Chapter 64
Koreans aren’t familiar with the blues. They may be familiar with ‘bureusseu,’ though. Conversely, plenty of people try to play the blues, but few have made any money from it.
None of the blues enthusiasts knew why. Naturally. If they did, they’d be gods of music.
But that doesn’t mean a blues song can’t succeed. It simply can’t become the dominant genre; a song or two can still succeed. In fact, by offering an unfamiliarity absent from the mainstream, it might not merely succeed—it could become a huge hit.
The current situation was exactly like that.
‘Hmm…?’
Juhyeon found it strange. The song he was listening to was clearly [One Gloomy Day], his signature song.
It was a song that had briefly been popular in the early 2010s, sung with a slight reinterpretation during the rock-ballad boom. Its pitch was moderately high, making it a good challenge for men at karaoke, and it pursued easy listening, designed so that listeners would think at least once, ‘Ah, should I listen to that again?’
However, even though the melody and lyrics were clearly the same… the sound he was hearing was incredibly unfamiliar. It was much darker than the slightly sad sound usually found in rock ballads. The rhythm also seemed a little different.
On one gloomy day
I went to meet you
Most importantly, unlike Juhyeon’s original song, which put the vocals front and center, the guitar had been brought to the forefront. Even though it was only a guide vocal, it was sung with much less force… as if the voice itself were being treated like an instrument.
“Is this really ‘One Gloomy Day’?”
“Yeah, it’s good.”
“That guitar tone is insane.”
As Juhyeon listened quietly with his arms crossed, murmured comments gradually rose from among the staff. But those who had muttered them fell silent under the blatant looks from those around them—looks obvious enough for Juhyeon to notice at a glance.
Meanwhile, the song built toward its climax. Then, alongside the vocals bursting forth, came an overwhelming guitar sound that soon made him forget the vocals altogether.
The Fender Rumble 25W amp they had brought simply to listen to the guitar began emitting a ripping roar.
The tone was unmistakably taken from one of Gary Moore’s songs. Even though the guitar in the girl’s hands was a Stratocaster, it sounded as though it were reproducing the full-bodied weight of a Les Paul.
As if that weren’t enough, the girl constantly shook her left hand like a seasoned guitarist and moved her right hand with perfect freedom, making the melody surge and writhe. It was the very embodiment of blues rock from the eighties and nineties, with a slight pop influence.
“Wow.”
In the end, Juhyeon couldn’t hold back and let out a small exclamation. It was quiet, but loud enough to draw the full attention of the surrounding staff.
At the end of the performance, the girl gave the pick a few short strokes… tidying up the sound.
“I rearranged it along these lines. What do you think, as a bit of fan service for the concert?”
The slightly louder applause than before quickly died down. Juhyeon looked at them as though they were pathetic, then spoke again.
“Did your band arrange it?”
“Yes. We didn’t do anything major. We changed it to a band sound, made the rhythm bluesy, and brought the guitar to the forefront.”
At first glance, it sounded like a humble statement. But from Suyeon’s expression, Juhyeon could read a confidence that seemed to say, ‘You can’t help but like this.’
And in fact, that was exactly how it was.
Juhyeon hadn’t found the original song lacking. But you know how it is. If you keep listening to music at the same volume, at some point you start thinking, ‘Isn’t the sound a little quiet?’ Then you turn up the volume even more.
That was what Juhyeon was feeling now. He was always thinking, ‘I want to take this somewhere a little further…’ But he hesitated to tamper with the song, so each time he simply thought, ‘Well, let’s just sing the same song,’ and gave it only a moderate reinterpretation at concerts.
This song didn’t completely change the flavor, yet it was perfectly suited to satisfy Juhyeon’s palate, which had grown slightly tired of the original.
The only problem was that the staff were opposing even this song.
‘Should I just buy the song separately?’
That was Juhyeon’s first thought. Kick those kids out and buy only the song? But who would do that? No one but a madman. They’d hold the song hostage.
‘Then…’
He slowly looked around at the staff. Thirty percent wore thoroughly displeased expressions; the rest either looked indifferent or seemed to be thinking that they hoped the kids would be used. Juhyeon let out a deep sigh inwardly, then opened his mouth.
“I like it quite a lot. The other performances were good too, and so is this arrangement. If we end up using you as session musicians, would you be willing to arrange some of the other songs as well?”
“If there’s a need or a reason to, sure. If the song is good, or if I think, ‘What if we tried it this way?’”
The answer was overflowing with confidence, almost to the point of arrogance. Had this been their first meeting, Juhyeon might have found it presumptuous. Now, however, he knew they were the sort of kids who had every right to act that way. Even to Juhyeon, who knew nothing about rock, they showed considerable skill—not only on guitar, but also on bass, keyboard, and drums.
“W-What about just selling us the song?”
As they continued talking, one of the staff members spoke up with a slight stammer, perhaps feeling pressed for time. It was the very thought Juhyeon had initially had. And the answer, just as he expected, was…
“I don’t really want to sell it.”
That was how the conversation continued.
‘Should our team undergo a bit of a personnel shake-up?’
After mulling it over, Juhyeon arrived at that thought. The option of not using those kids had already vanished from his mind.
