Haven't you ever heard of the story about the five-string guitar? It was late in the afternoon when Elijah had finally finished lugging his possessions into his new home.
Give me a hit song, or you're fired," his producer had lashed during their last discussion.
Elijah hated his producer with a passion, and his reluctance to change his style in favor of record sales had to be overlooked if he wanted to keep a roof over his head.
Elijah came from an era where great musicians could sell through sheer talent alone, but times were changing, and he was being left behind in favor of what he referred to as overproduced horseshit.
He often found himself turning on the radio for inspiration, only to lose faith in the pursuit after hearing what people actually listened to.
But after settling down and thinking it through, he'd unenthusiastically flip the radio back on and get back to his chore.
Elijah had come into this business with the hope that his creativity and personal expression could shine through.
But after years of touring with the band and finally disbanding due to lack of income, he was now forced into the business of writing songs for the new younger bands.
Elijah despised the new generation, as they completely lacked the creativity and musicianship that originally propelled him to fame.
Having someone else write a song for you was an embarrassment in his day, but now it seemed the norm.
The music business was a disgusting beast, he thought, but he was already in the industry, and he couldn't stop now.
After hours of relentless labor, Elijah pummeled into his couch, exhausted and unmotivated.
After a few minutes of motionless thought, Elijah pulled himself to his feet to explore his new home.
His tight schedule meant that he had not had a chance to even investigate his property before the purchase.
But his producer had promised that the house was amazing and that the previous owner, like him, was a songwriter and already had a studio installed.
Dusty shapes littered the walls from what Elijah imagined to be the location of the previous owner's paintings and posters.
It was clear that the man's belongings were quickly and harshly removed for the new owner.
Haven't you ever heard of the story about the five-string guitar? It was late in the afternoon when Elijah had finally finished lugging his possessions into his new home.
Give me a hit song, or you're fired," his producer had lashed during their last discussion.
Elijah hated his producer with a passion, and his reluctance to change his style in favor of record sales had to be overlooked if he wanted to keep a roof over his head.
Elijah came from an era where great musicians could sell through sheer talent alone, but times were changing, and he was being left behind in favor of what he referred to as overproduced horseshit.
He often found himself turning on the radio for inspiration, only to lose faith in the pursuit after hearing what people actually listened to.
But after settling down and thinking it through, he'd unenthusiastically flip the radio back on and get back to his chore.
Elijah had come into this business with the hope that his creativity and personal expression could shine through.
But after years of touring with the band and finally disbanding due to lack of income, he was now forced into the business of writing songs for the new younger bands.
Elijah despised the new generation, as they completely lacked the creativity and musicianship that originally propelled him to fame.
Having someone else write a song for you was an embarrassment in his day, but now it seemed the norm.
The music business was a disgusting beast, he thought, but he was already in the industry, and he couldn't stop now.
After hours of relentless labor, Elijah pummeled into his couch, exhausted and unmotivated.
After a few minutes of motionless thought, Elijah pulled himself to his feet to explore his new home.
His tight schedule meant that he had not had a chance to even investigate his property before the purchase.
But his producer had promised that the house was amazing and that the previous owner, like him, was a songwriter and already had a studio installed.
Dusty shapes littered the walls from what Elijah imagined to be the location of the previous owner's paintings and posters.
It was clear that the man's belongings were quickly and harshly removed for the new owner.
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