recording day
It wasn't necessary to take a bus for a school outing with only three people. However, despite being illogical, the kids from the correctional facility needed careful supervision. Some individuals were assigned to watch over these troublesome children who could potentially cause issues for ordinary people due to their circumstances.
"Remember, kids, we're on a musical outing to experience music. We'll have a piano class and share life through music. As my good students, behave well and don't cause any trouble," Spencer approached to whisper. "And keep the secret that we're going to record an album. This is our last chance," Spencer added.
"Don't worry, teacher, everything will be perfect. Billy Carson's group will officially start today, April 29, 2000," said Billy.
Spencer sighed and gently tapped Billy's head again. "Just behave."
"Teacher, I'll do my best," said Billy, who could only imagine recording a demo and, if time allowed, Axel's second song, "Celebrate Life," a song with a profound meaning.
They were once again transported by a police patrol. Although they weren't handcuffed, the dark blue uniforms hinted that they were not well-behaved kids. Streets passed quickly while Spencer chatted with the security guard. They were heading to the Cal Baptist University, where Spencer taught at the institute.
American facilities were good; even with time, they still looked good and could be used for essential measures. They only needed a special room; the rest was history. It wouldn't be sold, and only Billy and Connor's skills would be showcased as a duo, with Spencer supporting on the guitar.
"You can enter through the next left exit; it's a private street leading to the university parking lot," Spencer said.
The guard made the turn, and they crossed the Cal Baptist Institute's facilities, majestic to the kids but plain to the adults. Connor had never been to such an impressive institution, and Billy was eager to create the respective demo and release it.
"Alright, we have a planned schedule, kids. First, we'll study musical notes, listen to some classical music, and then I'll show you how to compose a song. A brief presentation about Amadeus Mozart, and of course, we'll practice some music," Spencer said assertively.
"Very well, Mr. Spencer. I'll go for a walk and have lunch. Do you have a proper schedule? It's better if you pick them up. You can call me 'teacher' if you need anything," the security guard asked.
"Ahhhh, nobody truly enjoys music. Come on, guys, we have to record a song, and it's a complicated process. It has to come out as perfect as possible. My teacher has a friend at an independent record label, and I can say they might spare some time to listen to the song," Spencer said.
Connor and Billy looked at each other and could only laugh at Professor Spencer breaking the rules efficiently. Sometimes, you can use a reputation as a nerdy and boring teacher to gain some benefits.
"I'll introduce you to my teacher Chomsky. He's one of the best teachers I had the opportunity to learn from in my entire music and student journey. He'll help us with so much enthusiasm that we'll surely do an amazing job," Spencer said, taking long strides while the two kids ran behind him. The image had a certain impression – two kids in blue overalls and a teacher in a funny suit.
They climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor, turned right, and reached a room with a heavy metal door. The air there was thicker, a confined space just enough to light up the kids' faces. They saw a room no more than a meter and a half wide; only a drum kit could fit, and that would be too much. In desperate situations, you take desperate measures. Billy would record with Mr. Chomsky first, and then Connor would follow the rhythm with his drum set. After that, Spencer would take the guitar and follow the beat of Billy's drums. It wasn't recommended to do this, but there was no other option when working in such conditions.
"So, we'll record everything separately, teacher. Isn't that bold?" Billy asked.
"It's a demo. Try to sing. I've trained your singing all week, and I hope all the boasting about being the biggest star in history becomes a reality," Spencer said.
Connor just smiled before giving him a fist bump. The kid had changed since Billy accepted him unconditionally into his musical group. Spencer could have mentioned that he wasn't obligated to do so and that it was normal, considering Billy was the main composer of the music and melody.
Then, the door opened, and four old folks entered, all with a slow walk and face full of experience and interesting stories. Following them was someone named Jerry Wexler, who looked like a raisin to Billy, a quite old Peter Wolf, and Jason Fox. No one paid more attention than Spencer, along with Jerry Wexler and Chomsky, who were friends from the Bronx with a long history that took them from coast to coast, ending up in Los Angeles, where they lived as hippies and relaxed all the time.
Status:
Billy Carson
Singing: (6/20) Level 1: Novice.
Piano: (7/10) Level 1: Amateur.
"You're Billy Carson," greeted Jerry Wexler.
"Pleasure, Grandpa. Thanks for coming to see me and Mr. Chomsky. Also, thank you... when I'm famous, I'll dedicate an album to you for this great favor," said Billy, with so much confidence that Spencer couldn't help but groan at the confidence his student had gained since coming from the hospital.
"Baha," Jerry Wexler laughed at the shameless kid. At least he had confidence, thought the old man. For an artist, confidence is everything. Only someone very confident in themselves can be a musician. There are exceptions, but confidence is key for a musician; it's like their blade against the looks of the people.
Chomsky winked at Billy, signaling him to enter. The old folks had the patience of saints.
