As he stepped into the recording studio, two full rows of guitars of various models and two bookshelves filled with different types of drumheads ca into view. Along with all sorts of musical instrunts, dazzling and abundant, yet none of them could steal the spotlight. The colossal machine directly in front of him held everyone’s gaze—
A mixing console about three ters wide, covered in hundreds upon hundreds of buttons, enough to make anyone with trypophobia faint on the spot. Its fra was tightly wrapped in natural oak wood, glowing beautifully under the warm cream-colored lights. On top of it were two ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts, and so microphone foam covers, all showing clear signs that work had just been done.
That was the legendary Neve O2!
Why does Sound Cityhave such a powerful allure, attracting countless great singers, especially rock bands, to record here? The reason lies in this Neve O2 recording consoleand in their exceptional drum recording techniques.
In today’s digital era, with advanced technology, even an amateur singer with no sense of pitch can stand in front of a microphone, and theycan use software to correct every fra, producing a flawless final track. This has led to a sharp rise in the number of idol singers—so long as you look good, pitch, tone, and timbre are no longer a concern. The studio can turn diocrity into magic.
On the flip side, singers with outstanding vocal skills but lacking striking appearances often don’t get the chance to shine. This is also one of the key reasons why The Voice becaimnsely popular.
But in the traditional era of record-making, studios didn’t have such tech. They had to rely on massive mixing consoles, re-recording again and again, identifying every flaw in the vocals. Singers would learn from each take and dive back in, tirelessly. The brilliance of the Neve O2lies precisely in this: presenting the most authentic, raw, and subtlesound, capturing the very essence of a singer’s artistry. This is the core charm of Sound City.
In today’s digital world, a singer might finish recording a track in an hour—or even half an hour—and let the computer handle the rest. But in the traditional days, a song had to be recorded repeatedly, perhaps taking weeksto complete just a three-minute track.
Renly‘s stunned yet delighted expression was barely concealed, and the middle-aged man walking toward him imdiately noticed that. He turned to gesture toward the console.
“She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”
Renlynodded emphatically. “Absolutely. I want to take her out on a date right now. Do you think I have a shot?”
The middle-aged man burst out laughing. “No problem. Let’s see what kind of spark flies between you two.” He turned around politely and introduced himself, “Herbert Jones. You must be Renly. So, ready to record sothing exciting?”
Renlyrubbed his hands together. “Can’t wait.” But then he paused. “Though… before we officially start, could I get a cup of hot milk?”
“Haha! You sound like Kurt Cobain—except he asked for alcohol.” Herbert laughed heartily. “Kid, this isn’t Century City. If you want sothing, you’ve got to get it yourself. Even a cigarette butt.”
Andy walked up and asked, “Renly, you okay?”
Renlynodded. “I just need a cup of hot milk.” Milk, after all, could help settle the churning in his stomach and aid with sobering up.
Andy took a deep breath, looked around, and muttered, “God, you really need to hire a proper assistant.” Then he caught Renly’s astonished look, as if he’d said sothing absurd. Andy quickly realised he might’ve gotten ahead of himself and shook his head. “I’ll go get the hot milk. You just focus on work.” With that, he strode out of the studio.
“DiscountCobain, you do know Sound Cityonly records physical singles, not digital files, right?” Herbert sat down in front of the console, expertly pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting it. “Andy just told you’re recording two singles. I was just about to bring that up when he interrupted .”
Discount Cobain…
Renly wasspeechless because ofthe “nickna”but knew that wasn’t the focus right now. “I get it now,” he said, looking over the recording equipnt before him. He wasn’t surprised.
Renly’s understanding of the music industry’s developnt in his past life was quite limited—just surface-level at best—but he did rember that Sound Citygradually fell into decline. He couldn’t recall the exact year, but eventually, it shut down completely.
Now, the reason couldn’t be clearer: it couldn’t record digital audio—that was the root cause.
Entering the 21st century, album sales in the U.S. market had been on a steady decline. By around 2013, single sales began to rise again, and artists gradually shifted their focus from full albums to singles. Digital audio played an irreplaceable role in this transition. So, a recording studio that couldn’t record digital formatswas inevitably abandoned by the tis.
“So you’re kind of like Christopher Nolan?” Renlyjoked. Christopher Nolan was famously insistent on using the most traditional and original film thods—shooting on celluloid. Many in Hollywood criticised him for it, but Nolan consistently produced brilliant works, and naturally, paid little attention to the naysayers.
