Her casual attitude disappeared, replaced by the demeanor of a shrewd businesswoman, one he hoped could spread success his way. “Okay, Killy. Now, Jacobi explained a bit of your situation over the phone, but give me more details. Hopefully we can draft a plan of action to meet with your approval.”
“Just like that? No contracts? You’re willing to talk shop without a retainer?”
“Mr.… Killy.” She fixed him in place with her intelligent gaze. “There’s a reason for the free consultation. It puts less pressure on prospective clients, and I’m sure enough of our services to know that if you’ve made it this far in the process, chances are we’ll have a long and prosperous relationship. Now, tell me, where do you and your band stand at this moment?”
“We’ve started recording a few tracks, done interviews, a few concerts, mostly our old stuff. We haven’t signed with a label yet, but my current manager is driving me fucking crazy. Maybe I didn’t notice before”—he’d never admit his partying and attitude meant he hadn’t paid attention— “but now I’m not liking his wanting to leave out our best material, all because it doesn’t fit the image he wants.”
“What image do you want to project?” Christy twisted the top off her water bottle and took a sip.
“I don’t know. I mean, I’m pretty much ‘what you see is what you get’. Mike, too.”
“Mike Rose, your bass player?”
“Yeah.” Looked like she at least knew of them.
“Jake is beyond thrilled to be a part of the band. He’s told me that. What about Valerie?”
“They’re both eager, say they want to be a part of Trickster no matter what. Both have been around a while, know what the business is like.”
“And Mike? He didn’t seem too comfortable at your latest press conference.”
Yes, she’d definitely done some homework.
Mike. Killy let out a sigh. “That clusterfuck was the reason I want to make a change. One of the reasons. Or maybe, the last straw. Our current manager was supposed to vet the questions and didn’t. In fact, I think he encouraged some of the more personal ones for sensationalism.” Killian shook his head. “It like to have killed Mike. You see, even though he’s performed for years, he’s not used to the media circus, the every-damned-body wanting a piece of you. I’m scared he’s gonna up and leave. I can’t have that.” No, he couldn’t. He’d walk away, run actually, from everything for Mike. They could go back to Mike’s trailer, play pickup gigs, write the best damned songs no one would ever hear.
“The music industry is changing. It used to be, record a few albums, have tracks leaked”—she made quote marks with her fingers— “and tour to promote the latest recordings. Not now. You can record anywhere. Would you believe a number one hit from a few years ago was recorded in the attic of the singer’s home? Just him and a piano, as a demo. Which gave the track a raw, edgy feel. The other instrument tracks were added later. The piano and lead vocals were recorded in Dublin, Ohio, some of the music tracks added in Nashville, and a studio in L.A. added backing vocals. The singer never even met the band he performed with.”
She gave him an indulgent smile. “We’re living in a digital world. Yes, concerts are a big money maker, but advertising has come a long way. Now…” She rose, crossed to her desk, and returned with her laptop. A video sat frozen on the screen. With the click of a button she brought the scene to life: Killy and Mike, back to back, singing and playing their hearts out at The Rarin’ Stallion. Their first performance together.
What had Mike called it? An orgasm on stage.
“This video first hit social media a few weeks ago. The poster claimed it was you. People destroyed him in comments. Guess what? Last week this video had over two million views. Some people watch because they’re Trickster fans, others to see for themselves if it’s really you, some simply watched a high-rated video. The moment your interview aired, the world found out the truth, and this video was already viral.” She stopped the recording on an image of Killy and Mike later, on two barstools, jamming. “In less than twenty-four hours, it’s gained three times that many views, and climbing.”
Damn. Killian wasn’t an expert on viral videos, but her numbers sounded impressive.
She placed the computer on the far side of her on the couch. “What would your ideal career look like?”
Killy took a drink of his water, closed his eyes, and lay his head on the back of the couch. Good question. Once more he saw, no, he felt him and Mike on the stage, the physical high no drug in the world came close to. For the past few years his life had been lonely, a self-imposed limbo.
Before Mike.
Now?
“Before I came back, I drifted around the country, playing whenever and wherever I could, as long as no one figured out who I was. That’s how I met Mike, and came to be in the bar on that video. Fans are great and all, but that night I played for me and him and my old band. While the few venues we’ve played lately have been okay, nothing is ever going to top the electricity of that night.” Killy opened his eyes to witness her reaction to his confession.
Christy shook her head. “Not much money there.”
Killy’s heart sank. Yes, she’d be just like the others, putting Killy on a treadmill, wringing out every last dime as long as his career held. “It’s not about money. It’s about doing what we want to do. The freedom. But also, about not having to worry about much else, because we’ve got folks we can trust handling the business end of things.”
“So, you’d create your own music, decide which tracks to release, and show up at random venues around the country, making some unsuspecting clubgoers really happy.”
“Yeah, ridiculous, I know.”
She grinned. “All those clubgoers will be posting videos. People will start flocking to clubs hoping you’ll show up. Damn, I’d love to be there too. So, you won’t be raking in a lot of concert money, your albums will cost next to nothing to make and have that raw feel of a concert to them, and you get free publicity.”
“You don’t think it’s a stupid idea?”
“Do you have any idea how much a YouTuber can make with the right content? We’ll film your impromptu shows, setting them up in advance with the clubs, of course, and let fans see the inner workings of your world from time to time, like the two of you writing songs.” The woman practically bounced in her seat. “Unconventional? Maybe, but lots of current stars started on social media, gaining traction and even ad placement. You’re not starting, you’re merely continuing the story, on your own terms.”
