Travis Starnes
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From the Top - Chapter 25
🕑 Added 2023-12-31 16:00:08 +0000 UTCWe were just finishing breakfast when one of the producers, a short guy with a Bluetooth headset perpetually attached to his ear, came hustling into the room.
“All right, everyone, let’s gather in the main room in five minutes,” he announced, before spinning on his heel and rushing back out.
A collective groan rose up from the group seated around the two large dining tables. Most seemed blurry and a little hungover from all the partying last night. Breakfast might have helped, but it would take a little while for that or the painkillers someone was passing out to start working. That was the other thing I didn’t understand about their decision to party so hard last night. We were here to compete; the competition was obviously going to be stiff, and handicapping yourself out of the gate wasn’t the way to do it. Sure, the first performance wasn’t until tomorrow, but we only had one day to get ready for it. I, for one, wasn’t planning on screwing up my shot like that.
Chairs scraped against the tile floor as we began dragging ourselves up. I rinsed my plate and glass before following the small herd of contestants shuffling toward the main room. We filed into the expansive main room, which was all polished wood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of the surrounding hills. Plush couches and armchairs were arranged in a large circle, and everyone found their seats. The room buzzed with quiet chatter as we waited, everyone wondering what they had in store for us.
A few minutes later, our four judges showed up, followed by the producers and a few others wearing headphones, and stood in front of the semicircle.
“All right, listen up, everyone,” Dexter Heart called out, clapping his hands together sharply. “It’s time to find out what your first competition challenge is going to be.”
A ripple of excitement passed through the group. So far, it had felt more like camp than a competition, and I think everyone had just been concentrating on that aspect of it until right now. Now, it was real.
Hal Steiner held his hand out, and one of the other people handed him a small box, “In this box, I have pieces of paper with musical genres written on them. You will each draw one at random and that will be the genre you must perform for your first song.”
Murmurs swept around the circle at this news. Performing for judges in a competition was hard, but performing a random genre that you may or may not be good at was something else entirely. A few of our number were rappers, which seemed really unfair. Me playing big band was hard, but a rapper being given country or something was another level. But who knows? There were talented guys out there who predominantly rapped but could sing when called upon.
“That’s not all,” Hal continued, holding up a hand for quiet. “We’ve also assigned each of you a mentor, a performer with years of experience in their genre. You’ll work closely with them to select one of that performer’s songs, picking the best fit for you to cover … in their style. Then, you’ll have the rest of today and tomorrow morning to rehearse with your mentor before performing it tomorrow night. The five performances judged the lowest will be sent home.”
The murmuring grew louder, partly because they were having to actually perform outside of their genre, partly because the idea of going home was scary; but also because of the excitement over getting to work with a big name in the industry. If the other seasons were any indication, “The Stage” did a good job of getting real A-list talent, and not just washouts and one-shot wonders.
While everyone talked, three cameras stalked around us, trying to capture as many of our reactions as possible.
Dakota Rayne held up a hand to quiet the murmuring and said, “I know this first challenge is a big one, but that’s by design. We want to see right away who can step up and who can’t hang. Just remember, the key things the judges will be looking for are staying true to the genre you’re assigned while still making the song your own. They want to see your artistry and hear your voice come through, not just a karaoke cover.”
“Most of you will be loading into the vans and heading to the studio lot where we have a bunch of small recording spaces for you to meet with your mentor and work on your cover,” Hal Steiner said. “However, for the first round, there are just too many of you to all fit in the space available there, so some of you will be headed off to recording spots around town.”
“Now, one last twist. You’re not going to get to know who your mentor is until you get to your practice space,” Lexi Durant said, giving one last glance around the room. “All right, let’s get this started.”
Reaching into the box, Dexter pulled out a slip and said, “Cole Lawson, you’re up first.”
Cole stepped forward and took the slip of paper.
“R&B,” he read out loud.
“A country singer doing R&B,” Dakota said. “Great pick. That’s a classic combination that really works.”
“Vince Fiore,” Dexter said as Cole went to sit back down.
Vince sauntered up, clearly trying to look unfazed as he took the paper from Dexter.
“Folk,” Vince read. “Aw, come on. That sucks! Can I draw again?”
“You may not,” Hal said firmly. “That is part of the challenge. You have to figure it out and make it work.”
Vince scowled, crumpling up the paper.
“Man, this sucks,” he repeated as he went to sit down.
“Okay, Candi Cox, your turn,” Dexter said, ignoring Vince’s complaining.
Candi bounced up excitedly, her long hair swishing behind her.
