Page 3 of Perfectly Wrong

“I know, Matt, but half our team isn’t enough for what Icon Records has in store for Martin. We need to elevate his career to intergalactic levels. To do that, the best marketing team in the label—us—will work exclusively with his team, creating the entire aesthetic, visual identity, and marketing plan for both his album and tour. Guys, Icon Records is investing a huge amount of money into this; I can’t even say the number. We need to ensure Sam Martin sells enough to justify it and fund the label’s holiday party at the end of the year. So, who’s ready to take on this challenge with me?”

I wasn’t surprised when they exchanged excited glances and every single one of them raised their hands. My team lived and breathed new projects, and nothing excited them more than one as big as this—one capable of frying all our brain cells. They were, after all, my team.

When I said they were awesome, I truly meant it. It didn’t take long for all of us to start talking over one another, each contributing ideas better than the last. We took notes on Post-its and arranged them on an impressive timeline. When Victoria and I entered the meeting, we felt confident, sure that everything would go perfectly.

Vicky was one of the most dedicated members of my team. They were all incredible, but I couldn’t bring Katie to a meeting like this one, for instance. Fainting would be the best she could manage in front of Martin, effectively ruining all our hard work. Victoria was different. She possessed exceptional communication skills and was a tremendous help in preparing presentations, in addition to being highly organized. No matter how many papers and files we brought, she always had everything ready to present at the right moment.

On the other hand, Martin didn’t seem prepared for the meeting. He looked quite uncomfortable around us—or more accurately, around me. I tried my best to avoid his gaze, thinking it might help put him at ease, but it was impossible. Sam had this strange energy that practically compelled me to meet his brown eyes. At one point, we locked eyes, and it was so intense that he became agitated and dropped his glass of water, soaking the entire table. And, man, could he talk! It was as if some supernatural force had taken over, preventing him from stopping!

“So, before we can redefine the points you made, we need to know where you stand with the new album,” I said to his team. “Is there an estimated release date? How is it progressing? How many singles will we have to work with?”

Sam and the others exchanged glances. “Actually,” he started, “we don’t have much ready yet. I have four songs written, and we’re about to start recording, but that’s it.”

“Our star isn’t in a great place with his writing,” his manager explained, trying to elicit sympathy. “So we’re waiting for inspiration to finish the album.”

Had I misheard? What on earth did he mean by "our star isn’t in a good place"? That they didn’t have anything finished or defined? How were we supposed to promote something that didn’t even exist?

“I see.” I attempted to mask my shock but barely succeeded. It was a lie… I didn’t “see” anything. “So, what are we promoting then? A greatest hits tour?”

Jeremy was taken aback by my question, his eyes widening to the point where I expected them to pop out of his sockets and land on the table. The manager took a deep breath, and Sam appeared embarrassed. It wasn’t uncommon for struggling artists to release an album of past hits to hold onto their fans for a little longer, but, as I mentioned, those were artists on the decline.

“I think we’ll have to redo all our planning and marketing strategy.” Victoria sounded frustrated, and I understood her feelings. We had very little time to prepare and had done our best to create a solid plan for Sam Martin. When we were finally ready to set a date, we faced the reality that there wasn’t even a flipping album!

“Why would you? It’s a fantastic plan; I really like it.” Sam nearly jumped out of his seat, despair taking control of his perfectly chiseled jaw.

Vicky took a deep breath, probably counting to ten in her head, clearly trying to avoid ending the meeting by punching the singer in the nose. I appreciated her restraint and thanked her with an encouraging smile. Honestly, at that moment, I would have let her advance over the table and pull his hair just to see if it would spark some inspiration in him. Who knows, right? A little excitement could work wonders, firing up his brain cells and getting whatever was inside him flowing again.

“Because we based our plan on a specific timeline. Your tour dates were carefully chosen based on school holidays and other factors. Your downtime was actually scheduled for the low season of concerts on each continent. Now, since we have no idea when to start, the entire plan needs to change. We need to redo everything!”

And that’s how our first meeting with our new prince of pop came to an end. Victoria and I returned to our room to inform the others about all the news we didn’t even have.

