Chapter 28: Working on an album

Laura's POV:

Being an A-list artist is one hell of a burdensome task. The pressure from always striving to create and put out something solid each time and making sure every new drop surpasses the last is the bane of many creatives.

It's demanding and frustrating at the same time.

You're expected to climb a wall of towering expectations that are always on a rise with each leap you take. Each time you drop a new album, that is dope and tops the chart. You inadvertly set a new bar for your next release, and every time you're expected to deliver and over deliver.

Because your fans want good music.

And your label wants that dope album.

The pressure grows on your nerves with each passing day, some artists even end up digging their own graves, some tap in to drugs to stay sober, from their temporary high they wield immense power to up their creative prowess and juice up their dying wheels. But after much dependency on coke, it gets to your brain and you end doing more drugs than music.

And you know what's even more ironic?

The same fans who pushed you on, the same very ones that screamed for more. Would be the ones wagging their crooked fingers in your face when you are deep down in your shit and find your way in rehab.

They're the same one who'd bash you up and sell your ugly stories to the press.

Everything was fickle. Fame. Name. Money. Every. Damn. thing!

So over the years, one thing I'd hammered into the back of my skull was not to give two fucks about nobody.

Fuck what fans want.

They get only what I give them. And if that was too good for them. Fine, I'd take it back. Best to leave ‘em panting for more than over stuffing their arse with good music.

But staying celibate is far more challenging than you think. Because when fans are not asking, your producers are asking. Your record label is asking. Your agent and God damn manager is on your neck twenty-four freakin' seven asking repeatedly that you come with something.

No one cares how you do it. Just write down something that makes sense and sing it into the top charts. Whatever would do.

So far it gets them the damn pie. My pie! Baked with my voice, passion and sweat and tears.

Fuck Everyone!

I gripped the sharpie tightly than I intended. Hot sweat rolled down my neck. I stared back at the blank notepad in frustration.

I had just managed to scribble one word. 'elope.’

But I didn't have the slightest idea of what I did write next.

“I need to come up with something.” I hissed. I needed nine tracks for the VIXEN album and I could have just cut corners by getting a ghostwriter to do the dirty work. But what use is all that? Where's the fun in creating, if you can't get your hands soiled in ink like my hands were right now?

I tossed the notepad back on the desk and shot a glare at the wall clock. It was just barely crawling pass eight, inthe morning. I needed to write. And damn fast!

I reached for the Jar of water, Ria had brought me on the desk and poured myself a glass.

Watching the water cascade down, slapping the glass surface with a hiss, stirred up something in me.

Why couldn't I write about my life?

My face broke in to a smile. I pause halfway, and watched as the water made a final slurp into the glass splashing water on my notepad.

But I barely batted an eye as I picked the book up and scribbled recklessly on the front page, haven crossed out the elope.

If I was going to drop an album on VIXEN, I had better make it really be about me. About my life. The water reminded me, how my life flowed around like a river. How it flowed into the dark crevices and washed so many dirty things ashore. Unpredictable, but consistent.

Sometimes I hit rock bottom, but still bounce back to the surface with nothing but a ripple. Ups and downs, like the high and low tide of the river.

My creative process was funny. But that was what made it mine, I could borrow inspiration from whatever came to mind and still make a hit, with the seemingly meaningless things.

It was high time the world stopped seeing my fake smiles and embrace my scars and wounds.

Minutes later, I was crowning over the page, smiling from ear to ear.

I stood up and stretched my hands. My stomach lurched with excitement. The sole pleasure of birthing a brain child.

I walked over to the telephone perched on the last row of shelves in the study.

My hands wrapped round the middle as I lifted it to my ear. I punched on the keyboard, dialling Jenna's office line.

The receiver clicked on the third ring, and a husky voice filtered through the speaker.

“Hello, Laura.”

“Hi, Jenna. Can you get the producers ready by tomorrow?” I asked shooting a glance at the wall clock again. Quarter pass nine.

“Yeah, why?” She asked in a bored voice.

“I just started working on the new album.”

“Really?” Her voice perked up through the speaker. Picking interest.

“Can you keep it down a little?” I frowned, shifting the speaker from my ear.

“Oh, sorry. I got really excited.” She apologized. “Do you want to start recording today?”

“No, no. I need to rehearse with the band. I'll ring you up tomorrow.”

Why was she sounding more excited than I was.

“Okay.”

“Bye.” I clicked off. One more person to call: Ryan. I dialed his number and placed the receiver back to my ear. Counting under my breath.

One.

Two.

“Hello, boss.” Ryan's sleepy voice creaked through the speaker.

“Don’t tell me you're in still bed, uh?”

“Well, I was just about getting up before you called.” He replied, stiffling a yawn.

“Whatever. Just reach out to the band. We're rehearsing this morning.” I announced.

“Ugh! Isn't that too early.” He groaned.

“Of course, if you have to sleep till pass 9am. That's very much early. Get your ass here.” I snapped.

“Okay, boss.”

“Bye.” I dropped the receiver back in the cradle.

Now everything was done. I just needed to clean up. I trotted out of the study into the open hallway. My bedroom was on the far end of the hall. I reached it in few strides.

Once I was inside I undid my nightwears, and pushed the ensuite bathroom door ajar. The sun light from the bathroom window, bounced over my naked skin as I picked a walk to the bathtub.

I turned the faucet and let the hot water splutter out in large torrents, slapping and splashing on the hard ceramic surface.

I dipped my hands into the water. This was hot enough. Turned off the faucet and heaved myself into the bath tub.

The hot water bubble against my skin, spreading warmth through at my whole body.

It reminded me of one more thing that I forgot earlier.

That water can also warm you up and wash you clean.