Haterz (31 page)

How is Guy?

You 2 still not speaking?

Not really :(

Shame. You’re not expecting me to wade into this?

Nope!

Thank God. Listen, and this is awkward... but it’s partly because of Danielle, you know.

Understandable

[that was an understatement]

Hey, I’m not exactly going to be on his side on that one. But it’s all the stuff that goes with that.

Yeah.

Come to the gig in a couple of weeks. He’ll be there. Plus it’ll be AMAZING.

Sure it will!!

CU x

B
UT A WEEK
later was her Facebook Dresden. She posted in quick succession, ‘FUCK YOU ALL,’ ‘FUCK EM,’ and ‘U!N!B!E!L!I!E!V!A!B!L!E!!!’ and then a lot of weird pictures from the recording sessions.

There was a small spate of ‘u ok hun?’ and ‘pay no attention to h8rz’ and that kind of thing, but no actual answer from Amber. Until someone posted, ‘Hey A, speaking as a friend, you might just want to check your privilege on this one. I’m sure your life can at times be tough, but you’ve got an amazing job, a hot boyfriend and (fingers crossed) working ovaries. Stuff’s good for you, gal. So don’t sit and stew in it. You’re about to be famous. HUGSxxx’

To which Amber replied, ‘Fuck it all and fuck you. You KNOW NOTHING!!!!’

I
SENT HER
a message to ask her what was going on. Which led to us going for a drink at 1am in a little place down the road. She turned up drunk, and had been crying so much her make-up had done the Sad Clown Run.

“What’s the problem?” I asked her.

She made a face. Even utterly miserable and pulling a face she looked stunning.

“Seriously? Do you not check Twitter?”

“I’m, er, not one for online, really,” I said.

She reached for an olive, squished it, and then squished a couple more.

“HiVizKev are doing amazingly well on SoundCloud. Like several hundred thousand listens, along with a hundred thousand more on YouTube.”

“That’s amazing,” I beamed, topping up her glass. Her face didn’t move. “Isn’t it amazing?”

She pushed a piece of paper across to me:

Dear HighVizibilityKevin,

It has been brought to my attention that an illegally pirated copy of the entire ‘Double Yellow Stripes’ album has been published online. While we have issued takedown proceedings against the relevant sites and torrents, we believe that the audience the pirated copies have reached far exceeds the predicted sales forecasts for a relatively niche album.

Regrettably, therefore we have taken the tough decision to cancel the official release of the album pending the results of an investigation into how the leak occurred.

I’m sorry not to have better news,

Regards,

I read it a couple of times. “What?”

She shrugged angrily. “You can read, can’t you?”

“Yes, yes I can, but I can’t work out what it means. Did you leak it?”

“No!” she shouted loud enough for someone else in the bar to glance over. “No!” she repeated in an emphatic hiss. “Of course not. We’ve been pushing for this for years. We wouldn’t be so suicidal.”

“Well, you know, you might... you, or someone else in the band, might have got so excited at the prospect that you... ah... you know... made a copy for a friend and then...”

Amber shook her head emphatically. “No, absolutely not. No. And you know why?
Because none of us had a copy of the album.
The label didn’t trust us with one.”

“So who did it—the label? In a weird conspiracy way...?”

Amber shook her head. “Maybe. Or maybe someone at the studio.” She picked around on her phone and showed me a screenshot from a forum:

Hey guys—who are HiVizKev? I’ve been sent a copy of their album to bounce down and tag for iTunes. Anyone want a preview copy? S’okay.

> Torrent plz. I’m they’re number one fan!!!

Lots of people had replied asking them to seed a torrent. And away it had gone.

“The irony, the ankle-biting irony is that we’re a success. Such a success that our label has dropped us.”

Amber finished her glass of wine, slurping away at the dregs like a kid with a milkshake.

“Basically, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this, but I am so screwed.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Someone needs to be—”

“Don’t,” said Amber sharply, and then softened. “You’re bloody useless.”

I
WENT HOME,
feeling a bit weird. Column A gave me ‘Odd situation that needed fixing’ and Column B supplied ‘She kissed me on the nose when she said goodbye.’

