From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Quietly, gently, Anson sang softly.

Just a guitar.

No other accompaniment, no other embellishments, yet it returned to simplicity, pushing the power hidden in the melody and lyrics to the extreme, slowly releasing it.

The cello is relatively bulky and not so easy to move around. When watching performances, the cello is often already in position.

But the point is, even on the Grammy stage, it is very rare to see a cello 'actually' appear before your eyes; some grand performances equipped with orchestras, including the symphony orchestra including cellos, are often hidden below the stage or behind the scenes. They are never the focus.

Until now.

The cello appeared just like that, still moving slowly and laboriously, like a snail moving house.

This scene was definitely visually impactful.

No one was an exception.

Two years ago, Anson and Miles and others appeared on 'The Tonight Show,' bringing a brand-new music with a novel performance style, sweeping across North America.

In the eyes of professionals, this was nothing more than a gimmick. The same trick is surprising once, wonderful twice, mediocre three times, and has no reference value—

Not worth mentioning.

However, tonight?

Shock, impact, surprise, delight, one after another.

The entire Staples Center was completely under control. No one was an exception, all were swept into this storm, immersed in it and unable to extricate themselves.

Miles carried the cello to the position just set up by the staff, sat down holding the cello, and the bright light in his eyes shone brightly.

There was no time or energy to pay attention to the gazes of the audience. The gazes intertwined with astonishment and curiosity completely hit Anson and Miles; but Miles just adjusted his breathing and looked up at Anson.

A meeting of eyes.

Miles found an entry point, the bow sounded, and the cello's signature mellow and melodious string sound gently and windingly merged into the gurgling stream of the guitar strings.

Two kinds of string sounds, one high-pitched and one low, one clear and one mellow, one cheerful and one long, interweave and collide with each other to create a new texture.

It is clearly a faint sadness and bitterness, but it has a tenacious and unyielding power, like Forrest Gump as a child in 'Forrest Gump'—

Battered and bruised, timid and submissive, bullied by other children but not knowing how to fight back, considered a monster because of the braces he wore due to polio; yet he kept running through stumbles, running all the way, and finally broke free from the shackles of the braces, running stubbornly and intently.

Little by little, sunlight filled the entire chest.

Perhaps, this is life.

Full of helplessness, full of despair, full of frustration, people are always searching for answers in circles, but often return without success, trapped in their own cages; but they never give up, refuse to disarm, refuse to surrender, refuse to give up, firmly grasp a ray of hope, and run wildly with all their strength.

Incredibly, such a complex and profound emotion was actually narrated in Anson and Miles' performance.

Anson looked at Miles.

Miles looked at Anson.

They looked at each other, the string sounds in their hands continued to flow and collide, stirring up a real roar.

Before they realized it, their blood began to boil, their hearts began to beat wildly, and an unspeakable joy and enthusiasm burst forth.

At this time, amidst a roar and agitation, Anson sang again.

“Memories rewind, reality departs, unable to stand; in the kitchen, an empty chair, your place, oh.” (Note 1)

Gently, slowly, quietly, concealing sadness.

“You're mad as hell, and I think it's swell, that you are; just 'cause you can't see it, doesn't mean it, isn't there.”

Those that have passed, those that have disappeared, seem to be impossible to recover, like dandelions, scattered to the ends of the earth with a gentle breeze.

Then, no one cares anymore.

Archie has experienced too much of this.

They exist, but as if they don't; they disappear, but no one cares at all.

They shout their voices hoarsely, but they are still too weak to awaken any attention.

In fact, they have always been there, but in the real world, in the daily life of the mainstream, they are completely ignored like ghosts.

Just like tonight.

Standing in the crowd, no one cares or notices his existence. He appeared on the scene, but it seemed as if he had never been seen.

Because of this, his partners all persuaded Archie to give up, there was no need to waste energy.

Their appearance will not only not be seen or heard, but may even become a reason for others to attack, adding to the already numerous scars.

However, Anson saw it.

Not only saw it, but also understood it. Anson truly understood their faith, and truly understood their persistence.

“And if they say, who cares if one more light goes out, in a sky of a million stars, it flickers, flickers.”

It was just a cello and a guitar, but the string sounds pulled out the faint fragility and sadness hidden in Anson's voice, so deep and so turbulent.

No one knows what Anson has experienced, but Archie is willing to believe that Anson can truly understand their struggles and pain, and can also understand the nightmares in the endless darkness.

The singing was not perfect.

Without any embellishment or backing vocals, Anson showed himself nakedly, revealing all his strengths and weaknesses.

Those slightly trembling ending sounds inevitably revealed a little struggle, and those connections between the beginning, development, turning point, and conclusion inevitably hid a little fragility.

However, it is precisely these imperfections that make it perfect, like a meteor, hitting Archie's heart hard.

“Who cares if someone's time runs out, if a moment is all we are, we're quicker, quicker.”

Quiet, yet noisy.

Tiny, yet grand.

The power of the notes, in Anson's singing, vented down mightily.

Archie slightly raised his chin, quietly, intently, stubbornly staring at the big screen, watching the stage get busy again.

The staff came and went. They blatantly set up the stage under the eyes of everyone, and turned around and left after finishing their work.

This time, they added microphones to Anson's right and Miles' left, and of course, the keyboard to Miles' left.

Connor took the lead, appearing on stage, holding a bass, slightly restrained and slightly nervous, but without a buffer, breaking into the light.

Lily was a little slower, walking lightly towards the keyboard, her eyes brightly fixed on Anson and Miles, obviously she was ready.

“Who cares if one more light goes out? Well I do.”

Note 1: One More Light — Linkin Park