Rap

Stepping downstairs and feeling the cool breeze, Song Ya calmed down and thought things over. Although he hadn't solved any practical problems, the purpose of his consultation had been achieved; at the very least, he had clarified the priorities of the situation and no longer felt like he was stumbling in the dark.

"According to Goodman's line of thinking, the most important thing right now is to record the demo for Thrift Shop, then take it along with the sheet music to register it with that Composers Association, and finally, find a reliable agent!"

Once he had made up his mind, he acted on it. He found a phone booth with a Yellow Pages, looked up the number for ASCAP (hereafter referred to as the Composers Association), and dialed it directly.

After a long wait, the call connected. Once he explained his intent, he was met with a series of transfers, waiting, transfers, and more waiting...

Taking advantage of this lull, he began to plan the demo recording.

"As for the demo, I definitely can't handle the accompaniment myself. I should find someone to help... forget it, I can't ask anyone for help right now."

The former Alexander Song had been the lead trumpeter for the school band; he had a good musical foundation and could read music. It was this base, combined with the English Song Ya had frantically studied after transmigrating, that allowed him to prune the original version of Thrift Shop into something suitable for this era—such as removing those inexplicable "shouts" at the beginning, replacing the electronic segments, changing lyrics with references that didn't make sense (which likely didn't exist in this era yet), and cutting the white lead singer's "honky" self-deprecation.

But that wasn't enough. Song Ya's current musical sense was abysmal, and his creative ability came from his "apocalypse cheat." He knew what things were but not why they were that way. Recording a demo was part of the creative phase, and if he let an outsider get involved, it would be very easy to reveal flaws.

A person in charge finally came on the line. For a simple registration, the basic process was very simple: the Composers Association had an office in Chicago, and he just needed to make an appointment to go there and handle the paperwork.

"Then I'll record an a cappella demo. Time is tight. The school has complete equipment, but it's a bit difficult. No matter what, I have to try. It's best to get it all done in one day and take it in for registration tomorrow. If I can't make it, I'll ignore the demo and just register the lyrics and music."

After making the appointment for tomorrow afternoon, he went to a flea market near Chinatown to browse, buying two blank cassette tapes and a very cheap plastic digital watch—an LCD screen, MIC brand, CASIQ.

The morning passed quickly. Song Ya felt a bit hungry. He didn't dare enter the nearby Chinese restaurants because they were too expensive, so he finally found a white man's street stall and bought a hot dog to fill his stomach.

"I spent too much money this morning. Sigh, I'm so poor... I must be the disgrace of all transmigrators."

He chewed on his hot dog while rushing to the subway station. He didn't know when his apocalypse cheat would descend again, and he couldn't just hang himself from one tree. "A lawyer sounds pretty good. A lawyer as down-and-out as Goodman still charges thirty-five dollars for an hour of consultation, and two thin sheets of paper sold for ten dollars... Maybe I should go the lawyer route too? After all, they say lawyers are the ruling class of America or their spokespeople. Once I finish my studies, at least I won't be easily swindled."

He was only in the ninth grade, equivalent to the third year of junior high in China; everything was still early, and recording the demo was the top priority. On the train, Song Ya kept tapping his leg to the beat, muttering to himself.

When he first transmigrated, he was indifferent to the original body's musical talent and couldn't appreciate rap songs that sounded like "chanting." But he never expected that after struggling for credits for nearly a month, he would ultimately have to work hard to find his musical sense again and use it to make his fortune.

Back at school, he went straight to the office to find the music teacher.

"I feel very ashamed for my lack of focus during the orchestra rehearsals."

"Because of the improvement in my other subjects, I relaxed my pursuit of music, and I regret it very much."

"Please, you must give me another chance!"

"Yes, I wasn't feeling well this morning and asked for leave, but I'm better now..."

"It's fine, I'm fine now. I'm completely better. Look, how about I do a dance for you?"

"Well, I just wanted to borrow the instrument storage room and the equipment inside to record something..."

"No, no, am I the kind of person who takes girls into hiding to hook up?"

"You think too highly of me. I can't get my hands on weed... or anything else..."

"I really, really apologize for my mistakes these past few days. I swear I will practice hard and restore my level as soon as possible."

"I used to be your lead trumpeter! Give me another chance! Teacher!"

"I promise I won't play a wrong note again... Wow, where did you buy this necklace? It's truly beautiful."

