From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

So, melody could also possess emotions.

So, singing could also carry stories.

Silently, the entire audience's attention focused on that one figure—

Dressed in black, a handsome figure, his broad, stiff shoulders gradually opened and relaxed, the confidence radiating from within running through his spine.

"But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die."

Obviously, the lyrics were impactful; however, Johnny's performance was not so heavy and clumsy, but rather had a kind of unrestrained and casual wandering.

Running wildly, laughing loudly, as if this could cover up the complexity and fragility in his heart.

Larry felt it—

Just like he felt it with the Tennessee Three in the recording studio.

Casual and free, flamboyant and dazzling, carefully listening to the sounds deep in his soul, following the jump and surge of his heart, gently plucking the strings.

Tung, tung.

Luther wasn't playing an ordinary cello, but a double bass, the sound even deeper and richer, firmly grasping the center of gravity amidst the noise and excitement.

Once, and then again, the vibration of Luther plucking the strings, collided and intertwined with Johnny's guitar strings, stirring up layers of ripples in the heart.

Beside him, Dan John's smile also couldn't help but lift slightly.

No need to be nervous or worried, they had already experienced this scene in the recording studio, let go of their defenses and just enjoy the music.

What performance, what role, at this moment, all were no longer important, just immerse themselves in the world of music, the boundary between reality and illusion completely disappeared.

Marshall looked at Luther, although he didn't pluck the guitar strings in his arms for the time being, he stared intently at the movements of Luther's dancing fingers, his jaw also swaying up and down with the rhythm, his eyes revealing a bright light.

However, Johnny's singing did not continue to be激昂, but instead lowered, even the guitar strings disappeared, only the sound of Luther's double bass surging in the air.

He hummed softly, like a whisper in the ear.

"When I hear those sirens wail, I hang my head and cry."

The momentary fragility in the midst of strength, the brief sadness in the midst of joy, everything, everything was fleeting, when the guitar strings sounded, it became cheerful again, the performance with great ups and downs, twists and turns, delicately touched every corner of the soul.

"I bet those rich folks eatin' in a fancy dining car, they're probably drinkin' wine and smoking big cigars, I know I had it comin', I know I can't be free."

Snap.

Fingertips, pressing on the guitar strings, once again only the sound of Luther's double bass strings plucked in the air remained.

Johnny looked up at Sam, facing Sam's eyes frankly and directly.

Those angers, those sorrows, burned so wantonly and unrestrainedly in the depths of his pupils.

This, was the real Johnny Cash.

In the depths of his soul, there was a flame burning, his enthusiasm, his passion, his flamboyance, his dreams, surging between the melodies.

Then, Johnny stared at Sam, and hummed softly again.

"But those people just keep comin' and goin', and that's what tortures me."

Boom!

Emotions exploded!

However, Johnny didn't leave any reaction time at all, turned to look at Marshall, the two exchanged a look. The corners of their mouths both raised.

Not joy, but immersion and relaxation, no more nervousness, no more baggage, as if returning to the porch at home, they were just a few guys who loved music, using their spare time to play instruments and play music, using melodies to hum out the joys, sorrows, and angers in their hearts.

That was all.

Marshall looked at Johnny, Johnny looked at Marshall, the guitar strings of the two men went wild against each other, like a waterfall cascading down three thousand feet.

Luther saw this scene and joined in without showing weakness, the three kinds of string sounds presented three levels, intertwining, chasing, and resonating with each other.

Melody, surging—

Yes, he just shot a gun; yes, he just killed someone; yes, he just lost his freedom,

Yes, a life just disappeared; yes, a crime just played out before his eyes.

However, no one cared.

Those wealthy people were still drinking wine, smoking cigars, and enjoying the beautiful night, they didn't care about the blood and bones under their feet, they didn't care about life and death and the rise and fall of the world, they continued to come and go, they continued to sing and dance, they continued to live in a drunken dream.

This, was what he really cared about.

Even if his hands were stained with blood and he had strangled life, he still couldn't awaken even a little bit of attention from those wealthy people.

So, he was about to rot in prison with those people, like a pile of garbage, a pile of mud, completely abandoned and forgotten, along with his "disappearance", those problems would also disappear.

But, really?

His sadness, his anger, his struggle, at this moment, were revealed unreservedly in the turbulent and passionate collision of string sounds, wantonly venting.

The whole world, surged together.

This kind of Johnny was unfamiliar, however, he was shining.

Dressed in black, like a death god who had fought bloody battles and walked out of a pile of dead people, raising the sickle of justice high, waving it towards those numb and aloof figures.

He, wasn't without edges and corners, without colors, he was just carefully hiding them.

Sam was completely stunned, staring intently at Johnny, his focus scattered, his thoughts floating and sinking completely lost in the reverberation and circling of the melody.

Unconsciously, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, that kind of satisfaction and happiness filled his entire chest solidly.

He knew, he had struck gold.

However, Johnny didn't notice.

To be precise, he didn't care.

This was the first time, he bravely displayed his true colors, his edges and sharpness, no longer the puppet on strings under the shadow of his father or wife, but bravely making his own voice, facing his truth frankly and generously, and opening his arms to embrace it.

That kind of wantonness, that kind of joy, like a summer storm, poured down all at once, but he didn't care.

This time, he didn't hide carefully under the eaves to admire the rainstorm, but threw off his shoes and walked barefoot, plunged into the boundless storm, singing wantonly in the humid and sultry mist.

The guitar strings, surging and flamboyant, passionate and turbulent, along with Luther and Marshall, also completely threw off their baggage, playing with sweat pouring down their faces and red ears.

No discussion, no rehearsal, everything was created on the spot, the three people released all the inspiration from the depths of their souls, just collided wantonly like this, waiting for the chemical reaction to burn in the air,朵朵 sparks inexplicably ignited the enthusiasm, and then it could no longer be stopped from spreading out completely.

Mighty, vigorous, detonating the whole audience.

Involuntarily, it was exhilarating.