Chapter 11: Selling Out

The term “with a bullet” had been coined for songs like Celia Valdez’s first single release as a solo artist, The Struggle. After only three weeks of saturation airplay on the popular music stations throughout the United States and Canada, Struggle debuted on the Hot 100 chart at sixty-seven. The next week, as the airplay continued unabated, it was at thirty-three. The week after that, it broached the top 20 at number eighteen. The week after that, it was in the Top 10 at number six. From there, it spent the next two weeks climbing to the number one position, neatly dislodging End of the Road by Boyz II Men like an infantry squad occupying a hill. Once in the number one spot, Struggle would remain there for another five weeks before being dislodged in turn by one of the masters herself: Whitney Houston and I Will Always Love You.

As Jake had predicted, the song was popular across the entire eighteen to sixty-four demographic, as it was neither a rock and roll song or a formulistic pop song. It resonated with people from all walks of life, all age groups with its universal message of love gone bad and spiraling to its death, sung out by Celia’s glorious contralto voice and accompanied by Laura’s mournful saxophone melody.

Jake’s debut effort, The Easy Way, did not fare as well, but it still put in a respectable performance. It was played quite regularly on both the hard rock stations and the pop stations, and research showed that people who enjoyed the tune and kept the station dial in place when it came on outnumbered those who switched by a considerable margin. The song moved slowly but steadily upward on the chart, reaching its peak at number eight the same week that Struggle started to fall downward. Easy held onto number eight for two more weeks and then it too began to drop slowly back down, week by week, falling faster than Struggle, which kept a tenacious grip on the Top 40.

In these days of CDs, where there was no longer any such thing as forty-five RPM records with their two songs for sale for a dollar, simply having hit tunes did not translate into any direct income for KVA Records. The only way they would make money would be to sell the actual full CDs. And people did not tend to buy a complete CD, which would run then around ten dollars at retail rate, based on a single hit song. In the time period between July 14^th, 1992, the release date for the albums, and December 2, 1992, when both Struggle and Easy began to fall from the charts, only fifty-five thousand copies of The Struggle, the CD, and thirty-three thousand copies of Can’t Keep Me Down, the CD, were purchased. These numbers were alarming to Greg Oldfellow, Jill the accountant, and Pauline the manager as they meant that KVA was still operating deep in the red.

Jake, Celia, the Nerdlys, and Obie, however, were not worried. They knew that once two hit songs were getting airplay and starting to chart, the album sales would start to pick up. It was time to put Phase Two of his marketing plan into action.

On December 5, Jake arranged a meeting with Obie, who just happened to be in LA at the moment. He had noticed that Obie was spending a lot of time in LA of late, flying down from Oregon nearly every weekend even though he and the Nerdlys were hard at work on the recording of his own upcoming album, but he didn’t think too much of it. He certainly did not suspect that Obie was coming down to visit his sister so the two of them could play hide the bratwurst in Obie’s hotel room or Pauline’s house. Greg and Celia were invited to the meeting as well, and, since it was in her house, Pauline would be in attendance too. Jake brought along Laura, knowing she could use a little relaxation time. Since it was a Saturday, they decided to have a barbeque after they talked business. Jake brought some New York steaks he’d picked up at a local meat market while Pauline provided some potatoes and zucchini she’d picked up at a local farmer’s market. Celia and Greg brought a few bottles of good red wine they’d picked up at a specialty store in Beverly Hills.

They discussed business first, the six of them finding seats in Pauline’s entertainment room. Since Obie was present at the meeting, the usual rule of no alcohol was thrown out for the day. Obie refused to have a meeting without a nice glass of whiskey in some form in his hand, and he refused to drink alone.

“To success!” Obie toasted to open the discussion.

“Success!” they all echoed, drinking from whatever they had concocted at the bar. In Jake’s case it was a tall, pale rum and coke—which was still his favorite potable for general drinking.

“All right then,” Obie said. “I assume y’all want to talk about the next step in the promotion process for the albums?”

“You assume correctly,” Jake said. “It’s time to get those second songs on the air so we can start picking up some album sales.”

“That’s what those suits down at National keep telling me as well,” Obie said. “They’ve been hounding my ass for a month now about getting the release authority for the next ones. They think you’re waiting too long.”