"Yes, it really suits you..."

"To be honest, I think that teacher Cheryl has terrible taste... Yes, yes, yes, her hairstyle paired with such large earrings looks ridiculous."

"She can't compare to you at all!"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have badmouthed other teachers behind their backs, but you know, I'm just a straightforward person who calls it like it is..."

After a mouthful of sweet talk, he finally licked the music teacher into a good mood and successfully obtained the key to the small orchestra storage room.

He locked the door, put the newly bought tape into the Sony dual-deck recorder, and plugged in the Canadian-made metronome.

"I'm gonna pop some tags, only... cough cough."

"I'm... no, no, record again."

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna... damn it, I messed up again..."

Everything is difficult at the start, and even with mistakes everywhere, Song Ya had no choice but to grind it out. Class time passed, and club activity time passed, too. By the time the music teacher knocked on the door to come in, a Chinese "three-good" Buddhist youth had been forced onto the path of rap by his cheat.

The finished product was not entirely satisfactory, but it basically matched the sheet music, and that was enough. It was just to protect his copyright anyway; artistic value wasn't something he was considering.

After thanking the music teacher, he hurried home. That night, he pulled Tony outside and began to show his cards.

"FXXXYOU!" As soon as Tony heard it, he bristled with rage, which was entirely within Song Ya's expectations.

In the eyes of the current Tony, the success of Little Lowry's first album was right before his eyes and was a certainty. When the time came for Little Lowry to become a star, he would follow along to help out and then wait to live the high life. Yet, his fifteen-year-old brother was holding a song he claimed to have written himself and saying he wanted to find a way to squeeze it into Little Lowry's new album!

This wasn't called being imaginative; this was called being blinded by greed.

He believed Song Ya was just jealous of Little Lowry's success and had come up with an incredibly clumsy and ridiculous reason to try to get in on the money!

Being Little Lowry's lackey and helping him spend money was one thing, but intruding into Little Lowry's core business to split the money was another. Tony wasn't good at school, but he wasn't stupid at all.

"You really are a piece of trash. How the hell do I have a brother like you? If you weren't my brother, believe it or not, believe it or not I'd twist your head off!" Tony grabbed Song Ya by the collar and lifted him off the ground. "You... how did you become so greedy... stupid... I noticed you were acting weird a long time ago. Weird. Where did the old Ya go?"

"Hey! Hey..."

Song Ya hadn't expected Tony to react so strongly; it seemed he really valued his brotherhood with Little Lowry. "Don't be impulsive. Listen to my explanation, and you'll understand!"

"Speak!" Tony put him down.

"Cough, first of all, I could have completely avoided telling you about this. I originally planned to find an opportunity to meet with the boss of Little Lowry's music company first, but I laid it all out for you first because you are my brother, and I respect you."

"Secondly, if my single hadn't been added to the mix, Little Lowry's new album would never have succeeded, because I accidentally overheard a conversation between Little Lowry's manager and the record label boss that day..."

"Seven thousand cassette tapes for the initial release, no vinyl records, no digital CDs, just seven thousand tapes... Is that what a successful album is supposed to look like?"

"Why would I lie to you? The truth will come out soon enough."

"If you set aside all friendship and emotional factors and look at the facts, out of those dozen or so songs on Little Lowry and Al's album, which one is actually good? Which one sounds like it could become a hit?"

"If his debut album only sells seven thousand copies, is there any chance he'll get to release a second one? If his debut loses money and he doesn't get a second chance, how is he going to support you and Silencer? Besides, he's still got AK and Al over there..."

"Yeah, yeah, I've changed, I've become calculating, but this change is definitely a good thing for our family! I want to get out of this hellhole just as much as you do. Do you want to stay in this dump your whole life?"

"The inspiration for this song came from when I was browsing the Thrift Shop last time, the day we were shooting the music video..."

"Of course! I guarantee you, this song of mine will absolutely, positively be a hit!"

"Did you forget that I'm the lead trumpeter for the school band?"

"Fine, you don't have to believe me. I wasn't expecting you to, but anyone who actually knows the industry will understand the moment they hear it."

"You want to hear it first? Sure, I recorded a demo."

After a whole day of talking and singing, Song Ya's throat was practically smoking, but he finally managed to leave Tony half-convinced, passing the test for the time being.