weddingnovel Chapter 77 Golden Ears and the New Wave
Chapter 77 Golden Ears and the New Wave
"Zek," Iowa said with a smile and a wave, "this is Seymour Stan, the owner of Sire Records, a well-known golden ear in the industry."
Seymour had a typical Jewish big nose, wore a dark suit jacket over a light-colored shirt, and his tie with a dense pattern was tied loosely. Combined with the slightly wide collar, he had an overall casual and unpretentious air about him.
"Hello, Mr. Stan."
As Zeke greeted them, he secretly grumbled to himself, "Siren Records? No wonder Amanda and her band couldn't keep their name. Besides a band with the same name, there's even a label with the same name."
"Zick, it seems you are the new genius that Neil was talking about. You can make disco into such a metaphorical way and still be fully accepted by the mainstream market. You have a balance between commercial appeal and artistry. It's really rare."
Zik's smile remained unchanged, pretending not to understand the other person's implied meaning at all.
"Mr. Neil, you flatter me. I just happened to write a song that makes people want to dance."
Seymour laughed and tapped his ear hard with his finger. "Just call me Seymour. 'Just a song that makes you want to dance'? Come on, kid. You can't fool my ears."
"I was mixing with Ramons next door just now, and I overheard you guys working on that song when I passed by your door," Seymour said, pointing to the recording studio door again.
"It's a weird song. To be honest, disco is all over the place now, everywhere you see sequins, big skirts, and mindless fun. But yours is different, the rhythm is cold, like a machine breathing. And that lyric, 'Who am I to disagree?' Who is that questioning?"
Zik was somewhat surprised. Many of the record industry executives he had met during this period did not seem to understand music, but Seymour turned out to be a real expert.
"It was mainly a spontaneous expression of my feelings, without any specific target. At the time, I was deceived and felt like I was living in an empty dream, and everything I was chasing was just a bubble."
Zeke casually explained that, after Neil's guidance, he no longer dared to say that the song was satirizing Hollywood.
Seymour gave Zeke a deep look, tapped his cigarette ash lightly on the corner of the table, and repeated in a low voice, "Illusion... Hmph, that word sends chills down your spine, especially when you're betting your life on it."
He exhaled a smoke ring: "Now those media outlets and conservatives outside are attacking punk artists all day long, calling them hooligans and scum, making my artists look like rats in the street, and their music could be thrown into the trash can at any time."
"So I'm going to introduce a new term to replace punk, called 'New Wave.' What we want to make is cooler, smarter, and more artistic music."
He looked at Zeke and nodded: "Your song looks like disco on the surface, but it has a bit of a new wave feel to it at its core. Neil may only know how to sell records, but he wasn't wrong this time. If this song is handled well, it might be able to open up both avenues."
After saying that, Seymour patted Zeke's arm: "Alright, I won't bother you anymore. Record well, let those disco dancers hear what real 'cool' is."
"Is Seymour's record label into punk?" Zeke asked Iowen after he had walked away.
"It's more than just playing around. Siren Records bought the US distribution rights to a whole bunch of niche punk bands from the UK, and signed several punk bands in the US as well. The Ramones are currently the hottest one. The Sex Pistols came to the US recently and were universally condemned and disbanded, which made them a bit nervous," Ioven explained with a laugh.
"Tsk, anyone would worry about this. So, which label did they entrust with distribution?" Zeke asked. He had never even heard of the most popular Ramones label, and in his opinion, it was almost impossible for a small label like Seymour to have its own distribution channels.
"Warner Bros. Records just acquired half of Siren Records."
"What? No wonder Warner Bros. has been promoting punk... they've already placed a heavy bet on it."
Zick was astonished. Warner Bros. had spent seven figures just to wrestle with the immigration authorities over those few British thugs from the Sex Pistols, and had also invested in acquiring Seymour's label shares. Could punk really be the next trend?
But as it stands, there's absolutely no sign of it becoming popular, at least in the United States, and even changing the name, as Seymour said, would be difficult.
