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1.18% Superstars of Tomorrow / Chapter 6: Brainstorming

Chapitre 6: Brainstorming

Éditeur: Tennesh

Silver Wing Media signed 10 interns this year, three of whom were classmates of the body’s original owner. They were all very competent. Competition was fierce.

Fang Zhao didn’t bother studying the chart further, contemplating his next move instead.

He had fewer than 10 days left. What could he do?

Reeling from consecutive blows, at his wit’s end with the new talent contest around the corner, and his record company on his case, the original owner was out of moves.

Should he scrape together a rough cut and turn it in? He would be rejected for sure.

But if that was what he did, not only would it be beneath the pride of the body’s original owner, Silver Wing Media would show no mercy and kick him out. His internship would be over.

Being kicked out by Silver Wing Media early on would tarnish his résumé forever. It would make his career all the more difficult.

"The new talent competition…"

Fang Zhao searched his new memory for information about the new talent competition. Record labels from before the near-apocalypse operated very differently. He had to adjust. Before putting pen to paper, he had to figure out what people listened to.

Pop culture shifted from generation to generation. Having endured the apocalypse and then evolved for another hundreds of years to this point, popular tastes had changed vastly. The sheer variety of new instruments and synthetic sounds was dizzying. The masses thought differently. The styles they preferred were a far cry from what passed as hip in Fang Zhao’s old world.

Even though Fang Zhao wanted to say screw it and compose by instinct and prior habit, he was not in a position to fail, or he would become homeless.

Artists were also practical human beings. They had to fulfill their basic needs first.

"A sharpened blade is no impediment to chopping wood," so the saying went. Fang Zhao sat in the corner where he worked, closed his eyes, and started meditating.

He had an idea. He pulled opened the drawer next to him and took out a notebook.

In an age when people preferred to take notes with their bracelets, the original owner of his body liked to jot down important thoughts on paper.

These were the original owner’s notes from the past six months. The first half were notes from his internship at Silver Wing. The second half contained his songs for the new talent contest. The dates indicated that he started preparing for the new talent contest early.

The three completed songs were crossed out with heavy strokes. Several pages were perforated, a sign of the tremendous force he applied. That was him venting his extreme disappointment, anger, and desperation when he realized the three songs had been stolen. But the original owner didn’t tear up the entire notebook. He kept it in his drawer, because he couldn’t bear destroying the fruits of his labor.

Fang Zhao studied the three songs. Only one of them had lyrics; the remaining two did not. He was probably planning on asking lyricists at the record label to help out.

The notes also contained an unfinished song written when the original owner broke up with his girlfriend. There was also a diary entry. He probably wanted to use it as the lyrics for the song.

The melody had been finalized. The original owner of the body probably planned on leveraging company resources to complete a proper recording after performing well in the new talent contest. After all, the song had special significance. Little did he know his songs would be stolen and that his breakup song would never see the light of day, something the original owner mourned before committing suicide.

Fang Zhao studied the incomplete song carefully and circled it with his finger. "This is it."

A fixture resembling a folding fan was attached to the shelf in the corner. Tugging it revealed a piano keyboard. It felt functional. This was what the original owner used to compose. It wasn’t top-notch, but it wasn’t shabby either.

It was Fang Zhao’s first time using a keyboard after his rebirth. He was a bit rusty at first, but the more his memory kicked in, the smoother his performance became.

Fang Zhao played a few of his old pieces, but they were fragments of incomplete songs. Fang Zhao memorized them, hoping to polish them after the new talent contest. These were treasures tucked away in his memory, gems that pulled Fang Zhao through countless rough days during the apocalypse. One day, Fang Zhao would present them to the world.

After acquainting himself with the keyboard and integrating his memory, Fang Zhao started channeling his emotions.

He wanted to experience what the original owner of his body was feeling when he composed the song. He could only finish the song when he was in the same headspace.

Over the next few days, Fang Zhao didn’t leave his apartment except for his noon tan and getting food from Yue Qing’s shop. The windows couldn’t block out the bustling nights of any black street, but the noise didn’t interfere with Fang Zhao’s process.

