Chapter 82: All My Friends Are Dead
Monday, February 1, 2016
The digital clock in the studio struck 9:00 AM sharp.
Michael was sitting in his Herman Miller chair, with perfect posture and a steaming cup of black coffee on the coaster. There were no food scraps from the night before. There was no clutter. The studio was spotless, clinical, ready for operation.
The Sunday of rest was over. "Factory Week" had begun.
He had a calendar taped to the wall, handwritten with black marker:
Monday: 'XO TOUR Llif3' Tuesday: Mix / Pre-prod 'Hope' Wednesday: 'Hope' Thursday: 'Save That Shit' Friday: 'Gucci Gang' Saturday: 'I'm Gonna Be'
It was madness. Five songs in six days. But Michael didn't feel overwhelmed; he felt like a freshly oiled machine.
He summoned the System interface. He opened the guide for the first song. The biggest one. The one that would define his year.
'XO TOUR Llif3'.
He remembered the song from his previous life. He remembered how it had dominated the summer of 2017. How it was heard in every car, at every party, in every Instagram story. It was the definitive "Emo Rap" anthem. It was the song that proved you could talk about suicide and make people dance in the club at the same time.
The System guide described the production: "Psychedelic spiraling synths. Fast and nervous trap drums. 808 bass with bounce. Dark but energetic atmosphere."
Michael opened a new project in Ableton. XO_TOUR_v1.
He started with the melody. He didn't want guitars this time. 'XO' wasn't organic; it was digital. It was a synthetic drug trip.
He opened his VST plugins. He searched in "ElectraX", a synthesizer popular for its bright and strange sounds. He browsed the "Arps" and "Pads" presets. He was looking for something specific. Something that sounded like a twisted music box, something that made you a little dizzy if you listened to it too long.
He found a sound called "Psycho Bells". He played a chord on the MIDI keyboard. The sound came out of the Yamaha monitors: a descending spiral of digital notes, with a delay that made them bounce from left to right. It was hypnotic. It was dark.
He played the main melody. A simple, repetitive progression that spun on itself.
Ti-ti-ri-ti... Ti-ti-ri-ti...
He recorded it and looped it. The room filled with that spiraling atmosphere. It felt like falling down a neon rabbit hole.
Then, the rhythm. This was where the song came to life. The melody was sad, but the drums had to be a party.
Michael loaded a modern trap drum kit. He started with the hi-hats. He didn't use a simple eighth-note pattern. He painted fast notes, triplets that rattled like a machine gun, creating a sense of nervousness, of rhythmic anxiety. T-t-t-t-t-t...
He added the snare. Dry, sharp, hitting on the third beat.
And finally, the 808.
For 'Look At Me!', he had used a distorted and ugly bass. For 'Lucid Dreams', a round and smooth bass. For 'XO TOUR Llif3', he needed something in between. He needed a bass that had "bounce".
He drew the bass notes. He made them glide, rising and falling in pitch, following the spiral of the melody.
When he hit play on the whole thing, magic happened. The bass hit hard, making the desk shake, but it had a contagious rhythm. It forced you to move your shoulders. It contrasted perfectly with the depressive melody of the synths.
It was the perfect fusion. It had the aesthetic darkness of 'Paris' and the pop accessibility of 'Betrayed', but elevated to a new level of sophistication.
Michael leaned back, listening to the instrumental. It was the ultimate weapon. It was a sad song that sounded happy. It was a happy song that sounded sad.
The clock marked 11:30 AM. The beat was finished.
Michael got up and walked to the window. He felt electric. The musical base was ready to receive the lyrics. And he knew that the lyrics... the lyrics were where the real magic (and the real darkness) resided.
He turned toward the recording booth. It was time to talk about money and death.
Monday, February 1, 2016 (Noon)
Michael got up from his Herman Miller chair. The instrumental was ready: a psychedelic spiral of synths and a bass that bounced with manic energy.
He stepped into his recording booth. The space was small, dark, and quiet, the perfect place to confess sins. He adjusted the headphones. The beat began to play.
For this song, Michael needed a very specific tone. It wasn't the whispered sadness of 'Star Shopping' nor the raspy aggression of 'Look At Me!'. It was something in between. It was a painful euphoria. It was the sound of someone who is on the edge of the abyss and decides to dance.
He approached the Neumann microphone.
The Mindset: He closed his eyes and visualized two things. First, the number on his E*TRADE screen: $1,015,000. Second, the tombstones of his parents in this universe. Money and Death. Those were the two pillars of his new life.
He pressed the record button.
'Are you alright? I'm alright, I'm quite alright'
'And my money's right'
He sang the intro with a weary arrogance. It was true. His money was right. It was the only thing right in his life.
'Countin' them bands'
'All way to the top till they be fallin' over'
'Countin' them bands'
'On my way to the top till we fallin' over'
He visualized the stacks of bills. He didn't have them physically, but he felt them. He knew he was going to the top. The certainty in his voice was magnetic.
