Six
Jessie Humphrey scrolled through her cell phone contacts and located the number she was searching for.
Her dream list of world-famous producers was a short one, but Chase Stratton reigned supreme. He’d worked with the top talent out there. Single-name artists at the pinnacle of their careers and critically acclaimed artists on the rise.
Jessie paced her tiny one-bedroom apartment in SoHo and chewed on her fingernails. Her entire future was riding on making this happen.
She sank onto the living room chair where she did much of her songwriting.
Her record label had offered her a new contract. To her agent’s dismay, she’d rejected the offer. The studio wanted her to make cookie-cutter pop music rather than the soulful songs about love and loss that were her forte.
She’d been writing for some of the studio’s biggest stars for years. As an artist, she had two albums under her belt and a growing base of die-hard fans. Including wealthy, powerful people like Matt Richmond, who’d paid her a generous fee to perform at his exclusive event in her hometown of Seattle, Washington.
With her current recording contract fulfilled, Jessie was at a stalemate with the label’s top exec, Arnold Diesman.
She’d taken Matt Richmond’s gig in Seattle because of the lucrative contract. Money she would invest in starting her own independent label where she would retain creative control.
Chase had a long line of artists with household names and the deep pockets of the record labels backing them. But Jessie needed to convince him to take a chance on working on her indie project.
She’d called in every favor she had to track down the phone number of Chase’s personal assistant. Jessie dialed the number.
“This is Lita.”
“Hi, Lita, this is Jessie Humphrey. I sent a couple of demos to Chase—”
“We received them. Thank you. But Chase’s schedule is booked solid right now.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s the top producer out there right now.” Jessie was undeterred by the woman’s attempt to blow her off. “I know I’m not one of the single-name artists he usually works with and that I won’t have the backing of a big studio for this project—”
“You realize you’re making a case against me passing your demo on to Chase, right?” Lita laughed.
“Just acknowledging the obvious.” Jessie paced the hardwood floors. “But he should consider my growing fan base. They don’t care whether a big studio is behind the album. They only care that—”
“Look, honey, not everyone can drop an independent surprise album that’ll shoot up the charts. And it’s unheard of for an independently produced album to be Grammy-worthy. I know Beyoncé and Chance the Rapper made it look easy, but it isn’t. And Chase only deals in top caliber projects. Now, if you have your studio rep contact us...”
“My contract is over and I’m not interested in signing another. I want complete creative control.” Jessie continued when the woman didn’t respond. “I’ve written huge radio hits for Top 40 acts. I know what sells.”
“Look, Jessie... I’m a huge fan. But Chase has much bigger projects in his sights. And without studio backing...” The woman lowered her voice. “There’s a reason Chase commands such an exorbitant payday. He selects his projects carefully. He always wins because he only plays the game when he’s holding a royal flush. I listened to your demo. The songs are amazing and so is your voice. But Chase isn’t willing to take on the risk of working with you without the backing of the studio.”
“I see.” Jessie stopped pacing. Tears stung her eyes.
“I’ll hold on to your demo. When Chase needs a new songwriter, I’ll recommend you. Maybe once he works with you in that capacity, he’ll take a chance on your indie project.”
“If I could just talk to him myself—”
“Sorry, Jessie. This is the best I can do for you right now. Chase is preparing to work on the West Coast for the next several weeks. But I’ll keep you in mind when he needs a new songwriter. Promise.”
“Lita, wait—”
The woman had already ended the call. Jessie sat at the piano that took up most of the space in her living room.
She’d have to find another way to get face time with Chase.
Jessie was determined to make authentic music. She wouldn’t be strong-armed by the studio into cranking out forgettable songs.
It wasn’t about the money or the fame. Playing the piano while singing songs she’d penned about the pain that had ripped her heart in two alleviated those feelings. It seemed just as cathartic for audience members who sang along with tears in their eyes. That connection with her listeners meant everything.
That was what she wanted to share with the world.
Chase Stratton had name recognition and a string of hits under his belt. He took an artist’s raw material and spun it into gold while