Pablo

Song Ya played the trumpet, Little Lowry played the djembe and sang, and the two of them roughly ran through the whole song together.

After listening, the manager tilted his head and looked at Song Ya, "Are you really the lead trumpeter for your school?"

"Uh, yes, I used to be." Song Ya quickly pulled out his prepared excuse, "Because I suddenly lost interest in music a while ago and slacked off on practice, I've regressed a lot, and I... I was just very nervous."

"Yeah, he got distracted, he was being stupid and focusing on his studies or something, got an A+ in math, so we all call him APLUS, hahaha..." Tony helped explain.

"That doesn't make sense, does it? The song is so complete, could it be that you..." The manager stopped mid-sentence, took out a cigarette holder, and inserted a filterless Camel, "Forget it, let's not dwell on these small things for now. I'll just assume you're a genius."

"Yeah, Ya Li, did you hear what he said? You're a genius, turns out you really are a fucking genius..."

"Shut up, Tony."

The manager made Tony shut his mouth, lit the cigarette, and took a drag, "You've already registered the copyright for the lyrics and music, right?"

"Yes, the lyrics, the music, and this demo." Song Ya could feel the other party hesitating. Little Lowry had actually already hinted for AK to step in and refuse the collaboration, and if this manager also held a negative attitude, then this path would be completely cut off.

But thinking about it from another angle, Song Ya wasn't too worried. After all, he was the one with the good song in his hands, and the other party was the one desperate for a final straw to grasp. As long as he held onto the copyright, in this capitalist society of the United States, making money was just a matter of time and quantity. As long as the other party was sharp enough, it wouldn't be hard to see the opportunity here.

Little Lowry was completely zoned out, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling, his legs swinging casually, looking like he couldn't care less.

I'm here to save you, Little Lowry!

Song Ya shouted in his heart. He was already certain that Little Lowry was still being kept in the dark by his manager and the music company boss.

"How about this, let's go to the company first."

The manager extinguished the cigarette butt with his thumb and forefinger, "AK, go pull my car around." He kicked Little Lowry's leg again and shouted, "Move it, everyone move it! Let's go!"

Silencer patted Song Ya on the shoulder, "Cool!"

Tony was as happy as a child who weighed hundreds of pounds, jumping up to high-five Little Lowry and AK, then draped his arm around Song Ya as they went downstairs, "I knew you could do it!" he shouted loudly.

Once they were downstairs, he pulled Song Ya a bit further away and whispered, "Did I talk too much up there? Did I do more harm than good?"

This brother of his was indeed someone who was rough on the outside but fine on the inside, and he was also good at using that. For example, the incident where he flashed a gun on the basketball court last time—he later said that the kids playing at that court were generally from families with decent backgrounds and education, which was why he dared to do it. If the location of the conflict had been a slum, he would never have been stupid enough to act tough with others.

However, he really did lack a filter on his mouth.

"No, it's fine..." Song Ya gave a wry smile, "Isn't it all thanks to your relationship with Little Lowry?"

"Yeah!" Tony loved that, "You're all my brothers, and brothers should help each other like this..."

Little Lowry and the manager were the last to come downstairs. It was clear they had just had an argument; Little Lowry angrily pulled open the door of Silencer's Toyota and sat inside.

"You!"

The manager ignored him and snapped his fingers at Song Ya, then pointed to the Volvo 760 that AK had just pulled up.

"Butter him up," Tony reminded him.

"Don't worry." Song Ya parted ways with him and sat in the front seat of the Volvo.

The feeling of a luxury car is just different.

Rubbing his butt against the comfortable leather seat, Song Ya thought, "When I make it big in the future, I'll get a Volvo to drive, and I can support domestic products while I'm at it. Wait? Something seems wrong..."

"Do you have a manager?" the manager asked from the back seat, getting straight to the point.

"No. Uh... I don't have any experience in that regard." Song Ya answered truthfully.

"Really?"

The manager was a bit skeptical, "Who taught you about things like copyright registration?"

"I consulted a lawyer, and that was his advice." Based on his observations, Little Lowry's manager was about fifty years old, had a slightly Mexican look, acted in a concise and decisive manner, had an air of authority, and judging by the car, his financial strength should be pretty good. It was just that he was bossy and seemed to have a strong desire for control.

But as long as the manager could bring benefits to his income and career, his personality was just a minor detail. Besides, he was Little Lowry's manager, and it seemed he was also Al's, so he knew the ins and outs; at the very least, he wouldn't be some random outsider. Since he didn't have a manager or any connections, it might be better to just...

"Uh... you..." Song Ya weighed the pros and cons and spoke decisively.

"Pablo."

"Alright, Mr. Pablo, can you be my manager?" he asked.

The two of them locked eyes in the rearview mirror.

"In principle, there's no problem. But before becoming your manager, there's one thing I need to make clear to you, regarding the copyright." Pablo said, "The music, it's fine for it to belong to you, but the lyrics, it would be best if you could yield them to Little Lowry."

"Why?" Song Ya was greatly surprised.

"The lawyer you found doesn't really understand the rap scene. Whether it's the old-school style or the later political or gangsta rap, rappers are either expressing themselves or sharing their views on various issues. Early rappers all came from the bottom, without the financial ability to get good backing tracks, so many just threw things together or simply sampled other people's music. So, the music, it's fine for it to be yours. But think about it, if the content a rapper expresses isn't his own, then what's the difference if someone else raps it? Honestly, the barrier to entry in this business isn't high; you don't need to belt out high notes or have great vocal technique. If you don't rap about what you want to say, what's the difference between you and those idol singers heavily promoted by big record labels? That kind of rapper can't hold his head up; he'll be rejected and mocked by the entire scene."

Pablo went on, "Besides, the lyrics of this song of yours still need to be changed anyway."

"Uh... uh..."

Song Ya's lips moved, wanting to speak several times but stopping. He hadn't even considered this kind of problem before, but he was very clear that if he lost the copyright to the lyrics, he would definitely lose the portion of the benefits he was supposed to get later, right?

"You think it over carefully."

Pablo didn't continue to apply pressure, picked up his Motorola brick phone, and started making a call, "Hey, old man! I need your saxophone... right now... it should be a big deal... alright, is that a deal?... Good, I'll be downstairs at your place in ten minutes."

"Go to Old Morgan's place." After finishing the call, he said to AK.

Ten minutes later, they picked up an old black man carrying an instrument case and dressed in fancy clothes from the sixties or seventies.

"Wow, wow, wow, dressed like that, where are you going, old man?" Pablo teased, tugging at the bright pocket square on the other man's chest.

"No... didn't you say there was a big deal?" The old man widened his eyes. "Don't you dare mess with me, kid! If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be out this late."

"We're going to Old Joe Music Company. What did you think I was setting you up for? Restaurant background music? Can your old bones even handle that?"

"I have plenty of performance opportunities! Every venue is hiring saxophone players right now."

"I know, I know, you all have Kelly King to thank for that. Look, even little kids are using tons of saxophone accompaniment in their compositions these days."

"Screw Kelly King. I don't thank him for anything. My technique is ten thousand times better than his."

"Really? I've seen you play his songs. You looked like you were about to run out of breath. I was genuinely afraid you'd drop dead right there on the spot."

"Screw you, I'm talking about technique!"

Pablo and Old Morgan traded a few barbs; in front of his old friend, he was a completely different person.

They soon arrived at their destination. AK parked the car, and Song Ya stepped out, looking up to see a tall sign that read "Old Joe Music Company." The neon tubes were dim, and several letters were no longer lit.