1476-1477

Chapter 1476: Utter Madness  

TMZ? Pfft, take it with a grain of salt.  

At its core, TMZ couldn’t shake its paparazzi roots—greedy, vain, and shameless, chasing headlines and shock value with zero regard for decency.  

Back in 2001, Virgin Records signed Mariah Carey to a historic deal—four albums, $80 million. A contract so unprecedented it was dubbed one-of-a-kind, unlikely to be matched again.  

This was Mariah Carey—the queen who dominated the ‘90s, a 0.01% talent at the pinnacle of the music industry. And even then, people thought Virgin had lost its mind. The mockery and criticism were relentless.  

Sure enough, in less than a year, Virgin choked on its own gamble.  

Since then, that fiasco became a cautionary tale for every contract negotiation in the record business—  

“Don’t pull a Virgin.” The wreckage was still fresh, the lesson brutal and clear.  

Now, TMZ wasn’t naming Mariah outright, but their sly wording was fanning the flames, building hype to a fever pitch. Anyone with even a passing knowledge of the industry could connect the dots—Virgin’s ashes were still warm, after all.  

The anticipation had soared to new heights. If Universal Music swooped in at the last second to steal the prize, or if Warner Records unveiled a deal that lacked punch, the fallout would be a whole different story:  

That’s it?  

Oh, the drama would be delicious.  

Some might argue, “Warner never said they were aiming for a Mariah-level deal—don’t pin that on us!” But that’s on TMZ. They’d been stoking the fire, piling on the hype until it was out of control. If Warner backtracked now and claimed they weren’t benchmarking Mariah, there’d be just one takeaway—  

Cowards.  

Either way, the show would go on.  

The buzz was deafening, swirling around TMZ’s leaks and pulling eyes from beyond music—even Hollywood was tuning in.  

For months, they’d heard how Anson’s “Don’t Be Pretentious” Grammy performance kept making waves, its breakout factor off the charts.  

Now, they’d finally get a look at Anson’s standing in the music world. Could a single album contract really pull $3 million?  

Or maybe $1 million?  

Everyone knew the real money in music came from tours. Albums? They barely broke even, sometimes lost cash. Movies were where the profits lived. The August 31st Band hadn’t even toured—how much clout could they really have? Anson would be smart to stick to Hollywood, they figured.  

Those Hollywood gazes dripped with condescension, smirking down like adults watching a seven-year-old play house. The more serious Anson got, the funnier it seemed. They didn’t take him—or any of this—seriously.  

And then—  

TMZ: “Signing. Done.”  

TMZ: “Insider scoop: It’s a three-album, $50 million deal. Oh, and the royalty split? Historic.”  

Buzz buzz buzz. Buzz buzz buzz.  

Mass shutdown!  

Every whisper, every stare, every expression froze in that moment.  

It was like the whole world decided to play a round of “Red Light, Green Light.”  

Hold up—what?  

Three albums, $50 million?  

A royalty split that broke records?  

TMZ had to be joking—international-level nonsense, pure gibberish!  

In some ways, this deal was even wilder than Mariah’s with Virgin. Sure, hers was four albums for $80 million, but her royalty cut was rock-bottom industry standard. Mariah went for the lump sum; Virgin banked on the backend.  

But this? Three albums, $50 million—a top-tier contract no label would dare touch. And Warner still gave up a chunk of royalties?  

…What the hell.  

Warner Records had basically handed over their underwear too.  

It was so absurd, so over-the-top, so ridiculous that the entire industry was left dumbfounded.  

They started to believe it might be real—TMZ didn’t have the creativity to dream this up.  

The guessing didn’t last long. Warner Records dropped the official confirmation.  

The August 31st Band splitting up? True.  

Miles and crew prepping a new band? True.  

The band was just taking different paths—no bad blood involved? True—Miles’ new music even got Anson’s first listen and feedback.  

Anson working on a solo album? True.  

Three albums, $50 million? Yup, true.  