The noise bothered Fang Zhao the first two nights. His excessive vigilance affected the quality of his sleep. But on the third night, Fang Zhao figured out how to lower his guard. Adapting quickly was a skill he developed during the apocalypse, a quality found in many survivors.

One day, Yue Qing was dragging his chair back into the shop after his noon tan. Even though the weather was getting hotter—some sunbathers had started putting on sunblock—the black street residents still treasured this brief window. Before he entered the store, he scanned the lobby of the building and spotted Fang Zhao walking his furless dog.

"That kid’s been busy," Yue Qing mumbled to himself.

By June, the battle for the top spots on the New Pioneers Chart had reached its climax. The music industry was abuzz with discussion over who would make the top 10 and which companies they were signed to.

The higher ups at Silver Wing were also paying close attention. Du Ang was under a lot of stress. On the one hand, he had to field questions from his superiors. On the other, he had to keep an eye on his interns. He couldn’t afford to relax even with three assistants at his beck and call.

Du Ang could very well follow the standard procedure from years past: getting on the case of composers, lining up producers, recording the songs, releasing them, and then promoting them. All he had to do was give the order and his team would execute it. But this year, the bosses had a different agenda—you could tell from the fact that they recruited 10 interns. They usually only took three or four, but this year, they had expanded the program to 10 interns out of the blue.

Du Ang had also heard through the grapevine that the bosses had decided that, if all 10 did well, if they could all make the top 50, every one of them would be signed as full-time employees. No one could dissuade him from the impression that the company was betting big.

That was why the pressure from up top was greater. Du Ang was exhausted from attending to every detail. But agents like him in charge of newcomers had it easy by comparison—the agents assigned to veteran singers were worried sick.

But to think of his 10 interns and to remember the only one who hadn’t turned in a song was Fang Zhao pained Du Ang.

Du Ang sighed. "It’s tough leading a platoon."

Despite the pressure from above, he had lobbied for 10 more days for the kid. And that was because the higher ups had pinned huge hopes on this year’s interns. However, only time could tell if the kid would come through. If he couldn’t turn in something presentable in 10 days, Du Ang would have no choice but to fire him.

Du Ang refreshed the New Pioneers Chart and glared at the top two. His eyes were about to spit fire.

He was genuinely pissed.

The first place where newcomers could showcase of their talent was the New Pioneers Chart. The top two hadn’t changed hands in a week. They held on and even increased their lead on the others. If the opposition wasn’t too stiff, Du Ang would consider making another push for one of his newcomers. But once these two showed up, Du Ang gave up.

On the New Pioneers Chart,

In first place:

"Believe in Me," performed by Xue Huai, composer Xue Huai, a Tongshan True Entertainment release.

In second place:

"Rainbow Candy," performed by Fei Lisi, composer Fei Lisi, a Neon Culture release.

Both songs were both composed and performed by the same person. They had to be quite talented, no?

No.

The musicians behind the two songs were indeed very talented, but the songs were fronted by virtual idols.

When they debuted, real idols had to overcome countless hurdles. The newcomers left no stone unturned in their chart campaigns. They were worried all the time, terrified their debut single would tank, which would reflect poorly on their record company.

But virtual idols were different, especially the tailor-made ones. They were launched only after internal vetting, after elaborate planning and a major mobilization of resources. Their record labels also lavished huge budgets on them. It was the kind of treatment that real newcomers would never receive.

Behind every virtual idol was a crack team and unlimited capital.

Was it f*cking fair to even consider them newcomers?

The kind of manpower and financing big record labels threw at virtual idols—other newcomers could only dream of. Plus there wasn’t a real newcomer who could rival the two top virtual idols, and Silver Wing couldn’t possibly focus all its ammunition on taking them down. The record label wanted to save resources for their established stars, so the higher ups had already given up on the top two spots.

The virtual idols on the New Pioneers Chart were like computer bugs that grew more permanent with every passing year. Every time a virtual idol showed up in the new talent contest, the other newcomers were left biting dust.

