Idol Pursuits, page 10
The girls looked surprised at his answer. They assessed each other silently, searching for an adequate response. Heather took the lead. “Where’s Alvin? Why hasn’t he responded to our calls?”
“Yeah, that.” Brad frowned. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Alvin no longer works with us.”
This latest blow left the girls speechless once more. Incredulous, she asked, “Why?”
“Let’s just say we had a difference of opinion and leave it at that.”
“And nobody bothered to tell us? Are we going to get a new liaison?”
“We’re looking into that.”
“No! That’s unacceptable,” said Grace. “If you were truly concerned about us, you’d have one already.”
Brad looked aside as he spoke. “Trust me. I understand your unease. We’re gonna assign someone good.”
“No,” said Mindy. “I’ve heard too many lies coming from too many suits in my life to believe anything that starts with ‘we’re gonna.’ We’re not leaving here without a liaison!”
“I can get security to change your mind if you prefer.”
“My camera is ready to record the whole thing,” said Sun-hee. “I’m sure our followers will find that worthy of trending.”
Grace looked at Sun-hee with renewed admiration.
Brad’s pen started tapping faster. “Look. Let’s simmer this down a tad, okay? I get what you’re saying. Let me run this by a few people. I’m sure we have someone in mind. They just haven’t told me yet.” He got up to leave the room.
“We’re not going anywhere,” said Grace as a parting reminder.
Two hours passed. As the clock ticked past 5:00 p.m., the girls watched Voxatone employees leave for the day. Grace asked the receptionist to remind Brad that they were still waiting.
Ten minutes later, he returned. “Good news. We have someone. He’s an up-and-comer with lots of ideas.”
“What’s his name?” asked Heather.
“I’ll let him do the honors. You’ll really like him.”
“What do you mean up and comer? Alvin was legit. He had a reputation. What has this new person ever done?” asked Vanessa.
“It’s not so much experience you need,” responded Brad. “It’s enthusiasm.”
“Alvin was your top A&R guy,” noted Grace. “At least that’s what we were led to believe. Why are we being downgraded?”
“I hope you’re not implying that anyone who works for Voxatone is second tier.”
Once it became clear they wouldn’t receive a better offer, the girls eventually agreed to leave the building.
* * *
To Heather’s surprise, they got a call the following day. Zachary Noah introduced himself as their new A&R rep. He sounded young over the phone but possessed a positive and enthusiastic demeanor. In fact, his pitch came off as a little too polished, hinting at the same type of PR-speak that Brad excelled at. Heather ended their conversation with a mention of Dreamfall. He expressed interest in the idea and requested demos.
In person, Zachary reminded Heather of the sort of entitled trust fund kid she frequently encountered at St. Ignatius. Someone who wore the term “alpha” as a badge of honor instead of realizing it evoked an unstable software build unfit for public distribution.
She watched as he listened to demos of the songs proposed for Dreamfall. A stiff smile remained on his face throughout. “What’s the name of this?” he asked.
“‘Into the Misty Twilight,’” she responded.
“What’s with this tone?”
Heather considered his question a poor start to the proceedings but tried to stay positive. “My inspiration was Mazzy Star. I wanted to capture some of the transcendent dreamlike quality of Hope Sandoval’s singing style.”
“I don’t know,” Zachary said flatly.
Heather tried not to overreact to this apparent dismissal. When the playback ended, she requested feedback. “So, what do you think?”
Zachary rubbed his chin as though affecting a deep thought posture. “With the right changes, it might be marketable.”
Heather glanced at Grace, silently communicating concern, before returning to Zachary. “What changes exactly?”
“Bits and pieces I like, but overall, we’ll be going in a different direction.”
“Um,” Heather was struck speechless.
“We’d love to hear your ideas,” said Grace, “but concept-wise, we think it’s pretty strong already.”
“I guess I’m not clear on what you’re going for here,” he said.
“We’re aiming for lush arrangements that are enduringly sublime and with stunning eclectism,” explained Heather.
“Yeah,” responded Zachary, holding the word longer than necessary. “That’s all well and good, but sublime is not enough. The label has identified certain targets. I’ve been assigned to ensure you meet them,” said Zachary.
“Targets?” Heather was not warming to his reliance on boardroom terminology. “You make it sound like we’re selling washing machines or something. This is an album of our music. Isn’t that what you signed us for?”
