It’s Only Rock and Roll

Then what could only be called a rock version of Little Big Town'sGood as Gone.Master of Puppets by Metallica.Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple.Texas Flood by Stevie Ray.Hotel California by the Eagles.Cities on Flame with Rock and Roll by Blue Oyster Cult. By the time the rest of the band arrived Kate and Morris were smoking throughGive the Dog a Bone.

The rest of the band saw it, heard it and felt the chemistry. They quickly joined the jam and helped take the AC/DC classic through its paces. Then they got serious and began to rehearse their normal covers and original numbers with their new band member. Kate's ability to switch from a solid rhythm guitarist to an improvising lead was nothing short of astounding. Many great guitar soloists suck as band members---all they care about is their time in the limelight. Kate was not one of those musicians. By late afternoon the chemistry was solid; Nation was a new band...a different band...a better band.

The man who Katerina had replaced joined his mates on stage. "I knew this damn band needed something different. It's so much stronger with you on guitar, hon---these guys were just too nice to say it, but next to you...I was just another guitar. Plus the pure sexual energy between you two is something that Morris and I could never pull off---thank goodness. You guys probably need to work on your staging a little together---get your cues down---but damn! It works!"

The rest of the band drifted off to their own homes leaving Morris and Kate alone together.

"It felt right, Morris. I hope you guys aren't just being kind. I don't want to screw this up for you," Kate said.

"Not much chance of that, babe. You're way too good to be playing rhythm---but you are also as solid a rhythm guitarist as I've ever played with. I think we've got something here. I wish we had a chance to air it in front of an audience before the record guy gets here. Are you hungry?"

"What? Morris is asking me out for the second time in the same day? Will wonders never cease!"

"Actually I was inviting you in. I'm a decent cook. Let's walk over to my place and see what we can put together."

"Mind if I change?"

"Don't change on my account."

Kate returned in under five minutes in a cotton sundress looking for all the world like the Midwestern small town girl she was at her core. For Morris, the effect was even more stimulating than the sexy outfit she had worn over the afternoon. Who knew who made the first move? Certainly Kate had moved into his personal space but he was pretty sure he had initiated the kiss...a tender...gentle...affectionate kiss. Her lips were soft and warm...it was the perfect first kiss.

"Do you sing, too Kate?"

"Oh, sure, but let's get the guitar stuff down before we get into that. Nothing like changing the subject!" she said, reinitiating the kiss. Morris did not object.

Morris and Kate cooked dinner together and worked in the small kitchen as seamlessly as they had on stage. They ended up on the couch; they ended up in each other's arms. They did not end up in Morris' bed and, if the truth be told, that was a mutual if wordless decision. Morris spoke after one last kiss before Kate got in her car to drive home.

"Kate...I don't want to screw this up---the music or the...other. I like you a lot; hell, I've been worshipping you from afar since you first walked into the office. When it comes to relationships, I'm far more Midwestern-Morris, the mild mannered CPA. I..."

"Hush!" she said, pecking him on the cheek. "This is provincial, small town Kate you're talking to, so no excuses are required. We've got something here, Morris---musically as well as personally. Let's just let it happen. If there is something here---something real and very long term---we'll figure it out. Thanks for being the sweet guy I knew you were."

The work-week went very quickly. The band met every night to rehearse. By the end of the Thursday session, they felt very comfortable with how well things had come together.

Friday morning, the big boss flew in and announced Rod's promotion to general manager over the entire office. The current local boss would be relocating in under a week. Rod in turn announced Molly's promotion to a position that everyone knew she wasn't remotely qualified for. Kate would be working for Molly; Morris would be working for Rod. It sucked.

On the other hand, Morris received a call late in the day from another mogul of the music industry. He told him the truth: we have a meeting scheduled with someone else. If it doesn't work out, we'll call you. No, we haven't signed a contract. Yes, we'll be open-minded.

The first legendary recording mogul flew in early enough on Friday to take the band to dinner. He was surprisingly warm and human considering his legacy. He had an engineer/ producer and an attorney with him who were somewhat less convivial. Throughout dinner, the band knew they were being interviewed.

