Look Up - Wayne 1

Wayne Hughes looked at his Instagram account. At 1.2 million and climbing daily he was pretty happy with the state of things. It wasn’t a rapid climb but the release of the latest album had elevated the figures in a rather satisfying way and he wasn’t about to complain. Until he flicked across to stable-mate BarnStormerz to find they still had the edge with 1.25 million. He sighed over dramatically, threw his baseball cap on the ground, picked it up again and put it back on – backwards this time.

“Always a few better, man,” he muttered, “Always a few.”

ManzDown had only been around for six months – at least in what was in its current and most potent form. Naturally he hadn’t attempted to get anywhere with his actual name, few did, and the theme he’d generated around his brand was unique and consistent enough to get the attention and praise he so badly wanted. 

And yet. And yet. 

It wasn’t that there was nothing he could do to boost his figures, it was just that it required him to do it himself and if there was one thing ManzDown didn’t do it was do things for himself.

Having pulled himself up from his down at heel Converse Allstars aged 14, Wayne took the bold step of deserting his uneventful and failing school life to turn to a life of Grime. Determined to succeed in something it took him three attempts to manage to hang out with the right crowd, the first time being a successful attempt to become embroiled with the wrong crowd – who it transpired were more towards the old school hip hop mash up rather than Grime. Having found the right crowd the second time around he’d committed several style mistakes which risked casting himself out into the long grass for the rest of his life.

Third time lucky he’d got the right look from the right shops and was on brand from his lyrics to his socks. Not only that but he’d succeeded where others had failed – rather than just ploughing the same trench as every other artist he identified and brought it a whole load of influences no one else had even considered. Within a short period of his already not too long life he’d made a name for himself, got himself an entourage and before too long a couple of record labels snapping at his heels.

And with the labels came the people. Sure he knew some of these guys were hangers on. They were chancers as he had been, hoping that some of his magic would rub off, but in the meantime more than happy to hang out and get him whatever he wanted. Then there was the actual staff. The people who really were there just to make him tea or were paid to get him whatever he wanted. And then there were the people who had his back, understood his intentions and were more than happy to promote the hell out of him.

Naturally Wayne was flattered beyond his wildest dreams. He opened his arms wide and wider still to the corporate love in that was stacking up around his music and personality. So the twitter feed was set up and managed to reflect him, rather than be him. The Insta became full of merch, carefully selected and posed at critical time periods to satisfy the sponsors and tantalise the fans. ManzDown, he would argue, might now be a conglomeration of everyone’s ideas, of many thoughts and skills, attitudes and considerations but goddamit it was still authentic as hell. It was still him.

But as he stared at his own instagram feed and flicked between that and BarnStormerz the truth dawned on him. He no longer had a clue what to say, or photograph or share. BarnStormerz, being a trio, could often riff between themselves, posting comments, winding each other up and spinning threads that lasted a week and half a million shares. ManzDown was one man and truth to tell, that Manz wasn’t altogether certain how to even post.

His PAs, all three of them, had started self-isolating before everything fully kicked off. One of them was unable to speak and the other two had fallen out with each other at his album launch party. Wayne knew he could bring them peacefully together if they were in the same room, but he didn’t know how to operate Zoom successfully enough to get them on the same screen, even if, as he doubted, they would agree to log in at the same time. 

But ManzDown wasn’t defeated. At least he suspected he wasn’t. He’d taught himself Grime, Garage Band and several other music apps. Sure he didn’t understand the first thing about using sound balances or picture filters, but by God he now had the time to teach himself. If nothing else he’d come out of this period of time a more creative, self sufficient artist, maybe THE artist who made sense of everything, who spoke for the masses and who finally triumphed with a music award recognising his considerable talent and contribution to music and beyond.

But for now he’d try and make a cup of tea for himself that didn’t taste of cat’s pee.