A senior executive at Silver Wing once lobbied the global trade association for record companies to ban virtual idols from new talent contests, but he was turned down. Reminded of the rebuffed proposal, Silver Wing staff always wanted to spit blood.

Of course, the uninformed masses would wonder: "If the top two of the Big Three record companies launched virtual newcomers this year, what’s stopping Silver Wing?"

But anyone with a basic understanding of the music industry would know that virtual idols were the Achilles heel of Silver Wing. Whoever they promoted failed, one after another. None had made it. They were all flops.

The company dedicated a team to virtual idols last year. The producer in charge was mocked mercilessly by the staff at Tongshan True Entertainment and Neon Culture after his virtual idol failed to make an impression. He was still hospitalized. He was also too ashamed to face senior management and the rank-and-file staff. After all, he had promised a triumph, but now he wished he hadn’t.

The senior executives at Silver Wing also wished they had acted differently. If they knew such a dismal failure was in the works, they wouldn’t have bothered with virtual idols. Now they were the laughing stock of the industry. The money they splurged on their virtual idol project was enough to launch several real newcomers.

The project generated nearly zero returns. The senior executives at Silver Wing thought that Tongshan True Entertainment and Neon Culture launched virtual idols this year deliberately to rub salt in their wounds as they made a major push for their real newcomers.

Now that the company had banished any thought of launching virtual idols and focused their attention on real idols, the pressure shifted to the newcomers. Taking down the top two was unrealistic, but the higher ups were hoping to land a few songs in the top 10. If they could land three top 10 hits, Du Ang’s salary would double. If he could manage four, he could get promoted.

Be it a raise or a promotion, Du Ang had major incentive to do well.

How many top 10 spots could they claim?

Just as he was pondering the matter, a reminder sounded on Du Ang’s bracelet. He tapped the message.

It was a demo from Fang Zhao.

"Wow, that was quick." Du Ang felt reinvigorated.

Regardless of quality, whether Fang Zhao composed the song himself or had outside help, receiving the demo meant that all 10 of his newcomers had submitted songs. Du Ang’s work was almost done.


Chapitre 7: Qualification

Éditeur: Tennesh

To prevent theft, every demo sample submitted was encrypted using internal software. Du Ang had to decrypt them before he could listen to them.

As he was listening, Du Ang also read the document that Fang Zhao had submitted along with his demo. His furrowed brows relaxed, surprise shone in his eyes, and he flashed a rare smile. "He’s quite crafty."

After mentoring so many newcomers, even though Du Ang didn’t have much talent in the way of composition, he could still determine the potential of a song. Even though demos were often incomplete and crudely made, he could extrapolate much from such a short sample.

When this song is completed, it should do OK. At the very least, it won’t fail miserably.

Du Ang was happy with the song Fang Zhao had submitted. It vindicated his decision to lobby for 10 extra days for the kid, despite the pressure from above.

After listening to the sample, Du Ang sent Fang Zhao a text message. "Stop by the office this afternoon and get cranking on recording the full song."

Even though advancements in technology cut down on production time dramatically, Du Ang would feel more secure if the song was completed early. Not to mention that this season’s new talent competition was almost over. If they didn’t get cranking, they’d be left eating dust somewhere.

After sending the text message, Du Ang contacted operations. "I’m releasing a new single in three days. Appreciate if you can save me a spot."

After touching base with the producer, operations, and so on, Du Ang asked his assistant, "How many of our newly signed singers are free?"

"Singer-wise, we’ve signed four fresh graduates. We’ve already lined up work for three of them. There’s still one left, but he doesn’t seem to be in good shape of late," the assistant responded, neck hunched.

"Not in good shape?" Du Ang furrowed his brows once again. He hated hearing that phrase. "Not in good shape" was too general a term.

"I think… he may have broken… broken up with his girlfriend." The assistant’s voice faded as he noticed Du Ang’s mood swing.

Of course Du Ang was in a foul mood.Who the hell did they sign this year? They’re too young to know the ups and downs in life. He was hired to mentor industry newcomers, not babysit. Who had time for heart-to-hearts?

"They’re all so much hassle!"

