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Carole Bulewski short story writer Billy by Carole Bulewski   short story Billy ... / continued   I called him two days later as arranged and it was a very different Billy I talked to that day. He sounded very edgy - I didn't know that, back then, but he had stopped taking his meds again -, very keen too. "When do you think we can start recording?" he asked straight away. "Whenever you're ready..." "Well... I've written a few songs. About ten or something... So, the earliest, the better." Ten songs? He had written ten songs in less than two days? That guy was even more incredible than I had imagined... Although I wasn't really in touch with any studio engineer at the time, I promised him that I would get something sorted out that same day and that he could start recording very soon. "Tomorrow would be great," he just answered. On this, he hung up without even saying goodbye. I spent the rest of the day making phone calls, with Billy constantly interrupting me, calling to ask if I had sorted something out yet. When I finally found a place for him to record - analogue recording, digital mastering; the best that money could buy- I called him to let him know that he could start working the following evening. He was even more edgy than he had been during the day. "I've just written another song. The best thing I've ever done I think... Oh well, you'll see for yourself tomorrow." "Well, Billy, that's going to be a problem... I need to do my own work tomorrow. I haven't had a minute to myself today, trying to find you a studio." "What!!!" he exploded. "You're bloody joking, aren't you? You HAVE to come. I don't care what you've got to do, you HAVE to come!" "I wouldn't be much help anyway... You'll get the best sound engineers, you know." "I don't fucking care about the sound engineers. I know they'll do a great job and all that. What I need is you, man. You understand me. You're the first one to understand me." "I'm sure that's not true..." "Of course it's fucking true. Do you think Iv'e ever written so many songs, just like that, just effortlessly like that?" "I... I'm sure other people like what you're doing." "'Course they do! But they don't understand it like you do!" I didn't have the courage to carry on with this conversation and I left it at that, promising that I would come to the studio the following evening. I would find a way to write my articles for the magazine, even if I had to do so at the studio while Billy was recording. I called Billy the following afternoon, asking if he wanted me to give him a lift to the studio. Again, he sounded very different from the previous times I'd spoken to him. That day, depression had kicked in and he wasn't really edgy anymore, just totally down and doubting himself. "It's all shite. What I've written; all these songs, they're all shite. I'm crap." "Come on Billy, that's not true. You know it's not true. You know I believe in you." It was all completely crazy really, I suddenly realised. I didn't know that guy from Adam, and not only had I paid for him to record at one of the best - and most expansive - studios in London, but it seemed that we had become the best of friends in just two days. It was all happening so fast; it was all so intense... All of a sudden, I wasn't so sure that he was even talented. But I kept these thoughts to myself, obviously. Now was not the time for doubts. We had to go along with it and go to the studio that evening, see what would come out of it. When Billy arrived at the studio, he was back to being that intensely attractive person I had met only a few evenings ago. There was something absolutely mad in his eyes but God, even that was fascinating. Later, his friend Tim would explain to me that Billy had taken some cocaine before coming to the studio. That would become a real problem in the weeks to come, Billy's increasing drug consumption, of which I would know close to nothing. Sometimes I think that, indeed, I was a complete bastard during those few weeks that Billy recorded the equivalent of three albums in the studio. I should have seen that there was something badly wrong with him but I chose to turn a blind eye. All that mattered to me at the time was that he recorded his songs, and the fact that he was killing himself in the process was almost irrelevant. Did I really not realise what was going on? Of course not. Of course I knew, somehow, that he had stopped taking his meds. His behaviour was erratic, unpredictable. Some days he was totally mad, playing on that guitar as if his whole life depended on it, and the following day, he would be crying his eyes out while singing, before collapsing on one of the studio's sofas, looking at the ceiling and seeing something there that no one else could see. What always remained constant was his unique talent, and the fact that his music touched me like nothing else had before. I wasn't the only one to feel that way. The sound engineer who was working with us - the same one during all these weeks, as it seemed that Billy trusted him, unlike some of his colleagues who had popped in the studio before being thrown out by an angry and insane Billy - could not believe his ears, and sometimes he would confide that he wasn't sure he was giving that prodigious work justice. < <  PREVIOUS | NEXT > >