the band arrives
On June 24, 2004, the band arrived to refine the album they had released some time ago. Once there, they recorded most of the songs, rehearsing them thoroughly. But Billy had an unstoppable pace, producing song after song, and the band simply played from dawn till dusk. Even the relentless Jack Sauce, who lived for parties, played the bass with wild intensity, dedicating at least five hours a day to it—minimum. It was madness, but whenever they saw Billy sing, they were captivated, fueled by his energy to match it.
-The paparazzi, - said Connor.
-Hahaha, I'm surprised they follow us even without Billy, - Spencer remarked timidly, overwhelmed by the sea of cameras surrounding them. Countless lenses flashed. It seemed Sugar Egg had arrived that morning with Jack Sauce. Both lived in New York, while Connor and Spencer stayed with their grandmother. She adored Billy—the sweet boy melted her heart. Whenever Billy visited her home, she would prepare the finest meals and insist he stay in the guest room, which used to be Spencer's.
-Do you have plans for the tour? - the reporters asked.
-Billy Carson… his next album.
-Next show. -
They didn't listen. One was apathetic, and the other was shy. They appeared like rock stars, ignoring the cameras in slow motion, but in reality, they were just scared.
...
Billy sat at the studio piano, fingers flying over the keys as he immersed himself in the music. Meanwhile, Jack was breaking the strings on his bass across the room.
-Damn kids, - muttered Sugar Egg, standing beside Michael Ocklars, who shrugged.
-They're as reckless as ever. They clash hard, but they're both friends and rivals. Sometimes, when I watch them, I think how amazing it is to see each of them stir something within, - said George Martin, one of the most renowned producers. But he wasn't the only one there. Alan Parsons was present, along with the legendary Joh Roibert, the producer who had been at Billy's first concert and had invited them all to witness the stars aligning for Billy.
-Who are you? - Sugar Egg asked, eyeing the gathered veterans, all of them producers as far as he knew.
-They're the best producers a band could ever ask for, - Michael Ocklars explained. - On one side, we have George Martin, a legend known as the fifth Beatle. He came because Billy seemed like a kid with immense talent. Then there's Alan Parsons. God… these are all backstage rock legends. -
-They came for that scrawny, skinny kid who looks like a mosquito? - Sugar Egg quipped, making the producers laugh, and he laughed along. He had become more direct since getting married.
-That mosquito on stage is like Godzilla on steroids, - said George Martin. - When I saw him, he transported me to a beach I visited with my daughter 10 years ago. That boy is a phenomenon, and I want to see his creative process. - He paused for a moment. - What kind of musician is he? Sensitive? Or irreverent? I want to see him. -
-He's both sensitive and irreverent, a metal flower, - Sugar Egg replied, roaring with laughter along with the producers.
The band's second drummer acted like the relationship compass, adjusting his rhythm and setting the tempo while softly inviting others into the conversation. Billy made countless adjustments on his piano and guitar, establishing different rhythms for Spencer and Connor to follow. Connor, as thin as ever, spun his drumsticks in his fingers before heading straight for the instruments. Sugar Egg followed—it was time to rock.
The first song was "Irish Pub Song," where it all took shape. It began with Billy's acoustic melody, paired with a rapid bassline and Sugar Egg's crashing cymbals, while Connor sat back, listening to the combinations.
JoshRobertt listened intently, making a few corrections. After a while, they played through the opening again. Billy added a flute track, and his voice was powerful. But the most striking element was the drumming, which hit with the intensity the song deserved.
-Let's go with "Ain't It Fun" (Paramore), - Billy told the band through their headphones.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
I don't mind
Letting you down easy, but just give it time
If it don't hurt now then just wait, just wait a while
You're not the big fish in the pond no more
You are what they're feeding on
So what are you gonna do
When the world don't orbit around you?
So what are you gonna do
When the world don't orbit around you?
Ain't it fun?
Living in the real world
Ain't it good?
Being all alone
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
...
This song feels like stripping bare in nature, standing with nothing but a body shimmering with light and roots weaving around it. The sun is on the skin, people are chasing the wind, searching for nourishment—the world is centered on a person who simply wants to see the sky.
Billy envisioned a forest where, from a high branch, a panther descended, tamed by the natural energy surrounding it. It wasn't so different from the moments when two souls connected, a communion of man and beast on a shared path to loss. A blink, and they find themselves back in the city.
-It would be great to sing this with Avril, - he thought as he struck a quick chord, while the producers watched the boy who was undeniably the embodiment of rock. That aggressive yet restrained style—the lyrics were sparse, but that was Billy's magic, transforming them into a defiant rejection of authority. He hated those who tried to control him, yet his songs carried subtle gestures of love, moments of pure enjoyment. The contradiction resonated with everyone, closing their eyes and nodding along to the beat.
