Page 40 of Whirlwind

“A little, but I mostly gave into feeling numb.”

“Of course you’re numb after such a long tour, plus that bitch ditching you like that. Son, you can’t expect to be on tap at all times. You need to refill the fucking well. You can’t chase and wrangle songs like wild bulls in a pen. Songs come to you. You’ve been giving it your all for months and months. Now you got to take advantage of this free time you have. You deserve it. You need a serious getaway. Somewhere remote and exotic with lots of pussy.”

“Damn, you’ve become a horny bastard.”

“Always have been.” His jawline seemed to tighten. “Pam thought closing that door on me the past few months was gonna teach me some kind of lesson. She was wrong.”

Relationship politics and power plays. Fuck, I had no concept of this shit, and I never wanted to deal with it which had led me to sink into what I thought was an easygoing setup with Mae, hadn’t it? Obviously, there was no easy way.

“We’ve got a studio date in a month,” I said. “I need to have material ready to go. Ready to be worked on. Right now, I don’t. I have some fragments, but nothing like last time.”

“It’s okay. You can’t expect the same output from yourself over and over, and you can’t expect the same creative experience each time either, so don’t be down on yourself.”

“It's hard not to be.” I kicked at the water.

“The record company will be itching for another surefire hit off a new album straight out of the gate. At the level you’re at now, if your second album doesn’t hit it right off—especially after this monster tour—that’ll be a sign that something is wrong.”

“Great to hear.” My feet kicked harder.

“Keeping it real. What’s up with the guys?”

“There’s a lot of tension. Myles wants more collaboration to happen this time around.”

“Does he have material?”

“He hasn’t shared, but I think so, yeah.”

“You think?”

“We used to share and work on new material on the bus, the plane. Lately, the past month or so, not so much if at all. I figured we were all exhausted, but I get the feeling I was being iced. Guess I’ll see in a month.”

“Beck, you got to find a way to get back to what attracted all of you together, that magnetic pull between all of you, the groove that hooked you up. It always comes down to the music.”

“Always the music.”

“I know you, I’m your father. You’re a perfectionist, you have specific ideas. But guess what? Sometimes the best new shit happens in the strangest, most random ways. You got to be open to it. And you have to try something different, you have to play. See what happens. But at the end of the day, the work still has to get done. Your names will be on that album. You need to figure it out for the long term, if that’s what you want.”

“It is. There’s no question of that.”

“This whole mess with Mae threw you, but you’ve got to take care of yourself or you won’t survive. You’ll end up like Dave. Fucking Dave.” Dave was Dad’s keyboardist from his band and Pam’s brother. Dave had a decades long problem with cocaine, and Dad had always been trying to pull him out of it. Dave’s heart finally gave out a couple of months ago. I’d come home for the funeral. Maybe it was after Dave’s sudden death that Dad and Pam started unravelling.

Dad stood up and went to the outdoor bathing area and took a quick shower. He emerged with a towel around his waist and headed to the patio barbecue kitchen. “You know, all this shit with whatshername is going to come in real useful for you. Find a way to use it.” He threw a capsule in the espresso machine. “Want one?”

“Please.”

He brought me a small mug of espresso and sat back down on the edge of the pool with me, feet in the water. “Of course, I’m not talking about specifics. Key in to whatever is going on in your mind and emotions and use that. At the end of the day, your fans want to hear your gut level truth, and you got to give it to them. I don’t mean your personal true confessions, but it’s your springboard.

“Those are the only good songs, the worthwhile ones.The ones that stand for decades.” He sniffed in air. “You got a lemon, make the damn lemonade, sprinkle it with salt, mix it with vodka and tequila. Add mint, ice. Stir, shake, pour. And enjoy the hell out of it.” We laughed.

He rubbed at the thick edge of the pale yellow towel on his thigh. “I’m not used to Dave not being here anymore. He was always here to drink with, laugh, work on songs, talk, shoot the shit, sing.”

Their harmonies were legendary.

“You were always there for him, Dad. Always picked up his slack and all his broken pieces.”

“That’s what friends do.”

“You did your best over and over again, but he made his choices. I know it’s a hole in you. But now you can put all that energy you gave Dave somewhere else.”

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