“Oh, it’s going great,” Dax says. “We’ve already got three songs in the can.”
“You’ve got three songs finished?” Dad says. “Wow, that was fast.”
“Yeah, we still might tweak the mixes, I’m not sure,” Dax clarifies. “But, yeah, all the instrumentation is recorded.”
“Did you wind up using the violinist and cellist you met at my house?” Josh asks.
“Yeah, and they slayed it. Total game-changers on the songs.”
“Well, let’s hear what you’ve got,” Dad says.
Dax looks at me for nonverbal guidance.
Normally, Dax would reply to Dad’s question by saying, “Not ’til the songs are one hundred percent finished, Dad”—because that’s just the way Dax is. I’m the only one Dax ever lets hear his works in progress (and, in fact, he emailed me MP3s of his three new songs last night, swearing me to secrecy). But Dax refusing to play his new songs right now with Josh sitting right here would be a felony-stupid thing for my brother to do. What if Josh loves the songs (and there’s no doubt in my mind he will)? Josh might very well offer to forward them to his best friend Reed, without me ever saying a word about it.
I nod encouragingly at Dax, telling him he should play the songs.
“You can listen to ’em right now, Dad,” Dax says. “I’ve got ’em on my laptop in the back room.” He hops up and disappears into the hallway.
“Louise!” Dad calls excitedly to Mom in the kitchen. “Get in here! Daxy’s gonna play three songs from his new album.”
There’s a clatter in the kitchen. “Oh my gosh! I’m coming!” Mom calls—and in a heartbeat, she appears in the family room, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed, a glass of red wine in her hand. “I’m so excited.” She plops herself down on the couch next to Dad and puts her head on his shoulder (her patented move), and Dad clasps her free hand in his.
I glance at Josh and I’m not surprised to observe he’s absolutely transfixed by my parents and their easy show of affection.That’s right, Playboy,I think, warmth gurgling at my core like molten lava.Watch and learn how it’s done.
Dax returns with his laptop and hooks it up to the sound system and a few seconds later, his first song fills the room.
“Oh, your voice is gorgeous, honey,” Mom coos. “Smooth as silk.” She pauses, listening. “Oh, and that guitar—Iloveit.” She pauses again. “Oh my gosh, those lyrics—so clever. Beautiful. Oh, Daxy.”
“Ssh, honey,” Dad says gently, stroking Mom’s arm. “Listen.”
I glance at Josh again to find him still mesmerized by my parents. Damn, I wish I could read his thoughts.
The song ends and everyone enthusiastically praises it.
“How do you record a full song like that with all those instruments?” Colby asks, scratching his beloved dog’s head. “Did everyone in the band stand in a room and play the song together?”
“No, recording a song’s not like playing it live,” Dax says, and then he goes on to explain in detail how songs are recorded in a studio, each instrument and vocal methodically recorded one at a time onto separate tracks, and then layered, one on top of the other. “It’s like putting together a giant Jenga tower,” Dax explains.
“That’s so cool,” Colby says. “Well, however you did it, the song turned out great.”
I shoot Mom a relieved look about Colby and she returns it. Colby’s been staying at my parents’ house to recuperate, and this is by far the most engaged and upbeat I’ve seen him in all the times I’ve come over to hang out with him.
Dax plays his second song, and when it’s over, we all agree it’s a great song, no doubt about it. But when Dax plays his third song, the room catches fire. And I’m not surprised. When I heard Dax’s third song on my computer last night, I instantly became obsessed with it. And hearing it today over a nice sound system has only heightened my love affair with it. The song is ear candy and soul candy all rolled into one, one of those songs you hear to the end and immediately play again.
After everyone in the room has praised the song up and down, Dax tells Josh that all those stringed instruments we just heard on the track were nothing more than those two musicians Dax met at Josh’s house, each woman playing on about ten separate tracks to simulate an orchestra.
“Oh my gosh, those violins absolutely make the song,” Mom gushes. “I was mesmerized.”
“I guess it was kismet I met those ladies at Josh’s house when I did,” Dax says. He looks at Mom and Dad. “Kat asked me to deliver a dinner invitation to Josh at his house—she’d planned a surprisedinner for him at a restaurant, even though, unbeknownst to her, Josh had planned a romantic dinner forherat his house on the same night. When I got there, Josh had a violinist and cellist all set up to play for them during dinner, so I got the musicians’ phone numbers.”
I shoot a grateful smile at my baby brother, nonverbally thanking him for calling my note to Josh a “dinner invitation” in front of our parents.
“Well, that was sweet of you, Josh,” Mom says, putting her hand over her heart. “What a shame you put in all that effort and Kat never saw any of it.” She shoots me a scolding look like I somehowpurposefullyfucked up Josh’s big plans.
“How was I supposed to know he’d planned a romantic dinner?” I ask.
Josh laughs. “It’s okay. My brother Jonas and Sarah wound up enjoying the dinner I’d arranged, and Kat and I had a lovely meal elsewhere.”