This industry was so competitive, and the new talent competition was utterly cutthroat this season. Who had time to monitor your mood? You think you’re a superstar? You want someone to comfort you? Go to mommy and daddy!

As a nobody newcomer, you had to suck it up. Who didn’t come up the ranks that way? No matter what was going on, when presented a golden opportunity, you had to claw through even if it meant tasting blood. If you couldn't deal with that kind of pressure then get lost!

"Drag his ass over here!" Du Ang said in a fiery tone.

"Yes sir!" The assistant scampered. He sure as hell didn’t want to stay and face an upset Du Ang.

Du Ang’s mouth was a flamethrower these days, lighting up one after another. His underlings were on high alert, attentive to the smallest detail, lest they catch fire themselves.

Once Fang Zhao got Du Ang’s message, he rushed over by car. It was a half-hour ride from the mass housing district to downtown, thanks to a massive improvement in transportation infrastructure. Before the end of days, you couldn’t even imagine getting close to downtown in less than an hour. If there was traffic, it was a different story—a two- or three-hour journey was nothing.

Silver Wing Media had built a 150-story building downtown. It was tower-shaped, nearly 800 meters tall. The top was graced with a giant pair of silver wings. Height-wise, the building wasn’t a standout in the neighborhood. There were plenty of buildings taller than Silver Wing Tower, but as one of Yanzhou’s three top entertainment giants, Silver Wing was no bit player.

People came and went. No one noticed a nobody like Fang Zhao. The VIPs enjoyed private passage. Fang Zhao could only ride the regular elevator along with the rank-and-file employees.

Du Ang’s office was on the 20th floor. When Fang Zhao arrived, he was tearing someone apart, spitting saliva and all.

Before Du Ang sat a young man of about 20, taking his beating submissively. He didn’t even dare wipe the saliva off his face, repeatedly assuring Du Ang, "There won’t be a next time. Definitely not! I’ve been meditating for three days now. I can perform right away. Really! Let me show you."

"Shut up!"

Du Ang halted the singer’s overeager apology and shifted his attention to Fang Zhao, who had just entered his office. Fang Zhao looked like he was in good spirits, not as disheveled as he expected, which improved Du’s mood.

"Alright, stop bullshitting me. Get ready for your recording session soon. The chart rankings for the new talent competition are pretty much settled. If you don’t enter now, don't think about making the top 100, let alone the top 50."

As a matter of protocol, Fang Zhao had to submit his song to Silver Wing Media, which then picked a singer. He was signed to Silver Wing as a composer. His contract dictated that, unless otherwise specified, his songs had to be performed by singers signed to Silver Wing.

"Fang Zhao, all you’ve got is one song?" Du Ang asked.

"Yeah, just one for now." Fang Zhao responded.

"For the same amount of time, other composers produce two or three. Never mind, just finish this one. Are you going to arrange it yourself?"

"Yes."

"OK, it’s up to you. Even if you need one of our arrangers, you’re not gonna be able to find a good one right now," Du Ang mumbled.

All the best arrangers had been assigned to the top stars. Newcomers weren’t so lucky. Instead of prying a few mediocre arrangers from the demons that ran the arrangement department, he might as well let Fang Zhao do the job. He couldn’t stand the sight of those demons. Every visit left a bitter taste in his mouth.

After tearing into the newcomer, Du Ang couldn't rest just yet. After a quick glass of water, he led Fang Zhao and the newcomer, Bei Zhi, who was also on probation, to the recording studio. He had no expectations now—all he wanted was to get this last person out there. That was mission accomplished. As for how well he placed, whether he could seize the day, that was up to the trainee himself. All he could do as an agent was to lay the groundwork.

Fang Zhao took in the production process with eager eyes and finally understood the saying that it was easier to catch a shade beneath a giant tree.

That was why so many people wanted to sign with a big company at a time when the industry was blooming. More often than not, talent alone wasn’t enough. There were so many composers out there and thousands of songs were being submitted every day. What the public fixated on and what the major companies got behind were seasoned veterans.

