Rock the Boat Page 7

  Webb smiled.

  “I know you had a producer who tried to mess with you,” McMullen said, “but in this town, it hardly ever works to play it that way. Reputation means a lot around here. You’re not going to see much of that guy in town anymore.”

  “Thanks,” Webb said, thinking of Harley and how Harley had been able to open so many doors just by being someone trustworthy. And, of course, by being someone who could do amazing things with guitar and vocals. It wasn’t just one or the other. You had to combine both. Business. Music.

  “Speaking of fun,” McMullen said, “you mentioned you might have an idea for a music video for ‘Rock the Boat.’ I’m in no hurry to leave this little oasis you have, so run it past me, if you don’t mind.”

  “You remember I said that sometimes people tell you not to rock the boat because they like things the way they are?” Webb said. “And that if you want to make changes in your life or around you, sometimes you have to take chances and ignore those people?”

  McMullen nodded.

  “I know lots of videos have been done about trying to achieve your dreams,” Webb continued, “so I was thinking maybe the video starts like that. You have a musician in the video who—”

  “You mean you’re the musician in the video.”

  Weird, Webb thought. Planning out a mini movie where he was the star.

  “Okay. The video opens with me busking, and you see people throwing money in the guitar case. That’s true to my life. And then you see me at such a low place that I’m lining up to eat with other hungry people at a kitchen some organization has set up under an overpass. Except people need more than just food. They need music. So I’m standing in line, and people around me are dejected. A guy is behind me, shoulders drooping. A little girl looks sad. Maybe there’s a shot of me sitting down after I eat, quietly playing guitar.”

  “So far, so good. I can picture all that.”

  “Then I get on a bus, and the highway signs show that I’m headed to Nashville. I’m in the studio, recording ‘Rock the Boat.’”

  “Let me jump in here,” McMullen said. “When I offer a criticism, it’s not meant to be negative. It’s meant for evaluation, something to consider. And this is as good a time as any for you to understand that. You’re going to be working with experienced people, and their input will be valuable. So don’t take it as insult but as a legitimate desire to help make your music or your record or your video even better.”

  “Great advice,” Webb said. “So what are you thinking?”

  “Feeding the hungry is great. But the bus to Nashville and a kid pursuing his dreams is, well, overdone.”

  “I totally agree,” Webb said. “But if you take a cliché and twist it, does that make it worth using the cliché?”

  McMullen cocked his head, thinking. “Tell me more.”

  “Then the kid gets back on the bus, like he’s failed. Leaves Nashville. You see him busking again, and the camera zooms in on the guitar case with a sign that says Feed the hungry, and you assume that the musician is broke and needs food. But then the camera zooms in a little more, and you see the mile oneTwelve cd cover in the guitar case—”

  “Good advertising, by the way.”

  Webb grinned and continued. “It’s your first hint that maybe the musician didn’t fail. Then you see him back where he started, under the overpass, except he’s giving all his busking money to the organizer to help feed the hungry, and you see that the little girl now has a toy, and when the mile oneTwelve band is playing, you understand he went back to give a concert to the people who helped him when he was down.”

  “Not bad,” McMullen said. “Anything else you want in the video?”

  “Would it be too much of a cliché to end with a homeless person flashing a peace sign?”

  “World could use more peace,” McMullen said. “We could use more people helping other people. As long as it doesn’t look too cheesy.”

  “Thanks,” Webb said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  McMullen stood, a clear signal that the meeting was over.

  Webb stood with him.

  McMullen glanced at the channel that led to the river, then back at Webb.

  “You know this is a great place to be,” McMullen said. “Right?”

  “Worse places to spend a night,” Webb said. McMullen might have been talking about the houseboat, but Webb was thinking about all of it. What it had taken to get here, where it might lead.

  All you needed to do was rock the boat.

  Acknowledgments

  Enormous gratitude to Cindy Morgan and Jeremy Bose, two of Nashville’s great songwriters and musicians. Thanks for giving me insight into music and the music industry. The songs you both created for St. Lola in the Fields are always in heavy rotation on my playlist.

  SIGMUND BROUWER is the bestselling author of numerous books for children and adults, including Rock & Roll Literacy and titles in the Orca Echoes, Orca Currents and Orca Sports series. Sigmund is the author of two previous books about Jim Webb: Devil’s Pass, part of Seven (the series), and Tin Soldier (The Seven Sequels). Visit his websites, www.rockandroll-literacy.com and www.sigmundbrouwer.com, for information about Sigmund’s books and school presentations. Sigmund and his family divide their time between his hometown of Red Deer, Alberta, and Nashville, Tennessee.

  To hear the songs that Webb played in this story, and to learn more about the music and the video, go to www.mileonetwelve.com.