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| Iron Note Records. | Started by: Babs on Jun 25, '25 08:32 |
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Paramount Hotel, Detroit — Executive Office, Top Floor The office was draped in quiet luxury — heavy mahogany furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a thin cloud of cigar smoke curling toward the ceiling. The evening lights of Detroit shimmered in the distance as three men sat around a wide desk. Fredo_Trapani lounged back in his chair, swirling a glass of red wine. Carlo_Gambino, ever the quiet observer, lit a cigar, eyes never straying far from Babs, who sat across from them — legs crossed, expression sharp, something clearly brewing behind his eyes. Babs leaned forward, voice calm but electric with an idea. Babs: “Last night, I dropped by Velvet Lounge. Over on Cass Avenue. Small jazz joint, nothing much from the outside. But inside… I heard something.” Fredo (smirking): “What, another wannabe Coltrane blowing his lungs out?” Babs (shakes his head, serious): “Nah. This kid… Reggie Brown. Barely twenty. He stood alone, blowing into that sax like his life depended on every note. And when he sang… man, it wasn’t Detroit. It wasn’t even Harlem. It was Paris. New Orleans. Something bigger. Something real.” Carlo Gambino (mildly interested): “So, what are you thinking?” Babs (leaning back now, voice steady): “I’m thinking about opening a music studio. Not just a recording spot — a full agency. We scout raw talent, train them, produce them, shape them. Turn ’em into stars. And every bit of it above board.” The room went quiet. Fredo sipped his wine, watching the city. Carlo tapped a slow rhythm on the desk with two fingers, thinking. Fredo: “That’s a big operation. A lot of moving parts. You can’t just set it up and hope it runs itself.” Babs (nodding): “Exactly. That’s why I’ve already decided — Gina-Rose will run it.” The temperature in the room shifted slightly. Carlo looked at Babs from beneath heavy lids. Carlo: “Gina Rose? Your Gina?” Babs: “Not mine. But the best person for the job. She knows the scene, she’s got the eye, the instincts, and the connections. People trust her. She’s got class, presence, and she doesn’t flinch when things get complicated. She can make this work — clean on the surface, smart underneath.” Fredo (grinning slightly): “So you’re building a music empire… and Gina’s the face of it?” Babs: “Exactly. Iron Note Records. Gina at the helm. Us behind the curtain. A cultural project to everyone else — but for us, it’s a legal, profitable machine. Clean money coming through distribution, touring, royalties, promotions. No one asks questions. And if they do? We’re just patrons of the arts.” Carlo leaned back, impressed. Carlo Gambino: “You know… if Gina’s front and center, people will see lights and music. Not the hands behind the stage. That’s smart.” Fredo (nodding): “And when your first star breaks through, you bring him here. Let him play a set for us. On the roof. Under the city lights. Just for the family.” Babs (smiling faintly): “There won’t be just one. If we play this right… we build a whole new sound for Detroit. And in that sound — we set the rhythm.” (Fade out — as a vinyl crackles to life in the corner, soft jazz pouring out, the saxophone rising like a prelude to something big and unstoppable.) |
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Right out of the gate, Iron Note Records was a hit all it's own. Before the doors were officially opened to the public, three recording artists who were close acquaintances of Fredo_Trapani had inquired into using the studio for their next projects. As soon as the building and the interior were done exactly to Gina's standards, she flew all of them down to be the first to tour the facilities. Dressed to the nines in a sleek pair of black cropped pants tailored to fit her gently curving feminine figure and a black halter top, she not only greeted the VIPs upon their arrival, but knocked them dead from the word go with her sharp, witty sense of humor and looks that could make a grown man cry. "Gentlemen, welcome to Iron Note Records. I am Gina Lee, owner and Executive Producer; and you are the first to get a look at our brand new, state-of-the-art facility." She begins the tour in the lobby; a well-appointed waiting area with a three-stationed receptionists desk. The walls are painted in a deep, royal purple, and the floors are done in highly-polished black marble with gold streaks. Past the receptionists desk is a set of of frosted glass doors with the Iron Note Records logo etched into the glass. Those doors lead into the heart of the studio, and upon passing through them, visitors and guests find a corridor that bends around both sides of a large, circular main studio with observational glass windows that can be automatically shaded at the push of a button. Inside the studio, the interior is laid out floor-to-ceiling with the latest in sound treatment innovation. There are multiple banks of electrical outlets to accommodate any number of instruments and monitors an artist could possibly need, and all were connected to a back-up generator that meant the music didn't have to stop if the power went out. Separating the studio from the recording booth is a thick, soundproofed wood-panel wall covered in acoustic treatment. On the other side of the wall sits a production and mixing room that looks like something out of a sci-fi film. There are several workstations, each with a comfortable desk chair; and behind that area is a plush seating area with leather furnishings, including two couches facing one another and separated by a black walnut coffee table, and two matching leather arm chairs and smaller side tables. Behind the seating