Chapter Ninety-Two: A Dialogue Between Master and Disciple

The vocal studio Canary, located in Shinsen Town, accepted not only working adults but also offered classes tailored specifically for people in the entertainment industry. Naturally, those specialized lessons came with a far steeper price.

Having just finished her lesson and stepped out of the studio, Kawamoto Kazuyo ran into Yukki Kamimura waiting outside.

“Mr. Kamimura?”

“Mr. Akiyoshi asked me to wait for you. He has something to tell you next.”

“What is it?” Kawamoto Kazuyo asked with interest, though a trace of apprehension showed on her face.

Yukki Kamimura gave a gentle smile. “In any case, it’s good news.”

At a Genghis Khan barbecue restaurant in Shimokitazawa, Akiyoshi told Kawamoto Kazuyo that Sony had agreed to sign her. “We’ll need you to speak in person later about the exact contract terms, but broadly speaking it’s a standard newcomer recording contract. As for the term, it should be five years as well. That time frame is all right, yes?”

“...Of course it is!” Kawamoto Kazuyo said, thrilled, before asking carefully, “Mr. Akiyoshi, Sony Records is really going to sign me?”

“Would I be bored enough to lie to you about something like that?”

“Fair enough.” Kawamoto Kazuyo nodded. Once she was sure the signing was a settled fact, excitement surged through her again. “If I join Sony, will I be able to meet Dream Come True and Judy and Mary?”

“Possibly. You’ll most likely be signed under the same label as them.”

“That’s so exciting!” Her eyes shone with longing.

“Oh, right,” Akiyoshi asked casually, “now that you’re signing with a record company, have you decided whether you’ll debut under your real name or a stage name?”

“I’ve already decided!” Kawamoto Kazuyo said. “I thought about it for a long time, and asked my friends and family for their opinions too. In the end, I decided to debut under a stage name.”

“What stage name?”

“Kawamoto Makoto!”

...

On the first Wednesday in May, Akiyoshi took Kawamoto Kazuyo to the Sony building, where she completed the signing of her recording contract. Sony had prepared a basic five-year rookie contract for her, and even arranged for a professional lawyer to explain the contents clause by clause. Supposedly, that was standard procedure whenever they signed a newcomer.

Kawamoto Kazuyo, having already been tipped off by Akiyoshi, had prepared thoroughly for this. She hesitated very little before signing and stamping the contract, officially becoming a singer under Sony.

For Kawamoto Kazuyo’s debut single, the title track had already been decided: “Love’s Talent.” As for the B-side, they chose one of Kawamoto Kazuyo’s own original songs. Although Akiyoshi’s provided composition would serve as the lead track, her position was still that of a songwriter-singer. According to Akiyoshi’s plan, he would only provide songs for her first few singles and albums; once her popularity had stabilized and her personal style taken shape, he would gradually shift her into a fully self-writing artist.

“The official debut date is set for around October. Until then, please continue your music training while preparing to record the single, Ms. Kawamoto. Mr. Akiyoshi, I’ll be counting on you to take good care of Ms. Kawamoto’s production,” said Tadao Okazaki.

“Please rest assured, Mr. Okazaki,” Akiyoshi replied.

...

After leaving the Sony building, Akiyoshi joked, “Ms. Kawamoto, from today on you won’t need to report to the Shinsen studio anymore.”

“Yes.” Kawamoto Kazuyo seemed still a little dazed, and answered softly. After a while, a smile slowly bloomed on her face. “How should I put it? It feels like I’ve taken the most important step of my life. Mr. Akiyoshi, even though I studied at music university and dreamed of becoming a professional musician, before this I often thought that maybe, before long, I’d return to Fukui. Even if I stayed in Tokyo, I’d probably just end up as a music teacher or something.”

Saying this, she looked at him with gratitude. “All of this is thanks to you, Mr. Akiyoshi.”

“You had the talent for it. Even without me, once the right opportunity came along, you would have seized it immediately. So I didn’t really do much. At most, maybe zero point one.” Akiyoshi smiled. “It’s just that my road is a little wider than yours, so even if opportunities don’t come, I can go looking for them.”

Kawamoto Kazuyo was about to say more, but Akiyoshi cut her off first. “Whether it’s me or Sony, we both have very high hopes for you, so work hard, Ms. Kawamoto. If you truly want to thank me, then make a name for yourself.”

...

