Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story!
Pat*eon : Belamy20
Pat*eon : ilham20
Leon sat in the back of a black SUV driving from JFK International Airport to Manhattan. The Black Eyed Peas' I Gotta Feeling was playing on the stereo, his fingers unconsciously tapping the rhythm on his knee.
The trip to the Foggy City had left him with a sour taste. The city seemed to be living in the faded glory of the Industrial Revolution, the air thick, the sky perpetually gloomy.
Even New York's money-scented air felt fresher than that.
Fortunately, Anya's appearance had brightened the grey fog a little. Regardless of how effective the BBC interview and that stupid Vlog turned out to be promotion-wise, at least the trip wasn't a total waste.
"Is Tim ready?" Leon sat up a bit straighter, lazily asking Bonnie in the front seat.
"He said he has a golf game today and doesn't have time to attend the recording of Heathens." Bonnie didn't turn around, her fingertips sliding across her laptop trackpad scrolling through the schedule. "But Tim asked me to tell you he's arranged everything. The producers, including Max, will be waiting for you at the studio at 3 PM sharp."
"Golf?" Leon scoffed. "I bet that guy's just acting as a caddie for Stringer, swinging his club fake-enthusiastically while praising Stringer's ass-out putting stance."
High society had two noble sports: tennis for women and golf for men.
If you wanted to step into true high society, these were essential skills.
Tim was just a high-level employee at Columbia Records. Although he earned a million-dollar annual salary, he rarely participated in major company decisions or profit-sharing.
Clearly, he wasn't at the level to enter high society through golf; at best, he was just a foil for golf fanatic Stringer.
"Playing ball with the boss" seemed to be a golden skill for rapid promotion all over the world.
"Elsa just sent a message. Netflix's $50 million exclusive licensing fee has hit Lion's Den Media's account." Bonnie's volume rose three notches as she snapped her laptop shut.
"Awesome..." A glint flashed in Leon's eyes. Money was the only thing that could stimulate his nerves, like drugs to an addict.
He still held $86 million in liquid assets; adding this income, he had firmly stepped into the billionaire's club.
This didn't even count copyrights, real estate, companies, and other assets—just the cash flow lying in his accounts.
Excluding behind-the-scenes investors like David Geffen, Sumner Redstone, or George Lucas, his wealth had undoubtedly reached the first tier of the entertainment industry.
"Listen to me, kid. It's time to charge into the stock market and make a big splash. Your capital is enough to move the K-line of a stock." Phil grinned mischievously, nudging Leon with his elbow. "Or you should use this money to invest in some real estate. Look what Bill Gates is doing. How about buying a luxury nightclub in Las Vegas? Tourism is recovering; you won't lose money on this deal..."
Leon nodded. The old geezer's latter suggestion was somewhat reliable.
After the 2008 financial crisis, real estate values across the US remained sluggish, but there had been signs of an uptick recently.
Famous real estate tycoon Donald Trump was acquiring luxury hotels poorly managed due to the financial crisis across the US through various financing channels.
Even tech giants who had nothing to do with the real estate industry were joining in. Microsoft founder Gates was quietly buying large amounts of land in the Midwest.
Until recently, media revealed that his current land holdings exceeded 100,000 acres, distributed across 17 states, and he was still adding to them.
This sparked widespread discussion among the public: once a tech tycoon with wealth rivaling a nation starts hoarding land, the sheer volume of capital is a dimension-reduction strike against old-school real estate developers.
According to federal law, any land held by an individual and the buildings on it are subject to "property tax," even if there are no buildings on the land.
Landowners still need to pay property tax based on the assessed value of the land.
The proportion of land property tax varies from state to state, but because of this law, no real estate developer dares to rashly engage in large-scale land hoarding.
But for a tech billionaire like Gates, property tax is completely acceptable, even negligible.
Some media even ran eye-catching headlines like "Tech Giants Launch Land Annexation Movement," adding fuel to the fire of the recent massive "Occupy Wall Street" movement.
"I've already entrusted a real estate agent to find suitable investment properties in Los Angeles."
Besides real estate, Leon also had Sean reserve a large prominent space in Vibe magazine to publish ads for acquiring excellent music works.
"As long as a song hits the Billboard Hot 100, a singer can live comfortably for a lifetime"—this is common public perception.
This is just an idealized state. Can you call yourself a serious entertainment industry person without orgies and luxury?
Singers like Cassie, who once hit the top of the Billboard charts, ended up enslaved by Diddy.
Rapper DMX, who had two albums hit number one in the same year, ended up being chased by the IRS for debt.
Leon believed that as long as artists with a death wish like Mars continued to exist, Apocalypse Music's copyright library would grow quickly.
The car turned into the bustling streets of Downtown Brooklyn, lined with skyscrapers reaching into the clouds and dazzling luxury store signs.
Manhattan's backyard is Brooklyn; the den of drugs and homeless people is also Brooklyn.
"Rihanna's new album is about to be released. JAY-Z is spending big this time." Phil squinted out the window. "Why haven't I heard you mention the new album recently?"
