From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Anson was seriously considering whether he should go out for a bagel and coffee before clocking in for work. It shouldn't make a difference… right?

At that moment, Anson sensed a gaze and subconsciously turned his head.

In the eyes of that round-faced, chubby guy, there was clearly a hint of nervousness, panic, and fear, just like a seven-year-old child witnessing their parents arguing.

Anson was taken aback. "They aren't arguing."

The chubby guy's eyes were full of confusion: What are you talking about?

Although the chubby guy didn't say anything, the expression in his eyes couldn't have been clearer.

The scene before him was increasingly resembling a scene from "Marriage Story," not the later TV series version, but the six-hour version by Ingmar Bergman from 1973.

Anson cleared his throat. "This is called a professional discussion. Although they look like they want to strangle each other right now, believe me, it's all for the sake of professionalism."

From the side—

"I question your aesthetic!"

"You consider The Beatles a classic? I question your professionalism!"

"What's with classical music acting so high and mighty!"

"I haven't even attacked pop music for being shallow, so why are you being so insecure?"

After a couple of sentences, it escalated into personal attacks.

The smile on Anson's lips slowly stiffened, almost unable to hold it.

Moreover, Anson could see the twitching corners of the chubby guy's mouth, indicating he was trying very hard to suppress his laughter; the scene was about to fall apart.

Therefore,

Anson offered the coffee in his hand forward. "Coffee?"

Glug.

The chubby guy glanced at the coffee, subconsciously swallowing a mouthful of saliva. One could notice him using his peripheral vision to glance at the commotion beside him.

His eyes were clearly counting heads, calculating whether taking a cup of coffee would mean someone in the recording studio wouldn't get one.

Anson saw this scene but didn't offer a reminder—

Chubby guy, chubby guy, he's not young at all. Not a doll with arms like lotus roots and a smile like a mural, but a young man in his early twenties with a light blue stubble on his chin, probably older than Anson.

If it wasn't certain before, this action now confirms it: he must have experienced a period of social life, and not a short one, so he knows the rules of office survival.

—Six cups.

Anson bought six cups of coffee in total, originally just buying one extra conveniently. Even if the chubby guy took a cup, it wouldn't matter; no one would be affected.

Scanning the scene, the chubby guy finally confirmed there was an extra cup of coffee.

A smile quietly crept onto the corner of his mouth. The chubby guy looked up. "Do you have a latte?" he asked, while pursing his lips, seemingly already craving it.

However, before Anson could reply, he was rudely interrupted.

"Anson!"

Dustin noticed Anson's voice and shouted as if thunderstruck.

"You wrote the song. How should the arrangement proceed? What's your opinion?"

Swish, swish, swish.

All eyes turned to Anson, who raised the coffee in his hand as a gesture.

Dustin rolled his eyes in frustration. "Is coffee important right now?"

Anson said unhurriedly, "Of course it's important. I see you two expending too much energy. You're both experiencing low blood sugar right now, and you're not even arguing smoothly; your thoughts aren't clear enough. You should replenish some sugar."

Chubby guy: ? ? ? Eh, eh, eh, wait, what do you mean by that?

Lily, who had been trying to find an opportunity to interject but couldn't, lowered her head and giggled. Connor let out a long breath, warmly welcoming Anson's appearance.

However, Anson didn't respond to the chubby guy. He turned around, stood up straight, met Dustin and Miles's gazes, and without further ado, directly cut to the chase.

"From an arrangement perspective, I also hope to maintain the song's lightness."

"When 'Wake Me Up When September Ends' was written, it was mixed with many emotions, trying to blend them into the simplest and most unadorned words."

"Of course, we can make the song grand, magnificent, and gorgeous; but that would allow the song's rich and delicate emotions to be swallowed by the instruments."

"Miles, the reason our performance can move the audience is the connection of emotions, not the complexity of the arrangement."

"Arrangement is not the goal, but a bridge, a bridge to reach the ultimate goal. 'Viva la Vida' should be grand, but 'Wake Me Up When September Ends' should be simple."

Miles looked thoughtful.

Dustin raised his chin, revealing a smile. He was right about Anson after all.

However, Anson's words weren't finished.

"But from an album perspective, different instruments create different atmospheres. It's not just the cello; a series of classical instruments appearing in different positions change the song's temperament, which is also the color of our album."

"If we keep the arrangement simple, then 'Wake Me Up When September Ends' is just an ordinary punk song. I don't mean that punk is bad; but is there even a need for this song to be on the album? Maybe next time?"

"If we only complete the arrangement with guitars, drums, and keyboards, then this song doesn't match the tonality of the entire album. Forcing it into the album would seem out of place and even damage the album's integrity."

"Here's a question: what kind of band are we, and what style of album are we making? This is the big premise."

This time, Dustin fell into deep thought.

Miles shook his head. "No, the lyrics of this song completely fit this album. We should keep it."

Anson snapped his fingers. "I think so too."

Dustin looked at Anson, and Miles also looked at Anson. After going around in circles, Anson returned to the starting point. So, what's the solution?

Dustin, as always, maintained his persona, rolling his eyes without concealing or hiding anything. "You've hogged all the good guy and bad guy roles, but you haven't said anything concrete. So, what do we do?"

Anson, however, played coy, turning to look at the chubby guy who was staring at the coffee cups with a tangled expression, trying to sniff out the latte culprit with his nose.

"Excuse me, why is he here?"

Dustin only then realized there was an irrelevant outsider here. "Ryan, I thought you had left."

The chubby guy immediately turned around, straightened his back, and tried his best to pretend to be calm, pretending he wasn't smelling the coffee. "Oh, you said you'd give me the master tape, but you haven't given it to me, so…"

Dustin slapped his forehead. "Damn it, look at my terrible memory. He's Timbaland's assistant, here to pick up a copy of the master tape."

As he spoke, Dustin turned to rummage around.

"Sorry, I thought I'd already given it to you. Oh, God, what am I doing?"

Unexpectedly, Anson looked at the chubby guy. "What do you think?"

The chubby guy blinked. "Me?"

Anson nodded. "We're brainstorming, colliding different inspirations. It's always good to have more ideas."

Not only the chubby guy, but Miles and the others also gathered their gazes in surprise.

The chubby guy, who was just trying to find the latte, instantly became the focus of the entire room. Even Dustin stopped what he was doing with a dumbfounded expression, looking at Anson and then at the chubby guy, unsure of how to speak.

Chubby guy: Uh, can he just run away from the scene with a pot on his head?