Matt continued to stare at Jake for a moment and then finally dropped his eyes. He muttered something inarticulate.
“What was that?” Jake asked.
“I said I can live with that,” Matt said curtly.
“That’s good to hear,” Jake said, “but can you live with me being at your sessions, telling you which tunes you should do, telling you where to put in that extra guitar section, where to double-track, how to shape your intros and outros?”
Matt took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I guess we’ll have to give it a try and see.”
Jake nodded. “That’s kind of my take on the matter as well, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“As am I,” said Nerdly.
“Well, all right then,” Matt said. “Maybe we’re fuckin’ gettin’ somewhere here.”
“Maybe,” Jake allowed. “Let’s talk some numbers now. This does not mean we have an agreement to even sign you—we still have to vote on that—but we need to at least make sure we’re all in the same universe here when it comes to the financials.”
“Fair enough,” Matt allowed.
“Now,” said Pauline, “we know you are an established artist, Matt. We know you expect a certain amount of royalties from any deal you sign. You may or may not have heard that we at KVA are very fair to our artists, as fair as we can be, but that we need to maintain a reasonable profit margin of our own. Please keep that in mind during this part of the negotiation.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Matt said. “And I’ll make it easy on you. I’m not greedy, just needy. I’m willing to accept thirty-five percent. I was going to ask for forty with National on the next run, but they were not willing to go higher than twenty-eight. Thirty-five seems a nice middle ground, doesn’t it?”
“No,” Pauline said plainly. “Not really.”
“I can’t go much lower than that,” Matt told her.
“Then we probably won’t be able to agree to terms,” Pauline suggested.
“What is your offer then?” Matt asked, obviously struggling with his temper again.
Jake handled this part. “We’re paying twenty percent to Brainwash for their second CD,” he said. “Their first went multi-platinum so they are now an established band and have earned that much. V-tach is going to release their first CD next week. You’ve probably heard their debut song on the radio these past few weeks. We’re paying them fifteen percent.”
“But I’m Matt Tisdale,” Matt said. “Former guitar player for Intemperance and someone who is guaranteed to go multi-platinum.”
“Nothing is guaranteed in life,” Jake pointed out. “We would be taking a risk of losing a considerable sum of money if your CD tanks. And, though I’m pretty certain it will not do so, can we reasonably expect that you are going to sell more copies than Brainwash II? Not really. The more we pay you in royalties, the more copies of the CD we have to sell before we start operating in the black—which, as I’m sure you’re aware—is how a business is supposed to operate.”
“I’ve heard that,” Matt said sourly.
“I’m glad you appreciate the concept,” Pauline said. “Let’s take Brainwash as an example. At twenty percent band royalties, combined with the twenty-five percent royalties we are obligated to pay Aristocrat for promotion and the rather large sum we pay them in bulk for manufacturing and distribution, we will need them to sell approximately seven hundred thousand copies of the CD before we start making a profit from them. This is far above the profit point that any of the major labels are willing to accept.”
“You have to pay royalties to Aristocrat?” Matt asked, surprised.
“Did you think they were using their promotional apparatus to get us radio airplay out of the kindness of their hearts?” Jake asked.
“Well ... no,” Matt said. “I kind of assumed you paid them a lump sum at the beginning and that was that.”
“You assumed wrong,” Jake said. “They demand royalties for such a service, and, in a way, I’m glad that they do. Having the amount of profit they make from one of our releases be tied to how well they promote the release is a good thing. If we just paid them a lump sum at the beginning, what motivation would they have for pulling out all the stops?”
Matt nodded as he heard this. “I guess that’s a pretty good fuckin’ point,” he had to admit.
“All the things you learn when you go independent,” Pauline said. “In addition to the band royalties and the promotion royalties, we also pay royalties to Obie II for the use of his recording studio.”
Matt looked at her. “Ain’t that the dude you’re boning?” he asked her. “The one who knocked you up?”
“That’s right,” Pauline said. “The dude I’m boning.”
“He fuckin’ charges you for using his studio?” Matt asked, incredulous.
“He is a businessman as well,” Pauline said simply. “We occupy his studio for months at a time with each release, preventing other clients from using it while we are there. We utilize the services of his technicians, who must also be paid. Obie is not going to do this just because I let him hose me down on occasion and I’m raising his daughter.”
“That’s cold,” Matt said, shaking his head at the injustice of it.
“It’s a cold world,” Jake said. “We’ll offer you twenty percent, just like Brainwash.”
“I gotta have more than that,” Matt said. “I was making thirty percent with this last CD and twenty-eight was too fuckin’ low for me to consider.”
“We’re not going to pay you thirty percent,” Celia said. “Not when whatever label we negotiate with for MD&P is going to demand at least twenty-five.”
“And there are a few things you’re not considering here, Matt,” Jake added.
“Like what?”
“Like the royalty rate we pay you will be set in stone,” Jake said. “We’re not like National or Aristocrat when they sign an artist to their label. There are no recoupable expenses in our deal except for any advance money we would give you. No breakage fees or stocking fees or fucking housing and limo clauses. There are no entertainment expenses. There is no distribution of touring costs because our contract would not include touring. If a tour was going to happen, that would be negotiated separately under a different contract.”
“And, in addition,” Celia put in, “you retain the rights in perpetuity to your own music. We can’t let them use it in a car commercial or some Pixar movie’s soundtrack. We can’t keep you from performing your music or selling the rights to someone else. Your music is your music to do with as you please.”
“So, you see, Matt,” said Pauline, “our twenty percent is really twenty percent. National’s thirty percent they were giving you was actually more like twenty-five when you added in all those recoupables and fees and other bullshit.”
“I see,” Matt said slowly. “I still can’t go twenty percent though. That’s insulting to me.”
The four owners looked at each other, passing around a bit of silent communication. Celia’s thought on the matter was quite easy to pick up. Fuck him then, was her take. There’s the door. Nerdly and Pauline, however, were a little kinder—or at least more profit-oriented—in their thoughts. We could go a little higher, they both broadcast. Just a little.