“What kind of targets?” asked Mindy.
“I’d be glad to discuss them when the time is right,” said Zachary.
“We’re ready now. Why not take advantage of that?” asked Heather.
“You might be ready, but Voxatone has an overall strategy to adhere to.”
“Does this have anything to do with Virtua?” asked Grace.
Zachary glared at Grace, evidently reluctant to address that particular topic. “Virtua is this label’s current prime initiative. Do you know what that means?” She shook her head in response. “They’re the tip of the spear. Everybody in the company, including our entire stable of artists, hint, hint, has to either push in the same direction or get out of the way.”
“Are you saying we have to align with whatever sound you have planned for Virtua?” asked Heather.
Zachary smiled. “Now you’re catching on.”
“What is their sound? They’ve never released anything,” noted Mindy.
“That will be clear soon enough. As your producer, it’s my job to mold you in the company’s image.”
Grace’s head bolted back at this statement. “Wait. I thought you were our liaison,” she said. “What’s all this about producing?”
“And molding?” inquired Heather incredulously. “We’ve developed a distinct sound. Refinement, maybe, but molding? Really?”
“No offense, Zach, but what have you done? Our producer, Kimmie, has won awards for her work.”
“Well, you see, that’s part of the problem,” he responded.
“Go on,” said Heather, skeptical that anything positive could follow.
“Awards are for generating warm fuzzy feelings, not selling records. Maybe Kimmie got you to this point, but you signed with us to become big. I can do that,” Zach said, pointing at his chest with an extended thumb.
“Plenty of females are huge in this industry,” said Heather. “What about Rihanna?”
“Or Stevie?” added Grace. “Or Pat?”
“And people are literally taylorgating around the country for Taylor?” noted Mindy.
“As singers, sure. But where would they be without the men behind them?”
This resulted in a shocked silence. Heather was tempted to mention systemic biases but withheld this observation in pursuit of a more tactful approach. “Well, since we’re on this subject, please explain how you’d improve our sound?” She asked this as nicely as restraint allowed.
Zachary smiled smugly. “First off, nobody listens to concept albums anymore. Or albums at all. This ain’t the ‘70s. Secondly, your music is unsellable in the current market.”
“How is it unsellable?” Heather asked, barely able to contain herself. “You make it sound like art rock or something. And listening to a whole album is a lost pleasure. There’s something special about dedicating time to the act. You appreciate it more than just streaming through a track or two and moving on.”
“Consumers have short attention spans. They want simplicity across the board. Your song structures are too complicated. Your lyrics need to be dumbed down, frankly. What’s with all the fancy chord changes? You’re not Beethoven. And don’t get me started on the contrasting vocal styles. Stick to one lane. The new trend is to write songs specifically to generate as many streams as possible. That means short. Really, really short.”
“Is that what audiences truly want, or are they being force-fed by record labels?” asked Heather.
“It’s not a chicken-or-egg question,” Zachary responded. “The numbers don’t lie. Whenever we target the lowest common denominator, the shareholders rejoice.”
“We’re not making music for denominators,” said Mindy.
For the rest of that day, Heather fumed. “I’m so tired of the stereotype many have in this country that K-Pop is simplistic and two-dimensional,” she said.
“They hear one or two mediocre songs and paint the rest with a broad brush,” said Mindy in agreeance.
“There’s so much variety if people just look beyond the surface. Take Lee Jin Ah’s “Run” as just one example. I challenge any musician to walk away unimpressed. In fact, I’d seriously question their credentials if they did.”
“And why is Voxatone trying to start a K-Pop brand when they clearly don’t understand it?”
“Or at least put a little trust in those of us that do?”
Over time, Heather worked through her most intense feelings and tried to remain as positive as possible. Made in Heaven did have a record contract, at least, which was better than performing at basketball games for free. She brainstormed ways to accommodate Zachary’s vision without selling out. With input from the others, new ideas emerged, and new demos were recorded. Zachary’s response to all of this was empty platitudes.
“I suspect he’s telling us what we want to hear,” said Mindy after listening to a recording of his feedback. He didn’t even bother speaking to them in person, leaving a message on Grace’s voicemail when he knew she’d be unavailable.
“His reactions are always so generic; I doubt he even listens to anything we send,” said Heather.
