This Beats Perfect

  ‘Yeah.’ He looked grim. ‘Can you mail me the track tonight, actually? I’ll send it to Dee. And see if she can have a listen and offer some feedback before Friday at least.’

  ‘Good idea. I think we should park this track for now.’

  ‘Just what I was thinking,’ Maxx agreed.

  ‘And I have an idea. How do you feel about coming out with me to see a show here in Hackney?’

  ‘Ah, Mike, I’d love to.’ Maxx smiled for the first time in a few hours.

  ‘Huh?’ Amelie said, sitting up. ‘Yes, please.’

  Her dad smiled at her. ‘Would you mind if Amelie comes?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘It’s nearly eight. There’s a guy on at the Moth Club I think might, well, I don’t want to say inspire, but just give you something to think about.’ He looked over at Amelie. ‘I’ll even buy you both a beer if you’re lucky.’

  ‘Is it okay?’ Amelie said, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. ‘I mean, will you be okay? What if people recognise you …’

  ‘Not at the Moth Club,’ her dad laughed. ‘They’re far too self-absorbed and, dare I say it, pretentious to notice a global popstar in their mists.’

  ‘Come on.’ Maxx smiled, sensing her apprehension. ‘It’ll be fun.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Good Vibrations

  At the back of the cramped stage, a cascade of gold tinsel fringe glittered under the meagre stage lights. The venue was brightly lit when they arrived, but as an unremarkable looking trio among the Hackney artists and musicians, they were able to slip into an empty booth near the back, relatively unnoticed. Amelie sat alone, opposite her dad and Maxx, who wore a new baseball cap pulled tightly down over his face.

  ‘I think that makes it look more obvious,’ Amelie remarked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your disguise.’

  ‘I’m not in disguise,’ Maxx insisted, pulling the hat off and inspecting the emblem on the front. ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘Not if you like Limp Bizkit,’ she smirked.

  ‘How the heck do you know about Limp Bizkit?’ Maxx asked, incredulous.

  ‘Amelie is an encyclopaedia of late twentieth century rock. Don’t get drawn in, you’ll lose.’ Mike pulled a £20 note out of his wallet. ‘Beer, Maxx? You guys all right for a minute?’

  ‘Dad, that’s not true. I know this century too.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Maxx raised his eyebrows.

  Amelie played with a coaster and Maxx sat with his arm up on the back of the booth, taking in the room. He seemed unbelievably at ease, where as she was finding herself increasingly uncomfortable with such an extraordinary situation. Her eyes darted back to him over and over and she tried to take stock of the situation. I’m actually at a gig with Maxx from The Keep.

  ‘So, about the other day. I just wanted to say, I’m a bit embarrassed.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Maxx smiled gently. ‘We’ve all been there.’

  Amelie looked out across the room, curling her lip slightly. Maxx had been there? She doubted it very much.

  ‘So, you’re a real musician?’ Amelie smiled. ‘I didn’t know you played so many instruments.’

  ‘Why would you? I’ve not exactly been exercising my skills lately.’ He laughed, pulling his phone and wallet out of his back pocket and sitting back down. ‘What was this place? Looks like an old army bar or something?’

  ‘I think it is a servicemen’s club.’ Amelie eyed his beautiful leather wallet and brand new iPhone and wondered if Maxx had ever stepped foot in such a place.

  ‘Reminds me of a lot of places back home,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Memphis, Tennessee. The South.’

  ‘Yeah, I know where Memphis is,’ Amelie said.

  ‘You an Elvis fan, then?’ he smiled.

  ‘Well, yeah. I mean, of course. But I’m really a Sun Studios fan,’ she said coolly, looking towards the stage before adding dramatically, ‘It’s my Mecca.’

  ‘“Sun Studios is my Mecca”?’ Maxx looked bemused. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say that.’

  ‘No way! Have you been? It’s my dream. My. Life. Long. Dream.’

  ‘Been? I’ve recorded there.’

  ‘The Keep recorded at Sun Studios?’ Amelie said, unable to hide her look of shock. Her dad arrived back with two pints for him and Maxx and a half of shandy for her, much to Amelie’s disappointment. ‘I mean, well, I kind of saw you guys working in some kind of vast private studio in the LA hills.’

