threedimensions (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
threedimensions) wrote2020-04-12 08:48 am
threedimensions) wrote2020-04-12 08:48 am
Entry tags:
[1-2] TRAP
Dimensions: [1-2]
Timeline: Autumn 2014
Title: Trap
Summary: Brandon has Feelings™ about changing the pronouns in a song.
~1.2k
Notes:This song is cut from the final track list of the album, which is why it doesn't come up during Open or why no one comments on the idea that not everyone in the band might be straight after they release these albums and it doesn't come up until 2016. In the [1]st Dimension after Mark dies, Brandon releases all the demo versions of songs NNB never released so the fans can have them when they disband and it's one of them. In the [2]nd Dimension, it ends up on their fourth album. In the [3]rd dimension Brandon doesn't write the same song, though Mark does notice he uses an almost identical riff in a different song.
Brandon was pissy. Not that he ever would have admitted it, not to that exactly, but he felt irritable and out of sync, restless, like the needle of his compass wouldn't settle on north and point him in the right direction. He didn't know what his problem was, only that he felt fucked up and didn't know what to do about it. Probably the stress of trying to get both albums done after he'd insisted that they had enough time and tracks and willingness to make it happen; these were their first, and they were important, and no one else was taking it as seriously as he was. He hadn't wanted to take a break for the last two days, but then he was almost forcibly banned from the studio and ordered to get some sleep and chill for a bit. It hadn't helped.
He had slept, sure, but had only picked at his food, staring at the TV and his computer and wanting to do something but not wanting to do anything. He had also been banned from contacting any of his bandmates as they also needed and wanted a breather (probably away from him as much as the recording process in general), Kylen was on a trip with her mom, and Jack was keeping his distance after Brandon had snapped at him for no reason. Along with everything else, he now felt guilty about the startled way Jack had looked at him and then immediately retreated to his computer, tensing when Brandon had tried to approach him a few minutes later.
Thankfully, the break was over and he could go back to the studio to meet Mark for that day's vocals session. He'd somehow make it up to Jack later, maybe once he figured out what the hell was bothering him. Maybe Mark would have some insight—he usually did. It wasn't just recording anxiety or the pressure to make it good, to make it better, because that was like a constant pull, a drive to do it until he dropped. This was different...he was all out of sorts, and he hated it.
He beat Mark there—he always beat everyone there—and went in first, sitting on the edge of the wheeled chair and tapping his foot impatiently as he signed into the computer and pulled up their files. Mark wasn't too far behind him, though, breezing in just about on time. "Sup," he said, and then stopped and looked at Brandon more closely. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing. I don't know," Brandon said sourly, biting at his lip as he set the levels for the song they were going to be working on that day. "Are you ready? I'd actually like to get out of here early today."
Mark raised his eyebrows but then he just nodded. "Sure. You got the—thanks."
He took the lyrics sheet Brandon whipped out of a folder and brought it and his water into the recording booth, scanning the sheet as he walked. Brandon focused on the mixing board and his notes, trying to get everything ready and almost not caring about making sure everything was perfect for this track, just to get it down so they could move on.
"Why'd you change this?"
He looked up to see Mark back in the doorway between the control room and the recording booth, holding the sheet and looking at him oddly. "Huh?" Brandon asked. "Change what?"
"I guess I don't care, you wrote the lyrics on this one. But the original was fine?"
"You want to elaborate on what you're talking about?"
Mark came closer, pointing at the crossed-out changes in the lyrics, and as soon as Brandon saw them, the light bulb clicked on and he knew exactly why he'd been so—so—okay, pissy. Before their two-day break, he'd been in a whirlwind of coffee and energy drinks and no sleep and the mounting pressure to finish both albums before their deadline, and they had to be good, since he'd lobbied so hard to be able to do both instead of one and he'd convinced the producer he could manage almost all of it on his/their own and they only had to be checked up on, not baby-sat entirely. He hadn't been eating or sleeping or even thinking straight that last day and, until this moment, did not remember what he'd done to 'Trap'.
