Burst of sparks

Once again pushing open the studio door, Andy looked at the disorderly corridor. It felt as if he had traveled back to the 1960s, a time of hippies and rampant anarchism. He glanced at the glass of hot milk in his hand. Fresh milk, just heated in the microwave, still a bit too hot to hold comfortably. He cradled it carefully in his hands. He couldn't help but feel like he had suddenly regressed, becoming a rookie nanny.

Such tasks were usually handled by fledgling junior managers. As one climbed the corporate ladder, all the trivial work got delegated to assistants. Even though Renly didn't have an assistant, he technically had one. But from yesterday until now, everything had been out of the ordinary. Andy hadn't even gone to the company yet. In urgent situations like this, he could only take matters into his own hands.

Andy shook his head slightly. He had a pile of work waiting for him; he couldn't possibly stay by Renly's side the whole time. He could bring the cup of hot milk over and then return to the company to send an assistant.

As he pushed open the door to the recording studio, Andy saw Herbert with his right hand on a red button. His voice was hoarse as he spoke, "...the bass track is still too loud here. I'll turn it down a bit and try again."

Before he could finish, Renly, who was sitting in the recording booth, interrupted, "Lower the drum volume a bit too. I feel like it's affecting the quality of the electric guitar, and it's getting annoying. For the chorus part, I still prefer the guitar strings to take the lead; otherwise, it might disrupt the overall mood of the song."

"But if you want the arrangement to be richer and more layered, you must avoid having only the guitar strings for the sound."

"No, no, it's not like that. After you lower the drum and bass volumes and then sing, you can gradually layer in the vocals and melody, enriching the song. It will have a stronger sense of depth as well." Seeing that Herbert seemed ready to argue, Renly shook his head, "Here's the deal—let's try both approaches. Then we'll know which one works better."

Herbert let out a sigh to the sky, and just when Andy thought he was about to get angry, Herbert nodded and gave an affirmative response, "Let's give it a try then."

Andy was a bit surprised. Herbert was a highly respected top-level sound engineer in the industry. He had been around Sound City since the late 1980s and had participated in album recordings for big-name bands like Nirvana and Guns N' Roses. He was not only experienced but also talented. Herbert was known to be a tough nut to crack, stubborn in temperament and strong-willed. During recording sessions, it was not uncommon for him to berate singers to tears.

Yet, in their brief exchange just now, Renly and Herbert... compromised? That was truly unexpected.

Andy couldn't help but become curious. Standing by, he listened attentively. The melody of "Cleopatra" played three times in succession, but Andy couldn't discern any differences. Weren't the three takes supposed to be the same track?

Taking advantage of a lull, Andy brought the cup of hot milk over and signaled to Renly. But Renly merely nodded, said "Thank you," and then urged Herbert to play the second track once again. Andy felt he probably had no further role to play here. He could accomplish his mission and then temporarily return to the office.

However, before Andy could turn and leave, a quarrel broke out behind him. "This is a folk song, a folk song! What I need is simplicity and purity. Overcomplicating the arrangement only ends up destroying the original emotion..."

"But if the arrangement is too sparse, it won't match the emotional expression of the song. If you were like Bob Dylan, relying solely on an acoustic guitar to convey sadness, then no problem, just a guitar would be enough. But the issue is..."

"The issue is that the emotion of this song should be savored slowly by the audience, not driven by the melody. It's not the kind of song that makes people tear up immediately upon listening. That unique emotion varies for every listener. I don't need it artificially guided!"

"However, if the arrangement isn't somewhat modern, the market won't accept it!"

"Ah, ha! Now it's your turn to tell me to modernize? You're telling me to make the market accept it? Hello, do you realize where we are right now? Mr. Jones!"

Andy's steps faltered slightly as he left. His brows furrowed. He strongly suspected that this place might turn into a crime scene, and that Sound City might finally close its doors this way.

When he turned around, Andy saw Herbert with both hands resting on the mixing console. The anger on his face was vividly apparent under the dim lights. His eyes flashed with surging waves of fury. If it weren't for the glass separating them, he might have lunged forward to tear Renly into countless pieces. The air in the recording studio instantly grew tense.

Yet Renly wasn't backing down either. With eyes wide open, he met Herbert's gaze without humility, confronting him head-on, like walls colliding, an unyielding stand-off. His taut body seemed ready to enter battle at a moment's notice. Even if he had to roll up his sleeves and go head-to-head, he was willing.

The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder. A tiny spark could turn the scene into a disaster.

