Chapter 53: The Two-Front Strategy
Mid-December 2015
Michael was in his professional studio. It was night. A whole week had passed since he bought his new roulette, but he hadn't started working yet.
He had been in a state of analysis paralysis.
The twelve new song guides floated in the System interface in front of him. 'Look At Me!'. 'XO TOUR Llif3'. 'Lucid Dreams'. 'Gucci Gang'. 'Jocelyn Flores'.
It was an arsenal. But it was a complicated arsenal, full of weapons he didn't know how to use... yet.
He sat down with a notebook and his laptop, in "CEO mode". He wasn't deciding which song he liked best; he was classifying them by logistics and legal issues.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, writing in the notebook. "Problem list."
His first thought was the most obvious: the samples.
'Look At Me!', he wrote. "Samples 'Changes' by Mala. It's a grime/dubstep artist. A niche. Probably not that expensive. Easy."
'Beamer Boy'. "Samples 'Broke' by Modest Mouse. An indie rock band. Harder. More expensive. They'll consider themselves 'real artists'."
'Jocelyn Flores' and 'Hope'. "Sample Shiloh Dynasty. Who the hell is Shiloh Dynasty?" He opened Google. Saw the old Vine videos. A ghost artist. "This is going to be a legal nightmare. We have to find them first."
And then, the atomic bomb.
'Lucid Dreams'. "Samples 'Shape of My Heart' by Sting."
Michael let out a bitter laugh. 'Sting. Great. That's going to cost a fortune. A fortune I don't have.'
He created two clear lists in his notebook.
The "PROBLEM" List (Samples / Legally difficult):
'Lucid Dreams' (Sting) - Legal nightmare. The most expensive.
'Jocelyn Flores' (Shiloh) - Difficult. Need to find him.
'Hope' (Shiloh) - Same problem.
'Beamer Boy' (Modest Mouse) - Difficult, but doable.
'Look At Me!' (Mala) - Easy. Probably.
The "GO" List (Pure Production / No Samples):
'Gucci Gang'
'Boss'
'XO TOUR Llif3'
'Betrayed'
'Save That Shit'
'I'm Gonna Be'
'Diamonds' (The Rihanna anomaly)
He leaned back in the chair, looking at the two lists. The path forward was obvious.
He had to put his lawyers to work on the "PROBLEM" List now, a process that could take months or even a year. And while they fought that legal battle, he would start producing and releasing the "GO" List.
It was a two-front strategy. And the first step was to make a phone call he hated making.
Michael stared at his "Problem List". 'Lucid Dreams (Sting)'. It was the song he wanted to do most. And the most impossible.
He knew he couldn't just steal it. The era of obscure YouTube samples was over. He was entering the big leagues.
He took a deep breath and picked up his phone. He dialed Harris's number. It was a call he had been putting off.
Harris answered on the second ring, his voice was smooth and professional, the sound of a man who now ran his own firm funded by a secret client.
"Michael. What a surprise. Everything good with the 'bonds'?"
Michael could hear the slight mockery in Harris's voice. Harris still thought he was a kid playing investor.
"The bonds are fine, Harris," said Michael, his voice calm, all business. "But I'm not calling you about that. We need to talk about 'Gray Matter, LLC'. The music side of the company."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Michael heard the sound of Harris leaning back in his leather chair.
"I'm listening," said Harris, his tone now cautious.
"You see, I'm an emerging artist. A singer. A producer," Michael explained. "I have a couple of songs on SoundCloud with millions of plays."
Total silence. Michael waited. He could imagine Harris, frowning, opening a browser on his computer.
He heard the rapid click-click-click of a keyboard.
"Michael Demiurge," muttered Harris, reading aloud. "My God. 'White Iverson', 20 million views. 'crybaby', 15 million. This... is you?"
"Yes," said Michael. "And that's the problem. I want to make a song with a sample. A big one. And I need it to be legal."
Harris was still processing the shock. The kid who had fooled the court with an offshore tax scheme... was also a secret rap star. This kid was a gold mine.
"Okay," said Harris, his voice now 100% professional. "Okay, kid. You have my attention. What sample are we talking about?"
Michael dropped the bomb.
"'Shape of My Heart'. By Sting."
Harris let out a short, dry laugh, like a cough. "What?! Sting?! Michael, are you crazy?! Forget it! It's impossible."
"It's not," said Michael.
"Yes, it is!" retorted Harris. "It's Sting! He's a music god. Those legends never approve samples for unknown rappers. And if they do, they ask for one hundred percent of the royalties. They'll fleece you alive!"
"I'm not an unknown rapper, Harris. I have millions of views on the last song. And I don't care about the money. Get me the sample."
There was another pause. Michael could hear Harris breathing.
"Look, kid," Harris said finally, his tone frustrated. "I'd love to help you. Truly. But I don't specialize in copyright or music."
"I do real estate and corporate law," he continued. "I made your investment company. I managed your trust. That's my thing. The music industry... is a completely different world. I don't even know where to start. I don't have Universal Music's number in my contacts."
Michael felt a pang of panic. 'Shit. A dead end.'
Michael's panic faded, replaced by cold logic. The fact that Harris wasn't a music industry lawyer wasn't a dead end. It was an opportunity. It meant Harris had no allegiances in that industry.
"Okay, Harris. You're not a music lawyer. I get it," said Michael, his tone calm, that of a CEO, not a child. "Then, I need you to find one."
Harris stayed quiet, surprised by the directive. "Michael, it's not that simple..."
"Of course it is," Michael cut him off. "I'm paying you a management fee. Manage me. I need two things. First, my current catalog. 'Ghost Boy', 'Star Shopping', 'Sodium', 'crybaby'... all of them. They aren't registered. They are on SoundCloud racking up millions of views, but legally I don't hold the copyright. Anyone could steal them."