As for the nobodies who weren’t connected or didn't hail from prominent families, the only hope was the new talent competition, maybe a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If they missed out, getting the record label to promote them was a tall order.

That was why the original owner of Fang Zhao’s body took the new talent competition so seriously, why he was so desperate as to commit suicide when his work was stolen. He felt that his dreams had died along with those three stolen songs.

After the three-day process of recording a song, the final product was subject to an internal audit, to see if the piece closely resembled any previous releases. If there was a high-percentage match, then it was flagged. If there was too much of a resemblance, or piracy, or any other problems, the company wouldn’t release the song.

The entertainment industry had evolved rapidly. The rules were different from those during Fang Zhao’s times before the end of days, but you could say it was more orderly. And even though a completely level playing field was impossible, relatively speaking, under the new rules, more aspiring talents had a shot at stardom.

"The official launch is tomorrow morning at 8 a.m.!"

The moment when Du Ang confirmed the launch date was when Fang Zhao officially qualified for the new talent competition chart. Even though the season was almost over, at least he had entered in the nick of time.

It was June 10. Ten days had passed since the last month featuring the new talent charts started. Although the rankings were still changing, there wasn’t a major reshuffle. All eyes were on the battle for top 10. The top two finishers were all but confirmed—the two virtual idols were a shoo-in for first and second. As for third to tenth place, let the games begin.

The artists and staff of Silver Wing Media were glued to the charts. After all, placing well in the new talent competition meant happy bosses, which made life easier for the small potatoes. Maybe a raise was in the horizon.

"We have three artists in the top 10 this season so far."

"Not bad at all. We only used to place one or two. Our newcomers worked their hearts out this year."

What a rare occurrence—three artists from the same company placing in the top 10. The staff of Silver Wing were quite happy with this result. No wonder Silver Wing was one of the Big Three, even though it was on the decline in recent years and failed to place well in the new talent competition. At least they broke through this year.

Companies smaller in scale than Silver Wing were also gossiping.

"The Big Three account for the entire top 10 in this season’s new talent competition."

The so-called Big Three referred to Yanzhou’s three biggest entertainment companies: Silver Wing Media, Neon Culture, and Tongshan True Entertainment.

"Silver Wing did well this year. They’ve got three in the top 10. I heard they’re making some major moves."

"That’s what I heard too. I heard Silver Wing signed 10 new composers this year alone. They went all out."

"Wow! Ten newcomers at once! That’s a huge investment."

"Ten? How come I only see nine?"

"There are nine Silver Wing artists in the top 50. Maybe the 10th wasn’t that good and placed lower."

"No, I checked the top 200."

"Then the 10th artist must not have entered the competition. Even though Silver Wing has been in decline, they’re still a force to be reckoned with. They’re not so weak as to not even be able to make the top 100. The Big Three can’t afford to lose face."

__________

"Boss, the top 10 are gaining distance from the rest. Should we make a push?" the employee of one entertainment company asked. Their outfit had also entered a few newcomers, one of whom placed in the top 20.

With the top 10 pulling ahead by greater margins, after canvassing the charts, the boss set his sights on the final spot in the top 10 and pointed to the entry, commanding. "He’s our target. Let’s make a push and take his spot!"

At No. 10 was "Flight," performed by Kong Xie, composed by Fang Sheng, a Neon Culture release, with a total of 1,502,461 downloads.

There was no other way. The rest of the top 10 had already surpassed 2 million downloads, only No. 10 had just hit 1.5 million. Even though No. 11 and lower were drawing 1.3 million or fewer downloads, a considerable gap from No. 10, competitive juices were stirred. Everyone had their eyes on the plumb spot.

Even though there was only one place’s difference between No. 10 and No. 11, the gap in prestige was huge. There were 20 days left in the competition. With the right push, it wasn’t impossible to overtake the current No. 10.

The bosses of other smaller companies shared similar sentiments. Seeing that the chart rankings had more or less settled and a bigger cushion developed between the top 10 and the rest, some had already thrown in the towel, but a few companies with deep talent set their sights on No. 10.

Like a group of cats greedily eyeing a fat mouse darting about.


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