Michael was locked in his makeshift studio. His father's old office had beco his cave, and the inspiration from the VHS cara he'd found over the weekend was all he needed.
He was working on a new song: "Sodium".
He opened the project on his second-hand MacBook. This ti, it felt different. Since he already had so experience, the paralyzing terror of his first sessions was gone. He no longer looked at Ableton's screen as if it were a wall of alien code. Now I saw her as a canvas.
It was easier for him to do so. I no longer had to Google every two minutes. He had spent the last two months in a self-imposed training camp, and the results were there.
His movents were safe. Cmd D to duplicate a clip. Ctrl T for a new track. The keyboard shortcuts were almost instinctive.
Uploaded the System Guide for "Sodium". It was simple, like most of Bones' guides: "Atmosphere: lo-fi, ethereal, narcotic. Tempo: slow."
'Okay,' he thought. 'Lo-fi. Ethereal. Narcotic. I can do that.'
He rembered the sound of the Bones videos, that grainy quality of VHS. I wanted the beat to sound like that.
It started with the drums. He rummaged through his growing library of free samples. He ignored the clean, powerful drums. He deliberately sought out lo-fi sounds: a soft, almost muffled bass drum, as if heard from another room.
He found one. He dragged him to the track. Then he looked for a hi-hat. Not a sharp one, but one that sounded static, almost like the hiss of an old tape.
He programd a slow, almost lazy pace. Boom... tap... boom... tap...
Then, the lody. The guide suggested a synthesizer. He opened one of his pirated plugins and started looking for sounds. He went from pianos and guitars. He found a preset called "Deep Water Pad".
It was perfect. It was an ethereal, narcotic synthesizer sound, slowly rising and falling in pitch, as if it were underwater.
He played a simple lody on his MIDI keyboard, a few lancholy notes floating above the beat.
Finally, he added a layer of vinyl crunch, very subtle, just to give it that old recording texture.
He leaned back and listened to the loop. It was hypnotic. It was dark. It was exactly the sound in his head when he saw the grainy image from the VHS cara.
Michael smiled. This ti, it hadn't taken him three days of frustration. It had taken him two hours of concentrated work.
I was improving. I was learning. And for the first ti, I enjoyed the process.
….
Monday, July 27, 2015
The following week at school he felt different. On Monday morning, Michael was walking down the main hallway, his hood on and his sunglasses. He was still the "Glasses Boy" to the rest of the world, but sothing had changed.
He saw Leo, Sam, and Nate before they saw him. They were in their usual place by the lockers, engaged in what seed to be a very serious debate. Michael's instinct was the sa as always: keep walking, keep the hood on, don't interact. It was easier.
But the mory of the conversation on the steps, of that sense of normalcy, stopped him. With an almost imperceptible sigh, he changed course and headed towards them.
Leo was the first to look up. He saw Michael approaching, and instead of the confusion Michael expected, he just lifted his chin in greeting. "Mike."
"How are you?" replied Michael, his voice low. He leaned against the locker next door, a silent sign that he was joining the group.
Sam was in the middle of a sentence, his hands gesturing wildly. "... and that's why I'm telling you that The Witcher 3 is the best ga of the year. The story! The graphics! It's crazy!"
"It's too long," Leo said, not looking up from his sketchbook. "I'd rather have sothing that can be finished in a weekend."
"Hey," Michael said, joining in the conversation. The trio looked at him. "The best thing about The Witcher is not the main story. It's the music. The soundtrack of the Skellige Islands. It's incredible."
Sam was left speechless, excited that the "quiet guy" had such a specific opinion. "Dude, yes! The music is on another level! See! Leo, he understands!"
The doorbell rang, interrupting the discussion. "Lunch," Leo said, closing his locker.
Michael, instead of going to his usual solitary table in the corner of the cafeteria, he just... He followed them. They sat on the sa "island of the outcasts" as always, but now there were four of them.
The dynamic felt natural. Michael lived more with Nate, Leo and Sam.
They spent half of lunch talking about video gas. Sam and Michael joined in a discussion about why Assassin's Creed Unity was such a disappointnt, while Nate listened and Leo drew.
Eventually, the conversation changed. The cafeteria radio, which was always on, started to play louder, a generic rap song that talked about cars and chains.
Leo let out a grunt of disgust. "God, I can't stand this shit. Is that all there is?"
"What?" asked Michael, though he already knew the answer.
"Rap," Leo said, waving his pencil at the speakers. "Rap is stagnant. It has been sounding the sa for ten years. It's the sa song over and over again. 'I have money. I have jewelry. Look at my car.' It's boring. There is nothing new."
"I totally agree," Sam said. "That's why I like electronic music more. Things like Skrillex or Zedd. At least they try to make different sounds. It's more interesting."
