blueteamnovel Chapter 9 Producer Jiang Yan
Chapter 9 Producer Jiang Yan
After Tiffany left, the recording studio fell completely silent.
The low-frequency hum of the air conditioner faintly came from above, and the LED clock on the wall silently jumped to nine o'clock in the evening.
Jiang Yan didn't rush to start work. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the more than one hundred waveforms on the screen for a long time.
He remembered the dojo in Busan that smelled of camphor and disinfectant, the back of his adoptive father sitting in a wicker chair flipping through his memoirs, and the moment at four in the morning when his eyes stung and the whole world seemed to change.
He suddenly wanted to send a message to Old Jiang: "Dad, I've joined SM Entertainment. SM, you know, the one you saw on TV."
But when he took out his phone and scrolled to the number saved as "Old Jiang," his fingertip hovered above the screen, unable to drop it for a long time.
No one will answer the phone anymore.
Jiang Yan lowered his eyes, locked his phone and put it aside, flexed his fingers, and put his headphones back on.
For the next few days, Jiang Yan practically lived in SM's recording studio.
Aside from returning to Hongdae to pay the remaining rent and deposit to the landlord, making a final arrangement for Kim Minjung's room, and taking a week off from school, he never left that Apple workstation.
Ji-soo was initially somewhat dismissive of the newcomer, until 3 a.m. the next day when she returned to the recording studio to retrieve her leftover notebook and saw Kang Yeon wearing headphones, repeatedly adjusting the volume of the same track on the fader.
His profile looked exceptionally focused under the blue light of the screen; he didn't even notice her pushing the door open and coming in.
From then on, she would bring an extra iced Americano every morning, without sugar or milk, and silently place it beside him.
On the morning of the fifth day, Jiang Yan sent a message to An Zhenghuan: [Director An, the new arrangement is finished. Senior Tiffany added a few breaths to the chorus and the humming in the interlude. I told her not to consciously control her breath, just relax like when she hums a song alone in the bathroom. She recorded it seventeen times before choosing the most natural one. It's all done, you can come and check it out.]
After sending the message, he leaned back in his chair, took off his headphones, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
Ahn Jung-hwan received the preview clip he sent, and after listening to it the first time, he immediately dialed Lee Sang-min's private number, even calling Kenzie from his home.
Not long after, hurried footsteps could be heard in the corridor.
The recording studio door was pushed open, and Ahn Jung-hwan entered, followed by his superior, Lee Sang-min, the executive director of SM's music division, a middle-aged man with gray hair and bright eyes, wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
Then there's Kenzie.
This was the first time Jiang Yan had met this legendary producer, known as the most brilliant mind in the Korean pop music scene.
She was thirty-eight years old, wearing a loose black sweatshirt and sneakers, with no makeup and her hair casually tucked behind her ears. In her hand, she held the famous black spiral notebook filled with densely packed musical notes. She didn't look like a top producer; she looked more like a kind professor teaching composition at a university.
Tiffany was the last to come in.
She had clearly dressed up specially today, wearing light makeup with a touch of pink on her lips, but the nervousness in her eyes was impossible to hide.
Chief Lee Sang-min stopped in front of the mixing console, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, and glanced at Kang Yeon: "You're the young man from Yeonnam-dong that Chief An mentioned, the one who came to the rescue?"
"Yes, hello senior."
"Okay, put it down."
The entire recording studio was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Jiang Yan lowered his eyes, his fingertips unconsciously clenching the mouse. He could feel everyone's eyes on him.
I tapped a key on the keyboard and pressed play.
The first second.
There was no grand opening with strings, only a very soft single piano note, like someone taking off their high heels and walking barefoot on the wooden floor in an apartment late at night.
Then the bass drum came in steadily, followed by the heavy 808 bass at the bottom, like a faint heartbeat coming from afar in the city.
Then Tiffany's voice came in.
That slightly husky mid-to-low range carries the weight of all the stories accumulated over nine years of his career.
