“The label is pissed. They’re threatening to pull the record,” Jose told us the next morning. We were sitting on the tour bus, having checked out of our hotel rooms first thing. I sat by the window and the rest of the guys were gathered around the table.
It couldn’t be more obvious it was them against me. I was on the outside of my own fucking band.
“Can they do that?” Jordan asked.
Jose sneered at him, barely containing his rage. “Hell yeah they can do that. They can do whatever the fuck they want to! They own Current Static, you bunch of fucking morons! And if they decide to chuck this album those songs you worked so hard on, that music you bled your souls out for, will never see the light of day. It will sit in a fucking vault while you fade away into nothing.”
“It was one show. How can it be that big of a deal?” Mitch asked, tapping his fingers on the table, a sure sign of his agitation.
He should be agitated. We were fucked.
“It’s a big deal because immature children with massive egos don’t sell albums. This isn’t the eighties, fellas. Trashing hotel rooms and storming off stage is frowned upon. And you aren’t some big name that can get away with that shit! I hate to be the one to remind you, but Generation Rejects isn’t anybody. You are a blip on the fucking radar. And if you aren’t here tomorrow, no one will miss you. Some other band will slide in and fill the gap,” Jose yelled.
Ouch, that hurt.
“You have problems with your lead singer. Woo fucking hoo. Join the club with every other band out there. But he is your selling power,” Jose pointed at me. “He is what gets you interviews. Like it or fucking lump it.”
Jordan’s face turned red. “What about our music? Doesn’t that have something to do with it? Cole’s fucking face isn’t what got us here!”
Jose laughed but it wasn’t from amusement.
“Grow the fuck up Levitt. You’re in an industry where sex fucking sells. And Cole is your sex up for sale. Your music is fine and dandy. Your lyrics are deep and meaningful. Whatever. You are being marketed as a band that is fronted by Cole Brandt. That is what the label sees as your strength,” Jose nodded in my direction and I couldn’t help but feel validated.
Mitch, Garrett, and Jordan however looked as though they had just swallowed glass.
“The label wants to meet with you in a week to discuss the future of your band and your album. I suggest you take the time to figure out what you’re going to do. Whether you can put your ego trips on hold and do what’s best for all of you or not. Because I’m not going to waste my time and you can bet your asses the label won’t either. We aren’t going to wait around on a bunch of pussies to figure their shit out. You’re playing with the big boys now.”
I was thoroughly embarrassed by the whole thing. And I could tell by looking at my band members that they were as well. Maysie was rubbing Jordan’s back but even she seemed worried. And she should be.
“Primal Terror has asked that you be replaced.”
We all recoiled at that. For the first time I made eye contact with the others and we all wore the same horrified expression.
“What?” I hissed.
Jose shrugged, raising his hands in a what did you expect gesture.
“This is their first nationwide tour. The last thing they want is to be sidelined by your drama. Because that’s what the press will pick up on and it will overshadow them completely. So way to burn your bridges guys,” Jose said sarcastically.