Grace called back, but nobody picked up. She left a voice mail requesting a new meeting. Over the next several weeks, Zachary texted or emailed proposed dates but always canceled right before they occurred.
Eventually, even these correspondences tapered off. “That assistant of his deserves a raise,” said Heather. “Whenever I think she’s finally run out of excuses, a new one emerges.”
“We may need to camp the lobby again,” said Grace.
Only through persistent attempts did they manage to finally reach Zachary. Naturally, this came once Virtua’s debut single “Boys” had dropped to mixed reviews. There was still no public acknowledgment from Voxatone that they had even signed Made in Heaven, let alone planned to promote them.
It required intense lobbying on the part of the members to wring a commitment out of the label to make progress on Dreamfall. Zachary finally proposed a firm production start date. Even though it was still months away, the group accepted it. They had very little going in their favor otherwise.
In the meantime, Made in Heaven took the opportunity to engage in prep work for the album. New songs were written, the overall concept was fleshed out, and design elements for the packaging were sketched. Their goal was to be as ready as possible when the time came to record.
Feedback from Voxatone remained minimal. Proposals sent to Zachary were usually met with silence. On rare occasions, they’d receive positive, albeit flavorless analysis, but only when pressed.
Just two days before another production planning meeting was scheduled, Zachary’s assistant called to cancel again. She said the label would postpone Dreamfall a little longer “due to prevailing market conditions.”
“They’re refusing to set a new firm date,” said Grace.
“We’ve waited patiently for so long, and now we start the clock over again? How many times must we go through this?” asked Heather. Exasperated, she called the one person who could offer insight into the record label’s behavior. It took several hours to psychologically prepare for what she imagined could be an unpleasant reunion. Surprisingly, he answered.
“Believe it or not, I was expecting this.” The tone of the man’s voice was much improved since the last time they spoke. He sounded more like the familiar Magnus of old.
“Are you following what’s happening?” Heather filled him in on the details, though he had already discerned a great deal. “It’s starting to feel like that Ting Tings song ‘That’s Not My Name.’ I feel like the label’s forgotten they even signed us.”
“I don’t want to say I warned you, but I did.”
“Please save the lectures, Magnus, and tell us what you’d do.”
“I’ve heard of this happening but never seen it firsthand. I think Voxatone is storing you.”
Heather pondered his words. “Storing us? What does that mean?”
“They probably had plans to debut Virtua before they even heard of Made in Heaven. Once you made a splash at K-Fest and released Queen Bee Infusion, they saw you as a threat. By signing you, they took you off the market. To protect their prime asset.”
“Virtua?” said Heather in disgust. “Why is everybody threatened by us?”
“You represent competition. In a niche market, too. Either they let some other label sweep you up and have to deal with the consequences, or sign you at a bargain and shelve you as harmless.”
“Harmless?” Heather scoffed at the term. “They ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“If you want my advice — and I imagine you wouldn’t have called otherwise — tread carefully.”
“How can they get away with this? It’s not right.”
“That’s the music business, Heather. Doing what’s right is irrelevant when there’s money to be made.”
“So what should we do?”
“Call your lawyer and find a loophole. Otherwise, you’re stuck for the duration. How long did you say?”
“Seven years,” she responded through gritted teeth.
“Seven years! Yikes.”
Heather winced at his reaction. “That’s not the worst of it,” she said, preparing to wince again. “We never hired a lawyer.”
“God! Well, there’s your problem. Never sign a contract in this town without a lawyer.”
“You and Cesar took all of our money. We couldn’t afford one.”
“Don’t pin this on us.”
Made in Heaven held an emergency meeting in the wake of this conversation. Following much debate, they unanimously requested a contract release from Voxatone.
When this news reached Zachary’s office, he immediately called back, sounding hurt that they’d even entertain such an idea. He suddenly displayed more genuine emotion than ever before. Zach launched into an extended lobbying effort extolling the virtues of a signed contract. In a testament to his salesmanship, the group nearly reconsidered. But when no tangible evidence emerged that anything would change, they had no choice but to continue the press.
What seemed like an eternity passed before the label finally relented. This came only after the Celestials heeded calls to pile on more pressure. The final price tag, however, was steep. In return for releasing Made in Heaven from their contract, Voxatone demanded permanent rights to the group’s old IP, including Queen Bee Infusion and Spark. The band had recently secured those rights by paying off the loan for their manager payouts.
