Work Text:
At 23, Beca wasn’t quite where she had thought she’d be in life. Sure, she had followed (and kept living) her dream. She was getting by in LA, against her father’s hopes (something she realized more and more was not as rewarding as she had thought). She did not need a college degree. She had spent her time learning a wide variety of instruments, there was hardly a moment that her hands weren’t doing something musical.
She had a mostly-steady income, steady enough to afford a decent apartment on her own, relatively close to most of the studios she regularly worked at. She rode a bike to get around, and borrowed studio trucks when she needed to bring more of her stuff from A to B. And she was working in music, like she had dreamed.
Well, not quite like she had dreamed. In her dreams, she was a producer. In reality, she was a freelance session musician. She sat waiting at her phone, hoping to be called in to do whatever it was that the recording musicians weren’t quite capable or willing to do on their own, or something that needed to be added after they had left the studio. She’d play guitar, piano, keyboard, percussion, even bass, drums, marimba, xylophone - anything that was needed. Her latest project was the violin - which she was passable at. Her technique was awful, but it sounded all right, and that was what mattered to her employers. Most of the time, the studios had instruments for her to borrow, but she had a couple of guitars of varying types that she treasured, and she kept expanding her collection whenever she had an unusual influx of cash.
She had become good work-friends with a number of producers who would call on her services as needed. She was making herself known in the session musician circles as hard-working, eager to please and with an extraordinary ability to understand what the track needed from her. Anything from three strums on the guitar to complex layering, she’d take in what the producer and artist were saying and usually got what they wanted in one or two takes - something that was very valuable with the cost of studio time.
She wasn’t a virtuoso like some of her more specialist colleagues who could shred guitar solos like nobody’s business or drum in odd time signatures and tempos. Beca provided the bread and butter, and was proud of that. She was almost always available for work - not having a social life helped there. Her work was all over the top charts and on the most obscure unknown releases - but she was almost always unknown. Maybe she was mentioned in the liner notes, if the studio did what they were supposed to do. But she didn’t mind, she’d know that this little lick was hers, and that fill there, and the congas hidden in the background on the third verse of that song.
On this particular day, Beca had been hanging out in a practice room at another studio when Theo called. Theo was a regular producer-employer and the two worked quite well together, even though he kept making advances on her, which she kept kindly rebuffing. Nothing quite like managing romantic interests intertwined with your livelihood. Today, he asked for a quick acoustic guitar job, immediately if possible, so Beca packed her trusty Mitchell guitar (the brand name was a coincidence, but a fortuitous one) and jumped on her bike.
Arriving at the side entrance (the front was always reserved for the fancy people), she was buzzed in, signed in with reception and told which recording suite to go to. She had been here plenty of times and knew her way around, and even greeted a few of the people in the corridor.
As she arrived at the indicated suite, she checked the status light (one mistake early on had led to a very memorable scolding) and proceeded inside into… pandemonium.
Close to a dozen young women were spread out in the combined lounge and engineering area, with two recording engineers she recognized, three supposedly interns she didn’t recognize, and Theo together with two of his junior producers in a huddle in a corner. It was cramped, and there were a lot of discussions going on. Beca almost backed out again when Theo caught her movement and waved her in.
“Great that you could come Becky, we need something to firm up this one song these ladies are doing.”
“And I told you Theo, we’re an a capella group.” This was delivered sharply by a severe-looking blond woman. “We don’t use instruments. At all. We’re national champions!”
Yikes, Beca thought. They had competitions for a capella too? On purpose?
“Let’s just give it a try? Trust me, Beca is the best. We just need something soft to back up Chloe’s solo, give it some depth and pizazz. Play it back for Becky, will you Kevin?”
Kevin rolled the section in question, and Beca couldn’t help but agree. While the ladies’ voices were fine (they were perfectly in pitch and phrasing), the arrangement was lifeless and the sparkling solo fell flat.
“I got it”, Beca nodded. “Which key?”
