Old Joe

Unlike the cutting-edge music companies Song Ya imagined, Joe Music was tightly guarded by a narrow, thick iron door. It didn't even seem to have a doorbell, so AK stepped up and pounded on it, the iron door emitting a dull, clanging sound.

"Go buy some pizza."

Pablo pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed a few bills to Silencer. "Get some drinks, too." He pointed toward an intersection. "There's a place two traffic lights away."

Silencer silently took the money and went to get the car. Just then, a rectangular peephole on the iron door flickered, and a black thug with tattoos covering even his face lazily pushed the door open.

"Try to be a bit quicker, Carl."

Pablo complained as he walked in first, followed by a staircase just as narrow as the entrance.

Carl bumped fists with those entering. "My younger brother, Ya Li, you can also call him APLUS." Tony introduced Song Ya to him. Carl nodded, and after they bumped fists, the introduction was done.

Looks like he's just as much of a mute as Silencer.

Song Ya muttered to himself, his attention quickly drawn to the photos lining both sides of the stairs. The frames were exquisite, and the portraits—whether black and white or color—mostly featured clothing and photography styles from the fifties, sixties, or even earlier. Naturally, they were all black men. Joe appeared most frequently, both in his youth and middle age; it seemed he had been a moderately famous singer back in the day.

"That's me."

Old Morgan pointed to one of them with pride. "Look, what a handsome young man."

The young man in the photo was indeed in his prime, clutching a golden saxophone to his chest and smiling brilliantly, revealing a mouthful of white teeth.

"It's a pity, the era of old jazz has passed..." Old Morgan hugged his saxophone case a little tighter, though the faint melancholy lasted only a moment. "Damn rock and roll, damn disco, damn rhythm and blues..." The gray-haired old man suddenly transformed into an angry boy, cursing up a storm and blaming his personal failures on the currents of history. "Damn Kelly King!" In the end, he wouldn't even spare his own peers.

The second floor was much more spacious. Hanging in the foyer were two posters taller than a person. One was of Joe, who had left a deep impression on Song Ya; he stood in the center with his arms spread, embracing two black middle-aged women on each side—all of them with the same barrel-shaped figures as Aunt Susie. Song Ya didn't recognize any of them. The other poster featured Little Lowry and Al. Little Lowry, the visual center, had a guitar slung across his body and held a stand-mounted microphone with both hands, staring straight into the lens to look cool; he had quite the rock star vibe. Al, standing to the side, could only crouch down, holding a microphone in one hand while making a hip-hop gesture with the other.

It seems Little Lowry is the top star of this company.

Song Ya had a clear assessment of Joe Music's strength. Perhaps it had once been glorious, but it was certainly second-rate now.

"Call Al and tell him to come over."

Pablo snapped his fingers again and pointed to the landline on the front desk. "As fast as you can."

AK reached out, grabbed the phone from the empty front desk, and started dialing.

Pablo continued forward and stopped in front of a door marked "Recording Room." He pressed his ear against the door for a few seconds, then twisted the handle and pushed it open with force.

A woman's scream immediately erupted from inside.

"Pull up your pants and get out!" Pablo didn't care; he went straight in to chase them out.

There was a rustling sound in the pitch-black room, then a shirtless young black man wrapped his jacket around his female companion's upper body and snuck out with his head down.

Tony was laughing and shouting outside, not forgetting to help Song Ya with introductions. "This is my younger brother, Ya Li, you can also call him APLUS. Ya Li, this is Eric, our sound engineer."

"FXXK YOU, Tony," Eric cursed under his breath, while his female companion gave Tony the middle finger.

"Get in! Everyone get in!"

This was a standard recording studio. The outer room was the control room, equipped with a mixing console, chairs, a sofa, and various miscellaneous equipment. The inner room was the recording booth, and the two could see each other through a thick pane of glass.

Pablo turned on all the lights. "Start working! Hurry up!" He then pushed open the door to the recording booth and ushered Old Morgan and Little Lowry inside. "The sheet music!" He snapped his fingers at Song Ya.

Song Ya took the sheet music from his bag, walked into the recording booth, and placed them on the music stands in front of Old Morgan and Little Lowry, respectively.

Little Lowry was still sulking, acting arrogant and not saying a word, not even making eye contact with Song Ya.

Old Morgan fished out his reading glasses, put them on, and began to open his saxophone case in a leisurely manner.

"Come out, talk from here." Pablo's command came through the speakers.

Song Ya hurried out and closed the recording booth door.

"If you have any opinions, press this, but don't interrupt them easily."