"You are the most unlikely rock and roll/border line metal band on the planet! You're all delightfully free of typical musician's issues---particularly for rock and rollers. I need to get one thing out on the table in case it is a sensitive issue. Bluntly, Mick and the boys would like to record some of your stuff."

Morris felt an alarm bell go off but stayed calm. "Our best, signature stuff isn't even right for them. The last thing we are going to do is 'give away' our best tunes so that if and when we ever get a chance to record them we come off as a cover band. If you flew down here just to steal our music, thanks for dinner---but no thanks. Now, on another note, we wrote half a dozen songs that are very much in their style to play in preparation for their first---and probably only---concert in our fair city. Those songs would be perfect for them. Bluntly, the songs that I saw Mick salivating over when we opened for them aren't for sale---and they frankly don't have the talent any more to do them justice."

"Is he speaking for all of you?" injected the irritating lawyer.

"We're done here," responded all five of them almost simultaneously, as they rose to leave.

"Wait!" said the mogul, coming to his feet. It was time for the other attorney at the table, the drummer, to put in his two cents worth.

"We've been friends---best friends---since high school. We're still together more than a decade later---with the exception of Kate, of course. If you just wanted our songs, we could have saved you the trouble on the phone. Your mouth-piece's less than subtle attempt to insert a wedge was not appreciated and showed a complete lack of class. Morris is the leader of this band---because he's got the most talent and because we all trust him implicitly. On the other hand, while we're a democracy, we are all on the same sheet of music---have been for years. I'm afraid you've just given us a clear indication of why we'll probably always be a local club band who plays for fun: slimy record labels and their minions. Sorry you wasted the jet fuel flying here."

"Can we at least talk about it?" pleaded the mogul. "Simon's comment was inappropriate and I apologize. Sit down and at least let me say my piece. None of us are remotely used to dealing with a band like Nation---or individuals such as you folks. We're feeling our way here---and we're going to get it wrong sometimes but I pledge to you that in the end, we'll get it right."

"I need to apologize---profusely," injected the suddenly less irritating lawyer from the big city. "In case you haven't already figured it out, Clive and I play good cop bad cop. We're used to dealing with, well, bluntly, marginally educated, often drug addled, not-very-bright, desperate to sign a recording contract---but certainly talented---musicians. We're not very used to dealing with ethics and integrity when it comes to musicians---sorry to be so callously blunt. I've certainly never had another attorney sitting across from me as a band member---and a friggin' CPA. Again, my apologies. By the way; where did you attend law school?"

The drummer told him. "It was in New Haven...Edited Law Review. I also specialize in contract law."

"I see."

***

A few hours later the three men from the big city were nestled together at a table at the front of the after hours club. The owner of the club was a good friend of the band; he knew that he might well be losing his best act but he also knew that being the owner of a club where a big name got its start was not bad for business. He also was a decent human being.

To say the least, Nation smoked from eleven to two as they had never smoked before. If it was possible, Kate was even more impressive in front of an audience. The personal and musical chemistry between Katrina and Morrison on stage was something to behold. Clive knew they were better than good. They were the second coming. Shades of Zeppelin—but not a Zeppelin cover. Glimpses of AC/DC at their zenith, only better. It was all there; he absolutely had to sign them.

Late the next morning they all gathered at the barn/recording studio. The record people wanted to record some tape under studio conditions. The visiting producer/sound engineer took his place in the booth. The band launched into one of their best numbers. The producer interrupted them three times in the first sixty seconds with some inane request or another that they do something differently. This time it was the normally quiet and staid engineer on keyboards who went ballistic, as he calmly entered the sound booth which he had essentially built.

"Get away from my board and out of my booth! I don't care how many awards you have! We ain't doing Brittany or Jessica pop crap here! We're trying to do rock and roll! You don't keep cutting and pasting rock and roll---you just play it. Unless there is an obvious fuck-up, you let it ride. I designed this place acoustically so that we could record as a group---not a bunch of solos dubbed together by some moron who wouldn't know good music if it fell out of his ass. I know! Don't tell me! You're one of those friggin' West Coast engineers---UCLA---am I right?"

