Damn Idol - Chapter 33

Album 4: Nostalgia

 

People’s reactions were divided when the song title <At the End of the Dawn> by Wead was revealed.

 

Quite a few people seemed not to know this song, but those who did know it were very excited.

 

In fact, city pop was a genre like that in Korea.

 

Until the 2010s, it had almost no recognition, but in the mid-to-late 2010s, it birthed a bunch of hardcore fans.

 

In truth, city pop lacked clear technical characteristics to define it, so a song one person called city pop could be AOR or fusion jazz to someone else.

 

In other words, for city pop, what mattered was not the technical distinction but an emotional distinction.

 

That lingering, faded feeling one gets amid the dazzling lights of the city.

 

What mattered was how well one could express that.

 

Past the genre’s characteristic long introductions, the song began.

새벽 속에 들어와 앉아

 

빛나는 불빛, 우리 단둘이

 

꺼진 네온사인- 아래로

 

부서진 조명, 문 닫힌 거리

(Entering the dawn to sit down

 

Glittering lights—just the two of us

 

Neon signs turned off below

 

Broken lights, a closed street door)

It was Han Si-On of Three Months, Hundred Days who began the song.

 

There was no technical skill.

 

He sang plainly, throwing out the important notes one by one.

 

But conversely, it also felt just that—pleasant but nothing more.

 

It did not provide any special impression.

어슴푸레 빛나는 달과

 

아침을 여는 구두 소리에

 

꺼진 가로등, 시동 소리와

 

골목 어귀의 문 닫힌 집이

(The dimly glowing moon and

 

The shoe sounds opening morning

 

Turned off street lights, engine sounds and

 

Closed doors down the alley)

The words “Take Scene – <Fade>” appeared on the cafe monitor. The voice singing was more refined than Han Si-On’s.

 

It was more virtuosic, and the way it handled notes was closer to R&B.

 

The parts sung by the two individuals formed a contrast, allowing for direct comparison. When Han Si-On delivered a sharp line, Fade responded with a powerful and resonant voice.

 

Perhaps due to the emotional significance of city pop or the utilization of melodies reminiscent of older songs, this song featured fewer instances of overlapping parts compared to the previous one. 

 

After Han Si-On completed a verse, Fade picked up the whole next one. 

 

And so, they arrived at the chorus.

 

새-벽의 끝을 붙잡고 서서

 

너와 나 단둘이

 

불빛이 꺼져 가는 이 순간에

 

(Holding the end of dawn, standing

 

Just you and I

 

At this moment when the lights go out)

For general listeners who had not studied vocals, they often judged singing ability based on their own capacity.

 

If the vocalist used techniques and sounds they could not replicate, they judged it as difficult. Conversely, if the singer used techniques they could replicate, they would judge it as easy.

 

That was why people felt in their gut that Fade was above Si-On’s level.

 

Yet, for some reason, as the chorus kicked in, people subtly started leaning to the left.

 

Truth be told, most people did not even realize which direction their bodies were leaning.

 

They just naturally swayed towards the side that sounded better.

 

And that left side was where Han Si-On’s voice shone through.

새-벽의 끝을 붙잡고 서서

 

서서, 단둘이

 

너와 나 우리 둘이

(Holding the end of dawn, standing

 

Standing, the two of us

 

You and I, just the two of us)

Technically speaking, Han Si-On did not come across as exceptionally skilled.

 

But he crafted a pleasant sound, sang a song people wanted to vibe with, and dished out the right emotions…

 

…Of a song where a city is caught between the last moments of dawn and the brink of sunrise.

 

Most neon signs are flickering off, and the moon and sun leave only dim silhouettes at that time.

 

And the two souls in that city.

 

As a matter of fact, the original songwriter claimed the ‘you’ in the lyrics had already left and existed only in the imagination of the ‘I’…

 

But listeners did not need to delve that deep.

 

Art is made by creators and interpreted by consumers, after all.

