They've been in the studio for hours. Well, they have been in the studio for weeks at this point, but today was supposed to be a quick run through of one of the last songs that Harry wanted to nail down for the EP.
I'd been hesitant to work with Harry Styles when first approached. Not because I didn't take him seriously, but because, well frankly, pictures of the boy were distracting enough, and I knew better than to work closely with someone that made my mind take vacations to horizontal places. Jeff Bhasker had given me my start though, and when your mentor comes to tell you that he needs help and you are the woman for the job, you do it. I was doing this out of gratitude, if nothing else. Jeff had gone on and on about how Harry was the best guy, the sweetest guy, that I would just love him.
Right now I wanted to smash his face in.
All of the promises from everybody who had ever met wonder boy were spot on, don't get me wrong. Harry was all the things that I had been told he was, but we were almost done and he may be the biggest perfectionist I've ever met. That is saying a lot from someone who works primarily with indie artist who are way more about craft and art than plaques and streams.
"What are you doing?' I hear come into the booth from the microphone and see that he has leaned in really close so that I can hear him. I have no trouble hearing him, ever. The hairs I pluck from my big toe are aware when he is talking. All of my hair follicles stand at attention and salute. My nipples too. Id never had to buy a new bra to work with a particular artist, but a week in with perpetual head light nipples had me crossing my arms and looking defensive to mr. niceness. This sent me off to find a better brassiere.
"Im texting my friend," I put down my phone to drepress the talk back button. "I was supposed to be headed her way by now—"
"I'm sorry, Finny," he huffs and I know he hates that I had to change plans for him.
"Harry, this is my job, right? Let's get it perfect! I think we are so close."
He smiles so big and he looks pleased. All artists respond to different things. I'd learned from a friend of mine who was a personal trainer to the stars, to find what motivated them and stick with it.
Harry liked to be praised. This sent me down a rabbit hole the first night when I was strategizing about how I wanted our process to play out. All I could think about was how much fun a people pleasing, praise craving lover would be.
I had come up with lots of strategies, but I had to take those out on my vibrator.
Harry has a girlfriend.
Had a girlfriend.
That seemed to be what had sent him running to the studio in the first place. He had some love songs to record. Then some angsty tunes, and now some break up odes.
I'd known right away about his girl. She had come to the studio with him a couple of times and she had been lovely and quirky and smitten. Him too.
All the attraction I felt for him got pushed down with a strongman hammer before work everyday after that. I was still pounding it on its head most days. Today it was less of a challenge because he was nitpicking like a baboon with a protein deficiency.
So, though I'd love to see underneath his clothes almost all the time it was easy to ignore today despite his increasingly comfortable return to singledom.
I looked at his frustrated frustratingly perfect face and realized he was stuck.
"Harry, what do you think is wrong with the vocal?" Sometimes this was the best way to start.
"It's so high." He huffed.
"It's within your range, pretty comfortably." I reminded him.
"Yeah, but..."
