Page 95 of Sing Your Secrets
“I’m sure.”
Mac clicks his jaw and folds his hands together. “Let me ask you an honest question, and I want you to take a minute before you respond. Cool?”
“Yeah. Okay…”
“Do you want to be a singer or a singer-songwriter?”
I open my mouth and then clamp it shut, remembering to take a moment to think about it. I mean, I thought it was pretty clear. I’m not sure what I’m missing. I count my blinks so Mac knows I’m heeding his instructions. Leaning forward, I say, “A singer-songwriter.”
“Because there’s nothing wrong with just wanting to perform. A lot of amazing singers don’t write their own songs. They breathe life into the track with their voice and style. There’s no shame in that.”
“The songs I just showed you…” I grimace. “I wrote all of those myself.”
“I figured,” Mac says, nodding his head. My face falls in dismay. It’s the same sinking feeling I’d get any time a label would reject me. My instincts are kicking in, telling me to prepare for bad news. Is Mac disappointed? Maybe he’s not willing to work with me…
“I’m going to grab a drink, give y’all a minute. Feel me?” Sedi asks.
“Help yourself. My girlfriend makes homemade Arnold Palmers. It’s in a blue jug in the fridge.”
Sedi nods and basically flies up the stairs. I’m grateful that my best friend still knows me so well. Sedi understands I prefer to get bad news alone.
“It’s that bad?” I ask.
“You’re saying a lot without saying anything. What’s your vision for this EP? You only get four to six songs. That’s not a lot of time to tell a story. And all I’m hearing from your current lyrics is you like to pop bottles, get pussy, and hustle hard to get money. I mean is that actually your life?” He raises his brows at me. “That’s a rhetorical question. Reese told me you’re sleeping on your cousin’s couch.” Yeesh. “Look, I get the culture, but it works for some, not for others. In my opinion, it’s tired. It’s shallow. It’s—”
“Not me?”
He points his finger at me. “Exactly.”
“This is the stuff they told me to make in L.A.”
Mac scoffs and crosses his ankle over his other knee. “I’m sure they did. That shit is all assembly-line. Give me any top one hundred song these days, produced by the major labels, and I can tell you exactly what sound farm they swiped the loop from. There are probably less than twenty unique words in the lyrics and they built an empire off of repeating ‘oooh baby’ and describing good head. I mean don’t get me wrong”—he throws back his head and laughs—“sometimes good head is worth singing about.” I’m trying to focus but yikes, my girlfriend’s dad just talked to me about good head… Now I really do need a drink.
“My point is, Miles, there are plenty of great singers who launch a YouTube channel or release a few covers on Spotify, and they’re content. You can book small gigs and perform locally. Hell, you’re managing The Garage, right? You can book yourself every weekend if that makes you happy.”
“What are you saying?”
Mac rubs his hands together and clenches his jaw in what looks like dismay. “I only work on projects I’m excited about, and if I’m being completely honest—I’m not excited about this. It’s typical, repetitive, and trivial. I can’t connect to this. It’s exactly what’s wrong with the industry these days. I’m sorry, man. I don’t think there’s anything I can do with this.” He points to my notebook sitting on the leather coffee table as I try to swallow the bile in my throat.
For four years in L.A. I thought the problem was I didn’t have the right connections. Never once did I consider the fact that I wasn’t good enough.
“Your voice though, man…one of the best I’ve ever heard. I’m not knockin’ your vocals. There’s only one vocalist I know off the top of my head that can out-sing you.”
“Who?” I try to force a smile, but I feel like the wind got knocked out of me.
Mac rises to his feet and holds out his hand. A clear dismissal. “My daughter.” I force myself to shake his hand firmly. Be a man about it, Miles. He may not be your producer, but he’s still your girlfriend’s dad. In fact…
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Reyes. I’m grateful for the chance and I appreciate your honesty.” I twist my lips, trying to hold the words back, but I’m frustrated enough to push my own self-destruct button. “Since we’re no longer going to work together, I guess there’s no harm in letting you know that Reese and I are dating and I’m head-over-heels for your daughter.”
Mac cinches one eye closed as his hand tightens just a little around mine.
“But please don’t worry. I promise you, I’m a much better boyfriend than her last.”