“A flat”. Of course they did, Beca thought, they couldn’t pick something easy. Let her use some nice open chords for once. She was proud of her open chord work, she had put a lot of time into it. But Beca simply nodded and made her way towards the recording half of the suite. This was one of the larger suites and the recording booth (which was definitely a misnomer in this case) could easily fit a standard rock band, or a small choir. As she walked through the sound-proof double set of doors, she unexpectedly came face to face with a stunningly beautiful redhead.
“Oh, I’m… I’m sorry, pardon me. Didn’t see anyone through the window.”
“Yeah, I was hiding. I’m Chloe, this is my solo… and there’s so much fighting over it.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not here to step on any toes, just doing what Theo asked.”
“I know, I know. We needed to change something with this song, I’ve felt it for ages, but Aubrey - that’s the blond one with the tight ponytail - wouldn’t budge. I hope you can fix this, fix us. We only have one more day of recording.”
“I’ll do my best”, Beca said as she got set up and one of the recording engineers came in with a microphone for her guitar, and plugged in her built-in pickup as well.
“Give us a test, Beca” he asked. Beca strummed a few chords, warming up her fingers and mentally adjusting to the key given. The engineer moved the mic a few times, Beca played again, and they were quickly set up. All the while, Chloe was leaning on the wall, watching the process.
“Miss, you’ll have to rejoin your comrades”, the engineer told Chloe. She looked resigned, but gave Beca a thumbs up as they left.
“Rolling from four bars before the solo on your mark. Do you want to listen once more or just jump in, Becky?” Theo’s voice came through the talkback speakers.
“Just give me the transition once in my ears”, Beca replied, donning the headphones she had been given. The engineer nodded and let the rough mix play for a few bars. “Yep, got it, ready when you are” Beca confirmed after having plucked a few notes.
“Rolling”, the tech’s voice came through before a second or two of complete silence. Beca held her breath, partly from nerves (there were a lot of people watching her) and partly from not wanting to have any noise ruin the take. Then the mix played in her headphones, and Beca let her fingers work their magic.
If she had been asked, she couldn’t tell you how it worked, how she knew what to play and when. She had no idea how she interpreted Theo’s vague, flowery words into actual notes, strums and slaps. It just came to her in the moment, but the reaction was instant among the assembled a capella group. As a unit, they perked up their ears, trained through long hours of practice, and enjoyed . Beca’s playing wove in with Chloe’s voice and around their background vocals effortlessly, like it had always meant to be there. Even Aubrey was swayed, even as she was wondering how she would justify it.
The verse was less than a minute long, and by the time they got to the chorus, Beca had faded away, replaced by a stronger vocal arrangement. The engineer stopped the track, made a couple of quick adjustments and played the rough mix back for everyone. It sounded good, even Beca thought so, and she was her own worst critic.
“Roll just Becky’s part once, please” Theo ordered. It was standard practice, give a quick check to see that there was no unnecessary noise or hidden mistakes that would disqualify the take. There were none. And just as fast as she had arrived, Beca left again, her work done.
Theo walked out with her. “Thanks for coming so quickly Becky. Check in with Mary, I’ll give you two hours at your standard rate.”
Beca was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth - two hours pay for ten minutes work wasn’t bad, but her face must have shown the surprise. “These girls won the recording session as part of their national championship win, but they’re obviously green. They’re good, live, but, you know.” Beca did. Performing live and recording were two very different beasts. “You saved this song. They’ve got one more to go and one day left. It’s been…” Theo trailed off, extending his hand for Beca to shake.
“No problem, glad I could help. Mind if I use one of your spare suites or rooms?”
“You know you’re always welcome if they’re available. Check with Carl, you know the deal.”
Beca nodded, and Theo turned around to re-enter the suite. As the door closed, Chloe caught Beca’s eye and gave a wide smile and a wave, visibly relieved. Beca smiled back before turning towards the administrative offices to check in with Mary in accounting, to make sure she got paid, and then with Carl in booking to see if there were any spare rooms.
As luck would have it, one of the smaller recording suites was unexpectedly open for the evening, so Beca made herself comfortable and loaded up her latest private project from the USB stick she carried with her. This was one of the suites set up for solo work, where she could run the board from within the noise-dampened room. But tonight, inspiration wasn’t forthcoming and her mind kept wandering back to the redhead’s solo.
