165-167

Chapter 165: The Price Difference 

“A song—that’s where it all starts. Everything begins from there.”  

That was Jeremiah’s take. Back when Radiance Band recorded “Roar, Hey,” they’d faced the same situation. Money was tight, barely enough to scrape by, but they still had to finish the recording. That grit was what led to their big break later on.  

Jeremiah’s nudge jogged Ronan’s memory. The band did have a plan like that once. The cash Trastan had swiped was supposed to fund their next studio session.  

Of course, back when Trastan first took over managing the band, they’d already cut an album—small batch, just 300 copies, the minimum for production. They’d printed them to spread the word, handing them out wherever they could.  

That stolen money? It was meant for a fresh set of tracks, a whole new album.  

Trastan had a plan too, apparently—just one that didn’t include the band.  

Realizing that, Ronan let out a quiet, wistful sigh.  

After drifting off-topic for a moment, Jeremiah steered things back. “If you’re ready to hit the studio, Philly’s a solid choice.”  

“Huh?” Ronan blinked, caught off guard.  

Jeremiah wasn’t bringing up Philadelphia because it was close to D.C. No, it tied into the good news Ronan had just shared: One Day Kings would keep opening for Bruno’s final two tour stops!  

As of Sunday, Phiz Tantrum was still stuck in Brazil, but things were under control. They’d secured return tickets and, barring any hiccups, would land in New York by Wednesday. With a tight push, they could make Philly’s show, and Boston would be no issue at all.  

Still, Philly’s rehearsal window was razor-thin—just Thursday to prep. Plus, Phiz Tantrum’s exhaustion from two weeks of travel chaos couldn’t be ignored. It’d been a rough ride for them.  

Meanwhile, One Day Kings had crushed it. Their live performances and the buzz afterward earned them cheers and applause. Bruno himself was a huge fan, showering them with praise without holding back.  

After weighing it all—and getting a green light from Phiz Tantrum’s crew—Bruno decided at last night’s party to let One Day Kings handle the opening slots for the last three shows. That meant four more gigs: Philly, then Boston.  

That’s why Jeremiah mentioned Philly.  

But Ronan hadn’t connected the dots. “I figured we’d head to New York…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure, worried he’d sound like a clueless newbie. He knew Philly was one of America’s oldest cities, home to the Declaration of Independence, but its music scene? That was news to him.  

Then again, he was an outsider. His knowledge might be spotty.  

Jeremiah chuckled. “Sure, New York’s got the best studios in the world—quantity and quality that probably edge out L.A. It’s a dream spot for musicians, at least the ones who can’t afford their own setup. With a fat enough checkbook, you could build a top-tier studio on the moon.”  

“Haha, now that’s the ultimate dream,” Ronan laughed, loud and free.  

Jeremiah joined in with a light laugh. “But New York? You know how it is. A coffee costs one price in Jersey, but cross the Hudson and it’s four times as much. I don’t even dare order a salad there anymore.”  

His blunt griping sent Ronan into another fit of laughter, loud enough to stir the room’s quiet. He caught the sound of Ollie shifting in his sleep and quickly hushed himself, though the giggles still rumbled in his throat.  

“Studios are the same deal. Three hundred bucks an hour gets you a decent, average spot in New York. In Philly, though? Same money rents you a setup twice as good—or double the time in a place just as solid.”  

“Ronan, it’s two different worlds. Two!” Jeremiah repeated for emphasis. “Back in the day, we went from Jersey to New York, then Denver, for that exact reason. New York’s great, but it’s out of our league. Philly feels right for you guys.”  

Ronan thought back to Radiance Band’s journey. The two bands definitely shared some common ground. “Got it. I’ll talk it over with the team.”  

Before he could even ask, Jeremiah jumped in. “I’ll check with my manager, have him put together a list of solid studios, and email it to you.”  

“Thanks,” Ronan said, genuinely grateful.  

“Ha! Don’t forget me when you hit it big overnight. Maybe throw us a bone—like letting us open for you or something,” Jeremiah quipped, his humor sparking another laugh from Ronan. The call ended on that easy, cheerful note.  

Curled up on the couch, Ronan let his mind go blank for a bit, watching the sunlight creep across the balcony, claiming more space inch by inch. He kept scooting back until there was nowhere left to go. Then the light washed over his toes, his feet, his ankles—like sitting on a beach, watching the tide roll in.  

When it reached his calves, he finally hopped off the couch, tiptoeing across the warm floor back to the room.  

Ollie was still out cold. If not for the steady, heavy breathing, Ronan might’ve wondered if he’d slipped into a coma.  

Quietly settling at his own spot, Ronan flipped open his laptop and started digging into Philly. That’s when he realized how little he knew.  

Philadelphia wasn’t just North America’s oldest city—it was a “music capital” too. Its classical scene was world-class. The Philadelphia Orchestra, founded in 1900, was one of America’s top five and among the world’s ten best modern orchestras.  

Beyond classical, Philly had a musical soul as rich and deep as New Orleans’.  

