In this small patch of land in Poor Street, Hugo was just an unknown nobody. This was a world that spoke through music; an actor's reputation held no use here. Even if Jack Nicholson showed up, he would just be an ordinary onlooker, let alone Hugo.
No one cared about Hugo's "real identity." What they cared about was only that Hugo's guitar skills truly won admiration, and exchanging with him benefited them a lot—at most, just that. But when Hugo spoke out his shocking remarks about the guitar, doubt naturally poured in like a flood. No one was willing to believe Hugo's view, much less since his idea was so world-shaking. So Pedro's doubt and Neil's proposal easily won the support of the onlookers.
From those pairs of blazing eyes Hugo could see their sincerity, which made him think of Giordano Bruno, the fearless warrior who defended and developed the heliocentric theory, judged a "heretic" by the Inquisition and burned alive at the Campo de' Fiori in Rome. Hugo believed that if he could not produce valid proof, these rock defenders around him would also, without hesitation, burn him alive—with the heat of their gaze.
Yet this fiery atmosphere did not make Hugo retreat; on the contrary, it stirred up the ambition in his heart. At this moment, Hugo was completely immersed in the world of music, which gave him courage and confidence to charge forward, as if, given a lever, he could move the Earth itself. Only, the weapon in his hand was not a lever but an instrument. He was going to use this instrument to shake the glorious rock dynasty—not to overthrow it, but to make himself a part of this great dynasty!
"So, I need a keyboard." Hugo's mind was rolling. In fact, from the moment he arrived at Poor Street today, inspiration was gushing like a spring. The surging emotions in his heart collided to spark countless flashes, especially reaching a peak when he battled Neil on guitar. Now, thinking of facing a brand-new challenge, Hugo's excitement again reached a whole new summit, so the corners of his mouth carried a confident smile, and his eyes were filled with a sharpness of determination to go forward fearlessly.
"Of course, that's not a problem," Pedro spoke. The circle of people inside the encirclement all turned around, looking outside for an electronic keyboard. "What else do you need?"
"Uh, a kettledrum or a snare drum, either is fine." Hugo slightly sorted out the melody flowing in his mind and spoke out his choice. "That will be enough."
"Just two things?" Pedro looked at Hugo in surprise. Earlier, they had only discussed not using the guitar, but now Hugo had even excluded the complicated drum set, keeping only a snare or kettledrum, and bass was not on the list either. To create an outstanding rock song like this, it sounded all the more like sheer fantasy. One keyboard and one snare drum—no matter how you listened, it seemed like instruments used in country or pop styles.
"Yes." Hugo gave a simple and clear affirmative reply, and the onlookers all looked at each other in dismay.
Very soon, an electronic keyboard was handed in. After finding a socket, it was ready for playing. And the surrounding crowd grew larger and larger, roughly glancing over there were at least forty people tightly surrounding them. Obviously, everyone had heard the story: there was a conceited rookie, boasting he could create an outstanding rock song without a guitar. That had made plenty of people laugh their teeth out. Some came out of curiosity, wondering how on earth it was possible, some came to watch the rookie's joke, some to kill time. So everyone crowded in, pointing fingers at Hugo sitting in the center.
Neil, who had originally been sitting cross-legged at the side, also felt enormous pressure, but he still did not move from his spot, still looking at Hugo with expectation, curiosity, and doubt. Although Neil had appreciated Hugo's song "Home" last time, who knew if that was Hugo's only excellent piece, or maybe his magnum opus, or just a flash of inspiration that could not last? So Neil looked forward all the more, wondering what kind of music Hugo would deliver this time under such fierce doubt and scrutiny.
"And the drum? Borrow a snare from someone's kit," Pedro anxiously scanned around, and the others also began shouting. Their mindset was rather interesting. On one hand, they wanted to see Hugo make a fool of himself, to prove their idea was right—that rock was not something anyone could just understand, and their circle was not something anyone could just join. But on the other hand, they were curious what Hugo's so-called rock would look like. Could rock still be so wonderful without a guitar? This contradictory and urgent emotion mixed together, making the crowd restless and uneasy.
"I have one," a deep voice came over, then called back, "George, bring me a snare from my kit." This voice instantly drew many eyes. Pedro immediately recognized the man. "Hey, Fokin, thanks for the help."