area is a long serving counter to accommodate catering, and a wet bar already stocked. Around the left corridor are four smaller studios; but each have ample room and the same standard of sound treatment and access to electricity. These rooms are studios only, and the final room at the end of the hallway is another production room. Stretching across the back of the building, separating the two corridors, is a breakroom with a small kitchenette, coffee machine, and water cooler. There is also a dining table and six chairs. Leaving the break room on the other side, winding around the right of the main studio, is a row of three offices. The largest office at the end of the hall belongs to Gina. The second office is used by members of Fredo's family and crew who are occasionally in and out taking care of things, and the office closest to the door serves as a conference room, with another comfortable seating area and a decent sized conference table with high-end swivel chairs and a telephone at one end. When the tour concludes, Gina leads the three visitors back into the main studio and flashes a confident smile. "As you can see, Iron Note Records is simply the finest available facility for all of your production needs. We have a crew of the most talented producers and audio engineers on the east coast, and the main studio here is equipped and plenty large enough to handle television or movie cameras should you decide to go multi-media." Gina spreads her hands out, palms up, and cocks an eyebrow as she looks at each of them with that femme-fatal, wolfish grin. "So- who is ready to book?" |
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| Reply by: Gina-Rose at Jul 02, '25 22:18 | |
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Iron Note Records – Main Studio, Paramount Detroit Afternoon, the day before the first showcase The recording booth was quiet now, just the warm hum of idle equipment and the muted jazz trickling through the overheads. Carlo_Gambino sat back on a low leather couch, one leg crossed over the other, a fresh cigarillo resting between two fingers and a glass of rye in reach. His suit was dark charcoal today, cut to kill, but his eyes were half-lidded, calm. Watching. Listening. Waiting. The door opened with the soft click of precision timing. In came Albie Rinaldi, sleeves rolled up over forearms marked by decades of chalk and cloth. He carried the long box with both hands like it was breakable history. Behind him, Franny Morello walked in with her usual quiet grace, the ledger tucked under one arm. Delia Rosso trailed last, eyes already darting around the place, nose wrinkling slightly as she muttered, “Huh. Fancy for a music joint.” Carlo didn’t rise. He didn’t need to. Just the sight of him there, cigarette burning, rye catching the light, was presence enough. Gina-Rose turned as the trio entered. She didn’t have to ask. She knew what this was. Albie stepped forward, offering her the long black box with a nod that was both respectful and just shy of amused. “For you, Miss Lee,” he said with that gravel-soft rasp of his. “Custom cut. Midnight silk, hand-stitched seams. Won’t just wear well under the lights; it’ll own ‘em.” He added, with a flash of his trademark grin, “Delia wanted to lower the neckline. Franny argued for class. I just cut it the way I’d want the city to see you.” Franny gave the faintest smirk. Delia rolled her eyes. “She’ll look like thunder wrapped in velvet, either way.” Gina opened the box slowly. The outfit inside shimmered like moonlight on oil—bold but elegant, tailored for someone who didn’t need to shout to be heard. Just like her. Across the room, Carlo finally spoke; quiet, smooth, but cutting clean through the stillness. “Showstoppers deserve to be dressed like ‘em.” He took a slow sip from his glass, then added, “Albie stitched that one with more care than a bishop’s robes. That alone should tell you what kind of moment this is.” There was a beat of silence as Gina held the garment, fingers brushing across the fabric like she could feel the intent woven in. Carlo leaned back again, voice soft. “This place you built; it’s got heat, soul, style. Detroit don’t just need music, Gina; it needs what you’re makin’ here. You keep buildin’ it right, the rest’ll follow.” Franny glanced around the studio, already noting dimensions, light angles. Delia was muttering something about how she could redo the curtain seams if anyone had any brains about set dressing. Albie just stood there, hands at his sides, watching Gina with the kind of approval he didn’t hand out easy. And from the couch, Carlo raised his glass in a silent salute. “To sound. To style. To somethin’ that lasts.” |
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| Reply by: Carlo_Gambino at Jul 05, '25 22:15 | |
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Gina looked over the finely tailored garment with a mischievous smile- the way an assassin looks at a shiny, stealthy new weapon. And in a way, it was. Gina had been learning something lately that she had never really considered. It was after Babs' birthday performance that she had realized the feminine curve of her figure was a live weapon by itself; and when she didn't hide it under jeans and think leather, some things were a lot easier to manage. Like men. Carlo, this is incredible. I'll make sure this place does you and Fredo and Babs proud. I'm pretty sure a get up line this would let me walk clean out of jail. She places the piece carefully back into the box and stands. "I've already got the place booked out through September, if you can believe it. |
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| Reply by: Gina-Rose at Jul 05, '25 22:39 | |
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