Chapter Five: Soon to Rise!

The winters in the capital were quite harsh. Yet, in the music scene of the capital during the winter of 1995, as the lunar year drew near its end, the atmosphere suddenly ignited with excitement—a spontaneous performance held in a small conference room at the New Metropolis Hotel spread through the entire circle in just a few days. For anyone involved in pop music, it was nearly common knowledge: Old Zhang Peiren from Mo Yan Records had recently signed an extraordinary talent.

This young man could write, sing, and arrange music.

He was versatile, playing rock and pop with ease, and could pen love songs with a distinct Hong Kong-Taiwanese flair.

Most importantly, his singing was phenomenal.

Rumor had it that even the masters couldn’t discern whether he employed head resonance or chest resonance in his vocal technique—most likely a blend of both, used so skillfully that the listener couldn’t tell. It was truly a remarkable art.

If you listened carefully, some top Western singers had started experimenting with this technique in recent years, but in the domestic music scene, hardly anyone had mastered or utilized it.

This young man was likely the very first.

And on top of that, he was incredibly handsome.

How handsome? It was said he was more attractive than Tang Guoqiang, Zhu Shimao, and Cai Guoqing combined!

What about the Four Heavenly Kings or Li Ming? Don’t bother comparing—those so-called aristocratic airs were a myth. Hong Kong was just an exiled land, hardly a place of nobility. This guy had a scholarly charm, a bit soft perhaps, but not weak.

In short, despite his youth, his talent was formidable and sharp; he was destined to become a star.

Naturally, once Zhang Peiren and Xue Zhongding extended invitations, hardly anyone declined—everyone readily agreed. Recording? Anytime! Just say the word!

Within two days, a studio was booked, and nearly the country’s top guitarists, bassists, drummers, pianists, and sound engineers were assembled.

Because Lin Jianlu mentioned the need for some mixing, before recording even began, Xue Zhongding made a call to Taiwan to bring in a top mixing engineer from Rock Records, who started working on the sessions early.

On December 22, 1995, less than a month after Lin Jianlu crossed into this timeline, his debut album, titled "Cool to the End," officially began recording.

The studio was bustling every day.

All were friends, brought in by acquaintances, there to pay homage to a master.

And these visitors were often no ordinary people.

Once, when an instrument wasn’t quite right—after all, even experts sometimes lose their touch—a seemingly unremarkable guy squatted by the wall, then stood up and offered, “Let me try.” Don’t underestimate him; the moment his sound filled the room, Lin Jianlu immediately nodded, “That’s the feel we want!”

Extraordinary talents abounded.

During the recording process, numerous true masters came by to join in the excitement.

Once, Dou Wei and his wife stopped by, and Lin Jianlu even convinced Wang Fei to record a harmony track.

Not just her; Liu Huan, Tian Zhen, and Wang Banbi also contributed.

Progress was rapid.

So rapid that veterans like Zhang Peiren and Xue Zhongding were a bit jittery, repeatedly urging, “No rush, no rush! Record a few more takes, try different styles! We have a budget of one million New Taiwan dollars—that’s over two hundred thousand RMB. We’ve spent less than fifty thousand, and you’re only halfway done!”

Heaven be kind, Rock Records in Taiwan was famed for its meticulous dedication to music. From songwriters and producers to musicians and singers, everyone treated recording with utmost seriousness.

With Zhang Peiren now heading Mo Yan Records in the capital, and his trio of prodigies under that label, they pursued music with intense focus and dedication. Every song was a playground of experimentation—from arrangements and instrumentation to vocal styles and emotional expression. It was common to suddenly decide to change the key or tweak lyrics midway through recording.

Not to mention Rock Records or Mo Yan, even UFO Records—which once rivaled Rock Records with stars like Wang Jie, Qi Qin, Zhang Yusheng, and the Little Tigers—was renowned for marketing and hype rather than recording speed. Internally, Rock Records mocked UFO as “flyer distributors” and said their recordings sounded like street vendors’ loudspeakers. Their recording pace was never this fast!