"First of all, I apologize because it's embarrassing that my singing level has dropped. Give me three years, and you'll see that my voice will be better," said Billy, entering the studio with his heart ablaze like a shower of sparks heading for a wildfire on a paper forest. He remembered Joseph's words, "We lack people who truly feel things. Now everyone talks about love and doesn't love."
Billy poured all his despair at losing his past life in one blow.
On a cobweb afternoon, in a room full of emptiness
By a freeway, I confess I was lost in the pages
Of a book full of death, reading how we'll die alone.
He closed his eyes and let the song consume him like a dark room with no way out. His afternoons in the correctional facility, gazing at the landscape, his encounter with music, and the loss of drawing skills—all merged like a tangle of emotions spun by a spider, fearing that his sorrow would fall like insects into its webs
And if we're good, we'll lay to rest anywhere we want to go
In your house, I long to be
Room by room, patiently
I'll wait for you there, like a stone
I'll wait for you there alone
And on my deathbed, I will pray to the gods and the angels
Like a pagan to anyone who will take me to Heaven
To a place I recall, I was there so long ago
The sky was bruised, the wine was bled
And there you led me on
His body began to move to the rhythm of the song; he clenched his fists tightly, releasing all his energy like an electric current. The voice became softer, and the song's impact evolved into profound melancholy, only to explode again.
The lyrics transported themselves like magical arrows, with outstanding envelopes that collided with profound content, containing hidden stories about the truth of life and its falseness.
In your house, I long to be
Room by room, patiently
I'll wait for you there, like a stone
I'll wait for you there alone
Alone
And on I read, until the day was gone
And I sat in regret of all the things I've done
For all that I've blessed, and all that I've wronged
In dreams, until my death, I will wander on
In your house, I long to be
Room by room, patiently
I'll wait for you there, like a stone
I'll wait for you there alone
Alone
....
Billy didn't stop trembling when the song ended, as if he had just gone through a marathon; sweat dripped from his forehead.
[ding – realization about what it means to be a star... a star experiences every emotion on the surface, a sensitive soul that cries like a baby, laughs like a child, philosophizes like a scholar; a true star lives in its realm.]
Improved singing.
Billy Carson.
Singing: (1/40) Level 3: Student.
Piano: (7/10) Level 1: Amateur.
Congratulations on reaching the state that only magic can recreate. You've just conveyed your emotions like emotion dump sites traveling through people's souls.
New song:
"Lose Yourself" – Eminem.
...
Notifications passed like commercials in his head, but he couldn't reason what he had just achieved; he was very exhausted. His head ached, and he was very hungry. What happened? Billy thought, dizzy, leaving the studio with his body covered in sweat—the "zone," the place where inspiration reaches its most incredible heights, like stars in the sky. Only a few can reach this state, and it happens in unique situations.
"So, how did I do?" Billy said, swaying.
"Acceptable," replied Chomsky.
Billy felt like screaming at them for their words. "To hell with the old folks," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "I'll get some sleep; I'm exhausted," said Billy.
Flashback 3 minutes.
It was like a musical wave, the first to raise his gaze with anticipation was Spencer, watching the unpolished gem switch into artist mode with such ease that he completely envied.
The second to lift his head was the only one without experience in music, more of an infiltrator, but given Spencer's insistence and words about the genius that comes once in a billion, born only once every generation, Chomsky invited all his friends, and only four people showed up, but they were all esteemed friends.
The third head to rise due to the sensation of the music was Peter Wolf, who heard the soul of a rocker. The kid was already handsome; with a good representative guiding the punk, he could be great.
Next was Jerry Wexler, one of the most important figures in the room, with his vast experience and knowledge of music. He couldn't help but notice many mistakes in his singing, but he conveyed charisma like few did. He sighed. "I'm retired, let me rest," he murmured.
The last in the room was Chomsky, but he was perplexed. Now he understood that this kid being in the correctional facility instead of a music booth was a sin that they would have to correct. According to Spencer's words, the kid was a pure expression of sincerity and alluring charisma.
The boy came out sweaty and tired; only Jerry could understand his state. He had exhausted all his mental strength.
"So, how did I do?" Billy said, swaying.
"Acceptable," said Chomsky.
"To hell with the old folks," the boy said, along with other unintelligible words. The silence was broken by Jerry's laughter.
He looked at Spencer and Chomsky, "Burn the demo; I'll take the demo to Atlantic Records myself. I don't know whether to hate you; you've pulled me out of retirement. Goodbye to the quiet days in New York. I'm too old to put up with another star, but this one, this one's special," Jerry said.
"I second that," said Peter Wolf.
....
I'm testing the quotation marks here, is it ok to separate conversations? I can keep using it for this series since chapter 41 is where we are going on Patreon. just let me know.
I have another series, you can watch Supertar which is a series that deals with the world of music, from the 2000's and the world of Hollywood, but this is in the second arc.
one-piece series: Hidden World, and maybe I upload Kenichi Shirahama x kenga ashura series, But for this last mentioned series, I've been reading the mangas and watched the series for better comparison.