George stared dead in the face at Renly in front of him, but didn't know what to do with him.
He is a stubborn personality who never knows how to turn a corner and would rather hit his head and bleed, but apparently, so does Renly.
In the midst of this face-to-face confrontation, George finally lost the battle, dropping his head, dropping his shoulders, picking up his glass and taking a sultry sip, all his sharpness seemed to disappear for a moment.
This is only the second meeting between Renly and George, and each meeting is very short, may not add up to more than a quarter of an hour, but he can still feel George's kind of loss, the lion with teeth and claws suddenly became disinterested up, let the heart of the heart.
However, Renly does not intend to choose compromise because of sympathy and pity, he is not Jesus Christ.
Renly looked up at Neil, "Has Ed been over to the bar lately?"
"..." Neil only had time to open his mouth before his voice came out, before George cut him off viciously, "If you care, just contact Ed."
George was not so easily defeated, otherwise he would not have stubbornly waited for four months in Pioneer Village, he turned around and once again looked persistently at Renly, "Ed comes over every so often to perform, to accumulate experience in live performance, and also to draw creative inspiration. He's not a talented creator, but he's a brilliant narrator. That's his strength."
Renly nodded in agreement.
But then George turned the tables, "I don't understand why you just don't want to record an album." After only two sentences, George didn't hold back and went back to the original point.
"I don't think I'm a genius, music is just a hobby for me. This is New York, there are countless great independent musicians, and I'm sure you'll find many great singers who love music."
George could hear that Renly was serious. This made him feel a strong sense of frustration, a really bad taste, hateful anger in the chest stirred violently, if he was ten years younger, he would have directly wielded his fist, to teach the young man a good lesson.
"Because what I want to produce, is your music." George said earnestly, his voice even a little eager, because too anxious, the hand of whiskey spilled some, amber alcohol spilled on the table, but he did not even notice at all, still continuing with his burning gaze at Renly, "Your music, has vicissitudes and moving power, as if... ..."
George thought seriously, trying to find the right words, "... you can see through the meaning of time and space, as if after experiencing death, regaining life. That power, which is inherent, is the reason why music is moving, it is different from all other art forms, showing the colors from the depth of one's soul. It cannot be created out of nothing, nor can it be forcibly eliminated."
But Renly's heart couldn't help but tremble slightly, the fingers holding the beer glass became slightly moist, he brought it to his mouth and took a large sip, the smoky alcohol flooded his tongue with a bitterness. It turns out that music really is the sound from the soul.
George did not notice the subtle abnormality of Renly and said sincerely and intently, "If you are willing to record an album, I promise, I will not let those commercial elements corrupt your music."
"In this market, there is already too much music that compromises to the times, bows to the trends, and leans on profits, one more of you is not more, one less of you is not less. What I want to record is the real, pure, sound from the heart." George's cloudy eyes shone with eager anticipation, "So there will be no commercial promotion, no pressure to sell. Just a sincere effort to make an album."
In George's body, Renly saw Stanley Charleson, but also himself.
For Renly, music was just a hobby, a leisure time, a way to pass the time and express the mood, as it had been since childhood. Even now "Cleopatra" on the Billboard achieved such excellent results, Renly did not care too much, it is a gift to Stanley.
He's not a singer, and he never will be. He's an actor, and he's always been an actor.
He was willing to lie in a coffin for eight hours in order to "Buried", that is his insistence on acting; but he will not be in any other hobby, such a strong and passionate emotions.
George and him, are the same kind of people.
Renly knew exactly how rare George's commitment was, and it was as if "Like Crazy" was something that no company would invest in, not even an independent film company, because they needed to make a profit. George, like Drake, needed to use not only his contacts but also his own money in order to keep his promise, just to make his dream come true.
Renly also knew that four months, four months of unrelenting perseverance, even to the point of glimpsing George's long, long, long, long, long life - not to win a Grammy, not to sell albums, not to revive music, but simply to guard the last piece of pure land inside, to live for music. It's not about winning Grammys or reviving music.
