Secrets

Part Two: ATS -- Apologies

Notes:

We're still in Part Two, as DBS and ATS overlap a little bit.

The book referenced within is "If You Give a Cat a Cupcake" by Laura Numeroff.

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[October 19, 2009]

Mike pushed his hair out of his eyes wearily for what felt like the hundredth time since he sat down at his computer hours ago. Progress had been slow and his face was etched in deep lines of frustration as he berated himself for the negative turn the day had taken. Nothing seemed to be working at the moment, and nothing he had thought of so far to fix things had helped.

As he mulled over the last argument he'd had with Brad about the tracks, earlier this afternoon, his eyes flicked over to the guitar in the corner- Brad's guitar- left there when he'd stormed out earlier. I should call him. It's been a few hours, so we're both probably calmer, and talk this out. We can't keep fighting like this. They usually managed to fight like band members with the other guys around, but lately, when it was just Mike and Brad, the arguments had gotten personal. They had a tendency to shift and morph from musical frustrations to personal frustrations, and more often than not, those personal frustrations included some slight by Brad against Chester. Mike sighed and pushed his hand up through his hair again, this time leaving his fingers tangled in the long locks as he rested his elbow on the desk and dropped his head forward.

Brad's wrong. The problems with the album are not just because Chester has been away so much. It's just these new ideas, and I'm hearing things I don't really know how to get down, and I think I've got it figured out and then I change my mind... and Brad's getting impatient. Hell, I'm impatient. I thought we'd have more lyrics by now.

He massaged his fingertips along his scalp, trying to relieve some of the tension and stimulate his brain. He refused to allow the thought that Chester's absence was screwing everything up. They had spent hours on the phone tossing words around, and some nights were as easy as if Chester were sitting across from him in the studio. Other nights they didn't get much accomplished other than a lot of storytelling and laughing, but Mike wouldn't have traded any of it... not even when he and Brad argued earlier today about the lack of lyrical direction.

Mike clicked on the track they'd been working on when Brad left, the sounds of synthesized organ filling his speakers. A little more than half of the track was down, and even a lot of the lyrics were there, so Mike had a hard time understanding what Brad was upset about. Most of his argument revolved around Chester being away and the lyrics not being solid, but Mike had a sneaking suspicion it also had to do with the lack of guitar on some of the tracks. It's just not fitting. If we're trying to do something different, if we're trying to avoid the same old thing every time we write, then electronics make sense this time. I don't know why he's fighting me so hard. As he played back the track he grew more indignant. Brad's wrong. This is almost finished. Without much guitar, but that's okay. It's not all about Brad.

Lift me up, let me go. Leave it all down below.

Something didn't quite settle with Mike about the way Chester sounded on those words, even if they did rhyme. It was impossible to fix without the vocalist in the studio with him to trade words and ideas. It would have to wait until they were together tomorrow. He was tired of working on the track alone, and besides that, he knew the right thing to do was to reach out to Brad before he got wrapped up in dinner and family time. They had stewed over the afternoon's argument long enough.

With a tired shake of his head, Mike reached for his phone. He had to set things right with Brad, they couldn't end the day mad at each other. Just as he was about to dial up the guitarist, a notification popped at the top of his phone.