This bitter pill was much more difficult for Heather to swallow. In the previous arrangement, they only faced the threat of losing intellectual property rights if they defaulted. This time, the IP was a key demand.
“Either we give up those rights and move on, or we sit in purgatory for the next seven years,” noted Grace as the members discussed this new ultimatum.
“Whatever relevance we have now will be long gone by then,” added Mindy. “Seven years of silence is a death sentence for girl groups.”
“Everything we ever worked for, gone like that.” Heather snapped her fingers to emphasize the finality.
“The music will still exist. It just won’t be ours anymore,” said Grace.
“Think of all the new stuff we could make,” said Sun-hee.
Heather labored over the decision for days. She’d been forced to make tough career decisions before, but this was amongst the hardest. It made her feel like a negligent mother abandoning kids. The only thought that pained her more was the alternative of being chained to a dead-end contract for the better part of a decade. With youthfulness being an essential element of K-Pop, that notion was inconceivable.
Desperate to taste freedom again, Heather finally acquiesced. Ultimately, all it took was a simple word to Grace, who assumed the burden of negotiating the final details with Voxatone. By the end of the week, once papers were signed (this time in the presence of a lawyer), Made in Heaven was once again independent.
10
STARLIGHT REVERIE
Shorn of their contract, Made in Heaven opted for Plan B, self-producing the album they had worked so hard on conceptualizing. Grace dropped full-time studies for the fall semester to meet the demands of managing the group through the production of Dreamfall. With the agreement of her department head at St. Ignatius, she parlayed this extra-curricular activity into academic credit through the Independent Study Program. She was required to report on real-world experiences throughout the semester to meet academic requirements.
The girls held a planning session. By this point, everything and everyone was getting on Grace’s nerves, especially the most annoying member of the group.
“Can we order a pizza?” asked Vanessa.
“Sure,” responded Grace.
“You didn’t even resist.”
“I’m too tired to resist, Ness.”
“Well, in that case, can we order me a new car?”
“Just so you know. I’m recording everything, so I have an alibi the day I decide to murder you.”
Vanessa shrugged. “Suit yourself.” As they waited for the pizza to arrive, Heather and Vanessa prepared the table for dinner. “Which dishes are we using?” asked Vanessa.
“Yeah, that.” Brad frowned. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Alvin no longer works with us.”
This latest blow left the girls speechless once more. Incredulous, she asked, “Why?”
“Let’s just say we had a difference of opinion and leave it at that.”
“And nobody bothered to tell us? Are we going to get a new liaison?”
“We’re looking into that.”
“No! That’s unacceptable,” said Grace. “If you were truly concerned about us, you’d have one already.”
Brad looked aside as he spoke. “Trust me. I understand your unease. We’re gonna assign someone good.”
“No,” said Mindy. “I’ve heard too many lies coming from too many suits in my life to believe anything that starts with ‘we’re gonna.’ We’re not leaving here without a liaison!”
“I can get security to change your mind if you prefer.”
“My camera is ready to record the whole thing,” said Sun-hee. “I’m sure our followers will find that worthy of trending.”
Grace looked at Sun-hee with renewed admiration.
Brad’s pen started tapping faster. “Look. Let’s simmer this down a tad, okay? I get what you’re saying. Let me run this by a few people. I’m sure we have someone in mind. They just haven’t told me yet.” He got up to leave the room.
“We’re not going anywhere,” said Grace as a parting reminder.
Two hours passed. As the clock ticked past 5:00 p.m., the girls watched Voxatone employees leave for the day. Grace asked the receptionist to remind Brad that they were still waiting.
Ten minutes later, he returned. “Good news. We have someone. He’s an up-and-comer with lots of ideas.”
“What’s his name?” asked Heather.
“I’ll let him do the honors. You’ll really like him.”
“What do you mean up and comer? Alvin was legit. He had a reputation. What has this new person ever done?” asked Vanessa.
“It’s not so much experience you need,” responded Brad. “It’s enthusiasm.”
“Alvin was your top A&R guy,” noted Grace. “At least that’s what we were led to believe. Why are we being downgraded?”
“I hope you’re not implying that anyone who works for Voxatone is second tier.”
Once it became clear they wouldn’t receive a better offer, the girls eventually agreed to leave the building.