“Jazz! Oh, wow, jazz! I don’t know the first thing about jazz, but I’m so stoked to learn!” She clapped her hands eagerly.
Very different from how she acted last night, but at least she had a good attitude about it. Six more names were called, mostly of contestants I didn’t really know, and some whose names I was hearing for the first time when they were called.
“Charlie Nelson,” Dexter said, surprising me.
I’d been just watching everyone else; for a moment, I forgot that I had to compete too. My legs were shaky as I got up and walked over. I tried to look cool and confident, but who knows if I pulled it off.
“Bluegrass,” Dexter said, handing me the slip. “Also, you’re our first performer who’s going to one of the recording spaces other than the studio lot. The car’s already waiting outside, so why don’t you go ahead, grab whatever you need and meet them out front? Your mentor is already waiting for you, so I won’t take too long.”
Since the last thing I wanted to do was keep whoever my mentor was waiting, I practically ran up the stairs to grab my guitar and backpack, which had notebooks, both new ones and ones with notes I’d written to myself when working with Mr. French and Rowan on songwriting, plus some notes I took from Willie. I didn’t know if any of it was going to be useful, but I’d ‘rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.’
Hustling back down the stairs, I went outside, where there was a black SUV waiting. I thought it was a lot of car to drive just me, until I opened the door and saw a producer and a camera crew already sitting inside. I felt a little twinge in my stomach when I realized I was going to have to make the whole ride with a camera in my face. I’d agreed to be recorded for this thing, but this was a lot more intimate than being up on stage or in a house with twenty-nine other people.
As soon as the car started moving, the producer pulled out a little book, I guess with questions she wanted to ask, and got started.
“So Charlie, you’ve been assigned bluegrass for your first performance. How are you feeling about that?” she asked.
I shrugged, “I mean, it’ll be different, but I think I can handle it all right. Some of my stuff already trends a little towards country and folk, and I like a decent amount of bluegrass. Never performed it on stage, but I’m used to faster, technical playing from classic rock and slower country-style ballads, which covers a lot of the skills in bluegrass. So I should be okay.”
The producer nodded along as I spoke, “Any guesses who your mentor might be for this genre?”
I pursed my lips, thinking. “Hard to say for sure. Alison Krauss would be amazing to work with. Or someone like Hank Allison or Hattie Belmont.”
I knew more bluegrass performers, but at the moment, desperately trying to look at her and not straight into the lens of the camera, they were the only ones I could think of.
“We’ll see soon enough,” she said with a knowing smile. “So, first night in the competition house, how was it? Looked like some of you were partying pretty hard.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to sound judgmental, but they also had shots of me sitting off from everyone, working on homework.
“I mean, it was fine. I’m just not really the type to party hard like that. Especially not when we’ve got our first performances coming up, you know? But I’m not judging them or anything; people can relax however they want.”
She cocked her head curiously. “I guess it’s hard being underage and not allowed to participate when everyone else is.”
It was all I could do to keep from scoffing. Yesterday, the producer practically ordered me to join in the drinking. He hedged it, but I got the message, and I was damn sure that if I had wanted to, they wouldn’t have stopped me.
I shook my head, “I mean, there is that, but my dad was an alcoholic, so I saw the effects of that growing up. I don’t have any interest in heavy drinking for myself. Like I said, I don’t mind if others want to blow off steam that way. I just remove myself from those situations. After growing up with a drunk, I don’t want to be around the drinking and everything that goes along with it.”
Thankfully, the car pulled to a stop as I finished talking, which meant I didn’t have to explain anything else about that. It was a good thing, too, based on the look on the producer’s face. As I talked about my dad being an alcoholic, I could practically see the wheels turning in her head about what kind of drama she could dredge up from my past.
Surprisingly, we didn’t stop at a music studio or even just a small place that did recordings. We’d driven up a long, curving driveway, pulling up to another mansion, bigger even than the one the contestants were staying in. It was in the same “neighborhood” of giant mansions, which is why they’d only been able to ask me a few questions before we got here. I was a little confused about why I was coming to another mansion, by myself, but who was I to argue?
I hopped out as quickly as I could without being too obvious, just in case they tried to get one last question in, and walked up to the front door of the sprawling mansion, trying not to gawk too openly at the rows of immaculate hedges and precisely pruned rosebushes lining the path.
Coming from a place where Mom and I didn’t always know where our next meal was coming from, this was a lot to take in. I adjusted my guitar case and backpack and wiped my sweaty palm on my jeans.
