2020-10-20 Meeting the Talent
Still Alive
Location: Mint Studios
Date and Time: October 20th, 2020 3:15 pm
Summary: A meeting of talent and management.
People know people, and people who know people know Mint. Mint knows enough people to keep himself well-populated on a social level, and when it comes to business, selectivity is the king of the game. Thus, having been screened and given the social scrutinizing, an appointment was made, space booked open, and a slot in the daily routine cleared - and Mint has a new social engagement: meeting with a singer.
The studios are a busy space, bustling with life, with a constant flow of technicians and office workers flowing in and out of the suites and sound-stages, moving the materiel and information which are the lifeblood of Mint Studios.
Standing in the middle of it, the rock unmoved by the flow of things, is Mint, and he's wearing a pair of black jeans, beat-up Converse All-Stars, and a hoodie with the studio logo on the back, repping his own brand. At seeing the new arrival flanked by the escorting production assistant, Mint gives a nod, and the PA is thus dispatched to their usual routine, and abandons their charge, Calvin, who Mint approaches with a handshake and smile.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome."
Calvin comes in. Singer he may be, but he has the classic perfect face for radio. Asymmetric features, a wry smile, and unruly hair. He's dressed nicely enough, in light gray slacks, a navy blazer, white button down shirt, and a red tie, apparently going for a bit more formal appearance. He smiles back warmly, and shakes the man's hand firmly. "Thank you, sir. A pleasure to be here," he says. And that voice...a rich, resonant baritone. Just a hint of a British accent. Warm and smooth as whiskey. "Thank you for letting me audition."
"It's strictly 'Mint'," the man says, still smiling, and his handshake, though practiced, is genuine with his warmth and conveyance of admiration. "We aren't the landed gentry here, so .. it's much more informal." He gives a soft shrug, then motions forward, angling their momentum toward the offices, his minor lead a subtle one. "And this isn't strictly speaking an audition, not precisely." He raises his eyebrows. "It's to estimate what you're going to cost me for what you're going to do for the studio." He chuckles. "You were selected by our scout, and I trust their ear. If I didn't, well, half of what I do wouldn't be a quarter of what it's worth. Thus, trust is engendered by dint of being earned." He pauses, opening up the door to the offices. "After you. Do you prefer 'Calvin', 'Cal', or Mr. Hobbes'? I'll abide by whichever works for you."
Calvin smiles, "If we're to be informal, 'Calvin' is best. For varying degrees of formality, Mister, Doctor, or Father Hobbes would be in order. For now, though, let's stick to informal. And as far as cost goes, I'm sure we can both be reasonable." He smiles, "So, how will this work? Going to a stage and I trot out my stuff? You throw pieces at me to sight-read and sing?"
With a nod, Mint absorbs what Calvin says, and then carries them through the threshold and into the offices. Once inside, the busy hive seems more sedate, with next to no hurried motion; rather, it seems that it is a more intense space, with careful phrasing where once elevated voices rang. At seeing Mint, a few people seem to be a little less centered and lose focus, while others seem relaxed, yet none approach; apparently, a social rule is at play, though not an obvious one.
"Well, Calvin, we have five items we can use," he says, "Three are gospels, one is a .. well, it's a murder ballad, and the last one, it's a piece which I commissioned ten years ago and never used. Custom work, the original author, unfortunately, has passed away - heroin kills more than the jazz." To this, he shrugs; helpless in the face of another's demons, apparently. "The murder ballad is nothing new: dates to the turn of the last century, so the copyright never even existed. It's been covered over two hundred times, very little concern from it." And he is smiling again.
The Boss Is Busy: Only Interrupt If Emergency is the obvious social rule to Calvin's eye. He follows and watches, and listens to what is said. "All right. Standard songs, then. But there's vastly different ways to interpret anything, so if you have a vision--if you'll excuse the wrong sense--of what you want things to sound like, what emotions they should evoke, that could help. Or I'll just do my best with them. But I'm certainly game if you are." He's cordial enough, but more sober, serious about the art.