"Come on, forget about that, Zeke," Iowa said with a smile, putting his arm around Zeke's shoulder as they chatted around the lounge, "I'll introduce you to a few more friends."
Iowen had a wide network of connections here, and soon a crowd gathered around him.
"Zick, if you ever need musicians, remember to come to me first. We have top-notch musicians here."
"If you get tired of disco and want to try something more experimental, just let me know. All my equipment is brand new, so feel free to mess with it however you like."
"I listened to the arrangement of 'YMCA,' and the bass line is absolutely amazing! Next time you have a new song, even if it's just a demo, you absolutely have to let me try out the guitar. I'll record it for you for free!"
Surrounded by a group of industry elites, listening to them discuss his work and express their willingness to collaborate, Zeke felt a strange sense of pride, perhaps from being accepted and respected.
He suddenly felt something was strange again: the official producer credit for the release of *YMCA* was Jacques Morali, not himself.
Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, he leaned closer to Ioven and asked in a low voice, "By the way, the producer credits for this song... but why do you all seem to assume it's me?"
Ioven was fist bumping with someone when he heard this, he chuckled, hooked his arm around Zeke's neck, as if he had heard some stupid question:
"Come on, this industry isn't big. Everyone knows that you and Tino rescued The Sirens from their basement and single-handedly polished this song. Everyone knows that Jacques Morali, that Frenchman, stole your credit and royalties through shady means. But in our hearts, you are the producer who brought it to life, and that's enough."
Iowen's words made Zeke thoughtful, while Judy watched quietly from the side, her admiration and love growing stronger, her gaze so tender it was almost overflowing.
As evening approached, today's recording work came to a successful conclusion.
Zeke waved goodbye to everyone, then took Judy and got into a taxi, heading straight towards Brownsville.
When Zeke suddenly returned home, he appeared at the door with a beautiful and well-behaved girl, filling Rossi's family with joy.
Maria, Judy's older sister, rushed over immediately, warmly taking Judy's hand and asking her all sorts of questions, her eyes full of joy.
Mrs. Rossi in the kitchen busied herself preparing dinner, and even called to urge old Rossi to come home for dinner that night.
Joey didn't have time to worry about any of that. He practically jumped for joy when he received the album gift package signed by all the members of the KISS band, holding the box with great delight.
Judy showed no airs of a celebrity and didn't mind the small, old-fashioned house in the slums at all. She curiously followed Maria around the house.
Perhaps because she was raised to be restrained and polite, the lively, noisy, physically intimate, and food-oriented atmosphere of Rossi's Italian family made her somewhat uncomfortable.
Overall, however, they got along quite well and naturally.
After a warm and lively dinner, Judy went to the bathroom, while Zeke returned to his room and sat at the table, sketching and writing, planning the details of his business related to eye masks. This trip back to New York would be a good opportunity to arrange things here.
He has recently consulted with Larry, Herbert, and Allen on a lot of related knowledge and is gradually improving his business thinking.
A short while later, the Rossi couple knocked on the door, their faces grave: "Son, we need to talk."
The Rossi couple went into the bedroom, immediately closed the door, and even peeked out.
"What's wrong?" Qi Ke put down his pen, secretly complaining about why his parents were acting so suspiciously in their own home.
Old Rossi leaned against the door, arms crossed, and gave his wife a quick glance.
Mrs. Rossi sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes filled with worry.
"Zeeker, Judy is a good girl, beautiful, sensible, polite, and down-to-earth. We all like her. But..."
"But her mother... Maria talked to her a lot today. That woman named Evelyn, pushing her child to an old man to take those kinds of photos, God, is that even human?"
Zik thought to himself that Maria was really efficient; she got all that information out of her in just one meal...
He reassured her, "Mom, I've completely resolved that matter. There won't be any more trouble in the future, so please don't mention it again."
"Solve it? It's not that simple."
Old Rossi couldn't help but speak up, raising his hand and gesturing as he spoke.