  ‘No, no. I recorded there when I was fourteen with a couple of the guys from my dad’s church for a charity. Anyway, these days it’s mostly for tourists. You should go.’

  ‘You’ve recorded in a lot of places,’ Mike said, gazing across at a woman in a long fur coat and vintage maxi dress, standing by the sound desk. ‘I was looking into your background – over twenty-two producers!’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And not one got you to play guitar? That’s a sin.’ Her dad laughed, looking across again at the woman who was smiling, clearly surprised at seeing her dad. ‘Oh, sorry you guys, I feel bad but there’s an old friend on sound tonight. Will you excuse me again?’

  He got up and Maxx smiled warmly at Amelie. ‘So, encyclopaedic knowledge then, huh?’

  ‘No one has better taste than me,’ she said proudly.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ He grinned. ‘Gimme your top five albums.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘Correct answer,’ he laughed. ‘Okay. What’s the last record you bought?’

  ‘Hard to answer. Physical? Digital? Bought or streamed?’

  ‘Bought. Physical.’

  ‘Vinyl, then,’ she said smugly, before remembering it was an Oasis album she picked up for £2 on record store day. ‘Pet Sounds.’

  ‘You bought Pet Sounds at seventeen? What took you so long?’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, that’s too obvious to be true.’

  The immediate red flush that filled her cheeks betrayed her. ‘What about you then?’ she snapped. ‘NSYNC? One Direction? The Wanted?’

  ‘The who?’

  ‘Yeah, I know The Who.’

  ‘No, I mean, who?’ he laughed.

  They both looked at each other confused, until Amelie twigged. ‘Oh, who are The Wanted? They were a British boyband. I take it they didn’t break the States then,’ she giggled.

  ‘Actually, the last physical record … I think it was The Great Adventures of Slick Rick,’ he laughed.

  ‘I LOVE that album,’ Amelie blurted out. ‘I don’t know anyone else who owns it. What’s with the eighties and nineties obsession?’

  ‘Dunno. That’s why I love your dad. His band, Ash Fault, was great.’

  ‘One hit though,’ she raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m kidding. I love his band. They were rather ahead of their time, I think …’

  ‘You talk about music like some old timer at Lafayette’s.’

  ‘What?’

  Suddenly, the lights went down and a guitar sounded.

  ‘Do you know who’s playing?’ Maxx shouted.

  ‘No idea,’ she yelled back.

  A thinly bearded, baby-faced guy – he couldn’t have been more than twenty – in a leather waistcoat and pinstriped trousers with a heavily tattooed right arm swaggered onstage. He had a Gretch, the king of country guitars, and his eyes were mostly on the floor.

  ‘Hi, I’m Ezra Change,’ he said in the faintest of voices into the microphone.

  ‘What did he say?!’ Amelie looked at Maxx. ‘He needs to speak up!’

  Mike slipped into the booth, this time next to Amelie.

  ‘This is who I wanted you to see.’ He smiled. ‘Maxx – watch his lightness of touch, and his compositions, but mostly, I want you to listen to his lyrics. It’s the stories.’

  Ezra began to play and immediately Amelie and Maxx were spellbound. His voice was deep as Johnny Cash, but smooth and rich. His sound was vintage country with a modern cabaret feel, inspired and exquisite storytelli
ng over timeless melodies.

  ‘Ezra Change. I just recorded him,’ whispered her father. ‘Do you hear it? This isn’t songwriting for money, for fame, even for the audience’s entertainment.’

  ‘Reminds me of Marlon Williams,’ Maxx said, and Mike nodded.

  Amelie was transfixed. ‘He doesn’t look up,’ she said, wondering if she could adopt a similar measure.

  ‘He will. He’s just uncomfortable playing live,’ Mike remarked. ‘When I first saw him, he played sitting down with his back to the stage.’

  The comparison was not lost on Amelie, she closed her eyes and let the music fill her, noting the chords, the changes, the tempo. When she opened her eyes her father smiled at her. ‘You should try not to pull it apart, and just listen sometimes.

  ‘Maxx,’ he continued. ‘There’s no po-faced lackey holding a recording contract over a fire here. You can do what you want this week. Tell your stories.’

  Amelie bit her lip, feeling for Maxx. She’d knew her father well enough to read the subtext: Maxx, your writing sucks.

  ‘You don’t think I’m ready?’

