Chapter 13: Old Joe

Contrary to what Song Ya had imagined about a cutting-edge, trendy music company, a thick, narrow iron door tightly guarded Old Joe's music, as if it had no doorbell. AK stepped forward and knocked hard, causing a dull, metallic clang to echo.

"Go buy some pizza," Pablo said, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket and handing a few bills to 'Silencer'. "And grab some drinks too." He pointed to an intersection. "There's a place after two traffic lights."

'Silencer' silently took the money and headed for the car. At that moment, a slitted peephole on the iron door flashed, and a lazy, tattoo-covered Black man pushed the door open.

"Hurry up, Carl," Pablo complained.

Beyond the door was a narrow staircase, and Pablo led the way.

Carl and the person entering bumped fists. "This is my brother, Ally. You can call him APLUS," Tony introduced Song Ya to Carl, who nodded. The two exchanged another fist bump, signaling they had met.

"Looks like he's another one of those quiet types, like 'Silencer'." 

Song Ya muttered under his breath, his attention quickly drawn to the photos lining the stairwell. The frames were exquisite, and the portraits—both black-and-white and colored—were mostly in the fashion and photographic style from the '50s and '60s, or even earlier. Of course, they were all Black, and Old Joe was the most frequent subject, with images from his youth and middle age, hinting that he had once been a relatively well-known singer.

"This is me," Old Morgan proudly pointed to one of the pictures. "Look at me, such a handsome young man."

The young man in the picture certainly looked charming, holding a golden saxophone to his chest, flashing a dazzling smile.

"Too bad, the era of jazz is gone..." Old Morgan tightened his grip on the saxophone case, but the momentary sadness quickly faded. "Damn rock 'n' roll, damn disco, damn rhythm and blues..." The old man suddenly shifted into an angry tirade, blaming his personal failure on the course of history. "Damn Kelly King!" He even cursed out his peers.

The second floor was much more spacious, with two posters taller than people hanging in the foyer. One was an iconic image of Old Joe, standing in the center with his arms outstretched, flanked by four Black women in his embrace, all with the same full-figured build as Aunt Susie. Song Ya didn't recognize any of them. The other poster featured Little Lowry and Al, with Lowry at the center, slinging a guitar and holding a microphone stand with one hand, the other making a rock star gesture. Al was leaning to the side, holding the mic and gesturing in a hip-hop pose.

"Seems like Little Lowry is the star of this company," Song Ya thought, forming a clear judgment about the company. Maybe it had been glorious in its heyday, but now, it was definitely not top-tier.

"Call Al and get him over here," Pablo snapped his fingers, pointing to a landline on the front desk. "As fast as you can."

AK grabbed the phone from the unattended desk and dialed.

Pablo continued forward, stopping in front of a door marked with a "Recording in Progress" sign. He pressed his ear against the door for a few seconds, then turned the handle and pushed it open with force.

A woman's scream instantly echoed from inside.

"Pull your pants up and get out!" Pablo didn't care and barged in to chase the people out.

In the dark room, there was a rustling noise, and soon a shirtless young Black man wrapped his coat around his female companion and ducked his head to sneak out.

Tony laughed and called out from the hallway, still introducing Song Ya, "This is my brother, Ally. You can call him APLUS. Ally, this is Eric, our sound engineer."

"FXXKYOU, Tony," Eric muttered, and his companion flipped Tony the bird.

"Come in! Everyone in here!" 

The recording studio was a standard setup: the outer room served as the control room, with a mixing console, chairs, couches, and various other equipment. Inside was a smaller recording booth, separated by thick glass on both sides.

Pablo turned on all the lights. "Get to work! Hurry up." He pushed the recording booth door open, letting Old Morgan and Little Lowry enter. "Music sheets!" He snapped his fingers toward Song Ya.

Song Ya retrieved the sheets from his bag and walked into the recording booth, placing them on the stands in front of Old Morgan and Little Lowry.

Little Lowry was still sulking, unwilling to speak, not even meeting Song Ya's gaze.

Old Morgan slowly pulled out his reading glasses and began to carefully open his saxophone case.

