One night, as his father was tucking him into bed, little Sammy said, “I want my very own CD.”
And his father said, “Well, if you write some songs, and you’re a very good boy, the CD fairy will bring you your very own CD.” And he kissed little Sammy goodnight and shut off the light.
And the very next night, as his father was tucking him into bed, little Sammy said, “I wrote some songs today. Can I have my very own CD?”
And his father said, “Well, if you talk to a lot of people, and save up thousands of dollars, and find a producer who won’t make you sound like a gorilla in a dryer, the CD fairy will bring you your very own CD.” And he kissed little Sammy goodnight and shut off the light.
And the very next night, as his father was tucking him into bed, little Sammy said, “Well, Daddy, I talked to my bass player and my percussionist and they’re kind of on board, and I sold my sister into slavery and made a good chunk of money, and I’ve found a guy who wrote the ProTools ‘Dreamy Pop Star’ plugin. Can I have my very own CD?”
And his father said, “Well, now you have to rehearse until you can play your songs in your sleep. Then, maybe, the CD fairy will bring you your very own CD.” And he kissed little Sammy goodnight and shut off the light.
And the very next night, even before his father entered the bedroom, little Sammy said, “OK, I’ve practiced until my fingers bled, and my keyboard player, who usually wouldn’t know a triplet if it bit him in the leg, seems to be keeping up with me, and now, can I please have my very own CD?”
“Well,” his father said, “You haven’t even recorded the basic tracks yet.”
“Why the hell does the CD fairy care about basic tracks?”, little Sammy asked, more than a little aggrieved.
“She just does,” said his father. “Now go to sleep.” And he leaned in to kiss little Sammy, but little Sammy pulled away and said, “No. Not until the CD fairy brings my my very own CD.”
“Have it your way,” said his father, and shut off the light.
And the very next night, as his father was tucking him into bed, little Sammy said, “OK, OK, I got a little hotheaded there, but working with the CD fairy is a very stressful experience for me. I’ve recorded all my basic tracks. Now can I have my very own CD?”
“Have you done the vocals?” asked his father.
“Does the CD fairy know about autotune?” asked little Sammy.
“Probably,” said his father.
“Then I’ve done the vocals,” said little Sammy. “Can I have my very own CD?”
“Well,” said his father, “now you have to sweeten it with strings.”
“No!” wailed Sammy. “I already have a harmonica, and a banjo, and three backup singers, and a kazoo break on ‘Broomsticks in Berlin’. I am not going to sweeten it with strings.”
And his father asked, very gently, “Didn’t you tell me this morning that your producer wanted to sweeten it with strings?”
“Screw my producer,” Sammy growled. “He’s just a prima donna.”
“Uh-huh,” said his father, nodding his head. “Goodnight, Sammy.” And he kissed him on the forehead and turned off the light.
And the very next night, as his father was tucking him into bed, little Sammy said, “Well, OK, I listened to it again, and you were right, I sweetened it with strings, and now it’s mixed and mastered and can I now, please, have my very own CD?”
“And you know who’s going to duplicate it?” asked his father.
“Yes,” said Sammy.
“And you’ve scheduled your CD release show?” asked his father.
“Yes,” said Sammy.
“And you’ve got your radio interviews lined up?” asked his father.
“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” said Sammy.
“Well, the CD fairy doesn’t want to see her work wasted. What are your plans to advertise this masterpiece?”
And Sammy said, “I’m going to put it on Spotify and watch the dollars roll in. You know, Daddy, I’m beginning to think you don’t know a single thing about the music business.”