Read Little Men - The E Book Online
Authors: Ronnie Yax
Little Men - The E Book (16 page)
Brett made sure everyone, including Sam, had a drink. But inevitably as the night wore on Brett, Tony and Simon became surrounded by more and more people they knew. Charlie Caxton, Sam noticed, made a fairly abrupt exit after his first drink. Sam was happy sitting by himself watching his new acquaintances as various soap stars, singers, models and footballers swanned around the club, usually stopping at some point to speak to Brett and his friends.
Sam felt intoxicated, and not just from the expensive alcohol he was sipping. For the first time in a very long while he felt important, like he was part of something. He was hob-nobbing with people he admired and looked up to, enjoying the lifestyle he aspired to, and he realised it had taken a highly illegal act on his part to get him here. He didn’t dwell on it but it just felt so
right.
As the night wore on and the music grew faster, Sam could tell his illicit contraband was starting to do the rounds from whatever outlet it was being sold. It had the desired effect. By 1a.m. the small, private party was
jumping.
Chapter Twelve
The studio was alive with activity. It was a recording day, and an important one in the history of NMA
.
It was 9.30 a.m. on a Monday morning and Simon Owen was busy. He was preparing for his newest signing to come in, The Wanton Terriers
.
He was sitting at a mixing desk, fiddling with buttons. Occasionally he
’
d write something on an A4 pad of paper in front of him.
He looked at his watch. The terrible twosome should arrive any minute. Simon surveyed his morning
’
s work so far. Not bad, just some ideas he had been kicking around in his mind since his first meeting with the lads a fortnight ago.
He had been to see them DJ in a club after they
’
d pestered him. He was impressed, the mixing faultless. They played a lot of their own tracks, stuff they
’
d been sending him for the past year. He decided to sign them up, seeing them as a promising pair of kids. Their energy and enthusiasm for the scene was phenomenal. They
’
d struck up an instant rapport in two meetings they
’
d had since, albeit one turning into a rather late session in the pub.
This morning the duo would be working closely with their new producer and mentor putting the finishing touches on a new track. It would be a white label, a few hundred copies pressed in time for the Miami Winter Music Conference. If successful it was almost guaranteed, with Simon
’
s backing, to become a summer anthem.
Simon
’
s PA/receptionist/occasional fuck-buddy, Nina, put her head around the sound-proofed door.
“
They
’
re here,
”
she said, and disappeared. Simon got to his feet and walked out to the reception area. The Wanton Terriers
were sprawled on the luxury leather sofas which were in place for waiting visitors to NMA
Towers.
“
Alright chaps?
”
Simon smiled and held out his hand to greet them. He noticed they were both wearing dark glasses, were unshaven, and clinging to plastic water bottles.
“
Heavy weekend, was it?
”
Slightly,
”
said Mark. He was usually the livelier of the two, but today even he seemed subdued, his voice gravelly as he croaked a few pleasantries with Simon.
Mark stood up. He felt wobbly. It had been a long weekend of DJing gigs. They
d started on Friday evening at a club in Liverpool and finished at an after-hours do in South London at about 11 a.m. on Sunday morning. They
’
d had little sleep during the whole period. And, instead of going home to bed in preparation for today, they had hit the dance floor with the promoter and various stragglers and got stuck into the booze and drugs.
Mark could handle it. At the age of twenty-two, he was full of himself. He had a real talent for making music and was a gifted DJ. It was doing this that he met his production partner, Rupert Wilkington-Spencer. A former public schoolboy (he was kicked out after getting caught taking drugs), their backgrounds couldn
t be more different. Rupert had trained as a sound-engineer, a job acquired for him by his well-connected father. He knew his way round a studio. With Mark
’
s creative talent and Rupert
’
s technical expertise and finance, they formed a winning partnership. Although it was an unlikely pairing, they shared an ideology: making fantastic music that people could get nutted and dance to at the weekend. Of course, they tested their music to the fullest, spending a great deal of time out of their heads themselves.
They knew they had the opportunity of a lifetime. Releasing music on the NMA label with the help of Simon Owen really could propel them into the premier league of dance music.
They shuffled through the long, spacious corridor. The interior was impressive. It comprised a ground floor of a converted print works in fashionable Clerkenwell. It had been divided into various rooms. There were the three recording studios, a palatial office for Simon, the reception and waiting area, and a meeting room.
The whole place was expensively decorated. There was solid teak flooring throughout, designer furniture, and fridges stocked full of food and liquid refreshment of every kind. The walls were painted brilliant white with subtle lighting, not usually needed during the day as sunlight streamed in through the enormous plate glass windows at the front of the building. Modern artwork adorned the walls, as well as the odd award certificate or picture of some DJ or other playing in front of a writhing sea of heads. And the recording technology was, of course, state-of-the-art.
The three men sat on the couches in Studio One, the biggest of the three. Simon was keen to get going.
