#thread: leschanceux78 (Band!Alex)

[immortalmuses]

ㅤㅤㅤHenry doesn't comment on Alex's concerns (the other man could never waste his time, but it's too telling of a thing to admit). He simply keeps playing through the melody of the song in half tempo, feeling out each note and harmonization as it comes. Slowed down, the Brit's appreciation deepens for the song Alex has written, swiftly turning to wonder. Hen's lingering smirk becomes a true smile, glancing over at the other musician to admire the way he seems immersed in his own lyrics.

ㅤㅤㅤAlex had been right, the song was too fast before. It needn't be slowed to a ballad, but something in-between could be remarkable, if he and Henry can just find that sweet spot. Coming to the end of the song, the Brit lets his fingers linger on the final chord, piano gradually fading out in its own time. He looks up at Alex with quirked eyebrows, "…. Alex, you must know this song is quite brilliant. I'm not just saying that, I truly think you've written something wonderful."

ㅤㅤㅤThe song could be huge, given the opportunity. If the right people hear it. And Henry is determined to ensure that the right people hear it, that Alex gets his shot at showing the world what he can do. He knows the other band doesn't really need his help to succeed, but sometimes... well. If Henry can use his own privilege to open even one closed door for someone as talented as Alex, he'll gladly do it.

Alex takes a moment to try and reign himself back in. His music means a lot to him, sure, but that shouldn't mean that his manners should suffer; Henry's doing him a favour, after all. The storm just isn't helping his mood, putting him right on edge with its ferocity - so much for productivity, then. Pulling a hand through his curls - and making them even more wild than they already were - Alex inhales and exhales with forced slowness until he feels steadier where he sits.

"It just seems too fast right now," the American murmurs, feeling like he needs to try and justify his opinion in front of the more experienced musician. Taking things note by note seems like a good idea, though; picking things apart into their smallest pieces is something he does regularly ( mostly to himself, if he's honest --- he's always been his own harshest critic ).

He's yanked out of his thought cycle by the way Henry says his name, by his smirk. It's honestly a little overwhelming to have that kind of one-to-one attention in such a small space - Alex flushes and glances away, fidgeting with the strings of his guitar. "Just feels like I'm wasting your time right now."

At the end of the day, though, they're both here to make music --- so when Henry begins to play the piano, Alex joins in with the beginning of the chorus of his song.

[immortalmuses]

          If they were anywhere, anywhere not the studio, sharpness in Alex's tone might have put Henry off. But the thing is... He gets it. In just these few short hours, he's come to understand Alex's drive for perfection regarding his art, enough that he recognizes that this attitude (for lack of a better word) isn't truly directed at him. It's a self-inflicted frustration, and Henry has more that enough experience with that.

          "Alright, tempo..." The Brit says, head tilting to the side as he gives the suggestion some serious thought, "...why don't we slow things down a bit, then? Take the chorus note by note." It's easy enough to do with just a piano and an acoustic guitar, freed as they are from the drumbeat baseline that was pre-recorded by Alex's bandmate.

            Shifting back around to face the piano once more, Henry slants a look over his shoulder, his raised eyebrow just visible from that angle. "Alex..." He smirks, bemused and maybe a little bit teasing, "...I'm not that nice, just ask Pez. If I didn't want to be here, you'd never have even gotten me on the phone."

          Decisive, Hen presses his fingers down on the keys, the first chord of the refrain filling up the small studio space and blocking out sounds of the storm beyond.

The sounds of the storm get louder with no electrical sounds to dampen them, rain lashing against the windows as the emergency lights flicker on, casting them both in a dim, weak light.

"I know it happens sometimes," Alex says, the very edge of frustration creeping into his tone, "I live here, I've seen so many hurricane seasons. But I've already taken up so much of your time today because I can't get this stupid track right." It's like an itch on his skin he can't quite reach to scratch at, because he can't quite put his finger on what's wrong here. "It's just irritating." And yet, Henry is still here and still patiently obliging Alex's requests to change the slightest thing, so maybe he's just overthinking it all.

"Maybe it's the tempo of the refrain...?" He can fix that in editing later, but he'd really rather have an authentic song than a heavily edited track at the end of the session.

Picking up the acoustic guitar he's had nearby the whole time - his father's, before Oscar had given it to Alex one summer in his teens and told him to make some magic with it. Alex had written him a song as a thank you - the first song on his band's upcoming album.

"You'd tell me if you had somewhere else to be or if you got sick of this, right?"