"I need you to find a music lawyer, the best shark in New York or Los Angeles, and register all my music under 'Gray Matter, LLC'. And I need that person to set up royalty collection. If a DJ uses my song in a club, if YouTube monetizes it, I want us to get paid."
Harris was impressed. The kid wasn't just a viral artist; he was thinking about intellectual property and passive income streams.
"Okay..." said Harris slowly, his corporate lawyer mind understanding the logic. "That's... smart. Registering your IP. I can do that. I'll call a friend of mine who is good at that, an intellectual property specialist."
"Good," said Michael. "Because that same person is going to have a second task. The big one. Clearing my samples."
"Michael..." Harris started to protest, "like I told you... Sting. That will cost a fortune. I don't know if the judge will approve such a large expense from the funds..."
"We won't use the funds," Michael cut him off. "The $350,000 is untouched. That is the principal capital. It's 'buying bonds', remember?"
Michael opened the analytics of his YouTube channel on his laptop as he spoke.
"My music is already generating ad revenue. It's a few thousand dollars a month, but it's growing. I'll use the money I've earned with my music to pay for the advances. Or I'll pay it from my $50k 'Freedom Fund'. We won't touch the investment money."
Harris felt immense relief. The principal capital was safe. "Okay, that's... reasonable. But kid, the royalties. My friend says an artist like Sting will ask for 85% or even 90%. You'll barely make money on the song."
"No," said Michael, his voice steel. "Unacceptable. That's where your shark comes in. Tell him this is the negotiation: my goal is for the royalties to be as low as possible, between 15 and 30% for them. No more."
Harris laughed. "Thirty percent? For Sting? Are you crazy?"
"Tell him I'm the next big thing," said Michael, with total confidence. "Tell him this song is going to be a global hit. That 30% of a 1 million dollar hit is much more than 90% of a song that never gets released. Tell him to negotiate hard."
There was a long silence. Harris was amazed by the kid's audacity.
"And tell him to start with Sting," added Michael, "and with 'Broke' by Modest Mouse. And put a private investigator to find a ghost artist named 'Shiloh Dynasty'. I'm going to need the rights to everything."
Harris let out a sigh. He wasn't talking to a child anymore. He was talking to his boss.
"Fuck, kid. Okay. A thousand dollars an hour. I'll start making calls."
Michael hung up. The first obstacle was in motion. The legal battle for his samples had begun.
He stared at the wall of his studio, the silence broken only by the hum of his MacBook Pro. He knew he had just set in motion an incredibly slow and expensive legal machine.
"Clearing" the Sting sample for 'Lucid Dreams' wasn't a one-week task. He knew the legal process would take months. Months of negotiations, of emails, of lawyer fees.
He couldn't wait.
His career was based on momentum. He had just released ten songs in quick succession, culminating in the explosion of 'Drugs You Should Try It'. He was at the peak of the hype. If he disappeared for six months while waiting for a lawyer in New York to convince Sting, he would be dead. The SoundCloud algorithm would forget him. His fans would move on.
He had to maintain the hype. He had to keep publishing.
That was his plan.
He had just activated the "Sample Battle" in the background, a long-term legal war. Now, he had to fight the short-term battle.
And he realized something. "SoundCloud". The word itself sounded... small. Amateur.
His songs now had professional production. He was using a Neumann and an Apollo. And he was still uploading his music to the same platform as kids recording with their phone mics.
He realized that he had outgrown "SoundCloud". The "SoundCloud Era" was over.
It was time to be professional.
Michael called Harris back.
"Harris," he said as soon as the lawyer answered.
"Michael," replied Harris, his voice sounding tired. "I'm already drafting the email for my contact in New York. What now?"
"I need something else," said Michael. "Tell your new music lawyer friend that, besides the samples, I want him to upload my entire existing catalog to the real platforms."
There was a pause. "Real platforms?"
"Spotify. Apple Music. I want to stop publishing on SoundCloud," said Michael. "SoundCloud was the testing ground. Now it's time to play in the real league."
Harris fell silent, processing the speed at which this kid was moving.
"Okay. Uploading to Spotify and Apple Music. That's called 'distribution'. Your lawyer friend can handle it, or we can use a service like TuneCore or DistroKid. It's easy."
"Good. Do it," said Michael. "I want 'Ghost Boy', 'Star Shopping', 'crybaby', 'White Iverson'... everything. I want them everywhere. It's time to be professional."
He hung up. The new plan was in motion. His old songs would soon be on the big platforms, generating real royalties.
And now, he had work to do.
He looked at his "GO List".
The songs that were pure production, without legal issues.
'Gucci Gang'. 'Boss'. 'XO TOUR Llif3'. 'Betrayed'. 'Save That Shit'. 'I'm Gonna Be'.
He knew he couldn't start with 'XO TOUR Llif3'. It was too big, too emotional. He needed to build the hype first. He needed a slap in the face, something that would shock the system.
He looked at his "Problem List" again. There was one song that wasn't that problematic.
'Look At Me!' (Sample: "Changes" by Mala).
It was a sample, yes, but it was different. It was from a relatively unknown dubstep producer, not a 17-time Grammy-winning rock legend. Harris (or his new lawyer friend) could clear that sample for a few thousand dollars in a week. It was low risk.
And the song... was perfect.
The public had just heard 'Drugs You Should Try It', a masterpiece of atmospheric production. They were expecting his next artistic move.
Michael smiled. His next move wouldn't be artistic.
It would be a slap in the face.
He wanted the contrast to be as jarring as possible. He wanted the critics who had just called him a "production genius" to be left open-mouthed and confused.
He closed the System interface. His plan was drawn.
He opened a new project in Ableton. The blank cursor blinked.
He typed the name: look_at_me_v1.