the day her landlord gave her,
Mick and Gav two months' notice because he wanted to sell the flat, the guitar
tutor asked her to move in with him.
Earlier that day she been writing a song about men
who say naff things during sex - based on him. No, he wasn't going to really
take her there, baby, and she wasn't in love with him. She wasn't going to set
up home with a man she didn't love just because she had nowhere to live. And
she wasn't scared of being alone.
So, what next?
Another shabby, rented flat with people she
wouldn't normally choose to talk to for more than half an hour, let alone live
with? She was twenty-eight years old. She lived from month to month, hand to
mouth. She hated her job, her love life was a big heap of nothing, her social
circle had not seemed so appealing since she came back from travelling - how
she longed to go away again! More than that, of course, she still wanted to find
some sort of recognition as an artiste, but that didn't seem likely to happen
while she was fighting her way through the underground every day, and living in
situations that depressed the hell out of her.
She slept on the sofa of another friend, Emily, for
a while, which was better than the boys' flat simply because it was less dope
and drink befuddled, but still a world away from where she wanted to be.
She decided to go home.
She would take a step back, re-group, and see where
life took her.
Maybe London was too big for her, right now. Maybe
she needed to gain a small, local following, live somewhere comfortable and
peaceful where she could write her songs. Spend a bit of time with her dad. Borrow his car and drive out into the quiet, bleak, flat countryside of the
fens, and think.
Bleak and flat. That was how Ariel Swan felt, that
evening.
***
Ritchie had set up the MySpace page the day after
the first gig.
Thor, on MySpace Music!
The only problem was, there wasn't any music on it.
"I dunno, it could be our gimmick," suggested Boz. "A
music page with no music. I reckon it's pretty cool."
"What?" said Dave, frowning at him.
"Joking, man, joking." Boz slapped him on the
back. "Fear not, guys, Boz will sort it. I know this stoner called Kelvin
- a right geek but a canny lad - who lives with his mam and dad and has a studio
in the spare room. Uses all those programs like Cubase; we can pay him a
visit. Shit hot at mastering, too, he is."
Dave and Ritchie looked at each other and grinned. This was brilliant - Boz had turned out to be a real 'find'.
"That's fabulous," said Dave, "I thought we were
going to have to start forking out for recording studios." It was so weird how
everything kept falling into place; surely it must be a sign. And then
there was the return of Ariel -
"Nah, not these days, man," said Boz. "Most of the bands
on MySpace do it like this. We'll have to chuck him something for his
trouble, but he just likes doing it."
"Our Pete says putting your music up like this is
the way forward," Ritchie said, "because any A&R men and scouts who like us, we
can just refer them to the MySpace page and they can see the whole, er, package,
like, all the gigs and photos and songs, all in one place."
"Aye," said Boz. "That's the idea."
"We need to get a load of fans as well, though,
don't we," said Shane. "I'll get me sister to spread the word and ask all her
mates to be our friends, so we look well popular. Hey, this is good, isn't
it? Much better than when you just had to rely on gigs."
"Yeah," said Ritchie, "but we need photos, too. I'll get our Pete onto that, he's got this geezer who does 'em for his poxy
marketing consultancy website." He looked round at them all. "I might even pay
for them, seeing as I'm the only one of us who earns decent money!"
Our Pete was happy to help, and three days later
the Thor MySpace page featured photos of the band and its individual members.
"Get your mates to take photos at your gigs and
post them on their pages - and tag you in them; that way
Mick and Gav two months' notice because he wanted to sell the flat, the guitar
tutor asked her to move in with him.
Earlier that day she been writing a song about men
who say naff things during sex - based on him. No, he wasn't going to really
take her there, baby, and she wasn't in love with him. She wasn't going to set
up home with a man she didn't love just because she had nowhere to live. And
she wasn't scared of being alone.
So, what next?
Another shabby, rented flat with people she
wouldn't normally choose to talk to for more than half an hour, let alone live
with? She was twenty-eight years old. She lived from month to month, hand to
mouth. She hated her job, her love life was a big heap of nothing, her social
circle had not seemed so appealing since she came back from travelling - how
she longed to go away again! More than that, of course, she still wanted to find
some sort of recognition as an artiste, but that didn't seem likely to happen
while she was fighting her way through the underground every day, and living in
situations that depressed the hell out of her.
She slept on the sofa of another friend, Emily, for
a while, which was better than the boys' flat simply because it was less dope
and drink befuddled, but still a world away from where she wanted to be.
She decided to go home.
She would take a step back, re-group, and see where
life took her.
Maybe London was too big for her, right now. Maybe
she needed to gain a small, local following, live somewhere comfortable and
peaceful where she could write her songs. Spend a bit of time with her dad. Borrow his car and drive out into the quiet, bleak, flat countryside of the
fens, and think.
Bleak and flat. That was how Ariel Swan felt, that
evening.
***
Ritchie had set up the MySpace page the day after
the first gig.
Thor, on MySpace Music!
The only problem was, there wasn't any music on it.
"I dunno, it could be our gimmick," suggested Boz. "A
music page with no music. I reckon it's pretty cool."
"What?" said Dave, frowning at him.
"Joking, man, joking." Boz slapped him on the
back. "Fear not, guys, Boz will sort it. I know this stoner called Kelvin
- a right geek but a canny lad - who lives with his mam and dad and has a studio
in the spare room. Uses all those programs like Cubase; we can pay him a
visit. Shit hot at mastering, too, he is."
Dave and Ritchie looked at each other and grinned. This was brilliant - Boz had turned out to be a real 'find'.
"That's fabulous," said Dave, "I thought we were
going to have to start forking out for recording studios." It was so weird how
everything kept falling into place; surely it must be a sign. And then
there was the return of Ariel -
"Nah, not these days, man," said Boz. "Most of the bands
on MySpace do it like this. We'll have to chuck him something for his
trouble, but he just likes doing it."
"Our Pete says putting your music up like this is
the way forward," Ritchie said, "because any A&R men and scouts who like us, we
can just refer them to the MySpace page and they can see the whole, er, package,
like, all the gigs and photos and songs, all in one place."
"Aye," said Boz. "That's the idea."
"We need to get a load of fans as well, though,
don't we," said Shane. "I'll get me sister to spread the word and ask all her
mates to be our friends, so we look well popular. Hey, this is good, isn't
it? Much better than when you just had to rely on gigs."
"Yeah," said Ritchie, "but we need photos, too. I'll get our Pete onto that, he's got this geezer who does 'em for his poxy
marketing consultancy website." He looked round at them all. "I might even pay
for them, seeing as I'm the only one of us who earns decent money!"
Our Pete was happy to help, and three days later
the Thor MySpace page featured photos of the band and its individual members.
"Get your mates to take photos at your gigs and
post them on their pages - and tag you in them; that way
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