Chapter 553: Studio Session From A Producer To A Global Superstar

Chapter 553: Studio Session

The reaction lasted far longer than Dayo expected after he casually announced that they would be recording that day.

For a moment, the executive meeting room completely lost whatever professionalism it had managed to maintain throughout the morning. Wayne was already halfway out of his chair before anyone had officially ended the meeting, while Ulrich looked like somebody had just handed him front-row tickets to the biggest concert in the world. Even Valerie, who usually hid her emotions behind a calm and composed exterior, looked noticeably interested despite her obvious efforts not to show it.

Dayo looked around the room with growing suspicion before slowly closing the folder in front of him.

"You people are behaving strangely."

Nobody bothered responding because everyone was still processing the fact that the song was actually being recorded.

Not eventually.

Not next week.

Not after another round of discussions.

Today.

The significance of that announcement wasn’t lost on anyone sitting in the room because recording sessions at JD Records had developed a reputation over the years that went far beyond simply making music. Most artists preferred privacy when they worked. They wanted closed doors, limited personnel, and as few distractions as possible. Dayo had somehow built the complete opposite culture.

When Dayo recorded, people learned.

When Dayo recorded, producers debated techniques.

When Dayo recorded, trainees crowded every available corner hoping to absorb something useful.

When Dayo recorded, entire careers occasionally changed direction.

By the time the meeting officially ended, the information had somehow escaped into the building despite nobody sending messages, emails, or announcements.

An artist overheard part of a conversation.

That artist mentioned it to a producer.

The producer told a songwriter.

The songwriter told a trainee.

The trainee told three other trainees.

Those trainees told practically everyone else.

The speed at which the news spread should have been studied by scientists.

As Dayo stepped into the hallway with Wayne, Valerie, Felix, Ulrich, and the others, he immediately noticed the subtle signs. People weren’t running because nobody wanted to look unprofessional, but there was definitely a suspicious increase in movement throughout the building. Employees who normally spent most of their mornings glued to their desks suddenly had reasons to visit other departments. Producers who supposedly had meetings elsewhere seemed to be heading toward the same section of the building. Even several artists who technically had no reason to be anywhere near Studio A appeared to be drifting in that direction with remarkable determination.

Dayo watched two producers speed-walk past him while pretending not to speed-walk.

"They’ve completely lost their minds."

Wayne looked proud of that fact.

"They’re excited."

"They need help."

"They need inspiration."

"They need actual jobs."

Wayne ignored him.

"They’re excited because they know what this means."

Dayo already knew what it meant. The problem was that everyone else seemed to know too.

The elevator ride toward the studio floor quickly became another example of people pretending they weren’t interested while making it painfully obvious that they were. Valerie maintained that she was only accompanying them because she had work to discuss with Alice later. Felix claimed he was simply curious about the final arrangement. Ulrich didn’t even bother inventing an excuse.

"I call a spot near the front."

"We are not watching a movie."

"I’m just preparing."

"For what?"

"For greatness."

Dayo shook his head.

Nobody in that elevator was fooling anyone.

When the doors finally opened onto the studio floor, the sight waiting for them immediately confirmed his fears.

Studio A was the largest recording facility JD Records owned. The space occupied an entire wing of the building and had been designed specifically for large-scale productions. Massive glass panels separated the recording areas, multiple isolation booths lined one side of the facility, and the control room was large enough to accommodate an entire production team without feeling cramped.

Normally the place was busy.

Today it looked ridiculous.

Artists occupied every available wall. Producers stood in clusters discussing theories about the song. Songwriters had claimed equipment cases as makeshift seats. Trainees filled the remaining spaces while trying their best not to get in anybody’s way. Even employees from departments that had absolutely nothing to do with music production somehow managed to find reasons to be there.

Dayo stopped walking.

Slowly looked around.

Then looked at Wayne.

Then looked back at the crowd.

"No."

Wayne immediately started laughing. "This is your fault."

"My fault?" Dayo laughed faking confusion.

"Your sessions from the moment you said they can come to learn from your session it became an event to look forward to so don’t ask ’My fault.’."

Dayo couldn’t even argue.

Years ago, when he announced it people had started showing up simply because they were curious. Then they started learning. Eventually it became part of JD Records culture.

The moment people noticed him arriving, conversations began fading throughout the room. Artists greeted him respectfully while producers nodded from various corners of the studio. Several younger trainees looked openly excited, and a few seemed shocked that they were actually standing in the same room where they were about to watch the process unfold in real time.

Wayne, however, immediately switched into work mode.

The joking disappeared from his face.

The relaxed attitude vanished.

The producer who spent most of his day irritating executives gave way to the producer responsible for some of the biggest records in the industry.

Without wasting a second, he headed straight for the control station and began checking everything. Audio routing. Microphone levels. Session files. Playback systems. Instrumental tracks. Backup recordings. Every movement was efficient and practiced, the result of years spent doing the same thing at the highest possible level.

Several younger producers who had initially come to watch Dayo found themselves studying Wayne instead.

That wasn’t unusual.

People learned from both of them.

