Travis Starnes
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Fanfare (Country Roads #2) - Chapter 14
🕑 Added 2021-09-14 13:49:14 +0000 UTCHanna had hung back, waiting for us when we came out of the choir room and passed through the cafeteria, but I waved her off. She didn’t look pleased being kept out of the loop, especially because Kat had been so obviously crying, but I knew she’d understand when I explained later.
The rest of the day my head was a swirl trying to think through what I could do for Kat and still keep my promise to her. My only real options were to talk to Chef, Mom, or Hanna. Mr. Packer had already shown how bad his judgment was and there was no way I could go to him, even though as school counselor he was one of the checks the system put in place for exactly this kind of thing. Even though he only had a cursory knowledge of the situation, I also couldn’t talk to Dr. Rothstein, who’d given Kat the informal diagnosis for her DPD. Professionals like doctors and psychologists had a duty to report this kind of thing to the state, which was exactly what Kat was terrified of.
I really wanted to talk to Mom, but I knew her well enough to know she’d call the cops and try and get Kat’s dad arrested, which would also end up with her in the system. For adults, Chef was my only real choice, but I didn’t know what he’d do either. I knew he’d want to help, but if he also decided to call the cops I couldn’t stop him, and once I told him I couldn’t un-ring that bell.
The real problem with both of them is that they didn’t really know Kat all that well. They didn’t know how fragile she was and how trapped she’d been with Aaron, so they couldn’t know how badly things could go for her being thrown in with strangers. They’d think ‘anything’s better than getting abused by her father’ without realizing that it could very well be trading one abuser for another.
That really only left Hanna, who knew Kat well enough to understand the risks of reporting the abuse and who’d want to help find some kind of solution. I barely made it through practice and had to run laps multiple times for not paying attention.
Finally, he pulled me aside and asked, “Nelson, what’s up with you today? You’re all over the place.”
“Sorry, Coach. I’m just having some stuff going on at home and I can’t seem to get focused.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
It spoke volumes about Coach Dean that that was the first thing he asked, and this was clearly one of those moments where I could reach out to an adult for help, but he was the same problem as any other teacher; He’d be obligated to report the abuse to the police.
“No, but thanks. I just need to deal with it. I should have it together tomorrow.”
“Okay, then go ahead and take off for today and do what you need to do. If you’re still having problems tomorrow, I’m going to want to hear something more specific, since I’m sure practice isn’t the only place you’ve had a problem focusing. Otherwise, I want your head in it, tomorrow, got me?”
“Yes, Coach, and thanks.”
He waved me off and turned his attention back to the rest of practice. I headed to the bleachers where I’d noticed Hanna watching earlier. Normally, she and Kat went and did something until I was done and picked me up, but Kat had gone home after school, both because she was upset and because her father had pulled the leash tighter, requiring her to be home right after school and not go out on weekends. Maybe he thought that we’d been a bad influence and that had caused her to say no for the first time since the abuse started, and I guess he’d been right.
Hanna met me by the gate in the field fence.
“What the hell is going on?” she demanded angrily.
I didn’t blame her; she’d been holding onto that since lunch and would have only grown more concerned when Kat left right after school let out.
“I’ll explain in the car.”
“Can you tell Chef you’re not coming today?”
“No, I’ve already bailed a few times recently and he’s started making comments about commitment being one of the tenets of kung fu.”
As soon as we were in the car she said again, “What the hell is going on?”
“Kat confirmed that her father’s been abusing her, and it’s apparently been going on since she was a little girl. I’d told her that she wasn’t to sleep with anyone unless she actually wanted to, and she took me seriously. Her father came back from his trip and when he tried, she said no and fought back. He got pissed, which is where her black eye came from. He’s also pulled her reigns in a lot. He took away her cell phone and won’t let her do anything but go to school and swim practice.”
“Shit. We should tell someone.”
“She begged me not to. She’s afraid of ending up in 'the system,' because she knows her condition would make her vulnerable and take away the little support she has now. While it could get her out of the situation she’s in, it could also very well make her situation worse. She made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone, although I guess I’m breaking that by telling you, but I knew you wouldn’t do anything without making sure it didn’t make her situation worse.”
“So, she’s just going to let him keep abusing her?”
“She wants to just make it through the year and leave when she turns eighteen, since no one can put her in foster care them.”
“A lot can happen in a year.”
“I know, but she thinks if she’s made it this far, she can go a little further. Although she also plans on still telling her father no, to follow my commands, which could end up getting her seriously hurt.”
“You’re not thinking of telling her it’s okay to give in to him, are you?”