  ‘I’m not saying that exactly,’ her father said. ‘Just, you’ve been playing the same pop nonsense for five years and at the moment it’s showing in your music.’

  ‘Don’t hold back, Mike.’

  ‘Did you write any music for The Keep?’ Amelie asked.

  ‘God, no.’ Maxx smirked.

  Amelie looked into his calm, kind and confident eyes and wondered how he seemingly took everything in his stride.

  ‘Well, that’s a start,’ she smiled.

  ‘Hey, I just know you can do this. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t think so.’ Mike smiled, taking another swig of his beer. ‘Find out your story, and tell it.’

  ‘I don’t know what my story is.’ Maxx sat back in his seat, finally looking defeated. ‘I’m trying to move forward from The Keep but I keep looking back.’

  ‘Quickest way to fall.’ Mike raised his eyebrows.

  Amelie sat watching them both, her mind buzzing with feedback of her own. She tried to imagine telling Maxx, ‘The harmonies are wrong and the beat and percussion is off. I also think the track could use a bit of bluesy brass – saxophone, trumpet, to give it a cool retro vibe. Back to your Memphis roots.’ But she couldn’t say it. Her mind was racing with ideas too numerous to vocalise, and she felt too unsure of herself to try.

  She watched him; deep in thought, slightly hunched, eyes fixed and serious, and she recognised the Maxx she saw backstage at Dee’s set. What she now recognised not as a desire for her, but a desire to be like her. On stage. Solo. Playing his own music.

  ‘Well, you look a lot happier.’ Her dad gave her a squeeze, causing her to blush wildly, as Maxx rubbed his eyes and stretched.

  ‘Da-ad …’ she tried to wriggle free of him.

  ‘I love that I can embarrass you, it just encourages me further!’ he said, pulling her in tighter. Ezra Change was finished, and popped his guitar back in its case as three girls took to the stage.

  The Grumpettes were a trio of ice-blonde punk girls who played screaming, squealing guitars over utterly incoherent lyrics. It was almost ten now, and despite being a Sunday night, there was a decent crowd forming near the stage.

  ‘Ahh. Some punk rock now, as much as I’d like to stay …’ Her dad nodded as the lead singer plugged in her lipstick pink guitar and muttered into the microphone, so close that whatever she said came out as a distorted growl.

  ‘Mike, if it’s cool I’m going to have to get to bed and collapse,’ Maxx interrupted.

  Amelie felt momentarily disappointed as he stood up and called his driver to come and get him.

  ‘It’s the Moth Club? Right? You back at the studio tomorrow, Amelie, or school? I don’t even know when school is these days.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Yeah, I am … it’s school holidays,’ Amelie said, her mind racing with thoughts too numerous to settle. ‘I guess no punk tonight? You guys are basic.’

  ‘Thanks for the thoughts, Mike.’ Maxx nodded at her father. ‘See y’all tomorrow.’ And with that he was gone.

  As she watched the girls set up, Amelie got an idea. There was one simple way to channel her thoughts, but she couldn’t do it, could she? She glanced over at her dad and weighed up the consequences. Would she get in trouble? Was this stupid?

  ‘Dad,’ she was nervous, ‘I left my computer at the studio and I need it. I’m going to go pick it up and head home.’

  ‘Okay …’ He looked unsure.

  ‘I have the keys.’

  Her dad looked at her. ‘How will you get home?’

  ‘Uber?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Amelie. Your mother is still out of town. Hey, did you call her back?’

  She wasn’t going to be sidetracked. ‘Yeah. I called her earlier. Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Okay, well, text me when you’re home, okay?’

  ‘You got it!’

  ‘Why do I think you’re up to something?’ he said, slipping her a £20 note to cover a taxi home.

  ‘I’m not. I promise,’ she lied with a big grin. ‘Not any more than usual, anyway.’

  CHAPTER 20

  Heavenly Pop Hit

  ‘Helllooooo,’ Amelie kept trying to answer her phone but it was still ringing. ‘Hello,’ she shouted again as her phone fell away from her and she found she was in the recording studio but her mic was turned off. It was her mother at the mixing desk but she couldn’t hear her. ‘Helllooooo!’ she shouted again. ‘Mum! Hellloooo!’ She started to panic.