“Are they seriously afraid that the public will forget about us over four weeks?” Celia asked.

“Especially after she just spent five weeks at number one?” put in Greg.

“You’re not exactly dealing with the most reasonable people when you’re dealing with those suits over in that building,” Obie said. “They act like the fate of the whole goddamn free world rests on putting out the next tune.”

“What tunes are they suggesting we put out?” Jake asked, curious, knowing it probably would not be what he thought they should release next.

“For Celia they want Why? as they next one,” Obie said.

“That figures,” Jake said. “They want to wring the album for all it’s worth as quickly as they can.”

“And if they can score another number one hit before the end of the year, they’ll have a little something to show their stockholders when the royalties start rolling in,” said Obie. “Not a bad strategy, really.”

“I disagree,” Jake said.

“How come?” asked Pauline. “You’ve said a dozen times that Why? is probably going to be the best-charting cut on the whole album.”

“It will be,” Jake said. “All of the tunes on Struggle are good, but Why? is a masterpiece—a work of art that is still going to be played fifty years from now. The melodic guitar work and the violin melody mixed with Celia’s and Paulie’s voices in duet. Exquisite shit. The public is going to eat it up. That’s why we don’t release it for play yet. We hold it in reserve and bring it out only after some of the other tunes have charted and peaked.”

“Okay,” Obie said slowly, nodding his head a little. “I suppose I can see the logic in that.”

“What song of mine do they want to release next?” Jake asked.

“The title cut,” Obie told him. “They want it on all the hard rocks like yesterday.”

“That figures as well,” Jake said with a shake of the head. “They want me to try to pick up some of the hard rock cred I lost.”

“The hard rock cred?” asked Laura.

“Can’t Keep Me Down is the hardest rocking tune on the album,” Jake explained. “A lot of the hard rock fans that associate me with Intemperance didn’t care too much for Easy. You should read some of the letters I got. Sellout is the kindest thing I’m being accused of.”

“Easy was still rock and roll though,” Laura said. “If a different artist had put it out, they would’ve loved it. I don’t understand why they think you’re a sellout.”

“Because I switched to a more popular genre of music and because that music is being played on pop stations and enjoyed by people who did not like Intemperance. In their eyes, that makes me a sellout.” He shrugged. “Maybe I am, in a way, but I didn’t set out to deliberately make pop music. I just put down what I composed and it came out that way.”

“And National is happy with that,” Obie said. “Believe me, they aren’t complaining about Easy’s popularity or thinking it’s bad that you might be a sellout. They fuckin’ live for sellouts. That is a not a bad thing to be termed in their minds, you understand? Still, they think that if they release Down and play it exclusively on the hard rocks, you’ll get some of that credibility back with the Intemp crowd and maybe start to pick up some album sales from them.”

“If only things were that simple,” Jake said with a sigh.

“You don’t think the argument is valid?” asked Pauline.

“Down is a hard rocker, but it’s still well short of the heavy metal genre that Intemperance is associated with. The hard core rockers are not going to like it any more than they liked Easy. Down will be released eventually, and it will appeal to a good section of the hard rock demographic, but now is not the time to put it out there.”

“What tunes do you want put out next?” Obie asked.

“For me, Insignificance needs to be the next tune promoted,” Jake said.

Obie looked at him pointedly. “The mellow guitar and violin piece? The one that don’t have no electric guitar or drums in it at all?”

“That’s the one,” Jake said. “It needs to start getting saturation play on both the pops and the hard rocks.”

“The pops will eat it up,” Obie said. “I’m not so sure about the hard rocks, however.”

“I’m not so sure about them either, but we have to at least try, right? Hopefully the fact that I’m Jake Kingsley will get people to at least listen to it on the hard rocks. And, though it’s a ballad level piece, I think it has enough appeal that the rockers will like it. I honestly think that’s one of the best tunes I’ve ever composed and recorded.”

“I agree,” said Celia. “I love that song.”

“Whether or not the hard rocks keep playing it will have to be determined,” Jake said, “but I think it’s going to chart like mad on the pops—maybe not as fast and furious as Struggle did, and certainly nowhere near what Why? is eventually going to do, but it’ll be the biggest hit on my album, undoubtedly. And, once it charts—once people know there are at least two good songs on the CD, album sales will start to pick up as well.”