"Come out here and talk," Pablo's voice crackled through the speaker.

Song Ya quickly stepped out and closed the booth door behind him.

"If you have any comments, press this, but don't interrupt them," Pablo instructed, pointing to the communication button. "Once you're ready, we begin." He pressed the button and spoke into the mic.

"Don't rush me, don't rush me. I'm old, not like you young guys..." Old Morgan's grumbling came through the speakers.

"Where's Eric?" Pablo glanced over his shoulder.

"Didn't you tell him to get out?" Tony was puzzled.

"Go get him. We need him here," Pablo ordered, making sure everything was in place before hurrying off.

Now, only Song Ya remained in the control room. He sat at the mixing console, quickly scanning the room. In addition to the console, there were a number of unfamiliar devices, and the walls were covered in soundproofing material, giving it a professional look. The long couch behind him was a mess, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, evidence of the recent chaos.

The saxophone accompaniment for the song "Second-Hand Shop" was mostly mechanical repetition. Old Morgan tried a few sections along with the music sheet. "WTH…" He put down the saxophone and grumbled, "Who the hell wrote this garbage?"

"That would be me," Song Ya replied awkwardly, then realized he forgot to press the communication button. "Uh... It was me." He repeated himself.

"Kids these days making music... I really don't get it. Do you think this can be popular?" Old Morgan continued to complain, turning to Little Lowry. "Do you think this will make it big?"

Little Lowry couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know," he said.

"Sigh, kids these days... I really don't understand them. You know, when I was your age…" 

Old Morgan kept rambling, while Little Lowry played it cool, not at all invested in the work. Song Ya knew he couldn't control them and didn't feel like offending anyone. Fortunately, it didn't take long before Pablo entered with Old Joe.

Old Joe was still wearing the same pink suit from earlier. "Morgan!" He shouted, slamming the communication button. "Do you believe I'll come in there and rip that old mouth of yours off and throw it in Lake Michigan to feed the fish?!"

With that familiar booming voice, even his appearance resembled the old man in the pink suit from the "Second-Hand Shop" music video, which made Song Ya want to laugh.

"APLUS, right?" Old Joe calmed Morgan down and turned to extend his hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm the boss of this company, Joe. You can call me Old Joe, but I prefer people to call me BOSS."

"Hello, BOSS," Song Ya shook his hand. As music started to play in the background, Old Joe stepped aside.

Morgan played the saxophone, Little Lowry sang, and they both performed the song again. The result was much better than when Song Ya and Little Lowry had practiced together.

"Hmm..." 

Old Joe pursed his lips, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "Let's do it again," he pressed the communication button.

While Old Joe and Pablo listened to the second take, Song Ya's mind raced. Tony had urged him to flatter Pablo more, but based on the conversation in the car earlier, it was clear that his interests conflicted with Pablo's. Pablo was Little Lowry's manager and wanted Song Ya to "give" the lyrics to Little Lowry. Trying to change his mind with flattery alone wouldn't work. Even if Pablo became his manager in the future, there was no telling how he would choose between Song Ya and Little Lowry in the face of such conflicts.

Maybe asking Pablo to become his manager wasn't the best idea.

But Old Joe was completely different. As long as the records sold well, Old Joe, as the owner of the music company, would surely have his interests aligned with Song Ya's...

Once he figured it out, he decided to act. When the second take was over, "Uh, boss," Song Ya caught Old Joe's attention. "The inspiration for this song came from the day we filmed Little Lowry's MV..."

"Hmm, yeah, I heard about it. Second-Hand Shop, right?" Old Joe replied casually.

"Not just that, part of the inspiration came from you, boss," Song Ya continued. "The chorus part was written specifically for you. I really like your bass."

"Me?" Old Joe raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yeah, why don't you try it?" Song Ya gestured toward the recording booth.

"Try it?" Old Joe exchanged a glance with Pablo.

Pablo shrugged and nodded.

"Alright, let's try it." Old Joe pushed open the recording booth door and walked in.

After a quick moment to gather himself, he began the third take.

**"I'm gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket..."**

As the lyrics began, Song Ya immediately noticed Pablo lean forward, his eyes lighting up.