"In certain moments, when you're performing certain songs, emotion matters more than technique."
"Eighty years ago there was a little painter with a mustache. Never took a single public-speaking class, yet his raw emotional power started the biggest war in human history."
T-Ray nodded along. The nigga raised in the projects might not catch every historical reference, but he got the point loud and clear.
Take Me to Church demanded serious vocal skill, but cracking the market had almost nothing to do with perfect technique.
The real key was how well it could stir up the emotions of the bottom-feeders, the outcasts, the addicts, the queers — all the people living on the edge.
Phil stepped into the booth and whispered something in Leon's ear.
Smart people don't need long explanations. Sometimes one look is enough.
The second Phil walked back out, Leon flipped the switch — full power, emotions maxed out.
He sang like it was the golden age of rock in the '80s, like Axl Rose tearing through Knockin' on Heaven's Door or Welcome to the Jungle.
No technique.
All feeling.
We've got a lot of starving faithful
That looks tasty
That looks plenty
This is hungry work
When the take ended, T-Ray and George stayed quiet. Phil, on the other hand, was clapping nonstop.
"Damn, kid. That was excellent!"
T-Ray and George exchanged glances. They weren't sure if the market would eat this raw delivery, but they respected Phil's ear enough to trust him.
"This song is gonna sell like crazy!" Phil pulled Leon into a warm hug, looking more excited than T-Ray himself. "What a masterpiece — and it's going to some nigga who doesn't even deserve it."
"Maybe," T-Ray forced a bitter smile. "I'll take your word for it, bro."
As a producer who specialized in gangsta rap, T-Ray knew he wasn't as sharp on the pop market as Phil.
The current pop landscape had gone through hard rock in the '80s, gangsta rap in the '90s, and the wave of love ballads after 2000. In this increasingly diverse environment, no single genre ruled anymore.
Finally T-Ray gritted his teeth and told Leon, "Since Phil vouches for your performance, I'll trust you for now, you slippery white-trash motherfucker."
"So once the track's fully mixed, we'll press 5,000 cassettes and 2,000 CDs for the first run. Vinyl's off the table for now."
The numbers were way below what Leon expected. He saw straight through T-Ray's cheap-ass thinking.
For a regular nobody, sure, that print run might be fine.
But Leon had big plans for Take Me to Church. He wanted cash fast to escape this life, and he wasn't about to let T-Ray's stinginess fuck his bag.
To build buzz you had to give away thousands of free cassettes for promo, and the higher-margin CDs were criminally low.
So he spoke bluntly: "Partner, you're tighter than Scrooge. Who the hell still buys cassettes in 2010?"
"You should have more faith in our work."
T-Ray glanced back at George. "Don't talk shit, white boy. For a new artist this run is already decent. If it performs, I'll press more."
"Remember — you just moved your vocal cords. I'm the one dropping real money!"
"You know how much it costs to manufacture these records? That's enough for me to fuck different bitches on Manhattan Beach for months — all brand new!"
Leon was temporarily speechless. If he wasn't dead broke he would've funded it himself. But now this nigga was acting like the boss.
Can't reason with these niggas.
After signing the contract, Leon left the studio.
The music video shoot was set for two days later.
If everything went smooth, in about two weeks he'd hold his very first signing at Betsy Head Park in Brownsville — the official launch of Take Me to Church.
Leon was walking down the street, guitar slung on his back, when a car horn blared behind him.
"Fuck you, nigga!"
Black guys in the hood loved honking. Even when the road was wide open they'd blast the horn just to fuck with bums for laughs.
After months in Brownsville, Leon fired back on instinct.
Only then did he realize the driver was Phil Bryan, rolling in a black Chevy Camaro.
The car looked old, nothing like what a former Epic GM should be driving.
"Street Jesus, need a ride home?"
"Fuck off with that stupid nickname." Leon spat. "I'm good, Mr. Bryan. I don't live far."
"I noticed your shoes are falling apart. That doesn't match the image of a real singer."
Through the Camaro's windshield Leon saw Phil waving a thick stack of cash.
He was still pissed about how cheap T-Ray had been — the man hadn't even given him a signing bonus.
So when the money waved, Leon didn't hesitate. He slid straight into the passenger seat.
"To become a successful artist, talent alone isn't enough. You also have to learn how to package yourself."
"Dressing with taste doubles your value. I see big things for you, so start learning how to look the part now — at least stop dressing like a homeless guy."
With that, Phil handed over the cash.
Leon practically snatched it, eyes shining with wolf-like greed as he counted it twice.
A full thousand dollars!
First time since crossing over he'd held that much at once.
Phil narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Take it. Go buy yourself some decent clothes."
"Oh — and get a new phone. I need to be able to reach you anytime."
The money high faded fast. Leon suddenly realized something was off: Why was Phil doing all this for him?
The man had only come today as T-Ray's old friend to give feedback on the recording. Even if Take Me to Church blew up later, Phil wouldn't see a dime.
He tested the waters: "I really appreciate your generosity, Mr. Bryan. I still can't believe you're just giving me this much money for free."
"Don't overthink it. I simply admire your talent. I enjoy working with young people like you."
Leon thanked him repeatedly, but the corner of his mouth curled up in a sly 45-degree smile.
A thousand dollars out of pure admiration?
That kind of bullshit might work on a naive nigga.
In the world of capital, nothing is ever free. Every gift already has a hidden price tag.
Even so, Leon took the money without the slightest hesitation.
Whatever Phil's angle was, he'd take the cash first and ask questions later.
At this point in his life, turning down free money would be a crime.