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The Artist
There was no other way to spin it. His last album was a complete flop. Reginald hung up the phone with his manager and walked out of the small home studio. Keisha was in the living room looking at baby clothes. She was nine months pregnant with their firstborn. Reginald was a freshman artist who got a major record deal off a viral youtube song. He got his advance and immediately changed his life. He was by no means rich, yet he got his girlfriend out of a shitty apartment and into this townhome, a new car, and a wardrobe.
Reginald signed a typical 360 record deal, common amongst new artists desperate to get into the industry. A 360 deal just meant that no matter what you did, somebody else collects most of the reward from you doing. This was an afterthought in the face of the advance Reginald was offered. He would have signed far worse to get his hands on that kind of money. Reginald was a mixed genre hip hop artist. His music blended street life with a message. He kept a foot in both conscious rap and street rap circles.
That was part of what made him and the song he wrote such a craze. He knew how to speak to both camps. Sadly, with all fame, it's light is fickle. Most of the public was not as receptive to his larger body of work. As the record sales from this album indicated, Reginald may simply be a one-hit-wonder. If that were the case, he would end up putting this new life in jeopardy. "How did it go, baby?" Keisha asked, but Reginald knew she knew. It was all over the blogs, YouTube, morning radio shows, and social media, his album was dead. "Good baby, they just need to let it marinate a little. It's all good." Reginald said with his practiced nervous smile.
He went on to say, "They want me to attend this label party tonight. They think it will be good to get me in front of some of the label execs and shit." Keisha rolled her eyes and said, "You were supposed to help me pick out baby clothes tonight." Wrapping his arms around her very pregnant waist he said, "I know, you pick them, I'll look at them tomorrow, you know I can't say no to these events." Reginald saw the disappointment flee her face as she said, "I know baby. You go, do you? Don't come back all fucked up. You know I can't party right now." She turned towards him and kissed him. Watching her return to scrolling her phone, Reginald was satisfied she was cool and went to prepare for the night's party.
Hidden in the Hollywood hills, someone very rich, and very aware of their wealth owned this stunning home. Reginald assumed it must be one of the execs he failed to ever actually see. Reginald was not entourage surrounded at his level yet. He showed hp to this event with nobody but his manager. Wading through the sea of mysteriously important people, they found an empty seating section Some scantily dressed drink holder arrived, they both found a drink of choice. Reginald's manager began droning on with the who's who of the party.
Reginald pretended to listen, the reality was, he was thinking about how to not let Keisha or his little seed down. This music shit had to work. There was simply no going back to living that life he was living. Snapping back from his minds escape. His managers talking face, now beaming with excitement was a sober reminder that Reginald still didn't know shit about the music industry. "Listen, Craven, wants you to come to sit with him at his table. This is great. Just go there and make friends, hopefully, maybe he will want to do a feature with you." Reginald took all this in without a jump in heart rate.
The fact was, Craven was the label's lead artist. Reginald didn't know why he would want to spoil his image with his, but he was curious enough. Reginald strolled over to Craven area, stared down the two bodyguards, and eventually was allowed into the smoke-filled seating section, that was Craven's current kingdom. Craven saw Reginald approaching and smiled his diamond flooded smile and began excusing most of the people in the room. The two clasped hands pulled each other shoulder tight and released. Craven picked up a freshly rolled blunt, handed him one, poured a couple of glasses of champagne, and observed him for a moment just smiling.
Finally, Craven broke the silence, "How's the rap business treating you?" He said this while simultaneously lighting his blunt. If anyone in hip hop made it, Craven had made it. They were beginning to label him the "B" word in some financial magazines. The guy quite literally had the Midas touch. His watch and the pinky ring looked liked together they were worth what he got as an advance. "You probably heard my first album didn't sell like they thought it would." Craven just watched him unmoved. "I did. The problem really ain't the music. You just dont have the right force behind you."
