recording

-Billy kept playing, guiding his music for a while. Following Billy's lead, both Spencer and Sugar Egg continued playing. Jerry Wrexler's first and only rule was given and it was simple: follow Billy, follow the kid, just keep up with his pace, - Jerry said, with every beat of his drums. He couldn't hear Billy's vocals perfectly, but he followed along with a long side guided by the guitar and what he barely understood of the music.

The music continued and continued. They recorded for the tenth time until Jerry stopped everything with a punch, the producer. Sweat was already beading on the faces of the musicians. In front of the soundproof studio, there was a struggle of wills between the producer and Jerry Wexler. There was a certain inconvenience; Sugar Egg was running his hand over his bald head intensely, reflecting his insecurity at not connecting with the band. Billy breathed heavily with excitement. The beautiful Agustina still hadn't heard anything, but she was in her place not knowing what to do, nervous and catatonic.

The place had leather sofas with gray colors and shiny platinum tiles that illuminated the environment. The leather upholstery matched the sofas, with a Vinotinto mandala rug with black and yellow stripes. The drum set was golden enameled with large pieces.

Billy stopped to observe from the small places. Spencer hadn't said a word since he started playing. They were quite serious, a rule of the producer, not Jerry's. At the beginning of the recording, it was charged with a lot of electricity; Billy's song was powerful, but everyone was out of sync in their playing.

-Let's record in parts. It's better if everything is recorded in parts. We'll start with the kid's songs while the others adjust to the singing. We can put on an off, let them hear Billy's song, and then they'll understand, - Jerry said.

-I don't think... -

-The recording process is twice as slow, Jerry. We have a recording to do, on Sunday afternoon. We might cancel all the important things... Listen to it without that strident music noise, and then you'll know it's better to compose the whole song in a different transit; in the end, it will be worth it, - Jerry said.

-Let's do it, - said Rodrick. - But I hope you tell the kid he needs to sing the best song of his life. -

Rodrick was a failed rockstar with more talent for production editing than for music. He played the guitar well one out of every ten times, and in his singing, he could only sing metal and a hard scream that was barely understandable and vocalized. There are many ways to fall, and one of them is to love music with all your heart.

Jerry admired music, but he knew the passionate ones, as he always remembered they let themselves be seduced. Jerry was pragmatic, and one of the most important praxes was to illuminate the table with the important cards.

They took a closer look.

-Billy, we'll make a different change. You sing on your own, just create your rhythm. You two, leave; it's better if you listen, let the high voice ring out, - Jerry said.

-Of course, boss. Bring me a guitar; I have a song to sing, - said Billy.

For Agustina, it was the first time she would hear her son sing at 100%. He didn't sing like that very often, and she only heard some details in some rehearsals, quick rehearsals that didn't utilize his full power. As he was about to sing the song, a quick ringing sound began to resonate throughout the studio, falling into a situation where Billy needed a song.

[Ding, the moment to ignite in the studio, the rhythm of rock, is not usually a fast one, Keane - "Somewhere Only We Know."]

[Album Strong. About to begin, put your whole heart into it, a song made for forgotten children. It's oblivion, a place to find a melancholy of the desperate.]

The music began to resonate in his ears, a song with multiple meanings, both the meaning of sadness and joy, everything could change depending on the song's perspective.

Now he wanted to dedicate this song to his mother, not only to bring her happiness but to bring back memories of melancholy.

-This song is for Mom, - said Billy, taking the guitar, practicing the four main chords, taking each chord one by one. He didn't even know which note was which, but he decided to play with the ease that only practice gave him. Seeing that his music didn't quite fit, he decided to ask for a beat, short and similar to the guitar, without high or low notes, just a normal strumming with similar sounds that varied from 3 to four seconds. Starting electronic music wouldn't be a bad idea, great songs, and an alternative album were created in his room when he got out of prison.

-A boy was walking through a town, forgotten, without ceremonies. He had many people looking after him, but he got lost in his thoughts... it scared me... but now I understand that fear cannot rule my thoughts. Without further ado, here it goes... - Billy murmured, preparing himself, arranging his whole being. A humid forest, with wild animals running back and forth. Behind a mountain, there was a glow emanating from a large cliff that covered the entire sun rising from it. Brief photons of light darted among the branches like rays of sunshine, attracting warm spring weather.

…

I walked across an empty land

I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

I felt the earth beneath my feet

Sat by the river and it made me complete

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

I came across a fallen tree

I felt the branches of it looking at me

Is this the place we used to love?

Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

🎵🎶🎶🎵

…

As Spencer had taught, he sang, pushing air from his diaphragm. The sound came out angelically, almost like a lullaby, without much power. He improved the clarity of his voice and continued at a slow pace, almost like a whisper. This surprised those in the control room, by the melodic song. Without raising his voice much, in the first paragraphs, he already captured the room's full attention.

All six participants could smell the scent of wet pine in their noses; it was incredible for everyone, especially for Spencer, who saw the boy improve by leaps and bounds, almost like when he met the boy who came to the music class on a Tuesday, sang, and the brightness, time, light, and space all stopped.

…

🎵🎶🎶🎵

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

And if you have a minute why don't we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know.

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know?

(Somewhere only we know)

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you gonna let me in

I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

🎵🎶🎶🎵

...

Agustina, on the other hand, watched enchanted as the scene of a six-year-old boy running into her arms played out, while a Thomas Carson waited for her thirty steps away, wearing a top hat that he began using at his cocktail parties. There, amidst a horizon of happiness, Agustina's warmth, no... the warmth of her family flooded her heart, understanding why old Wrelxer wanted Billy to sing. The song was a complete bomb of music.

🎵🎶🎶🎵

And if you have a minute why don't we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know.

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

So why don't we go

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know?

Somewhere only we know?

Somewhere only we know?

🎵🎶🎶🎵

Billy's singing eventually gained more strength, reverberating throughout the room. However, the pain laden with happiness managed to transmute the room into a mountain. It wasn't just the scent escaping from Billy's magical music anymore; it was the wind and a glimpse of a mountain intertwining with the leather walls of the studio.

For the music producer, it was a breath of fresh air. Billy's song had captivated him, and he had gained another follower, a staunch follower, almost like a rebirth. Billy erased traces of doubt in the people in the room who saw a clear future in following the boy, all united, like in ancient times, laughing and enjoying. With nothing more than his words as commands, with nothing more than their joyful hearts, glimpses of indomitable and sharp happiness striving to establish an ironic memory, it was a good day to love.

A clear image, almost like a star in the east pointing to archaic navigation without a compass as a guide. It was an image permanently etched in Agustina, who was sensitive by birth. From a young age, she felt the warmth of her family's love. Like her mother's heartbeat when she held her, her father's love of watching soccer on game days, the barbecues in the street with the taste of charcoal, the sea hitting her feet, the taste of salt, and her loving family preserved in her photos.

She loved her son very much; her heart was about to burst from her chest. She tried to catch her breath, but the space felt small, tunnel vision, with a clear and firm gaze of the forest that Billy painted at the beginning of the song. It was all she needed, now all that remained was to test love, the love that intensified in her heart even more.

They followed with the recording of "Love Yourself," "Enemy," and at three in the morning, they concluded with "Like a Stone." The singing was about to transcend. Billy, though strange, slept in his mother's arms, who kissed him and whispered "all the love she had for him, and how she would give her entire life for him" "how she would love him forever, how she would continue to love him forever" her arms were warm, but even more so was the selfless love. One that is not found anywhere, it is transparent, it is unforgettable. Agustina is special, a special phrase, "service, women who provide service, without interest, without asking for anything in return, and only because they are."

...