[center][h1]Endeavour Records[/h1]
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[h2]Day One[/h2]
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The studio was silent and silence was the scariest sound of all. The artists had yet to arrive for their morning session and [url=https://blogs.weta.org/tellyvisions/sites/blogs.weta.org.tellyvisions/files/styles/alignnone/public/jack-reynor.jpg?itok=Nnc36QbQ]Mitch Morgan[/url] sat alone in the booth, acoustic guitar on his lap and all the time in the world. Currently in his head, the only two sounds were of the old pipes rattling inside the Boneyard above and the pitter patter of tiny paws as his Rottweiler pup Hank the Tank roamed around the rooms, looking for snacks most likely.

Mitchell ran a hand through his every thickening beard as he contemplated the music that was gestating in his brain, clawing at the walls of his mind to travel down his arms, into his fingers and out into the world via the guitar strings. He hadn’t properly in weeks and the lines upon his face reflected that fact. Creating Endeavour Records was a long and arduous process; finding the place, scoping some talent, working out contracts etc, it was all a bit business-y and well above Mitchell’s paygrade. For the most part, his good friend Nigel would run the ship and steer it through heavy waters and storms; Mitch was there to nurture the talent, to help it grow.

At the height of his fame, Mitchell Morgan could not go anywhere without someone with a camera following him. It was no discredit to say that Bernard Zephyrs was the biggest boyband on the planet; problem was they weren’t supposed to be a boyband. The guys only got together to jam. It was Nigel, who saw money in these fresh faced boys and took a chance on them. It was a gamble that could have destroyed him, instead it made him a millionaire. The meteoric rise of the Bz’s was the result of all the stars aligning at the right time and shining down a cosmic light upon them and when that light faded it destroyed them. By this admission, Mitchell was the lone survivor; a worn down, beaten up stray dog looking for a home on the island of misfit toys. Some loved them, some hated them but either way you knew the name of Bernard Zephyr.

Endeavour was not designed as a vehicle for Mitchell’s comeback or a way to stick it to the music executives who have corrupted the business. Endeavour Records was designed to be a label for those who wish to create, who wish to be who they are and nobody could tell them otherwise. They may record an album and it may never be released, they may sing one song and never sing again. It didn’t matter, it was going to be the artist's label. Mitch was there solely to provide a platform and offer guidance; the rest was up to them.

Mitchell reached out into the ether, hoping to pull something back. He plucked at a string, leaving the sound to permeate in the studio for a moment before entering further into an improvised melody:

[color=wheat][i]“I stand beholden, to those who choose fire,
To accept and chase their desire.
The air I breathe, feels like poison to me,
California dream, was not meant to be.
That Hollywood song, ain’t what it seems;
Not everyone is the next Norma Jean”[/i][/color]

Endeavour Records is open for business...[/center]