Now, as he looked at all of the male-related pronouns that were scratched out and female-related ones hastily written in on top in his own scrawl, he remembered feeling prickly about having a song with lyrics about a gay relationship on the album, unsure if he was ready or willing to have that sort of attention cast their way when they were just starting out. Mark had already said that he wouldn't mind singing it like it was, and he'd even gotten the demo done in just an hour a couple of weeks ago, so Brandon had initially left it the way it was when he'd written it as they'd started getting serious about the album. Apparently, a few days ago, he had gotten the idea that it was too much, and all of the "he's" were now "she's", the "his" to "her".
"Are you sure you want to change it?" Mark asked, and when Brandon looked up at him, he shrugged again. "I still don't care, it's up to you."
"No," Brandon said, and just like that, he felt better. Calmer. It was his goddamn song, and if the label didn't like it on there, or thought it was too much of a gamble, they could eat it; he'd specifically had their creative control and rights well-protected when he and the lawyer he'd hired negotiated for their contract. They were getting the final final say on what happened to their music and their songs and albums or he would die fighting them. "Change it back," he said. "I don't know what I was doing. Here, I'll re-print it."
"Okay." Mark stood by patiently as Brandon opened the file with the lyrics on the computer, pulled up 'Trap', saw that he hadn't changed anything here, it had just been ink scratches on the one that was already printed, and sent another copy to the Epson. He turned and snatched it out of the tray, scanned it again, and held it out. Mark took it and went in to the mic, putting the headset on and having a drink of water while Brandon got the track started.
As soon as he began the opening line (It's four a.m. and he's not going home/neither one of us can stand to be alone), Brandon sighed as he felt a weight come off of him, the weird feeling in his gut evaporating. He needed to think of a way to make up his shitty behavior to Jack, and this would be absolutely no excuse, but at least he'd figured it out. When Mark got to the last chorus, the line slightly different than the first two repetitions (It's a trap that I set to catch myself/I don't need—I don't want to need his help) he was grinning again.
Timeline: Autumn 2014
Title: Trap
Summary: Brandon has Feelings™ about changing the pronouns in a song.
~1.2k
Notes:This song is cut from the final track list of the album, which is why it doesn't come up during Open or why no one comments on the idea that not everyone in the band might be straight after they release these albums and it doesn't come up until 2016. In the [1]st Dimension after Mark dies, Brandon releases all the demo versions of songs NNB never released so the fans can have them when they disband and it's one of them. In the [2]nd Dimension, it ends up on their fourth album. In the [3]rd dimension Brandon doesn't write the same song, though Mark does notice he uses an almost identical riff in a different song.
Brandon was pissy. Not that he ever would have admitted it, not to that exactly, but he felt irritable and out of sync, restless, like the needle of his compass wouldn't settle on north and point him in the right direction. He didn't know what his problem was, only that he felt fucked up and didn't know what to do about it. Probably the stress of trying to get both albums done after he'd insisted that they had enough time and tracks and willingness to make it happen; these were their first, and they were important, and no one else was taking it as seriously as he was. He hadn't wanted to take a break for the last two days, but then he was almost forcibly banned from the studio and ordered to get some sleep and chill for a bit. It hadn't helped.
He had slept, sure, but had only picked at his food, staring at the TV and his computer and wanting to do something but not wanting to do anything. He had also been banned from contacting any of his bandmates as they also needed and wanted a breather (probably away from him as much as the recording process in general), Kylen was on a trip with her mom, and Jack was keeping his distance after Brandon had snapped at him for no reason. Along with everything else, he now felt guilty about the startled way Jack had looked at him and then immediately retreated to his computer, tensing when Brandon had tried to approach him a few minutes later.