Chapter 166: A Tough Choice 

From the world’s capital, New York, to the U.S. capital, Washington, from the culturally and economically unique Boston to the vacation haven and retirement hub of Miami, the East Coast of North America boasts a lineup of iconic, vibrant cities. Sandwiched between them, Philadelphia often feels like it pales in comparison. 

Once, this city was globally famous for the “Rocky” miracle. Once, it drew countless eyes with the rise of the Philadelphia 76ers. But time marches on, and Philly’s age and weathered charm have slowly faded into the wind and rain, its former glory a distant memory. 

Few people realize that, beyond the Philadelphia Orchestra, this is still a music city—golden notes still flow through its veins. 

Rhythm and blues and soul music remain Philly’s pride. Countless up-and-coming artists have emerged from its cultural soil, including the legendary John Legend. Underground indie rock thrives here too, the most active scene on the East Coast. It might not hit mainstream radar, but every year, droves of rock fans flock to catch performances by underground bands. 

It’s hard to imagine that America’s oldest city walks so far ahead on the music frontier. 

Fourth Street’s electronic dance music has spawned a whole new industry, with weekly EDM parties and a fresh sound built on drums and bass. As one of the birthplaces of hardcore rap, Philly might’ve lost some shine to New York, but it’s still a key East Coast cradle for the genre, churning out new rappers every year who snag mainstream attention. 

Clearly, this is a city steeped in music. 

But just as clear is the stubborn pride of Philly’s musicians. They resist the mainstream, fiercely guarding their own patch of earth. The independent artists thriving in the underground scene are what make this place unique. 

Aside from John Legend, who studied at Penn, the most famous Philly natives known to the mainstream might be Boyz II Men, the ‘90s sensation, and Will Smith—the box-office giant who’s also a stellar rapper. 

But that’s about it. Since the new millennium, Philly’s drifted further from the mainstream music world, doubling down on its own identity. 

That’s exactly why Philly still has a rich music vibe without the heavy commercial feel of L.A. or New York, or the distinct musical flavor of New Orleans or Nashville. Here, musicians can still create freely—music they love, music that’s theirs. 

Recording studios, big and small, dot the city. They’re professional, open, and—most importantly—affordable. 

Like Jeremiah said, Philly really does suit One Day Kings. More than New York, even. 

Maybe it’s a sign from fate. An opportunity for the band. Time to take a leap, stop hesitating, hit the studio, record their songs, and hope for the next step. 

But money’s tight. 

Sure, as Bruno’s opening act, the band got their hotel and travel covered, plus a performance fee—a nice bonus. But they’re not big enough for a hefty payout, especially when you stack it against studio costs. 

Everything happened so fast back then that the band didn’t even think about fees. They’d have played for free just for the chance, so Ronan never brought it up with John. Cliff, though, had chatted with Julio about it once. Best guess? The fee was somewhere between $3,000 and $5,000. 

For One Day Kings—and Ronan—it’d been ages since they last stepped into a studio. Their skills are rusty, so estimating studio time is tricky. 

How long would it take? A day? Two? Ten hours? A hundred? It’s all a big question mark. They can’t pin down how much cash they’d need to pull it off. 

That performance fee starts looking like a drop in the bucket. 

For indie bands, there’s a cheaper option: set up your own studio. 

Since the 2000s, with the rise of YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and other social platforms, plus the growth of digital music sales like iTunes, Spotify, and Amazon, and advances in recording tech—led by Apple—even smartphones can record music now.  

Grassroots and indie artists have been popping up everywhere, carving out their space online. It’s the natural evolution of entertainment, a new era after the peak of music talent shows. 

For indie musicians, lacking pro-grade gear isn’t a dealbreaker. Modern tech solves most problems. 

All they need is a garage or warehouse, some egg crates for “soundproofing”—stuck to every corner to block out noise—and they’ve got a barebones setup to keep interference low and record. 

But for a band, it’s trickier. 

Solo artists can handle arrangements on a computer—all the instruments are digital, easy to mix. A band, though, needs live playing, with instruments recorded separately to avoid bleed and preserve the layers of their sound. 

In a rough, makeshift space like that, capturing live instruments is a nightmare. It could mean recording over and over, taking weeks or even months—nothing unusual there. 

It’s tough, but not impossible. 

The catch? One Day Kings are in a unique spot. They’re mid-tour, and they need to seize this moment to break through. They don’t have the luxury of settling into Philly or Boston, finding a garage, and taking their time. They’re racing the clock. 

Time is money… 

Bzzz! Bzzz! 

Bzzz! Bzzz! 

Right then, the phone on the nightstand buzzed to life. It wasn’t loud, but it jolted Ollie awake. He shot up like a zombie, startling Ronan, who quickly recovered and waved him off, “Keep sleeping, keep sleeping,” while picking up the call: 

“Morning, this is Ronan.” 

Chapter 167: The First Interview 

Time is money.  

That saying’s the real deal, and right now, it’s exactly what One Day Kings are facing. Time literally is money—they’ve got to seize this chance to open for Bruno’s world tour finale, ride the momentum, and snag some studio time with pro gear. It’s the best move they’ve got.  