“Hell, no; but I’m not sure what we can do. Every adult I can think of to talk to would almost certainly go to the cops, which would end up with her getting put into the system.”
“Even if they did, it might not. What do you know about her dad?”
“Only that he owns the factory, which makes him a big deal in town. I thought about that. Even if we turn him in, the cops might decide he’s such an upstanding citizen that she must be lying and ignore it. Or worse tell him about the allegations and then ignore it, which puts her in serious trouble.”
“Right. He’s also the major donor for most stuff in town. The pool and athletic facilities were all paid for by him, since he’s been trying to get Kathrine into the Olympics. He also funded the mayor and the sheriff’s political campaigns. A lot of people in town owe him a lot of favors.”
“Shit. Between her and Aaron’s father, is there anyone in this town who isn’t a piece of shit?”
“It’s not that bad. I hear the sheriff’s not that bad, even though he owes his position to Kat’s father, since everyone knows he bankrolled his campaign. When he busts up a party, he doesn’t usually arrest anyone unless they’re aggressive or causing problems.”
“This is different though. If her father has a good reputation in town and people like the sheriff have a relationship with him, they’re going to be predisposed to believe whatever lies he tells to play off her story. They probably wouldn’t even be doing it on purpose; it’s just how they’ll react. So even if we went to a teacher or Mom, they’d only report it to people who won’t believe her, and probably talk to her dad about it. So instead of the foster system, she ends up back with her father, who’ll be pissed she tried to report him. Look what he did to her just for saying no.”
“So what, we let her either keep getting abused or keep getting beat up if she says no? I know she thinks she’s close to escaping, but it’s still a long way off. I couldn’t live with myself just looking the other way for almost a year.”
“I know and I’m not suggesting that. I’m just saying we have to be smart about it. We should see if there’s a way to guarantee if she gets out she doesn’t just end up in the system and come up with some kind of proof, so they don’t just assume she’s lying or being dramatic. If the sheriff is as okay as you said, he should do something if we show enough proof.”
“It’s not like I’ve had conversations with him, but yeah, I think if we had really good proof that he couldn’t ignore, he’d do something.”
“So then that’s what we need to do. Get proof so people believe her and figure out how to use that proof without moving her from one bad situation into another.”
“That’s a lot, Charlie.”
“I know, but Kat’s our friend and we protect our friends no matter what. If this is what it takes, then we’ll figure it out and make it happen. That’s it.”
“Okay,” she said, looking determined.
It was easy to say I’d do anything I could to help her, but actually doing it was proving to be a challenge. We didn’t have Internet at home, so Hanna and I spent Monday and Tuesday night after I finished with Chef and we finished homework doing research. There were a lot of places that talked about how to report suspected abuse, but not a lot that suggested what to do for people after that. They all seemed to assume that once the abuse was reported the situation was magically fixed.
Kat was back at school on Wednesday, although she couldn’t ride with us since she had to go home as soon as school let out, instead of hanging out with Hanna until I got out of practice. She said her dad was heading out on another trip soon and this one was supposed to take a while, so she’d have more freedom after that, but for now, she was still on lockdown. I gave her the disposable cell phone for her to hide and communicate with us so her dad couldn’t keep track of it, and tried to ask if anything else had happened, but she dodged the question. She’d been coping for so long by just pretending it didn’t happen that until things got really bad she was just reverting back to doing the same thing. I didn’t press her, since it wouldn’t really change anything. Unless she was in immediate danger, the abuse would continue until we figured out a solution.
Since there wasn’t anything else I could do until we were able to solve the two big problems in front of us, I was happy something popped up later in the day to take my mind off of Kat for a little while.
I was on my way out of Choir when Mr. French pulled me aside and said, “I know you just started eating lunch with your friends again, but do you think you could swing by here at lunch? I think I have a surprise for you.”
“Any hints what that is?”
“No, because I’m not one-hundred percent sure it’s going to happen and I don’t want to get your hopes up if it doesn’t. Just come by, okay? Bring your lunch with you.”
“After a cryptic invitation like that, who could say no?”
At lunch I stopped by and let everyone know I had to go by the choir room and I’d be back if it didn’t take too long. Kat was back to her same old self, chatting with Hanna as I walked away from the lunch table. I shouldn’t be that surprised, since she’d had more than a decade to learn to compartmentalize the abuse, pushing it aside and pretending it wasn’t happening. It helped her cope and was probably needed to keep her from completely cracking, but it would make it harder to convince anyone she was being abused.
When I walked into the choir room I found Mr. French and a man I didn’t recognize standing next to the piano. Both men turned to look at me when I walked in.
