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John Carley liked to think he was a pretty savvy talent scout. He’d been in the business for nearly twenty years now so he felt he had to be doing something right. He’d been up and down and all around the Uk and even abroad. He’d seen bands come and go and he’d been the finder for a few big names that were still hanging in there, still making hits.
Of course, he wished he’d had more full sixes but that was showbiz. People liked to say they knew what the next big thing was gonna be. In fact, people made whole careers out of what amounted to educated guessing, but John thought a lot of it was truely up to chance. Maybe like seventy five percent of it give or take.
So yes, he’d seen a lot of bands in his time but the one he’d sat down with a little over a week ago had been one of the most unique he’d seen yet. Unique enough that he was currently sitting outside the office of his long time friend and record producer Mckay ‘Micky’ Cohan waiting for an opportunity to have lunch with him and talk about them in person.
He hadn't received much of a response over them yet and so the only thing he could figure was Micky had been busy and hadn't given them much of a look over yet. He was here to remedy that and he had come prepared.
“Micky will see you now.” His secretary, a very pretty red head, told him from her perch behind a computer in the lobby. She looked new, but then again Micky had a tendency to go through secretaries like John went through ties everyday so that wasn't surprising.
He changed his office decor constantly too and apparently he’d decided on a wood and oak kind of look now. The desk was so shiny and lacquered he felt like he’d be able to see himself in it.
“Hey John how you been?” Micky asked him and John shook his hand and had a seat. “I was surprised you wanted to see me in person, you know. Normally you just send me the demo and some headshots and trust my judgment, must be some band you’ve stumbled upon if you're taking a breather to come down here and talk about ‘em.
‘Some band indeed’ John thought ‘You don’t know the half of it.’
“Did you get the demo from them?” He asked because things did sometimes get lost in the post and he wanted to make sure Micky had actually heard them before he got into it.
“The Gorillaz right? Yeah I got it.” and he pulled the manilla folder and the CD out of the side drawer of his desk and tossed it carelessly between them. John noted that the CD case had been opened, and slightly damaged, but the manilla folder he’d sent with it was not. That, he thought, explained why he hadn't got a call from Micky bombarding him with questions.
“They sound fine for an alt rock kind of band. The recording quality was god awful though, sounded like they were using a kids play ‘n speak in parts but listening past that they sounded competent enough. Nothing worth you coming down here over I'd think.”
John was aware the quality of their demo CD was pretty poor. They sounded better in person to be sure but once he’d seen the ancient audio equipment they'd recorded the disc on, with its hodge podge of spliced together cables he’d been a little impressed they’d managed it at all. That wasn't what he was here for though.
“You didn't look at their headshots though, did you? They have their own studio, if you can call it that, and they cut that demo themselves so that's why the fidelity is a little off, but Micky, you need to see these people."
Micky shot him a look that clearly said ‘Why? I’ve seen it all before’ But he still reached for the unopened manilla folder and tore the end off. He dumped the contents into his hand, straightened out the pages and started to flip through them.
John hoped that what the record mogul's face did as he looked through the headshots he’d taken at the studio wasn't what his own had done when he was there in person.
“Wait, this is the band?” and John nodded and laced his fingers together under his chin. He knew the questions were about to start coming hot and fast and he hoped he’d interrogated the Gorillaz enough on his little visit to answer them all.
“This one is clearly a child.” Micky said, turning the A4 size portrait he’d taken of the girl posed with her guitar on the porch of their self proclaimed ‘studio’.
“Her name is Noodle if you can believe that and she’s their guitarist. All of ten years old.” John thought he might have offended the group when he’d kept saying ‘and her names Noodle? Legally? On her visa? ’ but he hadn't believed it at the time. It just seemed so weird.
“Thats..” Micky said and if this was giving him a stutter John couldn't wait till he saw the other band members portraits. “That might be a problem. Child labor laws are complicated.”
“She barely speaks english too.” John added “She can play the hell out of that guitar though. It’s really her on their tracks and she played for me live and it was better than competent."