On one side, opportunity. On the other, cash.  

The situation’s crystal clear, but clear doesn’t mean easy. It’s like water so pure there’s no fish—clarity leaves no room for wiggle. They’ve got to pick one.  

Ronan let out a long breath, his mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts. If it were up to him, he’d record in Philly, no question. But what about the others? And even if they all agreed, what about the studio costs? This wasn’t something he could figure out solo—they’d need to sit down as a team and hash it out.  

Buzz buzz! 

Buzz buzz!  

Without warning, his phone started vibrating on the nightstand. Ollie shot up like a zombie, stiff as a board, startling Ronan so bad he froze for a second. Then he waved it off, “Keep sleeping, keep sleeping,” while grabbing the call.  

“Morning, this is Ronan.”  

“Morning, this is Wyatt Garcia from Rolling Stone. I’d like to set up a face-to-face interview with One Day Kings. Does the band have time today?”  

A calm, steady voice came through, cutting straight to the point. That one sentence packed a ton of info, and Ronan’s brain short-circuited for a moment. The first thing that popped out was, “Do we have to pay for the interview?”  

“What?” Wyatt sounded baffled, like he’d been hit with a curveball. Then it clicked. “Wait, you don’t think this is a scam call, do you?”  

“Haha!” Laughter burst from the other end, no answer needed—that was answer enough. Wyatt could practically feel the black lines forming on his forehead. “Mr. Ronan Cooper, I’m serious. I’m a Rolling Stone reporter. I can fax you my press ID and business card if you want to verify. I really want to interview One Day Kings. Trust me, a scammer wouldn’t dig this deep.”  

Ronan thought it over, chuckling again despite himself, then realized he’d been rude. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to joke. It’s just—my reaction caught me off guard. I don’t know where that came from. Maybe I still can’t believe Rolling Stone’s calling.”  

Wyatt paused, registering the oddity of the moment. He could hear the lightness in Ronan’s voice, which made his own stiff tone stand out. The back-and-forth softened the vibe, and even his seriousness eased up a bit.  

“When you stepped onto Bruno’s stage, you stepped into the spotlight. You earned this interview with your performance—no need to be shocked,” Wyatt said, still straight-faced but a touch more relaxed.  

It was true. When Phiz Tantrum opened for Bruno and got some buzz, Rolling Stone had interviewed them too.  

Even as a top-tier mag, Rolling Stone was always hunting for fresh stories. Every issue needed a new angle.  

Indie bands and underground acts landing a feature wasn’t unheard of. The real game was placement—print or online, page spot, that kind of thing. Those details decided the weight of the piece.  

For now, Wyatt was just on interview duty. Where it’d land or how big it’d be? He couldn’t say. It wasn’t a special feature or anything.  

But for One Day Kings, any interview was a win—especially from Rolling Stone. Print or online, front or back, didn’t matter. A week ago, this was unthinkable.  

Ronan had just been kidding, but since Wyatt took it seriously, he dropped the teasing and got down to business. “Of course we’re in. It’s an honor to talk to Rolling Stone. Scam or not, we’ll find out when we meet, right?”  

A little jab to lighten the mood.  

Wyatt, though, was a brick wall—unfazed. “How about 3 p.m. at the Hilton lobby? That work?”  

“No problem,” Ronan replied, all business, locking it in clean and quick.  

Hanging up, he sat there, phone in hand, dazed for a second.  

Before all this kicked off, he’d done an interview once—text-based. The reporter’s pitying, regretful look still felt vivid, sharp. A faint ache lingered in his overworked muscles, like it was yesterday.  

But it wasn’t. Three months had flown by.  

Now… everything was different. He could hear, he could see, and he was still chasing his music dream, slowly finding his footing. They’d just rocked Bruno Mars’ world tour stage, and here he was, fielding another interview. Things had changed.  

Right?  

Ronan snapped his wandering thoughts back to earth, tossed the phone aside, and sprang up. “Ollie!” He yanked the blanket off, trying to jolt him awake. Ollie just rolled over, ignoring him, so Ronan climbed onto the mattress and started bouncing.  

“Up! Up, up, up! We’ve got an interview to prep for—gotta move! Rolling Stone! Ahhh, we need to get ready!”  

Ollie flailed under the onslaught, trying to steady himself, but Ronan’s bulk was too much. After a couple of tumbles, he got flung off the bed, one leg still clinging to the mattress, desperately gripping for dear life.  

“Ah! Ronan Cooper! Stop! Stop it! You’re a freaking pig! Ah! What are you doing? Can’t you see my poor leg begging for mercy?”  

Hahaha!  

Ronan’s wild, carefree laughter answered him, doubling over as he hopped off like a rabbit. He darted behind Ollie, ruffling his bird’s-nest hair. “Get up, come on! Wash up, fix yourself—you don’t want to show up in Rolling Stone looking like that.” Then he bounced off, still grinning.  

“No way, I’m not doing it! I’ll stay like this—you can’t make me!” Ollie’s righteous protests echoed behind him, dripping with defiance.  

(End of Chapter)