lovenovelstory Chapter 7 Exploration
Chapter 7 Exploration
"Damn, bro, where did you buy this marijuana? It doesn't smell right." A slightly puzzled voice came from the YMCA corridor. A black guy poked his head out from behind the door of the next dormitory, his broad nostrils twitching and his eyes full of curiosity.
Qi Ke was squatting on the ground burning paper. Hearing this, he didn't even look up and casually replied, "It's just some draft paper, not marijuana." As he spoke, he quietly kicked the trash can next to him further away from the smoke alarm sensor on the ceiling.
Upon hearing this, the Black man's interest vanished instantly. He pursed his lips, muttered "How boring," and closed the door, leaving the hallway quiet once more.
Since settling down at the YMCA, Zeke has been constantly on the go. The melody of "YMCA" keeps playing in his mind, and he can hum that upbeat disco rhythm almost anytime, anywhere.
What made him extremely uncomfortable was that the lyrics and the music video images that flashed through his mind contained almost no attempt to conceal the homosexual elements. In American society at that time, discrimination was still quite severe, and if he performed publicly, he would likely be labeled as a gay singer.
After much thought, he made up his mind: instead of singing it himself, he would sell the song as the songwriter and composer, which would both earn him money and avoid unnecessary trouble.
He felt the money in his pocket and calculated in his mind: the reward for the robbery was 500 dollars, plus 250 dollars from selling the tape, and after deducting the 100 dollars for his father, he still had more than 600 dollars left. This was all the money he had to spend, and he had to be careful with every penny.
To safely and accurately translate the songs in his mind onto paper, Zik immersed himself in the nearby library. He diligently studied "Basic Music Theory" and "Introduction to Simplified Music Notation," starting with the most basic notes and rhythms, gradually figuring out how to transform the melodies in his mind into sheet music on paper.
At the same time, he thoroughly studied several major music industry publications of the era: Billboard, Cashbox, Record World, and Hamilton Report. He had no connections in the music industry, so he could only use this most basic method to understand the rules of the industry and find a breakthrough.
He completely forgot about his original plan to find a temporary job. With a path to riches in the entertainment industry, who would want to earn the federal minimum wage of $2.3 a hour? Working himself to the bone every day, he wouldn't even earn a few dollars a month, which was negligible compared to the potential profits from selling songs.
To be honest, living in the YMCA was quite comfortable. Perhaps because it's located in an affluent area, the environment is clean and tidy, and the facilities are complete. The free swimming pool, basketball court, and gym are always available. Most of the young people living here are friendly, and it's easy to get along with them.
After staying at the library until closing time every day, Zeke also has a regular place to go: taking the subway to the Mill Cinema near Times Square to watch movies. He has already secretly driven his Chrysler back home in the middle of the night.
This type of cinema is different from ordinary cinemas. It never shows currently showing popular movies, but instead shows a mix of B-movies, horror movies, softcore pornography, and some outdated commercial films.
The environment was noisy, but the ticket price was only $1, much cheaper than the $2-3 tickets at a regular movie theater. What surprised him even more was that during screenings of softcore pornography, there were prostitutes loitering in the theater, offering special services.
Zik encountered this once: a heavily made-up woman, dressed in revealing clothes, walked up to each audience member and asked in an ambiguous tone, "Do you like this movie?"
The audience members around him quietly told him that blowjob would charge $10 if he just let her sit down.
Qi Ke was so frightened that he quickly shook his head and refused. It was dark, and he couldn't see the woman's age or appearance at all. Besides, if he encountered a swindler or other trouble, it would be a loss that wouldn't outweigh the gains. He didn't want to cause any unnecessary trouble in such a place.
In just a few days, Zeke not only figured out the ins and outs of the Mill Cinema, but also successfully mastered basic music theory. Now he can clap his hands and hum "YMCA" slowly while drawing the rhythm lengths on paper, then comparing and correcting them little by little, repeatedly refining his technique by referring to the time value examples in the book.
Although the simplified musical scores he drew may not be standardized or professional enough, they are sufficient for musicians to understand and play, and that is enough.
However, he was still somewhat uneasy. He was living in a shared room, where there were many people and no privacy. If someone saw the draft, it would cause unnecessary trouble.
So every time he finished revising the draft, he would burn it when no one was around, since the melody and lyrics in his mind were already engraved in his heart and he would never forget them.
The first thing Zeke did after waking up the next morning was to turn on the television in the YMCA's common area and quickly scan the day's news. To his relief, there was no news about the missing dockworkers' union leader; it seemed the police hadn't yet traced Tommy and his group, and he was safe for the time being.