Micky seemed to think that over. “Well kids grow up fast and she might turn out hot.” He said and he slid the page to the side. John knew which one's photo he was examining next because his reaction was understated. Couldn't be the singer or the bassist.
“Thats the drummer if it's the big guy. Russel Hobbs, American, recently immigrated here.”
Micky Raised a brow at that. “American? That explains the way he’s dressed. Eyes are a bit funny colored aren't they? Still he looks like a decent enough fellow and the kids these days love the ‘urban youth’. People like a little danger in their music.“
John cringed a little internally at that. Micky was an old head in the industry and he frequently said things that definitely smacked of some pretty old fashioned beliefs. Ah well, so long as he didn't say it in front of anyone who’d kick up a fuss.
“Actually he was pretty soft spoken. Sounded like he was well educated to boot. '' and that was true. John had found the drummer to be quiet and laid back the whole time he’d been there. It was clear that he was the voice of reason in the group even if his voice wasn't the loudest, not by a longshot.
When Micky tossed that page down and went to the next John thought it’d be fun to try and guess whose picture he was seeing. When he brought it close to his face and furrowed his brow he was almost postive he knew who it was.
“This one's not so bad,” Micky said “ Blue hair’s hip enough but he needs to lose the sunglasses and is he missing teeth?”
Yep that was who he thought it’d be, and here's where the real fun began, he thought.
“Stuart Pot, vocalist and keyboard player, and look closer at the picture, those aren't sunglasses.” Micky tilted it to catch the light better and his raised brow gained a partner.
“Contact lenses?”
“No, just his eyes. He told me what was wrong with them but I can't remember the term he used. Sounded utterly gruesome.” He said with a little shudder, “And yeah he’s missing quite a few teeth but the front ones are the most noticeable."
“Can he even see?” Micky asked and John couldn't blame him because he’d asked the very same thing.
“Not well from what I gathered. He was clumsy and he spent most of his time out from behind the keyboard staring at me so I dont think he has full vision.”
Micky seemed to consider that for a while before he finally spoke. “thats not the end of the world. He’s tall and thin and blind blokes on the piano have been in vogue for a while, might even earn him sympathy points off the stage. People love a good struggle and triumph story. His voice in the demo was nice enough, smooth voice like that would sell well in interviews.”
John couldn't stop the little huff of air from leaving him at that. He suddenly remembered what he’d brought in his jacket pocket and he fished it out so Micky could have a listen. He’d originally thought of mailing it with the demo but he’d accidentally left it out of the package and so he’d just decided to bring it in person today.
“See you'd think that right? But when he talks he sounds like a teenager going through puberty even though he’s in his twenties. Plus the teeth give him a speech impediment and he’s a proper cockney on top of that! Here, I tried to get them to record a bit of audio play to send with the demo but.. well, just give this a listen.”
He put the little tape recorded on the desk between them, made sure it was re wound all the way and then hit play. a few seconds of silence before his own voice filled the air.
“This is just a recording to give the producer a little taste of your personality. Start out with your name and what you do.”
“Ok!” and even from just that one word he saw Micky cringe “I’m Stuart Harold Tusspot, lead vocalist of the band Gorillaz!”
Silence. Nothing but silence for a full thirty seconds before John's voice cut in again.
“err you need to say something for the record label."
“Somefing”
“No thats not what i meant, i meant say anything”
“anyfing”
“No I just..say something about yourself that you’d like them to hear.”
“somefing about yourself that you’d like ‘em to ‘ear”
“No, that's not what I meant.”
“Well just say what you mean then ‘cause I'm doin everyfing you ask and I don't fink..”
John cut the recording off there. Micky gave him a chuckle for his efforts.
“Well you’re right his talking voice is pretty unappealing but at least he’s a real wise guy! people like that kind of cheeky shite from young performers."
John would have agreed with him that it was funny but Micky hadn't been there to see it.
In person..well..