Reginald was used to an artist talking in all sorts of code, there was something about the way Craven said that last part that made Reginald's skin bump. There was a glint in his eye as he said it. Reginald had seen that look in the eyes of guys he grew up with. It was a serious look. Craven went on to say, "a couple of friends and I are having a party at my house tomorrow. You should come alone. The opportunity to change all this shit might be knocking on your door." Reginald was intrigued. The fact was, he could use all the help he could get. The room was slowly filling with busybodies and groupies. The two smoked blunts, drank champagne, took photos with some dancers, and finalized the details to meet the next night.
Keisha was not happy to learn about the new event. She scolded Reginald with, "Is this how is this shit gonna be? My ass sitting at home waiting for you?" She half harassed him. Reginald knew she knew what an extremely rare opportunity this was for his career. "Just be careful," Keisha said. "There are all sorts of rumors about him being into some crazy stuff. It's all over social media." Smiling at her attempts to immediately back her words up with YouTube proof. Reginald laughed at her dismissively and grabbed her in a hug, "I won't join the Illuminati without telling you." She jabbed him playfully and said, "you better not."
The following evening found him in the Calabasas hills, weaving through, too narrow road after narrow road. He was smart enough to call an Uber. There was no way he could navigate these roads. He was already buzzed. What started off nervous drinking, quickly devolved into a session. Reginald was feeling drunk and confident. The home Craven owned seemed even larger than the home the party was at. This place looked like a modern-day king lived here. Reginald didn't see street security, he saw legit-looking Rambo in dark suits.
The first to greet him was Craven's beautiful wife. She was so pretty it was devilish. Everyone knew her. Nobody said it out loud, but most were surprised she chose Craven. It worked out to be a real-life beauty and the beast story. Reginald figured, when you're rich like Craven, some sins are easily forgiven. The night began as usual. A drug and alcohol-fueled launch that left all of the real world looking blurry. As the night grew older, the crowd thinned and it seemed the remaining we're an inner circle of sorts. There was this witch looking, lady. She didn't say much. She just seemed to be around. Everyone showed her love, Reginald figured she must be someone.
When the party dwindled to about five people. Craven suddenly stood, went to one of the bars. He pulled five black glasses with some strange lettering on them. Reginald was not sure from where but Craven pulled a blood-red glass bottle shaped like a skull and poured what looked like dark liquor. Everyone but he seemed to know what was happening. Most made their way to the bar and chose a glass. Craven spoke looking directly at him, "I can show you what got me all of this. Do you want to know the real power behind all this shit?" Reginald was already too drunk to comprehend. "Yes, I'm looking for all the help I can get." The group smiled. "First drink all this shit, " Craven said while downing his drink in one go.
Reginald had tried just about every drug Hollywood had to offer since he signed. Whatever was in this bottle, had him instantly losing his grasp on reality. The other party-goers spoke in a strange language that he could understand but couldn't decipher. Their eyes all glowed like stars in the sky. They showed him a life, a life that could be if only he gave his life and his talent over to him. Reginald was not in Los Angeles anymore. He knew they kept saying him, and he had a strange knowing of who he was. At one point he even recalled falling to his knees and pledging his loyalty to him. In an odd moment of clarity, Reginald recalls being in a room with the witch lady and Craven. They had a contract they wanted him to sign. They mentioned this was a deal and it was final once signed. He was told that his debt could be called to be paid by anyone around him to include him. All he had to do was a sign.
The next morning, sunshine found itself gently waking him as he laid in one of the guest rooms of this huge palace. He fumbled for his clothes and found them neatly folded next to his bed, along with an impressive breakfast. He was starved. Making quick work of the food, he found his clothes, dressed, and went to find Craven. Craven was surrounded by his wife and a few label staff. He quickly waved them away as he saw Reginald. "Good morning. Thought we wouldn't see you till later." Reginald smiled awkwardly, " I dont know how yall party but I like it." Both men shared a laugh at this. Reginald asked, "so about last night, what happens next." Craven paused and stared at Reginald. He lit one of those rerolled blunts and said, "now we sit back and let the devil do his thing."
