Hating the Rich Bastard by B. B. Hamel

Author:B. B. Hamel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B. B. Hamel

I’m sitting on the front stoop when Markus approaches with a cup of coffee and a frown.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“Morning,” I say, standing.

“It’s fucking early.”

“I know. When was the last time you got up around now?”

“College,” he grumbles. “Maybe never. I don’t know.”

“Well, come on. She’s already inside.”

He gives me a look but doesn’t say anything. I know he’s really protective about the studio, but it’s a little silly to worry about a woman that’s been tuning our pianos all alone in there at two in the morning for months. If she wanted to fuck with the equipment, she could’ve done it by now.

I unlock the door and he follows me inside. We walk down the hallway together, not saying much. I wonder how many times he’s been in here in the past year.

Markus doesn’t do any production work. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t have all that much interest in the creative side at all. I mean, he likes music and likes talking about the new acts, but for him, it’s about the money.

I appreciate that. I’m like that too, although maybe not so much as him.

I want to make money doing this. I’m not in the music business for free. At the end of the day, Somesuch has to be a profitable business.

But I also love the art of making recorded sound. There’s so much involved here, from the microphones to the studio space itself. There are so many layers that can go right and wrong, and playing with all the variables is one of the most exciting things in the world.

One tweak and a mundane track can turn to magic. It’s thrilling, finding that tweak.

We walk into the control room. Alice is in the live room sitting at the piano, noodling around with some new tune I haven’t heard yet. I let her just play while Markus sits down on the couch, sipping his coffee and looking miserable.

It’s a pretty tune, but she’s clearly not happy with it. She keeps stopping, going back, making slight tempo changes. It’s the sort of stuff I’ve always done, little obsessive tweaks, just trying to find that perfect sound.

I look back at him and Markus just shrugs. “Decent player, sure. Not worth three hundred thousand.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine.” I turn back to the console and hit the intercom. “Hi, Alice.”

She jumps a little and looks over at me. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, asshole.”

I hear Markus snicker behind me. “Can you play that song?” I ask her. “The one I really like.”

“Sure,” she says, looking at me skeptically. “Any particular reason?”

“I just want to hear it.” I glance back at Markus. I know she can’t see him from the piano’s position when he’s down on the couch like that.

“Okay, sure.”

I release the intercom button. “Listen,” I say to him, and she starts playing.

I lean back in my chair, content with just listening. She’s so beautiful, every single keystroke like a revelation. The music flows out of

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