“See the thing is Micky, I'm not so sure that’s what he is, a ‘wise guy’ . I thought that too at first like ‘Ha this guy's funny, he really knows how to keep a bit going!’ but he never dropped it. Never laughed either and the others chuckled a little but the longer it went on the less they did and i’ll tell you Micky, it did go on. I’ve five minutes of that from him and he was actually getting angry towards the end so I had to call it.”
Micky didn't seem to know what to say about that and after looking at the picture of the singer leaned back in his chair and tossed it to the table as well. He shouldn't have leaned back because John knew who was last in the stack and sure enough it made Micky sit up properly once again.
“Uggh who is this guy? An extra from a horror film?”
“Ah..that would be the bassist Murdoc Niccals.” and Truthfully it was mostly him that had prompted John to make the trip to south London for this meeting. If Micky was going to sign this group he deserved a proper warning.
“Whats happened to your camera lense? Color is all wonky.”
“No, I'm afraid that's what he actually looks like. I thought it was the lighting in their studio at first too but he was just as green outside as he was in the house, and before you ask no, it’s not makeup. I managed to corner the vocalist alone for a few seconds to ask him and apparently that's just how he looks. Wild isn't it?”
Micky had put the picture down on the desk and despite the pretty good lighting from his office overheads he'd scooted his desk lamp over and turned it on to get an even better look.
“Christ, where was he conceived? A graveyard? No this guy is what we in the business call a real catch and release type. Totally unmarketable.” and he shook his head.
“The blue haired half wit is one thing but this guy’ll have to be dropped ASAP and somebody with at least a little aesthetic appeal put in his place. Preferably someone whose portrait doesn't look like it's missing an ‘if you see this man immediately call nine nine nine’ caption at the bottom! I mean where did you even excavate this guy?”
After talking with the bassist for a few hours John had wanted to know the answer to that very question. Rarely did he ever dig into the pasts of any of the talent he scouted outside of very basic background checks. After all he was no detective and if they eventually got signed all artists contracts specified that they disclose any criminal activity or risk being dropped without notice as soon as it came to light.
But this guy had just been so weird that he’d actually done a little digging in his personal time and what he’d found hadn’t been much but it was interesting nonetheless.
“Turns out he’s pretty well known around the little town he grew up in. He and the singer both are from there and have some kind of history together I couldn't quite parse out. Niccals is apparently a 9th year dropout and a bit of a vagrant. I asked around a little and people either slammed the door in my face or had nothing but bad things to say. Not a very well liked individual though a few mentioned he was a good guitarist.”
He knew Micky had been in the industry long enough to be a good judge of character, and apparently he had this man's character judged just from the picture alone.
“Sounds like trouble all around. A little danger is good for sales but too much is a headache. All the more reason to dump him.” and there was the real problem. Because John, well, he wasn't sure they could dump niccals and he made his doubts known.
“See therein lies the problem. He’s the one who contacted me. Don't know how he got my private number but he did somehow.” John had found that particularly worrying. His home number was unlisted yet somehow Niccals had got a hold of it and left a long winded voicemail asking for contacts to the record label. Not even asking for John himself or his services, just straight up asking for Micky's personal phone number full stop.
“and he’s the one writing all their music. He said if he hadn't and I quote ‘Acquired the little girl and pissed away so much money on her I'd be recording the album myself.’
Micky harrumphed at that. John knew he was used to dealing with artists who wanted more control than they strictly needed but he still felt that this Murdoc fellow was a different kind of beast altogether.
“Good song writers are a dime a dozen. I’ll sign the band and then just gradually push him out, it’s nothing I haven't done before.”
John still had his doubts.
“ See the thing is I think the others would quit too. When I say he’s in charge of the band I mean he’s really in charge, not just leading them creatively. They all live together in this run down old studio outside of the city proper. Every time I'd try to talk to any of them alone he’d be there skulking around and the singer seemed properly taken with him. Kept correcting me over who's band it was and wouldn't answer anything I asked without looking to Niccals first like he was asking permission."
