Rock and Roll: Glorious Years

"A new song? Where did you get a new song? Did you write it on the spot? Will there be enough time to rehearse?"

Old Tan thought Bian Lang was just saying things out of anger, and that he wouldn't do it once he calmed down. He was afraid that Bian Lang would end up embarrassing himself instead of being proven wrong.

He knew very well how the band's previous songs were created. Although they were co-written, Li Yiliang was the one who played a leading role. Less than a third of the songs were painstakingly crafted by the two of them, with each contributing a melody and a lyric.

As for whether Bian Lang can write any good works independently, Lao Tan really doesn't think so.

For this reason, coupled with the interference of brotherhood, when Li Yiliang proposed that the copyright of the work be attributed to him personally, the original owner agreed almost without much consideration.

Looking back now, Bian Lang realizes that everything Li Yiliang did today was foreshadowed in his past life.

"You'll find out when the time comes," Bian Lang said seriously.

With his original Earth identity, Bian Lang's only problem is choosing songs.

The history of this world is largely the same as that of the original Earth, except that the history of the last hundred years is quite different, and the cultural and entertainment industries, especially the music field, have almost no overlap.

With the thousands of songs deeply etched in Bian Lang's mind, and at a rate of releasing one new song per month, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he could support a new golden age for the Chinese music scene in his lifetime.

"Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies," "Nowhere to Hide," or "It's Shameful to Be Lonely"...

Just as Bian Lang was lost in thought, Zhu Yan, the owner of Paradise Records, the shop downstairs, came up carrying a box. Seeing that Bian Lang was there, he greeted him, "Bian Lang is here too? That's perfect. Pick out a couple more if you like anything."

After saying that, he put the box on the table, opened it, and revealed stacks of CDs inside.

"Brother Yan, what good news do you have to give us free perks!"

In my memory, the record store downstairs accounted for a large portion of the original owner's spending. Many foreign rock vinyl records and CDs that were hard to find online were obtained with Zhu Yan's help.

"With the internet becoming increasingly developed, 99% of people listen to digital music now, and physical records are mostly sold online by music companies themselves. There are very few people coming to the store. I don't think it's possible to break even with the rent on Jianshe Road. Your niece is in high school now, which is a time when money is needed. I found a music editing job on FM95.4 Music Radio, so I've decided to transfer this place."

Bian Lang's heart sank for a moment.

The situation on Earth was no different. In the time he traveled to, physical record stores had already been squeezed into a sunset industry. In first-tier cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou, the number of pure record stores in a single city did not exceed 20.

But for those who truly love listening to music, record stores represent a unique kind of romance and sentiment.

Old Tan handed Zhu Yan a cigarette and said slowly, "Yes, the internet is having a huge impact on many physical stores these days. Even the Wheat Field Bookstore on the next street has started selling educational materials."

At that moment, a scene appeared in Bian Lang's mind.

Beneath a shop window displaying the slogan "Forever young, forever with tears in our eyes!" are stacks of "5 Years of College Entrance Examination and 3 Years of Simulation."

Wheat Field was also a bookstore that the original owner loved to frequent, where he spent countless afternoons discussing Western women with the owner. The owner was also a trumpet player who would come to Mid-Levels every Monday to perform.

Bian Lang felt that these scenes were somewhat familiar, but he couldn't remember where the other end of this memory thread was connected to.

When Zhu Yan mentioned that there were a few more boxes downstairs, he went down to lend a hand.

Stepping out of the glass room, one immediately sees the ruins across the way, which have been idle for almost 10 years. In the distorted and swaying view, these ruins seem to be a work of art that satirizes the post-real estate era.

Suddenly, Bian Lang had an inspiration and strung together the words ruins, record store, bookstore, and money... He finally knew where to start untangling the threads of his memory.

"Now you know what to sing!"

After helping Zhu Yan move the boxes, he washed his hands and went up to the small stage halfway up the mountain.

He picked up the guitar, tuned it, tilted his head back, and let his long hair fall loosely over his back, allowing his body to completely relax.

Then, he pressed a C chord on the neck with his left hand and began strumming with his right hand holding the pick.

After one measure, the chord changes to Am, then F, G...

