Chapter 18 — Music Without Chorus

After the hearing, Mach Nuoc turned into a sound construction site. There are no agency people, no tight fall schedule, but everyone works longer. An creates a source table for each sound layer, using different colors to distinguish between verified data, artist-created data, and data that requires permission. Vy posted that sign on the wall like a traffic map.

“You're turning the studio into a filing room,” Vy said.

“Records keep the studio from turning into someone else's warehouse.”

Gia Linh wrote three new songs. She doesn't try to sing like Le Chi, but the memory of that voice is still in the way she releases consonants. An does not delete it. She just asked Linh each paragraph if it was her choice.

“I sing like my mother in this part,” Linh said during a recording session.

“You want to keep it?”

"Yes. But I don't want people to use it to call me the next generation."

“So put it where it won't be compared.”

An moved the verse to the transition, not repeating it at the end. Linh withdrew, letting the last sound fade into the sound of strings rubbing. The song no longer has an easy quote, but has its own path.

Nam works with piano, bass and field recordings. He no longer plays loud music to check. Each session begins by asking An: “What is the vibration level today?” Some days she said it was okay, other days she said she could only work two hours. He did not argue.

One afternoon, Nam brought an old notebook he found in the neighborhood's common warehouse. The cover of the book is stained, one corner smells of camphor. Inside is a handwritten copy of the melody of "The Way Back Without Repeating". Nam did not write the whole thing; he only recorded the first three notes and the space, then let Lam add the transitions.

“You keep it all the time?” An asked.

"I don't remember keeping it. Maybe my mother kept it."

“This copy is not enough to prove rights.”

"I know. But it helps understand the structure."

An placed the copy next to the ferry terminal audio data. The first three notes are the same, but Lam's transitions follow the rhythm of the water, not the rhythm of the company's drums. She heard an option: the melody did not return to the chorus, but opened to another layer of sound.

“We could make an album of songs that all change direction,” An said.

Nam nodded. “No one may use repetition to cover up deletions.”

They divided the album into five songs. The first song uses Chinese sounds and strings; The second song uses market language; The third lesson takes the span of the ferry bridge; The fourth song is Linh's voice and the music of a community classroom; The last song holds a long silence, just three notes and a breath. No article uses Le Chi's data without written permission.

Le Chi agreed to use a voice clip in class, not singing. She requested that her and Lam's names appear in production notes, not in promotional photos. An respect.

The transaction on the day Lam died was confirmed by the bank. The amount of money does not prove that it caused the accident, but shows that Duc Minh received the fee from the intermediary company at the time the recording was transferred. Duc Minh sent a request to settle out of court, asking to "close the file for the benefit of the artist". Lam's family refused.

Nam wants to release all documents. Hanh stopped.

"We are not allowed to publish personal financial information of unrelated people. Only give out the necessary parts."

Nam is upset. “They hid it.”

“We don't correct one abuse of power with another.”

An looked at Nam. “She's right.”

Nam sighed, then nodded. He begins to understand that responsibility is not It's not the burning feeling of wanting to expose everything, but knowing which part belongs to you.

The mid-album test took place at Mach Nuoc. Hanh, Tung, Linh and representatives of the Lam family listened to each song. There are no people of the Milky Way. An released the first version. The sound of the train passing by was uneven, the strings responded with a low note. Linh sings without returning to the old verse.

In the second song, the sound of the market is so loud that the listener loses their voice. An reduced the negative class, but Vy objected.

"If it's all taken down, the market will only be a beautiful backdrop."

“But words are swallowed.”

“So let Linh sing closer, not forcing the market to stay quiet.”

Linh recorded it on a day when there were real car sounds and advertising noises. She stood closer to the microphone and spoke clearly. The song becomes almost like a conversation.

Lam's family representative asked: "Why not use Mr. Lam's melody to let listeners know he exists?"

An replied: "Because we do not have the right to reproduce the incomplete part. We will clearly state the legacy in the caption, and reserve revenue according to the agreement. If the family wants, we can ask for permission to use a part after the copyright is confirmed."

The woman nodded. "He hates having others do it for him. I understand."

Nam sat in the back, bowing his head.

At the end of the session, An listened to the last song again. Three notes went down, silence, then the sound of Linh's breathing. She intended to add a layer of string to pull listeners in, but Nam stopped her.

“Don't decorate because you're afraid they'll leave.”

“I'm not afraid.”

“You just turned the wire layer on three times and then turned it off.”

An looked at him. “You start to hear things you don't hear.”

“I learned from you.”

“Don't say it as a thank you.”

“I speak like a data.”

An burst out laughing. “So what data?”

“You make the song more honest when you don't try to save it.”

The words touched her in an unexpected way. An was afraid that one day she would need someone else to save her from silence. Nam did not say she needed saving; he said she didn't need to do that.