Mr. French directed his guest towards me, saying, “This is the young man I’ve been telling you about. Rowan, this is Charlie Nelson. Charlie, this is Rowan Hughes. We worked together years ago when I was still active in the industry. He was in Chapel Hill visiting his daughter who’s currently going to Duke, and I convinced him to take a few days to drive out here, since we don’t get to see each other that often.”
“Good to meet you,” I said, reaching out and shaking the man’s hand, still looking back and forth between them, wondering what was going on.
“Kevin was telling me that you’re some kind of prodigy and I had to come and meet you,” he said.
His voice was surprising. It was gentle with what movies had convinced me was a very posh British accent. I don’t know what I’d been expected from him, with his fashionable round glasses and small but bushy afro, but it wasn’t that.
“I don’t know about that. I play some at a local bar and Mr. French has been helping me learn how to write my own music. I’m definitely not a prodigy.”
“He’s being modest,” Mr. French said. “Charlie, Rowan is a producer and has worked for some pretty big acts like Missey Wallace, Ishaan Potter, and Sienna O’Conner. I thought while he was here, he could talk to you a little bit about what the industry is like and maybe give you some pointers.”
“I’d love that,” I said, suddenly impressed.
He’d just listed three of the biggest artists today, all of whom had songs at the top of their charts. I did find the list surprising, in that they were all from different genres. Missey Wallace was mainstream pop, Ishaan Potter was R&B, and Sienna O’Conner was a folk singer/songwriter with a really unique voice. They were all really talented, although I hadn’t listened to Ishaan Potter very much, since Dad hadn’t been a big fan of R&B.
“Are you looking to get into the business?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I grew up traveling with my dad, who was a gigging musician and played mostly classic rock. Seeing how it went for him, I didn’t think I’d want to do the same thing, but after getting the chance to play backup guitar for a local blues band, I found I loved it. Of course, that’s just doing covers and playing someone else’s music. I’m pretty good on the guitar, but making my own music is a different thing. You know?”
“If there’s a piece of advice I can give you, it’s this. Don’t second guess yourself. If you want to do it, do it. Music is putting your emotions into something that transcends language. If you’re unsure or scared, it’ll come across in your music, and people will hear it. People listen to music for the same reason they watch movies or read books. They want to experience something that brings out emotions in them. I can promise you they don’t want that emotion to be self-doubt. I’ve seen guys with barely a scrap of talent get further than true geniuses simply because they believed in themselves more.”
“You’re not the first one to say that to me.”
“Then maybe you should start listening to it. So I ask again, are you looking to get into the business.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Kevin, I’m guessing you’ve got a guitar hiding around here somewhere.”
“Gotta give it to him,” Mr. French said. “He can smell a set up a mile away. Yes, I brought my guitar and amp from home. Charlie, could you play a few riffs for us?”
I wasn’t surprised that Mr. French had a Tulson E-7, one of the better guitars on the market. I’d played one briefly right before Dad got arrested when one of the guys Dad opened for let me play it for a few minutes. Its tone was amazing.
I put the strap around my neck and pulled a pick out of my back pocket.
“You can always spot the real guitarist by if he has a pick on him,” he said to Mr. French.
“My dad always said the same thing, so I always keep one on me. He said you never know when you’ll get a chance to play.”
“He wasn’t wrong.”
I gave it a couple of test strums to get a feel for it and then walked through a few scales, and then a few cords, listening to the tone, which was really crisp. The sound out of mine was a little muddy because it was fairly inexpensive. With Dad’s drinking, we hadn’t been able to afford anything better and he’d said I didn’t need anything great while I was just learning. His had been really good, the only thing he retained from his days of being a real musician, but we’d put it in storage after he’d gone to jail. Mom hadn’t wanted to sell it, because it was the one thing he really cared about and there’d be hell to pay, even if it was worth enough to have made our first month in Wellsville a little easier. Normally I didn’t notice it, since it worked for the kind of stages I was playing on right now, but holding this instrument made it clear just how lacking mine was.
“This is a beauty.”
“Yep, she’s my pride and joy. Okay, Willie told me about a riff you did for him the first time you played. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, I played Danny Gatton.”
“Really,” Rowan said. “That’s some big shoes to fill.”
I didn’t respond directly. I adjusted up the pitch on a few strings, to get the right sound for what I was going to play, and then shifted the instrument, settling it comfortably. I gave a few strums just to hear the sound and then started into it. I played the same song I’d played for Willie, mostly because it was the one I was most comfortable with and had played the most until I started working on my own music.