Pablo pointed to the talkback button to demonstrate. "Start when you're ready," he said, pressing it to speak into the microphone.

"Don't rush me, don't rush me. I'm old, not like you young people..." Old Morgan's grumbling came through the monitor speakers.

"Where's Eric?" Pablo looked back.

"Didn't you just tell him to get lost?" Tony asked, confused.

"Go find him and bring him back. We can't do this without him." Pablo left in a hurry only after arranging everything.

Song Ya was left alone in the control room. He sat down at the mixing console and examined the place. Aside from the console, there were many pieces of equipment he couldn't name, and the walls were covered in sound-absorbing material, making it look quite professional. Of course, there was also the long sofa behind him, which was a mess, and the air still carried a faint scent of sweat, a testament to the intensity of the battle that had just taken place.

The saxophone accompaniment for the song Thrift Shop was mostly mechanical repetition. Old Morgan tried a few segments following the sheet music. "WTH..." He put down his saxophone and cursed, "Which idiot wrote this pile of garbage?"

"It was me." Song Ya felt embarrassed and answered honestly, then remembered he had forgotten to press the talkback button. "Uh... it was me," he had to repeat.

"Kids these days making music, I really don't get it. Can what you wrote even be popular?" Old Morgan continued to complain, then asked Little Lowry next to him, "Do you think this can be a hit? Singing this stuff, huh?"

It actually made Little Lowry laugh. "I don't know," he replied.

"Sigh, kids these days... I really understand less and less... You know, when I was your age..."

Old Morgan started rambling endlessly, and Little Lowry seemed content to slack off. Song Ya knew he couldn't command them, and he didn't want to open his mouth and offend anyone. Fortunately, it wasn't long before Pablo returned, accompanying Joe through the door.

Joe was still wearing the pink suit from that day. "Morgan!" He pressed the talkback button and shouted, "Do you believe I'll come in there, rip that old mouth of yours off, and throw it into Lake Michigan to feed the fish!?"

It was that same powerful bass voice, and even his appearance was quite similar to the old man in the pink suit from the Thrift Shop music video in the "Apocalypse Cheat." As soon as Song Ya saw him, he couldn't help but want to laugh.

"APLUS, right?" Joe had scolded Morgan into submission, then turned back and extended a hand. "Let's get acquainted. I'm the boss of this company, Joe. You can call me Old Joe, but I prefer it when people call me BOSS."

"Nice to meet you, BOSS." After Song Ya finished shaking his hand, the music started playing inside, so he took the initiative to step back.

Morgan played the saxophone while Little Lowry sang and played the Djembe, the two of them dutifully running through the song, and the result was much better than the time Song Ya and Little Lowry had collaborated.

"Hmm..."

Old Joe pursed his lips, noncommittal. "Let's do it again." He pressed the talk button.

While Old Joe and Pablo listened to the second take, Song Ya's mind raced. Tony had told him to butter up Pablo, but judging from their conversation in the car earlier, their interests were in conflict. Pablo was Little Lowry's manager and intended for Song Ya to "give" the lyrics to Little Lowry; trying to make him change his mind through flattery alone probably wouldn't work. Even if Pablo were to become his manager in the future, it was unknown how he would choose if a conflict of interest arose between Song Ya and Little Lowry.

Perhaps asking Pablo to be his manager wasn't a good idea.

But Old Joe and Pablo, who were right in front of him, were completely different; as long as the record sold well, Old Joe, as the owner of the music company, would certainly have interests aligned with his own...

Once he figured it out, he took action. After the second take finished, "Uh, Boss." Song Ya drew Old Joe's attention. "It's like this, the inspiration for this song came from the day we were shooting Little Lowry's MV..."

"Mm-hmm, I heard, the Thrift Shop thing, right?" Old Joe replied casually.

"Not just that, part of the inspiration actually came from you, Boss." Song Ya continued, "I wrote the chorus specifically for you. I really like your bass voice."

"Me?" Old Joe was very surprised.

"Yeah, why don't you go in and give it a try?" Song Ya gestured toward the recording booth.

"Try it?" Old Joe and Pablo exchanged a glance.

Pablo pursed his lips and nodded.

"Might as well try it." Old Joe pushed open the door to the recording booth and walked in.

After taking the sheet music and briefly preparing himself, the third take began.

I'm gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket

I'm, I'm, I'm hunting, looking for a come up

this is FXXXing awesome!

As soon as those few lines were sung, Song Ya noticed Pablo leaning forward, his eyes lighting up.