‹ Prequel: Changes
Making the Album
Daybreak.
They gathered the next morning in the studio. Somehow, they managed to beat Barry there. An awkward silence stifled them, making it hard for anyone to look at anyone else.
"So..." Blondie tried, scuffing his sneaker on the rug.
"Yeah." Tre stretched. The usually energetic drummer looked tired, but smug. Billie rolled his eyes.
"Had a good night, Tre?"
"Very good night.Very good night, if you know what I mean."
Mike sighed exasperatedly. Robert smirked.
"Come on, Tre. We know you're dying to share the details."
Tre grinned wickedly.
"She fucked like a fucking porn star."
"That's what every girl wants to hear at 5:30 in the morning." Tony said sarcastically. Tre winked at her.
"Tony, her rack was huge."
"I'm sure she appreciated that. Did you happen to notice the schlong hanging out of her pants?" Tom joked. Tony burst into uncontrollable laughter at the expression on Tre's face.
"So what about you, Robert? How was your night?" Billie asked, ignoring Tre's horror. The singer shrugged.
"I had to do all the fucking work. She just laid there. God, it was a pain in the ass."
"Literally, or figuratively?" Mike asked.
"You know, I'm glad that you guys have SUCH respect for the women you sleep with. It just warms my little heart."
"I'm glad." Robert told her. She grinned and shoved him as he asked, "How was your night, Tony?"
She smirked at them, catching Billie's eye. The lead singer looked only slightly uncomfortable.
"Basically, it was the kind of sex people dream about."
Billie thanked whatever god watched over punk rockers such as himself that Barry walked in at that exact moment. The producer yawned, slapped his notebook on the table, and gave Tony a stern look.
"Tony, I really don't care about your sex life."
"You should. It would give you something to jerk off to."
"I buy my own pornography, thanks."
Jay guffawed. For some reason, Mike looked away from him. As puzzling as this was, Tre didn't have any time to dwell on it, because Barry was all business. The efficent twenty-something gave a rapid-fire lecture on how expensive studio time was, then dumped the Dolls into the recording booth.
"First song, King For A Day. Get going."
***
Half an hour later, Robert chucked the microphone against the wall in disgust. He was red-faced and frustrated. Blondie bashed his cymbals as Tony and Tom wound down, stopping the song all together. Barry cursed.
"Robert, don't fucking damage the microphone! And you need to sing more, scream less. This isn't fucking Skid Row, it's Green Day."
"I'M FUCKING TRYING!" Robert bellowed back at him.
Barry slammed his hands down on the soundboard. Billie tenatively tapped him on the shoulder.
"Can I make a suggestion?"
"Enjoy yourself."
Billie dropped into the seat and faced Robert. The younger man gave him a filthy look. At the moment, Billie didn't really care what Robert thought of him. That was his song that little bastard was butchering and, he'd be damned if he didn't do something about it.
"Sing it with more emphasis on the melody. Blend your voice in. And stop making it this depressing I-Hate-My-Parents song. It's a fun song, something you'd dance to."
Robert's face turned an impressive shade of purple.
"I'M NOT YOU, BILLIE! JUST GET OUT OF IT!"
Billie stood up, knocking over the chair. He was pissed, pissed at this arrogant little jerk. And he really didn't care who Robert thought he was; at that moment, to Billie, Robert was just another wanna-be. And even though he knew Robert was anything but, Billie was just to angry to picture him as anything else.
"THAT'S MY FUCKING SONG YOU'RE BUTCHERING IN THERE, YOU LITTLE BASTARD! SO SHUT UP AND FUCKING LISTEN WHEN I TELL YOU SOMETHING!"
"YOU'RE NOT MY FUCKING PRODUCER!" Robert screamed back.
"I MIGHT A WELL BE! I'M THE ONE FUCKING PAYING FOR THIS! NOW SHUT UP AND SING THE FUCKING SONG!"
The blood drained from Robert's face. His voice got deadly quiet and he dropped the microphone to the floor.
