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『六本木』鼠先輩、最高月収がケタ違い　今も振り込まれ続ける歌唱印税額も告白_我的网站

一 |     「ABEMA」オリジナル“人生再スタートバラエティ”『資産、全部売ってみた』が19日にスタート。

二 | #1では、“自身の象徴”ともいえる誇らしい資産を売ったら一体いくらになるのか、その価値を数字化する「こじうり（誇示売り）企画」に歌手の鼠先輩が登場。大ヒット曲『六本木～GIROPPON～』の“歌唱印税の権利”を売却した場合の金額が査定された。

三 |     

    Elliot James Reay sings on stage at a Chinese live show. Photo: Courtesy of UMG
Elliot James Reay could have copied every other Western act and sung a Taylor Swift cover. Instead, he took 1950s rock'n'roll to a live TV show where autotune is switched off and discovered a version of fame that Britain has forgotten.
Elliot James Reay was traveling in the US, trying to finish a song, when his manager called. There was an invitation to join Singer 2026, a prime-time live music show in China. Reay didn't hesitate. He had traveled the world before he was a full-time musician, but had run out of money before reaching China. "I went everywhere but China," he said while sitting for an interview with the Global Times, sitting in the office of his label in Beijing, from which the Palace Museum can be seen not far away. 
Reay is, in the West, a very 2020s kind of artist. He began posting short covers on short video platform TikTok in 2019; during the UK Covid lockdown, he chose to focus on growing his fan base. He now has millions of followers across platforms, and his debut single notched 10 million views before it was even released. In the British industry, this is both a leg-up and a trap. "You can have all the followers," he says, "but they don't guarantee people will buy tickets."
In China, that equation flipped.
    Elliot James Reay sings on stage Photo: Courtesy of UMG
Nervous again
The Chinese show, Singer 2026 is broadcast completely live, with no pitch correction. For Reay, who had played enough small gigs to feel comfortable in his own skin, it was a shock. "I haven't felt nerves in a long time," he says. "But I've never been in a competition before. To have my singing judged against other people made me really nervous."
He watched Week One's performances from the wings and saw why. "The standard was terrifying," he says. 
But the format, he admits, is something the UK no longer has: a televised singing contest that treats vocal ability as a public event, not a pre-packaged product. "It made me feel like I just started my career again."
Reay's lane is retro. Not as pastiche, but as lineage. He wears the silhouette of Elvis Presley, sings in the grain of 1950s pop, and writes songs that sound like they were cut from a Sun Records demo. He could have sanded it down for Chinese audiences, but he didn't.
"Someone has to start the wave before you can see it," he says. Among the songs he performed were "Unchained Melody" and his original track "I Think They Call This Love," which he co-wrote with his girlfriend. He points out that the Beatles still sit next to Taylor Swift on the radio, and that pop started in the 50s. "It's the foundations of pop," he says.
Learning to feel the words
In the final, Reay performed a bilingual version of the Chinese song "Hou Hui Wu Qi" (The End of the World). It was his first time singing in another language. He spent five days learning the Chinese lyrics, listening to the original on loop.
"There are sounds in Chinese we just don't have in English," he says. "I couldn't hear the difference at first. I'd say it, and Helen (his translator) would say, 'No.' I thought I was saying the same thing." Eventually, he stopped trying to hear it and started trying to feel it. "It became more about how it felt to say it. How I place my tongue in my mouth," he says.
He didn't understand the meaning until day three. "Helen gave me a card with the Chinese characters and the English translation. It's very poetic," he says. The performance received a strong reaction, with it being called an attempt at "cultural fusion." 
He had saved his own original, "I Think They Call This Love," co-written with his girlfriend, for the same final. He had held the song back deliberately. "I knew that any week was my last week," he says, "but I knew that if I made it to the grand final that I had to do it then." He had no idea it would become the last song of the entire show. 
When he finished, he walked straight off stage, took his girlfriend's hand, and the two of them left together, a moment that trended on Chinese social media that night. 
The song is about the exact point they realized they were in love; it was also the first track of his career he fully believed in and pushed into the world. Having her there to watch it live, after weeks of her only seeing performances on a phone in a hotel room, "tied the whole thing in a bow at the end."
A touring musician, not a TikToker 
Reay is open about the tension between his origin story and his ambition. "I don't want to be a TikTok celebrity," he says. "I'm a musician. I want to tour." 
The platform gave him an audience, but it also boxed him in. He remembers friends who wrote incredible songs during lockdown, while he chose to build a fan base. Now, he says, some of those friends have had to stop writing and make TikTok videos instead.
China, he says, gave him permission to be both an online creator and a live performer. Universal Music, his label, didn't push him to chase trends. "They never said, 'Do this, do that,'" he says. "They supported what I wanted to sing, and then they made it the best version they could."
Before Reay, a string of international artists had already found warm receptions and career-shifting opportunities in China. Kazakhstani singer Dimash Kudaibergen, Malaysian star Shila Amzah, US country artist Mickey Guyton, British vocalist Jessie J, and French singer-songwriter Joyce Jonathan all won large Chinese audiences through high-profile television appearances and live performances, each using the platform to open a new chapter in their careers.
He's already planning a return. He wants to bring a tour. He wants to buy the traditional instruments he saw on set and take them home to England. "I'm going to learn how to play them," he says, "and maybe put them into my music."
The advice he'd give other Western artists looking East is to stay loyal to yourself. "Be yourself," he says. "It's very easy to want to change yourself to fit into a market, but at the end of the day, if you stay true to yourself, you'll be happy."
"In the UK, I felt like I needed to do other things to make other people happy," he says. 
"If I hadn't stopped doing that, I wouldn't be sitting here. I wouldn't have done the show. My whole journey would be different," he says.
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四 | 【写真】こんなにつぶらな瞳だったんだ　サングラスを外した鼠先輩 　この番組は、芸能人が自らの意志で売れる資産を全部売却し、新たな夢に挑む姿に密着する、全3話の“人生再スタート応援バラエティ”。番組MCは、小島瑠璃子と平成ノブシコブシの吉村崇の2名が務める。　2008年の大ヒット曲『六本木～GIROPPON～』でブレイクした鼠先輩は、当時について「一番稼いだ月で1200万円」と振り返った。現在は地方営業が中心で、出演料は「最低3万～5万円、最高で100万円」と明かした。　また「歌唱印税は未だに入ってきます。テレビで歌が流れたり、ラジオで流れたり、サブスクだったり」と３ヵ月に一回、2～3万円の歌唱印税が振り込まれると説明。さらに都内に7000万～8000万円相当の一軒家を所有し、店舗プロデュースでは年間約100万円の収益もあることが紹介され、スタジオは驚きに包まれた。

