AT 29 (61 page)

Miles knew Toby Maine was barely twenty and into his second year at the top of the charts with VooDoo9. He burst on the scene at eighteen with his band's first album. All of the album's twelve songs were written by the teen sensation, who served as the band's front man and leader. He played rhythm guitar, backed by VooDoo9's core unit of five others, equally young and easy to look at. An orchestra accompanied the group during all of its live performances. VooDoo9 was currently the biggest thing in pop music, riding a crest of adulation from early teen-age girls who bought every record, magazine, concert ticket and souvenir the band's promoters could produce. The super group had been on tour for more than a year. Tonight was Madison Square Garden, followed by New Jersey's Meadowlands Arena a day later. Both were sold out.

Winfield opened the interview with a cascade of compliments, touting the boy's remarkable talent and his band's meteoric rise to the top of the charts. He led him through a litany of questions, interspersing several plays from the hot selling album. After thirty minutes, Miles concluded it was all fluff, unlike the other interviews he'd listened to for weeks. After a commercial break things changed.

“How do you write your songs?” Winfield tossed the question out casually.

“It's a process, you know,” replied Maine. “Ideas come into my head at all hours of the day and night and I have to catch them quick.”

“So you write music when it comes to you?”

“I get into this dream state. I hear chords in my head and keep a notebook handy so I can write them down. Sometimes, I lose track of time. I don't even know where I am. It's a rush, man.”

“Where did you get your training?”

“I learned everything on my own. It comes natural.”

“But you had to have some training, right? I mean to write the chords and notes.”

Maine hesitated before answering. “Well, uh, I read books and stuff.”

“So, you taught yourself how to play the guitar, too?”

“Sure.”

“You know there are rumors that you can't read or write music, that your guitar play is weak. Some critics say the orchestra covers your weaknesses.” Miles suddenly became interested.

“That's bull, man. Who's saying that about me?”

Winfield shifted gears. “I believe you know Bethany Williams?”

“I met her once in LA. She's a nice lady.”

“Only once? The two of you don't collaborate?”

“No, man. I don't need help with my music.”

Winfield addressed his listeners. “To all of you listening out there, Bethany Williams is an accomplished freelance songwriter. She works with many of today's biggest artists. Let's hear a cut from one of her creations.” He cued the engineer. After the opening chords it sounded like VooDoo9's current chart topping single. This happened sometimes. Miles knew of many songs that sounded similar. Artists often sampled each other. Occasionally, a lawsuit would flare up, but they were usually settled amicably. Half way through, Winfield cut in and the song faded. “Sounds familiar don't you think, Toby?”

“Never heard it before. No.”

“Let's compare it with your current number one single, shall we?”

“Uh, sure, okay.” Maine fidgeted, looking from Winfield to Loren.

Winfield cued the engineer again. Maine's voice filled the station's speakers. The guitar riffs were sharp. The melody was identical in every way to the previous song. Winfield let it go on longer before cutting in again.

“I talked to Bethany just yesterday. She's a good friend. She thinks you lifted this one and a few others. What do you say to that?”

Maine's face went crimson. He cleared his throat, buying time. “Everybody knows I write my own stuff.” Defiance resonated in the nervous youth's tone.

“When did you pick up a guitar for the first time?” Maine was guarded now. He refused to look at Winfield as he answered.

“I was a kid, maybe thirteen. My aunt gave me a Gibson for my birthday. I fooled around alone after school before my mom and dad came home from work. The rest is history.”

“That story sounds familiar, too.” Winfield reached down to his feet and brought up an album cover. Miles jumped up and hurried to the window when he saw that it was the jacket from Jimmy's first release. Winfield handed it to Loren who seemed confused. “Loren would you read the narrative on the back of Jimmy Button's first album?”

It took her ten seconds to get to the part that explained how Jimmy taught himself to play the Gibson he'd received from his aunt alone after school in his Chillingham bedroom when he was thirteen. When she was finished Maine was already out of his chair. Winfield leaned into the mike.

