The Strange and Mundane World of Molly Cule

Thirty Days of Text – Day 7 – Stylisation

September 8, 2009 at 1:38 am (Short Stories, Thirty Days of Text, Writing)

The more I think of this producer-character Jay from the other day, the more I like him and his story, so you might see him popping his head up every now and again through the month. Unfortunately, given the nature of the Thirty Days of Text my thinking is all a little scattered and I don’t think it’s all unfolding quite right. But ehn, that’s the thing about this month – it’s writing from the subconscious, not from the rational and well-thought out part of the brain.

Anyway, this is what I came up with . . .

————————–

Jay vs. Himself: The Stolen

Jay sat on his bed, staring at the ghostly, adolescent version of himself sitting opposite; it had been months since the apparition first started appearing, whispering suggestions in the studio or giving philosophical insights in the middle of the night. At first he fought it, frightened and disturbed by the vision of his younger self and its eerie wisdom, but every time he followed the spirit’s advice everything he touched turned to critical or commercial gold (and often both). The creative and career funk he’d found himself had lifted and he felt more buoyant than he had in years – if not ever – and he was relishing the title as most sort after music producer on the local scene.

So it was without fear he faced his phantasmal self, its glow lighting up the mementos and vintage studio equipment cluttering the shelves of his large room. Despite the cold tinge to the air the central heating kept the room quite toasty and Jay sat in tracksuit pants and a singlet, hugging his legs to his chest. “It’s not going to work,” he told his ghost-self. “I can’t just go and turn their quasi-electro-clash-meets-arena-anthem track into some fucking ragtime!”

The apparition scowled at him. “Oh c’mon. You know I’m right. When have I been wrong?” Unlike the Jay that sat opposite him in the flesh, the adolescent version had a floppy, teased fringe and a long-sleeved striped shirt that slipped over one shoulder. The teenaged Jay was leaner, wiry and a little awkward in spite of his un-self-conscious air. But despite the thirty years between them they still both wore the exact same silver earring.

The real Jay sighed and shook his head, staring his otherworldly self down. “You just don’t get it, do you? These guys aren’t some group of naïve little record label protégés, these guys know what they’re doing. Their stuff might not always be my sort of thing, but they’ve built an image for themselves, they’ve got an ideal and a plan and they stick to it. That’s why they’re so successful. They know what they want to sound like and they know where they’re heading. And I respect that – and you know there’s not a lot of people in this gig I respect.”

“Well, what are they paying you for if they’re not going to listen to you? You’re where you are now because you take chances and they pay off. That’s what people are paying you for,” the apparition retorted. “If they wanted a yes-man they could have hired someone else.”

“But that’s the point. The Stolen don’t want a yes-man, they want someone who knows what they’re trying to achieve. And that doesn’t involve honky-tonk.”

“Just give it a shot. Go in tomorrow, take what they’ve laid down already and give it a shot. I promise you, it’s what they need.”

“It might be what the track needs, but it’s not what the band needs. They’re too heavily stylised to suddenly go and put an early 1920s jazz spin on them. They’re all hair gel and cyberpunk and J-rock glam. It’s not going to work and they’re going to crack it if I try to change their sound too much.”

The apparition shrugged. “You know, cyberpunk is out. It’s been out a long time now. It’s all steampunk now. You take those guys out of their PVC and put them in brown leathers and aviator goggles and you’ll be sitting on the hottest thing since your last record. Have you seen the films coming out lately? If it’s not big-budget heroics in the age of steam it’s prohibition and gangsters. All that stuff is so in right now . . . “

“Yes, but I’m not dealing with trend-seeking hipsters. I’m dealing with The Stolen. They don’t give a shit about steampunk.”

“Ok, fine. But remember where you’d be without me!” the apparition sulked, turning its shoulder on Jay.

Jay sighed, knowing no logic could win. “Alright, I’ll give it a go tomorrow before the band gets in. I still don’t think it’s going to work, though.”

“What you think is not the point,” the apparition said with a smug smile and faded away. The room got warmer and the strange white-blue glow disappeared, leaving Jay shaking his head in the darkness.