“I dig,” Jake said with a nod.
“Anyway, my plan is to release Signed for the first song for promotion when the CD is released. I think it’s going to cross all demographics, at least among the fifteen to thirty-fives. Male and females are going to love it. Whites, blacks, beaners, even Asians are going to love it. And by the time we hit the road and start touring, demand for tickets should be pretty high, wouldn’t you think?”
“That all sounds reasonable enough,” Jake agreed. “I still don’t see what it has to do with me taking credit for the guitar tracks though.”
“I’m getting to that,” G said. “You see, I’m about to make you a business proposition.”
Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. “A business proposition? You mean beyond the scope of the agreement we already have in place regarding Signed?” Though they were friends and trusted each other, to avoid any misunderstandings they had taken the time to spell out and sign a contract regarding compensation to Jake for participating in the composition and recording of I Signed That Line (this was ironic indeed, since the song was, in fact, about what happened when one signed a contract with a record company). Jake was entitled to two percent royalties on all sales of the CD Livin’ It, on which Signed appeared. In addition, he was entitled to fifty percent royalties on any sales of rights for the tune, though G would retain the rights as to whether to grant those rights or not.
“Beyond that scope, yes,” G agreed. “You see, I was thinking that maybe if you ain’t got nothing else going on in September and October, maybe even November, you might be inclined to hang out with me out on the road for a bit.”
“Go on tour with you?” Jake asked, astonished.
“Maybe not for every show,” G said. “This is all negotiable. I’m just saying that you fly out and travel with us for a week here, a week there, and come up on stage with me during the sets. We do Signed and Step Inside at different parts of the show and the fuckin’ audience will go insane, homey.”
“You want me to step up on your stage during a rap concert?” Jake asked, just for clarification.
“Fuck yeah, I do,” G said. “It’ll be the shit, homey!”
“Would he be safe doing that?” asked Laura nervously.
“Of course he’d be safe,” G said. “He’s with me. He’s got street cred from playing Step Inside with me and he’ll have even more once my fans start to hear Signed playing on the radio. Not only that, when word gets out that Jake Kingsley might be up on stage on any given night, we’ll have the crossover fans buying up them tickets as well. You see, that’s kind of the jist of my idea. We don’t ever promise that you’ll be at one of the shows. We don’t advertise when you’re going to be there. We don’t even mention it at all, matter of fact. We just let word of mouth and word of media spread the news that Jake Kingsley might just show up at Bigg G’s show and lay down some Step and some Signed, and demand for the tickets will go up. I’ll be able to charge seventy-five for the nosebleed seats, two hundred for the floor levels, probably a buck and a quarter for the lower-level bleachers. And you can bet your ass I’ll make it worth your while, homey. I’ll give you a fixed percentage of every show that you play in, right off the top.”
“Interesting,” Jake said, pondering this.
“The only thing is,” G said, “is that if we’re gonna do this, you have to play the guitar licks on Signed. That’s part of the deal.”
“Why?” Jake asked. “Can’t James play it? He plays the acoustic for Step when you’re out on tour, doesn’t he?”
“He does,” G said. “And he’ll play the distorted electric for Signed on any nights that you’re not there to do it for him, but he’s a bass player at heart, and a rap music bass player at that. He can do a decent imitation of you, Jake, but he can’t lay it down like you do, especially not on Signed. If you’re out there with me, it’ll have to be you. I have to insist on that shit.”
“I see,” Jake said slowly. “And if I’m going to get up on stage and play the distorted electric on Signed, I need to take credit for it on the CD cover. Is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” G said. “I want it known far and wide that you’re the guitarist on the tune long before we hit the road. I want DJs announcing that shit on the radio when they spin the tune. That will help drive the demand when word of mouth starts passing that you might show up as a special guest at one of my shows.”
Jake nodded. “I suppose that makes sense,” he said.
“So, what do you think?” G asked.
Jake looked over at his wife. “What do you think about all this?” he asked.
“What do I think?” she asked. “I don’t know what I should think. This is all business stuff that’s way over my head. I’m just a sax player who used to be a teacher.”
“I meant about me going out on the road,” Jake said. He turned to G again. “Can she come with me if I agree to this?”
“Fuckin’ A,” Gordon said. “The more the merrier.”
“Assuming you want to go,” Jake said to her.
“Uh ... sure,” she said. “I’ve never toured with a rap show before. Should be interesting.”
“All right then,” G said. “You got your old lady’s permission then. Are you in?”
Jake looked at the rapper and smiled. “Maybe,” he said. “I do have a couple questions though. Didn’t you tell me that you’re not going to take credit for the piano parts on Signed?”
“That’s right,” Gordon said slowly. They had decided during the workup process that I Signed That Line would use the original piano melody that Gordon had composed for the verses as the intro, the outro, and on the slower tempo first portion of the bridge.
“How are you planning to play those piano parts up on stage?” Jake asked.
“I haven’t thought that all the way through just yet,” G admitted. “Maybe use the guitar to play it? Maybe the turntables?”
Jake shook his head. “You know as well as I do that once that piano becomes part of the tune, subbing another instrument for those sections would be a cheap imitation and lazy as well. Audiences don’t like it if you play the tune live in a manner that is different than what they hear on the radio. You need to take credit for the piano pieces just like I need to take credit for the guitar parts.”
G’s eyes were a little wider now. “That ain’t the same thing,” he said. “I’m a rapper.”
“You’re a musician,” Jake countered. “And if I’m going to be credited with the guitar parts on the CD cover, and if I’m going to step up onstage with my Les Paul and grind out those riffs, then you’re going to take credit on the CD for the piano parts and you’re going to have a motherfuckin’ Yamaha electric piano up there onstage and you’re going to fucking play it.”
“I don’t know about this shit, Jake,” G said. “Can’t we just...”
“It’s the right thing to do and you know it, G,” Jake insisted.
Gordon sighed. “Yeah, I suppose I do,” he said softly.
“Well, all right then,” Jake said with a smile. “I think we have a deal. Shall we drink on it?”
They drank on it.
After dinner, the four of them decided to go someplace where everyone did not have a stick up their ass. Gordon said he knew just the place. It was a little club just across the Bay Bridge in Oakland, on Macarthur, two blocks west of Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. The four of them climbed out of the limousine and G led them into the front door, where a large bouncer was checking IDs and vetting the customers. Seeing who the latest guests were, he let them inside without even collecting the cover charge.