Hall of Fame – Wayne 61

[For a quick guide go here: Quick guide.]

[Old back story is here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and read more recent Wayne episodes especially this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

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“Please tell me this isn’t happening,” Wayne looked at Cath on the video window opened on his computer. “Like, seriously?”

Cath was at least looking sheepish Wayne thought, but that wasn’t really going to change the material facts about what was happening. 

“I have been approached,” started Cath again.

“Approached,” emphasised Wayne, “You’ve been approached. No one is forcing you to do anything, right? And yet here you are telling me you’ve been approached and it’s like it’s all over? You have choice.”

“I’m trying to see if I can do both,” said Cath, trying to remain calm. “Both you and BarnStormerz. It’s not impossible. I’ve done it before.”

“It’s not the point,” moaned Wayne. “I don’t care if you can look after two or two thousand acts at once, you’re meant to be dedicated to me and you’re definitely not meant to look after the act that I go up against. Not after last year, come on, have you forgotten what they said?”

“Everyone remembers what they said and it’s looking like they’ve done their time, paid their dues and now they’re back.”

Wayne scowled at the screen. There was something horrible about trying to be in the public eye. You could never quite tell which way things would go. You’d assume that bad press would stay around as bad press. After all, there were countless occasions when one person’s actions had achieved notoriety and pretty much stitched up their reputation from then on. There were those great outrageous anecdotes which when recounted just summed someone up and became short-hand to get them into the hall of fame.

And then there were those actions or phrases that were the nail in the coffin. And Wayne was pretty certain BarnStormerz’s words and actions last year were just that. The occasion had been discussed to the final degree - from Twitter to tabloid and broadsheet, everyone had piled in on the hows and whys such a view could be held by such a person in such a band. And the final decision had been to drop BarnStormerz from a great height and leave them for dead. And they weren’t.

“Apparently they’ve been working behind the scenes on some of this year’s hit tracks,” said Cath, trying to mask a fan’s enthusiasm with a business-like voice. “Not named, taking no credit, but still delivering for the music industry.”

“OK, so what do I need to do?” asked Wayne, cutting across her.

“Wh-what?”

“To be this good, this great. To get everyone to pay attention to me. What do you think I should say? What should I do? Should I go round to Jezzy’s and push his lights out?”

“I…”

“I could tweet something outrageous right now. Whaddya reckon? What entirely unsubstantiated and offensive idea should I get behind? What will make everyone sit up and listen to me? And then forgive me? You’re happy with how they’ve played it so I’m sure you’re able to advise me, right?”

“You don’t need it, Wayne,” said Cath, quietly.

“What?”

“You don’t need it. You’re just you. Everyone likes you as you are. They like you more now you’re more yourself. No fireworks, no controversy. Everyone just likes you.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah, and it’s not enough,” he said.

Wayne terminated the call. He wasn’t certain what to do next, but he could feel the old sensation of frustration and ambition pulse through his veins. He was just six months into success when the pandemic had struck. Six months of success which meant he was still classified as an overnight success rather than part of the establishment. Despite the tours, the concerts, the remixes, the DJing and the rest he was still the new kid. But he was better than BarnStormerz. Where he trail blazed, they could only follow. Maybe he didn’t need a PA, a label or anything. Maybe the pandemic had shown through social media, homemade songs, recording and, dare he even think it, Sea Shanties, maybe it had shown that there were no rules apart from the ones you made yourself. No restrictions, aside from the ones you took upon yourself. No way but your own.

He would remain silent on social media. He wouldn’t mention it, wouldn’t drop a hint, wouldn’t even try and put up an alternative narrative.

He would however write a song. A loud, angry and perhaps not very subtle song about what it feels like when a friend you thought was a friend just isn’t. And this time it wouldn't be a fantastic song. It would be an atrocious, horrible, detestable song. The kind that would stick in your ear and drip out in sickly annoying repetitive choruses until you went insane.

And Jezzy's name would be all over it.