Chapter 74: The Glass Bridge
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Michael woke up with a groan. When he tried to move his legs to get out of bed, his quadriceps contracted in a spasm of protest. The leg workout with Amy the day before hadn't been a joke; it had been a controlled demolition.
He walked to the kitchen like a rusty robot, with stiff legs and short steps. He made coffee, leaning on the counter to take the weight off his knees.
"Damn it, Amy," he muttered, although there was a smile on his face. The pain was proof that he was doing something real, something that didn't depend on an algorithm or a secret investment.
He took his coffee to the studio. He sat in his Herman Miller chair with a sigh of relief. He looked at the calendar. Wednesday the 13th.
Only two days left until the show at The Echo. Three days until Create.
He reviewed the setlist he had printed and taped to the wall.
'Star Shopping' 'Ghost Girl' ... 'Sodium' 'Paris'
There was a hole. A missing bridge.
He knew he couldn't jump directly from the acoustic sadness of 'Ghost Girl' to the narcotic haze of 'Sodium' without losing energy. He needed something that raised the tempo, but kept the melancholy. He needed a song that made the sad kids nod their heads and the hype kids feel something.
He opened the "WEAPONS" folder on his desktop.
There it was. beamer_boy_final_master.mp3.
He had recorded it more than a week ago, when his voice was coming back from being hoarse. He had saved it for this exact moment.
It was the perfect song. The Modest Mouse guitar sample gave it indie cred. The trap beat gave it energy. And the lyrics... the lyrics were pure aspiration.
He didn't wait for Karl. He didn't wait for a complex "marketing strategy". The strategy was the Friday show. He needed people to learn the lyrics in 48 hours.
He logged into his digital distributor. Uploaded the file.
He uploaded it to all platforms: Spotify, Apple Music, SoundCloud.
For the cover, he didn't use a studio photo. The night before, upon arriving from the gym, he had taken a photo with his phone of his own car.
It was his gray Toyota Corolla, parked alone on the dirt road, barely illuminated by the porch light. But Michael had edited it. He had turned it black and white, increased the grain and contrast.
Suddenly, the old Japanese sedan didn't look like a cheap car. It looked like a symbol of loneliness and aspiration. It looked like the car of a kid dreaming of something bigger.
He opened Twitter. His followers were active, discussing what songs he would play at the shows. Michael wrote the tweet. It was honest. It was direct.
"I don't have a Z3 yet. But I will. 'BEAMER BOY'. (Link)"
He pressed "Send".
He leaned back in the chair, carefully stretching his legs. The bridge was built. Now all that remained was to see if people would cross it.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016 (Afternoon)
Michael stayed in his studio, with a makeshift ice pack (frozen peas wrapped in a towel) on his knees. The physical pain was constant, but his attention was fixed on the screen.
Thirty minutes had passed since he uploaded 'Beamer Boy'.
The initial reaction was as expected: the hardcore fans of 'Ghost Girl' and 'Star Shopping' were happy to have another guitar song. The 'White Iverson' fans were nodding their heads to the trap beat.
But then, what Michael expected happened. The "detectives" arrived.
In the most obsessive corners of the internet —subreddits like r/hiphopheads, r/indie, and the KTT (KanyeToThe) message boards— a different murmur began.
Michael opened a thread on Reddit that had just been created: "[FRESH] Michael Demiurge - 'Beamer Boy'".
The first comment, from a user named SadIndieKid, read:
"Wait a fucking second. That guitar? Is that what I think it is?"
Three minutes later, another user replied:
"Yes. It is. It's 'Broke' by Modest Mouse. You gotta be kidding me."
The confirmation lit the fuse.
Modest Mouse wasn't a rap artist. They were indie rock legends of the 90s and 2000s. A cult band for sad, cynical, and alternative people. Sampling one of their darkest songs ("Broke") on a modern trap beat was a bold statement of intent.
Michael watched the conversation shift from "is the song good?" to "who the hell is this kid and why does he have such good taste?".
Comments started coming from a different demographic.
"Never thought I'd hear Modest Mouse and 808s on the same track. And it works."
"Okay, I take it back. This guy isn't a generic SoundCloud rapper. He knows his references."
"Michael is the bridge between 2000s emo and 2015 rap. This song proves it."
Michael smiled. It was exactly the validation he needed for the Friday show at The Echo.
The Echo was a hipster venue. If he had arrived with just trap beats, they would have looked at him with suspicion. But now, with 'Beamer Boy' circulating, he had indie credibility.
He had proven he spoke their language.
Harris sent him a text message: "My contact in NY says the Modest Mouse guys are surprised, but they like it. The check helped, but they say the song has 'soul'. Good job."
Michael closed the Reddit tab.
He had won the respect of the purists. He had connected the dots between rock and rap.
The "Glass Bridge" was holding the weight.
Now, it remained to be seen if the dreamers, the kids who wanted the Z3, would also cross it.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016 (Night)
While the music forums debated the Modest Mouse sample, the song began to filter into the real world. But not in the clubs, nor at loud parties.
'Beamer Boy' found its home on the road.