Royalty split details? Sorry, trade secret, no comment. But rest assured, Warner gave Anson a deal matching his worth.  

Dead silence. Stunned stares. The industry—inside and out—turned to scorched earth. “Shock” didn’t even begin to cover it.  

Anson Wood, after just one album, had landed a truly historic blockbuster contract. Warner pulled out all the stops to lock down this superstar, outdoing even Mariah’s Virgin deal in sheer spectacle.  

Even with TMZ’s nonstop teasers jacking up expectations beyond reason, Warner’s move still hit like a lightning bolt—crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. Everyone was too stunned to react.  

Bombshell!  

The bombshell of the year!  

No doubt about it—Warner Records had secured Anson with an unprecedented deal. This wasn’t some casual dabble in music, not a Johnny Depp or Will Smith cameo gig. This was Anson staking a claim alongside legends like Barbra Streisand, Cher, Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra—leaving his mark in the music world for real.  

Those Grammy trophies? Not just shelf candy.  

One minute, people were marveling at Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind rewriting box office rules. The next, Anson’s history-making stride was unstoppable, his superstar reach stretching even further.  

Now, TMZ’s scoop was verified. The traditional big-name media finally caught up.  

“Breaking: Warner Records and Anson Wood reach renewal agreement.”  

“Anson Wood ushers in a new era—solo album on the way.”  

“Three albums, $50 million: Warner Records seals the deal with Anson.”  

“Music industry quake: Warner Records delivers thrilling news.”  

“Anson Wood: Not a hobbyist—neither as actor nor singer.”  

From Rolling Stone to The New York Times, Us Weekly to The New Yorker—every major outlet zeroed in, one after another, all buzzing about the same thing:  

Warner Records had lost its mind.  

First Virgin, now this—another lunatic in the asylum.  

From any angle, this was a self-inflicted wound. And just two years after the Mariah-Virgin disaster? Did Warner have a brain in its head?  

Forget industry insiders—even Hollywood’s popcorn-munching onlookers could see how insane this was. One by one, they were floored.  

They’d been ready to watch the circus unfold. Instead—  

They dropped their snacks. 

Chapter 1477: Collective Madness 

They’re crazy—completely, utterly crazy. 

Anyone with even a shred of sanity left would come to the same conclusion: Warner Records has lost it. Even for Anson, this contract is way over the top. 

Following the Maria Carey debacle, a storm of backlash against Warner Records is brewing—and it’s growing fast. 

That’s right, the target’s Warner Records, not Anson. 

Of course, Anson’s still the hot topic. The key point? Industry pros pretty much agree: “Anson’s not worth it.” 

It’s not about Anson himself. It’s that a three-album, fifty-million-dollar deal shouldn’t even exist. No singer deserves that kind of payout. 

After the Virgin Records fiasco, the music industry figured everyone had learned their lesson: don’t cave to artists so easily. 

It’s the same logic movie studios use—don’t just hand over profits to actors. Once one company opens the floodgates, the demands never stop. A single contract can shake up the whole industry, especially for the big sharks at the top who feel the ripples most. 

But now? 

The entire music world: Heh. 

So, the only explanation? Warner Records has gone collectively insane. 

And it’s not just the music industry—Hollywood’s gossip crowd is right there with them. 

Shock. Stunned silence. A gut punch. 

For a moment, they’re at a loss, practically paralyzed. Then, uncontrollably, jealousy starts creeping in. 

Originally, Hollywood’s peanut gallery looked down on Anson with smug superiority. In the entertainment food chain, movie actors sit high and mighty, while singers lag a step behind—maybe even below TV actors. Anson’s already at Hollywood’s peak, so why lower himself to drop an album? 

August 31st Band was one thing. Back when they debuted on Manhattan’s streets, Anson hadn’t even snagged the Spider-Man role yet. Releasing an album after that made sense, riding the wave—totally get it. But after that? No need to keep going, right? 

Yet Anson “stooped” to sign with Warner Records again. Heh. An album deal’s worth what—three million bucks, tops? In Hollywood, though, three million’s pocket change for third- or fourth-tier actors. 