Nor did Hong Kong’s young singers churn out three or four albums a year lightly. They often spent days perfecting a single song.

Yet Lin Jianlu, after settling the style and direction and recording the accompaniment tracks, would enter the studio, record three to five takes, and then simply walk out, declaring the song finished—without any intention to try alternate approaches or make subtle adjustments.

This method was unheard of!

There were exceptions, of course, rare flashes of inspiration. For example, in Hong Kong, after a few drinks, Huang Zhan, Luo Dayou, and Xu Ke recorded “The Laughing Song of the Vast Sea.” Huang Zhan decided after just two takes that despite imperfections, this version would do. When released, the song, imbued with the breath of wind, the smell of wine, and the clangor of swords, was a drunken ballad of chivalry that became legendary.

But that was just an exception.

No one had ever recorded an entire album like this!

Yet when you listened closely, you really couldn’t find any fault.

The recordings were excellent, the singing nearly flawless—any differences boiled down to personal interpretations of style and direction—and Lin Jianlu was also the producer.

The album contained eleven tracks, ranging from pop love songs like “Dusk,” “Fairy Tale,” “Love is Just One Word,” and “Ten Years,” to rock-pop hybrids like “Cool to the End” and “The First Tear,” to rock songs such as “The Once You” and “Brave Heart,” to mainland China’s first forays into R&B love songs like “Xiaoxiang Rain” and “Flower Field Mistake,” and even the eclectic “Super Cool,” which mixed electronic dance, pop, and North American hip-hop styles, leaving many baffled.

Recording took just twenty-four and a half days.

It felt like they were only just getting started. Time had only just crossed into 1996; barely halfway through January, they packed up and announced the recording was done.

Only eighty-six thousand yuan had been spent on recording!

Oh, and the rest of the budget, he said, was for shooting music videos.

But big brother, you haven’t even become famous yet—is it really necessary to shoot music videos before the album’s release?

Well, fine, fine, pre-release promotion—shoot away.

It didn’t matter anyway; the budget was the producer’s prerogative.

By this point, perhaps because Lin Jianlu liked to entertain guests with the production funds, his connections in the capital’s music scene were actually on par with Zhang Peiren, the head of Mo Yan Records.

With a single call, even in the biting cold of midwinter, he assembled a small MV crew.

His music videos were simple—just renting a small photography studio was enough, tidying it up to look festive.

He choreographed the dances himself, invited a few dancers, rehearsed with them for two days, adjusted to the studio, and once the camera was set, they began shooting.

The entire MV for “Super Cool” didn’t even require any outdoor scenes.

“Cool to the End” had several outdoor shots, but they were just hastily filmed on the capital’s streets during the brief days between snowfall and thaw, never leaving a single street.

The only extravagance was that he used a film camera with actual movie film, and hired Gu Changwei, a cinematographer reportedly awarded Europe’s top three film prizes, who charged a high fee.

Just two MVs cost thirty thousand yuan.

But he covered post-production editing himself.

Because film was so expensive, they shot little footage. Borrowing the North Film Studio’s editing room without extra charge, the cutting was done in just two days.

Once the audio tracks were integrated, the work was complete.

You have to admit, with movie film, an award-winning cinematographer, and art-house-level color grading and lighting, the results were truly different from the typical handheld video style favored in Hong Kong and Taiwan.

In “Cool to the End,” the dripping icicles hanging from eaves, the smoky sunset clouds after fresh snowfall, and of course, Lin Jianlu’s handsome, melancholic profile and piercing, sharp gaze…

In “Super Cool,” his tall, upright figure and dynamic, energetic dance moves…

Ah, the hypnotic rhythm and melody of “Super Cool,” combined with his avant-garde, Western metal-inspired dance routine in the MV, were genuinely addictive.