Page 42 of Crazy Love
She chuckles. “Course.”
“Then play them. Weave them around Dane’s lead. You’ll know how they fit.” I trust her because this song is now as much a part of her as it is a part of me. It’s a melody we created together. Later, I know I’ll have to explain things to her, I can see the questions right there in her eyes, but for now, I collect my Gretsch and position the mic.
“This is a new track,” I tell Graham Callahan. “It might lack a little polish, but I hope you’ll forgive that under the circumstances. I presentToo Long: Didn’t Read.”
We hook him after just a few chords. I always had faith that would be the case. Some tunes come to you and you just know in your guts that they’re meant to be. It’s as if you’ve always known them, and you’ve simply tapped in to an ancient memory. It’s that way with this song, and yet at the same time it’s desperately new and unpolished. Even while we’re playing I can hear the places where we can refine it.
The beat of Joel’s drums is what drives it through the chorus, but it’s the bass-line that Loveday winds around the lead melody that really makes the sound. The lyrics aren’t too bad either. What’s most important, though, is that Graham Callahan listens with a smile on his wide face. I suppose it’s silly, then, that I’m still on tenterhooks when we finish, awaiting the final verdict.
It’s delivered as a standing ovation; our whole audience on their feet, six hands clapping riotously.
Callahan gets on the stage to shake my hand, and then Dane’s, Joel’s and Loveday’s too.
“We need to get this track recorded ASAP girls and boys. Go home and pack yourself some spare undies.”
“You’re not thinking we’re going to record this now.” Dane blurts.
“Why not? Do you have something urgent to do?”
None of us do. Leastways, nothing that can’t be rearranged.
“Surely we need to sign contracts or something, and you’re super busy, aren’t you?” Dane gestures at Callahan’s mousy assistant and the diary discarded on the floor.
“Kid, there’s always space on my schedule for brilliance. But sure, contract, tour dates, planning…” He turns to his bespectacled assistant, whose glasses I notice are rainbow patterned. “Call the Sawmills. It’s closest, we’ll do the recording there. Tell them to expect us.”
“And if they’re already fully booked up?”
He gives her a hard stare.
“All right. OK, I’ll get onto it.”
“I suspect some up and coming group has just had their studio time gazumped.”
“The Sawmills,” Dane says, clutching my elbow. “This is insane. So many big names have recorded there. Oasis, the Verve, the Stone Roses.” He rattles off several more. “Do you reckon you’ll get to use the same microphone that Robert Planet warbled into?”
I shrug, because I honestly don’t know. “Let’s try and keep our heads, eh? And sign a contract that’s not going to screw us six ways to Sunday.”
“What about Knox?” Dane asks.
“What about Loveday?” I reply.
“What about her?”
“She got us this, Dane.”
“So you’re hoofing Knox?”
Joel claps me on the back.
“No. No—of course not.”
Joel slides away from me as if he’s trying to take back the well-done pat he just gave me.
“I’m just saying she should be part of this. She ought to be the one playing on this track at least. Knox could do the others, and he’ll still be our official bassist.”
“So she’d be doing like a guest spot?” Joel’s interest perks again.
“Yeah. How do you feel about that?” I ask her.
