From the world's capital, New York, to the U.S. capital, Washington, from the culturally and economically unique Boston to the vacation haven and retirement hub of Miami, the East Coast of North America boasts a lineup of iconic, vibrant cities. Sandwiched between them, Philadelphia often feels like it pales in comparison.
Once, this city was globally famous for the "Rocky" miracle. Once, it drew countless eyes with the rise of the Philadelphia 76ers. But time marches on, and Philly's age and weathered charm have slowly faded into the wind and rain, its former glory a distant memory.
Few people realize that, beyond the Philadelphia Orchestra, this is still a music city—golden notes still flow through its veins.
Rhythm and blues and soul music remain Philly's pride. Countless up-and-coming artists have emerged from its cultural soil, including the legendary John Legend. Underground indie rock thrives here too, the most active scene on the East Coast. It might not hit mainstream radar, but every year, droves of rock fans flock to catch performances by underground bands.
It's hard to imagine that America's oldest city walks so far ahead on the music frontier.
Fourth Street's electronic dance music has spawned a whole new industry, with weekly EDM parties and a fresh sound built on drums and bass. As one of the birthplaces of hardcore rap, Philly might've lost some shine to New York, but it's still a key East Coast cradle for the genre, churning out new rappers every year who snag mainstream attention.
Clearly, this is a city steeped in music.
But just as clear is the stubborn pride of Philly's musicians. They resist the mainstream, fiercely guarding their own patch of earth. The independent artists thriving in the underground scene are what make this place unique.
Aside from John Legend, who studied at Penn, the most famous Philly natives known to the mainstream might be Boyz II Men, the '90s sensation, and Will Smith—the box-office giant who's also a stellar rapper.
But that's about it. Since the new millennium, Philly's drifted further from the mainstream music world, doubling down on its own identity.
That's exactly why Philly still has a rich music vibe without the heavy commercial feel of L.A. or New York, or the distinct musical flavor of New Orleans or Nashville. Here, musicians can still create freely—music they love, music that's theirs.
Recording studios, big and small, dot the city. They're professional, open, and—most importantly—affordable.
Like Jeremiah said, Philly really does suit One Day Kings. More than New York, even.
Maybe it's a sign from fate. An opportunity for the band. Time to take a leap, stop hesitating, hit the studio, record their songs, and hope for the next step.
But money's tight.
Sure, as Bruno's opening act, the band got their hotel and travel covered, plus a performance fee—a nice bonus. But they're not big enough for a hefty payout, especially when you stack it against studio costs.
Everything happened so fast back then that the band didn't even think about fees. They'd have played for free just for the chance, so Ronan never brought it up with John. Cliff, though, had chatted with Julio about it once. Best guess? The fee was somewhere between $3,000 and $5,000.
For One Day Kings—and Ronan—it'd been ages since they last stepped into a studio. Their skills are rusty, so estimating studio time is tricky.
How long would it take? A day? Two? Ten hours? A hundred? It's all a big question mark. They can't pin down how much cash they'd need to pull it off.
That performance fee starts looking like a drop in the bucket.
For indie bands, there's a cheaper option: set up your own studio.
Since the 2000s, with the rise of YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and other social platforms, plus the growth of digital music sales like iTunes, Spotify, and Amazon, and advances in recording tech—led by Apple—even smartphones can record music now.
Grassroots and indie artists have been popping up everywhere, carving out their space online. It's the natural evolution of entertainment, a new era after the peak of music talent shows.
For indie musicians, lacking pro-grade gear isn't a dealbreaker. Modern tech solves most problems.
All they need is a garage or warehouse, some egg crates for "soundproofing"—stuck to every corner to block out noise—and they've got a barebones setup to keep interference low and record.
But for a band, it's trickier.
Solo artists can handle arrangements on a computer—all the instruments are digital, easy to mix. A band, though, needs live playing, with instruments recorded separately to avoid bleed and preserve the layers of their sound.
In a rough, makeshift space like that, capturing live instruments is a nightmare. It could mean recording over and over, taking weeks or even months—nothing unusual there.
It's tough, but not impossible.
The catch? One Day Kings are in a unique spot. They're mid-tour, and they need to seize this moment to break through. They don't have the luxury of settling into Philly or Boston, finding a garage, and taking their time. They're racing the clock.
Time is money…
Bzzz! Bzzz!
Bzzz! Bzzz!
Right then, the phone on the nightstand buzzed to life. It wasn't loud, but it jolted Ollie awake. He shot up like a zombie, startling Ronan, who quickly recovered and waved him off, "Keep sleeping, keep sleeping," while picking up the call:
"Morning, this is Ronan."
(End of chapter)