-The kid has an uncanny ability to capture emotions, - George Martin remarked, recalling Nirvana's cover of a David Bowie song. Though Bowie's original was loved, it didn't leave the same imprint as Nirvana's version, which today many mistake as their own. Kurt's haunting presence infused the song with a different emotion. Billy did the same. In this piece, he represented a friendly rage, a shared anger that everyone carries.
...
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
Ain't it fun?
Living in the real world
Ain't it good?
Being all alone?
Ain't it good to be on your own?
Ain't it fun? You can't count on no one
Ain't it good to be on your own?
Ain't it fun? You can't count on no one
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
The trick is to ignore everything else and focus on one small point, pouring every emotion into the microphone, channeling the chaos of someone on the brink of disaster.
-That's his success. But let's not forget his greatest strength is the clarity of his voice, blended with that gravelly tone made for rock, which emerges when he pushes his vibrato for higher notes. That's uniquely his, - said Alan Parsons, comparing Billy to past talents he had represented. Each had their rhythm, their voice, and that individuality was fascinating. In the end, success lies in differences. Some artists strike like anvils, again and again, forging something out of lyrics, rhythms, and coincidences. It's so allegorical and abstract that success feels like a fleeting light escaping the nebula of failure—a rare occurrence.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
Ain't it fun?
Living in the real world
Don't go crying to your mama
'Cause you're on your own in the real world
Don't go crying to your mama
'Cause you're on your own in the real world
Don't go crying to your mama
'Cause you're on your own in the real world
Don't go crying to your mama
'Cause you're on your own in the real world
Ain't it fun, ain't it fun?
Baby, now you're one of us
Ain't it fun, ain't it fun?
Ain't it fun?
Ain't it fun?
Living in the real world
Ain't it good? (Ain't it good?)
Being all alone
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
.
..
Billy infused his performance with serenity and a hint of love. At one point, he imagined Merche as she had been the night before—her sweaty hair clinging to her delicate skin, her smile lighting up her face, the feeling of passion still lingering in her expression. It was a moment of clarity, appreciating a good night, giving love freely, and knowing that if tomorrow ended everything, he was happy for the present. With no clear or visible future, it was about making a statement.
He brought that rebellion and reconciliation to the music, adding a sensuality often confused with friction, impulsivity, or rage. They're so different—sensuality arises from a feeling that demands immediate confrontation.
For the older generation, this could be mistaken for the friction of something incomprehensible, leaving them with a taste of awe and disgust, as if standing before a great mountain they felt compelled to climb. Their bodies moved instinctively—a foot, a hip, a neck. It was impossible not to respond to these emotions. Meanwhile, the band threw themselves into the music, their fingers flying, and drums pounding. They clashed in a guerrilla war of sound. Connor, for instance, added a rapid 1/16 note beat for an extra punch. Together, they created a masterpiece.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
Ain't it fun living in the real world?
('Cause the world don't orbit around you)
Ain't it good? (Ain't it good?)
Being all alone
Don't go crying to your mama (Run to your mama)
'Cause you're on your own in the real world (Don't go crying)
Don't go crying to your mama (To your mama)
'Cause you're on your own in the real world
Don't go crying to your mama
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
...
To reach this point, they played the song three times. The band had so many songs that they worked tirelessly, rehearsing each one thousands of times until it was etched into their very being. Their red blood cells knew the rhythm of every track.
As they followed Billy's lead, they also rebelled, adding their personalities. They adjusted Billy's arrangements with what they thought worked better, bringing vitality and charisma—qualities prized in jazz, now finding their way into Billy's rock. This unpredictability intoxicated the producers, hearing a sound so close to Billy's vision yet uniquely the band's, driven by their shared desire to belong.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
'Cause you're on your own in the real world (This is the real world)
Don't go crying to your mama
'Cause you're on your own in the real world (This is the real world)
Don't go crying (This is the real world) to your mama
'Cause you're on your own in the real world
Don't go crying to your mama (Don't you cry)
'Cause you're on your own in the real world
Don't go crying (Don't you go, don't you go crying)
Don't go crying (You're on your own)
Don't go crying (Don't go crying to your mama)
Don't go crying
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶🎵🎵🎵
...
-That was sensational, - Billy said into the band's headphones as they prepared for the next track. It was one of their singles, "Best of You" (Foo Fighters), followed by their Spanish rock songs and a Portuguese track. What better way to drive the crowd wild than singing in their native languages? Singing in Spanish came naturally to Billy, and his Portuguese had improved, giving him confidence. But he waited to sing, curious to see what the band would bring to the table.
..