Rockstar Romance: Julian (Contemporary New Adult Bad Boy Rock Star Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 3) by Jade Allen Page B
Authors: Jade Allen
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nodded.
“I sure as hell at least want to try. Now come on and get into the fucking studio with me.”
“I’ve been doing shit takes all day,” Fran said, standing. “Don’t be shocked if I suck on this one, too.”
“I will be shocked,” I told her playfully. “Just play along with the fucking song and we’ll record it and work it out, okay?” I stopped her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “And if you want something from me—to talk, or to like, be committed or something—just fucking tell me. Don’t keep putting it off.”
“Take your own advice, asshole,” Fran said, before leaning up onto the balls of her feet to kiss me on the lips for just a second. “Let’s go.”
****
“You’re up, kid,” Les told me. It was after hours again; it was actually almost nine at night, after everyone had gone to wherever they were going to camp out to celebrate finishing up the EP. I’d somehow managed to talk Les into staying late for the rest of the recording sessions, so Fran and I could work out the material we wanted to do together.
I’d also talked to Ron about the possibility of releasing it. “I don’t want it to be some bullshit thing of me going solo—that’s not what this is about,” I’d told him. “But it could be marketable, especially after the EP.” He’d said he’d look into it with the label once Fran and I had something to show for our after-hours sessions.
I’ve never thought of myself as much of a vocalist; Alex had joined the band so early on when we’d formed that there hadn’t been a point in even trying, apart from the occasional backing track for a song here and there. But Fran and I had been working on material together, and she’d insisted that for the song we’d started out with, she absolutely wanted me to contribute more than guitar. She wanted me to sing it with her.
I stood up and went into the vocal booth, right next to the control room. Fran had been working on vocals to one of my songs—a ballad, unlike anything I’d done with Molly Riot before—so she was still in place, headphones on, right in front of the mic. I took another quick breath and grabbed the extra set of headphones in the booth, putting them over my ears. “Let me see the lyric sheet again,” I told Fran. I still wasn’t sure what she had in mind was a good idea; but I was willing to go along with it. Fran had spent the day working on vocal tracks; she and Alex had done the last of them a couple of hours before, including a schlocky, gimmicky duet that we had decided on for the EP: it had involved all the members of both Juniper Woolf and Molly Riot, and it actually—at least in the rough—sounded good, in spite of the fact that we’d all been hamming it up.
I read over the lyrics again one last time, focusing on the parts that Fran had highlighted for me. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Fran had laid down a backing vocal a few days before, a guiding track that she was going to sing around while I did my parts. I thought it sounded perfectly fine that way—but she had her own vision of the song. I have to respect that, I guess, I thought wryly. If I expected her to pay attention to what I wanted for the songs I’d written, I could only go along with her on her stuff.
“Put up the playback, Les,” Fran said into the microphone. I grinned as she lit a cigarette quickly. She’d cut back during the week, to try and keep her voice as sharp and clear as possible, but we were just about done with all of the recording we were going to do for a while. I heard the count-in and then the melodic guitar-and-piano opening of the song, and finally the guiding vocal that Fran had laid down. She blew a plume of smoke away from the microphone and began to do her part around the original, adding a few flourishes here and there.
I came in on my first cue, in spite of the fact that I was pretty sure I was going to sound like a fucking toad. I plowed through it anyway, glancing at the
“I sure as hell at least want to try. Now come on and get into the fucking studio with me.”
“I’ve been doing shit takes all day,” Fran said, standing. “Don’t be shocked if I suck on this one, too.”
“I will be shocked,” I told her playfully. “Just play along with the fucking song and we’ll record it and work it out, okay?” I stopped her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “And if you want something from me—to talk, or to like, be committed or something—just fucking tell me. Don’t keep putting it off.”
“Take your own advice, asshole,” Fran said, before leaning up onto the balls of her feet to kiss me on the lips for just a second. “Let’s go.”
****
“You’re up, kid,” Les told me. It was after hours again; it was actually almost nine at night, after everyone had gone to wherever they were going to camp out to celebrate finishing up the EP. I’d somehow managed to talk Les into staying late for the rest of the recording sessions, so Fran and I could work out the material we wanted to do together.
I’d also talked to Ron about the possibility of releasing it. “I don’t want it to be some bullshit thing of me going solo—that’s not what this is about,” I’d told him. “But it could be marketable, especially after the EP.” He’d said he’d look into it with the label once Fran and I had something to show for our after-hours sessions.
I’ve never thought of myself as much of a vocalist; Alex had joined the band so early on when we’d formed that there hadn’t been a point in even trying, apart from the occasional backing track for a song here and there. But Fran and I had been working on material together, and she’d insisted that for the song we’d started out with, she absolutely wanted me to contribute more than guitar. She wanted me to sing it with her.
I stood up and went into the vocal booth, right next to the control room. Fran had been working on vocals to one of my songs—a ballad, unlike anything I’d done with Molly Riot before—so she was still in place, headphones on, right in front of the mic. I took another quick breath and grabbed the extra set of headphones in the booth, putting them over my ears. “Let me see the lyric sheet again,” I told Fran. I still wasn’t sure what she had in mind was a good idea; but I was willing to go along with it. Fran had spent the day working on vocal tracks; she and Alex had done the last of them a couple of hours before, including a schlocky, gimmicky duet that we had decided on for the EP: it had involved all the members of both Juniper Woolf and Molly Riot, and it actually—at least in the rough—sounded good, in spite of the fact that we’d all been hamming it up.
I read over the lyrics again one last time, focusing on the parts that Fran had highlighted for me. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Fran had laid down a backing vocal a few days before, a guiding track that she was going to sing around while I did my parts. I thought it sounded perfectly fine that way—but she had her own vision of the song. I have to respect that, I guess, I thought wryly. If I expected her to pay attention to what I wanted for the songs I’d written, I could only go along with her on her stuff.
“Put up the playback, Les,” Fran said into the microphone. I grinned as she lit a cigarette quickly. She’d cut back during the week, to try and keep her voice as sharp and clear as possible, but we were just about done with all of the recording we were going to do for a while. I heard the count-in and then the melodic guitar-and-piano opening of the song, and finally the guiding vocal that Fran had laid down. She blew a plume of smoke away from the microphone and began to do her part around the original, adding a few flourishes here and there.
I came in on my first cue, in spite of the fact that I was pretty sure I was going to sound like a fucking toad. I plowed through it anyway, glancing at the
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