 

They simply imagined standing in the city holding the hand of someone beside them or someone who once held theirs.

 

And when the second verse rolled in, the audience finally realized that most of them were leaning forward with their heads tilted to the left.

 

*   *   *

 

Once the song wrapped, I handed the mic to Choi Jae-Seong.

 

Go Tae-Hwan, On Sae-Miro, and Lee Ye-On have already tapped out of the NRB to go downstairs, leaving just Choi Jae-Seong and me.

 

Holding the mic, Choi Jae-Seong spoke with sparkling eyes.

 

“Bro, that was unreal. I was kind of thrown off at first because you didn’t roll in with your usual style. Wow. It’s a vibe that words can’t capture…”

 

I crack a smile at Choi Jae-Seong’s antics.

 

It seemed straightforward, but it wasn’t easy to nail that song.

 

Somewhere along the line, I grew to dislike the word “feel”.

 

Nah, not at some point. It was from the moment I was convinced I’d hit technical mastery.

 

Back then, the “Feel” sounded like an excuse to me.

 

“You sing well, but it doesn’t have any feel.”

 

“You sing well, but the feel isn’t hitting hard enough.”

 

“You sing well, but there’s something missing in the feel…” and so on.

 

It felt like an excuse that companies gave because they didn’t want to take the risk of investing in an Asian artist like me.

 

But what sounded like an excuse was actually one I made up myself.

 

After realizing that, I spent a lot of time contemplating how to convey the ‘feel.’

 

The feeling is subjective, but the objective analysis is doable.

 

Even when singing the same song, hitting a slower tempo gives a relaxing feel, while singing with a faster tempo serves up that groovy vibe.

 

I’m not talking about fancy syncopation¹ “싱코페이션 (Syncopation)”: This technique involves pulling the beat forward, creating a rhythmic tension. It adds unexpected accents or off-beat elements to enhance groove and musical interest. or laid-back² “레이백 (Layback)”: In contrast, layback involves intentionally delaying or relaxing the beat. It gives a more laid-back, smooth feel to the flow. moves.

 

Even when singing with the same timing and beat, you can create those feelings with just slight accents and relaxation.

 

I learned that when I gave up on being a vocalist, thinking I couldn’t hit 200 million copies just by singing, and I switched to playing instruments.

 

Maybe it was during my jazz days in New Orleans?

 

Anyway, after that, I spent a few lifetimes mastering the art of playing with my voice.

 

And this song was no exception.

 

It might have seemed straightforward, but I juggled many elements to convey that mix of brilliance and regret, melancholy and nostalgia.

 

Well, Choi Jae-Seong can’t grasp all that nuance.

 

“Thanks. I’ll head downstairs first. Good luck.”

 

“Bro, do you have any last-minute tips?”

 

“Tips?”

 

“On singing well.”

 

Choi Jae-Seong is a vocalist with many strengths and no real weaknesses.

 

Just saying that might make him sound like a stellar vocalist, but truth be told, he doesn’t seem to have groundbreaking potential.

 

He can hold his own in any crew, but being the main vocalist? Nah, he’s more like a jack-of-all-trades vocalist.

 

So, the advice I can drop on such a Choi Jae-Seong is…

 

“Try to extend your breath. Forcefully”

 

“Breath? You mean breathing?”

 

“Yeah. Excluding me, you have the longest and most stable breath control.”

 

“Ah… I see.”

 

“While others gasp for air after half a bar, you can breeze through the whole thing.”

 

“Ah, got it. I’ve done that in rock songs at NRB with friends sometimes.”

 

“Try doing that for this song too.”

 

“But why?”

 

Why, huh? It’s to see if your well-roundedness is your innate ability or if it’s a forced one.

 

Among vocalists, some get so hung up on maintaining balance that they end up restraining their own strengths.

 

It’s a common trait among those who’ve been overtrained, and I’ve had that suspicion about Choi Jae-Seong.

 

For these types, you have to shake up that balance for their real skills to shine.