But now? 

The reality’s nothing like they pictured. This isn’t some piddly one- or two-million-dollar deal— 

Three albums. Fifty million dollars. 

Sure, the raw numbers don’t quite match Hollywood’s elite “20-million club,” but in terms of scale, they’re basically on par. 

And here’s the kicker: the music industry’s average and top-end contracts don’t even come close to film. It’s a step below, overall. Yet Anson’s landed a deal this massive. The shock and awe blow Hollywood’s precious 20-million club out of the water. 

How do you even react to that? 

While Hollywood’s gossip squad was busy nitpicking, ready to watch a trainwreck from their high perch, Anson’s casually chilling at the top of the pyramid, making history. They thought they’d munch popcorn and laugh—turns out, they’re witnessing a moment for the history books. 

Total stunned silence. 

These self-important Hollywood actors have been strutting around, puffed up over the “20-million club,” acting like they’re untouchable. 

The irony? Most of them aren’t even in the club. They just bask in its glow, pretending their industry’s elite status makes them better—like they’re in some noble profession—while sneering at singers, models, reality stars, you name it. 

Until now. 

That “20-million club” they worship? Anson doesn’t even blink at it. He’s shattering ceilings in another field like it’s nothing. 

Their reactions are a mirror, reflecting back all that arrogance, disdain, mockery, and ridicule—exposing their own pettiness and smallness. 

Here’s the truth: these “high-and-mighty” actors—the ones who trash “vases,” cozy up to Academy bigwigs, and scoff at Anson’s rise—they’ve done everything to deny the worth of pretty faces. They’d love nothing more than to keep those “vases” underfoot forever, proving their own superiority. 

But their dreams, their goals, everything they idolize and chase? Anson’s toppled it all with ease. 

Jealousy flares up, burning out of control. 

They try—oh, they try—to deny it, to stay cool, to keep their dignity. They tell themselves over and over it’s no big deal. 

But their racing hearts and the voice deep in their souls don’t lie. They’re jealous—liver-twistingly jealous. 

And because of that, something rare happens— 

For once, the buzz spreads like wildfire across Hollywood. 

On the surface, everyone says movies and music go hand in hand—music’s a key part of film, and LA’s a hub for both industries. 

In reality, though? Music industry bombshells barely make a dent in Hollywood. It’s usually Hollywood news stirring up the music world. 

The Grammys taking a swing at the Oscars earlier this year? Industry insiders saw it as childish playground stuff—cute, but whatever. 

This time, though? Different story. 

Inside and out, top to bottom, the chatter won’t quit. Even the tippy-top of the pyramid feels the waves Anson’s kicking up. 

Positive, negative, good, bad—voices everywhere. These reactions peel back the perfect masks, revealing the twisted, ugly, dirty truth underneath. They shine a light on Hollywood’s brutal, bloody fame game. 

People are still snickering at Warner Records’ “collective madness,” but in the blink of an eye, the whole North American music and film industries catch the crazy bug too. 

For a hot minute, the entire entertainment world—inside and out—goes nuts together. Talk about a once-in-a-year spectacle. 

Naturally, Sony Columbia’s no exception. 

Objectively, who Warner Records signs or how much they pay shouldn’t matter a dime to Sony Columbia. No reason to care. 

But the news still sparks instant chatter up and down the company. Why? Anson. 

“…So, what do we do?” 

With that question, every eye in the meeting room turns to Michael Lynton—one of Sony Columbia’s two CEOs, a top-tier power player. 

It’s a small meeting, packed with Michael’s inner circle. These are his key players in the head-to-head battle with Amy Pascal for the top CEO spot. 

In this tidal wave of hype, they’re realizing their plans might be in jeopardy. After all, what they’re scheming ties directly to Anson. 

But Michael, sitting at the head of the room, looks eerily calm. A faint smile curls his lips, exuding the cool confidence of someone watching the storm roll by. 

“Nothing. We ride the wave. All we need to do is go with the flow.”