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May 5, 2008

Mildew Meeting

Written by Girth McDürchstein on May 5, 2008 7:52 PM
Permalink |  Band News Colby & Perdida Mildew Recording Artists  | Digg It

Dean Charleston had a smarmy look about him—skin so deeply tanned it had begun to develop premature wrinkles, teeth so blinding white I would have needed sunglasses if I hadn’t already been wearing my mirrored aviators, hair so greasy you could plant a flag in it. He sat at the end of the conference table with some other A&R people—one go-getting blow-combed junior-executive wannabe, the other a bored-looking goth chick—when I walked into the room.

“Girth,” he said. In person, his voice oozed game-show host affability that I hadn’t heard when I spoke with him on the phone.

“Mr. Charleston,” I said, shaking his hand. I extended my hand to the others, who looked at me like I had offered them a shit sandwich. I withdrew my hand and sat.

“So how was the remainder of the tour?” Charleston asked.

“It kinda petered out,” I said. “Mikey quit, but it’s not like it was the first time. Besides, he came back the next day.”

“I heard you were accused of being a child pornographer in Dayton,” Charleston chuckled.

“Not officially,” I said. “Besides, it’s not like it was the first time for that, either.”

“That’s exactly why you interest us, Girth,” Charleston said. “You have a rich, unsual history and a certain notoriety that appeals to Mildew.”“

“You mentioned that on the phone.”

“Since you refuse to officially become a Mildew recording artist,” Charleston continued, “we would like to extend to you an olive branch.”

“Isn’t an olive branch typically an offer of peace in a war-like situation?”

Suddenly, Charleston glowered. “Indeed.”

“I…see.”

He snapped back to his normal hyperactive charm. “At any rate, we’d like to buy the Kelleystein Records name and back catalog and give your future material wide distribution under the new Kelleystein umbrella. We intend to offer you a lucrative royalty agreement and one-time bonus for the sale of the label.”

“How lucrative?”

He slid the contract across the table. “Ten percent domestic, 18.5% international.”

I grinned. “Of course, I’ll have to take this to my lawyer and consult with the band before making a finale decision.”

Charleston flashed a smile. “Of course.”

I grabbed the contract. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I hope so,” Charleston said, shaking my hand again—this time with a terrifying, vise-like grip. “We look forward to working with you.”