Working with Reality
Songs of Civilization
Mireille-Astrid Langès knew that the call was supposed to be a private affair, but she could not understand a word of Kipchak. She left her phone and computer on the desk and simply went to the end of the hallway, where she had set up a little sitting area she sometimes used for interviews.
Raymin looked at Mireille-Astrid as the call connected. He greeted his grandmother in Kipchak.
RAYMIN
Father-Mother?
GRANDMOTHER
Raymin! My boy! Raymin is here!
MOTHER
Raymin! My son! I cannot wait for you to come home!
RAYMIN
I’m so happy to see you!
GRANDMOTHER
Look at his hair! He looks just like you when you were young.
GRANDFATHER
Happy New Year! Raymin! You’re all grown up. The way you took the stage!
You didn’t call. What took you so long?
RAYMIN
Father-father. Thank you. I love you too.
I was busy.
I—uh… I’m not coming home just yet.
MOTHER
Where are you, Raymin?
Raymin smiled.
RAYMIN
Look, Mom, I’m in Paris.
He showed them the view. The six-storey Haussmannian apartment buildings smiled back at the chattering Qumayin family.
RAYMIN
I was contacted,
by many people.
And this manager.
GRANDFATHER
What are you waiting for, Raymin?
RAYMIN
I already signed.
My manager is dealing with everything in English.
Raymin was absorbed in the conversation. Mireille-Astrid turned to observe him. She could see he was genuinely happy to talk with his family.
They congratulated Raymin. He eyed Mireille-Astrid as he placed the ispahan macaron patisserie on a plate and took some cutlery. She couldn't understand what he said in his language, so Raymin might as well ask for some honest advice.
RAYMIN
My manager is a woman.
I don't understand why, but sometimes she drives me nuts!
MOTHER
That's because she's not Kipchak.
She's like those Americans who don't understand anything.
RAYMIN
My manager is French.
Look, I got her this amazing pastry like I was told to do two days ago.
MOTHER
Aren't you going to share?
RAYMIN
No. She told me off for bringing her a present.
GRANDMOTHER
How old is your manager?
RAYMIN
She's probably younger than she looks.
Raymin put his cutlery down for a second to look at Mireille-Astrid. She was half-listening. She couldn’t hear the lyrics of Kipchak but she could feel the song of Kipchak in her office.
RAYMIN
She's young.
She says I'm not handsome enough.
She's sending me to the dentist, you know, for no reason.
She wants me to lift weights and run in circles until I toughen up. Like that's going to do me any good.
GRANDMOTHER
My son, it is clear she loves you.
Otherwise she wouldn't pay for you to go to the dentist.
RAYMIN
There's nothing wrong with my teeth! She just won't let me go on stage until…
Urgh and she wanted me to get this haircut. I don't feel like myself anymore.
Mireille-Astrid Langès could have cut him off after one hour or two, but she couldn't bring herself to interfere. Why should she refrain from watching Raymin chat in Kipchak with his beloved family? He was most definitely gossiping about her. In fact Mireille-Astrid enjoyed the attention. Why deny herself the fantasy that she could be in the same room as them?
They worked through the day, every day. Still Mireille-Astrid felt the progress was slow. She needed Raymin to sign with a record label to start working on some studio recordings. They needed to build a touring team as soon as possible.
Funds were running out, so why was he being so terribly difficult?
RAYMIN
I vant to sing. soulful music.
He had looked up the word soulful to prepare his discussion with his manager to explain why he refused to sing certain types of music.
MIREILLE-ASTRID
You can't sing Soul.
You don't speak American English and you cannot sing like the Black artists.
It's not about race. It's about culture. You don't understand Soul.
RAYMIN
You don't listen to me.
Soulful. Not Soul.
Mireille-Astrid took a moment to re-center her thoughts. She wanted to avoid saying anything stupid.
MIREILLE-ASTRID
I understand. But we need an income stream.
We. need. money.
Raymin understood her simple English.
RAYMIN
You vant I sing this? I sing for you.
Raymin grabbed the mic and held it in a loose grip, ready to bust out some dance moves. Because this song needed those. He closed his fingers and the mic snapped up to his mouth like flipping a switch. The mic was still off of course.
Raymin performed the song for Mireille-Astrid as if he had an entire audience of faces watching him. It was clear that the singer had worked and thought hard about how to bring the song to life. But to Mireille-Astrid Langès’ dismay, none of Raymin's voice came through. This was not Raymin, no matter how hard he tried to present the song.
Raymin lifted the microphone in the air in a final triumphal stance. He walked over to the piano and pressed down his fingers on all the keys within the span of one hand.
RAYMIN
D3—F4.
rrange.
What you vant me do?
The prodigy was at a loss.
Mireille-Astrid gave him a pained smile to show she was thinking what he was thinking. The song was not right.
RAYMIN
This song. One oktave. Party music.
He wasn't going to sing it over three octaves in various virtuosic voice registers. The music did not inspire him. Raymin had done his work, he had presented it to his manager. It wasn't appropriate music, that was all there was to it.
MIREILLE-ASTRID
Okay. I understand. I’ll find you another contract.
You need to sign with a record label immediately to finance all your touring expenses.
Your only income will be from touring. It is urgent we get you onto the stage.
They were both tired and dejected.
Raymin spared a moment to smile to his manager. Together they would find a way. They would make it work. There was no need to be frustrated at each other.
Mireille-Astrid Langès sat at her desk and Raymin followed her back into the meeting room. He stood watching the view of Paris. Maybe on his next day off, if such a thing would ever occur, he would visit the city. Mireille-Astrid presented to Raymin an organization chart.
MIREILLE-ASTRID
Let’s talk about your touring team I’m hiring for you.
Do you have any comments?
There would be musicians and technicians, a makeup artist and costume designer. A public relations spokesperson. Health and safety would be addressed by a risk manager. Raymin had never seen this large of a proposal for just one performing artist.
RAYMIN
This v.ry good.
All person speak Kipchak.
Mireille-Astrid took a minute to evaluate the ridiculous request. Raymin was making this impossible. What was he on about? Mireille-Astrid laughed at the fact that she believed him for even a second. But Raymin looked convinced that this was a closed discussion. What could she do to help him? Finally she conceded.
MIREILLE-ASTRID
Russian. I can get you Russian speakers.
RAYMIN
Kipchak.
MIREILLE-ASTRID
Din.
RAYMIN
Miiss Langès.
My team. I need Kipchak.
He let it sink in. Mireille-Astrid blinked.
RAYMIN
Frrom Kipchakstan.
MIREILLE-ASTRID
Yes! I got it.
After Raymin left was the time Mireille-Astrid Langès started her second shift, where she would work alone. Working with Raymin during the day was like taking a break compared to this finance, admin, and legal work. She looked forward to seeing Raymin every time. He never spared any effort to sing for her.
Mireille-Astrid Langès stared at her documents. Now she would have to search Europe and America far and wide for any events manager who spoke Kipchak? How had she agreed to this? She would have to interview them all, in the fraying hope that one single Kipchak guy could be her trustworthy representative in Kipchakstan to find Raymin his Kipchak touring team. She picked up her documents and buried her face under the pages.
She almost envied Raymin. Surely his life was easier. All he needed to do was learn English! How was she ever going to learn Kipchak?
It was out of the question. She would find an English-speaking Kipchak touring manager. Anyhow Langès was not a touring manager. She was Raymin's manager.