it
big," she'd said, the other day, "you and me, babe - all over MTV and VH1, you
can just see it, can't you? I tell you, I've decided to try out for X
Factor every year until I get on it. It's all about not giving up, isn't
it?"
"Well, yes, partly," Ariel said. "But it's no good
flogging a dead horse. You've got to be good at what you do, as well. I mean, you have to stand out from the crowd."
Melodie struck a pose and pouted. "Oh, I stand out from
the crowd, all right! Anyway, it doesn't matter if you're not that great a
singer these days, does it? They just do all those twiddly things to make
you sound good. It's all about image, these days."
Much of the time, Ariel didn't feel she had much in common
with her old friend at all, anymore.
Listening to Melodie made her wonder if she'd come
across that daft and shallow, too, when she was younger. If she had, the
travelling had knocked it out of her.
Six months in South America. Buenos Aires, Colombia (her favourite place ever), Ecuador, Peru. Staying in the grimmest of hostels, the poorest
of towns, not just following the tourist trails. Meeting people in the most
basic of communities, getting to know other travellers, from all over the
world.
Sydney,
Bali, Cambodia, Vietnam. Hot and dusty, eating octopus and lizard and
anything else the locals ate. After a while, not wanting to be anywhere near
the backpackers bars with all the soon-to-be-students on their gap years,
getting pissed out of their brains and buying dodgy Es with Daddy's money. Not
wearing high heels or make-up for a whole year. Cutting her hair off because
it was too much of a hassle to deal with it long; finding she no longer thought
about her image, how she appeared to others.
Losing Frankie's love along the way when he fell
for an Australian girl called Sadie. Going to India in a group that included
Frankie and Sadie and trying not to let show how badly she was hurting, because
she didn't want to waste the experience of travelling. Leaving them to it,
becoming enraptured with the culture of India. Waking up one morning, two
months later, to find that it didn't hurt quite so much anymore; going back to London with Frankie and Sadie, and being terribly grown up about the whole thing. She said
goodbye to them and moved in with a couple of guys she knew from The Intrepid
Fox days. Time to get back to what was important.
She found she wrote differently, now; the music
came more easily, inspired as it was by all she had seen and heard, but the
lyrics were harder. She had so much to say that sometimes she felt as if it was
all bursting out of her head, as if she had too many feelings, emotions too deep
to be expressed in words; the emotion came out in the music itself, she felt.
She took a job in a travel agent by day, and hated
every moment of it. All those people who were more interested in the size of
the hotel swimming pool than seeing the actual country; every day when she got
home and tore off the travel firm's horrible navy suit and floral blouse she
wondered what the hell she was doing and became even more determined to make a
success of her music. She did gigs wherever she could, and started to get a
small following - so small she actually knew all their names - and a few
positive write-ups in papers that no-one ever read. She sent more CDs off to
record companies, but heard nothing back from anyone. There was little
encouragement from her flatmates; she'd thought it would be a great experience,
living with two other musicians; she had imagined they'd be supportive,
bouncing ideas around, all three of them inspiring each other. She soon
realised, though, that Mick and Gav liked to talk about music rather than
actually making it. Any creativity they owned was dulled by the amount of blow
and beer they got through, the latter cancelling out the possible
inspirational effects of the former.
She signed up for guitar lessons to hone her
skills, and started an affair with her tutor. On
big," she'd said, the other day, "you and me, babe - all over MTV and VH1, you
can just see it, can't you? I tell you, I've decided to try out for X
Factor every year until I get on it. It's all about not giving up, isn't
it?"
"Well, yes, partly," Ariel said. "But it's no good
flogging a dead horse. You've got to be good at what you do, as well. I mean, you have to stand out from the crowd."
Melodie struck a pose and pouted. "Oh, I stand out from
the crowd, all right! Anyway, it doesn't matter if you're not that great a
singer these days, does it? They just do all those twiddly things to make
you sound good. It's all about image, these days."
Much of the time, Ariel didn't feel she had much in common
with her old friend at all, anymore.
Listening to Melodie made her wonder if she'd come
across that daft and shallow, too, when she was younger. If she had, the
travelling had knocked it out of her.
Six months in South America. Buenos Aires, Colombia (her favourite place ever), Ecuador, Peru. Staying in the grimmest of hostels, the poorest
of towns, not just following the tourist trails. Meeting people in the most
basic of communities, getting to know other travellers, from all over the
world.
Sydney,
Bali, Cambodia, Vietnam. Hot and dusty, eating octopus and lizard and
anything else the locals ate. After a while, not wanting to be anywhere near
the backpackers bars with all the soon-to-be-students on their gap years,
getting pissed out of their brains and buying dodgy Es with Daddy's money. Not
wearing high heels or make-up for a whole year. Cutting her hair off because
it was too much of a hassle to deal with it long; finding she no longer thought
about her image, how she appeared to others.
Losing Frankie's love along the way when he fell
for an Australian girl called Sadie. Going to India in a group that included
Frankie and Sadie and trying not to let show how badly she was hurting, because
she didn't want to waste the experience of travelling. Leaving them to it,
becoming enraptured with the culture of India. Waking up one morning, two
months later, to find that it didn't hurt quite so much anymore; going back to London with Frankie and Sadie, and being terribly grown up about the whole thing. She said
goodbye to them and moved in with a couple of guys she knew from The Intrepid
Fox days. Time to get back to what was important.
She found she wrote differently, now; the music
came more easily, inspired as it was by all she had seen and heard, but the
lyrics were harder. She had so much to say that sometimes she felt as if it was
all bursting out of her head, as if she had too many feelings, emotions too deep
to be expressed in words; the emotion came out in the music itself, she felt.
She took a job in a travel agent by day, and hated
every moment of it. All those people who were more interested in the size of
the hotel swimming pool than seeing the actual country; every day when she got
home and tore off the travel firm's horrible navy suit and floral blouse she
wondered what the hell she was doing and became even more determined to make a
success of her music. She did gigs wherever she could, and started to get a
small following - so small she actually knew all their names - and a few
positive write-ups in papers that no-one ever read. She sent more CDs off to
record companies, but heard nothing back from anyone. There was little
encouragement from her flatmates; she'd thought it would be a great experience,
living with two other musicians; she had imagined they'd be supportive,
bouncing ideas around, all three of them inspiring each other. She soon
realised, though, that Mick and Gav liked to talk about music rather than
actually making it. Any creativity they owned was dulled by the amount of blow
and beer they got through, the latter cancelling out the possible
inspirational effects of the former.
She signed up for guitar lessons to hone her
skills, and started an affair with her tutor. On
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