As for the record heist, the abandoned truck was found, but the New York Daily News reported that the records "disappeared into thin air." Police searched the warehouse, questioned employees, searched the truck, and checked the bills of lading and shipping manifests, but found "nothing."
Seeing this, Zeke breathed a sigh of relief. This was good news; it seemed that Henry was quite reliable in his work.
He found a public phone and called home to ask if anything was amiss. His mother's voice was still gentle on the other end of the line, reminding him to be careful. Joey and Mary also took turns talking to him, and his two little nephews and nieces called him "uncle" in their sweet, childish voices.
Qi Ke felt a warmth in his heart and promised, "Mom, don't worry, I'm fine. It's Christmas Eve, I'll definitely be home for dinner."
After hanging up the phone, Zeke put on a baseball cap he'd bought at a street stall, pulled the brim down, and headed out to Washington Square Park. He'd found out there was a street band there, quite good, who often performed in the park; perhaps they'd be willing to buy his music.
When the band was found, a large audience had gathered in the park, and they were applauding enthusiastically.
After the performance ended, Zeke strode over and shamelessly said, "Hey guys, I have a disco song that's guaranteed to be a hit, and I want to sell it to you. Interested in listening?"
Upon hearing this, the band members exchanged glances, then burst into laughter, their eyes filled with mockery.
The man in the lead, with a thick beard and holding a guitar, sized up Qi Ke: "Kid, are you out of your mind for money? You? You can write a hit song?"
Zik wasn't angry. Suppressing his embarrassment, he cleared his throat and hummed a section of the chorus from "YMCA." He hadn't made a recording, nor did he have any instrumental accompaniment; it was just his a cappella melody. Even so, the upbeat disco rhythm was incredibly infectious.
But the band members remained unmoved. The leader waved his hand and said, "Kid, I advise you to wake up. Writing songs and selling songs are two different things. Even if your songs are gold, you still need to put them in a diamond-encrusted box and find someone with the key to open the door to the record company for you. On your own? You can't even get past the security guard at the record company."
Zik frowned and asked, "A diamond-encrusted box? Someone with the key? What do you mean? I don't understand."
The leading man chuckled and patiently explained, "The diamond-encrusted box represents the arrangement and production. If you only have an a cappella version, without accompaniment or arrangement, who knows what the song sounds like in its entirety? The people with the key are the publishers or agents; they are the ones who have access to record companies. Without them, even if you have a great song, nobody will know about it."
Despite the setbacks, Zeke was not discouraged and at least learned about the key figure: the publisher.
This is much better than him groping aimlessly.
He turned and walked into a nearby record store, where songs by disco queen Donna Summer were playing, creating a lively atmosphere.
He saw an elderly shop assistant with gray hair arranging records, so he went over and struck up a conversation: "Sir, hello, I'm a university student who has always aspired to write lyrics and music. I'd like to ask you some questions. Is this a convenient time for you?"
The older clerk seemed very helpful. He stopped what he was doing, smiled, and nodded: "Of course, young man, feel free to ask me any questions."
"I want to sell my songs, but I don't know how," Zik asked, feigning ignorance. "Some people say I need to find a music publisher. Can you tell me, is that necessary?"
The old clerk smiled and said, "Young man, without a publisher, you're just an invisible man with the sheet music. Record companies never deal directly with independent composers; they only work with publishers."
"Wow, what can the publisher do for me?" Zeke asked, feigning surprise.
"They handle a lot of things," the veteran shop assistant patiently explained. "First, they'll help you register the copyright to prevent your work from being plagiarized; then they'll market your work to major record companies to find singers or bands willing to record it; finally, they'll collect royalties from the record companies and then give you a share."
"Give it to me?" A thought flashed through Qi Ke's mind, and he instinctively became wary, quickly asking, "How will they divide it? How much will they give me?"
"The industry standard is 50/50," the veteran clerk said. "The publisher takes 50%, and you take 50%. And that's not all. If you have an agent, you also have to pay a portion of your 50% to the agent as commission."
"Ward? 50%!?" Zeke's eyes widened instantly, and he couldn't help but swear, "That's even more ruthless than vampires!"
The old clerk lowered his voice, looked around, and said with a smile, "That's reality, kid. And if you're an independent author with no connections, publishers might lure you with advance payments and sign long-term agency rights for all your works, then their cut might be even steeper. More importantly, your 50% comes from the royalties the publisher receives, while the royalties the publisher gets from the record company have already been skimmed off once."
Zik was utterly shocked, his lips twitching a few times. He never imagined that these seemingly legal music industries would exploit people even more ruthlessly than the mafia!