Youâ, and itâs about a rude waitress. Itâs based on a real-life encounter Sapper had with a woman in an Italian restaurant. In it he notices the smear of her lipstick and a scar on her hand. She puts him down but takes his money.
âOK,â Birdie says, âbut the verse is too long and wordy. Cut to the chorus more quickly. Give the chorus a different voice.â
Sapper doesnât want to, but Birdie keeps coming back to it. She fixates on the scarred hand.
âItâs only a detail,â Sapper says in exasperation. âIt doesnât matter.â
âIt does to her,â says Birdie.
Whose song is this? Sapper wants to say. Is it mine or yours? But he says, âIs it mine or the waitressâs?â
âBoth â if you want it to be interesting,â she says. âYours if you want it boring.â
So, reluctantly Sapper starts to work with Birdie and the chorus becomes the waitress telling the singer about the scar on her hand. She says, âThirty-nine stitches, those sons of bitches, God how it hurt. They made me eat dirt. Donât you ever tell Mama, Donât cry.â
When Sapper sings it, Birdie gets him to growl in a mocking way. She puts the harmony a fifth above to give it a harsher sound. Karen isnât around so Birdie sings it herself. What emerges is a tired, hurt woman who wonât take any crap from an attractive young man.
Sapper would never have written a song like that by himself. But when he listens to the playback he realises that the chorus now defines the song and that the song is dark and much stronger.
The A&R man drops in and hears some of it. âBetter,â he says. âWay more punch. Could be a single.â
And Sapper feels proud.
âI donât think you guys understand what proper A&R is,â the A&R man adds. âA&R is whatever it takes. And sometimes what it takes is a song doctor.â
And Sapper feels humiliated.
Proud. Humiliated. Confused.
The A&R man takes Birdie aside and Sapper watches their private conversation through an open door. He canât hear what theyâre saying but heâs sure they are talking about him and his song. He hopes Birdie isnât reporting that he gave her a hard time, that he thought the song was perfect and didnât want to work on it. His dim little insight is that there might be people around who know more about stuff than he does. Well, anyway, different stuff.
In fact, the A&R man is worried about his job. Dog Records has a new boss and the company is cutting some of his bands. Others have been in preproduction far too long. Is Dog edging him out? He thinks Birdie has friends in high places and perhaps sheâll put in a word for him.
Sapper, watching through the open door, sees Birdie pull her sweater down over her fingers as if her hands are cold. He canât see her face but her pose is defensive. She looks like something out of an old French movie â the faulty strip lighting in the corridor is stammering and her hair flares in staccato bursts. The A&R man has more to say. Then he stoops and kisses her on both cheeks. He turns and walks away. Birdie, starring in an old French movie, remains. She doesnât watch him go. She stands, head lowered, thinking.
When she returns to the rehearsal room, Sapper feels her absence more than her presence. During her talk with the A&R man she has become detached from Sapper and he misses the warmth.
IV
Dancing for Daddy
Before he met me, Jack was managed by a man called Sasson Freel. Sasson and Jack went to the same school and Sasson got Jackâs first band its first ever gig at his sisterâs birthday party. Sometimes it happens like that â a bunch of fifteen-year-old kids banging away in their dadsâ garages or school music rooms become hot property. And the first kid to pass his driving test and acquire wheels
can
find himself with hot property on his hands.
But not for long. As
âOK,â Birdie says, âbut the verse is too long and wordy. Cut to the chorus more quickly. Give the chorus a different voice.â
Sapper doesnât want to, but Birdie keeps coming back to it. She fixates on the scarred hand.
âItâs only a detail,â Sapper says in exasperation. âIt doesnât matter.â
âIt does to her,â says Birdie.
Whose song is this? Sapper wants to say. Is it mine or yours? But he says, âIs it mine or the waitressâs?â
âBoth â if you want it to be interesting,â she says. âYours if you want it boring.â
So, reluctantly Sapper starts to work with Birdie and the chorus becomes the waitress telling the singer about the scar on her hand. She says, âThirty-nine stitches, those sons of bitches, God how it hurt. They made me eat dirt. Donât you ever tell Mama, Donât cry.â
When Sapper sings it, Birdie gets him to growl in a mocking way. She puts the harmony a fifth above to give it a harsher sound. Karen isnât around so Birdie sings it herself. What emerges is a tired, hurt woman who wonât take any crap from an attractive young man.
Sapper would never have written a song like that by himself. But when he listens to the playback he realises that the chorus now defines the song and that the song is dark and much stronger.
The A&R man drops in and hears some of it. âBetter,â he says. âWay more punch. Could be a single.â
And Sapper feels proud.
âI donât think you guys understand what proper A&R is,â the A&R man adds. âA&R is whatever it takes. And sometimes what it takes is a song doctor.â
And Sapper feels humiliated.
Proud. Humiliated. Confused.
The A&R man takes Birdie aside and Sapper watches their private conversation through an open door. He canât hear what theyâre saying but heâs sure they are talking about him and his song. He hopes Birdie isnât reporting that he gave her a hard time, that he thought the song was perfect and didnât want to work on it. His dim little insight is that there might be people around who know more about stuff than he does. Well, anyway, different stuff.
In fact, the A&R man is worried about his job. Dog Records has a new boss and the company is cutting some of his bands. Others have been in preproduction far too long. Is Dog edging him out? He thinks Birdie has friends in high places and perhaps sheâll put in a word for him.
Sapper, watching through the open door, sees Birdie pull her sweater down over her fingers as if her hands are cold. He canât see her face but her pose is defensive. She looks like something out of an old French movie â the faulty strip lighting in the corridor is stammering and her hair flares in staccato bursts. The A&R man has more to say. Then he stoops and kisses her on both cheeks. He turns and walks away. Birdie, starring in an old French movie, remains. She doesnât watch him go. She stands, head lowered, thinking.
When she returns to the rehearsal room, Sapper feels her absence more than her presence. During her talk with the A&R man she has become detached from Sapper and he misses the warmth.
IV
Dancing for Daddy
Before he met me, Jack was managed by a man called Sasson Freel. Sasson and Jack went to the same school and Sasson got Jackâs first band its first ever gig at his sisterâs birthday party. Sometimes it happens like that â a bunch of fifteen-year-old kids banging away in their dadsâ garages or school music rooms become hot property. And the first kid to pass his driving test and acquire wheels
can
find himself with hot property on his hands.
But not for long. As
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