Almost Famous has one of the most daring soundtracks achieved in recent years, despite using some songs that are out of the public eye, where novelty is a fast time, a time that knows the land of rock, which is a beautiful moment painted in problems, hunger, and insecurity—things that are not arguably necessary for others. For two brief reasons, then, music is a lake that brings happiness to people regardless of their problems; that is what makes music wonderful.
It's four million dollars spent on music, and the percentage of the budget is the same for a soundtrack—it's outrageous. But Billy knows that a good film without a soundtrack is like desert water that tastes of salt, that scratches your throat, because a good film needs love.
--It's four million. —Cameron winced; he had been wanting to say that for a long time. Billy is the patron of people, the patron who gives people the reality that the fifteen million he handed over now completely carries away the idea that it hurts as the wind hurts through the air, but he accepts it.
—Well, I like it. I like the idea of doing the best work possible. —Billy replied, nodding now that the price would perhaps rise another five or six million, which is painfully evident, but now it doesn't matter.
Billy wore a mustache that made him look older; he was the kind of man who understood very well the cost of making money, and that said, money could do magic and blow things up when you do something good.
For everyone to do the work.
—But I don't like the idea of having to commit so much money. I will sign reluctantly, and that will be painful for anyone trying to make a single commitment. But I accept, Cameron. If we have to contact Black Sabbath, I would like to do so—Billy responded delicately.
Cameron smiled; that was what he liked about artists. He was fully aware of how difficult it was to take that timid step, almost entirely done. He stretched out his arms. Among the niche of actors he found himself in, there was no unanimous answer.
Just the idea that Billy gave them money—gave them money for art, and paid for it with his trust, and they understood the oasis that was lived so that they would take it very seriously. The premise was that you earned it. A meeting for Billy meant earning his attention, or having a billboard that lived in an itinerant way.
Billy wasn't always the best when it came to expressing that kind of emotion that gives life, that kind of lived rock emotion. Therefore, and for less conceptual reasons, he found himself involved in an executive round that gave him thousands of songs that they could take or not take as members of that little world. It turned into a theoretical talk about the songs that made the world of music in those times that were briefly altered by the time lived, and that were not satisfied by the times.
--Well, do it. Do it, it's just that I think you can give me a summary of the songs. I'll listen to them tonight. I'll call the production company to handle the licenses, although the cap is at the four million we agreed on. —Billy replied, smiling at them as he gathered his things. Fatigue settled in his eyes, and for Billy, that was a sign that his pencil had to get to work. The hour of wakefulness was the hour of the big ideas needed to comfortably continue with the damnable routines—writing ten chapters a month, a lot but too little for everything he had there. With a team that was growing, he could stretch that to improve production to twelve or thirteen, doing less, since they were in charge of giving better shape to everything he drew and the colors that would later shine on television programs and lines of...
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Amelia was the model who would strive to join. In a year, she was then the chosen one for the state of New York, and that filled her with warmth. Her achievements, her goals, were beginning to be reflected in her mother's work and the work she always took on. The education at the best academic school was a standout drop for people.
--Thank you, mother, I think that… —Tears escaped from little Amelia's eyes, who at nineteen years old, could not help but say anything other than the pain of a lifetime.
A spoiled girl who always had everything, living under the thumb of her grandfather, who was the cruelest person she knew, and that was saying little. She was just a puppet, now resembling an unsuspecting girl who understood little of the dirty tricks of the business world, the punishment of a real society—going hungry or belonging to a society that truly fights day by day to have a little more.
--It's the beginning, dear. There are many young ladies who will be winning throughout the year, to decide on one at the end and go straight to the grand finale. That's why we have to get you ready to win—to win everything that dares. I need you to be perfect. —Her mother commented with that harshness unlike her, but so necessary for the fashion world, one that would begin to harm the spirit hidden within people.
Her mother stole the glances, both of them in that small studio, which only fit three souls. Amelia tried to hold back the tears escaping down her cheeks, little by little chasing each other, with that melted air of wisdom.
—I think I have time to finish the semester. —Amelia commented.
--You sing beautifully; you sing very well. You have that talent that makes me swear the prize will be yours this year. —Shaw whispered, who needed time.
—Yes, Mommy. —Amelia commented, seeing that she was being called.
Her mother wiped her tears, and in a snap, fixed her makeup with the same speed they fixed their minds. How difficult and how quick. They both fixed themselves up with the whisper of a wink that seemed to give them air, the slight gleam that schemed, accompanied by beauty pageants.
Amelia had time to see that at a distance, the group was there wanting to celebrate with her. The cameras captured her profile, and her mother's words—don't let yourself be sweet-talked—were precisely that necessary value she needed. Keep your composure. Everyone is watching you, and everyone would raise hell.
What happened when they humiliated her? What happened when they published her worst angle and used her as a punching bag after the elections for not being aesthetically beautiful, or for being the girl who deserved to be with everyone?