It was a fast classic rock rhythm with a lot of fast, articulated notes. The rhythm wasn’t challenging, but my left hand was a blur on the neck as I moved between notes. My rhythm was a little off and I faulted at the hardest part, but I recovered and finished through the bridge before stopping.
“Sorry, I haven’t played that in months.”
Rowan looked over at Mr. French before grinning at me, “Mate, if that’s you being rusty, then Kevin hasn’t been telling me lies.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Nothing in my songs has that same sound. I’ve tried to get a similar feeling in one of them, but I don’t think I have it.”
“Play me a couple of your songs and let me see what you’ve got.”
“Okay.”
I started with Country Roads, the song I wrote about my friendship with Hanna. I’d changed it quite a bit from the first time I performed it. I’d sped up the chorus some and removed some of the rhyme, which was getting in the way of telling the story.
I then went on to Hush, which was a play-off of the nursery rhyme Hush, Little Baby about my breakup with Rhonda. I hadn’t changed it much since I first wrote it and I still wasn’t happy. I liked the play of the nursery rhyme, since everyone would be familiar with it, but it was still too slow I thought.
The last one was the newest one I’d been working on, and was mostly about people who got whatever they wanted and were never told no, and how it rotted them from the inside, called Cherished to Death. It was a not very subtle allusion to Aaron, and was much harder and faster than the other two, which were almost ballads.
As usual, I lost myself in the music once I got started and had stopped paying attention to the two men, only coming back as I finished up the last song. Rowan was nodding thoughtfully, giving me a considering look.
“For someone so early in their career, they’re actually not that bad. I’m assuming Kevin … Mr. French, has been helping you?”
“Yeah, some, especially on the second song.”
“I thought I heard some of his sound in there. That’s the hard thing about producing. You have to mold an artist’s sound and improve it without putting yourself into them. You have to keep the music uniquely them, and only enhance what’s there. If I had to guess, I’d say the first song was mostly you, and then got changed later on by Mr. French as well, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, giving a sideways glance at Mr. French.
“I thought so. He does love his ballads. I don’t want to make it sound like I thought either song was bad, because they weren’t. A little unpolished, but I could feel the emotions you were going for and the lyrics aren’t half bad. I think your biggest problem is going to be finding your own voice.”
“No one’s heard the third song yet. It’s something I’ve been working on at home in my spare time.”
“Your father played as a gigging musician, is that right?”
“Yes,” I said, not sure of where he was going.
“If I had to make a guess, I’d bet that was closer to the kind of music he played, right?”
“I guess,” I said.
I saw what he was getting at, and was a little surprised. I hadn’t meant to, but the sound of Cherished to Death was very classic rock, although the words were a lot closer to post-grunge or alt-rock.
“It’s okay,” he said, seeing my realization. “This is a thing that happens with a lot of new musicians that haven’t really found their voice yet. You feel the bug to write and play, but you don’t have your own style so you ape styles from others. That’s why you’ve felt the music’s been missing something, because you really haven’t connected with it yet, because it’s not really your music. The audience can hear that too, which is why it’s important to find your own voice as early as possible.”
“How do I do that?”
“Actually, I think you’ve gotten close. In your first song, if I strip out the stuff I recognize of Kevin’s, I can hear a pretty distinct sound forming. It’s not quite there, but it’s close. It’s actually a really interesting sound, kind of a mixture of second wave post-grunge rock and modern rockabilly with a little bit of pop and country mixed in.”
I had literally no idea what he was talking about and said, “You lost me.”
“Let me break it down for you,” he said, going over to the piano. “Now, if I had to guess, your original song sounded something like this.”
He proceeded to get most of the original version of Country Roads that I’d played for Hanna, although using the new wording he had heard me sing. It wasn’t exactly right, since some of the stuff he changed wasn’t an alteration of Mr. French, but more my interpretation of the suggestions he made on other parts, but I could tell he was playing my song and recognized it. The fact that he managed to dig through someone else’s changes and get that close to the original song was, frankly, amazing.
“Holy crap, that’s really close. How’d you do that?”
“Years of listening to artists and knowing when I hear their sound. So, you wanted to know about the different influences, so check it out. If the song was straight second wave post-grunge rock, it would have sounded like this.”
He played the first verse again, but a whole lot faster with and a slight key change. It was like an angrier version of my song and I could tell if it was played on guitar it would have been a lot closer to the stuff played on rock stations when I was really little. He then proceeded to play the song again in each of the other styles. I could kind of see what he was saying. All of them felt like pieces of the original, but completely different at the same time.