I stayed up playing with the cat and, thanks to bittorrent, listening to the HiVizKev album. It was so bloody easy to get hold of. Lots of people were sharing it on music forums, with encouraging notes like, ‘HiVizKev album drops! Give it a spin’ and ‘Love those guys!!!’ The SoundCloud posting was similarly littered with ‘awesome!!1!’ and ‘wooo.’ It was... anyway, the point is, not my cup of tea, but I’d never dare say that to Amber.

It was just incredible hearing her voice. On a proper record. Whenever I’d been to see them live, it had been a bit lost under the speakers-made-out-of-washing-machines that most music venues use.

Over the next few days, there was a lot of discussion. First about the album.

Then when Digital Spy reported ‘Label “cans” HiVizKev.’ That brought a lot of people out onto the forums.

Curiously (and many people admitted to pirating the album) no one accepted that the label dumping the band because of piracy was their fault.

Yawn! When are lables gonna catch up with C21? Piracy boosts sales. I bet that 000s of people have now heard of HiVizKev who wouldnt have otherwise and so if only 1% of them converts into buyers of the album thats still a massiv profit. Stupid lable. Boycott there stuff.

was the most highly rated comment.

A
ND HERE’S WHERE
Amber weighed in on Facebook:

A month ago, I was going to be in the lucky position I never dreamed I’d be in. Quitting my job in order to be able to work on my music full time. I wasn’t going to be a millionaire, and maybe it wouldn’t work out in the end—but for maybe a year, I and my best friends in the world were going to be High Visibility Kevin full-time. It was my dream to be in a band since I was 12. And I nearly had that dream come true.

But now, I have to go and explain to my 12-year old self that dreams are never gonna happen. Because the album got pirated and the label invoked a clause in our contract. Simple as that. We’re not happy about that. Neither are the label.

So, listen, for all your arguments about how piracy is basically “free speech” and “good for sales” and other BS... please remember: I nearly got to be in a band for a living. Now I don’t.

BY PIRATING MY ALBUM YOU HAVE STOLEN FROM ME.

Like ∙ Comment ∙ Share

Within about 5 minutes Digital Spy had made this ‘HiVizKev Singer “Slams” Pirates.’ And Amber was on the receiving end of a huge amount of criticism.

I
CALLED HER
to see if she was okay.

“Jeez,” she said eventually. “It’s like when I first dated Guy. Only more... hatey.”

Bitch didn’t deserve a career. Goodbye.

Don’t understand music? Loser gets out of the game.

Whore singer screams at fans. Nice.

I
WON’T BORE
you with any of the arguments about piracy. Hell knows, you’re probably reading a pirated epub of this on your phone and thinking
Thank God I didn’t waste my money on this
before passing this on to ten of your friends. Thanks. I hope your cock falls off. If you don’t have a cock, I hope you grow one and then it falls off.

I’ve done my bit of charity—I’ve killed some arseholes. The least you can do is buy my manifesto (I guess that’s what this is). Also, I’ll tell you the other thing I hate—when people say “I hated it. Glad I didn’t pay for it.” Guess what? I don’t think you’re allowed to hate something you haven’t bought. It doesn’t work like that. Remember when you’d buy a book and you’d start reading it and then about thirty pages in you’d realise you’d rather tidy the kitchen? That. That’s earned hatred. Picking up a pirated ebook and throwing it to one side? No. Doesn’t count.

S
AME WITH MUSIC,
really. Like emails from an ex, the arguments about piracy are complicated and long and whiny. Basically, all you need to know is that I was on Amber’s side. Probably because I fancied her rotten. But also because I thought she had a point.

W
E MET FOR
coffee one day.

“Guy’s kind of glad it’s all over,” she said. “He’s sort of glad they’ve stopped hating on me. A bit. But it’s also a bit as if... well, my friend Michelle says maybe he didn’t want me being in a band in the first place. You know. Maybe being a little bit famous. Is Guy the jealous type?”

I was stuck right there. True answer: “No.” False answer that may make her like me: “Well, no... maybe a bit... I mean, I certainly wouldn’t call him jealous.”