The pre-chorus arrived. His voice became more melodic, the Auto-Tune smoothing the edges of his pain, creating that iconic digital lament sound.
'I don't really care if you cry'
'On the real, you shoulda never lied'
'Shoulda saw the way she looked me in my eyes'
'She said: Baby, I am not afraid to die'
Michael thought about death. Not as an end, but as a constant companion. In this universe, death had greeted him on day one. He was no longer afraid of it.
And then, the chorus. The generational scream.
Michael grabbed the microphone stand, threw his head back, and unleashed the energy.
'Push me to the edge'
'All my friends are dead'
'Push me to the edge'
'All my friends are dead'
'Push me to the edge'
'All my friends are dead'
'Push me to the edge'
He screamed the line, but keeping the perfect melody.
To the world, "all my friends are dead" would be a reference to money (the faces of dead presidents on bills). But to Michael, the meaning was literal and devastating. His friends from 2025 were dead to him. His parents were dead. His old life was dead. He was alone at the top of a mountain of virtual money.
The duality of the line gave it a visceral power. It was a celebration and a funeral at the same time.
He entered the first verse. Michael changed his flow, becoming fast, almost slurring the words as if he were intoxicated, even though he had only drunk coffee.
'Phantom that's all red, inside all white'
'Like somethin' you ride a sled down, I just want that head'
He spoke of luxuries he didn't have yet, but knew were coming. The Phantom. The success.
'My Brittany got mad, I'm barely her man now'
'Everybody got the same swag now'
'Watch the way that I tear it down'
He sang with contempt for the industry, for the copycats. He was going to tear it all down.
'Stackin' my bands all the way to the top'
'All the way till my bands fallin' over'
'Every time that you leave your spot'
'Your girlfriend call me like: Come on over!'
The arrogance of the rockstar. It felt good to be the villain for a moment.
'I like the way that she treat me'
'Gon' leave you, won't leave me, I call it that Casanova'
The emotional bridge arrived, the part where the mask falls off. His voice lowered, becoming more intimate.
'She say I'm insane, yeah'
'I might blow my brain out (hey)'
'Xanny, help the pain, yeah'
'Please, Xanny, make it go away'
Michael sang this with a real plea. He didn't take Xanax, but he knew the desperate desire to turn off the brain. For the pain to go away. To stop thinking about Ethereum and timelines.
'I'm committed, not addicted, but it keep control of me'
'All the pain, now I can't feel it'
'I swear that it's slowin' me, yeah'
The honesty in his voice was palpable. The secret was consuming him, slowing him down.
He returned to the pre-chorus, building the energy again.
'I don't really care if you cry'
'On the real, you shoulda never lied'
'Saw the way she looked me in my eyes'
'She said: I am not afraid to die (yeah)'
And the chorus exploded for the second time.
'All my friends are dead'
'Push me to the edge (yeah)'
'All my friends are dead, yeah, ooh'
'Push me to the edge'
'All my friends are dead, yeah'
'All my friends are dead, yeah'
Michael took a sip of water, without taking off his headphones. The echo of the chorus still vibrated in the booth. He felt electric, connected to a current of dark energy. He didn't stop. The beat kept rolling, the nervous hi-hats marking the pace.
He entered the second verse. Here, his flow changed. It became faster, more aggressive, attacking those who doubted him.
'That is not your swag, I swear you fake hard...'
'Now these niggas wanna take my cadence...'
He sang with contempt. He knew that the moment this song came out, everyone would try to copy him. It was the fate of pioneers. He was creating the wave; the others were just trying to surf it.
'Rain on 'em, thunderstorm, rain on 'em (ooh, yeah)...'
He visualized the money. Not bills falling in a strip club, but the digital rain of Ethereum accumulating in his account. It was a perfect storm.
'Medicine, lil' nigga, take some (yeh, yeh)...'
'Fast car, NASCAR, race on 'em...'
The speed of his life. A year ago, he was standing still. Now, he was going 200 miles per hour. The "Z3" of 'Beamer Boy' was no longer a dream; it was an inevitability.
'In the club, ain't got no ones, then we would beg them...'
A fleeting memory of the Burger Barn. Of not having a dollar. Of being nobody.
'Clothes from overseas, got the racks and they all C-Notes...'
'You is not a G though...'
'Lookin' at you stackin' all your money, it all green though...'
'I was countin' that and these all twenties, that's a G-roll...'
Michael spat the "flexing" lines with a naturalness that was scary. He was becoming the character. The secret wealth gave him the confidence to sing about money without feeling like a fraud. He had the "C-Notes" (hundred-dollar bills).
And then, the bridge. The music calmed down a bit, becoming more atmospheric. Michael's voice lowered, becoming more intimate and desperate.
'She say: You're the worst, you're the worst...'
He thought of the voice of his own conscience. The survivor's guilt that always stalked him.
And then, the line that defined his entire existence in this world. The line that broke the fourth wall of his reality.