五 | 　番組では、そんな鼠先輩に「『六本木～GIROPPON～』の歌の権利、売りませんか？」と交渉を持ちかける。鼠先輩は「権利を売る？　売れないんじゃないですか？　いきなり何ですか」と困惑しつつも、話が進むと「100万円くらいで売れればありがたい」と予想を口にした。　一方で、売却には条件があるといい、「歌っていいなら売ります。歌っちゃいけないなら売らない。営業行けなくなっちゃう」と本音を吐露。「俺から『ぽっぽ』取ったら何も残らない」と、自身にとって楽曲が“資産”以上の存在であることをにじませた。　また、「仮に売れたら、そのお金を元手にやりたいことは？」と問われた鼠先輩は、「ネズミ駆除の会社とか」と意外な構想を告白。

六 | 「本当の話、数年前にネズミ駆除の会社に話を聞きに行った」と明かし、実は以前から関心があったことを語った。　しかし当時は「資金がない。資金と知恵」と、現実的な壁もあったという。

七 | そこで相談相手として名前を挙げたのが、清掃業で起業した元お笑いコンビ・カラテカの入江慎也。鼠先輩から相談を受けた入江は、「めちゃくちゃ良いじゃないですか。初期費用もそんなにかからないと思う」と背中を押しつつ、「確実に“名前貸し”やりそうじゃないですか。それだと絶対上手くいかない」と釘を刺し、成功のための重要な視点を提示した。

八 | 　そして番組終盤では、スタジオに鼠先輩が登場。資産・権利の活用を支援する会社レナトスの岡崎真洋氏が『六本木～GIROPPON～』歌唱権の査定を担当したが、提示された金額はなんと「55万円」。まさかの査定額に、鼠先輩は思わず「帰れ！　お前もう帰れ！」と投げやりなツッコミを入れた一方、MCの吉村は「買おうかな！　55万だったら」と反応し、スタジオは笑いと驚きに包まれました。その後、“なぜ55万円なのか”という説明を聞いた吉村が「もし「作詞・作曲・歌唱を売ってたら...？」と質問。そこで新たに提示された金額とは...？　果たして、鼠先輩は『六本木～GIROPPON～』売却を決断したのか！？ 　『資産、全部売ってみた』#1はABEMAで無料配信中。

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Published on:19:40:22