Months after that first solo essay with Cami, the songs were no longer just scattered ideas: they were a body, a collective cry. The album was called scars in Stéreo, and although it lacked professional polishing, it had something much more powerful: authenticity.
They decided to launch it on independent musical platforms. With the help of a friend of Cami, who worked in audio edition, they managed to give some cleaning to the sound without losing the crudeness that made him special. They designed a cover with a photo of a cracked street mural, and uploaded it to the Internet on a Friday night.
They didn't expect anything. But the noise began.
First were some comments in alternative music forums, then a blog specialized in Latin rock highlighted them as "a visceral proposal and without concessions." In a week, their own noise reproductions exceeded ten thousand. It was not viral, but it was real. Organic. Valeria read each comment as if it were a personal letter. "I feel identified," they said. "Thank you for putting music to what I didn't know how to say."
The invitations began to arrive. First bars. Then local festivals. And, reluctantly, Julian returned. I had heard the album. He had been silent for a long time. Then he simply wrote: "Ok, this is good. I want to return."
The reunion was tense, but sincere. They didn't talk much, but when they played, everything was said.
On Sunday afternoon, after a presentation at a cultural event, Valeria returned home exhausted but strangely light. He had left everything on stage. Cami had stayed at the bar, talking to a journalist from an Underground musical magazine.
That night, while checking his email, he saw a strange notification: "Contact message - Subject: record proposal". He thought it was spam, until he read the name of the sender: Iván Quintana, legendary producer who had worked with iconic rock bands in the nineties and beginning of the two thousand.
He read the message three times before reacting. It wasn't long. Just said:
"Valeria, I heard scars in Stéreo. I need to talk to you. Tomorrow. 10 BC. I call you. Don't ignore this call."
His cell phone screen reflected his pale and atonic face. He felt that the world was going too fast suddenly. The heart was beating on his neck.
And then, the phone rang.
The night was a sterile insomnia. Valeria stirred in bed with her cell phone, waiting for the indicated time, imagining what a producer of her size with a neighborhood band without resources could want. At 9:58 she was already dressed, sitting in the dining room, with a blank notebook and a pen trembled between her fingers.
When the phone vibrated, it did not let it sound more than once.
"Valeria?" —The voice was serious, direct, without protocol.
"Yes ... it's me."
"I'm Iván Quintana." I heard the album. All. Several times.
Silence. Valeria did not know if she should respond or let him speak.
"I'm not going to adorn it to you," he continued. You have something. Own noise, yes, but with identity. I need to see them play live. Tomorrow night. I have a small private show. Could you build something?
Valeria swallowed. He looked at the clock. It was Sunday. Monday night was too soon. But it was also a unique opportunity.
-Yeah. Yes of course. We can touch. Where?
He gave him an address in the center. An exclusive bar, which was only accessed by invitation. The call ended with a phrase that left her frozen:
"What I saw on the album listened to him live ... We talk about something serious."
Valeria ran to the study immediately. He called Cami, then Julian. There was no time for excuses or delays. In less than twenty -four hours they had to be ready to prove that they were more than a good independent album. They were a band with a future.
That night they rehearsed until the fingers bleed. Cami improvised new battery cuts, Julian proposed changes in the low line to increase the live impact. Valeria was focused as never before. He refined every detail. Nothing could fail.
When leaving the studio, exhausted, they stayed a few minutes on the sidewalk, smoking and drinking warm water of a shared bottle.
"Do you realize what is happening?" Asked Cami, with a hoarse voice and a smile that seemed contained for fear.
Valeria did not answer. He just nodded. Because if I said it out loud, I feared it would disappear.
That night, for the first time, he dreamed that the stage was his.