“Naw,” Matt said. “I don’t use anything that alters the mind before or during a meeting. I’ve found, over the years, it’s the best way to deal with you weasels.”
“Oh...” Stillson said slowly, taken aback. “I see.”
“Good,” Matt said. “Now, what’s the deal?”
Stillson took a few moments to compose himself—it was obvious that this meeting was not starting off as he had envisioned—and then started to lay it out. “It’s like this,” he said. “As I told you on the phone, I’m now the CEO and lead investor in a venture called Music Alive. What we do is put on concert tours for profit of our organization and the artists involved.”
“Yeah, I know,” Matt said. “You get these has-been bands back together and send them out on tours to cash in on baby boomer nostalgia so you can separate the more successful boomers from their income. It’s a good business plan, honestly. I kind of wish I would have thought of it first. Kudos to you for having an idea.”
“Thank you,” Stillson said.
“Now tell me what this has to do with me,” Matt said. “I’m not a has-been and the boomers ain’t really into me anyway. I’m a generation-X icon and I’m already committed to a European, Asian, South American tour for National anyway.”
“I am aware of your tour dates,” Stillson said. “I touched bases with Crow over at National and he gave me the schedule, as well as your contact information.”
“How fuckin’ nice of him,” Matt grunted.
“And it’s not the baby boomers I’m after with the proposal I’m about to make. The gen-X crowd are now mature enough to have a fair amount of disposable income of their own. That is why you and Celia Valdez and Alanis Morrisette and Collective Soul are able to sell performance tickets at fifty to a hundred dollars a seat. It really is a great time to be in this business.”
“True,” Matt had to agree. “I just went over my taxes today and a good portion of my income comes from touring revenue.”
“Exactly,” Stillson said. “And so, with that in mind, I’m organizing a two-day event that we’re calling the Tsunami Sound Festival. It will be on September 28 and 29, a Saturday and Sunday respectively, just outside of Indian Springs.”
“Where the fuck is Indian Springs?” Matt asked.
“In the Mojave Desert forty miles north of Las Vegas,” he said. “We’re building an amphitheater with two stages there on a piece of BLM land we have leased. The venue, when complete, will be capable of holding one hundred thousand fans.”
“One hundred thousand?” Matt asked incredulously.
“That is correct,” Stillson said. “And with the lineup I’m developing for the event, I am anticipating sales of at least ninety thousand tickets per day. These tickets will cost a minimum of ninety dollars per seat for general admission and up to three hundred a ticket for assigned seating near the stages.”
Matt whistled appreciatively. “That’s a lot of coin,” he said, “assuming that you can actually pull this shit off.”
“I am confident we can pull it off,” Stillson assured him. “But even if we can’t, there is no risk to you. I want you to be the headliner on both nights. For this, I will offer you a flat fee of one point three million dollars, guaranteed payable as long as you show up and perform, regardless of whether or not anyone even buys a ticket.”
“A million three, huh?” Matt said, pondering that. That was a very respectable payday for just two shows. “And that is not dependent on me doing any Intemperance material?”
“We don’t want any Intemperance material in the show,” Stillson said. “National Records would charge us too much for the performance rights—if they would even grant them at all. We just want original Matt Tisdale material. The set you’re doing now would be perfectly fine. National has already agreed to grant permission for your performance.”
“Out of the kindness of their hearts?” Matt asked sarcastically.
“Yeah, right,” Stillson grunted. “Two grand per song is what they want, and that is for each performance, payable upon agreement and irrespective of whether you actually perform or not.”
“That’s pretty cutthroat,” Matt said, doing some quick mental arithmetic. His set was eighteen songs, which equaled thirty-six grand times two shows for a total of seventy-two big just for signing a paper giving this weasel permission to have Matt perform his own music. What a fucking scam.
“As I said,” Stillson went on, “Crow gave me your tour schedule. On the dates in question, you will be on break between the last of the Asia shows and the first of the South American shows. You’ll likely just be kicking it somewhere and waiting for your equipment to be shipped across the ocean.”
“That sounds about right,” he said. And then something occurred to him. “How am I supposed to perform at this tidal wave gig of yours if our equipment is on a fuckin’ ship somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?”
“The Tsunami Sound Festival,” Stillson corrected. “And, obviously, we will have to rent equipment for you; microphones, amps, effects pedals, a drum set, all of the cabling and electrical. We will foot the bill for this.”
“I’m not playing without my Strat,” Matt warned.
“We wouldn’t want you to,” Stillson assured him. “As I said, it’s an icon, a part of who you are as a performer. The solution to this, however, is quite simple: You just don’t put the Strat on the ship with the rest of your gear. Bring it with you as checked baggage and travel to the festival with it. Your bass player and your secondary guitarist can do the same if they wish. If they do not wish, we’ll rent guitars for them along with everything else.”
“Yeah ... I guess that makes sense,” Matt allowed. “What about travel expenses and lodging and all that shit?”
“We will cover it all,” Stillson promised. “First class air from wherever you are staying to Las Vegas. Suites for you and all your people in one of the hotels on the strip. Private luxury limousine travel to and from the venue. First class air back to wherever you want to go once the festival is over.”
“Sounds good,” Matt said. “Be sure the limo is big enough for at least six groupies to ride back to the hotel with us.”
“Naturally,” Stillson agreed.
“All right then,” Matt said. “And what about paying my band members? Are you going to cover that as well?”
“No,” Stillson said simply. “We will pay for travel and lodging and meals for your band members, but you will be expected to pay them whatever rate you settle on out of the compensation we are giving you for the performances.”
“I see,” Matt said slowly. “That’s kind of a rip.”
“Sorry,” Stillson said, sounding anything but, “but we are compensating you rather well for your performances.”
“True, but I want my guys to have a decent piece of this action. After all, this will be an interruption to one of our extended breaks. If I have to pay them out of my own pocket, I’ll need a little more coin in that pocket before I sign on the line.”
“How much more?” Stillson asked warily.
“Let’s make it an even one point five mil,” Matt suggested.
“I’m sorry,” Stillson said, shaking his head. “I can’t go that high. How about one point three five?”
“Not enough,” Matt said. “How about one point four? That’ll give me an even hundred big to lay on my guys for two days of work. That’s thirty-three grand apiece. I think they’ll go for that shit.”
Stillson sighed. “I really should check with the other investors first, but ... what the hell. One point four million it is. Do we have a deal?”
“We’re getting there,” Matt said, smiling. “Just one more question. Who else is going to be at this gig? How many bands do you have lined up?”