"No inspiration."
"You can't always focus on movies. That stuff is like gambling. One failed investment can make you lose your pants. It's like the stock market; overnight liquidation, do you understand?" Phil's thoughts weren't hard to guess. No matter how much Leon made in movie investments, it didn't mean a cent to him.
But every step forward in music was linked to his income.
"Let's finish producing Heathens first. I think my fans will like this song."
The drawback of the new album currently was a lack of conceptual unity, a fatal flaw.
Many rock fans didn't agree with Leon's exploration of new styles and threatened to unfollow.
Among the existing tracks, apart from Natural, which was exploited from Dan Reynolds, only Heathens still had a shadow of rock music.
Transformation was a compromise to the uncertainty of inspiration refreshing, but currently, it might not be a bad thing.
The American music scene is in an awkward gap. The golden age of rock and roll was buried by Nirvana and Pearl Jam in the 90s.
The current mainstream is Lady Gaga's electronic music and Kanye's narcissistic rap, plus a bunch of fresh meat traffic stars fed by autotune.
Rock?
Foo Fighters are still holding the fort, Paramore is hanging on by Hayley Williams' voice, and the so-called "new generation rock" is mostly pop songs wrapped in guitar skin.
But Heathens blends rap, alternative rock, psychedelic electronica...
Just the market audience scope is not comparable to rock music.
The SUV stopped in front of the Apocalypse Music office building. After months of renovation, it looked brand new. The biggest change was that the originally mottled exterior wall had become a curtain wall.
The whole building didn't look like a product of the 1980s at all.
"Mr. Leon, you're here!" The designer rushed over upon seeing Leon, a flattering smile piled on his face.
"Your work is faster than I imagined. Can it be finished next month?" Leon didn't have time for pleasantries, going straight to the point.
He spoke while walking into the building, stepping on the unpaved marble floor.
The designer followed behind, intentionally steering away from the topic. "You've seen we completed the glass curtain wall installation. This is the face of the building. Are you satisfied with the current effect?"
"Answer my question. I asked if the interior decoration can be completed next month?" Leon looked down to light a cigarette, asking in a deep voice.
"If the municipal department doesn't mess around, the interior work can be completed in early October." The designer spread his hands helplessly. "I swear this is the fastest renovation site I've seen in my career. The site manager and I are practically whipping the workers' asses."
"Enough." Leon couldn't be bothered to listen to these quips, glancing coldly. "I spent 4 million dollars not to listen to your bad jokes here. If I can't move in next month, prepare to use your suit to wipe the floor."
"I promise, Mr. Leon, we will work overtime and absolutely won't delay."
The designer froze in place, sweat pouring from his forehead.
How he treated the laborers, the Party A daddy treated him the same way.
Leon walked straight to the recording studio area he cared about most. Most of the interior decoration here was completed, leaving only soundproofing and purchasing equipment.
"Not far in front of the recording studio is the artist lounge area. We plan to install a sound system there too, so singers can spark new inspiration at any time." The designer pointed to an area enclosed by frosted glass, trying to save face. "If Bose speakers are installed, the listening experience here won't be much worse than the recording studio..."
"Bose?" Leon looked down, shaking his head and laughing. "I want Neumann or Genelec, professional monitor level, understand?"
The designer nodded repeatedly, silent.
Equipment wasn't within their contract scope; he could only offer suggestions to see if there was a chance for kickbacks.
If counting such top-tier equipment, the $3.8 million contract price would probably lose money.
Leon turned and walked to the third floor, the management office area where his office was located.
Pushing open the door, a pungent smell of wood chips hit his face. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window was a panoramic view of the Brooklyn business district.
On the wall reserved for the desk hung a large golden emblem—a lion head wearing a crown, with a cross hidden behind it.
This was a plan created jointly by Leon and Bonnie, but mostly Bonnie's work.
As a new noble in the record industry, this symbol would be Apocalypse Music's new logo.
"You disagreed with my plan before. How does it look now?" Bonnie puffed out her chest proudly.
"What else can I say? I wouldn't be surprised no matter what kind of crotch-hugging G-string you designed, but I didn't expect you could design a company logo..."
Bonnie studied business at NYU and minored in design and history.
The design inspiration came from Leon's name and Richard the Lionheart, famous in British history, who went on the Third Crusade with the "True Cross" as background.
Leon turned, leaning against the windowsill, his gaze sweeping across the empty room.
Suddenly, he pointed to an old-fashioned telephone in the corner. "What is that thing?"
"As you can see, a telephone." The designer said, "You asked to add some variations to the modern decoration style. My team added some nostalgic elements."
"Nostalgic?" Leon held his forehead, unable to roast. "This is a 21st-century record company... Have you watched too much Mad Men?"
"You're right!" The designer nodded repeatedly, quickly picking up the old phone and throwing it into the renovation trash.
After inspecting the office, Leon took a car to the Columbia Records headquarters.
