“You’ve signed an act to your label?” Rigger asked incredulously. “An unknown act?”
“That is correct,” Pauline said. “And for the past five months we have been working on recording a CD from them. That CD is what I now hold in my hand.”
“They’re not exactly an unknown act,” Jake put in. “They’re quite well-known throughout the New England region. They have been doing the club scene there for a number of years and they sell out every venue they perform in.”
“But they’ve never moved beyond New England?” asked Rigger.
“They have not,” Pauline said.
“Have they tried?” he wanted to know.
“They have,” Jake said, looking at the New Artist Development ‘expert’ sternly. “It seems that no record company exec even wants to give their music a listen because they don’t look good on camera.”
“Ahhh,” said Rigger knowingly. “They’re unattractive. That does explain things.”
“They’re not unattractive,” Jake said. “They’re just not glamorous Hollywood attractive.”
“The two amount to the same thing,” said Crawford.
Jake shook his head. “You people are so predictable,” he said.
Crawford ignored this remark. “Why are you telling us about this band?” he asked. “Why are you bringing a master CD here? Surely, you are not suggesting that we sign a band that has been passed on by others before us?”
Jake had to suppress the urge to say: “Don’t call me Shirley.” Somehow, he managed.
“We’re not suggesting you sign them,” Pauline said. “We have already signed them, have already paid to have this recording made, and are prepared to pay for the manufacturing and distribution costs. We just want the same thing we want from every other KVA project. We want you to promote the album for us.”
“Impossible,” said Rigger, shaking his head.
“I agree,” said Crawford.
“As do I,” said Flag.
Jake looked at the three of them. So far, things were going pretty much as he had expected. They were giving exactly the knee-jerk rejection of the proposal he had predicted. “You would reject this deal without even listening to the CD?” he asked them.
“We don’t need to listen to the CD,” said Flag. “You’re suggesting that I use my promotional apparatus and connections to promote an album that has no chance of succeeding. That’s absurd.”
“Absurd?” Pauline asked. She lifted the CD case and waved it before them. “How do you know that this isn’t some of the best music ever laid down on a CD? You’re seriously condemning this effort without even hearing it?”
“If they were that good, someone would have signed them by now,” Flag said confidently.
“Someone did sign them,” Pauline said. “We did.”
“You do not count,” Crawford said. “You can call yourself a record company all you want, but you don’t know the first thing about production and promotion of music.”
Jake’s eyebrows went up again. “Are you shitting me right now, Crawford?” he asked. “I don’t know the first thing about production or promotion? Me, who has produced four of the best-selling albums of the past decade over the last twenty-four months? Me, who has personally directed the promotion of all of those albums and the individual songs on them and kept at least one tune in the Top 25 at all times during that time period? Me, who has brought in millions of dollars in profit for your precious stockholders? Do you maybe want to reconsider that statement?”
“I will admit that you did a passable job on the production of those albums,” Crawford told him. “And your suggestions about promotion of the tunes did turn out advantageous, but that was because of the talent you and Celia possess and the preexisting fame each of you came into your solo careers with.”
“Preexisting fame?” Pauline asked. “Celia was considered a has-been. Those morons over at National didn’t even want to listen to her CD when it was first presented to them. And Jake went outside his genre. They only signed him because they heard how amazing Celia’s album actually was and it was a package deal.”
“That is neither here nor there,” Crawford said dismissively.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jake barked at him.
“It means that this Brainstem thing you’re suggesting is a completely different animal.”
“Brainwash,” Jake corrected. “And it’s not a different animal at all. It’s an album that KVA Records has put together, that we have contracted with a band to get out into the world, and we want you people to promote it.”
“I’m afraid that is impossible,” Crawford said.
“Impossible?” Jake asked.
“We are not in the business of promoting unknown bands that one of our independent labels just drags in off the street,” Crawford told them. “We’re in the business of making money, not losing it.”
“How would you lose money on this deal?” Pauline asked.
“Excuse me?” Crawford asked, as if she were an idiot.
“Tell me how you would lose money,” she said again. “KVA has already paid for the production of the album and provided a master copy. KVA will pay, in advance, for the manufacturing and distribution costs. All we want you to do is use the promotional machinery that is already in place to get the music some airplay. In return, we’re prepared to offer you forty percent royalties on sales of the album.”
“Forty percent of nothing is still nothing,” Flag said.
“I would think you would have more faith in Jake’s ability to produce good music than that,” Pauline said. “But even if you don’t, even if the album doesn’t sell a single copy, how is that costing Aristocrat any money? The worst-case scenario for you is that you don’t make any money for using your promotional apparatus. Since we paid for everything else, there is simply no way you can lose so much as a penny.”
It was a good point, an indisputable point you might even say, but Crawford and company were still not buying it. “There’s more to it than just the direct profit,” Rigger said.
“Please explain,” Pauline said.
“I can’t wait to hear this one,” Jake said with a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head.
“It’s a matter of good faith,” Rigger said. “We maintain a large collection of contacts in the radio industry and they are paid—indirectly of course—to promote songs and artists that we ask them to promote. It’s a system that has worked well for years, but it has a delicate balance. The system only works when we give them quality tunes to promote, tunes that will connect with their listeners who will then want to buy the albums from us. If we start giving them crap music that nobody wants to listen to, they’re forced to go against our wishes and stop playing it. That creates a loss of good faith. Loss of good faith leads down a road to a breakdown in the very system that supports both industries.”
“Well put!” Crawford said.
“Exactly,” said Flag. “And that’s why we cannot promote these Brainwater people.”
“Brainwash,” corrected Pauline.
“Whatever,” said Crawford.
“Let me get this straight,” Jake said, slowly, calmly. “You’re suggesting that if you were to promote Brainwash for us as we request, that it could bring about the destruction of the entire music and radio industry as we know it?”
“It could be a step in that direction, yes,” Rigger said.
“But you haven’t even listened to their tunes,” Jake said. “Again, how do you know that this isn’t the best music anyone has ever put out since the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac?”
“That’s beside the point,” Rigger said.