The Best Actor in the Vase of Meiyu

Chapter 1291: Perfect Integration

It turns out that melody also has emotions.

It turns out that songs can also carry stories.

Silently, everyone's eyes were focused on that figure.

He was dressed in black, looking handsome and elegant. His broad and stiff shoulders gradually opened and stretched out, and the confidence radiating from his inside out ran through his spine.

The person is still the same person, but the performance is no longer the same performance.

There was a hint of amusement in Sam's eyes, as if he could finally see the real person hidden behind the sacred halo of the gospel song peeking out.

Anticipation began to surge.

"When I was a baby, my mother said, 'Son, be a good boy and don't play with guns.'"

“But I shot a man in Reno and watched him die.”

Obviously, the lyrics are powerful; however, Johnny's performance is not heavy or clumsy, but rather has a sense of freedom and casualness of wandering around the world.

Running wildly and laughing loudly, it seems that this can hide the complexity and fragility in one's heart.

Larry, felt it--

Just like what we felt in the studio with the band August 31st.

Casual and free, flamboyant and gorgeous, listen carefully to the sounds from the depths of your soul, follow the leaps and excitement of your heart, and gently pluck the strings.

Ding, ding.

Luther played not an ordinary cello, but a double bass, the sound of which was deeper and richer, firmly grasping the center of gravity amid the hustle and bustle.

Again and again, the vibration of Luther plucking the strings collided and entangled with the sound of Johnny's guitar strings, causing ripples in his heart.

At the side, Dan John couldn't help but smile slightly.

There is no need to be nervous or worried. They have already experienced this scene in the recording studio. Just let go of your guard and enjoy the music.

What performance or role, none of it matters at this moment, just immerse yourself in the world of music, and the boundary between reality and fantasy disappears completely.

Marshall looked at Luther. Although he did not pluck the strings of the guitar in his arms for the time being, he stared at the dancing of Luther's fingertips. His jaw swayed up and down with the rhythm, and there was a bright light in his eyes.

However, Johnny's singing did not continue to be passionate, but instead became lower, and even the sound of the guitar strings disappeared, leaving only the sound of Luther's double bass stirring in the air.

He sang softly, as if whispering in your ear.

"When I heard the sirens, I bowed my head and cried."

The moment of fragility in strength, the moment of sadness in joy, everything is fleeting. When the guitar strings sound, it becomes joyful again. The ups and downs of the performance delicately touch every corner of the soul between twists and turns.

"I bet the rich are eating in fancy restaurants, they're probably drinking, smoking cigars, I know I deserve it, I know I'm not going to be free."

Snapped.

With his fingertips, he pressed the guitar strings, and once again only the sound of Luther's double bass strings was left plucking in the air.

Johnny looked up at Sam, looking him straight in the eyes with an open and frank expression.

The anger and sadness burned so wantonly and unrestrainedly in the depths of the pupils.

This is the real Johnny Cash.

Deep in his soul, there is a flame burning. His enthusiasm, passion, publicity and dreams are stirring among the melodies.

Then Johnny stared at Sam and hummed softly again.

"But those people continue to come and go, and that's what tortures me." Boom!
Emotions explode!

However, Johnny didn't have time to react at all, and turned to look at Marshall, and the two exchanged glances, with the corners of their mouths curled up.

It was not joy, but immersion and relaxation. There was no more tension and no more burden. It was as if they were back at the porch of their home. They were just a few guys who loved music. They used their spare time to play musical instruments and music, and hummed out their inner joys, sorrows, anger and happiness with melodies.

That's all.

Marshall looked at Johnny, and Johnny looked at Marshall, and the strings of their guitars rushed against each other like a waterfall rushing down three thousand feet.

Seeing this scene, Luther joined in without wanting to be outdone. The three string sounds presented three levels, entwining, chasing, and resonating with each other.

Melody, excitement——

Yes, he just shot someone; yes, he just killed someone; yes, he just lost his freedom.

Yes, a life had just been lost; yes, a crime had just been committed before our eyes.

However, no one cares.

Those rich people are still drinking, smoking cigars and enjoying a wonderful night. They don’t care about the blood and bones under their feet, nor do they care about life and death and the rise and fall of the world. They continue to come and go, they continue to sing and dance, and they continue to live a life of drunkenness and dreams.

This is what he really cares about.

Even though his hands were covered in blood and he had killed many people, he still couldn't attract the slightest attention of the wealthy.

So, he is about to rot in prison with those people, like a pile of garbage and mud, completely abandoned and forgotten, and with his "disappearance", those problems will disappear as well.

But, is it really true?

His sadness, his anger, his struggle, at this moment, were fully revealed and vented in the turbulent and passionate collision of the strings.

The whole world is excited.

This Johnny was unfamiliar, and yet, he was shining.

Dressed in black, he looked like the Grim Reaper who had walked out from a pile of corpses after a bloody battle. He raised the sickle of justice high and waved it at those indifferent and arrogant figures.

He is not without edges and colors, he just hides them carefully.

Sam was completely stunned, staring at Johnny intently, his focus lost, his thoughts floating in the echoes and circling of the melody, completely lost.

Unconsciously, the corners of my mouth rose slightly, and the satisfaction and happiness filled my entire chest.

He knew that he had struck gold.

However, Johnny didn't notice.

To be exact, he didn't care.

This was the first time that he had the courage to show his true self, his edges and sharpness. He was no longer a timid puppet under the shadow of his father or wife, but he bravely spoke out his own voice, faced his truth frankly and generously, and embraced it with open arms.

That kind of recklessness and joy were like a summer rainstorm, all pouring down at once, but he didn't care.

This time, he did not hide under the eaves and carefully watch the rainstorm. Instead, he took off his shoes and rushed into the storm barefoot, singing loudly in the damp and sultry mist.

The sound of the guitar strings was surging and bold, passionate and turbulent, and even Luther and Marshall completely let go of their burdens and played with sweat dripping down their cheeks and red ears.

There was no discussion, no rehearsal, everything was created on the fly, but the three people released all the inspiration from the depths of their souls, collided wantonly, waited for the chemical reaction to burn in the air, and the sparks ignited the passion inexplicably, and then it unfolded in an all-round way that could no longer be stopped.

It was massive and vigorous, and it ignited the whole audience.

It makes one's blood boil involuntarily.

(End of this chapter)