Freshly grilled skewers glistened with an enticing sheen, and beneath the plate lay a bed of tender cabbage. Just as Tetsuro Oda reached for the liquor bottle on the table, Akiyoshi snatched it first, filled Oda’s cup to the brim, and only then poured some for himself.

“So, Ms. Kawamoto signed with Sony?” Tetsuro Oda asked after sipping his shochu.

“Yes.” Akiyoshi lowered his head, using his chopsticks to strip the chicken from the bamboo skewer. “The contract term is five years, and she signed with Epic. Her debut is set for around October.”

A label, simply put, can be understood as a subsidiary under a record company, and its main purpose is to place singers with similar styles under the same banner for easier planning and management. When singers release records, the label handles the planning and production; afterward, the record company uses its own resources and channels to distribute, promote, and market the release.

As one of the world’s three major record companies, alongside Universal and Warner, Sony naturally had a great many labels under its wing, and Epic was one of the most famous among them. Epic had originally been a subsidiary established by Columbia Records in the United States in 1953, and when Columbia was acquired by Sony in 1991, Epic was transferred over as well.

By the way, although Akiyoshi was broadly said to belong to Being, Being itself was actually a record production company, so his recording contract was placed under Being’s B-Gram Records. That was also why he always seemed to run into Izumi Sakai in the studio: he was, in the truest sense, a junior at her direct subsidiary company.

“Epic, huh.” Tetsuro Oda said with a hint of regret. “I’d hoped she might end up at Avex instead.”

“That was Ms. Kawamoto’s own wish, and I think it’s perfectly fine.” Akiyoshi drained his cup in one gulp, picked up the sake bottle again, first refilling Oda’s cup and then his own.

“You really can drink.” Tetsuro Oda shook his head, somewhat helplessly. “Still, if that’s the case, then from now on she and Misaki will be rivals.”

“Even if they were both at Avex, wouldn’t they still be rivals?” Akiyoshi smiled. “Besides, if Ms. Kawamoto and Ms. Misaki can remain rivals all the way through, that’s a good thing.”

At the very least, if they could continue competing with one another, it would prove that both still carried real weight in the music world. Tetsuro Oda completed the thought Akiyoshi had left unspoken, then laughed as if something in him had finally eased. “True enough.”

“Speaking of which, in the era I’ve lived through, the music world has never been as open as it is now. All kinds of styles can succeed commercially,” Oda said. “Though putting music and commerce in the same breath sounds a little vulgar, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. In the end, the commercialization of music is a natural process. If even music has to be sorted into noble and ignoble classes, that would be ridiculous.”

The only waiter in the little shop brought over a platter of sashimi, and Oda’s words paused. He resumed only after the waiter had gone. “The music world’s openness will only keep growing, and there will be more and more singers with distinctive personalities, so I’ve never worried about whether Misaki or Ms. Kawamoto can become popular.”

“Still,” Akiyoshi said, picking up a sweet shrimp, “when that personality grows stronger and stronger, a singer’s selling point won’t be only the music itself anymore. The audience’s expectations of singers will gradually expand beyond the music to other aspects too, and the traditional music market will be shaken by that.”

At that, the two men exchanged a glance, both seeing the unspoken words in the other’s eyes: Being is in danger. That conclusion left them both silent.

Leaving aside Akiyoshi, a man within Being who continually defied the company’s business philosophy and chased after anything but the proper line of work, even Tetsuro Oda, a veteran of the company, had long since begun to feel like leaving. No matter how solid a partnership might be, spending more than a decade tied tightly to the same ship was bound to grow tiresome.

Nobuyuki Nagato’s near-dictatorial authority within Being had only made the differences between the two men’s musical visions more and more apparent as the company developed. Now, with the appearance of Nanase Aikawa, Oda had found a path entirely different from the one Being offered him, and his final attachment to the company had already faded.

In truth, though Oda was still physically at Being, he had long since stopped supplying it with new songs; all the songs Being used from him now were old stock.

Oda lit a cigarette, and when Akiyoshi saw this, he gently slid the ashtray on the table toward him. After taking several deep drags, Oda let out a sigh. “The age has never developed this fast before, so the giant wave it sets in motion will also be unprecedented in force. Under such a powerful impact, no one can guarantee they’ll be the one to stay standing. So before that wave knocks us flat, maybe we should just keep doing as we please.”

“True enough.” Akiyoshi smiled, reached for the bottle, gave it a shake, and found it empty. He waved to the waiter. “Excuse me, sir, could we have another bottle?”