“The primary setup, as you can see, is essentially the same as in an analog studio,” Obie told them. “This is the control room, naturally, where the engineers and the mixers play.”
The control room was the biggest in the studio and contained most of the electronics. It was semi-circular in shape, with large windows set into the circular half. In the middle of the room was a mixing console full of dials, switches, levers, knobs, and, interestingly, computer terminals, all of which were dark at the moment. It looked more complex than the cockpit of a 747, and arguably was.
Nerdly ran his hand over it in awe, caressing it as if it were Sharon’s naked thighs in the bedroom. “The AudioMaster 9000,” he whispered.
“It’s beautiful,” added Sharon, who seemed afraid to actually touch it. She turned to Pauline. “This is the latest in audio recording technology,” she told her. “It’s completely digital and equipped with a MIDI interface that is hard linked to the DAWs and the input generation equipment. Do you know what that means?”
“Uh ... no,” Pauline said. “Actually, I don’t.”
“It means we could use this equipment to isolate each individual instrument and vocal track perfectly, without so much as a squeak of extraneous sound,” Jake explained. “The digital nature allows the engineer to filter out all but the sound desired, or to mix in other sounds from a MIDI synthesizer.”
Pauline nodded slowly. “And ... that’s good, right?”
“It’s more than good,” Nerdly said. “It’s exactly what we need. The things we could do in here. Laying down the initial tracks would still be an exercise in tedium, but once that is done, the true advantage of digital and MIDI becomes apparent. Overdubs would be nothing. An extra guitar or a violin overlay could be recorded and then custom altered to fit into the section desired. Vocalization overdubs would be much easier as well. We could use this equipment to mix perfect songs, with every audio nuance under our control.”
Obie was smiling. “Your boy knows his audio,” he told Pauline. “That is exactly why I spent so much fucking cabbage equipping this place. Country music is going through a resurgence, some of which I like to think I am responsible for. It gives us a distinct advantage to package our product in the best manner possible. Thus, I seek out and find the best musicians and young talent I can and bring them in here to hone their output like one would polish a diamond.”
“That sounds very lucrative,” Pauline said.
“It is,” Obie assured her. “And for that reason, I’m very selective about who I grant studio time to. I am particular about who I sign to my label, and I’m not in the habit of renting my studio out to those who are not signed with me. It’s a business decision, you see.”
“We see,” Pauline said. “And I will even say that your policy makes perfect sense.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page here, darlin’,” Obie told her.
“But,” Pauline added, “I cannot help but point out that you did invite us here to tour your studio. You must be considering our offer on some level or you would have just told me to fuck off when I contacted you.”
Obie smiled. “Maybe I just wanted to show off,” he suggested.
“Nonsense,” Greg said, speaking for the first time inside the building.
Everyone turned to look at him. Obie raised his eyebrows up. “Nonsense?” he said. “Where I come from—which is here, by the way—that could be construed as a fighting word under these circumstances.”
“Forgive me for speaking plainly,” Greg said. “It seemed that was your favored method of communication. In any case, you did not invite us here just to show off. You’re a businessman, and a busy one at that. Your time is valuable. I hardly think you would waste it just to show off for the sake of showing off. You wanted us to come here and see this studio. There is something you want from us. How about we go sit down somewhere and talk about whatever that might be?”
Jake and Pauline were now glaring at Greg. This was exactly what they were afraid would happen. But Obie did not seem the least bit upset. He was actually chuckling.
“Well, all right then,” he said, clapping Greg on the shoulder nearly hard enough to knock him over. “Why don’t we go upstairs to my office and have ourselves a little jaw?”
Obie’s office was actually quite modest. He had a simple oak desk with a computer terminal and a calendar on it. A plaque on the desk read: THE BUCKS START HERE. On the walls behind him were a series of platinum and gold records, neatly arranged in an aesthetically pleasing pattern. The carpet was plain earth tone. On the wall adjacent to the desk was a small wet bar with a refrigerator. A spread of chairs was arrayed before the desk, six of them. Exactly enough for the guests he had invited up. Jake suspected that was not a coincidence.
“Help yourselves to drinks, everyone,” Obie told them, waving to the bar. “I find these things usually go a lot smoother with a little lubrication.” He then proceeded to drop some ice cubes in a glass and pour himself four or five fingers of Jack Daniels.
Taking that as a command, everyone went over to the bar and poured themselves a little something. Jake, taking Obie’s lead, went with JD on the rocks. Though he hadn’t planned on putting alcohol into his system this early, he figured it was a business decision.
Once the drinks were poured, everyone took their seats. Obie then raised a toast.
“To negotiations,” he said, holding up his glass. “May they be fruitful and profitable for all concerned.”
“Negotiations,” everyone echoed in unison before taking sips of their respective beverages.
Jake felt the smooth whiskey slide down his throat, warming him. He nodded appreciably. Though there certainly was better bourbon in the world, you couldn’t beat the distinctive taste of Jack Daniels.
“All right then,” Obie said. “Let’s begin by me telling you what is not open for negotiation. I will not sign either of one you to my label. Blake Records specializes in country music only and having a rock or a pop act would not be conducive to our image.”
“We understand and agree,” Pauline said. “Both Jake and Celia have had more than enough of record labels. Their overriding desire is to be independent. That is why KVA Records was formed. We are simply looking to rent studio time from you.”
Obie took a thoughtful sip of his drink. “I am not in the business of renting out my studio,” he said. “I believe I mentioned that earlier. There is no profit in it. This studio exists to produce recordings for my label and that is its only reason for being.”
“Are there no exceptions to this rule?” Pauline asked.
“There are exceptions to every rule,” Obie allowed. “And I might be inclined to grant one here, but y’all need to make it worth my while.”
“We are prepared to pay you three hundred dollars an hour for studio time,” Pauline said. “And we would not require the assistance of your sound engineers. We have the Nerdlys for that. All we would need is a techie for basic equipment operations.”
Obie chuckled. “Three hundred an hour?” he said. “That’s where you open negotiations, Pauline? Come now. That’s what an ordinary analog studio would charge you. I would accept nothing less than five hundred an hour with a minimum commitment of two hundred hours, paid in advance.”
Pauline nodded thoughtfully. “That’s pretty steep,” she said. “How about four hundred an hour and a hundred and fifty hours of commitment?”
“How about five hundred an hour and two hundred minimum, paid in advance,” Obie countered. “That part of the deal is non-negotiable.”