* * *
To Heather’s surprise, they got a call the following day. Zachary Noah introduced himself as their new A&R rep. He sounded young over the phone but possessed a positive and enthusiastic demeanor. In fact, his pitch came off as a little too polished, hinting at the same type of PR-speak that Brad excelled at. Heather ended their conversation with a mention of Dreamfall. He expressed interest in the idea and requested demos.
In person, Zachary reminded Heather of the sort of entitled trust fund kid she frequently encountered at St. Ignatius. Someone who wore the term “alpha” as a badge of honor instead of realizing it evoked an unstable software build unfit for public distribution.
She watched as he listened to demos of the songs proposed for Dreamfall. A stiff smile remained on his face throughout. “What’s the name of this?” he asked.
“‘Into the Misty Twilight,’” she responded.
“What’s with this tone?”
Heather considered his question a poor start to the proceedings but tried to stay positive. “My inspiration was Mazzy Star. I wanted to capture some of the transcendent dreamlike quality of Hope Sandoval’s singing style.”
“I don’t know,” Zachary said flatly.
Heather tried not to overreact to this apparent dismissal. When the playback ended, she requested feedback. “So, what do you think?”
Zachary rubbed his chin as though affecting a deep thought posture. “With the right changes, it might be marketable.”
Heather glanced at Grace, silently communicating concern, before returning to Zachary. “What changes exactly?”
“Bits and pieces I like, but overall, we’ll be going in a different direction.”
“Um,” Heather was struck speechless.
“We’d love to hear your ideas,” said Grace, “but concept-wise, we think it’s pretty strong already.”
“I guess I’m not clear on what you’re going for here,” he said.
“We’re aiming for lush arrangements that are enduringly sublime and with stunning eclectism,” explained Heather.
“Yeah,” responded Zachary, holding the word longer than necessary. “That’s all well and good, but sublime is not enough. The label has identified certain targets. I’ve been assigned to ensure you meet them,” said Zachary.
“Targets?” Heather was not warming to his reliance on boardroom terminology. “You make it sound like we’re selling washing machines or something. This is an album of our music. Isn’t that what you signed us for?”
“What kind of targets?” asked Mindy.
“I’d be glad to discuss them when the time is right,” said Zachary.
“We’re ready now. Why not take advantage of that?” asked Heather.
“You might be ready, but Voxatone has an overall strategy to adhere to.”
“Does this have anything to do with Virtua?” asked Grace.
Zachary glared at Grace, evidently reluctant to address that particular topic. “Virtua is this label’s current prime initiative. Do you know what that means?” She shook her head in response. “They’re the tip of the spear. Everybody in the company, including our entire stable of artists, hint, hint, has to either push in the same direction or get out of the way.”
“Are you saying we have to align with whatever sound you have planned for Virtua?” asked Heather.
Zachary smiled. “Now you’re catching on.”
“What is their sound? They’ve never released anything,” noted Mindy.
“That will be clear soon enough. As your producer, it’s my job to mold you in the company’s image.”
Grace’s head bolted back at this statement. “Wait. I thought you were our liaison,” she said. “What’s all this about producing?”
“And molding?” inquired Heather incredulously. “We’ve developed a distinct sound. Refinement, maybe, but molding? Really?”
“No offense, Zach, but what have you done? Our producer, Kimmie, has won awards for her work.”
“Well, you see, that’s part of the problem,” he responded.
“Go on,” said Heather, skeptical that anything positive could follow.
“Awards are for generating warm fuzzy feelings, not selling records. Maybe Kimmie got you to this point, but you signed with us to become big. I can do that,” Zach said, pointing at his chest with an extended thumb.
“Plenty of females are huge in this industry,” said Heather. “What about Rihanna?”
“Or Stevie?” added Grace. “Or Pat?”
“And people are literally taylorgating around the country for Taylor?” noted Mindy.
“As singers, sure. But where would they be without the men behind them?”
This resulted in a shocked silence. Heather was tempted to mention systemic biases but withheld this observation in pursuit of a more tactful approach. “Well, since we’re on this subject, please explain how you’d improve our sound?” She asked this as nicely as restraint allowed.
Zachary smiled smugly. “First off, nobody listens to concept albums anymore. Or albums at all. This ain’t the ‘70s. Secondly, your music is unsellable in the current market.”