Dayo entered the booth while the final checks were being completed. The microphone was already prepared, the instrumental had already been loaded, and every piece of equipment had been positioned exactly where it needed to be.

A moment later Wayne’s voice came through the headphones.

"Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good. Let’s make millions of people stop harassing us."

Laughter spread through the room.

Even Dayo smiled.

The song had barely existed publicly for twenty-four hours and it was already causing chaos across multiple countries.

When the music finally began, the atmosphere inside Studio A changed almost immediately.

The conversations disappeared.

The casual smiles faded.

Phones were lowered.

People stopped moving.

Nobody had to be told to quiet down because everyone instinctively understood that the session had started.

The first notes filled the room before Dayo’s voice followed, and the difference between the birthday performance and the studio version became obvious almost instantly. The version people had heard at the party had been raw, emotional, and deeply personal, carrying the feeling of a private moment accidentally shared with others. The studio version maintained all of that emotion while adding precision, control, and refinement.

The lyrics landed harder.

The transitions felt smoother.

The delivery carried more weight.

Yet somehow none of the sincerity had been lost.

As the performance continued, the room remained completely silent. Even artists who normally criticized everything found themselves simply listening. Producers stopped taking notes. Several trainees looked genuinely mesmerized. Others were quietly studying every aspect of the performance, from breathing techniques to vocal control.

By the time the final note faded, nobody reacted immediately.

A thoughtful silence settled over the room as people processed what they had just heard while comparing it to the version from the birthday party.

Wayne broke the silence first.

"Again."

A collective groan spread throughout Studio A.

Dayo pointed through the glass.

"You see?"

Wayne grinned.

"Again."

The laughter that followed quickly broke the tension before another take began.

What followed over the next several hours was a process most fans never got to see. Small details became major discussions. Tiny changes in vocal delivery resulted in ten-minute debates. A single line might be performed three different ways before producers began arguing over which version carried more emotional weight.

When Wayne finally called for playback, the room once again settled into silence.

This time everyone listened as professionals.

The song echoed through Studio A while producers analyzed structure, artists evaluated delivery, songwriters considered lyrical flow, and engineers focused on technical quality.

When the playback ended, Wayne folded his arms.

"Thoughts?"

The room immediately exploded.

One producer argued that the second verse sounded stronger in the newer take while another insisted the original version carried more emotion. A songwriter suggested extending a transition into the chorus, only for three other people to disagree. An artist proposed an alternative vocal approach while another immediately explained why that would weaken the overall message.

The discussion quickly transformed into a battlefield of professional opinions.

Nobody was angry.

Nobody was offended.

Nobody took criticism personally.

Everyone simply wanted the best possible version of the song.

The trainees looked stunned.

Many had expected recording sessions to be controlled environments where only a handful of people spoke.

Instead they were witnessing experienced professionals openly challenge each other’s ideas while treating disagreement as part of the creative process.

Eventually one trainee raised her hand.

The discussion gradually settled.

Wayne nodded toward her.

"Go ahead."

She hesitated before looking toward Dayo.

"Why do you allow this?"

Dayo tilted his head slightly.

"Allow what?"

She gestured around the room.

"The feedback."

"The crowd."

"The open sessions."

"A lot of artists hate this kind of thing."

Several people nodded because it was true.

Most artists preferred privacy.

Most artists guarded unfinished work carefully.

Most artists would never voluntarily invite this many opinions into their creative process.

Dayo looked around the room before answering.

His gaze moved across the trainees standing near the back, the younger artists taking mental notes, the producers exchanging ideas, and the staff members quietly observing from the edges.

Then he smiled.

"Because somebody once let me watch them work."

The room remained quiet.

"I learned a lot from that experience, and if somebody learns something useful from watching me work, then that’s a good thing."

His shoulders lifted slightly in a casual shrug.

"Music isn’t supposed to be locked away from the people trying to create it."

The answer lingered in the room for several seconds.

Several older producers nodded.

A few artists exchanged glances.

The trainees listened carefully.

Because that simple explanation revealed a great deal about why JD Records felt different from every other company in the industry.

Eventually Wayne pointed toward the speakers.

"That was inspiring."

The room laughed.

Then he pointed back at the session files.

"Now let’s fix that second verse."

The arguments immediately resumed.

Hours passed surprisingly quickly after that. Adjustments were tested, alternative ideas were explored, and countless tiny improvements slowly pushed the song closer to its final form. By the time Wayne finally leaned back in his chair with a satisfied expression, the room noticed immediately because Wayne almost never looked satisfied.

Dayo saw it too.

"That’s the look."

Wayne nodded.

"That’s the look."

Cheers broke out throughout the studio.

Several people clapped.

One producer actually celebrated.

The session was officially finished.

Slowly the crowd began dispersing, though many remained behind discussing specific sections of the song, debating which take sounded strongest, and continuing arguments that probably wouldn’t end until long after they left the building.

The energy remained high even as the room gradually emptied.

Then the studio door opened.

Alice walked in holding her phone with an expression that instantly made Dayo suspicious.

He looked at her.

"What happened?"

Without saying a word, she turned the screen around.

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