“Okay then,” Obie said. “It’s your show, I’m just the one who makes it happen. We release Insig next with heavy airplay on the pops and the hards.”

“Correct,” Jake said. “And I want them to mention whenever feasible that it is me playing the acoustic guitar and my mother playing the violin.”

“You want them to know your mother is playing the violin?” Obie asked, surprised.

“Damn right,” he said. “In the first place, my mom did a fantastic job on that tune. Her violin is a huge part of what makes that song what it is. I damn sure want her to get credit for it. In the second place, I think that having people know that my mother is the violinist will actually make the tune appeal to them a little more. They’ll pay more attention to it. It’ll grow on them a little faster. It will be a conversation piece when people talk about the tune with other people.”

Obie nodded thoughtfully. “An interesting theory,” he said.

“Jake, that is so sweet,” Laura said, beaming at him.

Jake shrugged. “Like I said, she deserves the recognition. She’s a wonderful musician. She didn’t get that gig just because she’s my mother, she got it because she’s badass. I want people to know that.”

“Okay,” Obie said, setting down his whiskey glass to scribble out a few notes. “That takes care of Jake’s next release. What about Miss Celia?”

“Well, it’s Celia’s album,” Jake said, “so I can only make suggestions on her behalf, but I would say that we should put Playing Those Games out next.”

“Games?” Celia asked, surprised. “The hard rock tune?”

“Exactly,” Jake said. “It’s time to establish Celia Valdez as someone who knows how to fucking rock. That tune grinds. We need to get it on the hard rocks first and then start playing it on the pops as well.”

“For what purpose?” asked Obie. “Do you really think it’s going to chart that well?”

“It’ll chart,” Jake said, “but it won’t chart as fast or as high as Struggle did or Why? is going to. That doesn’t matter though. Remember, the goal here is to sell CDs, not singles. Once people hear Games on the radio, once they realize it’s Celia Valdez throwing that shit down, they’re going to start snatching up the CD in droves, both in the hard rock and in the pop demographics.”

Obie looked over at Celia. “Sound reasonable to you, darlin’?” he asked her.

“I’ve trusted Jake this far,” Celia said. “He hasn’t steered me wrong yet. I say we go with what he suggests.”

“Good enough,” Obie said. “What kind of particulars are we talking about with Games?”

“A couple of things,” Jake said. “On the hards, you need to instruct them to not announce artist name until after the song has played—at least not for the first two weeks after release. On the pops, the opposite. Consistently announce artist before the song is played. The same reasoning as when I did it with Easy, just in reverse. We want the hard rock listeners to hear and appreciate the song before they know who it is, and we want the pop listeners to know who they’re listening to before the tune starts. That should serve to keep those sacred ears tuned in.”

Obie nodded. “It worked before,” he said. “I’m guessing it’ll work again. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “This is very important. No mention of who is playing the guitar for Celia on Games. I’m not credited on the album cover, of course, but there are people who know or can guess that I’m actually her guitarist. Discourage any speculation or discussion by DJs about who may or may not be putting down the licks on the tune. Let everyone assume it’s just some studio guitarist playing for her.”

“You’ve mentioned this before, Jake,” Celia said, “but I have to ask you again. Are you sure you don’t want credit for Games at the very least? Like you said about Mary, you did an awesome job on the tune and your guitar playing is what is going to make it a success. You deserve the credit for it.”

“And in addition to the credit,” said Greg, “don’t you think that having people know you’re the guitar player might actually enhance popularity of the tune and increase album sales? Especially if they knew you were playing lead on all of the tunes that have an electric guitar in them?”

Jake was shaking his head. “I think that acknowledging that I’m the guitarist on any of the cuts, but especially on Games, would do nothing but distract people from the tunes, not draw them to it. There would be so many comparisons between my playing and Matt Tisdale’s, so many disparaging words about how I’m not half the guitarist that he is, that nobody would pay attention to the music itself. This is the same reason I didn’t credit myself as the lead guitarist on my CD. This is the same reason I don’t have any classic guitar solos in any of my tunes. The music needs to stand on its own, not be judged on the individual talents of the guitarists.”