"Why, yes. I graduated near the top of my class. I have a Masters..."

"From a glorified city college, for Christ sake! I've yet to meet a UCLA engineer---or any engineer from that community college system you have out there---who knew shit from Shineola. Jesus-H-fucking Christ!"

The rest of the band bit their tongue. Morris turned and spoke to Clive. "In these matters, he does speak for all of us."

"I take it he didn't go to a community college?" Clive said, hardly able to suppress a grin.

The drummer answered the question for Clive. "MIT...Summa...first in my class. Tell your man to run the fucking tape, don't tweak it---just try to keep the levels in line. I've got a friggin' Black Lab that can handle it if he's not up to it. Fucking producers! What a complete waste of good sperm!" The engineer/keyboard player was on a roll.

After several hours of almost perfect sessions they had produced a solid body of work that could easily stand on its own and form the core of an album. Somewhere along the line the two engineers had shaken hands and more or less made up. All sat down back in Morris' dining room over a late lunch to talk.

"Four decades in this business says it's good---great---stuff. You're all smart enough to know that it takes more than good tape---someone has to decide to play it. We need to get you exposure; we need to start promoting you. There's virtually an album here. You have to know I want some of my producers to listen to it and make suggestions."

"Just so you understand that we keep absolute artistic control of the product. We're not unreasonable folks—we're not ass holes. We'll certainly listen to good advice---but we have no intention of turning our music into crap with a bunch of over-dubbed electronic junk or whatever. It's a band; it's rock and roll. Our goal is simple: as much as is humanly and technically possible, we want the album to sound the way we sound---live. People who shell out their hard earned money for an album don't need to be disappointed and pissed off because the album doesn't measure up to what they heard Friday or Saturday night at a concert or a club."

"I'm with you, gentleman---and lady. The couple of producers I'm thinking about have a wealth of experience specifically in taking band-rock and making it work on recordings with some of the legends of the industry. Now that Shania is busy raising kids, rumor has it that Mutt might be interested in getting back into rock production. Speaking of the lady: do you sing, Kate?"

"I can but we really haven't tried it with that element yet; we're still trying to get the music to work."

"It already works. Think very seriously about a solo vocal for Kate, gents---assuming she doesn't suck."

"Where do we go from here, Clive?" asked Morris.

"Get you on the road as an opener for a major band; photos, videos, interviews, planting the seed. I've seen it take up to two years to get an album out. I don't remotely see it taking that long with you. You have no bad habits, you understand the studio process, you've already got good songs to record---or already reasonably recorded---and I don't have any doubt about your work ethic. Anything under six months is probably fantasy but a few good reviews here and there on the tour, local radio interest---who knows?"

"So, am I correct in assuming we're close to discussing a potential contract?" Kate asked.

"That we are!" replied the mogul's attorney. "I happen to have a basic boiler plate contract with me for you to look over." He started to hand it to Morris who indicated that he should hand it to the drummer, who briefly flipped through it and then spoke.

"I can see some problems already but I really need to go over it with a fine tooth comb and we all need to chat. I think we all agree that up front money in lieu of a crappy percentage on the back-end is not in our interest. Look. We're about to quit our day jobs or at least take leaves of absence. We're all good enough at those day jobs that if this whole thing implodes, we'll have no problem finding jobs after the dust clears. We've got some money coming in from our real estate development---more every day. So, as I see it, less risk for you on the front end---but also less reward for you on the back-end. If we flop---you don't lose much. If we succeed marginally---it's probably a wash. If we really make it big---we'll both do just fine.

"On another note, Morris is a CPA as you know---an auditor. He is an absolute master at finding funny games with net, gross and expenses. He's even sent a couple of folks to jail as I recall. He's going to dig through the splits and general accounting principles like a friggin' woodchuck. If there is anything in the financials of this contract that is going to set off his alarm bells, you'd be smart to tell him up front---because he is tenacious and meticulous...and he loves his work. It would help if you could send us this as a file---email it if that works. That way we can insert comments in a more orderly fashion."

