"Buddy, I know this is embarrassing... but you only need to sponsor me 1000 Euros! You will get the greatest athlete ever, I'm talking about a legendary athlete surpassing Jordan, Tiger Woods, Schumacher! I will give you tens of thousands of times in return!" Conor continued to output on the other end of the phone, afraid that the call would be hung up.
Leon rubbed his temples, obviously, the other party didn't know much about his assets and treated him as an ordinary singer.
He didn't know much about Conor's fighting ability, but the value of this big mouth was far more than 1000 dollars.
T-Ray had proven with practical actions that a man with good eloquence could not only make women fall for him but also print money continuously.
Conor's ability to spray trash talk would only be stronger.
"Send me your account number, and you will receive the money in a few minutes." Leon said.
"That's great!" Conor roared passionately: "Congratulations on hitting the jackpot! I will come to America with the will of the Irish people like Richard the Lionheart and judge those damn heathens!"
"Do well, I'm optimistic about you."
After hanging up the phone, Leon specifically looked at the time on the computer.
It was less than a month before the first BMF title fight.
The motivation driving him to intervene in fighting competitions was no longer money, but influence.
If this event could explode, his street image would be more solid.
Surpassing Tupac, Biggie, Sinatra, and other famous gangsta musicians, achieving the image of the number one bastard in American music history...
Currently, this achievement was extremely difficult, with an insurmountable mountain in front of Leon—P. Diddy.
"Leave that Irish kid to you; I think he's interesting." Leon said to Phil.
"If that kid really had potential, Dana White would have paid attention to him long ago." Phil shook his head, seeming dissatisfied with this decision. The agency was not a trash can; any unknown small character could be stuffed in.
Especially a fighting athlete who had nothing to do with music, and an Irishman at that.
In the era when Phil grew up, Irish people were synonymous with stealing and cheating. Apart from alcoholism and bragging, they caused trouble everywhere in the community.
"He is a born hype expert. To make a name in the field of mixed martial arts, this is more important than being able to fight." Dazzling names like Tyson and Ali flashed through Leon's mind.
Tyson had been mixing in the streets since he was a child, and even after becoming the boxing champion, he didn't change his street habits.
Beating passers-by, showing off wealth, imprisoned for sexual assault, and even making a female prison guard fall in love with him, almost having a child for him in prison.
Ali was regarded as an anti-war hero by opposing the Vietnam War and converting to Islam.
In comparison, boxing champions like Foreman and Holyfield, who also had outstanding records, were much dimmer in terms of star quality and money-making ability.
"You are the boss; what else can I say?" Phil spread his hands, his tone full of disdain. "The first time you mentioned the name Conor to me, I did a background check. That kid is not a professional athlete at all. His so-called Irish champion is just an unknown local event. In his spare time, he is a plumber. He only stares at the hostess's fat butt while pretending to fix the water pipe!"
"By the way, that bastard has always been supported by his girlfriend. A typical Irish bastard. We are a record company; I don't understand why you want to sign a fighter."
"Because my opponents are doing it." Leon replied patiently.
He was not interested in the sports agent business at first, but his opponents all wanted to get a piece of the cake.
Braun's SB Projects was contacting multiple NFL superstars, and Roc Nation even extended its hands to the five major European football leagues.
"Their own business hasn't progressed yet, except for Kevin Durant. The only purpose of that guy signing with Roc Nation was to get close to female stars." Phil said.
"Whatever." Leon waved his hand. "Make them unhappy, and my goal is achieved."
A day later, Max arrived in New York as agreed.
He roughly understood Leon's needs on the phone. As soon as they met, he complained non-stop: "Buddy, you can go to any small workshop with such a beat, give those black guys 200 dollars and a bag of weed, and they can knock it out in less than an hour."
For a gold medal producer like Max, time could really be converted into money.
Now, he had more than just Taylor on his plate. Katy Perry, Britney Spears, Avril Lavigne, and other big names were all lining up.
From a commercial perspective, Panda really didn't rank.
"Your concept should be updated; this song will make you a lot of money." Leon said.
"Friend, I know what you are thinking. JAY-Z's Niggas In Paris achieved huge success, and you want to make a work of the same level in the shortest time." Max shook his head while speaking. "But can this kind of saliva song (catchy but low-quality song) really work?"
Niggas In Paris originally only ranked fifth on the Billboard, even lower than the fourth-place Katy Perry.
Topping the list was Adele's Set Fire to the Rain, followed closely by Bang Bang produced by Leon.
But after using the shooting case to hype a wave, Niggas In Paris rushed directly to the first place.
Under JAY-Z's money offensive, the media's reviews were one-sided, blowing it up in various ways.
A nutritionally devoid song about showing off wealth was forced to rise to the height of "the best summary of capitalism."