Okay chaps. You made it then
…
We
’
ve got a lot to do so I need your full concentration.
”
Rupert smiled at his partner. He removed his sunglasses for the first time, revealing dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Simon continued.
“
Now, as we discussed the other day, I
’
ve got the vocal. Felicity came in the other day and recorded it. I
’
ll play it to you in a second. I think if we take some elements of that unfinished track you made, what was it called?
”
“
Loose Chatter.
”
“
Thanks Rob, yeah that
’
s it. I
’
ve got the CD here. If we use the rhythm of Loose
Chatter, Flick
’
s vocals, and give it a bit of zero-point flange, I think we could have something.
”
“
Yeah, sounds good,
”
said Mark.
“
”
The others laughed.
“
Or loose Flick
’
s flange!
”
added Rupert.
“
Loose Flick licks flange!
”
“
Okay, okay, wind your necks in, it
’
s time to work,
”
said Simon, grinning. He walked to the enormous console and pressed a button on a CD deck. The room filled with the voice of a female singer.
“
Flick fucking licked it
…”
Mark murmured, transfixed by the beautiful voice. The track faded out.
“
Now let
’
s fuckin
’
chop it up and make a banging house track!
”
He looked at the others with relish. They shared and understood his creative vision and the morning
s agenda was set.
The next two hours were spent tweaking and tuning, processing and pre-fading. The hangovers were largely forgotten as the men worked, fuelled by water, coffee and chocolate.
Simon toiled passionately, his face etched in concentration. He had a fastidious and scientific approach to his work, always first to adapt to the most precise technology available. He listened to the track over and over as it developed.
The frequency
’
s not quite right. Some of the percussion is too quiet,
”
he announced.
“
I need to adjust the phon on those cymbals. I tell you what, let
’
s take a little break, eh?
”
“
Cool,
”
said Mark.
“
Can we smoke a doobie?
”
“
Outside on the fire escape, please.
”
Simon gestured to a door next to the studio marked
‘
fire exit
’
. The Wanton Terriers filed outside while Simon continued with his listening and knob-twiddling, ever the perfectionist. Eventually he joined the lads on the black metal fire escape.
“
Here you go, mate,
”
said Mark, handing him a crumpled joint.
“
Cheers.
”
Simon drew on the reefer, inhaling the smoke deeply. He passed it to Rupert who took a last drag before discarding it.
“
Come inside. Fancy a beer?
”
Simon walked to one of the silver-chrome fridges and took out three Michelobs. He removed the tops and handed them to his colleagues. They resumed their original slouching positions on the easy chairs within the studio.
“
Looking forward to Miami?
”
Rupert said, picking at the label of his bottle.
“
Yeah, should be good. I reckon this track
’
s a winner. I
’
ve got a few other artists I
’
ll be plugging. Most of my DJs will be there as well.
”
Mark looked at Simon in admiration. He hadn
’
t realised before they met just how influential and well-connected Simon was.
’
The most powerful man in dance
’
, one magazine had proclaimed recently. Simon tended to agree with the assessment.
“
I suppose all the big names have recorded in here,
”
Mark said, looking around the room dreamily. Simon looked slightly embarrassed.
“
Yeah, they
’
ve all been in here, eh Si? Madonna, Dom Joly, the lot,
”
Rupert said.
“
Quite,
”
Simon said, sounding vague.
“
So, where have you boys been playing lately? Been to any decent gigs?
”
Mark smirked and looked at Rupert.
Yeah, there was this one the other day,
”
he said slowly. Rupert smiled in recognition.
“
We were a bit naïve. We thought it was just a normal club. The promoter didn
’
t tell us it was a fucking S&M bondage do!
”
“
Oh yeah?
”
said Simon, smiling.
“
Yeah, we didn
’
t know where to look. I was on the decks and birds with their tits out kept walking past! And it was full of old geezers as well. Proper sex cases!
”
Simon laughed.
You didn
’
t get involved, did you?
”
he asked.
“
Nah, we were too scared, the birds looked well ropey. I didn
’
t know who was who. Some of the women looked like men and vice-versa. Twisted, it was. I was a bit spangled, which didn
’
t help.
”
The three men laughed, the alcohol already having an affect.
What about you, Simon? I bet you
’
ve seen some action in your time.
”
“
What are you saying? I
’
m not that old!
”
“
No, but you were around at the beginning, illegal raves and all that.
”
“
Yeah, I was, good times, man, good times. Different to now.
”
“
I used to listen to it in my bedroom, back in the day... Oh my giddy giddy gosh! Lydd International Airport main arena! We
’
re in the fuckin
’
place, we
’
re off our fuckin
’
face! Horns massive! Whistle posse blow!
”
Mark was excited now, shouting at the top of his voice, Rupert and Simon were in fits of laughter at the impression.
The raucous mirth was interrupted by Nina appearing at the door.
