Invasion from Seoul (1)

Invasion from Seoul. The name was taken from the British Invasion (the event in which British rock bands, epitomized by the Beatles, sent shock waves through the American music market), which was naturally what came to mind when one heard “invasion” in a rock-scene context.

Was From Seoul added because they wanted the bands selected through this audition to have enough impact to be called a Seoul Invasion? Myeongjeon thought it was hard not to call it arrogant to slap the title “Invasion” onto an ordinary broadcasting station’s audition show.

And it seemed Myeongjeon was not the only one who had thought so. He had heard that the first Invasion from Seoul had received a fairly good response from rock fans, but had failed to make much of an impact with the general public.

The production staff had published an article implying, ‘If we pick better bands and make the whole thing bigger, we’ll get a much stronger response!’ but Myeongjeon could more or less understand why that had happened.

‘Rock no longer resonates with the public.’

As Bae Cheol-su had said, “Rock used to be music itself. But now rock is merely one branch of music,” the music market was no longer one in which rock bands could control everything.

But what the production staff thought, or what the future of Korean rock would be, was of little importance at this stage.

What mattered to Myeongjeon now was how to win the audition his ‘mother’ had asked him to enter, not what came afterward.

“You’re entering an audition show?”

“Well, that’s how it turned out.”

Watching Myeongjeon sip his coffee, Juhyeon pushed a cookie toward him and told him to eat that too. It was a fairly expensive cookie, and if there had been no ulterior motive, Myeongjeon would have gratefully eaten it because it tasted good… but now that he knew where the favor was coming from, he honestly did not want to touch it.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“Because I’m full right now.”

“You’re not dieting without me, are you? You really don’t have anywhere left to lose.”

Juhyeon had called the band because he wanted to record again, then brought them to a café under the pretext of having some coffee. There, Iseo was happily accepting and eating the snacks he pushed toward her. Seeing Juhyeon smile contentedly, Myeongjeon wondered whether a man old enough to know better really wanted to act like that.

‘Or am I wrong? Is all of this merely my overreaction? Maybe this is nothing more than a man in his thirties wanting to feed some juniors.’

Of course, Juhyeon really was acting with impure intentions, but how could Myeongjeon, who could not see to the bottom of a thousand-jang-deep sea, hope to know what lay in another person’s heart? After worrying over it, Myeongjeon decided to maintain the status quo without lowering his suspicious guard.

“When people talk about band auditions these days, do they mean that Seoul Invasion thing?”

“Yes. Do you happen to know anything about it, or are you involved with it somehow?”

At Myeongjeon’s question, Juhyeon shook his head. He had been in the broadcasting industry for a long time, but that did not mean he knew everything. If it had been PD Park Hwiseok, who had introduced this band to them, he might have known more, since he had a fair number of connections in the industry.

“I’m just someone who goes around singing songs, so I don’t really know much about that. It would be difficult for me to say.”

Juhyeon was getting irritated. Even if they were minors, surely they could take a hint by now. Had he asked them to do anything right away? They could eat together and spend some time getting to know each other—that much should be fine.

But that was that, and this was this. He had suffered plenty himself, so he had a duty to offer advice to juniors entering the broadcasting industry. He wanted to keep them from getting caught up in something strange and suffering over words they had never even said.

“Once filming starts… while the cameras are rolling, think three times before doing anything a TV producer asks or tells you to do.”

“Huh?”

Hyuna asked the question. Seoha was nodding, while Iseo continued eating snacks without a thought. Myeongjeon wondered what Juhyeon’s words meant. It was well known that people in broadcasting could be vicious, but did they really need to think three times?

“Is that because of malicious editing?”

“That’s right. Television editing can be vicious, but auditions are even worse.”

Juhyeon recalled an incident from the past. It was a story told to him by an idol from an audition show whom he had dated. The idol had clearly answered, “I’m not interested,” to a pointless question, but after the answer had made the rounds, it…

[Q. Are there any other contestants you’re watching?]

[A. I’m not interested.]

…had been aired in the preview (apparently, they gave enough clues to identify the person and only used a token mosaic to cover themselves), leading to a public beating. After the idol somehow explained the situation, it turned out that the scene was not even in the actual episode.

“That really happens?”

“It does. It’s a story I heard firsthand. Of course, that audition show was so excessive that it received a lot of criticism…”

Even if they did not go quite that far, people in broadcasting in 2024 were capable of carrying out similar things, or slightly milder versions, without batting an eye. Telling them to think once or twice was not enough; thinking three times was the right approach.

“Of course, you don’t need to be too afraid. You have to say something provocative enough to make it onto the show and attract attention, after all.”

“Wouldn’t it be enough to be good at music…?”

At Hyuna’s words, Juhyeon shook his head. That was precisely where people who had never appeared on television were mistaken.

Broadcasting was not a fair competition to begin with. The production side gave more screen time to the people it wanted to promote and reduced the screen time of those who seemed unlikely to go anywhere. (There were even cases where they rigged things, but that was treated as a crime, so it had decreased somewhat these days.)

Yet regardless of whether they could interfere with the final result, television was a medium where other people could interfere with the process that produced that result. It was not enough simply to be good at music.

“If you don’t show star quality, you won’t get screen time. Of course, in your case, things like your lineup and your looks already count as star quality.”

