I'm going to be able to live. So, It's a brisk morning in Los Angeles. It couldn't be later than 8 a.m. when your

Hummer pulls up to the recording studio. You step out and your personal assistant and security

ushers you past the cameras that shine like stars and they glide you through the

door. You're used to this now. In fact, you've been used to this for decades. That's how long you've been in the

biz. How long you've been at this level. You're here to record some new backing tracks for your new album.

You feel a bit tired, to be honest. It's been a long few weeks people saying stuff about you online.

It's got it in your head a bit. Even at this level that happens.

Words still affect you. You're a consummate professional though. You have to push it from your mind you step into the

booth and the sound technicians and producers from the other side of the double layer glass give

the thumbs up the whole process only takes a couple of minutes. That's how good you are. A single

take. You head into where all the producers are sitting and plop into one of those really

comfortable leather lounges. Words of amazement fill your ears.

Just the usual.

A bunch of yes men telling you

just how incredible that track was

and how the fans are going to go crazy when they hear it.

It's all just noise at this point. You're used to it. The endless compliments

fade quickly and your attention fixates on the television in the studio. Someone's house is getting

raided. The house is

it looks familiar

suddenly fear and pain grips your heart

you fall to your knees

...