Music critics held dog food (bribes) and called it the creation of a new rap genre—"Luxury Rap."
The new album was touted as the coronation ceremony of JAY-Z, the emperor of the hip-hop world, and this song was his arrogant coronation declaration.
"Do well, you can add something new to the accompaniment based on your experience." Leon said, "The premise is not to destroy the chorus, Panda...panda, this is the soul of the whole song."
"This is also the only highlight; at least it is brainwashing enough." Max smiled reluctantly. "I might strengthen the drum beat to make the bass more impactful, add some extra synthesizer padding to make the whole song more three-dimensional, and even add some background chorus to make the work fuller auditorily."
Although Leon had learned some arrangement instructions with David Guetta, he became more confused the more he listened, and quickly dealt with it: "Just do as you see fit; I only look at the result."
Max sat in front of the computer and complained that the equipment here was not professional enough while tinkering. "Buddy, your equipment here really needs to be updated... who still uses IBM computers now?"
"The new company is being renovated; it won't be long before you can see the most professional recording studio in New York."
"I mean, you have signed with Columbia Records, why not use their recording studio directly? I worked there; their equipment is top-notch."
Leon nodded. He had also heard Beyoncé praise how explosive the recording effect of Columbia Records was.
Backed by the big sponsor Sony, most of the equipment they used came from Japan.
Many of them were specially optimized by the manufacturer, and no substitutes could be bought on the market.
Although Japanese whiskey is brewed averagely, it cannot be underestimated in the field of audio-visual equipment.
"I don't plan to perform this song myself. Do you think it's appropriate to use Columbia's recording studio?"
"Nothing inappropriate." Max pursed his lips. "We Don't Talk Anymore was completed by you independently from recording to MV. If you put this song into the new album, I'm really curious how you and Stringer plan to coordinate the master issue?"
In fact, not only We Don't Talk Anymore, but Old Town Road was also in the same situation.
Neither song had anything to do with Columbia Records, the future distributor of the new album.
This was also a little trick played by Leon, using this chip to threaten Stringer.
Let Apocalypse Music, which participated in the production of these two songs, become a co-distributor, thereby obtaining part of the master rights of the second album.
This operation is common in the record industry. Take Def Jam and Roc Nation as an example. Because of close cooperation, both sides hold each other's master rights.
Stringer was once very embarrassed about this.
But the quality of these two songs was excellent, and each had the potential to become a hit, so he had no reason to give up.
Pay Leon a production fee?
This little money couldn't fill his appetite at all.
Forced by helplessness, he could only give up part of the master rights.
Michael Jackson relied on similar operations back then, holding half of the copyright share of Sony Music's copyright library at his peak.
"If you don't say it, just pretend I didn't ask." Max lowered his head, realizing he asked the wrong question, which obviously belonged to the category of trade secrets.
The production of the accompaniment went smoothly, just as he patted his chest to guarantee before, it took less than two hours.
Leon found the feeling after listening for only five seconds, nodding constantly with the drum beat.
The accompaniment produced by Max sounded much richer than the original version, and the gloomy and decadent atmosphere was elevated to a higher level.
The subsequent arrangement adjustment, post-production, and other more tedious work would have to wait until the singer's audition.
"Want to go out for a drink together?" Max turned the swivel chair and stretched. "I know a group of NYU girls, all youthful, enthusiastic, good girls. They are all very motivated, dreaming of stepping into the entertainment industry..."
"Oh my God, you can't imagine how well girls develop now~ Their skin is as elastic as jelly."
"If they knew they could meet Street Jesus, those girls would definitely go crazy."
Facing this enthusiastic invitation, Leon intended to agree.
Knowing this top producer for so long, he had never treated the other party to entertainment.
Just then his phone vibrated; it was actually a message from Amber Heard. "Want to come out and meet? I'm in New York."
This beautiful vase (actress known for looks over talent) had just finished a photo shoot invited by a fashion magazine.
Leon agreed without thinking.
Compared to the college students Max mentioned who were brainwashed by leftist thoughts and mixed with black guys all day, obviously, Heard was more attractive.
"No problem~ Where are you? Shall I pick you up?"
"Harlem, Manhattan."
"Harlem?"
Leon was full of question marks: Why did she go there?
That is the area with the highest proportion of black people in Manhattan, and the crime rate ranks among the top in New York.
With economic development, real estate investment, and the "zero tolerance" policy of the Giuliani era, the security there has improved.
But if the main color of the "racial palette" doesn't change, investing more money is useless.
Harlem is still a disaster area for gun crimes and drug dealing in New York.
"Vogue magazine selected the shooting location. The photographer asked me to wear a white dress to show the contrast with the dark background of Harlem." Heard replied.
"Okay."
