From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum—

The guitar in Anson's arms played a light and crisp rhythm in his slender fingers, the neat strumming and clean control making the string sounds dance like glass marbles.

“Jukebox Blues” is undoubtedly one of June Carter's most distinctive classic tracks.

But classics often mean they are difficult to surpass.

Of course, Reese wasn't doing a cover; her goal wasn't to surpass the classic; she was playing June Carter, recreating the scene of June Carter performing this song.

Even so, Reese didn't need to surpass June Carter's version, but she needed to infuse the music with color in her own interpretation, just like June Carter.

Reese noticed the smile in Anson's eyes. Their understanding was limited, making it difficult to communicate through eye contact alone; but now it wasn't just eye contact.

There was also the melody.

Listening intently, Reese realized that the rhythm of Anson's fingertips striking the strings was accelerating, and the vitality of the entire melody was full and passionate, not the budding of new shoots in spring, but the exuberant bloom of summer flowers in full splendor, a vast expanse of flowers stretching across the mountains and fields.

That brilliance, that flamboyance, that unrestrainedness…

Blood was boiling.

In fact, there was a tomboyish side to Reese's personality—although not much, she did possess a carefree, straightforward, prank-loving side, bold and audacious, unrestrained and willful.

At this moment, seeing Anson's expression, the slight glint of provocation and instigation in his bright eyes, the mischievous genes in her bones began to stir.

Reese: Anyway, this isn't a film set, it's just a private recording studio having fun. She's already stepped forward to embarrass herself, so why worry about saving face?

“There's a man over there with an old tin horn, and a fella playin' the banjo…”

Connor was clearly in the zone, his eyebrows dancing as he expressed his joy, the smile on his lips blooming with enthusiasm.

Listening carefully, Reese noticed that the piano keys and cello strings were also subtly changing, no longer continuous, but evolving into crisp, staccato notes.

It wasn't that the notes were completely disconnected from each other, but that a sense of jumpiness could be felt between the notes, changing from the playing technique, so that even the continuous melody created a drumbeat-like effect.

It was hard to believe: none of the four members were hitting a drum kit.

Clearly, there were no drums, but they created the effect of drums. The sparks of collision between instruments, the ensemble completed by playing techniques and performance states, gave the notes wings, dancing to the rhythm in the air.

Reese was stunned.

A smile crept onto her lips, and then she couldn't control it anymore, blooming completely.

Reese grabbed the hem of her skirt and couldn't help but dance, the simplest and most basic steps, using her feet to find the rhythm and her body to feel the beat.

But strangely, Reese felt like she was becoming a part of the music—

Now, Reese finally understood what Anson meant.

Her interpretation, her dance steps, her smile, her state, collided and mingled with the melody, the lyrics, the instruments, and the performance, eventually evolving into a whole, everything making this performance unique.

This “Jukebox Blues” truly had life.

Not belonging to June Carter, nor belonging to Reese Witherspoon, but belonging to Reese and the August Thirty-First Band.

Stamped with a unique mark.

“That fiddle player must be tired, I didn't hear him say, just because he's lettin' himself go on the strings, the jukebox starts to run away.”

Tap tap tap.

Reese truly shed her burdens, her light and agile steps stepping to the rhythm of tap dance, her smile fluttering like a butterfly at the corner of her lips.

However, Reese wasn't satisfied. She was like Rose in “Titanic” crashing into the lower class to attend a dance, completely letting go after a brief hesitation, picking up her skirt, standing on stage, showing people her ballet steps, stubbornly dancing with others.

Reese kept waving her hands, demanding the rhythm to be stronger, the sound waves to be more insane, her unrestrained and brilliant laughter fluttering up and down in the colorful melody.

“And then I hear the music gettin' strong, that must be the drums! Givin' the song a beat, boy, that's nice!”

Skirt, pulled up.

Like a flamenco dance, Reese turned around with a smile, looking at Anson with a hint of provocation in her eyes, as if to say:

Drums. Hey, buddy, drums!

Connor, who was beside her, saw it and burst out laughing, his hearty laughter undisguised.

Lily also joined in the fun, but Lily was much more clever:

The piano keys under her fingers stirred up waves like a stormy sea, layered and magnificent, joining Reese's ranks in this way.

So, what about Anson?

Anson widened his eyes, shrugged his shoulders high, with an innocent expression: What did I do wrong, why are you treating me like this?

But this only lasted for a second.

Immediately afterwards, Anson hugged his guitar, loosened the strings, and placed his hands on the soundbox to beat out the rhythm.

Tap tap, tap tap tap.

With moderation, neither hurried nor slow, sometimes like rain hitting the beach, sometimes like a gentle breeze and drizzle, it actually tapped out a rhythm that made the blood boil like flamenco.

Relying solely on the drums, he interpreted and performed a lingering and thrilling tension.

This is life.

The vitality with individual edges and brilliant colors, highlighting the position of the instrument and the performer, injecting different souls into the music in their own way.

Reese looked at Anson, a hint of amazement in her eyes, picked up her skirt, and followed Anson's drumbeats, actually dancing to the flamenco steps.

The two had never rehearsed or coordinated before, and at this moment, they relied entirely on tacit understanding.

Anson looked at Reese, Reese looked at Anson, and between the exchange of glances, Anson's drumbeats and Reese's dance steps actually presented a sense of chasing and pulling, the grace of the melody and the power of the figure evolving into the sinews and bones of the melody, the vitality of the song becoming more and more vivid and bright.

Although it was still June Carter's song, it presented a completely new look.

The recording engineer sitting outside was dumbfounded, his mouth opening little by little, forgetting to push his jaw back after dislocating it, staring dumbfounded at the scene in front of him:

Brain crash.

From drumbeats to dance steps, and from dance steps to drumbeats, intertwined and coordinated, two completely different performance styles actually presented a sense of duet.

Then, Anson turned to look at Miles.

Miles: ???

Looking at Connor and looking at Lily, Miles was the most unfamiliar with the scene in front of him, but finally looking at Anson, out of trust in Anson, he decided to follow his intuition.

At this time, the cello also came in.