A Loving Light
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 17: Decision Time
“I hate this,” Carly said. “How am I supposed to choose? It’s impossible!”
“Well, at least it’s a choice between two rather than three or four,” Chloë said. She looked around the room. “I think we all agree we can discount Jake and Lacey-Anne, don’t we?”
“Jake, yes,” I said. “But Lacey-Anne ... I don’t know. There’s something about her.”
Lana gave me a sideways look and smirked.
“Not that,” I said.
She shrugged. “Well, she is ... What is it that Mark always says?”
“She’s just your type,” Chloë said, grinning.
“She’s eighteen!” I said.
“She’s only three years younger than you, Paul,” Chloë said.
I glared at her. She giggled then shrugged. I shook my head at her, then glanced at Carly. For once, I couldn’t read her.
I shook my head. “Look, I agree that she’s not ready to go on tour, but ... Well, I have an idea.”
“Let’s hear it,” Sam said.
I shook my head. “Later. Let’s ... Let’s just decide between Sadie and Cody, shall we?”
“But I can’t,” Carly said. “It’s impossible! Sadie is just so...” She held out both hands. “But Cody is just ... Argh!” She made her hands into fists.
“Both of them are excellent songwriters and performers,” Sam said, his voice calm and level. “Each of them represents the spirit of the tour in different ways. I don’t think either of them is the wrong choice.”
“Thanks, Sam,” I said. “That’s ... not helpful at all, actually.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t trying to help. I was just making sure we’re all on the same page. There is no wrong choice here. It’s not a head-over-heart decision. This is all about the heart.”
I nodded at Sam, then looked at Carly and smiled.
“So, what does your heart tell you, Carly?”
She looked around at all of us. Her eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. “I...” Her mouth opened and closed, then she looked around at us again. “I ... I don’t know! I kinda want to bring Cody up on stage during my set and sing ‘Always’ with him. Can you imagine that? Imagine the crowd reaction? But then...” She shrugged.
I took a deep breath. “So ... What are you going to sing with Sadie every night? And then you need a song the three of you can sing together.”
Glenn looked at me. “Please tell me you’re not suggesting what it sounds like you’re suggesting.”
I nodded. “We take them both. It’s the only fair thing to do. We’ve got two amazing people with amazing stories to tell, but no one has ever given them the chance. So we take both of them and say to our audience, ‘We hear you. Now we want you to hear them.’ Because they both deserve to be heard.”
Carly stared at me. Then said, “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
“But how would that even work?” Glenn asked. “With two support acts, you’d be looking at a show that is potentially three and a half hours long. Carly’s set will be two hours. Add in forty-five minutes for each of Sadie and Cody, plus the time taken to turn the stage around. It’s too long. Audience fatigue will be a real risk.”
“We’ll just have to put on a show that keeps them engaged,” Carly said. “We can do that.”
“How about we alternate them?” Chloë said. “Sadie does one night, Cody does the next?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s fair. To drag them from city to city and have them perform in only half of them? And does that mean I pay them half as much for half the work? Would that mean they couldn’t afford to go on tour?”
“Well, we can’t give them both three-quarters of an hour,” Glenn said.
“We don’t need to,” Carly said. “We alternate them, but they still both go on every night. It’s just that one night, Sadie goes first and does twenty-five minutes, then Cody does thirty-five, and the next night, they switch. That keeps it fair, and neither of them ever feels inferior to the other. Plus, I bring both of them out individually for a duet during my set, and, like Paul said, we do a number all together. All three of us. Perhaps in the encore.”
I nodded. “I like that. That’s thirty minutes less. It could make a difference—three hours rather than three and a half.”
“We could start the show at seven thirty instead of eight, too,” Carly said. “That way, I can still go on about nine, and we still finish around eleven. There are options. We can work it out. See what they prefer.”
“This will be expensive,” Glenn said. “Between this and your youth orchestra idea, which is going to ramp up your insurance costs, you’re going to need to sell out every show to make any kind of profit.”
“How likely is that? How loyal are Kayla’s fans?”
“I have the best fans,” Carly said. “We’ll sell out the shows. I know we will.”
“There will be logistics issues, too,” Jackson said. He and Jessie had joined us for the deliberations. “Extra transport, crowded dressing rooms, that sort of thing. And what about a band? Both having their own will be a problem, but using Kayla’s puts extra pressure on them.”
