had his tender young heart.. all of his hopes and dreams into those songs and they took them all away from him.."
"why would they do that? What did they gain?" Haley thought it seemed so pointless and evil, "Why didn't they ever release that material, or try to sell it back to him later when he could have paid?"
Michael looked down at his tired hands gripping his glass of booze "you know...I think they probably will sell those songs... but not until he dies.
"But that would mean..." Hayley said horrified.
"He'll never get the satisfaction of knowing if those songs he loved were as good as we all thought they were then- he'll never get to know how much the world might have been able to share that feeling."
"It's enough to make a grown man cry" he said self mockingly, wiping the wetness from his misty eyes. "surely he must still know them, did he have any copies? did he ever try to re-record them?...even just for himself?"
Michael smiled grimly, "you better believe he had copies- do you know what he did? he burned them. every last one. If you know what's good for you, and him don't ever mention this to him and whatever you do, don't ask him to play any of them for you. He probably won't speak to you again if you try to bring it up."
Hayley remembered that melancholic little piece of music he had played when he didn't think she was listening, she knew it inside and out, just from hearing that one time. It's twists and turns and it's beautifully resolved cadences. From some reason she felt like that was some tiny piece of glory leftover from that terrible time, or maybe his lament for it.
”He was so proud when he got that record contract all on his own, no manager, no lawyer.. he had come up from nowhere with nothing and proved that raw talent and guts could still win." Michael sighed and motioned to the waitress for another drink. "Their knife was in his back before he ever knew it.. until he finally felt them twist it...right through his heart"
The next night Hayley was laying in bed when she got finally got a text from Jack.
“Come over. now,” was all it said.
Hayley teased her hair, threw on a simple dress and called a cab, in minutes she was out the door. It was a weird and terrible feeling she felt as she arrived to find Jack in a black mood, brooding with a bottle at his piano. He was listening to an early John Coltrane record. Her youthful cheer seemed to irritate rather than amuse him as before.
Jack asked Hayley questions she had already answered before, as if they were meeting for the first time and he barely listened to her answers. He was focusing on the music instead, humming along to parts of saxophone solos he liked particularly. When she tried to change to subjects she knew they had discussed with pleasure before he simply ignored her.
Hayley was worried, wondering how drunk he was. She had never really seen him drunk, though she had watched him open new bottles and finish them in the same evening. He never slurred and always moved with the same self control, though he did swagger slightly more in the midst of such excesses. He suddenly started talking about his old touring days and her ears perked up in alarm.
Thinking of her conversation with Michael, Hayley felt sick inside. She had never heard him speak directly about that time in his life, only alluding to it in offhand remarks about most rock stars being nothing but stoned puppets or stadium tours being the biggest con game this side of organized religion.
"I played 247 shows in one year and they said I still owed them..those motherfuckers.."
Hayley assumed he meant the record company he had been signed to once upon a time. He rambled on "they killed my career...stole my songs..made me a has been at 28" He had murder in his eyes but his voice just sounded tired.
Hayley didn't dare say a word.. she waited for him to finish. Suddenly, he dropped his nearly empty bottle on the floor and a second later he followed after it. sliding off the
"why would they do that? What did they gain?" Haley thought it seemed so pointless and evil, "Why didn't they ever release that material, or try to sell it back to him later when he could have paid?"
Michael looked down at his tired hands gripping his glass of booze "you know...I think they probably will sell those songs... but not until he dies.
"But that would mean..." Hayley said horrified.
"He'll never get the satisfaction of knowing if those songs he loved were as good as we all thought they were then- he'll never get to know how much the world might have been able to share that feeling."
"It's enough to make a grown man cry" he said self mockingly, wiping the wetness from his misty eyes. "surely he must still know them, did he have any copies? did he ever try to re-record them?...even just for himself?"
Michael smiled grimly, "you better believe he had copies- do you know what he did? he burned them. every last one. If you know what's good for you, and him don't ever mention this to him and whatever you do, don't ask him to play any of them for you. He probably won't speak to you again if you try to bring it up."
Hayley remembered that melancholic little piece of music he had played when he didn't think she was listening, she knew it inside and out, just from hearing that one time. It's twists and turns and it's beautifully resolved cadences. From some reason she felt like that was some tiny piece of glory leftover from that terrible time, or maybe his lament for it.
”He was so proud when he got that record contract all on his own, no manager, no lawyer.. he had come up from nowhere with nothing and proved that raw talent and guts could still win." Michael sighed and motioned to the waitress for another drink. "Their knife was in his back before he ever knew it.. until he finally felt them twist it...right through his heart"
The next night Hayley was laying in bed when she got finally got a text from Jack.
“Come over. now,” was all it said.
Hayley teased her hair, threw on a simple dress and called a cab, in minutes she was out the door. It was a weird and terrible feeling she felt as she arrived to find Jack in a black mood, brooding with a bottle at his piano. He was listening to an early John Coltrane record. Her youthful cheer seemed to irritate rather than amuse him as before.
Jack asked Hayley questions she had already answered before, as if they were meeting for the first time and he barely listened to her answers. He was focusing on the music instead, humming along to parts of saxophone solos he liked particularly. When she tried to change to subjects she knew they had discussed with pleasure before he simply ignored her.
Hayley was worried, wondering how drunk he was. She had never really seen him drunk, though she had watched him open new bottles and finish them in the same evening. He never slurred and always moved with the same self control, though he did swagger slightly more in the midst of such excesses. He suddenly started talking about his old touring days and her ears perked up in alarm.
Thinking of her conversation with Michael, Hayley felt sick inside. She had never heard him speak directly about that time in his life, only alluding to it in offhand remarks about most rock stars being nothing but stoned puppets or stadium tours being the biggest con game this side of organized religion.
"I played 247 shows in one year and they said I still owed them..those motherfuckers.."
Hayley assumed he meant the record company he had been signed to once upon a time. He rambled on "they killed my career...stole my songs..made me a has been at 28" He had murder in his eyes but his voice just sounded tired.
Hayley didn't dare say a word.. she waited for him to finish. Suddenly, he dropped his nearly empty bottle on the floor and a second later he followed after it. sliding off the
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