Beca didn’t sing. She played almost any instrument, she would whistle, she would hum, but she didn’t sing. Not publicly, at least. But she found herself recording her voice tonight, building up a vocal arrangement behind what she remembered of Chloe’s solo. She didn’t realize how late it was getting, she was in the flow playing with something that was new and just kept adding, tweaking and reworking. She had moved back into the editing part of the suite, back against the door and was playing around with octava effects on the parts she had recorded earlier, to add more depth.
“Fumbeling Bromides!” Beca exclaimed, heart racing. “Don’t DO that, don’t sneak up on people, don’t go into suites with the recording light on!” She was clearly startled.
“I’m so sorry, I thought everyone had left… I just… I needed a moment for myself before we wrap up for tonight.” As Beca’s heart slowed back down, realizing this was indeed not a life or death situation but simply a case of being too focused on her work and assuming she wouldn’t be interrupted, she realized that the cause of her sudden spike was the redhead from before, Chloe.
Beca sighed, letting out the sudden build-up of stress.
“I’ll go.” Chloe said in a small voice.
“No, it’s okay, you just startled me, is all. Come in, take a seat.” Beca gestured to the couch at the back of the room. “How did the rest of today go?”
“It’s a lot, long day… so much singing, my throat hurts, and so many discussions and arguments.”
“You’re working late to meet your deadline?” Beca asked. Chloe nodded. “Not so easy as you imagined, is it? Studio work, I mean.”
“Exhausting. But it was totes awes what you did today. Thank you.”
“Totes awes?” Beca barely held back a snicker.
Chloe poked her tongue out, before changing the subject. “So what are you up to?”
“Oh, just fiddling a bit, nothing important.”
“It sounded good,” Chloe smiled.
“How long were you standing there?” Beca retorted, suddenly shy.
“Long enough to hear you fiddling with some chord progressions that my music teacher would have said were illegal, but sounded awesome.”
“Uh, thanks…” Beca replied quietly.
There was a moment of silence between them.
“I…” - “Would…” They both spoke at the same time, before going silent again. Chloe’s smile widened at the awkwardness. “You go,” Beca concluded their stalemate.
“Would… could I add something to your track? It is my solo you’re playing with, after all.”
Beca just nodded and motioned towards the door to the recording booth.
Now, Beca was a through and through alto. She had a warm, rich voice and she could sing cleanly and clearly, with a decent range, all of it mostly stemming from raw talent. She was not, however, a trained singer. Chloe was a true soprano, with access to clarity and airiness and access to a higher range, as well as a wider range of expressiveness. She had spent the past years singing practically daily, and her voice was her instrument. It was honed, and her ears were simply used to harmonizing with others while singing. Through a number of takes, she and Beca added to and expanded the arrangement, doubling up certain parts and adding a top range that was missing previously.
It was a few hours later, with the two sitting side by side at the mixing console and listening to their finished product.
“This sounds amazing,” Chloe breathed. “I wish we could have had you with us making arrangements.”
Beca blushed. “You made it amazing. I’m just a string jockey, providing bread and butter services.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the outer door. Theo stuck his head in.
“Oh, Beca? Are you still here? And Chloe?”
“Yeah dude, we got maybe a little carried away fiddling. I guess it’s time to call it a night?”
“Night? It’s 8 in the morning. I’ve got to hear what you cooked up.”
“Morning!?” Beca exclaimed.
“Oh dear, this will be a long day…” Chloe said.
“Yeah, we’ve got a client using this space in a moment, but please, play me your fiddles first.” Theo requested. Beca complied.
“Amazing…” Theo breathed. “Did you ever consider producing, Beca?”
“What? No, I can’t do that.”
“You just did. We can, with your permission of course, add this right into the Bella’s EP as is. No notes. An alternate take on the same song. Classic stuff.”
Chloe smiled at Beca, who returned the smile widely. “Guess working the night shift was worth it.”