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[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

In which Manuel creates a monster...

Phat Beats and Monster Jams

The Music Room is normally deserted at this time of day, which suits Manuel just fine. He's got his laptop plugged into a truly impressive synth bank and is working a mixing board with some enthusiasm. Floating through the state-of-the-art speaker system is one of Alison Blaire's lesser-known tunes - but just the voice track only. Every few beats, he stops the voice track and flips back to a series of music tracks that he's assembling beat-by-beat, phrase by phrase.

Even if the subtle sound of bass thrumming through the walls is enough to lure Alison in, the muffled sound of her own voice resonating from the Music Room certainly adds that much more reason for her to pause in front of the door instead of continuing down the hallway. She listens for a moment longer, knowing of only one student who would be mixing tunes in the room and unwilling to break whatever refuge he might be finding - even as she realizes that he'll likely sense her standing there soon enough. So she simply closes her eyes and allows herself to listen, enjoying the snippets of music, curious to see what he might be up to.

The emotions come through loud and strong, and Manuel senses them for what they are. "You can come in, if you like." he calls out in his usual heavily accented English without diverting his attentions away from the mixing board, the synth rack, and the laptop.

She slides inside the music room quietly, keeping her thoughts and emotions as quiet as possible while she shuts the door firmly, which isn't that hard considering there's music being created, and there is a simple joy to be found in such things.

Manuel is, if you look close, actually _smiling_. An honest-to-God smile. But he does seem to be dissatisfied with what he's hearing, and eventually rewinds back to a predetermined point and presses _STOP_. "You're curious." he says flatly. "About all of this."

Still leaning on the door, giving him what space she can, Alison simply nods. Of course, she's curious about her own voice being there as well, but that's more vanity than anything else. "Mixing a new song?" she inquires, smiling a bit.

"Something like that. I was curious, so I picked up one of your CDs. I must have been spending time around Doug. He likes this stuff. I don't. So I decided to fix the flaws. It's not easy, and probably very arrogant of me, but there you are." he admits with a grin. "It passes the time, and it keeps the Others out."

Instead of the annoyance she would have displayed at hearing that even a few months ago, Alison just chuckles, accepting it as Manuel's way of saying things - which the smile and admission certainly help to make palatable, as well. "Is it now?" she grins instead, noting the intonation making 'others' something particular, and filing it away for later. "Well, a challenge is always a good thing." She pauses for a moment, considering. "OF course, working with the real voice might make your job easier?"

"What, you think you can re-record these vocal tracks and do it _right_ this time? From the sound of it, you were using the finest in ... what did Rahne call it, Fisher Price technology? Yes, that." he says. "I'm trying to put some real beats behind the words here. Something with some _feeling_ behind it. Not this bland American mush-music. Something appropriate for the moods you were trying to invoke."

Ah. So it's the music he's irked about, which causes Alison to smile even more, because that's implying her voice isn't all that bad after all. "Mind if I sit around and listen while you work, then?" Hands itching to pick up a guitar briefly, but this isn't her show, so she manages to quell the impulse, concentrating instead on the possibility of seeing someone else in a creative mood for once, instead of living through it.

Manuel can feel that itch, and smirks at it. "No, you can't play along. But you can stay if you'd like. But I reserve the right to offend you utterly with my remix. It really isn't your style, from what I've heard and felt so far. No blonde pop princess here. I like something a little - darker, a little more passionate." And, pressing a key, he rewinds the mix he's got so far. "It's not done, and I'm not entirely happy with it. Something still feels - off."

She's tempted to point out that her style has changed and grown since her last CD came out, but at the same time, watching someone else work with her music is fun. Strangely so, and again, something she'd not have tolerated before. "Nothing wrong with changing styles," she replies, plopping down on the ground and settling down to listen.

The words are recognizable - a B-side track called "This Is The Last Time". But the music is _completely_ different. Gone are the twangy guitars and the gentle swell of strings and the wistfulness. Instead, he's chosen a more electronica sound - definitely dancable, but changing the longing feel of the original for a devil-may-care laughing-on-the-outside-crying-on-the-inside sort of a vibe. No guitars, either - just synths and drums and bass, all interweaving. The remix only goes through the first verse before degenerating into unfinished bits-and-pieces, and when it does get down to that, Manuel presses STOP.

