Impression Reversal
The young man named Renly stepped onto the stage and sat in the center, a faint smile on his lips, as he joked, "Thanks to Ed for the introduction and his compliments. But I think everyone here tonight isn't here to watch 'American Idol.'"
During the live shows of "American Idol," there used to be a segment where two singers performed the same song and were then judged.
Renly's quip was clearly mocking this, causing the audience to burst into laughter, but George grew increasingly displeased: Glib! This doesn't seem like a singer but more like a stand-up comedian. Ridiculous.
"It's Monday night, after a weekend of noise and celebration, it's time to relax." Renly held his guitar, looking relaxed and cheerful. This was his most familiar stage, and the comfortable and easy-going atmosphere of the bar put him completely at ease, making his speech more casual. "I'll play a little tune, hoping to bring a smile to your faces tonight."
George frowned again. A little tune? A folk tune? Creating such a tune is more challenging. The so-called little tune is often an offhand practice piece, reflecting the creator's accumulation and depth. It may lack weight, but it is rich in substance and definitely not something just any creator can claim to have written. Otherwise, it would be sheer arrogance.
George sneered slightly.
Renly, sitting on the stage, lowered his head and gently plucked the guitar strings. The clear and bright sound of the guitar strings flowed through the rich atmosphere of the bar like a refreshing stream, gradually calming the noise. The light, lazy, and free-spirited melody began to dance between the notes. It was like the sunlight at 3 PM on a summer afternoon, with the air filled with moist water vapor and dry dust, comfortable and pleasant, making people smile subconsciously.
This left George momentarily stunned.
[♫♪Los Angeles - Pushstart Wagon♫♪]
♫♪Los Angeles, she's a lady all dressed up for a riot
With her hand on the remote control
She's flippin' stations, watching car chases
Watching car chases♫♪
Renly's voice, carrying a faint smile, fluttered like a butterfly resting on a flower bud. The pure and simple aroma filled the bar, making the atmosphere more relaxed.
Simple melody, simple lyrics, all emotions seemed understated, like the simplest white shirt. But true connoisseurs know that a white shirt is the most demanding. George could taste the profound meaning, his mind painting a beautiful picture:
A graceful lady, dressed up, standing quietly amidst a riotous crowd, watching the hustle and bustle before her. Her long black hair, like a waterfall, was tied back, adorned with a vibrant red flower, complementing the blooming flowers on her dress. The tranquility amidst the chaos, the melancholy amidst the commotion, vividly portrayed the power of time.
♫♪Seattle, she is lonely
Waiting in the northern woods
Soaking wet and green
Drinking caffeine♫♪
That white shirt seemed freshly washed, with jasmine fragrance mingling with the dry scent of sunlight. Even the singing style was unadorned, the indifference and detachment in the plain narrative made it seem like watching the tides rise and fall, the clouds roll by, lazily turning smiles casual.
George couldn't help but close his eyes. The image of a woman in a white dress standing forlornly at the edge of an endless birch forest emerged. The drizzling rain made the air moist, the endless green became lush, but in the aroma of coffee, she was all alone, waiting for a lover, a family member, a friend, or maybe herself. The misty and forlorn melancholy spread like water vapor.
The jumping guitar strings became lively in the yellowish light, carrying the free spirit of a troubadour. The whole world quieted down, but the noise in the ears grew louder. This huge contrast made people immerse in it, unable to extricate themselves, as if falling into a world only they could hear. Lonely, desolate, sad, lost… gently drifting in the chest.
♫♪New York, New York
She's resilient and rough
Hanging out under streetlights and laughing
And laughing, laughing
Laughing at the days to come
She's laughing at the days to come♫♪
Tears welled up in George's eyes. The sudden surge of bitterness was overwhelming, as if in the vast city of New York, amidst the bustling crowd, he was all alone. This solitude amidst laughter and noise easily broke all defenses, striking deep into the soul, making him listen intently to that desolate and time-worn voice singing.
New York, their New York, the unique New York, she was like a figure of revelry, always smiling, always dancing, always lonely, never truly part of this world. That was New York's most unique quality, only those who truly immersed themselves and tasted it with heart could capture that fleeting desolation.
Without warning, all of George's irritability settled down.
♫♪San Francisco, she wears fishnets
And high, high heels
With her lips open wide as she breathes out a sigh
Movin' slowly down the street with her back to the east
With her heart on her sleeve and her face to the sea
With her heart on her sleeve and her face to the sea♫♪
That gentle, uplifting voice brought a smile to his lips, as if the world was gradually brightening.
That graceful silhouette, those seductive high heels, that tattered shawl, like a Bohemian gypsy walking on the edge of history, always wandering, moving westward, slowly, gradually, towards an unknown future. Life could never settle down, always on the road, that instability and wandering rooted in her blood, leaving traces in every corner of the world.
"With her heart on her sleeve and her face to the sea"
Those understated lyrics were like poetry, hiding wisdom and philosophy between the lines, as if they had experienced the vicissitudes of life, witnessed the changes of the world. This was a true little tune, refined by time, tempered by life, shaped by society, and forged by the soul, transforming complex emotions into the simplest melody, like a casual tune hummed over a beer during dinner, yet witnessing a life, an era.
George slowly opened his eyes, looking at the young and tender face at the center of the stage. Renly's smile never faded, as if he were a bird spreading its wings, soaring freely, embracing the sky and earth, flying over mountains and seas. A slight smile was enough to light up the world.
Then he sang softly, "With her heart on her sleeve and her face to the sea"
That state of mind and imagery of facing the sea, with spring blossoms, flowed through the light notes. The slightly rising voice traced a smooth arc, then gently landed, as light as the feather in "Forrest Gump" that never seemed to touch the ground, drifting through time and space, gently floating in the heart.
George's gaze lingered on that figure, long and unwilling to leave. In Renly, he saw the carefree and unrestrained spirit of a troubadour, the indulgence and spontaneity of a wanderer. Time seemed to slide quickly through his fingers, leaving unseen marks.
George's heart surged with an uncontrollable excitement and exhilaration, making him almost want to jump up. He had seen so much, even sharing the stage with Bob Dylan once. Though not yet a revered veteran, he was not far from it. But it had been so long since he felt this excited. Was it when he first heard Norah Jones' debut album? Was that in 2001 or 2002?
What truly excited George was not just this song, but the talent and genius it revealed. Honestly, this song might not surpass "Ophelia" or even some "The A Team" pieces in completeness. But this was a little tune, an offhand creation, simple chords with simple lyrics, performed in a simple manner, yet so beautifully that words lost their color.
Though it was just one song, George felt willing to visit personally. Accepting Stanley's invitation tonight, he had expected a waste of time but found a rare treasure, making him unable to contain his emotions.
Moreover, George wouldn't forget his previous prejudice—Renly's youth contrasted sharply with the song's depth, reminiscent of young prodigies like LeAnn Rimes and Norah Jones, whose early brilliance was breathtaking. When Norah burst onto the scene with "Come Away With Me," her jazz, which requires voice, talent, and skill, thrilled the North American music scene. Now, had he discovered another Norah?
In an instant, his impression took a 180-degree turn.
Even though he overturned his own judgment, George felt no embarrassment. If he could encounter a true musical genius, a little loss of face was nothing.
George was a pure music lover, single-minded, focused, ignoring external matters, even more so than Stanley. He wasn't embarrassed but exhilarated. He sat up straight, his eyes fixed on the stage, his attention fully engaged, now deeply interested in the subsequent performance.
Note: Los Angeles - Pushstart Wagon.