Chapter 78
In the early 2020s, Japanese popular music could probably be summed up in one line as ‘the golden age of faceless singers.’
The reason for that, roughly speaking, was that the generation that had enjoyed Vocaloid and utaite culture had risen into the mainstream.
It could also be attributed to the growing popularity of music consumption centered on platforms like YouTube and TikTok rather than television, but fundamentally, it was possible because they were good at making music.
Rather, because they didn’t reveal their faces, they were able to attempt distinctive musical styles, and those distinctive qualities made faceless singers’ songs popular, especially through short-form content.
“It was the time when the pandemic had only just begun…”
Strictly speaking, this was the point when people who stood out among the faceless singers were beginning to emerge.
If I could join that group, breaking into the Japanese market—something Seo Siyeon had judged difficult—would become much easier.
Even aside from those calculated reasons.
“What the hell? Why is this coming out so well?”
Once I decided to create an alter ego, the songs suddenly started coming out strangely well.
It seemed that the solution Yoo Ina had suggested was working surprisingly effectively.
The song I referenced most while preparing to work as a faceless singer in Japan was glassy sky, my biggest hit among the songs I had made, which I had created from the beginning with the conventions of Vocaloid-style subculture in mind.
“Keep the buildup calm.”
However, it wasn’t structurally identical in every way.
Unlike before, the song opened with rain falling beneath a quiet piano.
After that, a piano riff that quickly caught the rhythm began.
The progression seemed to build anticipation for the speed that was about to come.
Then my vocals came in calmly.
Having passed through puberty and moved beyond a grade-schooler’s voice, my vocals had begun to acquire a certain maturity, giving them a different feel from the voice I had in the past.
“Mm. It’s definitely better now.”
Meanwhile, restrained bass and drum sounds formed the backing track.
As the drum’s hi-hat grew more intricate, the guitar’s distortion bore down on the melody.
Then the sound emptied out for a moment. Only the slap of the bass strings filled the soundscape.
Before long, all the instruments burst into an ensemble alongside vocals surging into the extreme upper register.
In fact, this was the most important part of the song, and everything before it had been buildup for this moment.
As the times changed, I had to make music that would capture people’s ears through short-form content, and my choice for that was hyperpop.
Hyperpop.
A genre characterized by mechanical high notes like those in Vocaloid music, exaggerated bass, and fast, frantic progression.
The opening went against hyperpop’s conventions, but I laid the melody line over the highlight section in accordance with them.
“The vocal range has definitely gone up.”
By then, it had been more than ten months since I stopped performing. In the meantime, I had gone through a brief period of voice change.
Women don’t experience voice changes as extreme as men’s, but their vocal range generally drops slightly and their voices change a little.
Oddly enough, during that process, my everyday speaking voice had gotten a little lower, while my upper limit had risen.
At the same time, through vocal training, I changed my singing technique and gained the ability to belt almost into the upper part of the third octave, at the cost of telling my throat health to go to hell.
Of course, it wasn’t a technique I could use often, but there was a good chance I would never have to sing this song live anyway.
That was why I designed the song without considering live performances at all.
“Mm. This is definitely worth listening to.”
After listening to the recording all the way through mixing, I nodded to myself.
“But what should I do about mastering?”
I wasn’t planning to carry out this activity through Blue Sky Entertainment.
It was also a rehabilitation project to restore my musical instincts, and I didn’t want the people around me to discover the very concept of creating an alter ego.
After thinking it over for a moment, I contacted the mastering engineer our company usually hired for its songs.
Honestly, he was so busy that I expected him to turn me down, but…
-Hahaha! Of course I’ll do it for you! How much have I benefited thanks to you, Siyeon?
“B-but… I haven’t done anything for you.”
-Not at all! Working on Blue Sky Entertainment’s songs raised my reputation considerably.
“Th-then could I ask you to do it? Ah, but please keep it a secret from the boss and the unnies…”
-Understood. I’m quite good at keeping my mouth shut, you know!
He accepted immediately, contrary to my expectations.
Then I faced another problem: the music video.
Writing songs and lyrics was within my abilities, but making a music video was another matter entirely.
Especially in this field, I couldn’t use my connections, since most of the people I knew made music videos based on reality—in other words, they filmed live-action videos.
However, given the nature of a faceless singer in Japan, I absolutely had to upload a music video based on animation.
Fortunately, an unexpected person helped me here.
-My uncle runs an animation company. Should I ask him about it?
It was Yoo Ina’s help.
When I looked into it, it turned out to be a company that subcontracted for Japanese animation studios, and unexpectedly, it also made the short animations used in music videos.
When I contacted them right away, the owner had the attitude that they could do anything as long as the price was right.
Of course, he didn’t seem to have considered the employees with faces that looked like they were about to drop dead…
It wasn’t particularly important to me, though.
I said a silent prayer for their sake, then commissioned the music video from them.
Since full animation would cost far too much, we signed a contract for a Live2D-based video with a short animation inserted only during the highlight.
Time passed.
Meanwhile, I attended the WMA and…
“Congratulations! Composer of the Year, Seo Siyeon!”
I received one award,
and I was able to update my fans after a long time with an Instagram post of me doing a New Year’s bow in hanbok.
And finally, it had been one year since I announced my hiatus at the KMA the previous year.
[Happiness Theory]
[1 view][2020.1.15]
[MIKANSEI][1 subscriber][1 video]
I revealed my voice to the public once again.
Of course, it was in a form somewhat different from what people had expected.
And one month later.
[Happiness Theory]
[886 views][324 likes]
“…Why isn’t the view count going up?”
I fucking bombed.
* * *
Some might say this.
‘If you got 800 views in a month from scratch on an empty channel, isn’t that pretty good?’
They wouldn’t be wrong.
Unlike other faceless singers, I was truly starting from nothing, with no fame or anything else behind the account.
But there’s such a thing as reverse contrast.
The music video for NOIRIS’s debut single, which I released in the middle of the year, had 86 million views.
It had even surpassed 40 million within a month.
While Mikansei had 50 subscribers, Seo Siyeon’s channel had surpassed 800,000.
After taking experiences like that for granted, it was only natural to suffer cognitive dissonance when a day with more than 30 views counted as a good day.
“…What if I actually don’t have any talent?”
No, that couldn’t be.
Even if I had been given the advantages of being an orphan and appearing on an audition program, how could I have won four KMA awards without talent?
I had even received the Composer of the Year award at the WMA two years in a row.
“Maybe Japan just doesn’t like my music?”
That was bullshit, since 70 percent of NOIRIS’s album sales came from Japan.
Even if Haruka’s presence had been a major factor, I couldn’t say that I had contributed nothing.
In other words, the reason my song was buried at the bottom of the ocean was that it lacked promotion.
However, since I had uploaded the song independently without involving a company, there was nothing I could do to promote it.
Unless I shamelessly posted on Seo Siyeon’s Instagram, ‘This song is pretty good.’
If I did that, my identity would be exposed immediately, making the whole point of creating an alter ego meaningless.
“…Should I ask Haruka unni?”
If it came from her, maybe it wouldn’t seem quite so suspicious.
But while I was thinking that,
a rescue boat suddenly arrived.
[Saegusa Chiyuki][Followers: 670K]
最近よく聞く歌、なぜか何度も聞くことになる
(Text translated into Korean: A song I’ve been listening to a lot lately, for some reason I keep listening to it over and over)
<Mikansei’s 「Happiness Theory」 YouTube link>
A famous celebrity with 670,000 followers had shouted me out on Twitter.
It was completely out of the blue, but regardless, I ended up being given an opportunity.
If given a chance, a good song can rise.
It didn’t take long to prove that.