. . .I actually don’t mind helping people. The good thing is I have relatively few useful skills (amazingly, not everyone feels my main skill, making fun of things, is all that useful) so don’t get called upon all that often.
A guy I know called and asked if I could help him with some lyrics. As much as I may not have really, truly, wanted to (okay, I didn’t) I did because, who knows. Music being the way it is he may just turn out to be the next big thing.
Doubtful. But I’ve passed on working with people who’ve become famous so, what the hell.
I go to his home studio. It’s a nice room. He’s put some thought and work into it. A good recording space and very comfortable. The room is festooned with musical instruments of all types. I’m not sure he can play each of them but it’s a pretty impressive array.
And that’s about all that was nice.
He’s a pleasant enough fellow but languid is too strong a word for his work style. I liked to work fast because I’m lazy. Get to it, get it over, get out. I don’t mind if it takes a while, but, I do mind sitting there doing nothing.
And that’s what I was doing here. A whole lotta nothing. He was fiddling and noodling and looking for things. I’m not joking when I say there was a point where I stared at the back of his head for ten minutes as he looked for something in one of his computers.
Only to figure out in was in another computer.
“Listen,” I say at the end of my rope. It really is a simple procedure, ask me to work then let me work. “I’m outta here. Call me when you’re better prepared.”
He starts to flit around the room in a flurry of, in reality, nothing. Just like the rest of the time, it’s all wasted movement. I stand but he beseeches me to stay. I stay on my feet but am now leaning on a table. On that table is a tuning fork. I pick it up and, being the only instrument I have an expert ability on, tap it gently against the palm of my hand.
While I finally have a distraction he begins to lay out his master plan. Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! That’s no where near what we discussed nor is it in a realm I could attempt to write. He disagrees, I disagree. I’m very accustomed to sparing during the creative process but not very often before it begins.
He steps toward me revealing his ideas. And it’s nothing like the demos he sent me. It’s all sword and sorcery and gnomes and elves and shit I couldn’t write with a bucket of acid and a case of Four Loko. He tells me he had a vision so has to go with his new musical concept.
I”m looking at him as he spins his tail, I mean, tale then reach out and pop him in the head with the tuning fork. Shock is registered on his face but at least he’s semi-focused on the here and now as I put the tuning fork to my ear.
“What did you do that for?”
“Just checking.” I say handing the tuning fork to him. “Yep, I was right. Your brain is running a little flat today.”
Like I said, I don’t mind helping but I have so few usable skills.