Renly knew better than ever that there was no room for such a pure dreamer to survive in this cruel reality.
To be more precise, Renly saw his own future in George. At least, he hoped that it was his own future, that he would be able to persevere steadfastly, even fervently and stubbornly, on his chosen path, until the end of his life, burning out the last bit of passion in his soul, and then returning to silence.
When he stops loving his dream, it is the end of his life. Freedom and dreams are the only things he can't live up to.
For him, acting was a dream; for George, music was a dream. The difference, that's all.
"Okay." Renly nodded his head and agreed.
George froze and looked straight at Renly, seemingly not hearing Renly's answer clearly, but also did not open his mouth to ask, just eyed Renly, lest if he opened his mouth, he would ruin the magical moment just now.
This one look, too expectant and fragile, too excited and suspicious, too joyful and motionless, was too emotionally charged, weighing heavily on Renly's chest. He didn't know if he could take on this rich and hot dream, but he knew that he was never alone on the road to chasing his dream.
This was true at Sundance; it was also true with George in front of him.
Originally, Renly had only agreed on impulse, but now, he became sure. "I just said, yes." Renly repeated again with a smile.
A wave of ecstasy swept over him, George was a bit overwhelmed, his eyes looked around in a panic, picked up the glass, wanted to take a sip, but then put it down straight away, that dazed and confused look, so sincere, so pure and so moving.
Renly took another sip of beer, the smoky taste bitter still, after swallowing, but flooded with a hint of sweetness.
"What do you want?" George finally remembered, his eyes widened and his face bloomed like never before.
"Copyright share? Refusal of commercial activities? Refusal of unreasonable demands from producers? The right to participate in the creation and production of music? Prohibition of abuse for commercial use? Prohibition of over-commercial packaging? Reasonable scheduling of recordings? I know, I know, you are an actor and I will schedule reasonably and never disturb your normal work."
George was immersed in his own world, rambling like a child, then he looked up again and looked seriously at Renly, "What are your requirements? Say it, I will satisfy you."
Renly couldn't help but laugh, holding up the mostly empty beer glass in his hand and gently turning it over, "I thought that everything was just about music."
George froze and then let out a laugh, "Yes, it is." Nodding repeatedly, "Everything was just about the music."
He just wanted to make a real folk album, leaving aside all the commercial considerations, leaving aside all the marketing plans, and focusing on the music single-mindedly and intensely. Even if he couldn't sell a single copy after recording, he didn't care.
He just wants to regain the passion for music in his heart. This feeling has really been missing for a long time.
"You give me your agent's business card, the specific contract, and record company and other trivial matters, I will contact him directly." As a senior producer, George naturally understands the production process perfectly. It was clear that Renly was also a purist and not interested in such minutiae.
Renly raised his beer glass towards George with a big smile, "That would be great."
George also picked up his glass, gestured towards Renly, tilted his head and poured the whole glass of whiskey directly, finished, heavily put the glass on the bar, boozy, and spirited.
Renly also drained the beer, and George's eager voice came to his ears, "So when can we get into the studio?"
Sure enough, he was anxious.
"Uh ... I'm not sure, after the Oscars, I guess." Renly really has no idea, he is recently on vacation, no impulse to disrupt the plan, and then to be busy with a series of awards season banquets, and then the Oscars, so, in the short term, he really has no idea.
George couldn't help but choke, but this time, he didn't get angry, just whispered to comfort himself, "Recording the album requires preparation of tracks, and needs to take its time."
For musicians like Renly who insist on their originality, recording an album really can't be rushed, just picking the tracks alone requires enough patience.
"Do you insist on recording the tracks you create now?" George changed the subject, but randomly saw Renly's paused expression, he immediately knew that the answer was definitely no, which made George feel very stuffy, "Didn't I tell you last time? The best way to create a track is to record it! Did you not even do that?"
His heart was bleeding.
Will they or will they not?
What are Grammy prospects of Renly?
A good time to end on this, though somewhat weak, but still a cliff...