Man, let me tell you something: you should never underestimate the power of the universe. Seriously! I heard that Sam had other meetings around the office, but I had no idea he would show up at my desk, asking for a private meeting at the end of my workday.

“We can use this room,” I suggested, inviting him into our creative area filled with sofas and scattered paper and crayons. This was where our brainstorming sessions happened, where we unleashed our wildest ideas and then organized them into something coherent. It wasn’t the most suitable setting for the kind of meeting Martin had in mind, but I wasn't in the mood to hunt for an empty room.

“I know it’s not the best time to clear things up or anything,” he began. “But I didn’t want you to have the wrong impression.”

What exactly was he referring to? His awkward attempt to flirt with me at the coffee shop, which had led to an uncomfortable reunion? Or the meeting where we discovered there was no album to promote? I simply nodded, signaling that he had my attention.

“I’m doing my best to write the song so we can finish the album on time.” Oh, that. “But I haven’t been feeling very inspired. My agent pressuring me has only made it worse.”

“Right. Why are you telling me this?”

He shifted on the sofa, clearly uncomfortable. “Because I could tell you guys were frustrated, to say the least, with the outcome of the meeting. I know you had very little time, and your team is only working with me now, so I wanted you to know that I really loved your plan and appreciate all the effort you’ve put into this.”

It was heartening to see him being so honest. All I saw then was a young man doing his best to deserve the opportunity that had been handed to him, even if he didn’t quite grasp what that contract really meant. Among so many artists, Icon Records had chosen him, and Martin knew he had to deliver in return. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, after all.

“Sam,” I said, trying to keep my tone conciliatory. “Things don’t always come easily, but you’re here for a reason. I know what talent is. We don’t sign people who can’t at least earn back the money invested in them. Just remember, success and fame are like a train: you’re on it, and suddenly someone new takes your seat. If something else is distracting you right now, we need to know. It’s better to tell us you need more time so you can eventually bring something solid to the table than to push hard when you’re not ready. Is there anything I can do to help you? Not with marketing. We’re going to work together for a long time, and I hope we can establish a good working rapport, but what can I do for you as a person?”

And that’s how I ended up in an apartment in the Trinity Bellwoods area, near Little Italy, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating pizza and playing video games with Sam Martin. His team had rented the place on Manning Street to serve as a temporary home for the singer until renovations on his newly purchased apartment were complete. I thought he’d say, “No worries, I’ve got it handled, everything will be fine,” and we’d move on with our lives. Instead, he asked me to dinner, which I politely declined for many reasons. Sam insisted he knew it wasn’t a good idea for us to go out together, but no one would see us in his apartment. We could order something and enjoy each other’s company for a while. The worst part? That actually sounded good to me.

After beating him three times at Mario Kart, we talked about his new album. Sam wasn’t suffering from writer’s block; rather, it was his pride that prevented him from letting others help. His songs were well-written, at least as far as my musical knowledge went, and they would easily fit any melody. Even though his team liked them too, they felt something was missing. I knew what it was: his songs lacked commercial appeal. They would be perfect for when he had established himself enough to do anything he wanted, but that wasn’t the case now. He needed something catchy, something that would draw new fans to his music.

The label had offered many expensive and experienced partners from the music industry to help, but their styles clashed, and Martin was growing frustrated at not being able to deliver what Icon Records wanted.

“Why don’t you try writing new songs?” I suggested. We were still sitting on the living room floor, papers scattered around us as I read through the lyrics of songs he had written but never performed. “I mean, they’re amazing, but they’re not working the way Icon Records wants, so maybe you should change your approach.”

He didn’t seem convinced but acknowledged my advice, knowing it was true. Every artist needs to adapt to the label until they’re strong enough to succeed and sell without commercial assistance. Beyond that, there was no way to proceed. Music was the most important part of my life, and I loved it. I listened from the moment I woke up until I went to bed, but I couldn’t deny it: music is a product, like any other. People invest time and money into writing melodies, recording, and trying to convince others it’s good. There was no way for us to release an album we weren’t 100 percent sure would sell.

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