Herbert looked puzzled. “What?”
Clearly, he didn’t get Renly’s joke. Renlyrubbed his nose and chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Never mind. I just ant that working with physical singles is totally fine. With how advanced computers are now, CDs can easily be converted to digital formats. It’s no big deal.”
It was just a hassle. If everyone had to make albums this way—record a physical version first, then convert it to digital—it wouldn’t just be troubleso, the costs would skyrocket. The record labels would probably riot. Fortunately, Renlywas only recording two singles, so it wouldn’t be that complicated.
“Good,” Herbert said, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “I haven’t heard the master. Can you play a live version for now? Or did you bring the master recording?”
“I can play the original version live.” Renlywalked over to the guitar rack and began slowly selecting one. Every guitar has subtle differences in tone, and every musician has their own habits and preferences. True professionals always choose carefully.
Herbert didn’t rush him—he quietly watched Renlytest the sound. After trying out four guitars, Renlypicked an acoustic guitar, turned around, and asked, “Should I just go into the recording booth now?”
It was obvious that Renlyknew what he was doing—he had a clear sense of his style, preferences, and habits—but he was still a newcor to the recording studio. Independent musicians like him were becoming increasingly rare, just like Sound Cityitself.“Yes, you can head straight in. Leave the rest to .”
Renlypushed open the glass door beside him and was instantly bathed in the warm, golden light. The spacious room was about half the size of a basketball court. Audio cables were scattered chaotically all over the floor, along with ssy sheet music. In the centre stood a microphone stand, and a music stand nearby was piled high with more sheet music…
“There’s a stool off to the side—you can bring it over,” Herbert’s voice ca through the speaker. “All that sheet music belongs to David. Just toss it aside—they wrote theirnew songs by themselves, they’ll rember it.”
Renlyglanced at the stack of sheet music and called out, “Is this for Foo Fighters’new album?”So that’swhy Dave and the others were here earlier?
But Herbert didn’t respond. He pointed to his ear, then to the microphone next to the music stand. Only then did Renlyrealise—he needed to speak into the mic. He repeated his question, this ti into the microphone, and Herbert finally heard him clearly.
“Yes, they’ve been recording for over a month now, and they’ve only finished three tracks. Progress has been slow,” Herbert replied with a bit of sarcasm. Then he added, “If you’re ready, go ahead and start.”
Renlymoved the chair in front of the microphone, adjusted the height, then sat down and began tuning the guitar. In no ti, he was ready. Looking around, he spotted a headset hanging on the music stand. He pointed to it and gestured to Herbert, asking silently, “Do I need to wear it?”
Herbert shook his head. That made Renlyclear his throat awkwardly—he’d always seen musicians wearing headsets in movies while recording, so he assud it was required. Now it was clear—he was a total rookie.
He adjusted his sitting posture, and then his fingers began to pluck the strings. He chose to play Cleopatra first.The light, breezy lody sounded a little thin without any accompanint, but the beautiful tune floated through the studio, each note seeming to co alive, giving a tangible presence to the music.
When that piece ended, Renlydidn’t pause. He imdiately followed it up with Ophelia,also on the guitar. Compared to the keyboard version, the guitar sounded too crisp and clean. It lacked the lancholy and chill subtly embedded in the keyboard tones. And without drum accompanint, the lody felt a bit flat and monotonous, lacking richness in layers.
Still, Renlyenjoyed the process, his mind drifting back to the street performance from the night before. It felt like an entirely new experience—he had never perford on the street before. That pure sense of joy, that simple emotional connection—it truly was a kind of bliss.
After both songs ended, Herbert didn’t speak right away. He took a mont to seriously consider, then said, “Wouldn’t it be better to use an electric guitar for the first song? The tone may lose a bit of that brightness, but it would gain more depth. Then with so added drums, the emotional layers would beco much richer.”
“I thought about that, too,” Renlyresponded. “For the chorus transition—what if I switch to an electric keyboard? Slowing the rhythm down and letting the keyboard’s depth replace the guitar’s simplicity. Also, if the guitar is paired with a touch of bass to anchor the rhythm, I think it would feel great. Or do you think a bass guitar alone would be enough?”
Both songs were in their original form, without any arrangent yet. But that didn’t an Renlyhadn’t thought about arrangents. Now that he was in the studio, it was ti to bring those ideas in his head to life.
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