In the recording studio, Max sat by the mixing console adjusting equipment, with a thin black man standing beside him looking like a bamboo pole.
His eyes were hazy, and twisted tattoos covered him from neck to face. He looked very familiar.
"Max!"
Leon shouted. Max quickly got up to welcome him, shaking hands and hugging.
"That kid King Von performed great in the show. I can't wait to see him perform Panda. Which episode do you plan to schedule the debut of this song? Can we see it this week?"
"Unsurprisingly, the live broadcast of the finals. Good things always come to the table last."
After the pleasantries, they remembered the thin ngga left out in the room. Max pulled him over and introduced: "Wiz Khalifa! You must not be unfamiliar with this name. Like you, he is also a genius!"
Seeing Leon, Wiz's hazy eyes instantly cleared up by thirty percent. He hurriedly extended his hand. "Bro, maybe you don't know me, but I've seen you many times. At the Billboard Awards, at this year's Grammy night... Unfortunately, I didn't attend last week's MTV awards ceremony. I regret not being able to watch the great performance of you and Miss Robbie live..."
Leon raised his eyebrows. The other party was one of the few nggas he had seen who could speak so coherently after taking drugs.
The rainbow fart was measured just right, with clear logic.
"Of course I know you, Wiz. You are the future of hip-hop music."
"Really?" Wiz's eyes widened.
"Of course."
"Damn Bro, it's my honor to get your recognition. Billy you created is simply a diss textbook, not losing to Tupac's Hit 'Em Up..."
Speaking of which, Wiz debuted three years earlier than Leon, but his first two albums didn't make much of a splash in the market.
Until the first half of this year, his personal single Black and Yellow topped the Billboard chart, making him famous.
By then, Leon already had Grammy, AMA, and Billboard awards under his belt. Their statuses were not on the same level.
What really made him familiar with this name wasn't his work, but Kanye's phone complaints.
His ex-girlfriend Amber Rose was photographed sleeping with Wiz, making headlines in the entertainment section.
Rose made no secret of this, publicly stating in the media that compared to Wiz, Kanye was like a toothpick, invisible under the fact that black is slimming.
Max said: "The accompaniment of Heathens is not an easy job for me. This song integrates too many elements. Although I produced Panda for you, I'm really not good at Trap style. Tim recommended Wiz. Without his help, this accompaniment wouldn't be so perfect..."
"Thank you very much, buddy!" Leon nodded to Wiz.
"Bro~ It's my honor to participate in the recording of your work. I can learn a lot from you!" Wiz rambled excitedly, "I guess you were born with a third eye, possessing spiritual power directly reaching God's kingdom, so you can write so many excellent works!"
Max inserted the backing track into the player. Guitar, bass, drum beats, and synthesized audio interwove orderly.
Simple and crude, but extremely expressive, even richer than the original version in Leon's mind. Wiz's addition made the psychedelic color of the whole song more intense.
Under Max's dispatch, two live musicians picked up electric guitars. Leon took off his jacket and walked into the soundproof booth.
He put on headphones and adjusted his breathing into the microphone.
"Ready?" Max asked.
"Let's start." Leon gave a thumbs up through the glass.
The music started. Deep bass and drum beats paved a depressing atmosphere, and Leon's voice cut in. "All my friends are heathens, take it slow... Wait for them to ask you who you know..."
The first recording wasn't stopped; his performance was satisfactory.
Since this whole song uses autotune, subtle pitch flaws could be completely ignored.
Leon took off his headphones and walked to Max. "How was it?"
Max was silent for a few seconds, then spoke slowly. "Your performance was consistent as always, but the effect presented is a bit different from what we designed before. We agreed to present a lazy and psychedelic effect, but your voice sounds..."
"Sounds like what?" Leon smirked.
"Seems to carry a hint of provocation." Max spread his hands.
"That's right~" Leon patted his shoulder. "I am indeed targeting some guys. I even thought about putting the MV shooting location in a real prison. How about Pelican Bay Prison? The average sentence of inmates there is as high as 48 years..."
This idea wasn't just talk. based on the principle of consuming to the death if possible, he initially even wanted to move the MV shooting location to the Metropolitan Detention Center, Brooklyn, where Diddy was held.
But considering Diddy was currently under maximum-security detention, seeing him might be as difficult as meeting the President, so this idea had to be dropped.
The original MV involved a large number of DC Comics characters, such as El Diablo, Killer Croc, Harley Quinn, etc...
Relying on Leon's personal relationship with Jeff, borrowing these IPs to shoot an MV wouldn't be a big problem, but doing so was simply unnecessary.
According to his speculation, Heathens should be included in the soundtrack of a superhero movie as the theme song. The problem is there is no shadow of this movie in the current market.
Based on the above considerations, it might be better to move the MV scene to a real prison, having both gimmicks and consolidating his street image.
"Pelican Bay Prison..." Wiz's eyes went blank, shadows of serial killers, psychopathic lunatics, and drug lords floating in his mind. "Bro, this idea is simply too cool..."