From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Lilly was puzzled and called out, "Anson…"

The reason their music was so difficult to produce was because they were constantly trying new things. They had never been favored by record companies before, and ultimately, it was because they themselves hadn't found a balance. This shows the difficulty of production. Now that they've entered the album production stage, it's the same; they have to feel their way across the river.

Perhaps, the only person they could trust was Anson. After all, everything originated from Anson, and the band, album, etc., evolved into reality.

Naturally, Anson was the soul of the band, and only Anson could provide answers to Myles and Dustin's arguments.

But now, Anson was throwing such discussions to a random stranger?

It wasn't so much a concern about leaking secrets, but mainly that they didn't think a little fatty could offer any profound insights.

Was this really okay?

The little fatty hesitated for a moment—

Should he speak up?

Or should he politely say he knew nothing and then quietly disappear?

In that moment of hesitation, the little fatty saw encouragement and expectation in Anson's eyes. He was a little surprised, but before he could discern it, an impulse burst forth.

Like a butterfly.

"But that would completely change the style of the song. It wouldn't be rock or pop anymore. Honestly, I don't know what kind of genre it would become."

The little fatty scratched his head, and the courage he had just mustered deflated again—

In Timbaland's production studio, he wasn't just an assistant; he had also been learning about composing, writing lyrics, and the knowledge of a producer.

But the point was that, in the blink of an eye, it had been almost two years, and he was still a small assistant. In the process of assisting Timbaland's producer, his opinions didn't always resonate, which made him start to doubt.

Perhaps, he wasn't as talented and capable as he had imagined.

It was the same now.

He was an outsider, a stranger. It already seemed offensive to point fingers here, and encountering a little doubt made his heart waver even more.

So, should he continue?

Instinctively, he still responded.

"I, I don't know either."

"I was just thinking that using strings as the main melody could increase the quality of the rhythm. You could even use the piano as the beat of the drums, ensuring the arrangement is concise while using the characteristics of the instruments themselves to achieve resonance, and finally create a more dramatic auditory effect."

"Of course, keep the chords simple to avoid destroying the song's own emotional delivery."

This was indeed a brand new idea—

But as the little fatty spoke, he became less and less confident, less and less sure of himself. He observed the expressions of everyone in the recording studio, fearing that he might accidentally say the wrong thing and be kicked out on the spot.

What would happen to his latte then?

Myles and Dustin exchanged a glance. Countless thoughts were surging and colliding in their minds, and for a moment, they didn't know how to express themselves.

Finally, Myles still looked at Anson.

Anson shrugged slightly, "That's what I was thinking. Why put shackles on ourselves? Rock? Pop? Folk? Or something else?"

"From the beginning, our band's style has been trying to break the mold, but in the end, we're the ones putting shackles on ourselves. What's the point of that?"

"What I mean is, other people are always trying to define us, simply labeling us. When we break the mold, we become a band that 'dares to break the mold,' so much so that we have to break the mold every time. But why?"

"Our music is a genre in itself. Whether it's breaking the mold or following the mold, we should insist on completing our ideas according to our own thoughts, and not let any shackles block our inspiration."

"We have some ideas, some creativity, so let's boldly try them out. That's why we're meeting, and that's why we're standing here."

"What do you say?"

The recording studio was a little quiet, and everyone looked at each other.

Dustin murmured, "Don't be trapped in the routine of 'daring to break the routine'."

Thoughts surged.

Looking at Anson again, they had a deeper understanding of this young man. A long-lost excitement and elation surged and burned in their chests.

"Then let's give it a try," Dustin said.

Anson agreed.

Then, Anson looked at the little fatty, "Are you in a hurry?"

The little fatty was a little confused, completely unable to keep up with the rhythm, and shook his head blankly.

Anson revealed a smile, "If you don't mind, we can try it together. Have you produced an album before?"

The little fatty nodded repeatedly, then shook his head repeatedly, "I've participated in some, but all as an assistant. Jennifer Lopez, Beyoncé, etc. I know how a recording studio works."

Slightly nervously, he revealed all his secrets like pouring beans from a bamboo tube—

However, Myles and the others all showed surprised expressions, because the few names that the little fatty casually mentioned were not unknown figures.

Sure enough, the City of Sound was full of hidden talents.

"Wood. Anson Wood."

The little fatty looked at Anson's generous outstretched right hand, blinked his eyes, and was stunned for a full second before he reacted. He quickly stood up—

Just as he was about to shake hands, he withdrew his right hand and vigorously wiped the sweat from his hand on his pants before holding Anson's right hand with both hands and greeting solemnly.

"Ryan Tedder."

In 2000, Ryan Tedder won the All-American Television Competition Songwriting Championship, which strengthened Ryan's belief in pursuing a career in music. At the age of twenty-one, he dropped out of college, joined a record company, and began preparing for an album.

While recording the album, he also apprenticed to Timbaland to learn how to become a producer.

In the future, everything was bright.

Until the day he hit a wall head-on.

The record company declared bankruptcy.

This was the entertainment industry. Every day, companies were established, and at the same time, more companies went bankrupt. Countless dreams and lives were buried forever in the dark ruins.

Ryan spent two and a half years producing and completing the recording of the album, but it died in the womb and never saw the light of day.

During these two and a half years, there was no extra income. Ryan relied on writing lyrics and composing for others and working as a production assistant for Timbaland to barely make a living, stumbling all the way to the present.

He couldn't see tomorrow, nor could he see the future, he was just barely holding on.

"Two and a half years" sounded easy and simple, but only those who had been there and experienced every day and night could understand what kind of pain it was; but in the blink of an eye, two and a half years of effort were gone.

Overnight, he fell to the bottom.

Everyone said that Hollywood was full of opportunities, and the key was whether you could seize them.

It wasn't until today that Ryan believed:

Looking at Anson with a smile on his face, Ryan still didn't have a sense of reality. His steps were shallow and deep, as if standing on a cloud, making it difficult to distinguish whether it was a dream or reality. But before he could sort out his thoughts, he followed Anson's footsteps in a daze, pushing open another door to a whole new world.