That night, Le Chi sent a text message: "I've listened to the first version. Keep space. Listeners can step in themselves."

An passed the news to the whole group. Linh sent a smiley face, Vy sent a photo of a pot of noodles, and Tung sent a legal sheet. Nam didn't send anything, just sat at the piano, played three notes and then stopped.

An placed his hand on the table and felt the vibration. “Don't repeat.”

Nam nodded, moving on to another note. The melody opens.

At that moment, an email from Milky Way arrived: the company announced its withdrawal from the project, but demanded ownership of all recordings created during the contract period, including those that did not use disputed data.

Hanh read, then said: "They want to get new articles."

An looked at Nam. “What clauses are in your testing contract?”

Nam opened the appendix. At the end there is a small line: "All products arising during the term of cooperation belong to the exclusive exploitation rights of the company."

He added a clause to protect An, but forgot to protect himself.

They returned to Bac Lieu after signing a principle agreement. Le Chi welcomed her at the cultural house, without cameras or fans. She is younger than An Tuong, has short hair, wears plastic sandals and holds a wooden ruler to tap the child's rhythm.

“Miss Mai An,” she called. “Is Khai Nam standing outside?”

“He waited for your permission.”

Le Chi nodded. “Let him in.”

Nam walked in and bowed. She didn't hug or blame him right away. She asked him if he brought the memo.

“No. I just brought a report.”

"Good."

They sit at the back of the class. Children practice tapping on the table, some are fast, some are slow. Le Chi did not catch them all to a beat. She just asked each child where he wanted to hear his voice.

An looked at Nam. He took the pen and wrote without interfering.

After class, Le Chi let them listen to an old recording of Lam's. The sound of water and boat engine mixed together, similar to what An recorded but rougher. Lam laughed in the tape and said that if the chorus was missing, the listener would have to create their own way to remember.

“He said so,” Le Chi said. “But he doesn't want others to imitate him.”

“We will not imitate,” An replied.

"I know. Because you asked first."

Nam apologizes. Le Chi listened, then said: "I don't accept the apology to make you feel better. I accept it because you said the right part."

Nam nodded, eyes red.

Le Chi allowed them to use classroom language and a three-note melody, but not the unpublished chorus. She wanted Lam's name to be at the top of the notes, not pushed to the bottom.

“We will follow.”

“And if the mix doesn't work out later?”

“We will ask again.”

“Don't ask when it's released.”

An noted that as a provision.

In the afternoon, Le Chi led them to the canal bank. She pointed to the place where Lam used to place the recorder. Mud clung to the water's edge, the sound of boats running in the distance, and sellers calling to each other across the bridge. An placed the contact microphone on the iron railing.

Nam asked if we should record her voice as well. Le Chi shook her head.

"I've said enough on tape. This album needs living people to say their part."

Linh participated via video call, singing a new verse for Le Chi. She didn't comment on her tone, just asked where she wanted the last sentence to be. Linh spoke in the middle.

“Then leave it there,” Le Chi replied.

After the call, Linh sent the corrected statement. She removed a description of the "legendary voice", replacing it with details about the hospital room and the bus ticket. An prefers.

Nam and An walked along the canal. He said his mother used to like listening to Le Chi, but didn't know Lam's name. "She only remembers who sang it. I never asked who wrote it."

“Now you asked.”

"Late."

“It's late so don't make useless questions.”

Nam stopped next to the bridge. “Have you ever thought that if the accident hadn't happened, what you would have done differently?”

An answered truthfully: "I would work faster, listen more with my ears, and maybe still ignore the vibrations. Don't know."

“I want a solid answer.”

“Sure sentences are usually untested sentences.”

He laughed. “She doesn't give anyone shortcuts.”

“Shortcuts spoil the scene.”

They returned to the cultural house and listened to new tracks. The sound of the classroom does not match the sound of the market, but there is a natural gap when children knock on the table. An lasted that long, letting Linh come in later. Nam does not add chords until she nods.

Le Chi listened to the demo and said: "This is not my song."

An is a bit tense. “You don't like it?”

"I don't need to like it. I heard the names of the people present. That's enough."

The formal agreement was signed at the lawyer's office a week later. Lam's family received the rights, Le Chi received the control rights, Linh and An kept ownership of the new part, Nam kept the mixing part. The Milky Way only distributes.

Tung set up an open revenue reporting system for all parties. Vy suggested including the studio invoice on the information page. Hanh said it is possible, but personal data needs to be hidden.

An updated album metadata. Each track has the name of the writer, performer, audio source and usage restrictions. The "unknown" part is clearly stated and cannot be left blank.

Nam looked at the board. “Does the line ‘no chorus’ need to be written?”

An said: "That's the name, not the omission."