He comes to a halt, and leans in, his tone conspiratorial. "Two of those songs, one in absolute specific," he says, his voice hushed, "Should scare people out of their ever-loving minds. Like, need-new-pants kind of scared." Then he relents, nodding his head. "The other three, a little creative latitude will be given, of course, so long as they keep to the theme - the murder-ballad, though, should stay .. I want to say 'upbeat', except it's about a killer, so.. less-somber, anti-whinging. Kind of tempted to say 'peppy', to be honest." Then he shrugs. "It'll be playing in a non-violent, non-dramatic scene which should highlight the group of survivors.." Then he pauses again. "..also, yeah, this is definitely going to be a horror movie. Think 'The Thing' and 'Snowpiercer', just.. underground."
"The only 'Thing' I've seen is 'The Thing From Another World'," Calvin says, with a chuckle. "Seen a bunch of older ones, though, so I can do that. As for the murder ballad...it almost sounds like you're trying to get me to do a version of Mack the Knife? Is that the vibe you're going for? Or...sounds like near the close of the film. The survivors are scarred, maybe broken, maybe strengthened, but the horror still lurks?"
"Stagger Lee," Mint clarifies, still smiling in tone and in features. "And, no - it's to counterpoint a moment of brief horror with a burst of levity, and the song will be a part of that. Hence, the raising of mood, as opposed to tensions." And he shrugs. "I've made it work before, and I'm not above a cheap shot like that." He pauses, then adds, "And if you're familiar with the original work, yeah - similar ideas at play. Small crew, no resources save what's on hand, closed-in sets, and a sense of foreboding in every frame. Not that Carpenter didn't flat-out crush it in the eighty-two remake, mind you, it's just.. that old Christian Nyby feel, it .. conveys some serious dread, you know?" He beams. "I did like the way he presented his monster. Cold, clinical, weird.. truly alien." He raises his eyebrows with a smile. "Not a common thing, that kind of thought. I aim to improve on it."
"Dissonance between music and action can heighten unease, as can dissonance between music and lyrics. That's completely fine," Calvin says. "So you're looking for something emotionally contrasting to the scene to provoke more unease in the audience. I can certainly do that." He grins, "I hope you don't do 'Humanity is the real monster' that so many are trying to do these days. It's already hollow. In any event...should I take a look at the music, and let you listen?"
With a steady gaze, Mint adds, "Humanity as the villain," then chuckles, "Is as overdone as it is under-performing. If people believed it, really believed, this would be a very different planet." Then he shrugs. "I'm not in the business of aligning minds to hearts or the inverse. Just butts to seats, and cash to ticket boxes." A hapless shrug. "So, I'll have some finer details sent, yet this convo is about the nuts-and-bolts. Namely, that.. well, this is a horror movie. Not just a horror movie, I aim to terrify people with it." He raises his eyebrows, leaning on an empty desk, some office now holding space for them. "If you're uncertain about this being attached to your name, I absolutely understand the hesitancy. Credit can be removed, even edited.. or, well, we can part ways on this project, and you'll have priority listing for my next gig, no hard feelings." He smiles, his eyes selling the idea; he means what he's saying, or conveys it convincingly enough.
"I can work with that," Calvin says. "I have been known to be frightening, even terrifying. So I'm willing to try, and if things work, they work. If they don't, they don't. I love music--performing--so I'd like to try. and as a craftsman, I want to be able to perform to spec. Everything else can be negotiated."
"I'm looking at," Mint says, glancing to his phone, after a brief scroll-through on an already-opened app, then looks back to Calvin. "One point each per song." He pauses. "Translating: if we use all five, that's five percent of the gross. First-draft cut of this movie is three hours, so you'll be the absolute and sole music for it. We won't even have a score for it, beyond the audio effects." It's a rare thing, that choice. "Minimum payout will be fifteen grand per, so.. potentially as low as seventy-five thousand. As for the top-end, well.." He shrugs. "What's five percent of James Cameron's 'Avatar'?" He smiles, raising his eyebrows.
Calvin's eyes widen, and his jaw drops. After a moment, he closes his moth and says in a mostly normal voice, "You're offering /gross/ and not /net/? That is...incredibly generous." After he shakes his head, he looks less amazed, and back focused on the thing. "And you haven't even heard me perform yet. I'm more surprised at that, to be honest. We still have to see if I work well for this." He gives a grin, but definitely looking a bit shaken.
