Rewind With A Superstar System-Chapter 104: Track 4 Ft. Conor Prince

<🎧 Song Recommendation: A Thousand Miles by Vanessa Carlton (inspiration!, please listen!)>

...

Von was officially done with Leo and Midnight Pulse as early as the fifth of August.

So he took the next couple of days to rest, catch-up with his gaming life, and reset his focus at the mansion.

By the morning of August eighth, it was time to move on to the next track.

This time, Von didn’t wait for Zack. He had quietly taken his driving test a few weeks ago whenever he had a spare hour, and his new license was sitting in his wallet.

He grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter, walked out to the driveway, and climbed into the driver’s seat of the matte-black Cadillac Escalade himself.

Driving the massive luxury SUV without anyone in the passenger seat felt good. It was just another small step of independence. He merged onto the highway and headed straight for Miami International Airport.

When Von pulled up to the arrivals terminal and stepped out into the heat, he had to do a double-take.

The last time he had seen Conor was during the brutal Hollywood Week of Project: Star. Back then, Conor was a stressed-out, scruffy guy drowning in the realization that he couldn’t sing and his life was fucked up.

The man walking out of the sliding glass doors today looked like a different person.

Conor had shaved off most of his messy beard. It wasn’t completely clean-shaven, but it made his face look years younger. He was dressed well, wearing a fitted black t-shirt, clean dark jeans, and fresh sneakers, carrying a small bag over his shoulder.

Von walked over to him, but before he could even raise his hand, Conor pulled him into a tight, crushing hug.

Von didn’t resist. Despite his status, he patted Conor’s back, pulling him closer and embracing the genuine reunion.

"Man," Von said, taking a step back. "I wasn’t expecting the glow-up. What’s the news?"

Conor laughed heartily. It was a confident laugh that Von hadn’t heard from him back in the dorms.

"Well," Conor said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "I have to give you a lot of credit for helping me discover that side of me, Von. After I got cut, I stopped trying to force my voice. I focused fully into the drums. I got a job as a session drummer for an indie label back home, and I teach percussion on the side. The pay is actually really good."

"Session work is no joke," Von said with an impressive smile.

"It gets better," Conor grinned. "I got my own apartment. And... I managed to get my daughter back from my ex-wife."

Von’s mouth hung open for a second. He remembered Conor mentioning a bitter ex-wife back then, but hearing about a kid was completely new information.

"Wow. I didn’t even know," Von said. "How old is she?"

"Her name is Clara. She’s just six," Conor said with the pride of a Dad. "She’s such a beautiful soul. My ex wasn’t taking care of her well, so the courts sided with me. She’s living with me now, and she’s even going to school! She’s staying with my mum for a few days so I could fly out here."

"Good, good. I’m really happy everything is going well," Von said. He really meant it. Conor was one of the good ones.

"This opportunity is a chance to really put you out there on the global scene. Someone with your drumming skill deserves to be in a great band, getting real royalty cuts."

Conor smiled, looking at the massive Escalade parked on the curb. "I appreciate that, man. Really."

"Just hope you haven’t lost your spark," Von smirked, opening the trunk.

"Never!" Conor laughed, tossing his bag inside. "I’m even better than before. I found out that I’m completely attuned to the drums. It just makes sense to me."

They climbed into the SUV. Conor ran a hand over the leather dashboard as Von put the car in drive.

"Nice car you got here."

They didn’t waste any time making small talk. Von drove them straight across the causeway to Neon Sound Studios. Emily wasn’t there to greet them this time; she had texted Von earlier that she had some personal stuff to take care of outside the city.

Von swiped his keycard and pushed open the heavy door to Studio A.

Patch was sitting in his ergonomic chair, his legs propped up on the edge of the SSL console. He was scrolling through Instagram reels on his phone and laughing out loud.

Hearing the door click, Patch looked over and dropped his legs.

"Nice, another one!" Patch said, standing up.

"Conor, meet Patch. He’s my producer, and we’ll be working with him today," Von said.

Patch walked over and shook Conor’s hand firmly. He immediately raised an eyebrow. "Nice to meet you, Conor. What a firm hand you got there."

"Yeah, he’s a drummer. A really good one." Von chimed.

"I like the sound of that," Patch said, rubbing his hands together. He pointed to the glass-enclosed live room. "Come check out the setup."

Conor walked into the acoustic space. Sitting in the center of the room was a pristine, custom DW drum kit surrounded by vintage microphones.

Conor stopped, admiring the hardware. "Wow. This is really good. It looks expensive."

Patch leaned against the glass from the control room. "Yup. Fifteen grand just for the shells. Mics not included."

"Crazy," Conor muttered.