I went for the latter, and she nodded at me gratefully. I realised that it had been a while since I’d seen her not crying. Like Britain in winter, I thought her beautiful even through the rain.

“The band were thinking... well, you know, do we split up now, or do we do one last fuck ’em gig?”

“Yes!” I laughed, “You should totally do that. And you should call it that.”

And that was how The Fuck ’Em Gig was launched.

I
T WOULD HAPPEN
in a week. And it would be streamed live. Just to prove that HiVizKev actually had understood the internet after all.

T
HE DAY BEFORE,
Amber was in despondent mood. “To be honest, I was expecting more of a fuss from the label.” The ex-garage in Shoreditch had been approached to see if they’d have a problem. “They sort of muttered and shrugged,” Amber said. “But they were basically waving us on like Nina Simone used to wave the white people into hell at her concerts. Apparently the label think what we’re doing is ‘interesting.’ Someone even wrote ‘paradigm’ on a vintage chalkboard. As they did that I wondered whether we were better off without them.”

She gave me a bleak smile.

“How’s Guy been about it?” I asked.

Amber’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, fine,” she said. “He’s going to try and come along.” She squeezed my forearm in a gesture that either meant ‘marry me’ or ‘I’m fairly absent-minded’ and dreamily stared out of the steamed-up coffee shop window.

“You will come, won’t you?” she asked. I guess this was exactly how Mary Queen of Scots went round when she was inviting people to her execution. “It’ll be interesting.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, “I’ll try.”

Truth is, I had other plans that night.

E
VEN THOUGH
I wasn’t there I can still describe the venue to you. You’ve probably been to the sort of place. A basement in a bit of London that’s borderline fashionable. Currently it said ‘performance space’ but very soon it would say ‘coffee shop.’ Musty, damp-smelling curtains were draped over the concrete walls. A sharp whiff of mould and urine hung in the air and didn’t vanish, not even when the club filled up with people spilling beer.

There were a lot of people there for ‘High Visibility Kevin’s Fuck ’Em Gig.’ The poster on Facebook promised ‘Breaking Up Live On Stage.’

Amber strode out along with her bandmates who I didn’t fancy (although, turns out, I had kissed one of them drunkenly at a party a couple of years ago). They were faced by a pretty decent crowd. About half of them had heard of the band before, and the rest were a collection of music bloggers and social media rubberneckers.

“Good evening Wembley,” drawled Amber with huge irony. “Let’s have a car crash.”

Then the music started.

T
HERE WERE A
lot of people tuning into the webcast. I was one of them, nodding my head along to the music as it played tinnily in the background. While I got on with my work.

“T
HANKS,
”
BREATHED
A
MBER.
It was nearing the end of the gig. During the webcast, she’d mastered the pop star’s on-stage demeanour that was stand-up/cool teacher/messiah. “Even though you’re not here for the music, you’ll admit that was pretty good. And now it’s time for the band to disband. High Visibility Kevin will go back to selling shoes, filing and answering the phone. But first, we’d like to say goodbye with a few numbers that if you want to hear again—well, tune into a digital station at two am, or just steal the torrent. Everyone else has.” She shrugged and the band launched into the opening notes.

And that was the last music they played that night.

The speakers gave a horrid squeal of feedback and then cut out dead.

A projector fired up in the venue, bathing the band and the backcloth briefly in ‘NO SIGNAL’ and then a masked figure in a pirate’s costume stepped into the camera view.

T
HIS WAS MY
moment.

“Avast there, me hearties,” I said. Three years. Three years at drama school. I thank you. “Oi yam a poirate.” I dropped the accent right there. That’s a professional simplification. I tailed it off. “You may have wondered why I brought you all here today. Well, a crime has been committed here. I’m a pirate. You’re a pirate. We’re all pirates.”

There was some noise at that. A bit of wooing. Some cheers. Some boos. And a pretty good amount of genuine confusion from the band. Amber managed “I’m not—I don’t—” then realised her microphone had been cut, so stood back, shaking her head, prowling the stage.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to judge—”

“Good!” screamed someone. Hecklers are dull. They’re like people who reply to a tweet with a lame pun. They’ve always existed. They’ve never contributed. Like wasps.