"Just ahead, around the corner."
Anson signaled as he sped off on his skateboard, leading the way. The sunlight, breeze, and palm trees seemed to stretch out like waves on either side, making the whole world spin rapidly around his figure.
Dustin nodded slightly, "This is the image that comes to mind from the melody."
Free, unrestrained, wild, and carefree.
Whether it's "Wake Me Up" or "Hero," the notes cautiously hide scars and bitterness, but the music itself exudes a carefree and grand atmosphere, silently merging with the figure ahead.
Just a moment ago, Anson had called out to Dustin and Mike but didn't invite them into his home. Instead, he asked them to wait at the door for a moment.
In less than five minutes, Anson had quickly freshened up, changed his clothes, and tamed his wild hair with a cap. Reappearing on his skateboard, he led them to a coffee shop around the corner.
Everything was simple and efficient, with a sense of unrestrained freedom.
Yet, it was Mike who couldn't keep up with the pace. They had come to Anson first, but somehow, the control had quietly slipped into Anson's hands—no wonder Anson could catch Jay Leno off guard.
To be honest, compared to the recent overwhelming and explosive popularity, Anson's real-life appearance was a little underwhelming:
Two eyes, a nose, a mouth.
Anson didn't look much different from other young people, perhaps just a bit more handsome.
But when you calm down and think about it seriously, expecting Anson to have three heads and six arms, something entirely unique, is what's truly absurd. After all, Anson isn't an alien.
Slowly, little by little, as you feel Anson's aura, you begin to realize his uniqueness before you even notice it.
A certain charm—
A light gray long-sleeved hoodie paired with light blue denim shorts, topped off with a red San Francisco 49ers baseball cap, and on a skateboard.
That outfit.
Long sleeves with shorts? A hoodie with a baseball cap?
Everything seems mismatched, yet on Anson, it all looks naturally eye-catching. In the short distance to the coffee shop, just two blocks, you could see eyes quietly gathering on him, with passersby taking note.
And so, Dustin made his remark.
Mike, puzzled, asked, "So, what image does the music convey?"
Dustin shrugged lightly, "Like Anson."
Mike: Rolls eyes.
Dustin didn't mind, "Everyone has their own feelings and opinions. There's no right answer, and it might even be impossible to express in words. But truly special musicians often infuse their work with color."
"In my view, those songs have Anson's color. If another singer or band performed them, it would be something entirely different."
Mike seemed half-understanding—
After all, their specialties were different.
Dustin was a producer, focused on the musical aspect; Mike was in marketing, focused on the commercial appeal of the artist, so their perspectives naturally differed.
Just like now.
Mike couldn't explain everything he saw. It was simply different, and that made him sure he could see the band's market potential.
To put it simply, Mike believed the band's music could sell, whether it was Anson or the music that made money; he didn't care.
Dustin looked at Mike, "I think we should be straightforward."
Mike, "What do you mean?"
Dustin, "I just mean there's no need to lie, no need to beat around the bush. I believe Anson can see through it, so why not just be honest and show sincerity?"
Mike, "I, I wasn't planning to lie."
Dustin, however, ignored him, casually walking past Mike and pushing open the coffee shop door. Mike sighed helplessly and followed.
The coffee shop was nothing special—clean, simple, with modern decor that wasn't particularly fancy. It looked like any independent coffee shop you could find in Los Angeles. But Anson seemed especially comfortable and at ease, clearly a regular.
They ordered, then sat down.
Mike looked at Dustin, then at Anson, and realized that no one was planning to speak. Finally, he broke the silence and started the conversation.
"Warner Records hopes to sign a contract with the band to produce a record. By 'band,' I mean you, Lily, Connor, and Miles. We want you all to form a band and perform together."
Straightforward, clear.
Anson nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting, "That's good news." But the smile didn't reach his eyes as he calmly looked at Mike, "So, what are the specific terms? What do we have to give, and what do we get in return?"
Mike: Wait, what...?
Are all artists this blunt nowadays? Jumping straight into contract terms?
Mike glanced at Dustin, who was watching the situation with an amused expression.
Mike pulled himself together quickly. Although this wasn't his specialty, he wasn't unfamiliar with it either—this was a necessary part of dealing with artists.
"We can sit down and discuss the details."
"I believe several companies have approached the band recently, but Warner Records is sincere. We're willing to offer the band the most creative freedom and the best contract terms."
"The reason Dustin and I came to meet you in person today is, on one hand, to show our sincerity. We want to sit down and talk face-to-face, not just exchange cold opinions over the phone or by email."
"On the other hand, we respect the soul of the band. We want to preserve this unique quality. Dustin will serve as the record producer, working with you to create an album that captures the band's essence."
Mike turned to Dustin.
Although Dustin had been watching with a playful attitude, hearing his name brought out his professional side. He nodded repeatedly to show his agreement.
Dustin added, "Look, there's nothing like this in the current market."
"A cello in a rock band? Bass and cello resonating together? No official drummer in the band? The music doesn't emphasize the lead singer but is centered around the instruments?"
"All these things are brand new, even a whole new challenge. We must capture these qualities to explore rock music in a fresh way, maybe even redefine the band and what it means to be a band."
"I love your creative approach, the sense of unbound freedom, and I hope to capture that wildness and swagger on the record."
Despite Dustin's earlier casual attitude, when he got into his professional mode, he showed his talent. His eyes and tone were entirely different.
Mike nodded in agreement.
After a pause, Dustin added, "It's like our recent encounter, 'I believe in Buddha.' God, that's pure genius. I mean, Amitabha, that's genius."
Mike: Facepalm, why did he bring that up!
"Ahem," Mike cleared his throat to cut in, "What Dustin means is, we love your style and want to keep it in the music. Warner Records always puts the artist's uniqueness first."