In a suburb of Denver, a kid named Tyler, 17, was finishing his shift as a pizza delivery driver. He drove a 2001 Honda Civic with the bumper taped on. He hated his job. He hated his car. He hated feeling like he was going nowhere.
He saw Michael's tweet. He plugged his phone into the car stereo.
The grunge-trap beat filled the small cabin.
Tyler listened to the spoken intro.
'Man, I don't know what the fuck goin' on lately, bro...'
'Everybody actin' real different and shit...'
'Ain't nobody, nobody was talkin' to me, like, a few months ago...'
Tyler nodded. He felt that confusion. The feeling that people changed, that school friends became fake. The honesty in Michael's voice, that genuine perplexity in the face of fame, connected with him.
And then, the chorus.
'Baby, I'm a Beamer boy, I need a Beamer, boy...'
'I want a Z3, that's a two-seater, boy...'
Tyler hit the steering wheel. He screamed the lyrics along with Michael.
"I want a Z3!"
It wasn't a Ferrari. It wasn't a Bugatti. It was a BMW Z3. It was an attainable dream. It was the car a normal kid could buy if he saved enough. Michael wasn't selling an impossible fantasy; he was selling the next step.
Tyler looked at his Honda Civic. For three minutes, he didn't feel like a pizza delivery driver. He felt like a potential Beamer Boy.
In a room in Miami, Vanessa, a girl who had followed Michael since 'Star Shopping', listened to the song while studying. She expected sad songs about girls breaking his heart.
But then she heard the first verse.
'I love a girl that don't even fuckin' need a boy...'
Vanessa stopped writing. Rewound.
"I love a girl that don't even fuckin' need a boy."
She smiled. Most rappers talked about women as objects, as possessions, or as traitors. Michael was singing about admiring an independent girl. A girl who didn't need him.
It was a statement of respect.
"Okay," she thought, adding the song to her favorites list. "This guy is different."
As the night went on, a trend began to emerge on Snapchat and Instagram.
Boys and girls from all over the country started uploading videos. Almost all were the same: a car dashboard lit up at night, the empty road passing by fast, and 'Beamer Boy' playing in the background.
The lyric 'Okay, I pull my cash out, shawty pass out' became the background sound for videos of people counting their tips for the night or showing their first paycheck.
The audience's verdict was unanimous.
It wasn't a club "banger" to jump to like 'Look At Me!'. It wasn't a ballad to cry in bed to like 'Star Shopping'.
It was a "vibe" song.
It was music for driving. For smoking with the window down. For daydreaming.
Michael had created the perfect transition anthem. He had captured the exact feeling of being "on the way" to something better, but still trapped in the present.
The "Glass Bridge" wasn't just holding. It was full of traffic.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Michael woke up Thursday morning. His body still felt stiff, a constant reminder that his physical transformation was a slow process, but his mind was racing.
It was the day before the start of the mini-tour.
He went straight to his studio with his morning coffee. He opened his laptop to see the status of his latest bet.
'Beamer Boy' was working exactly as he had planned.
It didn't have the nuclear explosion of 'Look At Me!', nor the devastating emotional depth of 'Life Is Beautiful'. It had something else: consistency.
The song was rising rapidly on "Mood" and "Chill Rap" playlists. It had comfortably placed itself between 'Betrayed' and 'Ghost Girl' in terms of daily popularity.
The comments confirmed his "bridge" theory:
"Came for 'Look At Me!', stayed for this." "Sounds like Nirvana with 808s." "This song makes my Honda Civic feel like a BMW."
Michael smiled. He had connected the dots. He had managed to get the kids who wanted to scream and the kids who wanted to cry to meet in the same car.
He turned to the wall of his studio, where he had taped two sheets of paper. They were the definitive setlists for the weekend.
He looked at them with a critical eye. Before, he felt something was missing. Now, with 'Beamer Boy' in the mix, the sets felt complete. Armored.
List 1: The Echo (Friday - Indie/Hipster Audience)
'Ghost Boy' (Intro)
'Star Shopping'
'Beamer Boy' (The perfect bridge: rock guitar for the indies, trap for the moderns).
'Life Is Beautiful'
'Sodium'
'Drugs You Should Try It'
'White Iverson'
List 2: Create Nightclub (Saturday - Party/Club Audience)
'Look At Me!' (Wake the dead).
'Boss'
'Beamer Boy' (To lower the intensity a bit without losing the rhythm).
'Betrayed'
'Paris' (The mosh pit).
'White Iverson'
He had all the bases covered. He had the sadness ('Star Shopping', 'Ghost Girl'). He had the aggression ('Look At Me!', 'Paris', 'Boss'). He had the pop ('White Iverson', 'Betrayed'). And now he had the transition anthem ('Beamer Boy').
His arsenal was complete. It didn't matter who was in the audience; he had a bullet for each of them.
He closed the laptop with a soft thud.
His body ached from the gym, but he felt stronger than ever. Tomorrow night, at The Echo, the hipsters of Los Angeles were going to meet the Z3 Boy. And on Saturday, Hollywood would meet the Boss.
He got up, turned off the studio lights, and left. He had to rest. The weekend was going to be a war, and he had all the ammunition.
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