The Metallic Muse Read Free

Word painting, it was called, back when words and tones meant something. Back when the B-A-C-H Baque was underscoring such grandiose concepts as Heaven and Hell. Baque worked slowly, now and then trying a harmonic progression at the multichord and rejecting it, straining his mind for some fluttering accompaniment pattern that would simulate the sound of a flyer. But then—no. The Waring people wouldn’t like that. They advertised that their flyers were noiseless. Urgent-sounding door chimes shattered his concentration. He walked over to flip on the scanner, and Hulsey’s pudgy face grinned out at him. “Come on up,” Baque told him. Hulsey nodded and disappeared. Five minutes later he waddled through the door, sank into a chair that sagged dangerously under his bulky figure, plunked his briefcase onto the floor, and mopped his face. “Whew! Wish you’d get yourself a place lower down. Or into a building with modern conveniences. Elevators scare me to death!” “I’m thinking of moving,” Baque said. “Good. It’s about time.” “But it’ll probably be somewhere higher up. The landlord has given me two days’ notice.” Hulsey winced and shook his head sadly. “I see. Well, I won’t keep you in suspense. Here’s the check for the Sana-Soap Com.” Baque took the card, glanced at it, and scowled. “You were behind in your guild dues,” Hulsey said. “Have to deduct them, you know.” “Yes. I’d forgotten.” “I like to do business with Sana-Soap. Cash right on the line. Too many companies wait until the end of the month. Sana-Soap wants a couple of changes, but they paid anyway.” He unsealed the briefcase and pulled out a folder. “You’ve got some sly bits in this one, Erlin my boy. They like it. Particularly this ‘sudsy, sudsy, sudsy’ thing in the bass. They kicked on the number of singers at first, but not after they heard it. Now right here they want a break for a straight announcement.” Baque nodded thoughtfully. “How about keeping the ‘sudsy, sudsy’ ostinato going as a background to the announcement?” “Sounds good. That’s a sly bit, that—what’d you call it?” “Ostinato.” “Ah—yes. Wonder why the other tunesmiths don’t work in bits like that.” “A harmonizer doesn’t produce effects,” Baque said dryly. “It just—harmonizes.”
     
    “You give them about thirty seconds of that ‘sudsy’ for background. They can cut it if they don’t like it.” Baque nodded, scribbling a note on the manuscript. “And the arrangement,” Hulsey went on. “Sorry, Erlin, but we can’t get a French horn player. You’ll have to do something else with that part.” “No horn player? What’s wrong with Rankin?” “Blacklisted. The Performers’ Guild nixed him permanently. He went out to the West Coast and played for nothing. Even paid his own expenses. The guild can’t tolerate that sort of thing.” “I remember,” Baque said softly. “The Monuments of Art Society. He played a Mozart horn concerto for them. Their final concert, too. Wish I could have heard it, even if it was with multichord.” “He can play it all he wants to now, but he’ll never get paid for playing again. You can work that horn part into the multichord line, or I might be able to get you a trumpet player. He could use a converter.” “It’ll ruin the effect.” Hulsey chuckled. “Sounds the same to everyone but you, my boy. I can’t tell the difference. We got your violins and a cello player. What more do you want?” “Doesn’t the London Guild have a horn player?” “You want me to bring him over for one three-minute Com? Be reasonable, Erlin! Can I pick this up tomorrow?” “Yes. I’ll have it ready in the morning.” Hulsey reached for his briefcase, dropped it again, leaned forward scowling. “Erlin, I’m worried about you. I have twenty-seven tunesmiths in my agency. You’re the best by far. Hell, you’re the best in the world, and you make the least money of any