Chapter 9: Consultation

According to Song Ya's plan, the song *Thrift Shop* would ideally be included in Xiao Luori's new album, considering part of the "inspiration" came from that music company boss in the pink suit with a bass voice.

His idea for the "arrangement" of the original track was for Xiao Luori to handle the RAP sections, while the bass-voiced boss would sing the catchy, repetitive choruses.

Xiao Luori wasn't someone Song Ya disliked. Moreover, if Xiao Luori's new album succeeded, it would also solve Tony's "employment" issue, and Song Ya would earn royalties from the lyrics and composition—a win-win for everyone.

However, to make this work, he needed to act fast before the official production of Xiao Luori's album was set in motion. Time was tight.

And so was his wallet.

The digital numbers on the timer kept flickering. With determination, he sat across from Goodman.

"Yo!"

Goodman mimicked a black accent and style. "You made the right call, BRO!" He clenched his right fist and extended it toward Song Ya.

Song Ya didn't respond but instead glared coldly at him.

"Sorry."

Goodman immediately backed off. "Forget what I just did, SORRY, SORRY…" He awkwardly withdrew his fist, repeatedly apologizing. "I got a little too excited earlier. Business has been rough lately… Mr. Song, I'm really sorry."

Most people, especially from other ethnic backgrounds, are often wary when black people use such tactics. Even the more honest ones might occasionally use it to test the other person's vulnerability. Having been through so much time here, Song Ya had learned to handle this with ease—it's all about eye contact and making sure there's an edge to it.

"Call me Ya Li. First question."

Seeing Goodman's small slip-up, Song Ya was about 80% sure that the man didn't have any major connections and wasn't too bold. He relaxed a bit, took out his notebook, and asked, "Is it mandatory for a guardian to sign a contract if someone is under eighteen?"

"Of course."

Goodman quickly walked to a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a document. "Or the guardian can sign a power of attorney, authorizing someone else to act as the guardian." He handed a document to Song Ya. "This is the standard power of attorney. But if you're dealing with partial guardianship, you'll need a lawyer's help. Wait…"

He looked Song Ya up and down. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen. What's the matter?" Song Ya casually replied, still focusing on the documents.

"F***!"

Goodman cursed in frustration. "I can't believe you tricked me earlier! You little clever bastard!"

Given how meek he had been moments ago, it didn't really matter if he got caught now. "Second question…" Song Ya continued.

"What are you writing? Asking one question after another is too inefficient."

But to Song Ya's surprise, Goodman was the type of person who'd push his luck. To compensate for his earlier mistake, he snatched the notebook out of Song Ya's hands. "Let me take a look… hmm, song copyright transfer, music album rights…"

He mumbled as he dug through the filing cabinet, pulling out one document after another and tossing them to Song Ya.

"Overall, this is about it, but honestly, these standard documents don't really do much." Goodman sat back in his chair. "The law has a lot of flexibility. Hollywood and the music industry have their own ways of doing things. Finding a good agent is the most important part."

"I've done some research. Aren't there associations that protect the rights of lyricists and composers, like song copyrights?" Song Ya pressed.

"You mean ASCAP (The American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers) or BMI (Broadcast Music, Inc.)?" Goodman explained. "First off, they only provide services to their members. To become a member, you need to pay a fee—BMI is more expensive, ASCAP is cheaper. Then, you need to have publicly published works. Do you have any? If so, they'll generally send you an invitation."

"No, I'm here for legal advice on my first song," Song Ya replied truthfully.

"See, that's the problem." Goodman spread his hands. "If you don't have a published work and haven't been invited, you're not qualified to become a member. And without being a member, you can't publicly release your work. It's a paradox, isn't it?"

Song Ya was a little dizzy. "So what about copyright? My song lyrics and composition won't be stolen, right? Like by a music company?"

Goodman chuckled. "Unfortunately, that's inevitable. Hollywood has kept many agents, managers, lawyers, and accountants employed because of this very issue. It happens a lot."

"Still, I say find a good agent," he repeated.

"What if I end up with a 'bad' agent?" Song Ya asked, feeling frustrated. "According to you, without a public work, no agent will pick me, and without an agent, I can never release my work. That's another paradox!"

"Entering the industry is difficult, kid."

Goodman pointed at Song Ya. "I've seen a lot of kids like you, black… *ahem*... African-American kids. They sit at the back of the bus, humming songs, listening to their Walkman, scribbling on little scraps of paper, dreaming of becoming famous, right? Too bad the reality is harsh. A capitalist society naturally eliminates most people, leaving only the tiny tip of the pyramid. How many famous singers have come out of Chicago in the last decade? Do the math, and you'll get your chances of success. And those kids heading to LA to chase their dreams, how many actually land good roles? Most of them fail, but you can't see it. Face the reality of your abilities and don't waste money on unrealistic dreams."

"Yeah, right, I'm not like them! I'm a time traveler with a cheat code!" Song Ya rolled his eyes, silently mocking the situation.

The two exchanged a bit more conversation, but Goodman could tell that Song Ya wasn't planning to give up anytime soon. He was too lazy to keep persuading him. "As for copyrights, let me give you some advice. First, keep all evidence, including drafts of your lyrics and compositions. Even discarded drafts can be useful if you get into a copyright dispute. It's best to record a demo of every song you create since performance is also a form of copyright."

"Second, you can register your lyrics and demo with ASCAP for copyright protection. It costs around twenty bucks. But be aware, this is just registration; it doesn't mean ASCAP acknowledges your copyright. For them to officially recognize your copyright, you'll probably have to spend hundreds more and wait a few months, because they need to do things like comparisons. And you still won't be a member."

"Lastly, increasing your agent's cut during the early years is a good strategy. After all, agent contracts can't last more than three years. If you're not happy with them, once the contract is up, you can just switch agents. If you do get into the industry, you'll be eligible to join ASCAP or BMI, and at that point, the help they offer can relieve some of the agent's workload. Many of the difficulties you're facing now won't be problems then."

With that, Goodman pointed to the timer. Exactly fifty-five minutes had passed.

Song Ya felt he'd gained a lot from the conversation. He stood up, shook Goodman's hand, and thanked him. He pulled out thirty-five bucks and handed it to Goodman.

"Uh… the consultation fee is one thing, but you also need to pay for the materials. Ten bucks per document," Goodman pointed to the file that Song Ya had put in his briefcase.

"…"

Song Ya quickly retrieved all the documents, picked out a useful guardianship power of attorney, and handed ten bucks along with the remaining files back to Goodman.

"Cheapskate!" Goodman muttered, then carefully checked the bills he'd received. "You're from the South Side, right?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Be careful with those who pay for contracts in cash," Goodman said, flicking the bills with his fingers. "People from the South Side… *ahem*… African-Americans like to pay in cash to avoid taxes. Once tax season is over, if they default on the contract, you can't easily sue them. If the contract gets exposed, they'll just deal with the lawsuit, while you'll be facing the IRS. Got it?"

Song Ya was well aware of the IRS's power. The most famous Chicago mob boss, Al Capone, was brought down by them—more terrifying than the FBI.

After expressing his gratitude once again, Song Ya left Goodman's law office.