Billy walked through the corridors of the correctional facility, back to reality, thought the young man as he walked. His neck was in perfect condition, and the back pain eased with antibiotics and five days of rest, with a note from the doctor to avoid physical activities for the next six days.
-Welcome back, Carson. Please take a seat, - Mr. Beins said. Billy felt the stares behind his back; being observed wasn't very comfortable.
Billy nodded, but the songs in his head could only run free, losing the thread of the conversation about world history. He lost much of the 20th-century history, recalling a small chapter, remembering how old Joseph talked to him about Elvis Presley. A musician who could move people's souls, a musician who could tell stories like stars transformed into constellations.
The class started moving towards the exit, his blank notebook bearing witness to the distraction of the last three hours. What else could he do but continue with a musician's life? For the first time, he truly felt captured by music, and his imagination soared through the sky.
-Stew, - the cook, in charge of serving the meals, asked.
-Yes. -
Billy sat down, pinching his food, savoring the watery taste. Much better than hospital food, but nothing out of this world.
It's almost time to go to the music room, thought Billy.
Walking to the music room, the emptiness was present on the third floor, and only the periodic greetings of the guards in the guardroom could be heard. Right, there was the camera setup, supervised by everyone whenever disposition and time allowed.
-Hey, Carson, you're doing all the cleaning today, - Malik said.
-Clean the windows, and let Connor help with the rest, - Billy said, sweeping the dust. Five minutes ago, he had cleaned the metallic window frames that accumulated some dirt.
-Sure,- said Malik, quickly cleaning the windows, without rigor. Malik was part of a gang, as was normal in these places, but he ran. He wanted to play with his peers or practice some baseball, maybe sit in the sun.
He was back in the music room, the refuge located in a small space with poor acoustics—the spontaneity of the place designed for various purposes, including being a storage or warehouse.
Connor was already at the drums as soon as they opened the doors. There was Mr. Spencer's synthesizer, the piano keys played by themselves. This time, he played the song with all the care he could.
This one was softer, with just a piano playing sweeter notes, those used for gentle songs, the kind that fit more with Chopin's classical music, hitting like petals. The rhythm should be accompanied by an acoustic guitar and maybe a lightly produced mechanical track. However, music can do anything; it's the plasticity that helps generate two different versions of the same song.
-I see you have a new song, - said Spencer. Pablo was nowhere to be found.
-I composed it in the hospital, Mr. Spencer, - said Billy, sighing over Axel's song. To sing it or not to sing it? All he wanted at this moment was to live a quiet life without worrying about the future or other things he considered unnecessary, like living paycheck to paycheck. In the 21st century, artists could earn millions of dollars with a hit, unlike in ancient times when agents were truly bloodsuckers. They still existed but in smaller numbers.
-It's good. Come, we have a lot to discuss. You too, Connor. I've been very busy in the last five days, but everything is worth it. I have what you might call a plan A and a plan B, - said Spencer.
Connor approached in his silent state, characteristic of him. To the white chairs where Spencer would plot the meeting that would predispose the future demos and the market opportunity Billy hadn't had.
-I've been talking to some acquaintances. In summary, until we have a recording of the song, we can't send it to the many record labels. Unfortunately, music agents prefer other people, and we are what they call novice dreamers. The title of aspirants is a bit far. Your mother registered the two lyrics you sent her, right? - Spencer asked.
-Yes, sir. The mail arrived the day before yesterday, - replied Billy to the music teacher.
-So that covers us with some security. I talked to Superintendent Charles, and he will allow us to take an educational trip to my university, Cal Baptist Institute. We'll be able to record the demos for free. Professor Linzt, a great friend of mine, is willing to help me in my crusade. So, on Saturday, in less than five hours, we should record the songs, burn the demos, and, of course, present them to the record labels. There are a total of 21 registered record labels in California. Some of them must give us an opportunity, - Spencer explained.
-Incredible, Mr. Spencer, - said Billy.
-Well, there are some conditions you must meet. I want Connor to join your group. He's a good kid and is becoming an incredible drummer, - Spencer said.
-Of course, - said Billy, surprising Spencer and Connor, who expected a fierce battle from Billy.
-Well, then. As a teacher, I can only hope you prepare your songs well, - said Mr. Spencer.
Billy, who had already thought about it for a long time, knew the need for a guitarist who could give that fleeting touch to his songs, necessary for a tight composition. After all, he needed to make a living as a musician, and a guitarist and drummer to back him up made more than sense.
-Maestro, would you play the guitar? - Billy asked.
-What? Son, I don't have... it's complicated, but I don't think it's healthy for me at my age to join a band, - Spencer replied.
-We need you, Maestro. I have this feeling that we will succeed, but to grab attention, I need your guitar practice, especially the electric guitar that accompanies the piano and drums. If you're willing, Maestro, it's easier for them to accept the demo for recording, - said Billy.
-The day will come, and we'll see. Now, you have to show Connor the demo of the song we'll be doing, -Spencer said.
Billy nodded with gleaming happiness, as he had the system; improvement was not a problem, and that improvement was reflected in what he would show to his small group.
Status:
Billy Carson.
Singing: (3/20) Level 1: Novice.
Piano: (8/10) Level 1: Amateur.
Rating: Worldwide.
...…..
Numbers: Followers.
.....
Songs:
Like Stone.
Celebra la vida(Axel)
The singing of "Like Stone" this time was more measured and diligent, with a different tone, raw and scraped with emotions of understanding. Connor listened clearly and knew why Professor Spencer commented that it was a good song; it was simply sensational to the point that he could feel his soul warming up with the song. Then he knew, Billy was truly a great singer.
Emancipation, Connor thought.
Billy finished singing, and Spencer applauded more joyfully for the evident song. -You've got it, kid, - he said to Connor.
Connor shook his head.
-Come on, Billy, play it on the piano. We have to prepare in the next four days, - said Spencer.
-I think the drums should go like this, - said Billy, showing an attempt at the sound of the song, while for the guitar, using a high pitch similar to the piano, they practiced the song for four hours with considerable effort, to the point where they had a set rhythm.
On the other hand, Billy practiced the high and long notes diligently. The melisma of the song was quite complicated due to the force of a vibrato, but the smooth connection of a legato. The song had several notes, and four hours of music did not improve his disposition to the song.
Billy dedicated his last moments to work on his vocal technique, imitating Frank Sinatra's voice and singing softly as his systems ordered, and finally, he poured his heart into a song.
...
[1] Singing of a vocal, in different musical notes, starting low and ending somewhat higher.
[2] Oscillation in the frequency of the note to express the content of the song; this is done when subtly varying the air pressure.
[3] Smooth connection between notes.
Principio del formulario