kid dynamo // silver & vero
Oct 21, 2021 20:52:29 GMT -5
Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Oct 21, 2021 20:52:29 GMT -5
v e r o
Last night, coming off the concert stage, I stumbled blurry-minded to my dressing room, suddenly afraid I was going to shake out of my body. My hands wouldn't stop trembling, soul dying in the backseat of the car as my stomach dropped endlessly at every red light.
It was weird, I don't know.
So I had a drink, and then another, and another, and pretty soon my phone was ringing at 7 a.m. – still drunk, eyes bloodshot, a chicken sitting on my head – I answered the call to my assistant telling me, in a sunny voice, I had an interview in the morning.
Uh oh.
"Umm. Can I just dial in?"
Now, I'm here, sitting here in Fyre FM's green room, sucking on a mint after making myself puke up the alcohol in the bathroom.
I go through the cue cards of words that have never failed me – "purpose," "believe," "grateful," holy trinity of a spotless image, and here are all my palpable, relatable struggles – but in the end, "For me, it's all about the music."
Fifth, Sixth interview this month, and I'm getting so tired of this.
Bored outta my mind, scrolling through my phone and looking up how to tell if my hen is fat –
Man, I gotta stop buying things while high.
My assistant hands me a breakfast of caffeine chews and green juice. I'm about to say, "Thanks Clio," but I glance up at her for the first time today and oh my god – it's someone else now, some other bubbly, bouncing intern that has a knack for spirited intonation and waking me up at the crack of dawn. I literally don't even know who this is.
She's kinda hot though.
I'm just staring at her, wondering when this happened, when the people come and usher me into the studio.
The last of the set's playing, and there's Silver Steele seated with all the mics and the sound desk laid before her like a feast. She's the first radio interviewer I haven't met before, now three years deep into this, coming back to the same circuit for every album, every single, every time I need PR. I pull on the strings of my hoodie before offering a hand to shake. "Hi, nice to meet you."
And then I sit, go back to looking up the kind of diet I need to put Bertha on.
"Vocal rest," The new assistant says, wringing her hands but not skipping a beat, explaining away how I'm still kinda buzzed, how the room still feels a little lighter than normal. But I turn to Silver, slide over my phone and show her pictures of my chickens, pointing to the fluffy, curly-feathered brown one – "That one's Diana."
We've got a twenty minute slot, and who knows, maybe it'll be interesting.
It was weird, I don't know.
So I had a drink, and then another, and another, and pretty soon my phone was ringing at 7 a.m. – still drunk, eyes bloodshot, a chicken sitting on my head – I answered the call to my assistant telling me, in a sunny voice, I had an interview in the morning.
Uh oh.
"Umm. Can I just dial in?"
Now, I'm here, sitting here in Fyre FM's green room, sucking on a mint after making myself puke up the alcohol in the bathroom.
I go through the cue cards of words that have never failed me – "purpose," "believe," "grateful," holy trinity of a spotless image, and here are all my palpable, relatable struggles – but in the end, "For me, it's all about the music."
Fifth, Sixth interview this month, and I'm getting so tired of this.
Bored outta my mind, scrolling through my phone and looking up how to tell if my hen is fat –
Man, I gotta stop buying things while high.
My assistant hands me a breakfast of caffeine chews and green juice. I'm about to say, "Thanks Clio," but I glance up at her for the first time today and oh my god – it's someone else now, some other bubbly, bouncing intern that has a knack for spirited intonation and waking me up at the crack of dawn. I literally don't even know who this is.
She's kinda hot though.
I'm just staring at her, wondering when this happened, when the people come and usher me into the studio.
The last of the set's playing, and there's Silver Steele seated with all the mics and the sound desk laid before her like a feast. She's the first radio interviewer I haven't met before, now three years deep into this, coming back to the same circuit for every album, every single, every time I need PR. I pull on the strings of my hoodie before offering a hand to shake. "Hi, nice to meet you."
And then I sit, go back to looking up the kind of diet I need to put Bertha on.
"Vocal rest," The new assistant says, wringing her hands but not skipping a beat, explaining away how I'm still kinda buzzed, how the room still feels a little lighter than normal. But I turn to Silver, slide over my phone and show her pictures of my chickens, pointing to the fluffy, curly-feathered brown one – "That one's Diana."
We've got a twenty minute slot, and who knows, maybe it'll be interesting.
