Tag Archives: recording contract

Deejay

Deejay: (n) short for disc jockey

I wrote and performed Christian music.

This created a problem. Most of the small-town thinkers in my hometown village did not believe I was a Christian. For you see, my wife and I had a baby born before the allotted nine months after our marriage.

We were also kind of dead-beats.

Because we wanted to pursue music, we had turned our backs on normal employment, had become unpredictable and, shall we say, risky as potential renters or borrowers.

My little burg did not like me—and I didn’t like it much, either.

All day long, and most of the week, I heard people telling me that either I wasn’t talented enough to make it in music, or if I was going to make it in music, God could find me “on my job” and set it all in motion.

I just didn’t believe that.

This brought about a situation where I had very few friends, so it was necessary that I nurture each and every one of them.

An unexpected buddy was a deejay named Jim. He was one of the more popular personalities at the local Christian radio station, which did amazingly good business considering that it was religious.

Jim liked me.

I don’t know why—I was afraid to ask him.

More importantly, Jim liked me even when other people were around who didn’t like me. Occasionally these people would speak up, voicing their opinions about me in front of him (and also in front of me).

Jim always listened carefully.

He gave them full respect and attention.

And when they concluded their little speech by saying that “I wasn’t going to amount to anything,” he patted them on the shoulder and replied, “Won’t you be surprised if that’s not the way it works out?”

Usually the person shook his or her head and stomped off, convinced of my ultimate destruction.

Then one day, it just happened.

It’s one of those things you don’t plan for. (You should prepare for it, but you don’t.)

One of the most famous groups in America decided to record a song of mine. They not only decided—they did. Suddenly, my tune was being played on radio, all over America.

Jim’s radio, too.

On top of that, the notoriety I received for signing the song with this group opened doors for me to get a contract with my group, to record an album in Nashville.

Jim was my hero.

Of course, other people suddenly discovered that they didn’t hate me.

But the amazing part of the whole story is that when Jim saw other folks coming to my side and supporting me, he kind of drifted to the rear.

I wanted to ask him about it, but then it occurred to me that perhaps this was just Jim’s calling.

He found the person that nobody liked and offered love, hoping that the unloved soul would get a chance.

Jim was and still is my favorite deejay.

He seems to have a gift to say the right words as he plays the good tunes.

 

Cynosure

Cynosure: (n) something that strongly attracts attention by its brilliance, interest, etc.:

I remember it like it was yesterday.

I had a meeting with a fellow who dubbed himself “Bundy Boy.”

I don’t know why he selected this handle since it was nowhere near his name. But he was young, energetic, and full of what the old folks used to call “piss and vinegar.”

He agreed to have a meeting with me because he was thinking about promoting our little music group and taking over management of us—thereby assisting us in getting national attention, a recording contract and, well, just something far away from our poverty.

I remember it so well because he had a spiel. He called it “The Five Thingalings.”

I wanted to laugh, but after all, I was in a subordinate position, sitting in the office of a guy who might be able to throw some light in the direction of my shade.

It was the first time I ever heard this word: cynosure.

He asked me if I knew what it meant. I didn’t. So he explained, “It’s about what’s bright and shiny. Humans are human, but they’re also beings—and as beings, they’re attracted to… are you ready?” he asked me.

I was. He continued, “They’re attracted to sex, silliness, a sad story, beauty and money.”

I thought about it, had no reason to disagree, and so I nodded my head.

Confident that I was on his wavelength, he proceeded. “Cynosure is when you turn the lights up so people can see more clearly what you have to offer. That’s why you’ve got to be sexy. Everybody likes sexy. Even religious people like sexy. They don’t talk about it—but they think about it. And everybody likes to be silly. They pretend to be serious, but after a short time, they’re ready for a good giggle.”

“But,” he went on, “we do like a sad story. It cleans us out—makes us feel we’re really sensitive because we care about what happened to somebody on the rocky road of life. And that story—that story I’m telling you about—it’s much more powerful if it’s being shared from a beautiful package. Just as people like sexy, they like pretty. In their minds, sexy and pretty go together. Nobody feels sexy if they don’t feel pretty, or handsome. And of course, money. Even the Bible says that money answers everything. If you think about it, any problem that comes up in your mind—well, a nice stack of cash will go a long way to solving it.”

After Bundy Boy finished his speech, he sat and looked at me.

It was time for him to offer his evaluation of my “package.”

He was kind, merciful, but truthful.

“My friend,” he said, “you aren’t sexy. Now you might be silly, but if you’re silly and not sexy, it comes off goofy. I suppose you do have a sad story, but when you’re not sexy and not silly, and you have a sad story, people think to themselves, ‘well, of course. He’s a loser.’ And if you’re not sexy, the chance that you’re beautiful is small. And even though we pretend we like beauty on the inside, it’s only something your mother actually feels. And,” he concluded, “by looking at your clothes—especially your shoes—I can tell. You’ve got no money.”

He concluded, “So even though I like your music and I do like you, I can’t work with you. I can’t bring the magic. I can’t cynosure you.”

He stood to his feet and walked toward the door, which I assumed meant that I was also to stand and depart. He patted me on the back and offered a lame, “If there’s anything I can ever do, let me know.”

So I have gone through the majority of my life with no cynosure.

It’s been painful—but I have managed to eke out an existence.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C