© Rising Darkstar
Reginald signed a typical 360 record deal, common amongst new artists desperate to get into the industry. A 360 deal just meant that no matter what you did, somebody else collects most of the reward from you doing. This was an afterthought in the face of the advance Reginald was offered. He would have signed far worse to get his hands on that kind of money. Reginald was a mixed genre hip hop artist. His music blended street life with a message. He kept a foot in both conscious rap and street rap circles.
That was part of what made him and the song he wrote such a craze. He knew how to speak to both camps. Sadly, with all fame, it's light is fickle. Most of the public was not as receptive to his larger body of work. As the record sales from this album indicated, Reginald may simply be a one-hit-wonder. If that were the case, he would end up putting this new life in jeopardy. "How did it go, baby?" Keisha asked, but Reginald knew she knew. It was all over the blogs, YouTube, morning radio shows, and social media, his album was dead. "Good baby, they just need to let it marinate a little. It's all good." Reginald said with his practiced nervous smile.
He went on to say, "They want me to attend this label party tonight. They think it will be good to get me in front of some of the label execs and shit." Keisha rolled her eyes and said, "You were supposed to help me pick out baby clothes tonight." Wrapping his arms around her very pregnant waist he said, "I know, you pick them, I'll look at them tomorrow, you know I can't say no to these events." Reginald saw the disappointment flee her face as she said, "I know baby. You go, do you? Don't come back all fucked up. You know I can't party right now." She turned towards him and kissed him. Watching her return to scrolling her phone, Reginald was satisfied she was cool and went to prepare for the night's party.
Hidden in the Hollywood hills, someone very rich, and very aware of their wealth owned this stunning home. Reginald assumed it must be one of the execs he failed to ever actually see. Reginald was not entourage surrounded at his level yet. He showed hp to this event with nobody but his manager. Wading through the sea of mysteriously important people, they found an empty seating section Some scantily dressed drink holder arrived, they both found a drink of choice. Reginald's manager began droning on with the who's who of the party.
Reginald pretended to listen, the reality was, he was thinking about how to not let Keisha or his little seed down. This music shit had to work. There was simply no going back to living that life he was living. Snapping back from his minds escape. His managers talking face, now beaming with excitement was a sober reminder that Reginald still didn't know shit about the music industry. "Listen, Craven, wants you to come to sit with him at his table. This is great. Just go there and make friends, hopefully, maybe he will want to do a feature with you." Reginald took all this in without a jump in heart rate.
The fact was, Craven was the label's lead artist. Reginald didn't know why he would want to spoil his image with his, but he was curious enough. Reginald strolled over to Craven area, stared down the two bodyguards, and eventually was allowed into the smoke-filled seating section, that was Craven's current kingdom. Craven saw Reginald approaching and smiled his diamond flooded smile and began excusing most of the people in the room. The two clasped hands pulled each other shoulder tight and released. Craven picked up a freshly rolled blunt, handed him one, poured a couple of glasses of champagne, and observed him for a moment just smiling.
Finally, Craven broke the silence, "How's the rap business treating you?" He said this while simultaneously lighting his blunt. If anyone in hip hop made it, Craven had made it. They were beginning to label him the "B" word in some financial magazines. The guy quite literally had the Midas touch. His watch and the pinky ring looked liked together they were worth what he got as an advance. "You probably heard my first album didn't sell like they thought it would." Craven just watched him unmoved. "I did. The problem really ain't the music. You just dont have the right force behind you."