After the intro ended, Bian Lang lowered his voice and began to sing slowly with nasal resonance. His tone had a rough, sandy texture, but it was not without emotion.

After the singing started, Lao Tan, who was counting with Zhu Yan, rushed into the bar and turned off the soothing background music, letting Bian Lang's singing echo in the empty bar.

Zhu Yan also stopped what he was doing and listened attentively.

As the lyrics progressed, Zhu Yan's vision began to blur. He thought it was because his glasses were fogged up, but the moment he took them off, he realized that he had been drawn into the song.

Although the lyrics are written from Bian Lang's perspective, aren't they also a reflection of Zhu Yan's and the people who have been hanging around Jianshe Road for many years?

"He really wrote it on the spot! What Bian Lang just drank was definitely not wine, but some kind of nectar that instantly enlightens people!"

As a rhythm guitarist, the original owner had no problem with rhythm and pitch when singing, but technique and emotion were basically negligible.

Over the years, Lao Tan had advised him to find a professional teacher to take lessons, but the original owner never listened. He thought that as long as he could sing harmonies occasionally and stay in tune, that was enough.

But at this moment, Bian Lang's singing skills and emotional expression were like using a cannon to kill a mosquito compared to Li Yiliang.

Old Tan felt like a million alpacas were stampeding through his mind: "Looks like we need to take this performance seriously!"

When the chorus came, Bian Lang's voice suddenly rose an octave, the air forced out of his chest constantly rubbing back and forth in his deep throat, his voice wildly testing the edge of a scream...

The unwavering and indomitable spirit in the lyrics was amplified countless times.

The more Lao Tan listened, the more excited he became, and the more excited he became, the stranger he felt.

The Masked Band previously played pop-rock, with conventional lyrics, completely unlike this song. The verses are questioning, and the chorus has an uplifting force: "This is the kind of energy rock should have! These lyrics and this melody, even 10 Li Yiliangs couldn't write this. No, Li Yiliang doesn't deserve to be a unit of measurement!"

Five minutes later, the song ended as Bian Lang strummed out the last note on his guitar.

"Phew! That feels good!" With this soft exclamation, Bian Lang completely cleared away the pent-up frustration he had accumulated during his time lying in the hospital waiting to die in his previous life.

Old Tan, who had been waiting nearby, handed over his tablet: "Quickly write this down, it'll be a shame if you forget!"

Bian Lang waved his hand, pointed to his head and said, "No need, it's all saved here. I'll register it on the copyright website when I get back tonight."

In his past life, Bian Lang and the author of this song were both under Modern Sky Entertainment. When the band was short of members for rehearsals, they often pulled him over to help.

So he played this song without any pressure.

At this moment, Zhu Yan walked over and asked, "These lyrics have a powerful impact, but the guitar is a bit too flimsy. When the official performance is scheduled, remember to let me know."

Before Bian Lang could answer, Lao Tan interjected, "You're going to perform this song then? Then I'll definitely make sure it's done for you." He was also holding back his anger, not only because of Li Yiliang, but also because of the bullying by the Magic Disc Store. If this song could be performed during the show, it would be a slap in the face to both of them at once.

Seeing Bian Lang nod, Lao Tan pointed to the poster of the Masked Band's performance on the wall and said, "Remember to come then."

Zhu Yan glanced at the ticket price, took out his phone to scan the payment code on the counter, but Bian Lang stopped him: "No need to pay, I'll go pick out a CD."

"Okay, pick whatever you like!" After saying that, he took the tickets from Lao Tan and turned to continue counting.

"What are your plans for the arrangement? I don't think you'll be rehearsing with those musicians you found before, right? Should I find a few to record some accompaniment for you?"

Faced with Lao Tan's concern, Bian Lang put down his guitar, put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Thanks, Lao Tan. I can handle it by myself, but I need to borrow your place to rehearse. I don't have that much equipment at home."

"No problem, but only after closing time at night. No business hours. If some jealous person records it and sends it to Little Li, then the deal will most likely fall through."

"Okay, give me the spare key, I'll lock the door for you after I'm done tonight!"

Just then, footsteps sounded again from the corner of the stairs.

Upon seeing Bian Lang and Lao Tan present, the newcomer immediately began shouting, "That bastard Li Yiliang is a real bastard!"