"What? Paul can actually write pop songs? He's not just limited to folk?" Lars exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise.
A colleague nearby chuckled. "Seems our golden boy is full of surprises."
Lars looked at the lyrics of 7 Years in front of him, feeling a mix of emotions. He regretted it a little, thinking about what he had said earlier. It would have been much better to say, 'Only kids make choices—grown-ups, of course, want everything!'
His eyes kept sweeping over the lyrics of 7 Years over and over again. In just a few minutes, he had read it ten times in total. As Lars read the lyrics for the tenth time, melodies began to form in his mind, arrangements taking shape as if the song itself was guiding his thoughts.
Some great works are like that—when they come into being, both the composer and the arranger receive signals from the piece at the same time. It feels as if the song, the music, was meant to be performed in exactly this way.
Just as Lars was about to speak, David, standing beside him, quickly snatched the lyrics of 7 Years and held it tightly to his chest. Then, very cautiously, he said, "Didn't we just agree on something?"
"Yes, we did, but I'm worried that you might not be able to handle such a masterpiece, considering your age."
"???"
David almost had a heart attack.
I'm over fifty, almost sixty! And you're saying I'm too young to handle it? he fumed internally.
He had entered the industry at twenty years old. After doing his job for almost thirty years, he'd won so many awards that he couldn't count them and had become famous in the industry. But compared to Lars, it was nothing.
If anyone else had spoken to him like that, he would have flipped out on the spot and cursed them out already.
But it was Lars, and there was nothing he could do. Lars's experience and accomplishments far exceeded his own.
"Anyway, I don't care. Isn't it fair for everyone to get one song each? Besides, didn't he write more than twenty songs for the next concert? Why are you so fixated on my song?"
David's words suddenly enlightened Lars. Right. Including the arrangers here, there are only five of us, but Paul wrote more than twenty songs.
"Twenty songs... That means..."
On average, wouldn't each of us get to arrange four songs? No, wait—maybe someone could even get five!
With this in mind, his gaze instantly shifted to the songs in the hands of the others in the room. He rushed over, moving with agility that didn't match his sixty-year-old body.
Seeing his actions, the other arrangers quickly caught on. Now was the time to act fast—whoever grabbed first would win. Suddenly, the dignified arrangers transformed into a mob, diving for the scattered lyric sheets like seagulls after bread crumbs.
"She Doesn't See Me is written so beautifully! It's mine, hahaha!"
"Damn, I Love You? This song is also quite good; the standard is high enough."
"Born to Live! I'm sure this song will take the Germo music scene by storm!"
"Give it to me! Let me do the arrangement!"
"…"
In Jasmin's office, everyone—from Georg, to the senior executives, to the singers and artists—was stunned.
Those normally strict and dignified arrangers were now acting like beggars fighting over food. They were terrified of being a step too slow and having the others snatch the meal away.
A junior artist whispered to his colleague, "Are these really the same arrangers who made us beg for their time?"
"I've never seen Lars move so fast. Is he even sixty?" a senior executive nearby muttered in disbelief.
The artists and singers, who were currently deemed as having potential by the company—they had never seen the arrangers behave like this before. Usually, when they had a piece of work they thought was good, they had to beg these arrangers to see if they could make a decent arrangement.
After all, the composer provides the skeleton of the piece, while the arranger gives it flesh and blood.
Seeing that the atmosphere in the room had gone off course, Georg realized that everyone had completely forgotten why they came here in the first place. Even someone like him couldn't afford to offend these arrangers—they were the backbone that allowed the company to grow and succeed.
"Ahem—" Georg cleared his throat and looked over at Jasmin.
She immediately understood his intention and gestured for the singers and artists to leave the room. After all, the current situation was quite embarrassing. An important meeting of Germo Entertainment had suddenly turned into a chaotic marketplace.
A few highly respected arrangers were almost about to fight over a few songs.
What would the board say if they could see this? Georg rubbed his temples, unsure whether he should be happy or frustrated.
He looked over at Paul, realizing that this was all happening because of him. Yet, he seemed completely calm, with a slight smile on his face, as if he had anticipated this outcome.
Georg couldn't help but glance back and forth between Jasmin and Paul.
Had Paul foreseen everything? Was this all just part of their plan?
In fact, Georg wasn't wrong. When Jasmin first saw some of the songs Paul had brought, she immediately realized that every one of his twenty songs could potentially dominate the current music scene in Germo, assuming they were all of the same high quality and standard.
When he expressed his desire to sing these songs at his next concert, Jasmin instantly understood. With such high-quality new works, and in such diverse styles, it would be a huge missed opportunity not to perform them.
However, even though she was the boss of Germo Entertainment, she couldn't make such a decision alone. Many major decisions had to be agreed upon by the higher-ups. In Paul's case, it was necessary to get Georg, one of the company's key investors, to personally agree.
So, Jasmin called him, knowing that based on her understanding of him, he wouldn't confront Paul directly. Instead, he would try to persuade him. And just as Jasmin predicted, Georg called in the company's higher-ups and respected arrangers, hoping to make Paul back down. But instead, he found himself in a situation where he couldn't retreat.
Once the arrangers claimed a song, they would go back and start arranging it. Once the arrangement was done, the song couldn't be shelved—it would have to be released. And once it was released, there would be no reason not to include it in the next concert.
Very clever. You knew I'd try to dissuade Paul, and now... Georg finally realized that he had been outmaneuvered by Paul and Jasmin.
Still, he wasn't upset because all of Paul's songs were genuinely excellent—not a single one was hastily written. Almost every song was award-worthy, far surpassing even Georg's previous one-song-a-month standard.
This also meant that Paul was truly eager to sing these new songs at his next concert. The company's higher-ups stood frozen in place, exchanging nervous glances. No one dared to say a word.
"This wasn't supposed to happen. What do we do now?" one executive whispered to another.
"We can't just let Paul change everything on a whim, can we?" the other replied.
They were all feeling anxious. Could things really be going in the direction Paul wanted? Even though every one of his songs was excellent and potentially a classic, that didn't necessarily mean they would become hits.
The people within the company might accept the songs, and the respected arrangers might believe they could win awards, but winning awards and pleasing fans were two different things.
Awards are nice, but they can't feed my family. We need hits, not just artistic achievements, one executive thought.
In other words, no matter how good these works seemed now, they couldn't change the fact that letting Paul sing these new songs at the next concert was a gamble. Unlike Jasmin and Georg, the higher-ups had a much simpler goal: make money, make money, and make more money!
At the moment, Paul was the company's cash cow. The safest approach would be to separate the concert from the release of the new songs.
This way, the next concert wouldn't be affected, and he could still perform his older hits. As for the new songs, they could be promoted heavily on their own. Whether for awards or other purposes, they could first gauge how much fans liked them before deciding whether to include them in future concerts.
For the higher-ups, this was the safest and most secure plan. But now that Georg had taken a stand, it no longer mattered what they thought. After all, he controlled more than fifty percent of the company's shares, giving him absolute authority.
The higher-ups all turned their eyes to Georg. Although no one said anything, their message was clear: The plans for the next concert cannot be changed at the last minute.