"I think you're wrong about that," Jake said. "Dead wrong."
"You're entitled to your opinion," Crow allowed, "but keep in mind that I'm an artist and repertoire specialist who also did five years in the NAD department. I hardly think you're as qualified to judge music."
"Yes," Jake said, "I am just a musician after all — one who is a primary member of your record company's best selling band of the last two decades."
"Exactly," Crow said, once again completely missing or disregarding Jake's sarcasm.
"Steve," Jake said, putting a little pleading into his voice. "Will you just listen to the tape once? As a favor to me?"
"Jake, I respect you... really, I do. You are a great musician — one of the best I've ever heard — and I'll even admit that you have good instincts for what a music consumer wants to listen to. But you're also very linear in your assessments. You think it's all about the sound when that's really not the truth anymore. I'm telling you as straightforward as I can, it doesn't matter what these Brainwash freaks sound like. It doesn't matter how good their music is when considered on its own merits. You have to have a certain look, a certain style to sell albums and they simply don't have it. Everything about them is wrong. Multiple lead singers of mixed sexes? That shit went out with Fleetwood Mac. Bands that do a mixture of hard rock and easy-listening love ballads? That shit went out with The Eagles."
"Steve," Jake said patiently, "Fleetwood Mac and The Eagles are two of the best-selling bands of all time. Don't you think that's at least partly because the formula works? Because they appeal to a broad stretch of the demographics?"
"It worked in the seventies," Crow said. "We're almost in the nineties here, remember? Tastes have changed. They've been shaped by MTV and the medium of the music video. No one wants to just sit down and listen to music anymore. They want to experience it, to revel in it, to become immersed in it, not just the music itself — the quality of the recording is now almost secondary in importance — but in the story and the look of the band. They want to know who the people who make the music are and they want to be attracted to these people, to feel as if they are someone they'd like to know, to hang out with. And, in order for that to occur, the band has to look good first and foremost and project a favorable image to their target demographic. Your Brainwash friends lose on all of these counts. And then there's the big taboo they have going for them. Even if they were attractive enough to photograph well — which they are not — there is no way in hell anyone would ever take them seriously because their lead guitarist is a girl."
"She's a damn good guitarist," Jake said. "If you'd just listen..."
"Jake, it doesn't matter!" Crow said, raising his voice in frustration. "She could be a combination of Matt Tisdale, Eric Clapton, and Eddie Van Halen and she would still never be respected for it. A female lead guitarist for a band with men in it is unprecedented. Two-thirds of the people would refuse to acknowledge that she was good, a sixth would acknowledge it but would say it was a gimmick, that some male guitarist was actually the one playing the tracks for her, and the remaining one sixth, the ones who would actually like her and believe that she was really the one playing, they would be so degraded by the other five fifths that they wouldn't dare share their opinion with anyone."
"The fans in New England seem to respect her well enough," Jake pointed out. "They sell out every venue they're booked in and they're pulling down $750 a show — not much by our standards, but a goddamn fortune for a simple club band."
This argument did not impress Crow in the least. "How a particular municipality feels about a band that plays in their bars and how that same band would be accepted nationally in a recorded and video medium are two very different things," he said.
"I don't think they are," Jake said.
"And that's why you are the musician and I am the National Records A&R rep," Crow said.
Jake didn't push the issue any further. He had already figured out that trying to convince Crow that Brainwash had album sales potential would be like trying to convince Jerry Falwell that Hustler wasn't such a bad publication. And, unfortunately for Brainwash, Crow's opinion would hardly be unique among the rest of National's movers and shakers, or, in fact, among any other record company's movers and shakers.
Nerdly, seeing that Jake's issue had been run into the ground, now jumped in with his issue of the month. It had to do with replacing the traditional microphones the band had used on all previous tours with more modern wireless mics. National was reluctant to authorize this expense since it was just that: an expense. True, the equipment supplier would pick up a good portion of the cost in exchange for an endorsement, and true, the band itself would contractually pick up half of what was left, but this would still leave National responsible for something in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars. Ten grand was a mere pittance to a corporation that pulled in hundreds of millions in profit every year, but it was something they were willing to fight tooth and nail over.
Crow and Nerdly argued the issue back and forth, with neither giving any ground, until the intercom buzzed. It was Crow's secretary, letting him know that Pauline had arrived.
"Right, send her in," Crow said and then shut the intercom off. He looked back at Nerdly. "Look, Bill. We haven't even started putting the next album together yet. The tour is months in the future at the very least. Can't we pick up this discussion a little later?"
"Attempting to ignore the issue in perpetuity is not behooving of you," Nerdly informed him huffily.
"I understand," Crow said. "Let's just ignore it until you boys actually get some tracks down on tape, okay?"
"Okay," Nerdly reluctantly agreed.
Pauline came in the door. She was dressed about as casually as she would ever allow herself to be seen in public, which was to say that she was wearing a charcoal gray pantsuit and matching blouse instead of a dress. Her hair was done up in its usual bun and she exuded the faintest whiff of some sort of expensive perfume.
She greeted everyone and took a seat without being asked. Crow immediately launched into a rant about how he was not going to tolerate any delays in the recording process on account of this Darren vs. Charlie dispute.
"No delays at all, do you understand?" he demanded of her. "Not a single day's worth!"
Pauline was nonplussed by his tirade. "Why don't we just wait until everyone is here before we begin any sort of discussion?" she asked him.
"All right," Crow said. "I just wanted to make National's position in this dispute very clear."
"You've made it very clear that National has no position," Pauline told him.
"Right," Crow said, and then, "... uh, wait a minute."
"We'll talk when they get here, Steve," Jake said. "Now where are those drinks?"
The drinks came just as Coop and Matt walked through the door. Coop looked a little nervous. Matt looked determined, and ready to rumble if it came to it. Jake knew with one look that the two of them had also gleamed the nature of today's meeting.
"Matt, Coop," Crow greeted, inviting them in and waving them to chairs. "Thanks for coming."
The two of them sat, neither saying anything, neither greeting Jake, Nerdly, or Pauline.
"Can I get you two something to drink?" Crow asked.
"No," Matt said. "We won't be here long enough for a drink. I came here to say one thing and one thing only. Freakboy is out of the band and Darren is back in. That is my decision as leader of the band and that's the way it's gonna be. Everyone dig that? Good. Meeting over."