Things are wrapping up, we're going to be home in a couple weeks, and I've been so thankful for all I've experienced here, even the less entertaining parts. Poor Robert, he knows his time is almost at an end, but even now he doesn't seem too resentful of me (Unlike Al, who isn't on the chopping block! Maybe someday soon I'll figure out what the hell his deal is). We've shared a few words over the course of all this after I'd avoided him at the beginning. He dislikes Walt and says that despite missing what could have been a big opportunity with the band, he was looking forward to finding another one with management he could get along with better. Walt can certainly be a brutally honest sort, and his love of money outshines the sort of "aged-out hippy" act he tries to put on, but from what I can see he just does what needs to be done. Being a manager for long enough likely makes you more like Walt than not. For me, everyone and everything else far outweighs the less-likable vibes from him and Phil (and further confirms that I would never want to be a manager of anything).
Told Mom on our weekly call that I'd be back soon, and she was of course very happy and looked forward to having me for dinner to see me and talk about things in more detail. She's as excited as I've been for all of this if not more; she's been fully in my corner and supportive of my singing dreams for as long as I can remember. Driving me to choir and chorus practices, getting me approved absences from school to go to contests, doing drills with me at home after my father left for good[1], "managing" the little high school bands I was a part of, helping me get to college... I was so afraid I'd squandered all of that effort for good, that I'd utterly failed her. I couldn't face her, couldn't even bring myself to really talk to her, for so much of my twenties (and for the other part of my twenties, Marv wouldn't even let me try anyway). And now here I am, here we are. It's such a stark kind of second chance that it almost feels like a rebirth. Like what I'd left behind before hopping on that plane to Denver really was a whole other self, a whole other life. I'll do everything in my power to hold onto this new life. I owe it to her.
PS: Maybe I can figure out bi-weekly calls for the next time? Twice a week of course, not once every other.
Finally back in Cali; staying with Greg because his place has the room for me and we're going to go on the next tour-- my first real one-- soon enough (and then we'll be gone for another 180 days or so! I've NEVER been away from home that long...). Mom had assumed I'd just move back into my old room again, but I could never be a burden on her or Marv like that, and besides, it'd be tough affording the gas driving to and from SF. Mom was still sad and that made me hesitate, made me want to apologize immediately for even bringing it up, but Marv told me (and her) that he thought I was being practical and he appreciated that, and that convinced her well enough. I do very much miss her, and I am so happy to be able to see her as often as I do again, I just seem to have gotten used to the space that was formerly forced on me, and it's something I do feel a little guilty about… it’s nothing personal, either. It’s just an odd claustrophobic sort of feeling. Nothing I could explain.
Anyway, Greg's been around the music business since Woodstock, so he's the one with enough saved up to have an actual house (as opposed to an apartment or townhouse). He gave me a whole guest room-- in the basement, but it's a finished basement, so not at all musty. He has a small piano room on the main floor; he showed me some of a thing he was writing and I was able to add more to it (the chorus, to be specific) and I could tell he wasn't just being nice to be polite-- that writing and singing together was a pleasant experience, at the very least. That my contributions were good enough to be appreciated. Hoping to get a place of my own as soon as I can, of course, but until then, I'm grateful to have a place to rest my head again that's bigger than a closet or the kicked back driver's seat of ol' Miss Rustbucket.
We got to hang with each other more casually as well; I drove him around and stopped at a few places along the way; cafe for coffee n' a bite to eat, park just to be outside for a little while and stretch our legs, etc. I wanted to make sure that he knew that I respected him and his talent, and I just wanted to know how fit into everything the right way-- and how to do that in the studio, not just on the road. Framing it as asking for expertise. Being in the car also gave me an excuse to sing to him which I took with no shame. "Sheesh, you don't need a key cue or anything, you can jump in just like that, huh?", he said. Key cues are still very helpful! So the conversation drifted into singing and vocal technique, and then into keyboard n' electric organ things because I know SO little about that still (piano sort of, electric organ/keyboard no!) and I do love learning when I have the time/energy. Especially from people who have such a passion for what they do. We talked for so long that I needed to get gas and Greg was so kind to pay for it for me, it's still SO awfully expensive (and then insisted I not pay him back!!).
G-d... On the road I was skeptical that I'd be able to really fit in with anybody; that I'd always be on the outside looking in to some degree-- I'm used to that, after all, and it's easier to predict for. But now, I've been able to write with Nate, crack jokes and take pictures with Rory, and now all this with Greg... it's harder and harder to not give in to optimism. I still think he's a good looking (and sounding!) guy and that still makes me more tense and shy around him-- but maybe the more I know him, the more used to his presence I am, the less awkward that'll be. As it is, even the idea of sleeping in the same house as him is making me feel so anxious I'm a little nauseous. Ugh, I'm just always so afraid it's obvious when I find a man attractive. I mean, even when I DON'T, I've still been accused of it. And even if I do find him attractive, which I do, that's all it has to mean. I can enjoy it ambiently the same way I've been basking in other sorts of sights and sounds and smells. --I'm really being silly now. I know I can’t deal with this again. Ugh, Jules, get a grip.
It's sinking in, now, that there are some less-than-savory implications to the fact that my arrival in the band is connected to a label-directed shift to more ~pop~ territory. In other words, I've entered into a dead-on-arrival make-this-a-hit-or-you're-off-the-label kind of scenario. No pressure or anything of course, though! None at all! --On the more positive side, it must mean Walt at least thinks I have what it takes to make it all work. He told me that in the beginning, but I didn't think much of it at first: I mean, what else would he have said to the new guy he just hired, right?
Being more fully aware of that dynamic's made me more sympathetic about the standoffishness towards me, tho. I still don't like it, I still want to do everything I can to change it and to make them realize I'm not a threat to them or at least I don't want to be; I want to be successful WITH them and enjoy making and performing music together. That even if we have to make something more "pop" than they'd prefer, it can still be interesting and nice to perform and to hear; that it doesn't have to be a soulless venture and I wouldn't want it to be (if anything I'd like it to be soul*FUL*)!! I don't think even Greg gets that fully yet even if he was nice enough to give me a room anyway. I suppose all I can do is keep at it and hope for the best-- Mom always says I give up hope too soon on things and she's probably right.
Another thing I dislike about this so far is how much I have to mold myself into this particular image. "Rajani" is apparently a little too hard for Middle America to pronounce. I REALLY don't care if people pronounce it "Ruh-johnny" or "Rajannie" or Pajamas or any other silly old way; I've heard 'em all before. But I doubt that's all they mean. They'd just get in trouble if they said the rest. Oh, but doesn't Jules Riley just flow so nicely though? Sure, I guess. Sure.
[1]“Without a word”, Mom would always say, as much to herself as to me, I think.