“We’ll work it out in rehearsals,” Carly said. “We’ve got time.”
“We’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” Glenn said. “Just make sure accommodating them doesn’t damage your set. The fans are paying to see you, not them.”
Sam looked at me. “Glenn’s right. This will be expensive. But it will be a hell of a statement. Are you sure about this, Paul?”
I nodded. “I’m sure. It’s the right thing to do. Let’s make both of them part of our tour family.”
“That’s settled then,” Sam said. “We take both.”
“Now,” Sam said, “what was this idea for the young girl?”
I took a breath and looked at Glenn. “She’s your client, right?”
He nodded. “She is. I signed her two months ago.”
“And they say I have a ‘type.’ You should have told us that before we saw her.”
“It was in the briefing document, Paul,” Chloë said. “Didn’t you read it?”
I glanced at her and rolled my eyes. I turned to the others. “Look, she’s brilliant. She’s a mini-Kayla and has all the talent to be just as successful. But this is too early for her. She’s too young for a two-month tour. Too green, if you’ll excuse the pun.”
“Pun?” said Carly.
“Her surname is Green,” Lana said.
Carly smiled. “Oh, yeah, I forgot.”
“We can’t take her on tour,” I said. “But we can’t just let a talent like that walk out the door without doing something for her.” I looked at Glenn again. “You didn’t bring her here today because you thought she had a chance of getting on the tour, did you?”
He didn’t answer.
I smiled. “You brought her here because you already know me too well and knew I’d want to make sure this girl gets an opportunity. Didn’t you?”
He still said nothing.
“Maybe you thought I’d offer to fund her album, as I did with Alabama Sweetheart?”
Again, he didn’t answer. His face was impassive, giving nothing away.
“Only she doesn’t have a record deal, does she?”
He slowly shook his head. “No. Not yet. But if we could showcase—”
I held up my hand to cut him off, then looked from one of my partners to the other.
“Sam. Chloë. How do you feel about starting a record label with me?”
“What?” said Chloë. “Paul, are you mad? That’d be ... The cost would be astronomical.”
“Maybe not. Not if we do it right. Look...” I paused, trying to organise my thoughts. “It’s all well and good giving Sadie and Cody a thirty-minute slot on the tour, but then what? Which record label is going to sign either of them? You heard what Sadie said. Any traditional record company would want her to compromise. They’d want her to change to fit the market without giving the market a chance to change and embrace her.”
“Very true,” Sam said.
“And Cody?” I said. “I don’t care about his sexuality—hell, my sister’s gay, for God’s sake! But he’s right that for a lot of people...” I shrugged. “He’s never going to get signed to a traditional label. They’d see it as too risky, too much potential backlash from ... Well, from bigots, quite frankly.”
“That’s twice you’ve used the word traditional,” Sam said. “What are you thinking?”
I looked at him. Then at Chloë. Then at Sam again. “Digital only.”
Chloë frowned. “What? You mean ... Like, no physical copies? No CDs?”
“Exactly!” I glanced from her to Sam and back again.
“But how would that even work?” Chloë said.
“Look, it’s 2014,” I said, “not 1984. The old rules don’t apply.” I looked at Sam. “You’ve said it yourself about the movie and TV industry. The streaming services are changing the game.”
He nodded. “They are. Very much so.”
“Well, the same goes for music. CD sales are falling, aren’t they?” I looked around the group, landing on Carly. “The figures I saw last week for your ‘Always’ showed downloads way higher than CD sales.”
“That’s true,” Glenn said. “CDs have been on the decline for a few years. Digital sales are much higher.”
“And I’ll bet anything that streaming will take over and dominate before long, too,” I said.
“Why?” Chloë said. “If you buy a CD or download a track, you own it forever. Streaming’s not like that, is it? You don’t own anything. If you stop paying for the subscription, you lose access to the music.”
“Yes, I know, but...” I paused. “I have a music streaming account, and I’ve got pretty much every song ever recorded for the price of one CD a month.” I took my phone out of my pocket and looked at Sam. “Name a song. Any song. Something you wouldn’t expect me to own.”
Sam smiled. “Patsy Cline. ‘Crazy.’ A personal favourite.”
“Oh, I love that song,” Carly said.
“Me too,” Lana said. “It’s one of Mum’s favourites.”
I opened Spotify, did a quick search, turned up the volume, and hit play.
