I Always Will

House of Horrors

Riley, A Week Later, New Zealand

As much we avoided acknowledging it, as much we dreamed of starting the New Year off absorbing the music of Muscle Shoals Alabama and Nashville Tennessee, we always knew we'd be in New Zealand for the better part of January, completing Row's exit from Girl Band.

We're both in good spirits as we leave the airport and travel toward the old house we once shared on the outskirts of town. It was only a nine hour flight from Hawaii to Wellington—certainly the least arduous journey we've ever made to our second home. We'd don't keep any staff here, but somehow Row managed to get an AP from the show to have our old Land Rover with the removable top delivered to airport, so we're cruising the late afternoon New Zealand day, hair flying, sunglasses affixed, radio blaring "I'd Rather Go Blind" By Etta James, which was recorded in Muscle Shoals. We've decided to do a serious study of R&B, country, gospel, and folk.

We're not sure how we arrived at this eclectic mix in our own Southern Gothic sound. It just feels perfect. But we both agree, if we're going to play this music, we're going to back it up with a serious understanding and appreciation of our influences.

When the song ends, Row, somewhat impatient with the B-sides of the oldest artists, switches to Alicia Keys, "If I Ain't Got You."

"I love this one, and we need one amazing song to cover," she says. "We could turn the keys into a great opening lick. Our harmonies would be amazing."

"Very romantic, and quite fitting," In particular I'm thinking of the lyrics. Some people want it all, but I honestly want nothing but this experience with Row. Which is bloody fortunate since we're about to be flat broke.

Well, not so much broke as fully invested in our music production. At least for the short term. Row and I have decided to sink everything into our dream. We're not a starry-eyed band with talent but no idea how this business actually works, who has no hope of success without the backing of a label and a talent manager. We have the means and the connections and the expertise to produce, promote, and distribute our own debut album, with the hopes that we'll catch fire in the way so many of the best new artists have—on social media, on independent airplay, on the merit of their talent. We're hoping our investment will be rewarded with a larger distribution deal, and maybe even a small venue tour within a year.

But I've run the numbers. If we don't hit with the first album, we're going to be in the red. Row's not worried, of course. It's completely out of her life experience to worry about her financial health. It's not like her parents would let live in destitution, and anyway she inherits a ridiculous trust in a few years.

Despite all my growth, I'm somewhat pre-occupied with the business side of our new endeavor. I want this for us, but I want to prove I can make this happen for us. Creatively, strategically, and financially.

Our entire relationship, I've been living off her success. And Soundcrush's. I know she doesn't see it like that, but it's true.

Now, things will be different. I'm determined to give Row the artistic success I know we can achieve together. I don't care how much money we actually bank, as long I can give Row what she wants. And despite all her growth, she's still much the girl I married. She doesn't ever want to think about money. So I'll be both the creative partner and the built-in business manager. At least I've gotten her to agree to a weekly meeting where I'll keep her up to date with the financials. That's a step in the right direction for both of us.

When we're about five miles from our-her-house, she switches off the radio and twists in her seat, gathering her dark flying hair in an anxious twirl as she bites her lip. Checking my mirror that no one is behind us, I slow to reduce the wind noise.