I was almost at the front door when it was flung open, and I found myself face-to-face with JoDee Blanchard. She was actual American royalty, a treasure, not just in the South, but across the whole country. Even people who didn’t listen to her style of music knew who she was and loved her. She’d been in movies, guest-starred hundreds of times on TV shows over the last fifty years, was in commercials, and even had a Presidential Medal of Freedom for the work she did toward childhood literacy. She was an icon.
She was also a lot shorter than I’d thought she’d be, almost a full head shorter than me. Her hair, though, was exactly like it looked on TV with wild red curls that almost seemed to have a personality of their own. She didn’t even stop moving as she flung open the doors. She kept barreling forward and pulled me into a rib-cracking hug. For a woman in her sixties, she was incredibly strong.
I just stood there, petrified, not sure what to do in a moment like this.
“You must be Charlie!” she said as she let go of me and stepped back. “Get on in here, sugar. We’ve got work to do!”
I followed her, kind of numb, as she bounded into the house. I was still trying to wrap my head around my mentor being her, let alone that introduction, that it had sort of short-circuited my brain. I don’t think I could have been more surprised if they’d driven me up to the White House.
I followed mutely down a long hallway lined with photographs chronicling her storied career. At the end of the hallway, she shoved open a set of double doors, revealing a professional recording studio tucked away in her mansion.
“Now, my husband refuses to leave the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles, and I couldn’t imagine being away from him, so I brought a little of Nashville with us!” she said, plopping down in a leather chair. “I understand you’re a Blue Ridge boy yourself.”
“Uhh … yes, ma’am. I’m from a town a little north of Asheville.”
“See, I knew I made a good pick. If us mountain folk don’t stick together, who will? Am I right?”
“Um, Mrs. Blanchard, I just wanted to say … I’m a huge fan,” I managed to stammer.
I’d met Ronnie Ralston and been able to be cool and casual. I’d played on stage with Nightshade, but just holding the simplest of conversations with JoDee, I was losing my shit. There’s famous; then there’s her level of fame.
“Mrs. Blanchard is my mother,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m just little ol’ JoDee. And you wanna know a secret? I’m a fan of yours, too.”
I blinked in confusion. “What? Really? Why?”
“I’ve got a little confession to make. I might have just stacked the deck a little when they asked me to mentor someone on this here show. I asked for you specifically.”
“But … how did you know who I was?” I asked incredulously.
“Well, now, it just so happens that my husband was the MC for this big music show in New York this last New Year. I believe you know which one I’m talking about,” she said with a sly smile.
Until that moment, it had completely slipped my mind that Wyatt James was the MC of that show, or that he was her husband. I hadn’t met him, but he’d been up right before the band before us, talking to the crowd and introducing the next few acts. He was old-school Hollywood, and I knew who he was, but I’d never been big on movies or TV, so it hadn’t really connected at the time.
“There it is,” she said, her smile turning into a big grin as she saw the recognition in my eyes. “Anyway, he was looking over the list of people we could mentor, just for giggles, mind you, and he stopped on one and said he knew your name. Well, we went and looked you up, and played one of your songs. I was impressed. For someone your age, you’ve got some real talent in there. Then I read you were an Appalachian boy, and I knew I couldn’t pick anyone else. So I went and called up those producers and told them who I wanted my mentee to be, and well, here you are.”
“I can’t believe he remembered my name. We were one of the early opening acts. Only about half the crowd had shown up by the time we got off stage.”
“I’d like to say it’s because you captivated him, but really, it’s because he’s got this weird thing with names. If he hears a name in the right setting, it just locks in there, and never goes away. But after we looked you up, we were both impressed.”
“So, now that you’re here, we’ve got to figure out what exactly you’re going to do. Do you have any thoughts on what song of mine you might want to try out?” JoDee asked, leaning forward in her chair.
I thought for a moment before responding, “Well, I know you feature a lot of banjo in your songs, and if I’m really going to dive into bluegrass for this, I feel like I should tackle a song with a good banjo riff. I mean, that would be true of most bluegrass songs, but especially yours.”
“I can’t disagree with that. Have you played much banjo before?”
“Once or twice, mostly just messing around. Never anything serious. I think there are some transferable skills, though, from playing faster-paced classic rock riffs. The mechanics are different, but the approach is similar.”
“You’ve thought this through. Well … let’s see what you’ve got,” she said, moving to a rack of instruments and retrieving a banjo, holding it out to me.
I took the instrument from her carefully, acutely aware that it likely cost more than my car. There was a short, speedy banjo riff I’d learned once from an old bluegrass record Willie had called “Mountain Morning Glory” or something like that. I didn’t know if JoDee would know the song, but I’d been drawn to it by its fast rhythm.