"Smack!" Suddenly, Renly took a step forward, his face filled with excitement. "Segmentation, we'll segment the melody. The low notes will be played by the electric guitar, and the high notes by the acoustic guitar. Then, we'll use the sound of the acoustic guitar as the main melody. In the bridge that connects the chorus and the verse, we'll enrich the composition with drums and keyboards. How about that?"

Herbert's hands were still bracing against the console, his brows still tightly furrowed. His emotions were still tightly wound. Suddenly, he pounded the table with force. The ashtray toppled over and crashed onto the carpet. The room fell silent, yet ashes and cigarette butts scattered everywhere. "Let's give it a try!"

What?

Andy felt like his thoughts couldn't keep up. One moment it was tense, the next, harmonious? The creative process of artists was truly mind-boggling.

Regaining his composure, Andy realized he had been too jumpy. In a split second, the atmosphere had gone from tense to relaxed. He glanced at Renly, who was once again engrossed in playing the guitar. Andy had to admit that signing this management contract had been his boldest and most unconventional decision in the past five years. Renly's unconventional approach left Andy unsure of where he would lead him, causing his current state of panic.

Perhaps, this was a good thing.

Taking a deep breath, Andy didn't hesitate. He walked briskly out of the recording studio, out of Sound City, and regained his customary composure and calm.

"Very well, very well." Herbert and Renly didn't really notice Andy's departure. They hadn't even realized he had returned. Renly's greeting earlier had been just a subconscious gesture. "Let's go with this format then. Let's start recording the vocal part now. Are you ready?"

Renly set his guitar aside and stood in front of the microphone. He nodded at Herbert, then heard Herbert's voice through the speakers. "This is your first time in a recording studio, so let's try it once. You find the feeling of recording, and I'll hear your vocal characteristics. Relax, treat it like a regular performance."

Renly made an "OK" gesture and put on his in-ear monitors. Instantly, the whole world fell quiet. It was an extreme quietness, as if he were enveloped in complete silence, a realm where even his own voice was inaudible. This sensation was so peculiar. Then, the clear and cheerful melody came through the earpiece. It entered his mind unimpeded, as if he were surrounded by the melody in boundless darkness, making him want to wander in the sea of musical notes.

Herbert sat back down, lit a cigarette, and allowed his tense thoughts to loosen slightly. He intended to listen to Renly's first performance with an audience's mindset rather than that of a recording engineer.

The recording studio at Sound City was an incredibly unforgiving place. It could magnify every detail of a singer's voice, both strengths and weaknesses, akin to tearing off all the clothes covering a body. That kind of raw exposure often dealt a heavy blow to a singer's confidence, yet it was also the foundation for creating outstanding music. Therefore, Herbert needed to understand Renly's vocal range well. This was essential preparation for the recording process ahead.

[

I was Cleopatra, I was young and an actress

When you knelt by my mattress, and asked for my hand

...

]

Renly's voice flowed through the speakers, rich and velvety, carrying a subtle huskiness. It was like a wisp of airplane contrail across the sky, lazily drifting past, but it picked up a soft golden hue, a peculiar harmony in the melody. There was a fullness to his voice that revealed a hint of vulnerability, especially in the high notes. His voice turned light and thin, and that hint of huskiness grew more pronounced, faintly hinting at the risk of cracking. It was slightly jarring, yet paradoxically, that touch of fragility seamlessly merged into the musical notes, effortlessly touching the softest corners of the heart.

With minimal technique, like a true troubadour, he relinquished all the flamboyance and ostentation, relying solely on his heart to wander the world. Stripped of all carving and embellishment, he was unadulterated, fluid, and unbroken. He just stood there, a single spotlight, a singular voice—so simple, it reached the zenith of simplicity, yet burst forth with a bittersweet warmth, a gentle sorrow woven within. It narrated stories that belonged to him, to her, to someone.

[

But I was late for this, late for that, late for the love of my life

And when I die alone, when I die alone, when I die I'll be on time

]

Suddenly, a thin mist floated before his eyes. He was caught off guard, and the flood of emotions in his chest blocked his throat. The tangled feelings couldn't be expressed in words; they simply flowed along with the melody, like a withered leaf in the river of time. Clear and luminous, profound and warm.

The cigarette between Herbert's fingers continued to burn. The long ash finally couldn't hold on any longer and fell onto the carpet. Suddenly, Herbert recalled Renly's earlier insistence: "What I need is simplicity and purity." Now, he finally understood.