"I have a copy on my laptop," said the big city lawyer.

The other member of the band, the system analyst had already opened his own MacBook by the time the lawyer had booted up.

"Is that the file, named. . ."

"Yes! How did you know?"

"You definitely need to beef up the security on your computer. Anyone with a Wi-Fi connection within a hundred feet of here with even minimal skills can hack you. Christ! You've got a wide open, unprotected port! Hell, they could hack you from China over the Internet and have full remote access---just as I have right this minute. No need to email the contract---I've already got it. If you've got a couple of minutes, we can at least erect a rudimentary firewall---and when you get back to your office you need to fire whoever is in charge of network security. You need a VPN at a minimum, 128-bit level encryption, dedicated firewall, WAP at least on the Wi-Fi, password protection on your sensitive files...and a few other things."

"Is there anyone you could suggest back in the city?"

"Absolutely. I don't even mess with security any more; it's pretty mundane. My company has a contract with an LA firm---classmate of mine. I just sent you his card---and just sent him your card."

After the laughter died down, Clive spoke.

"Folks, are you considering other offers?"

"We do have at least one other bona fide inquiry. In the end, it's not going to come down to a bidding war---it's going to have more to do with trust and chemistry. Your reputation precedes you. We are not actively seeking other arrangements. We will be polite to the other company who has contacted us but hopefully will have no reason to get into a serious discussion."

"Fair enough. I think we're all anxious to get this ball rolling. How long is it going to take you folks to review and annotate the contract?"

"A day or two---then it will depend on our ability to come to agreement on the ticklish points," Morris said.

"In the interim, it would be helpful to see a marketing plan," Kate added.

"A marketing plan?" Clive responded.

"Sure. A marketing plan. If we sign a contract, you become responsible for marketing this band. Hugs, warm feelings and promises are really wonderful but a detailed marketing plan incorporated as an addendum to the contract would not only give us a little better sense of your commitment---but also help us anticipate what you need us to do as part of that plan. I can't imagine jumping into any business project without a marketing plan which includes timelines, anticipated expenditures, bench marks, measurement to ensure acceptable completion, quarterly reviews---the usual."

"Let me guess; your MBA is in marketing?" Clive asked with a grin.

"Double major; finance and marketing," she replied.

"Why should that surprise me?" Clive responded with a twinkle in his eye.

***

A few hours later the three record company executives chatted at 27,000 feet in Clive's G550.

"Clive, this venture is certain to have some challenges based on the last twenty-four hours."

"I agree, Simon; we're going to have to cross our t's and dot our i's. With any luck we'll sign a contract that everyone has read and understands---which is good news. I doubt we'll be spending money at Betty Ford or picking the red M&Ms™ out of the bowl or explaining DUI arrests, trashed hotel rooms or bar brawls. These folks are smart and well educated---but they're also good artists with good ears for what works. They don't need their egos massaged and they can smell bullshit a mile away. We need to make damn sure everyone understands one simple fact: don't BS these kids---be straight with 'em and we'll all make a hell of a lot of money."

The contract negotiation was as arduous as anything Simon had ever been involved in. Thanks to email, proposed changes could be acted on in a matter of minutes. Essentially, the band won every battle. As Simon read the final draft, he chuckled. It was a damn good contract. It was a win-win contract. It was the kind of contract he would have signed if he had been an artist. The band had already printed off the final version and signed all of the copies. It was in the hands of FedEx but it was essentially a done deal by Friday morning.

Morris had completed the audit on Wednesday; he'd printed off the final copy Thursday morning. Everything had come out well except for one small area: someone was committing fraud with a company expense account. The evidence was irrefutable and backed up by numerous sources. He had already sent the evidence to the corporate controller as he was required to do according to the corporation's accounting policies. The corporate controller had reviewed Morris's findings; the evidence was absurdly obvious. The regional big boss was flying in Friday morning. He had spoken to Morris on the phone and was none too happy---as if it was Morris' fault that someone in the office was cheating.