Lily was puzzled and called out, "Anson..."
The reason their music was struggling was because they were always trying to explore new things. They had never caught the attention of a record company before, mainly because they hadn't found the right balance themselves. This showed just how difficult the production process was. Even now, as they entered the album production stage, they were still feeling their way through the dark.
Perhaps the only person they could rely on was Anson. After all, everything stemd from him— the band, the album— all beca a reality because of him.
Naturally, Anson was the soul of the band, and only he could settle the disputes between Miles and Dustin.
But now Anson was handing over such discussions to a random stranger?
It wasn't that they were worried about secrets being leaked; they just didn't think a chubby kid could offer any valuable insights.
Could this really be the right thing to do?
The chubby kid hesitated for a mont—
Should he speak up?
Or should he politely claim he knew nothing and quietly fade into the background?
In that mont of hesitation, the chubby kid saw the encouragent and expectation in Anson's eyes. He was a bit surprised, but before he could process it, a surge of impulse had already broken free.
Like a butterfly erging from a cocoon.
"Why not try using the cello as the lead instrunt?"
Instinctively, Miles looked at Anson. Clearly, the chubby kid's idea was exactly what Anson had in mind. However, Miles still turned to the kid and continued the conversation.
"But that would completely change the song's style. It wouldn't be rock or pop anymore, and honestly, I have no idea what it would beco."
The chubby kid scratched his head, and the courage he had just mustered began to deflate—
In Timbaland's production studio, he wasn't just an assistant; he was also learning about arranging, songwriting, and production.
But the point was, nearly two years had passed, and he was still just a lowly assistant. During the process of assisting Timbaland, his opinions didn't always carry weight, causing him to doubt himself.
Maybe he wasn't as talented as he thought.
The sa thing was happening here.
He was an outsider, a stranger. Offering advice in this situation was already presumptuous, and facing a bit of skepticism only made him more uncertain.
So, should he continue?
Instinctively, he responded.
"I... I don't know."
"I was just thinking that by using strings as the main lody, we could enhance the rhythm's quality. We might even use piano notes as a trono to guide the drums, keeping the arrangent simple while using the instrunts' characteristics to create resonance. This could ultimately produce a more dramatic auditory effect."
"Of course, we'd keep the chords simple to avoid disrupting the song's emotional expression."
This was indeed a new idea—
But as the chubby kid spoke, he grew more and more uncertain, increasingly lacking confidence. He kept glancing around at the expressions of those in the recording studio, terrified that he might say the wrong thing and get kicked out.
What would happen to his latte then?
Miles and Dustin exchanged a glance. Their minds were racing with countless thoughts, and for a mont, they didn't know how to respond.
Finally, Miles looked back at Anson.
Anson shrugged lightly. "That's what I was thinking. Why shackle ourselves? Rock? Pop? Folk? Or sothing else?"
"From the beginning, our band's style has been about breaking the mold. But in the end, it's us who've put the shackles on ourselves. Why do that?"
"What I an is, people are always trying to define us, to label us. When we break the mold, we beco a band that 'dares to break the mold,' so much so that we're expected to break the mold every ti. But why?"
"Our music is its own genre. Whether we follow the rules or break them, we should stick to our own ideas and creativity. Let's not let any shackles stifle our inspiration."
"We have so ideas, so creativity, so let's boldly give them a try. That's why we're here, after all."
"What do you all think?"
The recording studio was quiet, with everyone looking at each other.
Dustin murmured to himself, "Don't get trapped in the routine of breaking routines."
His thoughts were swirling.
When he looked at Anson again, he gained a deeper understanding of this young man. A long-lost excitent and joy began to burn in his chest.
"Then let's give it a shot," Dustin said.
Anson agreed.
Then Anson looked at the chubby kid. "Are you in a hurry?"
The chubby kid was a bit bewildered, unable to keep up with the pace, and shook his head in confusion.
Anson smiled. "If you don't mind, we could try it together. Have you ever produced an album?"
The chubby kid nodded repeatedly, then quickly shook his head. "I've been involved in so, but only as an assistant—Jennifer Lopez, Beyoncé, and so on. I know how things work in the studio."
Nervously, he spilled all the details like beans from a bamboo tube—
But Miles and the others were surprised because the nas he casually ntioned weren't nobodies.
Sure enough, Sound City was full of hidden talents.
"Wood. Anson Wood."
The chubby kid stared at Anson's outstretched right hand, blinked, and was stunned for a whole second before reacting. He quickly stood up—
Just as he was about to shake hands, he pulled back his hand and wiped the sweat off on his pants before finally shaking Anson's hand with both of his. He greeted him solemnly.
"Ryan Tedder."
In 2000, Ryan Tedder won the national TV competition for songwriting, solidifying his belief in pursuing a music career. At twenty-one, he dropped out of college, joined a record company, and began preparing an album.
While recording the album, he apprenticed under Timbaland to learn how to beco a producer.
The future seed bright.
Until the day he hit a wall.
The record company declared bankruptcy.
That's the entertainnt industry—companies are founded every day, but even more shut down daily, burying countless dreams and lives in the dark ruins.
Ryan had spent two and a half years producing and completing the album, but it never saw the light of day.
For those two and a half years, with no additional inco, Ryan barely made ends et by writing songs for others and assisting Timbaland as a producer. He stumbled along, just managing to keep going.
He couldn't see tomorrow, nor the future, but he kept going.
"Two and a half years"—it sounds simple when said aloud, but only those who have lived through every single day and night can truly understand the pain. And in the blink of an eye, two and a half years of hard work vanished into thin air.
Overnight, he hit rock bottom.
Everyone says Hollywood is full of opportunities. It all cos down to whether you can seize them.
It wasn't until today that Ryan believed it:
Looking at the smiling Anson in front of him, Ryan still couldn't grasp the reality of the situation. His steps were uncertain, as if he were walking on clouds, unable to tell if this was a dream or reality. But there was no ti to sort out his thoughts. He blindly followed Anson's lead, stepping through a door into an entirely new world.
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