“See,” I said as the familiar melody played from my phone’s tiny speaker. “Are you telling me that when people realise the value of this—” I pointed at the phone. “—they’re not going to go for it? Give it five or ten years, and everyone will be streaming. You don’t need to press CDs, store them or get them into the shops. It’s all about digital.”
“That’s all well and good, Paul, but if you’ve got every song ever recorded at your fingertips, how do you persuade people to listen to our songs? How do they find them among all the rest? All the classics?”
I shrugged. “That’s what marketing is for. Ask Marcus—he’s the expert—but I’m sure social media will play a big part in it.”
Chloë stared at me. Sam looked ... thoughtful.
“Wait,” Chloë said, her eyes widening. She pointed at Sam. “Is that what’s going to happen to movies, too? You pay a monthly fee and watch whatever you want? People will stop buying DVDs?”
“That’s the expectation,” Sam said. “Although I suspect the video market will be fragmented. You’ll end up with multiple subscriptions from multiple services. Music seems much simpler. One sub, one service, all the music.” He looked at me. “What’s the revenue from digital services like?”
“Download revenue is better than CDs per unit,” Glenn said. “Smaller overheads. Streaming is in its infancy. Too early to say what it will be like long term. But if Paul’s right, then download revenue will fall and streaming revenue will rise.”
Sam nodded. “Okay, thanks.”
“Look,” I said. “If we really want to give the unheard voices a chance to be heard, this is how we do it. We give Sadie and Cody a deal. Two albums each. They are both ready for market right now.”
“I agree. They are,” Glenn said. “You could have them cut an EP during the rehearsal period—I’m sure they both already have the material for it—and then release it at the start of the tour.”
“We offer Lacey-Anne a deal, too,” I said. “But we can take our time with her. Pair her with a couple of experienced songwriters and producers. Give her as long as she needs to find her true voice. Let her discover who she is and what kind of artist she wants to be.”
“That’s...” Glenn nodded. “I think that is exactly what she needs. Time and space to grow.”
“Look,” I said. “We don’t just put talent on our stage; we give them a real platform where they can be heard. We build a home for artists who don’t have one anywhere else. We tell them, ‘We hear you, and we want everyone else to hear you too.’ I know this can work.”
“Paul,” Lana said quietly.
I looked at her. “Yes?”
“That’s brilliant.” She smiled. “It’s absolutely brilliant.”
“It’s certainly bold,” said Sam. “But none of us know anything about setting up a record label or getting the music we make on the digital platforms.”
“So we hire people who do,” I said.
He shook his head. “I know some folks.”
“There’s a surprise,” said Chloë with a smirk.
He shot her a dirty look. “I know a couple of fellas who aren’t exactly happy where they are. Sharp, experienced people. Let me make some calls this afternoon. See what they think about building something new. I like this idea. But we’ll need to run some numbers before we know if it can work. I’ve got people who can do that.”
“Thanks, Sam,” I said.
“I still think the start-up costs are going to be high,” he replied. “And if we hire the best people, they won’t be cheap either. That’s before production costs for any records, too.” He looked directly at me. “How much did you invest to get Kayla’s album produced?”
I blinked. I hadn’t expected such a direct question. “For that one album, it was capped at a hundred thousand dollars,” I said. “If the costs went higher, then the label covered it, but my share of the revenue dropped.”
“Ouch,” Chloë said.
I looked at her. “We didn’t really get close to it, though. And I more than made it back from the royalties from the first week’s sales of the first single. Ask Marie, she has the details. I’ll tell her she can show you whatever you want to see.”
“I have seen them,” Lana said. “He’s not making it up.”
Sam nodded. “Okay ... But if we do this, then it’s as equals. All three of us.” He looked at Chloë. “Are you in?”
“If you’re on board, I’d be a fool not to be.” She looked at me and smirked. “But I will need to see Paul’s business plan first.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sam said. “My people will put something together. But are we agreed, if the financials make sense over, say, a five-year period, then we’re all in?”
I nodded. “I’m in.”
Chloë nodded too.
“Good,” Sam said. “True Voice Records. I like it.”
“True voice?” I said.
He nodded. “Can you think of a better name? We’re giving the artists a chance to share their voices. Their true voices. You said that yourself about Lacey-Anne. Give her the time and space to find her true voice. Just like you did with Kayla.” He shrugged. “It’s the perfect name.”
“Going back to Lacey-Anne,” I said.