I stumbled a little on the intro, my left hand not quite finding the right frets yet, but I powered through into the main riff. My right hand flew across the strings, nails plucking in rapid sixteenth notes. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but I managed to keep the tempo and hit most of the notes. After playing through the verse pattern twice, I glanced up at JoDee, who was watching me intently.
“For someone who’s only played a time or two, that wasn’t half bad,” she remarked. “You sure you haven’t been holding out on me?”
I laughed, relieved she wasn’t judging my amateur attempt too harshly, “Well, I’m not sure it was all that good. I missed quite a few notes in there.”
JoDee waved my protest off, “That’ll happen, and this was your first go. You’re far enough along that, with some practice and a little muscle memory, you’re going to do a bang-up job. In fact, I’ve got just the song in mind …”
She hurried over to a desk in the corner, rifling through a messy stack of sheet music.
“Where did I put that dang … aha!” she said triumphantly, holding up a well-worn page.
“This here is one of my fastest, most banjo-heavy tunes. It’s called ‘Crow’s Feet & Moonshine,’ about running shine during prohibition. It’s a fun number, one of my early ones. If we can get you playing this decently, whoo honey!”
I didn’t know the song, but looking at the sheet as I took it from her, I felt a knot in my stomach. Saying it was fast wasn’t doing it justice. This thing was a monster. I must have paled a little, because JoDee laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Don’t look so worried, hun. That’s what I’m here for! We’ve got all day to work on this. I’ll teach you the riff nice and slow, then we’ll speed ‘er up bit by bit. Then, we’ll work on making sure you’ve got the melody. By the time you’re up on stage, you’re gonna smoke ‘em.”
“All right,” I said with a smile. “Let’s do this.”
Comments
Travis Starnes
Yep. She's amazing. Got to see her in concert once. It was a great show. She is one of those once in a lifetime talents.
Ronnie Haas
Travis I watched Dolly on the Jonny Carson show, use her fake finger nails tapping on her lapel mic to accompany her singing a melody while sitting in the interview chair. I am not talking about her playing her guitar with her nails.
Travis Starnes
Nope. Sorry, Ronnie got it. I got called out for making the character too much like her, in fact, by an editor this afternoon after he sent the chapter back.
Travis Starnes
Dolly it is. My editors called me out for making JoDee a little too much like her. (She also plays a crazy number of instruments)
Ronnie Haas
I would guess Dolly Parton more for how you have your character talking and acting. Dolly is well know to be very down to earth. She also is scary smart and talented. Look at how many songs she has written for all types of performers. Her roots are in blue grass.
Idaho Spud56
Reba was the TV angle. For just a banjo playing female I would say Alison Brown.
Travis Starnes
Nope
Idaho Spud56
Reba?
Travis Starnes
I'm definitely not. That's how over the summer I got off process and was doing like 1 chapter every 4 days, cause I got overly focused on finishing a particular book. This chapter just came fast, probably cause the JoDee section was fun to write. 10 points if anyone can guess who she is (while literally everything in this story is made up, from companies to stars, it should be obvious that many are just thin veneers over the person I based it off of. Not all, but many)
Travis Starnes
I'm glad you're enjoying it. A note, the contest isn't all one section there's a month long (in Charlie's time) split between the prelims and the semi-finals/finals.
Idaho Spud56
Thanks for the new chapter. Your creative process being what it is, please don't stress or wear yourself out trying to respond to our whims. Do things at the pace that works for you and your family. May need a little clarification about things like you have provided recently. Nice to see things going so positively for Charlie.
Idaho Spud56
I think I heard Lindsey Buckingham say once that banjo riffs were similar to guitar. Charlie being a prodigy I would not be surprised to see him fiddle in a later round. :)
Phil
Travis, you are really dialed in to this section of the book. I know when the book is finished, I am going to allocate however long it takes to read all the contest chapters in one sitting. Hope there are a lot of them! :-)
Travis Starnes
A couple of notes. 1, it's not the first time Charlie's picked up a banjo, and he tends to underplay things. So read him saying once or twice as more than that, he just means he hasn't done it seriously or often. 2. Charlie is a musical prodigy. It's the one skill he's had in all the books, and I've tried to portray that in how he learned music (he credits his father for knowing how to play guitar, but remember his dad was a raging alcoholic. He showed him stuff, but a lot of that was Charlie's raw ability) and everyone's reaction to hearing him play
Whicked
I play rock guitar, badly. I picked up a banjo to try and learn it about 5 years ago. Maybe if you were a Spanish style guitarist. Sorry man, from personal experience this is a serious reach. 3 finger picks speed?