Thankfully, the break was over and he could go back to the studio to meet Mark for that day's vocals session. He'd somehow make it up to Jack later, maybe once he figured out what the hell was bothering him. Maybe Mark would have some insight—he usually did. It wasn't just recording anxiety or the pressure to make it good, to make it better, because that was like a constant pull, a drive to do it until he dropped. This was different...he was all out of sorts, and he hated it.
He beat Mark there—he always beat everyone there—and went in first, sitting on the edge of the wheeled chair and tapping his foot impatiently as he signed into the computer and pulled up their files. Mark wasn't too far behind him, though, breezing in just about on time. "Sup," he said, and then stopped and looked at Brandon more closely. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing. I don't know," Brandon said sourly, biting at his lip as he set the levels for the song they were going to be working on that day. "Are you ready? I'd actually like to get out of here early today."
Mark raised his eyebrows but then he just nodded. "Sure. You got the—thanks."
He took the lyrics sheet Brandon whipped out of a folder and brought it and his water into the recording booth, scanning the sheet as he walked. Brandon focused on the mixing board and his notes, trying to get everything ready and almost not caring about making sure everything was perfect for this track, just to get it down so they could move on.
"Why'd you change this?"
He looked up to see Mark back in the doorway between the control room and the recording booth, holding the sheet and looking at him oddly. "Huh?" Brandon asked. "Change what?"
"I guess I don't care, you wrote the lyrics on this one. But the original was fine?"
"You want to elaborate on what you're talking about?"
Mark came closer, pointing at the crossed-out changes in the lyrics, and as soon as Brandon saw them, the light bulb clicked on and he knew exactly why he'd been so—so—okay, pissy. Before their two-day break, he'd been in a whirlwind of coffee and energy drinks and no sleep and the mounting pressure to finish both albums before their deadline, and they had to be good, since he'd lobbied so hard to be able to do both instead of one and he'd convinced the producer he could manage almost all of it on his/their own and they only had to be checked up on, not baby-sat entirely. He hadn't been eating or sleeping or even thinking straight that last day and, until this moment, did not remember what he'd done to 'Trap'.
Now, as he looked at all of the male-related pronouns that were scratched out and female-related ones hastily written in on top in his own scrawl, he remembered feeling prickly about having a song with lyrics about a gay relationship on the album, unsure if he was ready or willing to have that sort of attention cast their way when they were just starting out. Mark had already said that he wouldn't mind singing it like it was, and he'd even gotten the demo done in just an hour a couple of weeks ago, so Brandon had initially left it the way it was when he'd written it as they'd started getting serious about the album. Apparently, a few days ago, he had gotten the idea that it was too much, and all of the "he's" were now "she's", the "his" to "her".
"Are you sure you want to change it?" Mark asked, and when Brandon looked up at him, he shrugged again. "I still don't care, it's up to you."
"No," Brandon said, and just like that, he felt better. Calmer. It was his goddamn song, and if the label didn't like it on there, or thought it was too much of a gamble, they could eat it; he'd specifically had their creative control and rights well-protected when he and the lawyer he'd hired negotiated for their contract. They were getting the final final say on what happened to their music and their songs and albums or he would die fighting them. "Change it back," he said. "I don't know what I was doing. Here, I'll re-print it."
"Okay." Mark stood by patiently as Brandon opened the file with the lyrics on the computer, pulled up 'Trap', saw that he hadn't changed anything here, it had just been ink scratches on the one that was already printed, and sent another copy to the Epson. He turned and snatched it out of the tray, scanned it again, and held it out. Mark took it and went in to the mic, putting the headset on and having a drink of water while Brandon got the track started.
As soon as he began the opening line (It's four a.m. and he's not going home/neither one of us can stand to be alone), Brandon sighed as he felt a weight come off of him, the weird feeling in his gut evaporating. He needed to think of a way to make up his shitty behavior to Jack, and this would be absolutely no excuse, but at least he'd figured it out. When Mark got to the last chorus, the line slightly different than the first two repetitions (It's a trap that I set to catch myself/I don't need—I don't want to need his help) he was grinning again.