The underground rock circle was indeed very small. Even without meeting, more or less everyone had heard names, especially of those with ability. Hugo also looked over, and saw a burly man in a white T-shirt and black jacket. His sharp features, paired with a clean buzz cut, gave him an even more imposing aura—not the kind of brutish look, but with a certain iron-blooded military bearing. He wore a thick yet clean beard, and though he clearly was not yet thirty, those deep eyes carried a maturity mismatched with his appearance.
Hugo was not sure if he had seen this man before, but he was certain he had no impression of the name "Fokin." Of course, Hugo was a total rookie in Los Angeles's underground rock circle, so not knowing him was normal. So Hugo turned his head toward Neil, who smiled and said, "I don't know him either, but I've heard his name. He's a drummer, has a band called 'Brand New Day,' or B&D for short, with some reputation in the scene. This is also my first time seeing him today."
It seemed this burly man was a veteran in the underground rock scene.
This man called Fokin took his snare drum and walked toward Hugo, but he did not hand it over immediately. Instead, he held the snare in his arms and quickly tapped the drumhead with his right hand. It seemed he was treating the snare like an African drum.
In fact, the snare drum's tone was crisp and bright, with a higher frequency than the bass drum, and also carried a rustling of snares, giving it a unique character. But the snare was not for strengthening the strong beat, rather it tapped small rhythms on the weak beat, blending silver tones, enhancing the sense of rhythm. The snare's impression was penetrating, with wide dynamic range and rich expressiveness, and it greatly tested the drummer's skill. Of course, an excellent drummer with a snare could vividly layer and enrich the song's emotions, adding much brilliance to the music.
The Fokin before him was exactly such an excellent drummer. The four words "light, heavy, slow, urgent" were displayed vividly under Fokin's palm. In that string of drumbeats, the atmosphere on scene was gradually pushed to passion. It was like the drumbeats to boost morale before battle, stirring up the hot blood in everyone's hearts. Those eyes staring at Hugo were like wolves and tigers, full of provocation, as if if Hugo performed poorly, they would rush forward and tear him apart.
Hugo knew this was a challenge from Fokin, and also provocation.
With that string of drumbeats, Fokin clearly expressed his opinion: he did not believe Hugo could do it. And compared with Pedro, Fokin not only doubted, he despised Hugo even more. Perhaps in his view, Hugo was nothing but a clown courting attention. So his contempt concentrated unimpededly on Hugo through the drumbeats.
Even without Fokin's provocation, Hugo's fighting spirit was already high. Now, facing Fokin's provocation, he instead smiled. Fokin had issued a battle letter with his drumming skill, and Hugo naturally would not retreat. He lifted his head and chest to accept this battle. Although he could not confront Fokin directly like the earlier guitar duel, Hugo had absolute confidence. He would not only win this challenge but also make everyone submit!
Ever since crossing over, Hugo had been welcoming different challenges—from the obstruction of the Golden Raspberry Awards, to the troubles from the A Few Good Men crew, and now to this challenge from the underground rock scene. Hugo had never retreated. Even if he faced forces several times stronger than himself, he would never give up.
Just like today's scene, Hugo was not the most outstanding. Whether in guitar, creation, or understanding of rock, Hugo was not among the top. At least for now, he could not reach the height of Kurt Cobain. Even with the twenty-two years of advanced memory Hugo carried from the future, in acting and music, those memories had no effect. Because in professional fields, hard strength always spoke the loudest. Hugo's own excellence was the true key to victory. So Hugo would not retreat. Even if he failed this time, he would still raise his head and chest and continue fighting, then stand up again through his own effort, until he achieved a breakthrough!
Hugo decisively stretched out both hands. Fokin handed over the snare drum, but he did not release it immediately. The two gripped the snare together, exerting force against each other, tense in midair, sparks ready to burst in their eyes. At last, Fokin slightly relaxed his strength. It was not surrender, but because he looked forward to seeing Hugo make a fool of himself! Watching Hugo take the snare, Fokin said and did nothing more, only locking his eyes on Hugo, adding even more pressure to Hugo's already heavy shoulders.
But Hugo was indifferent. He had to focus all his attention, concentrate on the upcoming performance. He switched on the electronic keyboard, set the snare at his right hand, and his heartbeat uncontrollably quickened.
This duel was unfair, because Hugo was a highly skilled guitarist, but now he had to compose on the keyboard and snare, which he was not at all skilled at—and he had to create a rock song that amazed everyone! But this was life. There was equality, but no fairness. Hugo would not curse fate, because he had taken on this challenge of his own accord. So Hugo hesitated no more, adjusted his breathing, ignored his runaway heartbeat, and then his hands pressed the first note on the electronic keyboard!
....
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