Rock All Night(44)

Okay, that was pretty funny. But…

“Is it really that bad?” I asked. “I mean, Katy Perry and Metallica seem to be doing alright.”

“If you’ve sold 100 million records, of course you’re doing alright. Because you’ve got leverage. You can threaten to go to somebody else who’ll give you a better deal. But guys who sell a million copies? Not so much. They’re lucky to break even five years after the album’s out. Now imagine the little guys who only sell 100,000 copies, or worse, 20,000 copies. They’re f*cked.”

“You’re joking,” I said. “…right?”

“Most record company contracts aren’t much better than slavery.”

“‘Indentured servitude,’” Ryan wryly corrected him. “You don’t get paid anything if you’re a slave.”

“Okay, whatever the f*ck, but it’s terrible,” Derek said. “Every expense a record company has, from marketing and advertising to the costs of shooting the video to whatever payoffs they make to get your song on the radio, they charge back against the band’s advance and royalties. After you pay your manager, the lawyers, the record producer, the studio fees, and whatever the record company has run up in their giant tab, you could get a one million dollar advance and still be in the hole. Not to mention the record company owns everything you did, from now until the end of time.”


“You’ve got to be joking,” I said, aghast.

“You get some publishing money over the years, if you wrote the song – but if you didn’t, then once the advance is gone, you’re probably f*cked.”

“That’s why so many bands tour relentlessly,” Ryan explained. “Touring is where the money is for most artists. Not the actual songs.”

“But you guys are different, right?” I asked. “I mean, you’re independent, so you’re actually making money on the songs, right?”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed.

“A lot of f*ckin’ money,” Derek said, then took a sip of his scotch.

“Then… why tour so much?”

Derek and Ryan looked at each other – and then burst out laughing.

“Because I love it,” Derek said, just as Ryan said, “Because he wants to.”

I looked back and forth between them, settling on Ryan. “Um… Derek loves it, so you do it?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I like it, too… but he loves it.”

“If I could be onstage 24 hours a day, I would,” Derek said. “There’s no drug, no feeling like it in the world. Ten thousand people shouting your name? Ten thousand people singing along to your songs?”

Ten thousand women who want to f*ck you? I thought bitterly.

“Nothin’ better in the world,” he finished.

“Obviously you don’t agree,” I said to Ryan.

He gave me a mysterious little smile. “The Beatles gave their last concert in San Francisco in 1966. You know why?”

“Because they hated touring?”

“Maybe that was part of it.”

“Fuck that, all of them toured separately after they broke up,” Derek scoffed. “Lennon, McCartney, George Harrison, Ringo Starr – all of them toured.”

“That was years later,” Ryan said, then turned to me. “When they first formed the band, the Beatles toured non-stop for six years. They finally quit because they couldn’t hear each other onstage for all the screaming.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No. The crowds were literally screaming so loud, nobody could hear them play. Not the fans, not the Beatles, nobody. Plus, they were sick of getting mobbed everywhere they went. I mean, it’s tough on us – ”

“Speak for yourself,” Derek said.

“Okay, it’s tough on me, and we’re not even one tenth as big as the Beatles were in 1966. They were gods. And when they were big enough, they just decided to pack it in, and never appeared in public again.”

“They did the rooftop concert in ‘69,” Derek pointed out.

“That was an impromptu appearance for a small audience, not a concert. Plus, they only did it so they could film it for Let It Be. They went out in a huge way at Candlestick Park, and they concentrated on studio recording after that.”

“And broke up, too,” Derek said.

“Yeah, but they probably would’ve done that anyway. And we got Sgt. Pepper’s, The White Album, and Abbey Road in exchange. I’ll take that any day of the week.”

“Mm,” Derek said. He apparently had no comeback.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Ryan said, and slid out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” I asked, suddenly nervous about being alone with Derek.

“Um… the little boys’ room?”

“You can go with him if you want,” Derek said, an irritated edge in his voice.

I just glared at him.

“In America, we go to bathroom by ourselves,” Ryan said with a fake Russian accent.

“Not if you’re a real rock star,” Derek said.

Ryan laughed and walked off.

Now Derek and I were alone.





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