"…Don't you think this is a voice kissed by God?"
Faced with Ollie's praise, Ronan's expression stiffened. His smile froze awkwardly on his lips, unsure how to respond, a faint flush of shyness creeping in.
This clumsy, hesitant version of him stood in stark contrast to the ease he'd shown while humming moments ago—like two different people entirely.
Ollie burst into cheerful laughter, though he covered his mouth to avoid disturbing the other passengers. He nudged Ronan again. "You just say 'thanks.' You can take the compliments—they're yours to own. You've earned them." Then he moved on. "Let's jot this down for now. We'll figure out the rest when we get to Washington."
"Wait, no—rehearsals in Washington will probably keep us crazy busy. Not sure if we'll have time. Anyway, let's write it down now and find a moment later… What's up?"
Ollie had been rambling quietly when he noticed Ronan's gaze drift off. Sensing something was off, he piped up.
Ronan was caught mid-thought. Turns out, he could accept praise without feeling awkward or embarrassed. If he did well, compliments were just natural—no need to be flustered. Turns out, he really did have talent.
"Because you're worth it." Such a simple line, yet it felt like Ronan had waited a lifetime to hear it. Even after the Scooter mess, when he'd earned the praise Maxim and Ollie had longed for, he hadn't fully settled into it. Only now was he starting to clumsily figure it out.
Every ordinary, small person had their own spark to find. They should embrace their strengths instead of letting flaws erase everything. Humans were a messy mix of faults and gifts—no one was perfect.
So that's how it was.
Ronan zoned out a little. What seemed obvious to Ollie was something he had to stumble through step by step.
When Ollie caught him spacing out, Ronan's face flickered with embarrassment. But he quickly steadied himself, meeting Ollie's curious look and smoothly shifting gears. "Nothing, just thinking about other lyrics."
"Hm?" Ollie didn't suspect a thing, rolling with Ronan's lead.
Ronan eased back into it. "I mean, the other lyrics feel brighter, more upbeat, but there's this subtle bitterness to life you can taste if you dig deeper. Maybe we could turn them into something lighter—a little piece, like slow rock, using self-mockery to carry the sadness and heaviness."
Ollie's eyes lit up as inspiration sparked. "Hold on."
He snatched the pen from Ronan, flipped to a fresh page in the sketchbook, and scribbled down the rush of ideas flooding in.
But this time, he stopped after just two lines, showing them to Ronan. "Like this?"
"Oh, he's ruling the room while I'm slowly crashing down, so I let go because he's gone, but he doesn't even know. Get out of my head—I need to move on; get out of my head, or I'll die if this keeps up."
Short, but packed with meaning. And it veered far from the vibe of the earlier lyrics.
The emotions woven into the words shifted quietly, and the melody flowing in his mind naturally followed suit.
Ronan nodded in approval, took the pen, and swapped every "he" for "you." Ollie reread it and couldn't hold back a laugh. "Ronan, now it's a love song! What are you…"
Lyrics inspired by a demon turning into a serenade?
Ronan chuckled. "Why not? Swap the demon for someone you love, and you still feel that deep pain. Sure, the type of pain changes, but expressing it through music lets you convey different emotions. That's what makes it fun."
"Get out of my head… get out of my head…" Ollie muttered the phrase over and over, then shook his head. "I can't picture it turning into a love song." The starting point was just too different.
"Oh, not a sappy one," Ronan said, shaking his head. "It's about playing up the pain with something upbeat—like 'Dancing Alone.'"
"Hmm…" Ronan paused, searching for the right words. Language felt flat compared to the vividness of melody. So he skipped explaining and started humming instead. "Da-da-da-da, da-da… da-da…" He felt out the rhythm, then sang softly:
"Get out of my head… I should look ahead; get out of my head, loving you more will be the death of me."
"Get out of my head… yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah; get out of my head, loving you more will be the death of me." (Note 1)
Light, breezy, effortless—the rhythm practically skipped at his fingertips like a little sprite. The melody smiled, but the clash with the lyrics revealed a sadness and bitterness laced with helpless resignation. Even that short hummed snippet carried a wave of emotion.
"Here, we can layer the arrangement in three parts. First, the main melody—record it with a bass to ground the mood. Use that low tone to build a thick, heavy, bittersweet vibe, with just some simple drum beats to anchor it and set the tone."
"Then the second layer—organ, snare, acoustic guitar. Keep it light, don't overshadow the main melody, but let it bring out a playful, cheeky, self-deprecating feel. That's what lifts the whole track and hits the listener."
"Finally, the third layer—maybe some ethereal synths, or white noise… Hm, that part needs more thought. But I mean, like a dusting of frosting, it'd add depth and boost the song's atmosphere."
Unlike the earlier stalled attempt, this flowed smooth and easy. From a few lines, inspiration poured out endlessly. In a handful of words, Ronan had sketched the melody, chords, and a rough arrangement.
Ollie's mind painted the picture too. What he couldn't imagine moments ago now sprang to life. The spark ignited. "Wait, wait…" He stopped Ronan, grabbed the pen, and dove in, scribbling furiously, the ideas flowing like water.
Note 1: Get Out of My Head (Lewis Turner)