'I cannot die because this my universe'
He sang that with absolute, almost religious seriousness. It wasn't an ego metaphor. It was literal. He was the protagonist of this timeline. He had the knowledge. He had the System. He couldn't die, he couldn't fail, because the universe revolved around him. It was a blessing and a curse.
The beat exploded again toward the end. The ultimate catharsis.
'I don't really care if you cry'
'On the real, you shoulda never lied'
'Shoulda saw the way she looked me in my eyes'
'She said: Baby, I am not afraid to die'
Michael closed his eyes, screaming melodically, letting the Auto-Tune tear.
'Push me to the edge'
'All my friends are dead'
'Push me to the edge'
'All my friends are dead'
'Push me to the edge'
'All my friends are dead'
'Push me to the edge'
He repeated the mantra. His dead friends. His money. His loneliness. All mixed into a goth party anthem.
The beat faded out. Michael stood breathing heavily in the silence of the booth.
He was done. 'XO TOUR Llif3' was recorded.
He stepped out of the booth, feeling exhausted but invincible. He listened to the full take. It was perfect. It was the sound of a lost generation wanting to dance while the world burned.
He saved the project. XO_TOUR_Llif3_Master.mp3.
He looked at the clock. It was 2:00 PM. He had created a global hit before lunch.
"One down," he whispered, crossing off the first line on his wall calendar.
"Four to go."
Monday, February 1, 2016 (Afternoon/Night)
After a brief break, at four in the afternoon, he sat at his desk. He had the raw material. Now he had to polish it until it shone like a black diamond.
He started the mixing process.
This song required a different treatment than 'Lucid Dreams'. 'Lucid Dreams' was clean, crystalline. 'XO' had to be dirty, but in an expensive way. It had to sound like a party in a graveyard.
He focused on the vocals.
The main take was charged with emotion, but it needed space. Michael applied a ping-pong delay (bouncing from left to right) on the ends of the phrases.
'All my friends are dead (dead... dead... dead...)'
He made the echo fade into the darkness, creating the feeling that he was singing in an infinite, empty hallway.
Then, the reverb. He used a "Dark Cathedral" preset. He bathed the ad-libs (the "yeah", "what", "ooh") in so much reverb that they became ghostly instruments floating behind the mix, like spirits haunting him.
The Auto-Tune was the key. He didn't hide it. He made it obvious, metallic on the chorus screams ("Push me to the edge"), making his voice sound broken, digitized, as if it were a corrupted file from a simulation.
He moved to the beat.
The 808 had to be king. He used a multiband compressor to squash the bass and kick together, making them hit like a single fist. He EQed the highs of the hi-hats to be sharp, almost painful, cutting through the fog of the synths.
He worked for hours, losing track of time. He forgot to eat. He forgot about Ethereum. Only the Ableton session existed.
When the sun went down, the mix was ready.
Michael stood up and turned the volume on the Yamaha monitors to the max. He went to the back of the room to listen to it like a fan would.
He hit play.
The spiraling synth intro. Ti-ti-ri-ti...
The arrogant voice. 'I'm quite alright...' And then, the drop.
The bass shook the walls. The chorus "All my friends are dead" sounded like a stadium anthem. It was sad. It was euphoric. It was unstoppable.
He knew he held the biggest song of his career so far in his hands. Bigger than 'Lucid Dreams'. Bigger than 'White Iverson'.
This song was going to define a generation.
He returned to the desk and exported the file. XO_TOUR_Llif3_Master.mp3.
He dragged it to the "FEBRUARY RELEASES" folder. One down. Four to go.
He looked at his phone. He had been disconnected all day. He knew he couldn't disappear completely while working in the factory. He had to maintain interest, drop breadcrumbs.
He opened Instagram. He didn't upload an audio snippet. He didn't want to ruin the surprise of this song.
He took a photo of his computer screen, but out of focus, only showing the stacked audio tracks in Ableton, with the red "REC" button light off.
He uploaded the photo to his Stories. He wrote a simple text over the black background, using the typewriter font.
"Locked in the studio. New music soon. 💔💀"
He posted the story. He did the same on Twitter.
"Factory mode activated. 💔💀"
The reaction was instant. Fans started speculating. "Is it an album?" "Is it 'Paris' 2?"
The skull and broken heart emoji gave them a clue, but they had no idea of the magnitude of what was coming.
Michael turned off the monitor. The room went dark.
He felt exhausted, but his mind was already moving toward Tuesday.
He looked at the calendar on the wall. He crossed out Monday with a red marker.
Tomorrow was Tuesday. Tomorrow was 'Hope'.
The Shiloh Dynasty sample. The song for the fallen.
It would be a drastic change of pace after the manic energy of 'XO'. But that was what made him a great artist. The range.
He left the studio, closing the door on his first victory of the week. He went to the kitchen to find something to eat, humming softly: 'I don't really care if you cry...'
The factory was in full production.
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