“How is it unsellable?” Heather asked, barely able to contain herself. “You make it sound like art rock or something. And listening to a whole album is a lost pleasure. There’s something special about dedicating time to the act. You appreciate it more than just streaming through a track or two and moving on.”
“Consumers have short attention spans. They want simplicity across the board. Your song structures are too complicated. Your lyrics need to be dumbed down, frankly. What’s with all the fancy chord changes? You’re not Beethoven. And don’t get me started on the contrasting vocal styles. Stick to one lane. The new trend is to write songs specifically to generate as many streams as possible. That means short. Really, really short.”
“Is that what audiences truly want, or are they being force-fed by record labels?” asked Heather.
“It’s not a chicken-or-egg question,” Zachary responded. “The numbers don’t lie. Whenever we target the lowest common denominator, the shareholders rejoice.”
“We’re not making music for denominators,” said Mindy.
For the rest of that day, Heather fumed. “I’m so tired of the stereotype many have in this country that K-Pop is simplistic and two-dimensional,” she said.
“They hear one or two mediocre songs and paint the rest with a broad brush,” said Mindy in agreeance.
“There’s so much variety if people just look beyond the surface. Take Lee Jin Ah’s “Run” as just one example. I challenge any musician to walk away unimpressed. In fact, I’d seriously question their credentials if they did.”
“And why is Voxatone trying to start a K-Pop brand when they clearly don’t understand it?”
“Or at least put a little trust in those of us that do?”
Over time, Heather worked through her most intense feelings and tried to remain as positive as possible. Made in Heaven did have a record contract, at least, which was better than performing at basketball games for free. She brainstormed ways to accommodate Zachary’s vision without selling out. With input from the others, new ideas emerged, and new demos were recorded. Zachary’s response to all of this was empty platitudes.
“I suspect he’s telling us what we want to hear,” said Mindy after listening to a recording of his feedback. He didn’t even bother speaking to them in person, leaving a message on Grace’s voicemail when he knew she’d be unavailable.
“His reactions are always so generic; I doubt he even listens to anything we send,” said Heather.
Grace called back, but nobody picked up. She left a voice mail requesting a new meeting. Over the next several weeks, Zachary texted or emailed proposed dates but always canceled right before they occurred.
Eventually, even these correspondences tapered off. “That assistant of his deserves a raise,” said Heather. “Whenever I think she’s finally run out of excuses, a new one emerges.”
“We may need to camp the lobby again,” said Grace.
Only through persistent attempts did they manage to finally reach Zachary. Naturally, this came once Virtua’s debut single “Boys” had dropped to mixed reviews. There was still no public acknowledgment from Voxatone that they had even signed Made in Heaven, let alone planned to promote them.
It required intense lobbying on the part of the members to wring a commitment out of the label to make progress on Dreamfall. Zachary finally proposed a firm production start date. Even though it was still months away, the group accepted it. They had very little going in their favor otherwise.
In the meantime, Made in Heaven took the opportunity to engage in prep work for the album. New songs were written, the overall concept was fleshed out, and design elements for the packaging were sketched. Their goal was to be as ready as possible when the time came to record.
Feedback from Voxatone remained minimal. Proposals sent to Zachary were usually met with silence. On rare occasions, they’d receive positive, albeit flavorless analysis, but only when pressed.
Just two days before another production planning meeting was scheduled, Zachary’s assistant called to cancel again. She said the label would postpone Dreamfall a little longer “due to prevailing market conditions.”
“They’re refusing to set a new firm date,” said Grace.
“We’ve waited patiently for so long, and now we start the clock over again? How many times must we go through this?” asked Heather. Exasperated, she called the one person who could offer insight into the record label’s behavior. It took several hours to psychologically prepare for what she imagined could be an unpleasant reunion. Surprisingly, he answered.
“Believe it or not, I was expecting this.” The tone of the man’s voice was much improved since the last time they spoke. He sounded more like the familiar Magnus of old.
“Are you following what’s happening?” Heather filled him in on the details, though he had already discerned a great deal. “It’s starting to feel like that Ting Tings song ‘That’s Not My Name.’ I feel like the label’s forgotten they even signed us.”
“I don’t want to say I warned you, but I did.”
“Please save the lectures, Magnus, and tell us what you’d do.”
“I’ve heard of this happening but never seen it firsthand. I think Voxatone is storing you.”