Having shifted to a leaning on her elbows position, Alison finds herself tapping her foot ever so lightly to the beat. She's always liked techno really, although never thought of it as her sphere of music. Manuel's work however, causes her to raise her eyebrows, not exactly surprised at how well it has the potential to turn out, but more that he's found that in it, to start with.

"So - there it is, so far. The refrain is giving me _fits_, though. The original's a piece of crap, so I scrapped it. I'm trying to squeeze more feeling out of it, and the ~stupid fucking piece of shit~ is fighting me." he growls, reverting back to something vaguely Castillian-sounding in his irritation.

She can't help being amused, having been just where he is so often, and without a doubt the primary emotion he gets it heavily tinged with a dose of knowing. "Well, I've been called a stubborn cow more than few times myself, not to say other things," Alison offers, eyes aglow with merriment. And resists, barely, the impulse to ask if perhaps reworking the refrain instead might be acceptable, a few ideas already floating in her head from hearing the new arrangement he's worked out for the intro.

Manuel picks up the amusement, and twists his face into a sour grin. "Go ahead, mock my efforts. I can feel your amusement. It's just a stupid little project anyway..."

Alison chuckles lightly, shaking her head. "Don't be like that. I've been there too many times myself to not know what's it like, Manuel. That's all. I'm actually..." and she pauses, not wanting to step on his territory, but yearning to participate somehow, "dying to pitch in, if you wouldn't mind, more than anything else." A tinge of wistfulness touches her voice and colors her emotions as she looks down, trying to keep herself from dropping into nostalgia too badly. "I miss writing and singing full time. Sometimes." Always.

Manuel blinks at the colored onslaught from Alison's emotional aura. "Then _why_ on Earth are you babysitting the likes of _them_ if you miss it so badly? Yeah, your stuff was shit, but you loved it, and _somebody_ gave you a deal and bought the CDs. And ... wait. You want to what?"

"Pitch in? Sing? Rework the refrain so it's new and fresh? I like what you're doing with the song," she nods, a almost hopeful gleam in her eyes, a sentiment which she tries to keep as small as possible within, somehow. "And," she hesitates, then shrugs, because so many people know already anyway by now. "And it's hard to sing or do a show when you don't know when the next sniper bullet will come from."

Manuel ahs. "That doesn't rule out studio releases. Maybe an "underground" album, shipped to DJs around the globe? Let the frenzy build ... and give you time to deal with those snipers. Apparently they have musical taste." he says with a smile. "And if you want to, go ahead, I suppose. Can't hurt any. I've got the original if I don't like the new cuts."

Alison's eyes glaze over as she considers those possibilities. Which she hadn't before, not on the club scene at least. "Make my own independent label you mean..." the smile grows wider, somewhat predatory in fact, before her focus snaps back on him firmly. "So. Manuel. Ever been signed to a label before?"

"Fuck the labels. Useless parasites. Do your own thing, by your own rules. There's a studio _right here_, and Xavier's got the dosh to do it up right. And if it tanks, there's time to let them forget all about it before you try again." he says. "And this is what I do for _fun_, remember? It keeps the Others out."

She laughs, shaking her head. They're saying the same thing, just not seeing it the same way, which works fine for her. "I've been recording a few songs, already." And she blinks, realizing she actually does have enough for an album set aside. Two even, if she lays a few more tracks down. "Huh. More than few," Alison blinks at the realization. And sets the thought aside, very much planning on her own independent label, a few artists in mind already. And there's a thrill running through her, pure exultation at the thought of doing this, doing music again. "So," she grins, feeling a bit heady. "How should I rework that refrain, hrmmm..." she trails off, before shifting to a cross legged position, humming the passage, already rearranging the sequence to fit a different beat, pondering a soaring lead in to match the new feel he's given the song.

It's now Manuel's turn to just sit and watch, offering a few comments here and there, pointing out with his unique viewpoint where the material was weak and needed to be strong, and where the material was too strong and needed to be weaker. Occasionally he reverts to the laptop or the synth rack to tinker out a few bars here and there, keeping Alison's pop roots grounded in the harder, more edgy style he's given the song.