“We'll be right back after this short commercial break.” A litany of expletives exploded from the young singer's mouth. Miles heard it all through the window as Winfield calmly let the boy vent. Back on the air Winfield returned to asking a few non-threatening
questions which Maine answered without enthusiasm. Then the VooDoo9 front man moved to close.

“Unfortunately, I gotta go, now. I got a lotta work to do before tonight's gig. Thanks for having me on your show.” He gave Winfield a hateful stare and reached for his earphones. Winfield quickly thanked his guest and broke for another commercial.

“You're gonna pay for this!” Maine shouted, then tore from the sound booth and stomped off.

Miles watched as Winfield calmly removed his earphones. He pointed at Loren to take over. A moment later the DJ came into the room where Miles stood aghast.

“Mike Winfield.” He approached McCabe, hand thrust out as if nothing just happened. Miles absently took it, still in shock. “Some of these youngsters are full of themselves. He's a bit hotheaded.”

McCabe marveled at Winfield's apparent lack of concern. He'd just accused the most popular star on the charts of stealing songs. The repercussions would be severe. “That was rough.”

“He'll get over it.” Winfield smiled.

“The two songs were identical and his story matched Jimmy's word for word.”

“I thought you'd find it interesting.”

“I'm shocked.”

“My listeners will be, too. I'm sure the switchboard is lit up already. Let's go to my office. “Loren will do the rest of the show.”

Miles nodded, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He followed Winfield down the hall to a nicely appointed office. A sophisticated tape recorder sat on top of the desk. The two men took seats opposite one another, Winfield behind the desk.

“I'd like to do something special with your interview. Instead of a one-shot thing, I thought I'd break it into several segments and broadcast them over a week's schedule. Sound okay to you?”

“I can't come back…”

“No, I'm sure you're very busy. We'll do the whole interview here and now. Later, we'll splice in some cuts from Button's - er, Jim Buckman's album and give it a good intro to my listeners.”

“So, you'll give
Back and Blue
some airtime?”

Winfield looked away without addressing the question then reached his hand to the tape recorder. “Let's do the interview. After we're done, we can talk off the record.”

Miles antenna went up, but he kept silent. Winfield pressed a button on the recorder and they proceeded to talk as if they were two long-time friends. The DJ began with a series of questions about what McCabe wanted to do with the recording company. He segued into a discussion of Blossom's three soon to be released albums and the make-up of the groups that produced them. He included tentative breaks that would later be used to play various cuts from each album. Jimmy's successful short tour of Australia came up as did Rebellion and Weak Knees, especially their recent gigs in the UK. They delved into Jimmy's name change with Winfield remarking several times that it was the right thing to do. He let Miles shamelessly hype the upcoming east coast tour, generously adding his personal opinion that it would be received enthusiastically. The conversation went on for an hour before Winfield concluded it with praise for McCabe's skillful recognition of talent. Neither Atlantic City nor Jimmy's alcohol problems were
mentioned. When the off button was pressed Miles sat back in his chair thoroughly pleased, not to mention relieved that he had emerged unscathed. Winfield also looked pleased as he removed the tape from the recorder and put it to the side.

“That went well,” he said, eyeing McCabe as if he was sizing him up for the first time. “First, I'll do an edit. There may be some repetitive stuff that I can take out so it won't sound redundant. Then I'll add some cuts from the albums.”

Miles reached into his pocket and brought out the three cassettes, one each of Blossom's current stable. “I brought these along. You're getting them first.” He handed them to Winfield.

“I think we have enough to run three or four segments during the morning drive say Monday to Thursday next week. How's that sound?”

“Great. I can't thank you enough.”

Winfield waved his hand. “Glad to do it. Of course there's the WIIFM factor.” He pronounced the acronym as a single word,
‘wiifm'
. Miles had no idea what it meant.

“I'm not familiar with the term.”

“What's in it for me,” Winfield said, straight-faced, leaving no doubt that he was serious. Miles matched the words to the acronym, quickly catching up with Winfield's meaning

“You mean you want money to air this interview?”