 

Of course, Choi Jae-Seong won’t understand if I explain that…

 

I have no good excuse to make.

 

“You’ll figure it out if you give it a shot with longer breaths.”

 

So I just toss that.

 

Mumbling “Breathing, long,” Choi Jae-Seong grabs the mic and gives me a nod.

 

As I’m about to leave the NRB, I remember that there are CCTVs and pat Choi Jae-Seong’s shoulder.

 

“You got this. Keep your spirits up.”

 

“Yes!”

 

As I’m heading downstairs, my suspicions are confirmed.

 

About fifty audience members are in rows, with Three Months, Hundred Days, and Take Scene members behind them.

 

Only three out of the five Take Scene members were in attendance.

 

Our squad has three members, and so do theirs.

 

The format seems to be singing and then coming down to the first floor.

 

Did Take Scene sing the same song in another room by any chance?

 

So we received a list of favorite songs, and my lower-listed <At the End of the Dawn> was selected because it overlapped with someone’s top pick from Take Scene?

 

As I’m pondering, I instinctively scan the audience.

 

No surprise. They all have remotes with two buttons.

 

It seemed like they played both teams’ members singing the same track simultaneously, and the audience had to pick.

 

In that case, the member orders being randomly drawn were probably also staged. They probably handed us an app rigged to give the same outcome.

 

But for now, that’s the extent of my need to delve into it.

 

Since the audience is having their eyes on me, I give a slight bow and introduce myself.

 

“Hello everyone. I’m Han Si-On from Three Months, Hundred Days.”

 

There’s an instant buzz from the crowd, so my singing must have gone over well.

 

Then I hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

 

It seems the other Take Scene member is arriving after singing elsewhere.

 

The only Take Scene member whose future I know is the main vocalist, Tune.On.

 

Tune.On eventually shook off the idol singer tag and became a respected solo vocalist.

 

Tune.On has already sung and taken a seat, so my opponent is someone I don’t know.

 

True to the team name, Take Scene, if my memory serves me right, all their names are related to filming.

 

Names like Tune.On, Re.D, Ak.Son, or something along those lines?

 

As I ponder, someone behind me pipes up.

 

“Uh, um. Hello.”

 

Hearing the voice, I naturally turn around.

 

And then.

 

“…!”

 

I doubt my eyes.

 

It is a face I recognize.

 

“I’m Fade from Take Scene. Nice to meet you.”

 

Jo Yong-Seong.

 

Why is this guy here?

 

He’s not supposed to debut with Take Scene.

 

Jo Yong-Seong is slated to debut in 2 years with a team called ‘For the Youth.’

 

And For the Youth was…

 

“You think people’ll believe what the four of us say, or will they believe what you alone say?”

 

The team where I first tasted the pill of this damn idol thing.

 

***

 

After appearing on <Stage Number Zero> in the 2nd regression and getting utterly crushed, I went solo in the 3rd one.

 

Simultaneously, drawing on my knowledge of the future, I started recruiting talent left and right to establish a company.

 

That was when I discovered that producing albums also counted toward the 200 million sales goal.

 

It depends on how much you’re involved in the production, but it seems like 0.2-0.3 copies would be counted per album if you’re the sole producer.

 

On that journey, I also crossed paths with lawyer Choi Ji-Woon due to legal matters.

 

But after another failure, in the 4th regression, I turned my gaze to Japan, which had a substantial music market.

 

That was when I felt like I truly grasped how to sing.

 

Reflecting it now, that realization was merely technical, but it represented a groundbreaking change for me at the time.

 

After heading to Japan and achieving some success, I geared up for the 5th regression.

 

And in that 5th one, I hit it big.

 

I don’t recall the exact number, but I think I sold around 30 million copies throughout my singing career.

 

Given that I could only max out at around 8 million copies in Korea, the contrast was clear.

 

Even so, I failed.

 

No, it wasn’t just a failure; it brought mental anguish.

 

I think that was probably the first time I took antidepressants.