John remembered how weird it was to see a grown man act like that, to see all of them just sort of fall in line to whatever their bassist seemed to want. Even the drummer who out of all of them had seemed the most normal. ‘S’not my band Jim.’ the vocalist had said, getting his name wrong for the fifth time in the course of two hours, ‘I just sing the songs and play the keys. Murdoc’s the one who made us.’ and the look on his face combined with his vacant eyes and gap toothed smile when he said it had made John want to leave right then, demo disc nearly forgotten.
“Personally Micky, the whole thing kind of creeped me out. If they hadn't had that demo disc ready and been willing to play for me live I'd have thought the bassist was trying to start some sort of cult not form a band.”
He thought about the kinds of questions Murdoc had asked too. The specificity of them and the naked suspicion he'd displayed for his entire visit. He had the distinct impression that Niccals was in the habit of listening very closely when people spoke and parroting back what he thought they wanted to hear. Having worked in the entertainment industry for so long it was a very familiar tactic to him, one he usually saw employed on the talent but not coming from it.
“For a man who dropped out of school so early he’s no slouch when it comes to the music industry. Either he’s worked in it before or he’s done his research. Not at all the kind to sign something without reading it over in excruciating detail, even had a lawyer on retainer already if you can believe that!”
Micky listened to all that and seemed to really mull it over. John had always liked that about him, he never just jumped into anything and he was always willing to listen to people who had more experience than him in fields he wasn't familiar with. Right now John felt he was the leading expert on the group of mismatched weirdos calling themselves ‘Gorillaz’.
“We could always clean him up as best we can for now. Everyone has a weakness and if he proves unsalvageable we can cross that bridge when we get to it.” and then Micky picked up the photo and turned it around so it faced John. He still couldn't believe that Murdoc had told him to ‘make sure you get my good side.’ He didn't think that would be possible even with a fisheye lens.
“They make makeup you know and we could get him a nose job. Plastic surgery has come a long way since world war two but even then they were giving men back their noses after they got cut off with shrapnel. Or hey! We could get one of the monster movie special effects guys out and have them do their job in reverse on him!”
John couldn't help but chuckle at that. It was a bit cruel, but he was sure Murdoc had to know what he looked like and if they were trying to make it in show business he’d have to grow a thick skin, or at the very least figure out how to cover his up.
“The asian and the black are fine as is though the drummer could maybe lose a few pounds and hey, if the singer could find ‘em that’d be great! With this Stuart guy you can just put contacts over his creepy eyes and don't let him say much and he’s appealing enough.”
Micky slipped the pictures and notes back into the manilla folder and it went back into the desk.
“So you're seriously considering signing them?” John asked and Micky shrugged. “Sure why not? Let ‘em know they're in the running. If they can cut a cleaner demo all the better. After all, people used to pay to see freaks and if you ask me that instinct is still there. If nothing else they’ll catch eyes like a good car crash!”
John shook his hand and bid him good afternoon.
Down in the street he pulled out his mobile phone and rang up the studio. The phone rang four times before someone answered it.
“Moshimoshi?” a girl's voice shouted into the phone and before John could say “Err what?’ The familiar sound of the bassist's five pack a day voice could be heard in the background. “Here Noodle give me the phone. Hello?”
“Oh hello, Mr. Niccals I presume? It's me, John Carley.”
“Ah John! the middle manager! What can i do for you this fine evening!"
“I was just calling to tell you that you're being seriously considered for a record deal and I received a request for a higher quality demo in the meantime. I’m free next Wednesday around 11 am to 7pm if you can have it ready by then.”
There was the sound of something falling or perhaps some kind of scrabbling on the other end of the line and then there was a muffled ‘Dents write that down! No, not on your arm you dolt on the paper I handed you! You know what no. Just give it to me. I need it actually readable!’ then the receiver was clearly uncovered.
“Thank you, we'll have it ready by then, no problem John.” and after customary goodbyes they hung up.
John looked down at the phone for a moment before shoving it back in his jacket pocket. He still didnt exactly know what to make of this band but he trusted Micky's judgment and if he thought they could sell then they probably could. Probably.
And if things went south, well, he’d just have to change his home phone number and maybe move. He'd heard Soho was lovely this time of year.