John Price

“It’s a bit petty, don’t you think?”

Bitter, was a closer fit. Like a mouthful of salt, caught in the back of his throat that no water could quench. Make no mistake, he hadn’t started this, nor did he expect it to put an end to whatever this was exactly. But he could absolutely play along. If there was one thing he knew for certain about Carmen, they could put up a fight.

It was in part why he fell so head over heels for them all those months ago. He could remember the moment clear as day; all spit and vinegar, head full of dreams and completely committed to getting what they wanted. John had intended for that particular evening to be quiet, settled in the back of a pub with Kate and agreeing to save the business talk for after the weekend. And here came Carmen, ever the live wire, ready to change their plans.

Ten years -give or take, let’s not count- in this scene had offered no peace when it came to personal time. And frankly, he couldn’t complain. If people found joy and excitement through his work, who was he to shove them off? Kate was a touch less patient with that kind of attention, but regardless of their opinions they always lent an open ear to any feedback. This situation was no different, they pulled up a chair and offered a round of drinks, and listened. Nothing they hadn’t heard before; struggling artist, getting lost in the ever expanding sea of content, saw the opportunity just now and took it.

But something about Carmen stood out. Something about that sparkle in their eyes or the way their voice lifted when they spoke so candidly about their music… Something about their smile. Usually these kinds of conversations ended with a polite nod, thank you for your time and Kate would fish a business card out of her bag, and that would be all. That stranger never to be seen again.

Instead he invited them the upcoming Monday to their studio space. Bring some of your work, he’d requested. Shook hands, lingered long enough for Kate to notice and comment once they’d left the table. Not that he was really listening, if he had to admit. He had an eye and ear for good voices, for people who had that kind of aura that demanded attention. And if his discovery records proved anything, his sixth sense had never been wrong. And fuck he got it so right this time. Carmen blew him away musically; insane voice with a wide and very well controlled vocal range, lyricism like nothing he’s ever heard. Paid homage to classic literature and ancient mythos, John was completely captivated. By the end of the month they were already re-recording their self-produced work in One Forty-One’s studio, after three their first EP launched, and by the sixth month Carmen was official signed to the label.

They’d kissed at the end of their launch party, when everyone else had left and the lights were low. When the taste of champagne still lingered in the corners of their mouths and the night’s enthusiasm remained tucked close to their ribs.

Calling it a whirlwind romance made it all sound too cliche, but he was the one waxing poetics about them in his music. Beamed whoever he was asked casually or professionally about upcoming collaborations, any opportunity to talk about how proud he was of how far they’d come. Watching them flourish and find their own in the industry.

But the stereotype of creative types rang too true at times. All that passion and dreaming got them into hot water, toes were stepped on, words were said, feelings hurt… It started and ended within the course of a year, very publicly. And while he opted to stay relatively diplomatic about the break up, kept their name out of his mouth… Carmen had a bit more to say on the matter.

Without notice they released an EP, went back to their do-it-yourself style and left it acoustic. Left it sounding intimate. And if he wasn’t so hung up on the fact that at least half of those new songs were about him, John could admit that Carmen really outdid themselves…

To spite him, maybe. In spite of him.

Because they knew he’d taken it all much harder. He loved hard, and fuck if it didn’t sting something awful. Nearly a month had gone by and he was stuck in an ever spiraling creative rut, every song or cord progression scraped and his studio time spent in a deep, contemplative silence. Drove him up the bloody wall…

They were all he could think about. Their literature and mythos, sung so sweetly… Their voice, their face, it was fucking everywhere now.

Which was probably what caused the almost frenzy he found himself in twelve hours before his house show. Sat at the foot on his bed, hunched over his guitar with a notebook balanced on his knee, picking the cords until it sounded just right. Typically speaking, he’d like to leave the night before shows -big or small- as stress free as possible. And if it meant pouring his heart out, spilling his guts into a composition notepad, get out every lingering anxiety and frustration onto something tangible…

Which brought it all up to speed. His home at the moment was too crowded for this conversation, rugs laid out on the floor and cords from the sound equipment just about everywhere he stepped, he and Kate had snuck out back chatting between cigarettes. Colleagues and friends were coming, that much they expected… Somebody let it slip that Carmen would be stopping by. That all but confirmed what he intended on doing.

Eros and Psyche. Her trials to win the approval of Venus, to wed her beloved. Carmen’s literature and mythos, thrown right back in their face. Their music, like the golden wool and the Persephone's beauty, all for one reason.

A part of them was still so completely and utterly enamoured with their lover. With him.

Kate’s brows were just about halfway up her forehead when she read over his notes. Petty, she said. And maybe she was right- No, she was right. But like he’d said, he hadn’t started this.

It was what he kept telling himself once he’d stepped onto his living room, tuned up his guitar one last time before playing that first riff. Eyes shooting to the back of the room, and finding Carmen standing with their arms cross, spine against the wall. Meeting his gaze with equal vigor.

His move this time.