He took the sticks, sat on the leather drum throne, and began feeling out the kit. He tapped the snare, hit the toms, and tested the kick pedal.

Then, he got stuck in a loop.

It was a fast, driving rhythm. He hit a heavy, continuous kick drum pattern. It was bouncy but felt really smooth.

In the control room, Patch’s head instantly started nodding. He recognized a perfect pocket when he heard one. Without saying a word, Patch turned to his MIDI keyboard. He loaded up a bright grand piano plugin and inserted a fast, catchy piano sequence right over the studio monitors, matching Conor’s tempo perfectly.

Patch stopped playing after a few bars, but Conor kept thumping, his eyes closed as he rode the beat.

Meanwhile, Von was standing near the couch and his brain clicked. Hearing that specific rhythm felt just right to him.

He walked over to the talkback microphone, pressed the button, and threw in a vocal line right over Conor’s drumming.

"Making my way downtown," Von sang, tapping his foot. "Walkin’ fast... People pass... And I’m home-bound."

The moment Von finished the lines, Patch immediately laid down the piano sequence again.

It sounded perfect. The combination of the bright piano, Von’s vocal cadence, and Conor’s driving drums instantly created a massive pop vibe.

"That’s it," Von said, a surge of excitement hitting him.

He grabbed a blank notebook and a pen from the coffee table and sat down. This wasn’t like Frozen Attitude, where he had clear fragments of a future song in his head. Aside from the basic rhythm and the intro lines that just popped out, this was going to be built from scratch. It was his second truly original song!

For the next two hours, the studio was a workshop. Conor kept the beat looping, proving his insane stamina, while Patch tweaked the piano chords.

Von sat on the couch, writing furiously. He had to cross out lines, tap his pen against his leg to find the right rhyming scales, and piece the lyrics together like a puzzle.

"Okay, the verses need to feel like you’re physically pushing through something," Von muttered to himself. "Conor, keep that tempo!"

Von walked into the vocal booth, slipping the headphones on to test the flow over the live instrumental.

🎶 🥁

Making my way downtown

Walkin’ fast

People pass

And I’m home-bound

Lookin’ blindly ahead

Just pushin’ my way

Pushin’ a way

Through the crowd

🎶 🥁

"The flow is solid," Patch said over the intercom. "Let’s build the pre-chorus. We drop most of the piano, leave just the drums to build the tension."

Conor immediately adjusted, dropping the heavy kick and playing a tight, marching snare roll. Von leaned into the mic, letting his vocals and skills carry the emotional shift.

🎶 🥁

And I need you

And I miss you

And now I wonder

🎶 🥁

"Drop it!"

Conor slammed the kick drum, Patch brought the piano chords crashing back in, and Von belted the chorus.

🎶 🥁

If I could fade into the sky

Do you think time would pass me by?

’Cause you know I’d run a thousand miles

If I could just see you tonight

🎶 🥁

"Good," Patch said, saving the take. "But we have to re-record that. You were slightly flat on sky."

They didn’t get it right on the first try. The recording process was a grind as usual. Von forced himself to re-record the chorus six different times, making sure his pitch was absolutely perfect. Conor didn’t miss a single beat, acting as a human metronome while Von figured out his vocal placements.

Von stayed in the booth, writing the second verse on a piece of paper resting on the music stand. He needed the lyrics to hit harder. He focused on his [Emote] skill, injecting a raw sense of isolation into his voice over the upbeat track.

🎶 🥁

It’s always nights like these

When I think of you

And I wonder if you ever think of me

’Cause everything feels wrong

And I don’t belong

Stuck inside your precious memory

’Cause I crave you

And I miss you

And now I wonder

🎶 🥁

They spent another hour layering the vocals. Von recorded high and low harmonies, panning them to the left and right speakers to make the chorus sound expensive. Conor added rapid-fire snare fills at the end of every eighth bar, giving the pop song a heavy edge.

Von wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, reading the final lines from his notebook.

🎶 🥁

Cause you know I’d run a thousand miles

If I could just see you

If I could just hold you tonight...

🎶 🥁

When the final piano chord rang out and faded into silence, Von took off his headphones and stepped out of the booth.

Conor set his drumsticks down on the snare, breathing heavily. He looked through the glass at Patch, who was staring at his computer screen with a massive grin.

"I didn’t even have to quantize the drums," Patch said, shaking his head. "Conor, your timing is terrifying. You’re literally a machine."

Von meanwhile was left thinking about how quickly they had worked through the first part of the song. It gave him some sense of confidence, and now he looked forward to the rest of the songs.

"Alright, Patch. Now it’s up to you to turn this into a hit."

"Aye, aye, sir!"