Michael was quiet for a mont, chewing on a cold potato chip. This was the opening I needed. He shrugged, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"In fact," he said, his voice was low, forcing them to lean in to hear him. "I've been making so music."
The three stopped. They stared at him.
"What? How to play the guitar?" asked Leo.
"No, on my laptop. Producing. How... I do not know. Alternative hip-hop. Weird stuff," Michael said. "I've actually released a couple of songs on SoundCloud."
Sam's reaction was instantaneous.
"What? Seriously? What's your na?" he said, pulling out his phone with lightning speed.
"Uh... Michael Demiurge".
"Michael what?" asked Sam, typing.
"D-E-M-I-U-R-G-E," Michael spelled, feeling a little silly.
The doorbell rang, signaling the end of lunch. But Sam didn't budge. He was staring at his phone screen, his eyes wide.
The doorbell announcing the end of lunch was screaming in the hallway, but Sam didn't move. He stared at his phone screen, his mouth slightly open.
"Dude...," he said, his voice almost a whisper. What is this?"
"What?" Leo asked, trying to look at the screen.
"'Ghost Boy' has... I don't know, like five thousand reproductions! And 'Star Shopping' has three thousand! You have a lot of followers... Dude, you're famous!" exclaid Sam, this ti loud enough for people at nearby tables to turn.
Michael felt an uncomfortable warmth in his neck. "Lower your voice, you idiot."
"Seriously, Mike!" said Sam, showing the screen to Leo and Nate. They bowed, their expressions of pure disbelief. They saw the numbers. They saw the list of comnts from people all over the world.
"Fuck, Zombie," Leo muttered, impressed. "You were right. You're making music."
"Let listen," Sam said, his thumb moving to press the "play" button.
"No!" said Michael, almost too forcefully.
Sam stopped, surprised.
"Don't hear him here," Michael said, his voice quieter now. "Your phone's speaker sucks. It sounds terrible. The whole atmosphere is lost."
He felt strangely protective of his work. The thought of having his music heard for the first ti on a loud phone speaker, in the middle of a coffee shop, churned his stomach.
Leo, now genuinely intrigued, raised an eyebrow. "So where do we hear it, genius? Are you going to invite us to your secret study?"
Michael thought about it for a second. His house. His study. Your safe space. It was a big step. But looking at all three, he realized he wanted to be heard. I wanted to know what they would think.
He shrugged, trying to sound casual.
"I'm inviting you to my house this weekend," he said. "I can show them what I'm working on, on the studio monitors. There you will hear it well."
Sam's reaction was instantaneous. "Yes! Totally! We can play video gas! Wait...", his face deflated. "Do you have a console?"
Michael thought of his empty house. The old television. The sofa. Nothing else. "I have nothing to play with."
"It doesn't matter!" said Sam, his excitent coming back suddenly. "I carry my PS4! And my controls. We do a session. Music and Mario Kart... I an, Call of Duty."
"Done," Michael said.
"Great," Leo said, picking up his backpack. "Saturday. At the Zombie's house. Don't be late."
They separated to go to their next classes. Michael walked down the hallway. For the first ti, the idea of a weekend didn't feel like a void to fill. It felt like a plan.
…..
Saturday, July 25, 2015
It was Saturday afternoon. The July sun was pouring in through the office window, but Michael didn't notice it. He was in the area.
I was completely absorbed, perfecting the beat of "Sodium". The hypnotic loop filled his headphones: the ethereal synth lody, the soft kick drum and hiss of the hi-hats. I was adjusting the reverb on the snare drum, trying to make it sound even more distant.
He was so focused that the high-pitched sound of the doorbell made him jump in his chair.
He took off his headphones. The silence of the house felt strange, broken only by the sound of the doorbell ringing again. He looked at the ti on his laptop. Four o'clock in the afternoon.
'Shit. It's them.'
He had been so into music that he had completely forgotten about it.
He went downstairs, his steps were quick. He paused for a second before opening the door, feeling a strange twinge of nervousness. It was the first ti he had invited soone to his space.
He opened the front door.
His friends were there. Sam held a PS4 under his arm like a treasure, grinning from ear to ear. Leo carried his usual backpack, which Michael assud was full of snacks, and his sketchbook. Nate was just there, his quiet presence a constant, nodding in greeting.
"Did we arrive at a bad ti?" asked Leo. His eyes drifted upstairs, from where the strange, lancholy music Michael was working on filtered. I had forgotten to pause Ableton.
Michael looked at them. His secret sanctuary, his workspace, was about to be invaded by the only people in this world he was beginning to consider friends.
He shrugged and smiled slightly.
"No," he said, opening the door wider. "They arrive just in ti. Co in."
- - - - - - - - -
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