On the first beats of the drum, after Matt had called out the first song, Jase came alive.
And not just in the way gritty, rumbling lyrics fell from his mouth, but in the way he moved to the music. Not enough to say he was dancing, but enough that she could see the music working through him. The band were exceptional musicians, especially Alex, who made it look easy to play several instruments at once. But none of them held a candle to Jase. His energy and presence filled the stage.
Cerys glanced over at her father, who now possessed a knowing smile.
The song itself was good. Not spectacular. The lyrics were too neat, the bridge too soft for the rest of the song. Tweaks that could easily be suggested and fixed.
Yet Jase sang it. Like, really sang it. It filled the room. His vocals sending notes soaring, then grinding down into his lower register.
His eyes met hers, and she couldn’t shift away. He held her transfixed as the chorus peaked and the outro ended the song. As the reverb and hum of the final notes vibrated around the room, his gaze was still on hers. Filled with a longing she didn’t understand. Then, he winked and grinned.
As hard as she tried, she couldn’t bite back a smile at the gesture. Wasn’t that every lead singer? Singing to the woman at the front of the stage until she almost passed out from the intensity of it, to the woman who bought every song they ever recorded and told every friend she had about it?
Nope.
No way was she becoming a groupie for Jase Palmer.
No matter how exciting it might seem.
One wink didn’t make up for being a dick most of the time he’d been in the studio.
When the next song started, she could see Jase freeze up again. It was unlike the snippets of live performances she’d seen on the internet where he’d been all swagger and anger.
She closed her eyes and listened to the words he sang. Something about loving someone even though you weren’t meant to. How eventually that love became too big to contain and when you let it happen, when you let it overtake all sense of rhyme and reason, it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Consequences be damned.
But somehow, Jase wasn’t connected to the song.
She opened her eyes and noticed he wasn’t watching her anymore. He wasn’t watching anybody. Not her father, not Parker Moseley, who was sat behind her. He looked anywhere but at a human being.
Cerys made a note to speak to both Jase and her father about it later. It made no sense. It was definitely a better song. The layering of sound was more complex, leading her in one clear arc of musicality. The lyrics were heartfelt. Images filled her brain to fill the narrative of the story. Squeezing her heart at the idea that two people could be in love but be kept apart.
They listened to ten songs in total, with her father making notes. Cerys resisted the urge to look over his shoulder as she made her own.
Once they were over, Jimmy stood. “Thanks, guys. Let’s take an hour break. Get something to drink and we’ll debrief then.”
Cerys followed her father out of the room. “Jimmy, I’d love to see the process you go through now. I’ve got some thoughts too, if you’d be willing to hear them.”
Her father shook his head. “I like to do this bit on my own, while my mind is fresh. Listening to your ideas would muddy my own.”
Muddy.
As in dilute his, make them dirty.
“Can I hang out with you then, while you go through your notes?”
Her father turned before starting to speak. “No. I need my own space. I’ll see you with the band in an hour. Why don’t you see if the band need anything?” His voice trailed off as he disappeared into his office.
“It’s only been a month,” she muttered.
When she returned to the studio, Alex was about to leave. “I loved the way you brought in the glockenspiel in the fourth song. What made you pick it over a xylophone?” she asked.
Alex’s easy smile smoothed the rough edges the conversation her father had left behind. “To be honest, it was what I had set up the day we worked on that song. I tried layering in a xylophone after, but somehow the metal of the ’spiel was a touch more aggressive than the wood.”
“I love that. You know who’d love you? My best friend, Zoe. She studied percussion while I studied keyboard for our music degrees.”
“Yeah. Where did you study?”
“The Royal Northern College of Music.”
“In Manchester?” Jase asked as he joined them.
“Yep. Even lived in Fallowfield, ten minutes from where you all live.”
Surprise etched Jase’s features. “Have you been working here since then?”
“No, I went to London to study music production for two years. Then worked at a friend’s studio for a little while before coming here at the start of the year.”
Alex grinned. “An honorary Manc then. I’m knew I’d like you.” He flung his arm over her shoulder. “I’m going to get a drink. Can I get you something?”
“No, I’m good thanks,” she said.
She turned, and Jase was staring at her, a frown darkening his features. “How did the Shure microphone work out for you?”
“You tell me. How did it work out for me?”
“The sound quality of your voice was great, especially when you connected to the song.”
“What do you mean, when I connected with the song?”
Shit. Cerys looked down the corridor for her father, wondering what he’d say about her slip. “Sorry. It’s up to Jimmy to work through this with you.”
“No. Tell me when I wasn’t connected to the song.”
“Okay, fine. The second song. You wanted to be anywhere other than here singing it. It was like you were faking it.”
“Says the woman whose only experience is two degrees. You’re only qualified on paper.”
“Says the guy recording his first label album and happens to be two years older than me. You’ve not exactly been on the fast track.”
“You’re basically an intern.”
As hard as she tried to not let it show, the barb hurt. She’d thought the same thing. Her father hadn’t even created a proper role for her. Beyond giving her a micro-office and the job of preparing bands’ welcome packs, she wasn’t using the skills she hoped to hone.
“Nothing to say?” Jase said.
She shook her head. “Jimmy doesn’t like musicians who can’t take feedback. You might want to work on that for the remaining”—she glanced at her watch—“thirty-seven minutes before he lays it all on the line for you.”
And without a second glance, she stepped into the studio, took her chair, and never once looked back up at the man she could feel was staring at her.
Jimmy doesn’t like musicians who can’t take feedback. You might want to work on that.
Her words rattled through Jase’s head as he sat down in front of Jimmy. Instead of a band meeting, it felt more like a firing squad, and he was the one tied to the post.
“First things first,” Jimmy said, holding rolled up sheets of paper in his hand. He waved them like they were a baton, and he was the conductor of an orchestra. “I can see why Upper Street signed you guys. You have potential. You have talent. You have presence. But that’s all you have. Potential, talent, and presence.”