Obie was looking at him. “I think you make some valid points there, Jake, and I will, of course, follow your directions, but ... well ... I’m a man who likes to talk plain and say what’s on my mind.”

“Really?” Jake said with a chuckle. “I never noticed that about you, Obie.”

Obie chuckled in return. “Yeah, well, what I’m trying to say here is that I think maybe you have a bit of a misguided opinion of your own electric guitar skills. You play well, boy. Really well. That solo you laid down in Games is top-notch, sends fuckin’ chills down my spine when I hear it.”

“Thanks, Obie,” Jake said. “And I do know that I can play guitar with the best of them, it’s just that Matt Tisdale is the best of the best of them. He’s an asshole and I have at least half a stomach ulcer with his name on it, but nobody currently slinging a guitar can even approach him when it comes to riffs and solos—not Kirk Hammett, not Dimebag Darrel, not that new guy Mike McCready that plays with Pearl Jam, and certainly not me. I’m a realist, not someone with a self-esteem problem, and I know that having my name on that solo will only distract from the tune, not enhance it. The information that it’s me playing guitar for Celia will undoubtedly come out someday, but that someday needs to be in the future, not while the song and the album are making their initial run.”

Celia, Greg, and Obie all looked at each other for a moment and then exchanged a group shrug. “Fair enough,” Obie said. “We’ll play it your way, Jake.”

Jake took command of Pauline’s barbeque grill for the informal portion of the gathering. It sat out on her deck that overlooked the lake. Though it was December, they were in Los Angeles and the weather was still quite pleasant. The sky was blue—well, bluish-gray thanks to the perpetual smog—and the temperature was a mild sixty-two degrees, with just a hint of a breeze blowing in from the west. Comfortable short-sleeve shirt and jeans weather, which was what both Obie and Jake were wearing as they stood out next to the barbeque, cold beers in hand. Laura was out there with them, sipping from perhaps her fourth glass of white wine and starting to get a little giggly.

“How’d you prep those potatoes, Jake?” Obie asked as Jake used a pair of tongs to turn the aluminum foil wrapped tubers a quarter turn on the grate.

“I rubbed them in olive oil,” Jake replied, “put a little salt and pepper on them, then rolled them each in minced garlic before I wrapped them.”

Obie nodded approvingly. “Not bad,” he said. “You oughta try dashing them with just a hint of tabasco as well. Mix the garlic in with it.”

“Yeah?” Jake asked, always happy to get a new cooking tip.

“It adds just a hint of spice, mostly olfactory though since the flavor doesn’t make it through the skin, but it’s worth the time and effort in the end.”

“I’ll give that a shot next time,” he said, filing that away.

“And those steaks you got,” Obie said. “You’re going to sear them on high heat?”

“Naturally,” Jake said. “They’re nice marbled New Yorks, so the seasoning is minimal. Just salt and pepper loosely sprinkled on them, maybe four minutes a side, and they’ll be a nice juicy medium rare.”

Obie nodded his approval at this as well. “Very nice,” he said. “A man’s not really a man if he doesn’t know how to grill up a good steak, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“I know what you’re saying,” Jake said, closing the lid on the grill and picking up his beer.

Obie clapped Jake on the back nearly hard enough to leave a bruise and then turned to Laura. “And how about you, darlin’?” he asked. “This ugly mother hasn’t chased you away yet?”

She giggled. “Not yet,” she said.

“How goes the teaching gig?” Obie asked her. “Still learnin’ them ghetto kids they ain’t supposed to say ‘ain’t’?”

“Only for a few more weeks,” she said. “I’ve put in my resignation letter with the district. At the end of this semester, I’ll be done.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said with a nod. “I’m a little nervous about it, to tell you the truth. It’s hard to walk away from a steady job, even if it doesn’t pay all that well.”

“Do you have something better in the works?” Obie asked. “Or are you just gonna have Jake here be your sugar daddy?”

“Jesus, Obie,” Jake said, shaking his head a little.

“I’ve got something else in the works,” Laura told him. “I’ve been getting pretty regular sessions down at the National studios doing some fills and overdubs with my sax. I’ve had to turn some sessions down because of my teaching commitment or I would’ve picked up a lot more. I figured it’s time to stop screwing around and go for it.”