It couldn’t be helped. They had more than enough skill, and they had even come up with an appealing arrangement. There was no reason to turn them down, yet some of the staff were still full of complaints.
If there had been another band of a comparable level, perhaps it would have been different. But anyone with ears could tell after listening. They were more than good enough. If he drove this band away, what would the director say to him?
‘That’s what I should do. Our team has gotten too stagnant lately, so we can use this as a chance to make a fresh start…’
That was what Juhyeon thought. It certainly wasn’t because he had to choose this band. He was simply using them as an excuse to carry out a personnel shake-up… At least, that was what he believed.
That was why he was confident in his decision.
“I’ve decided to use this band as our session musicians. Does anyone have an objection?”
A few hands shot up, while others rose hesitantly before sinking back down. Juhyeon looked at those hands, then…
“Those of you who raised your hands, come speak with me later.”
Juhyeon’s words came out coldly. The atmosphere, which had been barely holding together until just a moment ago, collapsed at once.
“No, that’s not what I meant…”
“I wasn’t going to go this far. I’m sorry, but whose team is this, exactly? A team for the staff? Or a team for me?”
A fiery voice burst from Juhyeon’s throat. It began to rise, but then he realized there were outsiders present and lowered it again. At his signal, one staff member took the band members outside, while the equipment was hurriedly cleared away. The others sat still, like dogs waiting to be punished after making a mess of the house.
* * *
Myeongjeon took a long sip of his coffee. Lately, he had been craving sweet coffee for some reason. In the past, the sweetest thing he would drink was a café latte; normally, he stuck to an Americano. Recently, though, he had even started drinking the whatever-whatever-frappu drink Iseo ordered.
‘Somehow, even those aren’t overly sweet.’
Since Myeongjeon was Korean, he adhered to the principle that ‘a dessert that isn’t too sweet is the best dessert.’ To him, the kinds of drinks Iseo consumed had once been nothing but sugar bombs. But over the past few months, they had started going down surprisingly easily… Perhaps his constitution had changed.
“Didn’t that company have anything else to say?”
“Well, we did talk.”
“About what?”
“They asked whether we’d consider joining their company. The composer said that if we joined as their dedicated composer and band, they’d guarantee us excellent treatment.”
“Oh…”
“But I told them that Mr. Park Hwiseok had made the same offer and that we’d decided not to.”
After spending several days arranging songs and searching the internet, Myeongjeon had discovered that [Entline] was a fairly large company. It had one idol who served as its main product, Juhyeon and several other singers who were its core acts, and one small boy group and one small girl group.
It wasn’t one of the so-called Big Three agencies, nor one of the solid mid-sized agencies just below them. But perhaps it was the tier beneath that? Third tier? Calling it third tier made it sound a little shabby, but it was still an agency with plenty of singers whose names he had heard. It was much larger than Myeongjeon’s first impression had suggested… but who knew.
“If not an agency, how about a label?”
Iseo lightly touched up her makeup while looking at her phone, then turned her gaze away from it and spoke.
“A label?”
“Aren’t bands usually signed to labels rather than agencies? That’s what I understand.”
“That’s true.”
A label, huh? Well, did he really need one? Korean indie labels had grown considerably, but Myeongjeon wasn’t looking in that direction. He felt it would be better to work independently than to sign with one of those places.
But a famous label would be worth considering. EMI, Columbia, Harvest, Capitol—some enormous label like that.
“I’m not really interested in labels… Hmm, now that I think about it, it’s probably time for us to start putting out an EP or a single. Would it be better to get management involved for something like that?”
“You’re releasing an album?”
“Not an album. An EP or a single.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Not at all.”
Seeing Iseo’s expression as though she were thinking, ‘Aren’t they the same thing?’, Myeongjeon let out a deep sigh. How was he supposed to help this poor, unenlightened soul? As he tilted his head back, two female high school students he had seen somewhere before came into view.
“It’s time. Let’s start practicing.”
* * *
“Hello.”
“Hello~”
When Myeongjeon entered the practice room with Iseo, he heard greetings from the staff that were different from before. A quick glance told him that the personnel had changed considerably. Several of the difficult people he had seen before were gone, replaced by several new faces.
There were also several additional session musicians. Their band alone could ‘technically’ handle it, but the sound might seem empty that way… so, at Myeongjeon’s discretion, additional session players had been brought in.
‘I don’t recognize any of them.’
There were young people and older men alike. The one thing they had in common was that none of them seemed to be particularly famous session musicians. Perhaps it was because they were joining as support for the band, or perhaps because they weren’t accustomed to this sort of work.
“Since this is our first stage using a band… rehearsals may be unfamiliar for us. So, uh, the leader? I think we should choose a session leader.”
“A bandmaster?”
A deep voice came from the session guitar section. It belonged to a somewhat burly man.
“Yes, well, a bandmaster.”
“Hmm. Normally, these things are decided based on experience or skill.”
As he said this, the session guitarist looked around. It would have been too clearly intentional to call the gesture meaningless.
At that guitarist’s gesture, Myeongjeon merely thought… ‘Whether it’s based on experience or skill, wouldn’t I inevitably end up as the bandmaster?’