stories from the city; damon albarn

17-

Chloe Erlich went home feeling sick. Joan had decided to go party further with the boys from Oasis, but only after safely seeing her sister off to their driver. The cool air wasn't mixing with all that was running through her mind. Chloe was still fighting back tears.

There were fans for these people all around her. And the more she thought about it, they were tons of people trying to look like the boys, girls, whoever she wanted to never see again.

God. She'd never been happier to crawl into the backseat of her driver's car.

Honestly.

She sunk into the leather seats, practically clawing down on them, trying to sink away from whoever was tapping on the window, knowing it was either going to be a terminally insane person or a paparazzi.

Wait- they were more or less the same.

Either way, she rolled over, laying across the backseat and rolled up the barrier, separating her from the driver, focusing instead on the small television screen left in the back of her ride.

She ditched her coat and sighed, beginning to calm down as her car got farther and farther away from the venue in question.

Chloe hated celebrity culture. She always had. Even though she was so closely embedded to it. Even though it was a birthright. Even though her work was to mingle and photograph them.
She'd seen people kill themselves trying to make a balance, trying to get bigger.

She hated watching kids and adults throw themselves at the notion of something, or someone that wasn't all that there to begin with.

And now she felt sick about it.

There were always going to be people taken advantage of.

Left with nothing.

And she'd just watched the cycle of an era she'd watched her father repeatedly denounce, start itself over.

By the time she arrived home, she'd let her feelings sit a little bit. Pondering upon the ethics of Blur and bands in general. She decided to have a conversation with Maxis. A late night conversation.

As she walked up the looming stairways, eventually making her way over to the edge of her home, she entered her father's studio.

Sure enough, he was in there, sipping on a cup of tea, watching over his crate of records. He seemed a bit empty, as if his personality was going through a recharge at the moment.

"How were the 70's again?" She asks calmly.

"Which part? They were glossy and gorgeous from far away. I got watch the rise and fall of so many from my castle." He jokes "I gained you...and some friends."

"Fine. The bad stuff."

He wrinkles his nose. "That's all anyone ever wants to hear about these days."

"So?"

He shrugs "People were hogs. Disgusting. I saw greedy little fucks steal souls. Managers and record deals turned into the devil, and bands and musicians lost their touch. Then greedy little arrogant arses started rubbing their noses with the wrong sort.

I mean, everyone fucks a fan once or twice. But these were children." He says quietly, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I didn't know that's why they were all so secretive. Nasty fucks. That's why most of them are dead now."

Chloe sighs "I didn't take you as a religious man ."

"You learn new things everyday. Besides. I was raised Catholic. I fight against what I was raised on everyday."

"This is besides the point. Do you think this new crowd does the same? The same as what you saw?"

"Not around me. They'd be stupid to. Why do you ask?"

"Blur is a group of asshats."

"I could've told you that. Those boys aren't only good looking- they've got instruments too. And those are usually the ones that go far." Maxis says shrugging

"No- they're bad people. Damon cheats on his girlfriend and fucks whoever, Graham knows all of it, and Alex tried getting me to give him a blow job and their management helps them get fans backstage and there's so much more-" Chloe practically bursts out

Maxis sits there for a moment. He doesn't know what to do. But he knows he doesn't want to coddle her, or get mad.

He sighs. "You expect too much good of these people. Honestly. Not everyone is going to hold a candle to our standards. It's sweet how much empathy you hold honey."

"I've tried to tell you these cautionary tales for years, not as tales to regale what someone might call the good ole days but to explain to you that it still happens. You are going to encounter disgusting people in this world.  I'm not trying to be the bearer of bad news-"

"Why can't we go to the police? M-16? The government? Stage a petition? Speak out?" She says anxiously

"Because it ruins us. And there's no definitive proof of half of what I've seen. Or from you. Besides, let them handle what they can." 

Chloe groans, pacing around the room, staring up the ceiling.

"I'm tired of bad people being called genius."

"What about me?" He asks quietly "I've been called a multitude of things, someone probably thinks that I am a bad person. Am I not a father? Or a genius then?"

She bites her lip.

"You don't even seem disturbed by what I told you. About them. About Blur." She counters

He stares at her, his eyes softening a little. "Because I already know."

"And you're okay with them? You still like them?"

"I like their music. But I had already spoken to their singer about their behavior. I told them it was going to lead to trouble."

"When?"

"Glastonbury. I would've hoped they'd take a note by now. But they'll learn the hard way. Like anyone else."

The father and daughter sat in silence for a few moments, the studio lights pounding down on them. They were only 4 feet away, but instead felt out of reach.