“Yep,” Obie said approvingly. “Sounds like a shit-or-get-off-the-pot situation if I’ve ever heard one. What kind of tracks they got you blowin’ down there?”

“I’ve done some overdubs for Bobby Z, a few radio commercials, some fills on a movie soundtrack. It’s all very interesting, really.”

“Bobby Z, huh?” Obie said. “I heard he’s about as queer as a three dollar bill. Is that the straight shit—uh ... so to speak?”

“Yes, he’s pretty flamboyant,” Laura agreed. “He’s a great singer and composer though. I’ve enjoyed working with him and hope I get to do it some more.”

“How come his sax player ain’t doing the overdubs and the fills?” Obie wanted to know. “He’s hooked up with that black guy, right? What was his name?”

“Dexter Price,” Laura said. “Yes, that’s who played the melody on all of the tracks for his album. He’s a wonderful up and coming saxophonist. I would’ve loved to have met him, but apparently he and Z—Bob Zachary is Bobby Z’s real name but he likes us to call him Z—had some kind of a falling out and there is some question whether Dexter is going to go his separate way.”

“What’s their beef?” Obie asked. “Is this about them slinging their salamis at each other?”

Laura blushed a little but nodded. “That’s the rumor,” she said. “Apparently they were romantically involved and Dexter wanted to be a little more exclusive than Z did. Some harsh words were exchanged and Dexter stormed out about two weeks before I started getting the calls to help with the overdubs.”

Obie was shaking his head. “Fuckin’ drama,” he said. “It just gets in the way of production, and those homos are teeming hotbeds of it. That’s why I love making country music so much. We got just as many homos as every other genre, of course, but at least they stay in the fuckin’ closet since your average country fan don’t go for that kinda shit. That keeps the fudge-packing drama down to the minimum so we only have to deal openly with the hetero drama.”

“An interesting point of view,” Jake said thoughtfully.

Another shrug by Obie. “Just reality, boy. Just reality. And speaking of drama, I hear you’ve been getting’ together with that rapper guy, Bigg C.”

“Bigg G,” Jake corrected. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Pauline mentioned it to me in one of our meetings,” he said dismissively. “What’s up with that shit?”

“Gordon—that’s G’s real name—is a friend,” Jake said. “I met him through Nerdly back when Nerdly was helping him mix one of his albums before he went independent.”

“I never did care for that ghetto music,” Obie said. “I hesitate to even call it music. It’s just a bunch of thumping and pounding and some nigger shouting out a bunch of obscenities about bitches and hoes and the po-lice and shit.”

“It’s not all like that,” Jake said. “Like with any genre, there are some artists and musicians who rise above the stereotyping. Gordon is hardly what I would call a nigger, in the strict privileged white person interpretation of the word. True, he was raised in the ghetto, but he’s educated and he’s a professional musician with considerable talent, as well as a fairly shrewd businessman in his own right. I actually think you would like him if you met him, Obie. He’s kind of like a younger, blacker version of you.”

“Yeah?” Obie said, not quite sure how to take that.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Anyway, he’s smart enough to realize that straight rap music is in a death spiral...”

“About fucking time,” Obie opined.

“Perhaps ... anyway, Gordon is going a little experimental on his next album. We’re working on a cut where I play the acoustic guitar as the primary melody. It’s actually coming along pretty well. I like it a lot.”

“A mixture of rap and acoustic guitar, huh?” Obie said. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that will sound like.”

“I gotta go pee,” Laura suddenly announced.

“Then you should,” Jake told her. “You know where it’s at?”

“I do,” she confirmed. “Be back in a few.”

“Okay,” Jake said, returning the kiss she planted on his lips. She then wandered off, her gait not entirely steady, spilling a little of her wine as she made her way through the door.

Obie watched her go, his eyes unabashedly taking in the appealing form of her derriere in her jeans. When she was gone, he turned to Jake and patted him on the shoulder again. “That’s quite a woman you got there, Jake. She’s pretty, she’s smart, and I’m guessing she knows how to blow the old horn pretty well, eh?”

“Uh ... she can put on quite a performance when she’s in the mood for it,” Jake allowed.