  Roused suddenly from sleep, she slowly realised her phone was ringing from the other side of the room, she tumbled out of bed and crawled over to her jeans. It was Julian. She looked at her watch. AND IT WAS NEARLY MIDDAY!

  ‘Julian!’ she said, trying to sound as awake as she could on so little sleep.

  ‘We’re on our way to get you. Your dad isn’t in yet. Girlfriend, you need to learn how to be punctual! He’s not going to forgive this forever!’

  ‘I stayed late.’

  ‘Yep. I know you did,’ he said sternly. ‘I hid the evidence this morning. Does your dad know what you’re doing? MAXXXXXXX! Hang on a sec, Amelie, just picking up another late-comer.’

  Amelie put the phone on speaker and hurried through into the bathroom. She ignored the bird’s nest on her head and ran the tap. ‘Just washing my hands!’ she shouted.

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Julian laughed. ‘Hello you!’

  ‘Hey, Jules. Thanks, I was going to walk but realised I have no idea where I am, and this damn phone isn’t working.’ Amelie could hear Maxx’s deep voice and the car door slam as he jumped inside. She felt an unexpected little flutter in her stomach and in surprise she flushed the toilet.

  ‘TOLD YOU!’ Julian laughed. ‘YOU’RE HAVING A WEE! Maxx is in the car, we’re on our way to get you.’

  ‘We? You’re not coming with Maxx, too?’

  ‘We’re on our way. You’re on speaker by the way.’ She could hear them both laughing in the background.

  ‘So are you,’ was all she could say in return.

  No no no no. She was not ready at all, and they would easily be less than five minutes away. She jumped into the shower and was out before the water had a chance to warm up. As she shut the door to the flat she heard the car pull up, Foals playing loudly on the car stereo.

  ‘Amelie, Amelie, Amelie,’ Julian said. ‘Always late. Always great.’

  ‘What the hell are you on about, Julian?’ she croaked, as Maxx jumped out of the car to offer up the front seat.

  ‘Just been talking about you,’ Julian laughed. ‘How you’re always late, but always great. Well, Maxx said you were great. I said the late bit. Basically, we both need coffee if you want the conversation to improve.’

  Amelie slid into the front seat, her hair wet from the shower, but not washed and hanging in lank rat tails. She glanced up in the rear view mirror at Maxx, who was smirking at her. ‘I k
now I look like shit.’

  ‘Not at all, actually,’ Maxx said casually. ‘Up late then?’

  ‘Yeah. Just playing about,’ she said dismissively.

  ‘Yes, you were,’ Julian said, pulling out of her street and down towards the studio. ‘You’re definitely his daughter.’

  Maxx laughed. ‘Was there a question?’

  ‘Oh god, no!’ Julian interrupted quickly. ‘I meant because she’s a total natural in the studio!’

  ‘My parents aren’t together,’ Amelie interrupted. ‘I’m the bastard child of a one-night stand.’

  ‘Oh, stop it. It was a summer romance … it was totally romantic!’ Julian chimed in. ‘I’d swap parents with you any day. Ella is divine.’

  Amelie rolled her eyes and stared out of the window, slipping her sunglasses on. Her mother. Whom she still hadn’t called.

  Ella had been in Paris for a couple of days now, and without doubt had secured the job and was arranging to move her whole life over to there and leave Amelie behind. Amelie couldn’t think about it.

  She was loving the studio. And she was loving being finally invited into her father’s world. It was the first hot-ish day of the year, and finally it felt like summer might come to London.

  ‘So Amelie and I went out last night with Mike.’

  ‘Ohh, boo! I wanted to show you off,’ Julian huffed. ‘I mean, around.’

  ‘We saw Ezra Change,’ Amelie said. ‘He was great.’

  ‘Yeah, Mike just did his EP. Might be getting signed to Transgressive Records, is the rumour.’

  ‘Was so good,’ Amelie enthused.

  ‘I’d still love to hear some more of your music,’ Maxx said genuinely. ‘That day I had the pre-production meeting with your dad – that was you, right? What I heard of it was pretty cool.’

  ‘Well, considering The Keep, your music isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,’ she said impulsively, regretting it immediately.

  Julian and Maxx both burst out laughing.

  ‘Don’t worry. The Keep were terrible. I can take it,’ Maxx laughed. ‘And is that my first review, Amelie? It’s not as bad as you thought it would be. Okay. I’ll take that.’ He grinned.