Heather pondered his words. “Storing us? What does that mean?”
“They probably had plans to debut Virtua before they even heard of Made in Heaven. Once you made a splash at K-Fest and released Queen Bee Infusion, they saw you as a threat. By signing you, they took you off the market. To protect their prime asset.”
“Virtua?” said Heather in disgust. “Why is everybody threatened by us?”
“You represent competition. In a niche market, too. Either they let some other label sweep you up and have to deal with the consequences, or sign you at a bargain and shelve you as harmless.”
“Harmless?” Heather scoffed at the term. “They ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“If you want my advice — and I imagine you wouldn’t have called otherwise — tread carefully.”
“How can they get away with this? It’s not right.”
“That’s the music business, Heather. Doing what’s right is irrelevant when there’s money to be made.”
“So what should we do?”
“Call your lawyer and find a loophole. Otherwise, you’re stuck for the duration. How long did you say?”
“Seven years,” she responded through gritted teeth.
“Seven years! Yikes.”
Heather winced at his reaction. “That’s not the worst of it,” she said, preparing to wince again. “We never hired a lawyer.”
“God! Well, there’s your problem. Never sign a contract in this town without a lawyer.”
“You and Cesar took all of our money. We couldn’t afford one.”
“Don’t pin this on us.”
Made in Heaven held an emergency meeting in the wake of this conversation. Following much debate, they unanimously requested a contract release from Voxatone.
When this news reached Zachary’s office, he immediately called back, sounding hurt that they’d even entertain such an idea. He suddenly displayed more genuine emotion than ever before. Zach launched into an extended lobbying effort extolling the virtues of a signed contract. In a testament to his salesmanship, the group nearly reconsidered. But when no tangible evidence emerged that anything would change, they had no choice but to continue the press.
What seemed like an eternity passed before the label finally relented. This came only after the Celestials heeded calls to pile on more pressure. The final price tag, however, was steep. In return for releasing Made in Heaven from their contract, Voxatone demanded permanent rights to the group’s old IP, including Queen Bee Infusion and Spark. The band had recently secured those rights by paying off the loan for their manager payouts.
This bitter pill was much more difficult for Heather to swallow. In the previous arrangement, they only faced the threat of losing intellectual property rights if they defaulted. This time, the IP was a key demand.
“Either we give up those rights and move on, or we sit in purgatory for the next seven years,” noted Grace as the members discussed this new ultimatum.
“Whatever relevance we have now will be long gone by then,” added Mindy. “Seven years of silence is a death sentence for girl groups.”
“Everything we ever worked for, gone like that.” Heather snapped her fingers to emphasize the finality.
“The music will still exist. It just won’t be ours anymore,” said Grace.
“Think of all the new stuff we could make,” said Sun-hee.
Heather labored over the decision for days. She’d been forced to make tough career decisions before, but this was amongst the hardest. It made her feel like a negligent mother abandoning kids. The only thought that pained her more was the alternative of being chained to a dead-end contract for the better part of a decade. With youthfulness being an essential element of K-Pop, that notion was inconceivable.
Desperate to taste freedom again, Heather finally acquiesced. Ultimately, all it took was a simple word to Grace, who assumed the burden of negotiating the final details with Voxatone. By the end of the week, once papers were signed (this time in the presence of a lawyer), Made in Heaven was once again independent.
10
STARLIGHT REVERIE
Shorn of their contract, Made in Heaven opted for Plan B, self-producing the album they had worked so hard on conceptualizing. Grace dropped full-time studies for the fall semester to meet the demands of managing the group through the production of Dreamfall. With the agreement of her department head at St. Ignatius, she parlayed this extra-curricular activity into academic credit through the Independent Study Program. She was required to report on real-world experiences throughout the semester to meet academic requirements.
The girls held a planning session. By this point, everything and everyone was getting on Grace’s nerves, especially the most annoying member of the group.
“Can we order a pizza?” asked Vanessa.
“Sure,” responded Grace.
“You didn’t even resist.”
“I’m too tired to resist, Ness.”
“Well, in that case, can we order me a new car?”
“Just so you know. I’m recording everything, so I have an alibi the day I decide to murder you.”
Vanessa shrugged. “Suit yourself.” As they waited for the pizza to arrive, Heather and Vanessa prepared the table for dinner. “Which dishes are we using?” asked Vanessa.