“Yeah,” Obie said wistfully. “There’s nothing like having yourself a good woman in your life. Hang onto her.”

“I plan to,” Jake said. “Besides, we’ll probably need her sax skills on our next albums.”

“If someone else don’t snatch her up first,” Obie said.

“I just need to keep her away from dentists,” Jake said.

“How’s that?”

Jake chuckled. “Never mind,” he said. “How are things going with your new album? Are you going to give us back the Nerdlys soon?”

“We’re almost done with the overdubs and ready to start mixing,” Obie said.

“That’s when the Nerdlys truly shine,” Jake said, “although the tedium level and general annoyance level with them notches up pretty intensely in that phase.”

“Yeah ... I saw what y’all went through when you got there.” He shrugged. “We’ll get by. And I’m really looking forward to getting my stuff on the air. I picked up some young guitar players and I’m experimenting with throwing in some distorted electric in addition to the slide—kind of bringing a hint of rock and roll to country.”

“You think that’ll appeal?” Jake asked. “Or are they going to start calling you a sellout as well?”

“Time will tell,” Obie said. “Time will fuckin’ tell.” He looked over at the door for a moment and saw there was no sign of Laura reemerging. He then turned back to Jake. “Listen, there’s something I kind of wanted to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?” Jake asked.

“It has to do with ... with Pauline.”

“Yeah?” Jake asked. “What about her?”

“I’m not one for mincing words and I’m not one for keeping secrets from people, so I’m just going to come out and tell you. She and I are doing the nasty with each other.”

Jake looked at him for a moment, searching for signs in his face that this was a joke. He saw none. “Doing the nasty, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“The first time was up in Oregon, right after we got done negotiating and signing your contract with me. We’ve been getting together whenever we can ever since.”

“I see,” Jake said slowly. “So ... almost eight months now?”

“About that,” Obie agreed.

“Interesting,” he said. “I had no clue. That’s usually the sort of thing I’d pick up on.”

“We were discrete,” Obie said.

“That explains why you come to LA every weekend.”

“That explains it.”

“Why were you keeping it secret?” Jake asked him.

“Well ... at first it was just kind of instinct, particularly since she and I have a business relationship. We didn’t want anyone thinking there was any funny business going on with the financials and conflict of interest and all that shit. There isn’t, you know. Both of us can separate personal relationships from business relationships.”

Jake nodded. “I believe you,” he said. “Besides, Jill would’ve caught any funny business if anyone was trying to pull some.”

“Those japs are shrewd, that’s for damn sure,” Obie said. “Anyway, after we started being discrete, it just got to be a habit. In truth, the sneaking around kind of added something to the relationship. You should try it sometime.”

“I’ve done my share of sneaking around,” Jake assured him. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because you need to know,” Obie said. “Celia and Greg need to know as well. So do the Nerdlys. We’re all getting deeper and deeper into this whole CD release deal and we’re spending more time with each other and things are starting to come to a head. I don’t think it’s healthy for a group of people such as we are, involved in the sort of business that we are, to have a secret of that magnitude floating around. Y’all would’ve found out eventually and, if we hadn’t told you about it first, that would have opened up some mistrust between me and you, between you and Pauline, between me and Pauline maybe. It’s time to let the cat out of the bag.”

“Pauline knows you’re telling me about this?”

“She doesn’t know I’m doing it right this moment,” Obie said, “but she knows I plan to tell you and everyone else. We’ve talked about this and she agrees with my reasoning.”

“I see,” Jake said slowly.

“How do you feel about this, Jake?” Obie wanted to know.

“I’m not really sure,” he answered honestly. “Still trying to process it, mostly, but I like you, Obie. Are you treating her well?”

“I treat all my ladies well,” he said with conviction.

“You’re not beating her, humiliating her, trying to get her to do shit she doesn’t want to do?”

“I do not hit women, Jake,” he said firmly. “I did that once in my life, back when I was in my late twenties and just starting to get into the whole fame and fortune thing. I popped the woman I was with at the time a backhand across the face—and I’m here to tell you, that if there was ever a woman who deserved that shit, that fuckin’ bitch was her. You see this scar on my face?” He lifted up his hat a little, revealing a four-inch, jagged scar atop his forehead.