Quiet release

During the past few weeks, Renly, who had been constantly under the media radar, appeared to be in high spirits and completely at ease. It was evident that the bustling and noisy atmosphere of North America hadn't the slightest effect on Renly's vacation mood. With this, a faint smile also tugged at the corners of Matthew's lips.

"Have you not opened this box yet?" Matthew glanced at the box on the living room coffee table and then headed towards the kitchen. Every time Renly began to organize things or clean the house, the whole space would look like a tornado had swept through, and it was unbearable to watch. Matthew had truly had enough.

"What's in it?" Renly asked afterward, but as he watched Matthew take over the task, he complained with frustration, "I finally wanted to do it myself, what's your point?"

Matthew rolled his eyes but didn't say much. A single look was enough to convey his message: Are you sure? If you handle it, this perfectly good situation might turn into a disaster.

This left Renly somewhat choked up, but he had no way to retort. In the end, he could only place the coffee beans he held in his hand heavily on the stove and pick up some cherries from the nearby bowl, tossing them into his mouth as if venting his frustration. Unfortunately, Matthew remained unfazed and started working efficiently, causing Renly to grumble in disappointment. Holding cherries in his hand, he headed back to the living room.

Hearing Renly's footsteps, Matthew explained loudly, "It's a gift from Nathan last week. He said it's your album."

Album?

Renly took half a second to react, only then realizing that it was his debut album! He had completed recording it before "Detachment" officially started filming and had also signed the contract. Matthew had personally reviewed the relevant contracts, and Studio Eleven had officially become Renly's record label and distribution company. However, he had completely forgotten about this.

"The album is being released so quickly?" Renly was somewhat surprised, but upon careful consideration, the music industry had become extremely mature. After completing work in the recording studio, it could be quickly released within a week, both physically and digitally. Now, more than two months had passed, so the album's release wasn't unusual.

"Yeah, it was officially released on August 29th," Nathan wasn't here, but Matthew was well-informed. "After the release, Studio Eleven sent you a box as a gift, which you can give to your friends."

Renly placed the cherries aside and began to open the box. "I thought this box was meant for promotional use." He wasn't born yesterday.

After singers began their promotions, they needed to distribute their albums continuously, whether on television shows, radio programs, or even at certain work-related parties. They hoped to get more music reviewers, radio hosts, magazine editors, and music journalists to listen to their albums. Only then could their promotions unfold.

These free giveaway albums were naturally part of the promotional expenses and needed to be counted as part of the cost.

"Studio Eleven is a small operation, and there isn't much for promotional expenses. It was stated in the contract from the beginning," Matthew remembered the contracts he had handled perfectly and had a vivid memory of them. "I estimate that the albums meant for free promotion were distributed by them. Although I was skeptical. This time, the release of your album was simply discreet."

"Hah," Renly chuckled, looking completely unconcerned. "Isn't this good? It's an experimental album to begin with. I didn't plan to go on the radio or shoot music videos. Just quietly releasing it. People who like it will naturally find it through various channels and buy the album. And for those who don't like it, there's no need to make a big fuss about it."

When singers from major record labels released new albums, it would typically be a grand affair. First, snippets of music videos would be publicly released, followed by 30-second audio previews of the songs. Then, there would be promotional activities on television and radio, revealing the album cover or inner pages. Finally, during the official release, they would hold fan meetings, album signing events, and the like, grandly kicking off the promotion.

Under such an extensive promotional onslaught, album sales in the first week often skyrocketed into the hundreds of thousands, or even millions, propelling both reputation and popularity to their zenith. Even in a sluggish overall market, a few singers could achieve excellent results.

However, this time, there was not a peep about Renly's album.

Studio Eleven merely put the album on sale through their own distribution channels on August 29th. This included major chain record stores, supermarket shelves like Walmart, online platforms like Amazon, and finally, online digital music platforms like Spotify and iTunes. And that was all.

There was no promotion, no announcements, no hints, and not even an official press release. They had fully embraced the style of an independent artist, embracing independent music to the extreme.

Despite all the noise surrounding Renly in the past half-month, with the media focusing on him quite a bit, so far, not a single media outlet had reported this.

Matthew strongly suspected: Did anyone even know about this?

