Burst of Sparks

A/N: Idk when powerstones reset but considering that we are at 160 powerstones at the moment, here's a bonus chapter... :)

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Once again, he pushed open the door and looked at the mess in the corridor, feeling as if he had traveled back to the 1960s, the era of hippies and anarchism. Andy glanced at the hot milk in his hand—a glass cup of fresh milk, just heated in the microwave, still a bit too hot to hold, carefully cupped in his palms. He felt like he had suddenly regressed, like a rookie babysitter.

This kind of work was usually only done personally by novice agents. Once you climbed the ladder, all the trivial tasks were handed over to assistants. Even though Renly didn't have an assistant, Andy did. But everything had been chaotic since yesterday, and he hadn't been able to go to the office. In this emergency, he had to handle things personally.

Andy shook his head. He had a pile of tasks to deal with; he couldn't stay by Renly's side forever. After delivering the hot milk, he planned to return to the office and send an assistant over.

Pushing open the studio door, Andy saw Herbert with his right hand on the red button, saying hoarsely, "...the bass track is still too loud. I'll turn it down a bit and see."

Before he finished speaking, Renly, sitting in the recording room, interjected, "Turn down the drums too. I feel they ruin the texture of the electric guitar and are quite annoying. For the main verse, I want the guitar strings to dominate, or it will ruin the song's essence."

"But if you want a richer and more layered arrangement, you can't just rely on the guitar strings."

"No, no, it's not like that. Lower the drum and bass volumes first. When singing, we can add vocal and melodic layers to enrich the song and enhance its depth." Seeing Herbert still wanting to argue, Renly shook his head. "How about this? Let's try both ways and see the effect?"

Herbert sighed deeply. Just as Andy thought he was about to lose his temper, Herbert nodded in agreement. "Let's try it."

Andy was a bit surprised. Herbert was a renowned top recording engineer, rolling in the industry since the late 1980s, participating in album recordings for big bands like Nirvana and Guns N' Roses. He was known for his rich experience and extraordinary talent. Herbert was notoriously tough, stubborn, and strong-willed. During recordings, he often berated singers to tears.

But just now, Renly and Herbert had a brief confrontation, and Herbert...compromised? This was indeed unexpected.

Curious, Andy stood by and listened. The melody of "Cleopatra" played three times, but Andy couldn't hear any difference. Were the three tracks not the same?

During a break, Andy handed the hot milk to Renly, who just nodded and thanked him before urging Herbert to play the second track again. Andy felt his job was done and could now return to the office.

However, before Andy could leave, he heard arguing behind him. "This is a folk song, a folk song! I need it to be simple and pure. Overly technical arrangements ruin the original emotion…"

"But if the arrangement is too thin, it won't suit the song's emotional expression. If you were Bob Dylan, relying solely on an acoustic guitar to convey sorrow, then fine, a guitar would suffice. But the problem is…"

"The problem is this song's emotion needs to be savored by the audience, not driven by the melody. It's not a song that makes people cry instantly. That special emotion is different for every audience member. I don't need to guide it artificially!"

"But if the arrangement isn't modern enough, the market won't accept it!"

"Ah-ha! Now it's you telling me to be modern? You're telling me to appeal to the market? Hello, do you realize where we are right now, Mr. Herbert Jones?"

Andy's steps hesitated. He wondered if this place would turn into a crime scene, leading to the studio's closure.

Turning around, Andy saw Herbert supporting himself on the console, his anger evident under the dim light. His fierce gaze was intimidating. If not for the glass barrier, he might have torn Renly apart. The air in the studio turned tense.

But Renly didn't back down, meeting Herbert's gaze head-on, ready for a confrontation. He was prepared to fight, even if it meant rolling up his sleeves and jumping in.

The atmosphere was charged with tension, ready to explode at any moment.

Suddenly, Renly stepped forward excitedly. "Partition, let's partition the melody. The low part played by the electric guitar, the high part by the acoustic guitar, and use the acoustic guitar as the main melody. During the bridge connecting the verses and chorus, use drums and keyboards to enrich the movement. How about it?"

Herbert, still tense, abruptly slapped the console. The ashtray fell, spilling ashes and cigarette butts everywhere. "Let's try it!"

What?

Andy felt lost. One moment it was a fierce standoff, the next they were harmonious again? The creative process of artists was indeed hard to fathom.

Realizing he was overreacting, Andy calmed himself. It felt like he was back to his rookie days, his emotions almost uncontrollable. Looking at Renly, engrossed in playing the guitar, Andy admitted that signing this agent contract was his boldest and most unconventional decision in the past five years. Where Renly would lead him was still uncertain, causing his current anxiety.

Maybe that was a good thing.

Taking a deep breath, Andy quickly left the studio, leaving Sound City, regaining his usual composure.

"Good, good." Herbert and Renly hadn't noticed Andy leaving—or even that he'd returned. Renly's earlier greeting had been a subconscious act. "Let's proceed this way. We'll start recording the vocals now. Are you ready?"

Renly set aside his guitar, stood before the microphone, and nodded at Herbert. He then heard Herbert's voice through the speakers, "This is your first time in the studio. Let's do a trial run to find the recording feel, and I'll understand your vocal qualities. Relax, just treat it like a regular performance."

Renly gestured an "OK," put on the earphones, and the world fell into a profound silence, enveloping him completely. Not a sound could be heard, not even his own voice. It was a peculiar sensation. Then, a bright and cheerful melody entered his brain directly through the earphones, as if surrounded by the melody in endless darkness, inviting one to immerse in the sea of musical notes.

Herbert sat back, lit a cigarette, and relaxed his tense thoughts, planning to listen to Renly's first performance as an audience member rather than a recording engineer.

The Sound City studio was a ruthless place. It magnified every detail of a singer's voice, both strengths and weaknesses, akin to stripping away clothing, leaving a raw and vulnerable feeling. This could severely impact a singer's confidence but was essential for producing excellent music. So, Herbert needed to understand Renly's voice well to prepare for the recording.

♫♪I was Cleopatra, I was young and an actress

When you knelt by my mattress and asked for my hand♫♪

Renly's voice emerged from the speakers, rich with a faint huskiness, like contrails in the sky, lazily trailing but tinged with a soft golden hue, permeating the melody. It was full yet fragile, especially in the high notes where the voice became light and thin, amplifying the huskiness with a hint of breaking, slightly jarring but intriguingly, that fragility blended seamlessly with the music, effortlessly touching the heart's softest parts.

Without excessive technique, like a true bard, he abandoned all embellishments and relied solely on his core, wandering the world. The raw and unadorned voice was natural and fluent, simple to the extreme, yet exuding a poignant warmth, faint sorrow intertwined, narrating stories belonging to him, her, or someone else.

♫♪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

Die I'll be on time, I♫♪

Suddenly, a thin layer of mist formed in his eyes, armor dropped unexpectedly; emotions in his chest choked his throat, a blend of feelings beyond words, swaying with the melody like a leaf in the river of time, clear and bright, profound and warm.

The cigarette in his hand continued to burn, long ash finally collapsing onto the carpet. Herbert suddenly recalled Renly's earlier insistence: I need it simple and pure. Now, he understood.