It was Thursday when Billy handed in a set of songs that seemed to stir people deeply. The songs were fantastic, giving everyone a vivid image of life itself. Once again, he was playing around with thirteen songs and an album that brought every detail to life.
-They're all here,- said Billy, handing over several yellow sheets—color photocopies from his notebook, where he wrote down each song. After that, Michael took care of the paperwork, which usually took between thirty minutes and an hour, and then gave a certificate to Billy, another to Jerry, and sent a third to a notary, who notified the studio. From there, Billy would record demo versions to present, followed by the studio takes with the band. These were then sent to Spencer and Connor, along with the video, forwarded to "Sugar Egg," and to Jack Sauce—a photo of the sheet music so he could practice. Each of them was an expert in their craft; they could spend hours creating wonders.
Read My Mind – The Killers
James Morrison – You Give Me Something
The Sound of Silence – Cover
Sleep – My Chemical Romance
Hey There Delilah – Plain White T's
Heart in a Cage – The Strokes
Run Boy Run
Given Up – Linkin Park
Stolen Dance – Milky Chance
Naughty Boy – Sam Smith
Still Counting – Volbeat
Pumped Up Kicks – Foster the People
Make It With Chu – Queens of the Stone Age
Each song carried subtleties for the album—it was clear that some leaned toward pop-rock ballads, while others belonged more to the realm of soft rock, where the melody followed the singer's voice. Then came the catchy tracks, those that simply worked with the music.
He loved singing Still Counting and Naughty Boy—they were his two favorites on the album, followed of course by Given Up and You Give Me Something.
-What a great range,- whispered Jozz Stockman for the fifth album in a row. He had loved Billy's music since the first time he heard him. He could hardly stop thinking about everything the kid did to hit the mark with his songs. Each one seemed drawn from an ethereal state where emotion, rhythm, and lyrics fit perfectly together.
-In fact, it's a song that could have come from any era,- said Robert Plant, who had been invited by Jerry to give some advice or bring along his rock friends. This time, Eric Clapton, guitarist and composer, had come by. Seeing the boy barefoot in the studio, wearing a tracksuit and a Nirvana shirt while he sang as naturally as eating, sleeping, or showering—his voice was powerful, his highs alive, and he never missed a note.
-He's got color and strength when he sings,- said Eric Clapton.
-He does indeed. He reminds me a little of Jim Morrison—rebellious, charismatic. A bit foolish. Well, too foolish, really. But fools have those rare gifts you never find in ordinary people,- replied Robert Plant.
-He draws people in, that's true,- said Eric, watching the boy finish a song while playing with an electric guitar, fascinated by sharp tones and complex harmonies that didn't quite fit his vocal rhythm. Yet that chaos gave life—the initial spark from which everything boiled over. Music is ironic when you have the instinct to change it, and when you dare to change what most people ignore—that's when Billy works magic.
Rough voice, rough song.
That rasp in his voice was what made women's knees weak.
-Well done, kid,- said Jock Stockton.
-I've got a few more songs I'm planning to release as stand-alone singles,- said Billy. That was when an extra song, separate from the album but thematically similar, was launched. Among artists with singles, Billy released five to six per year—a staggering average when you counted the albums. It was almost certain he'd go down as one of the greatest songwriters of the decade, with a catalog of seventy to a hundred songs.
-So, what did you think?- asked Billy.
-We've got some good suggestions,- said Jozz, still in sync with the whole team. He motioned to Peter to make his feedback clear. Billy put on a pair of large headphones that almost covered his face, and with the help of the studio techs, listened to his voice in so many variations that he ended up smacking his forehead—he felt like a rookie.
-Just do better. Mediocre singers only stay famous for two years,- said Jozz, pointing to the screen—three parts where Billy hadn't quite nailed it, tiny, barely noticeable mistakes.
-Don't talk to me, old man. I'm offended,- said Billy.
-We all are,- replied Jozz. -You come here singing nonsense with all these great people watching you. As if your brand were garbage. I haven't spent forty years in this industry to hear you sing like a second-rate band.-
He slapped Billy on the back, and the boy took the mic again, rejuvenated. Defeat wasn't something you just accepted—it had to be tested beyond every limit. Giving everything was his image as a singer; if he didn't, it meant he didn't have the strength to stand on stage. Music had to take everything from you and give everything back—that's the life of music. It's what lets people live with poise: to feel passion in every cell, especially when it comes to singing. It's a root that grows from within and from whatever stands before you.
***
Scarlett waited one floor below, with her own producer. Her vocal tone—everything—was being pushed to the edge, demanding, and more demanding still. In so many ways, it simply frustrated her.
-So indifferent,- she muttered, trying once more to make her voice do all it could. She couldn't reach the high notes—not the way she wanted to. She needed her own voice. Imitation was easy, but making something work without the proper process was another matter entirely.
-Just rest, you're not... your throat doesn't have the strength for that long,- said Antony.
-Thanks,- she whispered, defeated. Singing was harder than she had thought.
She knew she'd only gotten the best thanks to Billy's connections. And when opportunities are so rare—and vital—you have to make perfection your goal. Perfection only comes with good material, and studying music, art, or film is what makes people truly great.
-Good work,- said Antony, trying to offer some comfort.
-I'm a disaster,- she replied.
-You're right. You've got a lot to learn. But time is gold, and gold only comes from practice,- sighed Antony.
...