However, judging by Renly's reaction, it seemed that this was their original intention from the start: this was an album that deviated from the mainstream market, an album dedicated to making music, an album with a unique and uncompromising style, an album that rejected market demands, and an experimental album into which music enthusiasts had poured countless efforts.

Did Studio Eleven expect to profit from this? They did have expectations, but they didn't hold much hope. Did George Slender expect recognition? He had expectations, but he didn't hold any hope either. Did Renly Hall expect fame and fortune? No, he didn't.

For Studio Eleven and George, they both hoped that this pure, sincere, and outstanding music could receive more recognition, be heard by more people, be appreciated by more dedicated fans, and inject a fresh stream into the stagnant music market. But, wishes were beautiful, and reality was harsh.

So, instead of loudly promoting it, they chose to stay focused and allocate their limited promotional budget wisely, ensuring that the most dedicated fans could access this album. Thus, Studio Eleven opted for such a low-key, silent, and modest release.

In an era where even the scent of wine fears deep alleys, they chose to stay deep in the alley, quietly focused on their craft. Was this foolishness, or was it bravery?

Upon opening the box, Renly saw the neatly arranged album. It was unfolded, not the current mainstream shrink-wrapped packaging, but a retro paper package reminiscent of vinyl records. It was made of thick, textured paper that felt both aged and simple to the touch. It was easily smudged and torn, inconvenient to preserve, but those who truly loved it would carefully safeguard it. Over time, the memories imprinted on that textured paper would remain vivid and profound, recording every moment of life.

The cover, predominantly black, featured a large Bulgari photograph that took up most of the space. Above the photo was a stage, a stage after the performance, lonely and desolate.

In the center, there was a small stool with a beam of pale yellow light falling on it. A microphone lay on the ground next to it, and a wooden guitar leaned against it. The dark red curtain behind had faded slightly, and the brick-colored wooden floor had numerous blemishes. Next to the stage lay a jumble of messy cables and even some odds and ends.

It didn't look professional at all; instead, it exuded a sense of decadence and dilapidation.

This was Renly's Village Vanguard, a stage that had undergone half a century of washing and sedimentation. It was a stage that lagged behind its time but never disappeared, a stage that could hardly find a place to survive in the vast New York, a stage that remained lonely and desolate beneath the songs and dances.

Finally, in the lower corner of the stool, black handwritten text read, "Don Quixote". It seemed to be the performer's name, the stage's name, and perhaps even the name of that era.

There was no singer's name, no extra embellishments, and no additional explanations. It was just such a vintage photo filled with a sense of history, and that was the whole album. However, if you looked closely, you could see a small blackboard toppled behind the photo curtain, indicating tonight's performance schedule: "9:00 to 9:30, Renly Hall; 9:30 to 10:00, Renly Hall; 10:00 to 10:30, Anonymous."

The album's singer wasn't nameless; they were drowned in the dust, just like that desolate stage, as well as in the impatience and restlessness of the fast-food era.

Flipping over to the back, you could see two columns of handwritten song titles, eight on the left and eight on the right, all written by him personally.

On the left, all titles were aligned to the left: "Cleopatra", "Ophelia", "Budapest", "My Hands", "Believe", "Marching Forward", "Time", "Monster".

On the right, all titles were aligned to the right: "Your Bones", "Charlie Boy", "Los Angeles", "Collide", "Old Pine", "Old Friend", "Simple Life", "Was There Nothing".

The back cover was a pitch-black night sky, continuing from the dark night on the front. However, faintly in the upper-left corner of the tracklist, you could see the Big Dipper. It wasn't a photo; it was drawn with a moon-white brush. It was as if, in the boundless night, where nothing could be seen or touched, unrealistic dreamers had drawn the starlight above, hoping it would guide them forward.

Don Quixote was like this.

Renly had originally thought he wouldn't be excited or sentimental. All his emotions had already been released in the recording studio. But when he actually saw the album, his words fell silent, replaced by the slight fluctuations in his chest. It wasn't because his music had condensed into an album, but because of George's dreams, Studio Eleven's persistence, and his own thoughts and soul, all of which were recorded between the staff notation and lyrics.

This was what a dream looked like. Light and ethereal, as if it couldn't bear the weight of the heart; heavy and profound, as if it broke the rules of gravity.