Without turning his head, Mint knocks a coffee mug left on the desk to the floor, never breaking eye contact with Calvin. "I didn't need to look," he says, not flinching as it breaks on the floor, "To know it just broke. Because I can trust my ears. And my scout? I trust their ears. So, asking me to turn my head just to know a cup is broken, let's just say: I can spend my day doing better things." He smiles broadly. "And, yes - domestic gross, not *net*. It'll kill in the international markets, and frankly, nobody is going to die in poverty for having worked on this one. I want to normalize a steady, heavy paycheck for anyone under my banner. Mostly, yes, the unions are a feature in this." And he shrugs. "The rest? Not exactly altruism. I just don't like seeing Skid Row expand into the places where my friends live and work."
"My first day job is celebrating Mass at St. John's in the City," Calvin says, referring to the main Episcopal church. "But what takes up just as much time throughout the week, I work in Skid Row, helping people, trying to give them hope, get them set up on their feet. So I know what it's like. Or I've been learning, at least." He gives a grin, "Honestly, I'd probably ask to have at least a portion of proceeds to go to the charity I work with down there."
He pauses, and then seems to be reflective. During that time, he begins to sweep up, using the edge of his shoe, the debris from the broken mug, pushing it toward the trash bin. When he finishes, he looks back to Calvin. "I can work with that," he says, "And, well, to be absolutely clear - it will be in *your* name, not the studios. No tarnishing of the cash, just.. you, doing what you choose with your end of the money." He seems about to shrug, then thinks twice, settling on a smile. "You know, I think this may be the first time I've heard a musician argue down their paycheck in order to give back to their community. Hopefully, this idea spreads." He chuckles. "You can probably use the tax write-off, no?" He raises his eyebrows. "No sense letting the largess get lost in the shuffle of pride and ego. You do deserve to have a little more of your earned money retained, I'd think."
Calvin chuckles and nods. "They wouldn't turn it down from the studio either, but that's fine. As for keeping more money, well, I don't get back as much in taxes as I'd give up in charity, but it's not about money for me. It's about what I can use the money to do, helping people and giving them hope. Want to make their lives better." He grins, "It's not about fame for me, either."
"You'll still be given some degree of billing, Calvin," he says, though he does shrug. "Unless, of course, you prefer to keep your name off of the brand at play. Dealer's choice, it seems, when it comes to our one-and-only musical addition." Then he pauses again. "Okay, we *may* have some scoring for the end credits, because.. well, I hate a dry, clicking conclusion in the leftover space at the end of a movie." He glances to the western wall, where a window lay, and through it, the world beyond the fence. "Around ten blocks that direction, there's a homeless camp. I'd like, if you'd be so kind, as to escort some of the cafeteria's leftovers to the camp, and get a.. 'vibe check', if you will. That camp is fed exclusively by the canteens and cafeterias of every studio on the run-line, and frankly, I think they have a very.. unique .. approach to our culture." He chuckles. "By the time you're finished, those particulars will be in your inbox and we can begin the test of the sound quality. Some, yes, may be recorded at the sets in question." Another unique hot-take on the sound design. Stranger and stranger.
"I'm not a composer, but if it's scored for keyboard--piano, organ, anything--I can easily do it. Or if you want someone else, of course, that is completely up to you. And as for lunch..." He nods, "I'll go out and mingle. Bring the food, and come back with what I felt. And hopefully not egg on my face," he adds drily.
He smiles broadly and begins to escort Calvin toward the cafeteria, walking through the office doors and into the lobby once more, continuing the conversation. "Excellent, then," he says, "Grab yourself lunch on me, then when you're ready, speak to the head of our Craft Services department, Lillian Moore. She's been our chief food and drink handler since we opened, and she'll take excellent care of you." Then he nods, looking quite accomplished and proud. "Piano will work, incidentally, quite nicely, especially for the closing moments of the credits. Call it, say, a six-minute piece? Small crew, limited cast, condensed scrolling and all of that." He shrugs, chuckling a little. "It's remarkable what can happen when you have no 'executive producers' cluttering up the mission directives. I may go with this model in my next venture, which.. well, if I play my hand right, will be a dramatic offering. Thinking.. Los Angeles, all-in-a-day kind of thing. No lingering story-line."
Once inside of the cafeteria, he motions to the head cook who seems to be drinking her weight in coffee, eyebrows raised at Calvin's appearance. Mint simply motions twice to him, then gives a thumbs-up before he turns to face Calvin directly. "That's her. Not sure what's being served, so.. have at it." He chuckles, patting Calvin on the shoulder, heading back to the offices, the meeting adjourned, seemingly successful.
