Read Little Men - The E Book Online
Authors: Ronnie Yax
Brett made sure everyone, including Sam, had a drink. But inevitably as the night wore on Brett, Tony and Simon became surrounded by more and more people they knew. Charlie Caxton, Sam noticed, made a fairly abrupt exit after his first drink. Sam was happy sitting by himself watching his new acquaintances as various soap stars, singers, models and footballers swanned around the club, usually stopping at some point to speak to Brett and his friends.
Sam felt intoxicated, and not just from the expensive alcohol he was sipping. For the first time in a very long while he felt important, like he was part of something. He was hob-nobbing with people he admired and looked up to, enjoying the lifestyle he aspired to, and he realised it had taken a highly illegal act on his part to get him here. He didn’t dwell on it but it just felt so
right.
As the night wore on and the music grew faster, Sam could tell his illicit contraband was starting to do the rounds from whatever outlet it was being sold. It had the desired effect. By 1a.m. the small, private party was
jumping.
Chapter Twelve
The studio was alive with activity. It was a recording day, and an important one in the history of NMA
.
It was 9.30 a.m. on a Monday morning and Simon Owen was busy. He was preparing for his newest signing to come in, The Wanton Terriers
.
He was sitting at a mixing desk, fiddling with buttons. Occasionally he
’
d write something on an A4 pad of paper in front of him.
He looked at his watch. The terrible twosome should arrive any minute. Simon surveyed his morning
’
s work so far. Not bad, just some ideas he had been kicking around in his mind since his first meeting with the lads a fortnight ago.
He had been to see them DJ in a club after they
’
d pestered him. He was impressed, the mixing faultless. They played a lot of their own tracks, stuff they
’
d been sending him for the past year. He decided to sign them up, seeing them as a promising pair of kids. Their energy and enthusiasm for the scene was phenomenal. They
’
d struck up an instant rapport in two meetings they
’
d had since, albeit one turning into a rather late session in the pub.
This morning the duo would be working closely with their new producer and mentor putting the finishing touches on a new track. It would be a white label, a few hundred copies pressed in time for the Miami Winter Music Conference. If successful it was almost guaranteed, with Simon
’
s backing, to become a summer anthem.
Simon
’
s PA/receptionist/occasional fuck-buddy, Nina, put her head around the sound-proofed door.
“
They
’
re here,
”
she said, and disappeared. Simon got to his feet and walked out to the reception area. The Wanton Terriers
were sprawled on the luxury leather sofas which were in place for waiting visitors to NMA
Towers.
“
Alright chaps?
”
Simon smiled and held out his hand to greet them. He noticed they were both wearing dark glasses, were unshaven, and clinging to plastic water bottles.
“
Heavy weekend, was it?
”
Mark stood up. He felt wobbly. It had been a long weekend of DJing gigs. They
Mark could handle it. At the age of twenty-two, he was full of himself. He had a real talent for making music and was a gifted DJ. It was doing this that he met his production partner, Rupert Wilkington-Spencer. A former public schoolboy (he was kicked out after getting caught taking drugs), their backgrounds couldn
They knew they had the opportunity of a lifetime. Releasing music on the NMA label with the help of Simon Owen really could propel them into the premier league of dance music.
They shuffled through the long, spacious corridor. The interior was impressive. It comprised a ground floor of a converted print works in fashionable Clerkenwell. It had been divided into various rooms. There were the three recording studios, a palatial office for Simon, the reception and waiting area, and a meeting room.
The whole place was expensively decorated. There was solid teak flooring throughout, designer furniture, and fridges stocked full of food and liquid refreshment of every kind. The walls were painted brilliant white with subtle lighting, not usually needed during the day as sunlight streamed in through the enormous plate glass windows at the front of the building. Modern artwork adorned the walls, as well as the odd award certificate or picture of some DJ or other playing in front of a writhing sea of heads. And the recording technology was, of course, state-of-the-art.
The three men sat on the couches in Studio One, the biggest of the three. Simon was keen to get going.
“
He looked at the others with relish. They shared and understood his creative vision and the morning
The next two hours were spent tweaking and tuning, processing and pre-fading. The hangovers were largely forgotten as the men worked, fuelled by water, coffee and chocolate.
Simon toiled passionately, his face etched in concentration. He had a fastidious and scientific approach to his work, always first to adapt to the most precise technology available. He listened to the track over and over as it developed.
Mark smirked and looked at Rupert.
Simon laughed.
The three men laughed, the alcohol already having an affect.
The raucous mirth was interrupted by Nina appearing at the door.