Like a woman who has just escaped from a midnight party, stripped of all pretense and definition, leaving only her most authentic self.
In the chorus, the strings only gradually build up on the second verse.
The ornate musical instruments that were scattered throughout the previous version have all learned a single posture in this version: bending over and lifting.
They are no longer the main characters standing in front of Tiffany, but rather the spotlights kneeling at her feet, lifting her up with the utmost humility.
The extra 30 seconds of solo during the interlude were completely cut.
In the eight-second silence, only Tiffany's humming could be heard, like a lone shadow stretched long by the streetlights in the dead of night, like a person spinning barefoot in an empty room, like the sound of waves crashing against the breakwater at Busan Harbor at night.
Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds.
The song has ended.
The recording studio was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Then, Tiffany lowered her head and covered her face with her hands.
Overwhelmed tears slipped silently through her fingers, dripping onto her pink and white sweatshirt and spreading into a small, dark stain.
She didn't make a sound, but her shoulders were trembling violently.
No one speaks.
Chief Executive Lee Sang-min remained silent, his eyes fixed on the static waveform on the mixing console, as if he were looking at something that shouldn't exist in this era.
After a long while, he slowly took off his gold-rimmed glasses and wiped the fog that had appeared on the lenses with his sleeve.
In the corner next to the mixing console, Kenzie leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the screen, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Young people these days are really something else."
Hearing the sound, An Zhenghuan turned his head and glanced at her. Kenzie waved her hand to indicate that she was fine, but her gaze never left Jiang Yan.
"Do you know how long I waited to find a producer who can understand what singers are saying?"
Her voice was a little hoarse, without any resentment, only a hard-to-describe regret and relief.
"Well done, better than my version. I gave my version a perfect score for the arrangement, but your version gives Tiffany a perfect score."
She looked at Jiang Yan with no condescending scrutiny in her eyes, only an almost solemn seriousness: "What you lack now is not skills, but seniority and a platform. The name Kenzie has been on SM for almost twenty years. I've seen more than just you as a young genius, but you are the first one who makes me feel that some things cannot be taught by experience."
"Just before I came in, I heard from Chief An that you were still in university?"
"Inside, Applied Music Department, sophomore."
Kenzie paused for two seconds, then suddenly turned to look at Lee Sang-min, who was still wiping his glasses: "Minister Lee, I'd like to take on a disciple."
All eyes immediately turned to Jiang Yan.
Lee Sang-min put his glasses back on, gave Jiang Yan a deep look, and instead of answering immediately, he walked to the mixing console, pressed the replay button, and listened to the chorus again.
A little over three minutes later, he straightened up and looked at Jiang Yan: "Kid, Director An will talk to you about the contract, but I need to make something clear to you first."
"In this industry, talent is just an entry ticket. Those who can truly stay in the end rely on their work and accumulated experience."
He paused, a hint of appreciation creeping into his voice, "This song will be a hit. Tiffany's solo is a success, and so are yours."
"By the way, about the payment for this arrangement," he pushed up his glasses and casually gave a figure, "ten million Korean won, after tax, it will be transferred to your account on the 15th of next month."
Ten million.
Jiang Yan's pupils contracted slightly. When he was working himself to the bone at Hongdae, he could only earn a maximum of 800,000 yuan a month. Ten million yuan was almost a year's income for him. But now, it was just the reward for three days of work.
Ahn Jung-hwan, who was standing next to him, took out his phone and quickly typed out the schedule. "Tiffany has promotions and other schedules this week. She will officially go into the studio to record the final version next Monday. You will be in charge of the whole process. Kenzie will guide you."
"Your name will be listed third in the composer credits for the arrangement, first in the original composer credits for Bos, second in the original composer credits for Kenzie, and in the producer credits for Tiffany's solo album."
After saying that, he looked at Jiang Yan and said, word by word, "As your debut song, you've caught it."
It wasn't until much later that Jiang Yan truly understood the weight of those words.