“Wow,” I said.
“Most artists’ music is a culmination of the music of their childhood and all the influences they had growing up. You build on it and grow that as you get new influences, but it’s a layering, not a replacement. As you get older, your music gets more complex and more you.”
“It seems easy when you say it, but when I sit down and work on it, I feel totally lost.”
“That’s just because you’re new at it and you’re doubting yourself. Are there things you could do to get more of your sound into a piece and convey the emotions to the audience better? Sure, but that doesn’t mean you’ve done a bad job of it. Just like with pretty much everything you’ll do in life, confidence is the key.”
“Okay,” I said.
I got what he was saying and I knew he was probably right, but knowing it and putting it into practice were two different things.
“Yeah, I know, it’s easy for me to say it. Just keep plugging along and you’ll get there. Let’s move off that, and how about I give some specific feedback.”
“Sure, I’d love that.”
“Okay, your first piece is the closest to what you want, as far as style goes, because it’s the closest to your truth. I think the thing you’re most lacking in it, is complexity. You’re doing fairly simple chord progressions in most of it, with a really basic four/four, which isn’t bad, but even a slower song like this should play to your rock roots a little. Now, I know you’re first thought of how to do that is speed it up a bit, but I think a better option is to look at the piece as a whole and how you’d perform it. I know you play guitar by preference, but when you’re writing something like this you’ve gotta look at the band as a whole unless everything is geared towards a folk sound, which would be wrong for you. For instance, it looks like you were going to have the guitar and bass up front, with percussion holding a simple rhythm. My suggestion is to push the bass into the background holding the rhythm and let the percussion play a little, especially just after the chorus. You’ll be getting into southern rock territory, but that’s going to be closer to what you’re sound would be as a ballad anyways.”
I was thinking over the music as he talked. I hadn’t been consciously thinking about the mix as a whole, mostly focusing on the guitar part, which is probably why it ended up the way it did. I could see that, if I really wanted to make this work, I needed to look at the band as a whole to get the right sound, since I didn’t want to do folk music.
“On the second one, ditch the ballad and go a lot harder. I’m guessing Kevin here made it like a counter-ballad, sort of a reverse love song. It’s not a bad idea, but the lyrics are pretty angry, which is about right for a break-up song. I think you should embrace that anger, much like you did in the third song. Speed it up and try to get some more complex rhythms in it.”
“The third one is actually not bad, and the sound works for the anger, but it’s too personal. For a break-up song, that’s fine, but you’re very clearly talking about a personal wrong in this song. The thing is the ideas in it are universal. The common man against the elite and that the people at the top have different rules than the rest of us. Lean into those themes. The whole idea of music is to resonate deep in your audience and play into some shared experience, making them feel the emotions they had in their own struggles with that thing. For a breakup song, we’ve all experienced it a bunch of times, so even though it’s personal to you, everyone can relate to it. Do the same thing here. Make it universal.”
“I can try that,” I said.
“Musically, it’s a little too classic rock for your sound. Think of the music you like, the kind of rock you vibe with. I’m betting it’s not straight sixties pre-Hair metal rock, am I right? You dig on the early two-thousands post-grunge scene when it comes to rock … maybe something a little more pop. Listen to your song in your head and then some of that music and see where you might get it to be closer to what you like. I think you’ll find the music fits better with what you’re trying to say once you make the change.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” I said.
“Hey, that’s what a producer does. We don’t say, you should do this and that and use this time signature and pull the levels down to here. I mean, we do that, but that’s at the end, when you’re laying a track down. Early on, we’re here to give you stuff to think about. You’ve got some real talent that I think you’ll find, once you get some experience under your belt. Get a band together and work with them, get their input and if you want someone to bounce some stuff off of, get my email address from Kevin and I’ll try and give you an honest assessment. Just … remember I’ve got actual paying clients, so maybe bounce it off Kevin first.”
“I’ll do that, and thanks, Mr. Hughes.”
“Call me Rowan, and no problem.”
The bell rang and I headed to class, but I was excited by the possibilities I could see in my music. Just listening to him talk about it gave me half a dozen ideas for each song on how I could make it really work. I’d enjoyed learning from Mr. French and Willie, but that had to be the most productive forty-five minutes I’d ever had.
I knew one thing for sure, if this was what professional musicians did when they worked, then I couldn’t imagine doing anything else but this in my life.
Comments
Greg Bonner
It's all about the bass...
Travis Starnes
It should have been bass, yep. Fixed it.
Idaho Spud56
I think
Idaho Spud56
"push the base" should be "push the bass"
