After entering the 21st century, the developnt of music has beco increasingly diverse and complex to adapt to the demands of the fast-paced internet era. Music has begun to rge styles, with rock blending with hip-hop, pop rging with electronic, rhythm blues fusing with rap... Especially, electronic synthesized sound effects have beco prevalent. In comparison to lody, rhythm reigns supre, and the essence of music is quietly undergoing a transformation.
This is the trend of the tis, undeniable, giving birth to many outstanding pieces of music. Yet, it inevitably leads one to lant: Is there no space left for purer forms of music? Have the colors faded from those classic retro lodies? Is there no market for those simple, sincere, and pure tunes anymore?
At the dawn of music, it expressed the joys and sorrows of people, the sweetness and bitterness of life, the vicissitudes of fate. Its profound impact stemd from encapsulating the genuine emotions of every creator, every singer. Figures like Bob Dylan and The Beatles were immortalized in history because of this. But now, this purity has gradually faded away.
It's like the Sound City.
The sa song, "Cleopatra," heard in Herbert's ears, is a reminiscent ode to a bygone golden age, mourning the loss of pure music, contemplating the bleak future.
??But I was late for this, late for that
Late for the love of my life
And when I die alone, when I die alone
When I die I'll be on ti??
Every lyric is so real, so sincere, so mournful.
The golden age of music has forever vanished into the river of ti, and music is following in the footsteps of Hollywood. The highly comrcialized developnt is beginning to corrupt the purest sanctuary of the soul - the music of yesteryears. From the innovation of rock to rhythm blues, from folk to punk changing history; from trash rock, pop punk, soul pop, jazz blues, and more, a variety of genres flourished. Once, music expressed the deepest emotions of the heart, touched the most sensitive parts of the soul... But now, it's all gone.
??I was Cleopatra, I was taller than the rafters
But that's all in the past, love, gone with the wind
And now a nurse in white shoes leads back to my guestroom
It's a bed and a bathroom, and a place for the end??
Gradually moving into the vigorous lody, like cheers at a carnival, dazzling and intoxicating. The world imrsed in jubilation and joy, yet Renly's voice carries a faint sadness, as if dancing alone amidst the surging crowd, bitterness and loneliness scattered amidst the cheerful steps.
Extre noise and extre loneliness, extre joy and extre sadness, at this mont, are depicted grandly and magnificently. Breaking through all constraints, all defenses, all protections, hitting his chest fiercely, mories of the past twenty years surge forth suddenly, catching him off guard, in utter disarray.
Before his brain could react, tears blurred his vision. Looking at the empty recording studio before him, the glory of the past had dispersed with the wind. "A place for the end," how casually put, yet how grand and magnificent.
The lody ends, but Herbert still couldn't snap out of it, standing dazed in place, scarred, his eyes vacant. The faint lancholy lingered in his mind, the swirling bitterness danced on his tongue, yet it seed impossible to swallow. Ti seed to halt amidst the wafting smoke.
"Herbert? Herbert?"
The voice calling snapped Herbert out of his reverie. He hastily lowered his head, concealing the turmoil in his eyes, took a deep breath, "Wh... what's wrong?" Raising his head again, he resud his composure — at least, on the surface, though the tumult in his heart still raged.
"How do you feel?" Renly's voice ca through the microphone, with a hint of inquiry in his eyes.
Herbert paused, then rembered. They were recording; they were working.
Recalling it carefully, Renly's singing seed devoid of flashy techniques, simplifying everything, stripping away vibratos, trills, runs — even at the only part where the song soared, he refrained from using falsetto, singing with raw vocals.
Yet it was precisely this simplicity that brought forth the purest, simplest, most heartfelt emotions of the song. The rich emotions erupted through Renly's voice, clear with a hint of huskiness, warm with a touch of loss. The emotions were subtle, the delivery light as air, yet the waves they stirred were turbulent, overwhelming.
Was this take perfect? Certainly not. Herbert could point out nurous mistakes and flaws, but he didn't want to disrupt that inherent purity. Sothing seed lost after polishing.
Looking up at Renly bathed in the studio lights, Herbert couldn't help but think of Bob Dylan.
"Very good," Herbert spoke into the microphone, but found his voice terribly hoarse, prompting him to pick up the lukewarm milk beside him, taking a large gulp. After the milk went down, he realized — when was this brought over?
But without dwelling on it, he continued, "You need to watch your breath. It's not a problem during performances, but in the recording booth, every detail is amplified, and though your breaths are subtle and natural, the microphone still picks them up."
It was a mistake many novices made. Renly was already good, but many singers lacked confidence, their breaths were irregular in rhythm and length, causing havoc in the recording booth — especially many rock singers were heavy smokers, altering their singing styles to mask flaws in their breath control.
"Okay, got it." Renly nodded. The recording studio was a novelty to him, even more unfamiliar than the set. There were many things to learn from scratch.
"What else?" Renly asked curiously.
Herbert thought earnestly. He could correct Renly's pronunciation, address details in his high notes, but... "That's it," Herbert said, then nodded affirmatively after a mont of serious thought, "That's it."
Renly gestured with an "OK" sign, then lowered his head to contemplate the next steps in recording.
Watching Renly pondering, Herbert couldn't resist, "Renly, I don't know if you're a great actor, but I know you're a great singer." He hadn't paid attention to Emmy Awards or seen "The Pacific," just learned from Andy that Renly's original profession was acting, nothing more. "You have the talent to be an outstanding singer."
Herbert wasn't accustod to praising others, coughing to cover his embarrassnt, pretending to be busy, not realizing his cigarette had burned down to his fingers, hastily tossing it aside, looking quite disheveled.
Renly was taken aback by Herbert's praise, then amused by his flustered state. He spoke into the microphone, "Well, that's just terrible news then; Andy wouldn't want to hear that."
Herbert laughed heartily, diffusing the awkwardness. "His reaction isn't what I'm worried about. What I need to worry about now is the recording. We need to speed up; this place charges by the hour."
"Haha," Renly laughed along.
Collaborating with Herbert was an interesting experience; their ideas always sparked off each other, sotis Herbert inspired Renly, sotis vice versa. The first experience in the recording studio was a morable event for Renly, whether it was the historical weight of the Sound City or the nitpicking of Neve 8028, it was a new challenge for Renly, especially listening to his own voice from the headset, while singing, the feeling was really... weird.
The recording of "Cleopatra" and "Ophelia" was quicker than expected. Over four days, including a day off due to Foo Fighter's full-day rental of the studio, the two singles were successfully recorded.
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You guys know the drill ;) 1 bonus Chapter for 200 powerstones
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