Artists who give themselves a single name and expect to go far in their career need to reevaluate what they've done with their lives.
It's different when their voice lives up to their name, though. Like, if we're talking Beyonce, Rihanna, or Jem, it's acceptable. But if you choose the name 'Coco' and sing like you've been shot in the leg, good luck succeeding in the industry. It's just not that simple.
I lean against my balled left hand, twisting the coated wires of my headphones with the other. Rejecting anyone is hard, and it only gets harder when you can tell the person is giving it their all. Coco sounds the slightest bit like Shakira. Any other label might swoop that up and use it to their advantage.
Not Borderline Management. Here, we want our artists to be individual. If their voices can't carry their career, they're not meant for music. I reluctantly stretch the hand I was resting on and grab a piece of lined paper from my dividers. My favorite red pen is already out, ready to be used. I pick it up, twirling it between my pointer and middle fingers, hesitating once more before scribbling down a letter that is bound to shock Coco.
'Coco,
Your demo has made it through the first two stages of perfecting and editing- congratulations! Unfortunately, your voice requires improvement before it has what it takes to make it through the third. If you would like further instruction on how to do this, call-'
The music coming through my headphones shuts off, and reflexively I reach up to turn it back up. A hand bumps mine; soft and cold, I have a feeling of who it could be. I take the headphones off and put them close to my small speakers. There are only two people who would dare to interrupt my work.
The one I turned around to see is who I expected.
I introduce to you Coven, my business partner who seems to always have something to do outside of the office, something more important than earning a living. He's got a big heart, though.
"Lunchtime, June." He grinned, teeth and all. "Jetta told me to come get you so we'd all be there for her... announcement."
"Announcement?" I murmur, finishing the sentence I was working on. If I don't finish it now, I'd forget what I wanted to say by the end of the hour. I grab my lunch bag from underneath my desk, hug it to my stomach, stand, and head towards the open door. Jetta always has something to say.
"Didn't say a word about what it is. How'd-"
I glance at the clock: 1:35. I should've headed down five minutes ago, before Coven could get me. People will assume we're together; always have.
I try my hardest to pay attention to his words, but exhaust takes over, and my eyes go out of focus. The staircases seem too long. The floors are a darker, dirtier shade of white than before. Coven's voice sounds distant, like he's meters away, when in reality we're so close his swinging arms hit mine. The breakroom approaches, and I blink twice to clear the fog.
Jetta's voice is loud. Too loud. I can't take an hour of this today. I think I'll quit the lunchroom early and head up to my office and watch Netflix or something. Walking Dead just released a new season, and I've been trying to find time to watch it. Now I can.
"That Coco girl sounds a ton like Katy Perry, right? I totally think she does- I mean, her voice is like perfect! Can I have it please?" Jetta laughs, mouth full of something. "It's really vibrato-y, though."
"I think she sounds like Shakira." I say, focusing on not tripping over my long pants on the way to my seat. I settle in next to Teddie. He usually doesn't talk very much or chew with his mouth open.
