[Chapter 63: Unexpected Incident]
In his previous life, Orlando had heard about the Jewish people's high-sounding shaping of public opinion for themselves.
Smartest nation in the world.
Nation with the most scientists in the world.
If someone had a relatively high IQ or they were good at business or they were good in other aspects, they would be labeled as a Jew.
But the fact was that even by 2025, this so-called smartest nation in the world was still living in a great crisis of genocide.
[T/N: For some reason, OpenAI removed he word Jew while translating the chapter. It outright actually removed above lines of the chapter.]
In America, discriminating against white people is considered politically correct. Apart from rednecks who throw fits, nobody really cares. Discriminating against Black people or other minorities? At best, you're politically incorrect, or worse, socially ruined.
But if you dare to discriminate against Jews, or even try to smear and suppress them, it's not just social ruin awaiting you -- there's a very real chance you could end up physically dead! Shot with eight bullets in the back, crushed by a big rig, a jump from a building, or a helicopter crash -- all options on the menu.
So when it came to the Jews, Orlando felt it was best to keep a respectful distance. He wasn't ready to get too close yet.
But honestly, he knew that trying to stay away from them in the entertainment industry was pretty unrealistic. The whole industry was basically an exclusive enclave for them. In the 1990s, things were still okay. But in another decade or so, it would completely be their territory. He even had some Jewish blood in him, though very little, but that was true.
He wasn't completely against it; it was just that the perks available now at this stage weren't enough to make him cross to their side.
Maybe later.
For now, he was busy recording songs, occasionally stirring up rumors with Shania Twain, spending time with Jennifer Lopez, and often ending his nights at the Four Seasons Hotel with Daisy.
---
June 1990 came to an end. July arrived. July 2nd -- the Fourth of July was just around the corner. After a meeting between the big three executives of the record label, they all agreed that this year, they'd have Shania release two singles first to test the waters. If the response was good, she'd drop a full album next year. That way, they avoided competing directly with Orlando's album release in the second half of the year, saving resources and fighting power.
Manhattan, Orlando Records.
Inside a professional recording studio that took two months and nearly a million dollars to build, Shania was currently recording You've Got a Way.
Frank frowned at the mixing console, his voice calm as he spoke into the talkback microphone, "Shania, in Verse 2, the ending 'I can't believe the way you get through to me' note drifted off. Keep your breath steady! Let's re-record that line."
Inside the booth, Shania Twain took a deep breath, fingers subconsciously tracing the edge of the pop filter, looking toward the control room through the glass. Orlando was flipping through the lyric sheets on the music stand, and noticing her gaze, he glanced up and pressed the talk button: "Relax, I believe in you." Because this was originally her song.
Seymour and Frank were well-known music producers in the industry. Seymour was more of a wild card -- totally unprofessional. He relied purely on instinct and ear for music, able to tell immediately if a singer had star potential. But if you wanted him to actually help record a singer in the studio... well, it wasn't impossible, but definitely not professional.
Frank was the opposite. Having been Michael Jackson's former producer and manager, he brought a level of musical professionalism that satisfied even MJ. Compared to Orlando and Seymour's rough methods, Frank came from a musical family and had grown up with instruments and sheet music.
Frank was trusted by MJ with heavy responsibilities, so naturally, he outclassed Orlando and Seymour in professional skills. That's why both Shania's and Orlando's albums would have Frank's name as producer -- co-producing with Orlando.
In the control room, Frank marked the in-point on the console, triggering a green light. In the studio, Shania closed her eyes, her clear, slightly husky voice flowing smoothly: ♫ I can't believe the way you get through to me... ♫
This time, the ending note held steady with a controlled nasal resonance.
"Good take!" Frank relaxed, quickly replaying the track. "Cut the low-end rumble below 80Hz, add a slight plate reverb for space... Orlando?"
Orlando put on his headphones without anyone noticing. "Cut back on the reverb a bit, not too much. Raise the vocals a little more to highlight the storytelling."
He was the song's "creator." He had a special insight. His technical skills were still developing -- pretty shallow currently -- but he corrected things based on what music theory he knew and visions of Shania's future performance. It wasn't very professional, but he often pinpointed details that pros like Frank couldn't see.
This impressed Frank and Shania even more, making them admire him as the original songwriter.
Shania sang the part again. After listening, Orlando turned to Frank, "What about adding some harmonies here? Shania hits the high notes with her chest voice, and and I'll provide the backing vocals."
In the original version, there were harmonies in that part. Frank's eyes lit up: "Double tracking? Shania, you okay with that?"
Through the microphone, Shania's excited reply came, "Of course! Boss, you wanna do harmonies?"
With the media still reporting them as rumored couple, Shania indulged in her imagination. But with Daisy's return, Orlando hadn't made a move on her yet. Shania usually just called Orlando "Boss" these days.
"Let's try it," Orlando agreed. "If it works, I'll do harmonies. If not, we'll bring in a professional."
Frank thought that as long as Orlando's harmonies weren't too off, they'd use them -- it was great for publicity!
Recording resumed. Shania started You're Still the One, her voice bright and confident: ♫ you get through to me... ♫ With Orlando's low harmony added, her rich chest voice nailed the rhythm perfectly with no pitch issues.
After a while, in the control room, the compressor light flickered with the track's dynamics. Frank smiled subtly. This single was definitely going to sell big.
After finishing the song, all three were satisfied. Their mood was good, but it didn't last long.
---
Seymour, looking serious, waited outside the hallway. When the three came out, he immediately approached.
The general manager of Orlando Records said, "Let's go. We have to head to Warner now."
It was nearly noon. Orlando had been planning to invite everyone -- Seymour, Frank, and Shania -- to grab lunch, but now he couldn't help but ask, "What's going on? Did Warner call a meeting?"
Seymour didn't answer, instead shoving a stack of newspapers into Orlando's hands.
"The New York Post? Seymour, you know how I feel about that paper. Let me see... oh, fuck!"
Telepathic intuition mixed with the newspaper's headline quickly darkened Orlando's expression. The front-page headline of today's New York Post boldly declared--
"Dirty Secrets of the Genius Singer! Anonymous Witness Reveals Orlando's Years of Gang Theft Scandal."
*****
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