Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 100441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Ryder takes a seat in his producer chair and pulls up a second chair for me. “Then let’s try to work through those complications. Before we record anything, I want to get a feel for what your sound is seeing as you’re picky about it.”
“I’m not picky. I’m …”
“Particular? Fussy? A pain in every label’s ass?”
I’m about to get angry when his pouty lips thin out as a smile spreads across his gorgeous face.
“I’m joking. Sort of. The labels will see you like that, but I admire your determination to stick to your principles. We used to complain about our lack of creative freedom a lot but sucked it up in the end and did what the label wanted us to. We figured if we didn’t, our songs wouldn’t be released and we’d never be famous.”
“I want fame, but not like that.”
Ryder leans back in his seat. “I’m only going to say this once, and you’re not going to like it, but I’m telling you now that while your heart is in the right place, you have to be okay with possibly never getting the recognition you crave. Because if you’re not getting heard at all …”
“If a tree falls in the woods but no one’s there to hear it, did it really happen? You’re going with that bullshit?”
He laughs. “I guess I am.”
“I think I can be marketable and there’re people out there who’ll want to listen to what I have to say, but at the same time, if I never make it as myself, I’ll be fine to accept that. Like I said—”
“You want fame as yourself or not at all. Thought you’d say that, but I wanted to be sure.” Ryder takes a pen and paper out of a drawer and puts it on his lap. “So what is your sound?”
My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. “Umm …”
“If you can’t even tell me what your sound is, we have bigger problems.”
“No, I can. It’s kinda eclectic.”
“Who are your influences?”
I’ve got nothing. Like, my mind is blank.
“You said you sang Imagine Dragons for your audition, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“So them. Who else?”
“Sound Garden. Audioslave. Uh, Three Days Grace.” I rattle off some more names, and with each one, Ryder’s frown grows deeper.
“Any recent influences?”
“Are you calling me old?”
“No, but I’m wondering why all the bands you want to be like are older than you. There’s a reason the alternative rock scene isn’t big lately.”
“You’re doing the judgy thing again and sounding a hell of a lot like a label exec.”
“Sorry.” He does not sound sorry.
“If you want me to name popular shit, I guess I could live with bands like the Lumineers. Sheppard. Mumford and Sons.”
“That helps. What about Hozier? I bet you could bring the house down with ‘Take Me to Church.’”
“Too mainstream.”
“Too mainstream,” Ryder murmurs. “Do you mean that because it lived in the top forty for what felt like forever? Because given the content, it’s surprising it did so well for so long. It basically crucifies religion.”
“Yeah, but it’s so … I don’t know. Obvious? Cliché?”
“You really need to relearn the definition of cliché. Truly listen.” Ryder starts singing, and I’m taken aback.
Like, seriously, he says he’s jealous of my talent?
Who knew that when he’s not being drowned out by four other voices, Ryder can actually sing? Logically, I should have known, but it’s easy to assume all the wrong things when he’s famous for nothing else other than being in Eleven.
I’m mesmerized as he sings the song effortlessly.
I never connected with the sexual undertones of this song before. The whole song is about sexuality and religion, but the full-on vision of Ryder on his knees begging to see God through sex is, umm, inspiring.
I didn’t like this song before. Now, I won’t be able to hear it without thinking of this moment. Ryder singing with his eyes locked on mine.
My palms sweat, and my mouth dries. I wipe my hands on my jeans, but I realize that draws attention to my lap, and if Ryder were to look down, he’d see exactly how unprofessional his kid’s nanny is being right now.
Ryder cuts off his words and stares right into my eyes. “It’s not cliché. It’s representation. It’s a cause. It’s expressing the pitfalls of the church through a song about sex.”
I clear my throat. “Point taken.”
“This is the type of song that’s a big fuck-you to an establishment without blatantly telling a label you’re not changing who you are.”
I know I’m supposed to say something, but I’m lost for words. I’m still stuck in Ryder’s voice.
Ryder blinks at me. “Did I break you?”
I shake out of my trance. “Sorry. Why aren’t you the one in the recording studio?”
Ryder pulls back. “Hey, whoa, this is not about me. This is about you.”
“Hmm, I think it’s actually about music in general. Your voice …”