“What about her?” Chloë said. “You’ve just convinced us to create a new record label for her. What more do you want to do?”
I turned to Jessie and Jackson. “You are going to hate this.”
Jessie huffed. “With two support acts and a different youth orchestra in every city, this tour is already shaping up to be a logistical nightmare. How much worse could it get?”
I grinned. “Regretting accepting the job already?”
“Not on your life. I’m relishing the challenge.”
Jackson just grinned.
“We can’t take her on tour, but what if we give her a guest slot at our biggest shows—at the Ryman, here in Atlanta and one of the Homecoming shows. Introduce her to the public gradually.”
There was silence.
“Well?” I said.
“It’s an idea,” said Sam.
“A bad one?” I said.
“No,” said Carly. “It’s a great idea. And we could do it for other singers as well. Give them guest slots, I mean. There must be loads of unheard voices all over the South. We can give a different voice a guest slot at each show!”
“No,” said Jackson, quietly but firmly.
“No?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“That’s right. No. A guest slot for the same artist at shows across three cities is one thing. And it’s perfectly possible—although you risk the show running long again, and she might have to appear in place of one of the other support acts. But you can’t do it for the whole tour. No way. That’s a whole other ball game.”
I rubbed my face with my hands. “Damn. I really liked that idea.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “What about...?”
I shook my head.
“What about what?” Sam said. “You’re on a roll, son, so let’s hear it.”
I looked at Jackson. “It’s not finding the artists that’s the problem, is it? It’s getting them to the thirteen different cities.”
He nodded. “Actually, it’s both. Even if you went with artists local to each city, there will be an abundance of talent to choose from. Who’s gonna coordinate all that? Decide who gets each opportunity? Then there’s still the question of the show length. You can get away with two support acts—just. But not three. It’s not just the audience that will get fatigued—it’s the band and the crew.”
I nodded. “Okay, so...” I looked at the others. “Why don’t we do it all on one day, in one place?”
“Like a festival?” Carly said. “A one-day festival?”
I nodded. “What better way to kick off a tour that’s about hearing unheard people? And it’d be a launchpad for a label that’s about giving a voice to unheard artists, too.”
“Hmm,” said Sam. “Interesting.”
“I’m sure there’s a park in Nashville where we could set up a stage and then have artists performing on it all day,” I said.
“Riverfront Park,” Jessie said. “That would be ideal. It’s in the centre of the city.”
I nodded. “So, we have unheard voices on the stage from, say, lunchtime, then the last four to go on are Lacey-Anne, Sadie, Cody, to showcase our new label, and then Kayla headlining it with a cut-down preview of the tour.”
“Yes, you’d need a headliner to sell tickets, so that makes sense,” Sam said. “And I do like the idea of showcasing the artists on our label, if we get it off the ground. Maybe we even find a few more artists to sign at the event.”
“We could do it the weekend before the shows at The Ryman,” I said. “And make the tickets really cheap—like twenty or twenty-five dollars or something. And then kids go free if they are accompanied by an adult or if they come as part of a school or music group. Make the whole thing a real community event. A family event.”
“I’ll say one thing for you, kid,” Sam said, “you have vision. Wild, out-of-this-world vision. But that’s generally where the best ideas come from.”
“So, you like it?” I said.
“I love it,” he said, grinning. “But let’s be honest, getting this off the ground in just about two months is going to be damn near impossible to pull off. Just the permits alone could take twice that long.”
“Not if you know the right people,” Jackson said, his voice calm and measured.
“What are you thinking, Jackson?” Glenn asked.
“The mayor’s in his last term, and the election’s next year. He’s going to want to leave a legacy. He already has the new amphitheatre at Riverfront Park being built for next summer, but an even better legacy the mayor of Music City could leave would be the first edition of an annual, community-focused, music festival focused on the raw, unheard talent that populates the city.”
He paused and let the thought hang in the air.
Then he added, “Especially if that festival is the personal project of a global icon taking his first steps into the music business.”
He looked directly at Sam. “I can already see Mayor Dean standing on the steps of City Hall after the official announcement, shaking your hand, Sam.” He looked over at Chloë. “And with you standing on his other side, looking glamorous, Miss Goodman.” He smiled. “Look, I know what this mayor is like, and I tell you, if you put this to him, Sam. You, personally. Then he’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
“Jackson, my old friend,” Glenn said. “I love you like a brother, but sometimes I forget what a savvy, ruthless bastard you are.”
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