A picture immediately appeared in Leon's mind: a group of black guys wearing sleeveless T-shirts standing behind a blonde beauty in a white gauze dress, staring straight at her with wretched eyes.
This was obviously the photographer's bad taste; maybe that guy jumped from Brazzers to Vogue magazine.
"I'll be there soon."
Leon took the business van across the Brooklyn Bridge and trekked to Harlem.
He saw Heard at the door of a grocery store at a glance.
She stood among a group of black people, white like a holy light, hard not to attract attention.
"Damn, this chick is really nice~"
"Does she look familiar? I seem to have seen her somewhere."
"I feel these white chicks all look similar, no tits no ass. Hollywood always favoring such white chicks is aesthetic discrimination against us!"
The little nggas whistled and discussed loudly.
Heard rolled her eyes back. Just as she wanted to flare up, she was stopped by the assistant. "Just ignore them... don't cause trouble here!"
The little nggas who received the eye roll became even more excited, and the teasing behavior escalated. "This white chick looked at me just now?"
"That's right, Bro, she seemed to be staring at your crotch."
"Hahaha~"
The little nggas clutched their stomachs laughing back and forth. "Chick, want to go have some fun with us? Let you see the [big guy]."
Heard couldn't bear it anymore. Ignoring the assistant's dissuasion, she stepped on white high heels and walked up to the little ngga.
Pointing at the other party's nose, she said word by word: "Go fxxk yourself!"
"This chick is hot!"
"I like this!"
Seeing the black guys getting closer and closer, Heard could only retreat repeatedly.
Beep— At this time, a piercing horn sounded.
Leon got out of the business van wearing sunglasses, followed by Jorge, who was as thick as a big refrigerator.
Seeing the colorful Mexican gang tattoos on his body, the little nggas immediately realized that the comer was unkind and quickly straightened their bodies.
"Leon!" Heard blurted out Leon's name because she was too excited.
The two hugged each other, behaving excessively intimately.
It wasn't until more than ten seconds later that Heard reacted, quickly broke away, brushed her hair back, her cheeks dyed with a blush.
"Leon?"
The little nggas looked at each other. Black people living in Harlem somewhat have a dream of becoming a rapper, so they are not unfamiliar with this name.
He is likely the most influential white singer in the black community since this century.
Leon glanced at the little nggas, then tilted his head at Jorge.
The other party understood immediately, pushing the little nggas aside with his fan-like big hands as if throwing garbage. "Get out of my face quickly!"
The blush on Heard's face became more intense. She quickly asked her assistant to take a taxi back to the hotel, while she climbed into the back seat of Leon's business van.
"Where are we going?"
"Anywhere~" Heard rolled her eyes. "I stood all day for photos; I'm really tired now."
"How about a drink?"
"Good idea!" Saying that, Heard took off her high heels in the back seat of the car. "My feet are numb..."
Leon frowned slightly. The air conditioner was on in the car, and it was not ventilated at all.
But fortunately, the white feet did not emit any uncomfortable smell.
The business van stopped in the SoHo commercial district. Leon gave Jorge a waiting order and walked into a members-only club with Heard.
Although Leon booked a private room, he could still hear the noise from next door.
Just listening to their defiant arrogant tone, one knew it was a group of investment elites from Wall Street.
"WTF? You spent a million dollars buying Tesla stock and what digital currency?? That thing is a Ponzi scheme!"
"You are right, buddy, but I have already lost 200,000 dollars. I am not reconciled to selling it now."
"Don't care about that damn 200,000. If your wife finds out, she will definitely divorce you! You will sleep on the street because of this!"
"Okay friend, you are right..."
"Don't hesitate, buddy. Ten years later you will thank me; it was me who let you avoid the end of bankruptcy..."
Until Leon finished ordering with a frown, the noise next door died down.
"Thank you for your hospitality." Heard held her chin with one hand and the wine glass with the other.
Her appearance itself had a very classical temperament, and her gestures looked like Hollywood actresses in the sixties.
"It is my honor to have dinner with you." Leon raised his glass perfunctorily, looking at the other party with interest. "Cheers."
Facing this famous vase, he didn't show excessive enthusiasm.
He could guess with his toes that this woman suddenly calling him must have some purpose.
Either seeking business cooperation or wanting to dedicate her body.
Even dedicating the body is just paving the way for business cooperation.
After the first glass of red wine was finished, she quickly showed a slightly drunk look.
Constantly making suggestive movements like biting lips and brushing hair.
In Hollywood, one cannot underestimate the alcohol tolerance of any woman.
If an actress easily shows drunkenness, she must be showing it deliberately.
After the waiter refilled the wine, Heard brewed for more than ten seconds, staring at Leon with beautiful eyes and asked: "I heard you are preparing a new movie?"
Leon stopped drinking abruptly.
Put down the wine glass and asked in a deep voice: "Who told you?"
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