Reginald was used to an artist talking in all sorts of code, there was something about the way Craven said that last part that made Reginald's skin bump. There was a glint in his eye as he said it. Reginald had seen that look in the eyes of guys he grew up with. It was a serious look. Craven went on to say, "a couple of friends and I are having a party at my house tomorrow. You should come alone. The opportunity to change all this shit might be knocking on your door." Reginald was intrigued. The fact was, he could use all the help he could get. The room was slowly filling with busybodies and groupies. The two smoked blunts, drank champagne, took photos with some dancers, and finalized the details to meet the next night.
Keisha was not happy to learn about the new event. She scolded Reginald with, "Is this how is this shit gonna be? My ass sitting at home waiting for you?" She half harassed him. Reginald knew she knew what an extremely rare opportunity this was for his career. "Just be careful," Keisha said. "There are all sorts of rumors about him being into some crazy stuff. It's all over social media." Smiling at her attempts to immediately back her words up with YouTube proof. Reginald laughed at her dismissively and grabbed her in a hug, "I won't join the Illuminati without telling you." She jabbed him playfully and said, "you better not."
The following evening found him in the Calabasas hills, weaving through, too narrow road after narrow road. He was smart enough to call an Uber. There was no way he could navigate these roads. He was already buzzed. What started off nervous drinking, quickly devolved into a session. Reginald was feeling drunk and confident. The home Craven owned seemed even larger than the home the party was at. This place looked like a modern-day king lived here. Reginald didn't see street security, he saw legit-looking Rambo in dark suits.
The first to greet him was Craven's beautiful wife. She was so pretty it was devilish. Everyone knew her. Nobody said it out loud, but most were surprised she chose Craven. It worked out to be a real-life beauty and the beast story. Reginald figured, when you're rich like Craven, some sins are easily forgiven. The night began as usual. A drug and alcohol-fueled launch that left all of the real world looking blurry. As the night grew older, the crowd thinned and it seemed the remaining we're an inner circle of sorts. There was this witch looking, lady. She didn't say much. She just seemed to be around. Everyone showed her love, Reginald figured she must be someone.
When the party dwindled to about five people. Craven suddenly stood, went to one of the bars. He pulled five black glasses with some strange lettering on them. Reginald was not sure from where but Craven pulled a blood-red glass bottle shaped like a skull and poured what looked like dark liquor. Everyone but he seemed to know what was happening. Most made their way to the bar and chose a glass. Craven spoke looking directly at him, "I can show you what got me all of this. Do you want to know the real power behind all this shit?" Reginald was already too drunk to comprehend. "Yes, I'm looking for all the help I can get." The group smiled. "First drink all this shit, " Craven said while downing his drink in one go.
Reginald had tried just about every drug Hollywood had to offer since he signed. Whatever was in this bottle, had him instantly losing his grasp on reality. The other party-goers spoke in a strange language that he could understand but couldn't decipher. Their eyes all glowed like stars in the sky. They showed him a life, a life that could be if only he gave his life and his talent over to him. Reginald was not in Los Angeles anymore. He knew they kept saying him, and he had a strange knowing of who he was. At one point he even recalled falling to his knees and pledging his loyalty to him. In an odd moment of clarity, Reginald recalls being in a room with the witch lady and Craven. They had a contract they wanted him to sign. They mentioned this was a deal and it was final once signed. He was told that his debt could be called to be paid by anyone around him to include him. All he had to do was a sign.
The next morning, sunshine found itself gently waking him as he laid in one of the guest rooms of this huge palace. He fumbled for his clothes and found them neatly folded next to his bed, along with an impressive breakfast. He was starved. Making quick work of the food, he found his clothes, dressed, and went to find Craven. Craven was surrounded by his wife and a few label staff. He quickly waved them away as he saw Reginald. "Good morning. Thought we wouldn't see you till later." Reginald smiled awkwardly, " I dont know how yall party but I like it." Both men shared a laugh at this. Reginald asked, "so about last night, what happens next." Craven paused and stared at Reginald. He lit one of those rerolled blunts and said, "now we sit back and let the devil do his thing."
© Rising Darkstar
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