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That’s what I want.   It’s what Mel wants, it’s what you want, it’s what your label wants … and believe me … it’s what Tarin wants.”
    “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” mumbles the drummer.
    “Oh, I’m sure.   And anyone who stands in the way of Tarin getting healthy and productive is gone.”   I wait a few seconds for that to sink in.
    “Come again?” says Stick, on the verge of losing his temper.   The anger simmers beneath the surface of his cool exterior.
    I repeat in a calm voice.   “Anyone who interferes in this program to get Tarin back on track is gone.   Crew, bodyguards, drivers, friends …” I look directly at him and finish, “…and even bandmates if necessary.”
    The guitarist and drummer look at each other and then bust out laughing.   They get themselves hysterical over it, so I wait for them to finish.   I get the sense that the last bit of their mirth is forced, but that’s okay.   If they don’t learn now, they’ll learn soon enough.
    I smile indulgently as they look at me, now obviously feeling very full of themselves. Once I’m sure I have their attention, I continue. “I recommend that you check the terms of your contract with the label. Have your attorneys verify too, if you want.   Specifically take a look at paragraphs forty-three subsection 2a and forty-four in its entirety.”
    The smiles disappear from their faces and they exchange a worried look.
    I gaze over the group, forcing my grin to stay away. This would be the wrong time to gloat. “The good news is that anyone on board with helping Tarin get his life back has nothing to fear from me.   My only goal is to get rid of his problems and bring him back to his creative, happy place.   I need your commitment today that you’re with me in this.   Thirty days or less of absolute dedication to helping Tarin.”
    “What are we going to have to do?” asks one of the bodyguards.
    “We’ll have a strategy meeting where I’ll ask for your input.   Then we’ll start right away.   We’ll get rid of all the bad influences in his life, the drugs, the booze, the pills, the cigarettes.   All of it.   We’ll get him exercising, writing, singing … doing the things that will get him whole again.   We’ll talk to him, remind him what he means to us, help him remember what’s important in life.”
    “Isn’t that what rehab’s for?” asks the chauffeur.
    “Rehab is for addicts. My information is that Tarin is not an addict.”   I look pointedly at the drummer.   He drops his gaze.
    “He has no particular drug of choice, he takes whatever’s around.   And he doesn’t do drugs all the time, just when he’s around certain people.”   I don’t bother pointing anyone out.   Everyone already knows who the culprit is in this room.
    “Why don’t you do a package deal?” says the bassist, looking at his bandmate.   “You can get two of them sober instead of just one.”
    The guitarist holds the drummer back from punching the bassist in the face.   I watched them work it out, waiting to speak until they’re done.
    I would never say this to them, and it’s not that I’m a cold person, but I don’t do this work for drummers unless they’re the Phil Collins type.   If the drummer for By Degrees suddenly becomes unavailable for whatever reason, they’ll find a replacement in less than a day.   If Tarin disappears, By Degrees is over.   Finished.   No longer able to make music that changes people’s lives, lifts them up when they’re down, and allows them to connect in ways that they can’t without the songs.   He’s the singer, songwriter, and face of the music.   I don’t value one life over another or one career over another, but I can’t save everyone.   I save the ones I do because of the one I didn’t.
    “What’s good for Tarin will be good for everyone here,” I say, being as politically correct as I can.
    The time has come for passionate advocacy, for me to