Myeongjeon thought, Of course, as he looked at Iseo, who was pleased, Hyuna, who was embarrassed, and Seoha, who seemed indifferent.

The degree of attention would differ, of course, but these days, even if four pretty high-school girls simply did a silly dance outside or screamed at the top of their lungs, people would stare and cheer them on.

But those girls did proper music? And they were good at it? And it was music with roots? How could anyone not like them or give them screen time? Even Myeongjeon, who was rather dim when it came to modern civilization, could understand that much.

* * *

The rules for the first installment of Invasion from Seoul—a rock-band audition program abbreviated to Invasion—were as follows.

1. Participating bands record performances of around 10 minutes.

2. The recorded performances are broadcast on YouTube at a designated time, and viewers vote on each band’s performance.

3. The 16 bands selected through this process advance to the finals and compete.

4. The ‘mentors’ each select a band and provide a sort of producing, after which the bands continue competing.

5. The show proceeds by eliminating contestants in each episode, with votes weighted 20% from the on-site audience, 50% from online viewers, and 30% from experts.

Of course, that did not mean these rules would be applied ‘as is’ in the second installment. If the first installment had been a hit, they probably would have been, but the first installment had ended its run as a middling audition show.

The part expected to change most of all was the process of ‘advancing to the finals.’ In the first installment, the participating bands had been filtered in advance by viewers through YouTube streaming, but the prevailing prediction was that the second installment would not do that.

The reason was simple.

Viewers wanted the people they were watching to be special. They did not want them to be people selected by viewers like themselves; they wanted them to be people whose exceptional abilities had already been verified by experts.

Because that was more convenient in many ways. Most people did not trust their own judgment. Even when their ears, eyes, tongues, and everything else sent them the signal that they liked something, their brains—or, more precisely, their ‘pride,’ which could be summed up as ‘I possess lofty artistic sensibilities’—rejected it.

Even if they had just said, “I like this,” most people, when someone beside them said, “That thing is fucking shitty, so why do you like it?” would take the attitude of, “But I was lying. I actually didn’t like them that much.”

Accordingly, people found it easier to like a band labeled ‘a special band selected by experts’ than one labeled ‘a band chosen by viewers.’

* * *

Anyway, that was why Myeongjeon was preparing for [Invasion], though he was not able to prepare with complete certainty. The information he had obtained through music director Park Hwiseok or boy-band member Ryu Jin consisted only of uncertain reports like, ‘The format might change.’

Besides, even if their next destination had been decided to be an audition show, they could not enter an audition that had only been announced and was not yet accepting applications. Myeongjeon knew that too, so he decided to take care of what needed to be done first.

“What should I buy?”

“I don’t know…”

That was all Myeongjeon could say to Iseo as she stared at the website’s homepage.

In the end, an instrument was a matter of personal satisfaction. The best instrument was the one that produced the sound you wanted. Myeongjeon, too, could have bought guitars worth tens of millions of won with what he had earned back then, but there was a reason he chose to carry a Fender Custom Shop Black Strat. (Of course, a Custom Shop Black Strat was also an expensive guitar currently worth more than ten million won.)

“If this were Japan, I could tell you to go there and try them out yourself.”

“Is that so?”

“If you go to Ochanomizu, there are tons of music stores. Or you could go somewhere like Ishibashi. Either way, unlike Korea, you don’t have to worry about getting ripped off.”

The only place in Korea that could be called a musical-instrument district was Nakwon Arcade. And Nakwon was a place filled with merchants who had tried to fleece him one way or another, even when he was still ‘Seo Myeongjeon.’ People said it had improved a lot these days, but it still left an uneasy feeling.

Nakwon was the sort of place where, if you walked in and immediately asked, ‘Could I try playing this once?’ the clerks would get annoyed first. There were said to be plenty of friendly stores, but unless you were someone who went in and out of Nakwon regularly, it was hard to know whether there were more of those or more unfriendly ones.

In contrast, Japan had a musical-instrument market that could almost be called heaven compared to Korea. Why else would people say that someone who went to Ochanomizu to choose an instrument could miss mealtime while choosing one and starve to death?

“Instead of just looking at Korean websites, check Ishibashi or sites that handle proxy purchases too. Fender instruments and rare finds, in particular, are cheaper if you get them through those places.”

At Myeongjeon’s words, Iseo, who had been staring intently at a Warwick fretless bass—the same model Jack Bruce had used at a Cream reunion concert—turned her eyes toward him. Her expression looked slightly unhinged, and Myeongjeon grew flustered.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m giving up on buying an instrument today. There are either too few instruments I want at Nakwon, or they’re too expensive.”

“Then what are you going to do? The others will be here soon.”

Today’s plan had been to take the settlement money to Nakwon and go shopping. Although it felt expensive, Nakwon was the only place where they could actually handle and buy instruments, so they would have to accept the financial hit. They would also upgrade their equipment, drink some coffee, and think about how to prepare for the audition.

Myeongjeon had intended to spend the day that way, but Iseo seemed to have a slightly different idea.

“I’m going to the department store today.”

“…What? What are you going to do there?”

“I need to buy clothes for the audition. And summer will be in full swing soon, so I’m going to buy a swimsuit too. You need to go have fun this summer as well, Suyeon.”

…A swimsuit? Me?