"Then get your own fat ass in here and record the vocals for the entire fucking record. I'm through."
And he walked calmly out the door.
"So..." Blondie tried, scuffing his sneaker on the rug.
"Yeah." Tre stretched. The usually energetic drummer looked tired, but smug. Billie rolled his eyes.
"Had a good night, Tre?"
"Very good night.Very good night, if you know what I mean."
Mike sighed exasperatedly. Robert smirked.
"Come on, Tre. We know you're dying to share the details."
Tre grinned wickedly.
"She fucked like a fucking porn star."
"That's what every girl wants to hear at 5:30 in the morning." Tony said sarcastically. Tre winked at her.
"Tony, her rack was huge."
"I'm sure she appreciated that. Did you happen to notice the schlong hanging out of her pants?" Tom joked. Tony burst into uncontrollable laughter at the expression on Tre's face.
"So what about you, Robert? How was your night?" Billie asked, ignoring Tre's horror. The singer shrugged.
"I had to do all the fucking work. She just laid there. God, it was a pain in the ass."
"Literally, or figuratively?" Mike asked.
"You know, I'm glad that you guys have SUCH respect for the women you sleep with. It just warms my little heart."
"I'm glad." Robert told her. She grinned and shoved him as he asked, "How was your night, Tony?"
She smirked at them, catching Billie's eye. The lead singer looked only slightly uncomfortable.
"Basically, it was the kind of sex people dream about."
Billie thanked whatever god watched over punk rockers such as himself that Barry walked in at that exact moment. The producer yawned, slapped his notebook on the table, and gave Tony a stern look.
"Tony, I really don't care about your sex life."
"You should. It would give you something to jerk off to."
"I buy my own pornography, thanks."
Jay guffawed. For some reason, Mike looked away from him. As puzzling as this was, Tre didn't have any time to dwell on it, because Barry was all business. The efficent twenty-something gave a rapid-fire lecture on how expensive studio time was, then dumped the Dolls into the recording booth.
"First song, King For A Day. Get going."
***
Half an hour later, Robert chucked the microphone against the wall in disgust. He was red-faced and frustrated. Blondie bashed his cymbals as Tony and Tom wound down, stopping the song all together. Barry cursed.
"Robert, don't fucking damage the microphone! And you need to sing more, scream less. This isn't fucking Skid Row, it's Green Day."
"I'M FUCKING TRYING!" Robert bellowed back at him.
Barry slammed his hands down on the soundboard. Billie tenatively tapped him on the shoulder.
"Can I make a suggestion?"
"Enjoy yourself."
Billie dropped into the seat and faced Robert. The younger man gave him a filthy look. At the moment, Billie didn't really care what Robert thought of him. That was his song that little bastard was butchering and, he'd be damned if he didn't do something about it.
"Sing it with more emphasis on the melody. Blend your voice in. And stop making it this depressing I-Hate-My-Parents song. It's a fun song, something you'd dance to."
Robert's face turned an impressive shade of purple.
"I'M NOT YOU, BILLIE! JUST GET OUT OF IT!"
Billie stood up, knocking over the chair. He was pissed, pissed at this arrogant little jerk. And he really didn't care who Robert thought he was; at that moment, to Billie, Robert was just another wanna-be. And even though he knew Robert was anything but, Billie was just to angry to picture him as anything else.
"THAT'S MY FUCKING SONG YOU'RE BUTCHERING IN THERE, YOU LITTLE BASTARD! SO SHUT UP AND FUCKING LISTEN WHEN I TELL YOU SOMETHING!"
"YOU'RE NOT MY FUCKING PRODUCER!" Robert screamed back.
"I MIGHT A WELL BE! I'M THE ONE FUCKING PAYING FOR THIS! NOW SHUT UP AND SING THE FUCKING SONG!"
The blood drained from Robert's face. His voice got deadly quiet and he dropped the microphone to the floor.
"Then get your own fat ass in here and record the vocals for the entire fucking record. I'm through."
And he walked calmly out the door.