The Spiritual Rockstar Advisor
by Nyssa Jayne
I'd made a checklist for myself:
--Wavy brown hair
--Faded blue denim flared jeans
--Baby doll tour T-shirts
--Cowboy boots
--1968 Gibson Acoustic
--Ex-boyfriend who did me wrong
--Record contract
--Orange lamplight
--A journal of whimsical and melancholy writings
--Tour bus
--Dingy hotel room in America's west
--Absolute freedom
--...
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...
A mobile phone was not a part of the gypsy daydream, but neither was the afternoon snow of New York City falling outside the posh hotel window, or the fact that I wasn't on tour...
"Hello?" I said, still dazed.
"Michelle? It's Taylor."
"Taylor!" All gypsy acoustic rock goddesses have a sort of spiritual advisor, someone to call home rather than somewhere. I wrote "Spiritual Rockstar Advisor" on my list.
"Hey, how are you?"
"Freezing my ass off in New York, wishing I was in LA. You?"
"Roasting in LA."
"Still trying to sort that new album out?"
"Uhhh... yeah... no."
"What's wrong?"
"We lost our record contract."
"... shit."
The news knocked the wind out of me. None of the checklist was possible without Taylor and his band. I'd dreamed of being a gypsy acoustic rock goddess, of travelling across America and reaching LA, of playing guitar and singing on behalf of the gyspy inside a lot of girls. I've spend many a late nights spent befriending girls just like me with my exact same problem. We were in love, the kind of love that involves poetry and analysis and heartbreak, with boys we were growing up with, who we always presumed we understood, but could never know or touch. It frustrated us and inspired us. Like so many others, I learned guitar and played in coffeehouses and told people I had envoked my muse and that this was what I was meant to do, this was what I was meant to be.
I chalked it down to fate that my demo tape woudn up in their stereo. So many other girls had done what I'd done, but only I got a call asking to support Hanson in LA. Those I knew well treated me like a representative and those who didn't treated me like a traitor.
And that's when I met Taylor.
It wasn't until after the show, at a bar nowhere near the venue so as not to suggest that this was THE underage Hanson and their support act.
"Great set," he smiled.
"You think so? I thought the crowd were going to eat me alive. There are so many out there who have my job too." Taylor shrugged.
"Surely there was something good to come out of it?"
"I don't know, I was pretty nervous..."
"So you mean to tell me you won't even go back to your room tonight and just before you nod off, write a song about it?"
"Ummm..."
"Write poetry? Review? Journal entry?"
"I don't know... probably..."
"Good, because that guy from Maverick Records is, no doubt, probably going to sign you, so you'll have to get used to finding inspiration and happiness in strange places because they're gonna wanna jerk you around."
Taylor had been right. I've considered him my music and mentor, my spiritual rockstar advisor, ever since, which was why it was such a blow to hear that the label had dropped him and his brotherly band. He was my everything, how could I function without him to look up to?
He told me some details in a language that only musicians speak, but I felt my world crash from the original I'm-not-in-LA downer into full-fledged my-life-has-no-meaning.
"But... but... that's not fair!" I cried. "You and your band and your music are the only reason why I have a career and a love and the majority of things on my gypsy wishlist! If anything, your new album should be released instead of mine."
"Now, now, don't bring it to that."
"It's true, I'm going to feel like fraud if you're out of a job."
"What's this gypsy wishlist?"
"What? Oh... nothing."
"Tell me, please?"
"It's gonna sound stupid after what you just told me."
"That's good, I rang you because I wanted some good vibes, bring it on."
"Okay... I wrote this list of thigns I have that qualifies me as a gypsy acoustic rock goddess, like cowboy boots and a Gibson, but it turned into a wishlist when I wrote LA and absolute freedom..."
"Oh, that poet in you."
"Tell me about it."
"Did you know that snow can be just as inspiring as sunshine?"
"Cold, wet, miserable... I see what you mean."
"Pure, innocent, fragile, beautiful... anyway, don't be sad. It's not over until the gypsy rock goddess goes home."
I didn't hear from Taylor for some time after that. My songs, poems and journals fell by the wayside as I mourned the loss of my spiritual rockstar advisor. I didn't feel right releasing my new record when he had to put his away.
TO: Michelle
FROM: Taylor
SUBJECT: cheer up my gypsy acoustic rock goddess
it's some insane hour, too insane to call, but i have to tell you -- hanson are free free free! i was inspired by your wishlist. hanson has a new label -- our own.
peace, taylor.
Moments like that make you realise that nothing ever was wrong and that despite everything, Taylor had never stopped being my spiritual rockstar advisor. He was still one step ahead of me, always slightly unattainable and always inspiring me to find absolute freedom. That's all that mattered.