“In some form or another, but not necessarily just for the interview. I can push the albums for as long as you like. I can convince my friends at other stations to do the same.”

“That's against the law.” He was taken aback.

“Like I said, in one form or another. There's ways.”

“I don't play that way.”

Winfield smiled, unfazed. “Let's change the subject for minute. You said I was rough on that kid earlier, right?” Miles nodded, suspicious and irritated. “He got what he deserved and so will the people that manufactured him. He and VooDoo9 are a fraud. It happens more often today than it did a few years ago before big corporate money got into the music business. He records for Rush Creek Records, your competitor, but not really because you couldn't compete with them even if you had twice the talent you have today.

“Here's what's going to happen. In a few hours, Bethany Williams will be filing a suit in the Federal Court for LA County, Southern District, against that dumb kid, Rush Creek Records and guess who, Whisper Ridge Industries of Texas, the conglomerate that owns Rush Creek. Her suit charges that six songs on VooDoo9's current album and five others from its debut album are rip-offs of tunes she wrote over the past decade. She's right, of course, and she'll eventually settle for a big sum if not all the royalties.

“Whisper Ridge and Rush Creek are probably mustering a PR campaign as we speak. They're going to do everything they can to mute what came out this morning. When they learn of Bethany's suit they'll go into high gear. They'll apply muscle to every trade rag that gets ad revenue from either Rush Creek or the conglomerate. By late this afternoon, I'll be served with a lawsuit, maybe more than one. Lawyers will be scrambling all over the place. But, by then, I will have sent tapes of the interview, along with supporting documentation, to a hundred of my colleagues at stations across the country. Included with the tape will be a legal release for them to broadcast it and they will because it's big news in the music world.

“Meanwhile, reporters, not the ones on salary at the trade rags because they're beholden to the ad revenue their owners covet, but the good ones, freelancers, will begin to dig into Toby Maine's background. By the end of this week the first reports will come out. They'll tell of the kid's uncle who is the Executive Vice President at Whisper Ridge. How'd his nephew become a big star almost overnight? Nepotism, not talent. Now, nepotism is very common in the music business, but big companies like Whisper Ridge hate controversy. The EVP will be in hot water. In another week more reports will come out telling about Toby Maine's education, how he got kicked out of four prep schools in three states. They'll dig into his musical ability and find he took lessons on a half dozen instruments, all for a short time and showing zero promise. None of those lessons will be on the guitar. They'll dig for, and not be able to find, the aunt who supposedly gave him a Gibson when he was thirteen. Of course, some woman may materialize, paid to give interviews saying it was true, but that will quickly be uncovered as a lie. That cute little bit about teaching himself to play alone at home while his mother and father were at work? That will be blown away. His parents are divorced, have been since he was a baby. Besides, he didn't live at home. He spent his childhood bouncing from boarding school to boarding school like I said before.

“Three weeks from now, sales of VooDoo9's albums will take a nosedive. All those little girls who think Toby Maine is the cutest thing since sliced bread will begin to move on disillusioned that he doesn't write his own songs and can't play worth a damn. Oh, and Rush Creek Records will get a phone call from PBS. They're in negotiations for the young phenom to do an unplugged broadcast. The sticking point is Rush Creek's insistence that an orchestra back him up. Why does he need an orchestra for an unplugged acoustic performance? Maybe it's because he can't play. PBS will withdraw its offer. In a year, VooDoo9 will be old news. In eighteen months, the band will be no more. Bethany Williams will be rolling in money. My ratings will be sky high. Any suit brought against me and WAGZ will be quietly withdrawn. I'm betting Whisper Ridge's Executive VP gets the heave ho.

“You get something out of this, too. Sales of Jimmy Button's first album will take off. It's his story, true, I presume, that was lifted by VooDoo9's PR machine. People will flock to the original, wanting to believe. Consider that a taste of what I can do for you if you play ball.”