she said, “and I came up with some ideas that might, you know, show a little better what we’re about.”
“Well, let’s see ‘em,” Matt said.
“I’ll bring them tomorrow,” Jess whispered.
Next day, in the waiting lounge of the studio, Uncle Razz pulled out some papers for them to sign. “You all seem to be going different directions with what you want from this band,” he said. “This is a standard band contract. It will protect each of you in the future, and make sure you all get what you deserve from any work that you do, or don’t do, as the case may be.”
Uncle Razz always seemed to know what he was talking about, and he definitely always looked out for them, all four of them. Matt and Jess read the agreement over, and everybody signed it.
Uncle Razz whipped out another contract, that officially made him their manager, and they obligingly signed it, too.
“Now, if you ever start making any money, I’ll get my share,” he laughed.
“You deserve it,” Matt said. “We’d be nothing but an idea if it weren’t for you. It’s not like any of us know anything about any of this stuff.”
Uncle Razz blushed at the compliment, silly little smudges of red from his ears to his cheeks. “Yeah, well… let’s see those designs,” he said to Jess, his voice a bit too loud.
They all watched as her white, spidery hands worked open the zipper of a black leather folder and pulled out a manilla file folder. She put the file folder on the coffee table and opened it. They all arranged themselves behind her on the squishy pleather couches and looked over her shoulder.
The first illustration she showed them had the four black and white pictures of them from Uncle Razz’s website arranged like a scrapbook, with little folded tabs holding the corners of the photos and handwritten captions under each photo. Across the top of the square illustration was Razzamatazz written in a 70s disco style, like the cover of your mom’s Saturday Night Fever DVD, looking rather sparkly.
“For the CD,” she said. Then from underneath she produced two other styles for Razzamatazz. One looked like a movie marquee, black letters with yellow and blue lights dancing around them, and the other was written in a sprawling thick hand, as if from a giant fountain pen, with a blot of ink at the end like a period.
Jess held each of the other styles over their name on the CD cover design, letting them see it with the different styles.
Holding up the movie marquee one, Jess said, “This would be like a premier, with a red carpet,” and swept her hand down the middle of the design, indicating where the red carpet would be.
“Or this,” with the fountain pen, “I like it just like this. A scrapbook.”
It was all very impressive. Even though they were hand drawn, they looked more professional than the marketing company ones.
“I like the movie one,” Josh said.
Matt shook his head. “Too High School Musical. This one’s better. Simple, like us.”
“Yeah, I like this one,” Braden said.
“I think the first one suits the name,” Uncle Razz said. “Which is your favourite, Jess?”
Jess shrugged.
“Majority vote,” Braden said. “The last one. Simple like us.”
Jess produced another picture, a montage of their faces, cut from Uncle Razz’s images again, and illustrated with little bodies on stage. It was fun, colourful, energetic; like a comic strip but with their real faces.
“That’s awesome,” Matt said, laughing.
“That should be our CD cover,” Braden said.
Josh liked it, too. “I look kinda fat,” he said.
Jess laughed. “No, your clothes are baggy,” she said.
Josh nodded. “Ok.”
Braden reached over and put the black chicken-scratch name logo over the top of the drawing. “Perfect,” he said.
Jess seemed incapable of smiling, but she must have been happy. She probably hadn’t even been considering showing them her artwork, until Uncle Razz’s marketing company designs were turned down so unanimously.
Josh said, “Jess, you should get a job with that marketing company. You’re better than those professionals.”
“Not until after we’re done with Razzamatazz,” Braden said sternly.
This time, Jess really did move the tips of her mouth around in her version of a smile, until Braden added, “She’s got even more use than a token female minority.” He turned and walked towards the control room before anyone could react.
Uncle Razz took Jess’s drawings to get them done up professionally. “It’s really cool that you did these,” he said. “Your name will be credited in two places: drummer and album art. That’s really cool.”
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