The Sound of Discovery

During the height of summer, while many flocked to the beach, Tom found himself stuck at work, listening to what he deemed boring demo tapes from folk who thought they were going to be the next best thing to hit the music industry.

He slid his headphones into place and hit play on the latest tape, bracing himself for the onslaught of pure heavy metal. The guitar riffs needed polishing, and the lead singer sounded as if he had laryngitis. It was not music that he enjoyed. These mirrored a group who had already signed up and cut their first record. Tom recalled them coming to the studio, thinking they looked like a bunch of thugs with their ripped jeans, long, unkempt hair, and every other word being a swear word. When he had offered them a tour of the studios, they just sneered.

“Sod off; we’re here to make records. We don’t give a shit about looking round your poxy building.”

Tom would have thrown them out right then, but Mike, his boss, found it amusing.

“Chill, they are going to be big, trust me. Okay, they are raw around the edges and look wild, but a bit of polishing and effective marketing, they could be bigger than the Beatles.”

Next demo, this was even worse how on earth did they think this was music?  It was even worse than the psychedelic music that had exploded onto the scene the other year. He gave a yawn before moving over to the window. Flicking the blinds up, he peered out at the street below. A group of glamorous mini-skirted girls, their limbs tanned from the summer sun, were heading towards the coffee bar while a young lad busked on the corner.

The tape emitted a piercing screech that assaulted his ears. He had enough; some fresh air was what he needed.

Emerging from the studio, he was immediately hit by the stifling heat and the sun’s harsh, white glare. Unlike the tape he had been listening to, now he could hear clear, articulated sounds coming from a guitar. His gaze found the young lad he had seen from the window. A crowd was gathering as the lad started up a song, his voice strong, not weak. The lyrics flowed in time with the guitar. This kid was impressive, Tom mused, as more songs followed.

Approaching the lad, he introduced himself.

“You’re good, but can I ask where you found these songs you are singing?”

A friendly grin spread across the lad’s face.

"Thanks, mate. I get ideas to form in my head, so I scribble them down and put them to music. I used to busk down near the Cathedral, but the cops moved me on, so I thought I would try here until I get moved on again.”

Tom was struck by the kid’s talent; a brilliant light he knew would soon be claimed by a rival company if his own didn’t act fast. Music might be changing, but there was still room for the likes of this kid, he would be the kind whose music would still be played in years to come.

Sod the rest of the demo tapes. Get the kid signed up; he could well be the next Bob Dylan.

The End