Damn Idol, Episode 12
* * *
CEO Choi Daeho was stubborn, strongly old-fashioned, and possessed the particular obstinacy of a successful middle-aged man.
Because of that, there were times when he spectacularly drove a project into the ground, or did things that looked truly bizarre to everyone else.
But he was the CEO who had built one of South Korea’s Big Three entertainment agencies.
He was a man with a sense for planning and business.
In Choi Daeho’s eyes, the success of Coming Up Next depended on the strength of Team B.
If Team A and Team B were aired for the same amount of time, viewers would think Team B was being used as a sacrifice.
So they had to create a reversal.
They would make Team B the focus in the early part of the broadcast.
To the point where viewers would think, “What the hell? Why are they only showing those guys?”
That was also why Team B’s filming had begun first.
Along the same lines, what mattered in the “preliminary mission” currently underway was not the quality of the stage.
Singing?
Of course it was good if they sang well.
But what truly mattered was self-introduction.
Imprinting on the viewers what kind of character you were.
What if someone froze from nerves and couldn’t sing even a single line?
It would look like a disaster.
But what if, despite failing to sing, they desperately danced what their body remembered?
And what if that was fairly watchable?
The viewers would learn that contestant was in the dance position, and that they were the type to get nervous easily.
Then it was a success.
And if, by any chance, they sang decently in the main competition?
A huge success.
Of course, this kind of dramatic situation wasn’t something that could be created intentionally, but Choi Daeho hoped the contestants would make choices that showed even the slightest clever intent.
Whether that intent worked or not, he wanted to see that they had an intention in the first place.
But…
“It’s a bit disappointing.”
As Lee Changjun said, it was disappointing.
All of them had only shown themselves scrambling to sing well.
“Exactly. I don’t see them thinking about what kind of charm they should show.”
“Come on, if those kids were considering that at this stage, they’d be on their second run through life.”
Blue wasn’t wrong, but Choi Daeho couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
At that moment, the fourth contestant stepped up onto the stage.
Han Sion.
“Senior Choi. He’s the one, right? The arrangement?”
“That’s right.”
Choi Daeho had shown composer Lee Changjun Han Sion’s audition video.
It had been to lure in Lee Changjun, who was worried about the level of the program.
Well, in the end, money had been what got him on board.
“Did he really do it himself?”
“I haven’t checked, but if he didn’t, it’ll be exposed soon enough.”
Trainer Yu Seonhwa, who hadn’t said much outside of her judging comments, opened her mouth.
“Arrangement? What do you mean?”
“Ah, when he auditioned, he sang a song he’d arranged himself.”
“Was it enough to call it an arrangement? Not just changing the expression a bit?”
Choi Daeho shook his head and backed up Lee Changjun’s words.
“No. He changed the song’s genre. Completely.”
“To that extent? Now I’m curious.”
After ending their small talk, the judges looked at Han Sion’s application form and began speaking.
Since they had already agreed not to discuss his family circumstances yet, the questions weren’t heavy.
“Han Sion. Why did you apply to our program?”
“I had a dream of wanting to become an idol, but I didn’t know how. Then, by chance, I saw the notice for Coming Up Next.”
“Why do you want to become an idol?”
“I’ve actually been thinking about that ever since I wrote my reason for applying… but I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Yes. I have a desperate desire, but I don’t know why I came to have it, or when it began.”
At Han Sion’s answer, Blue grinned.
“Right. Sometimes you can’t clearly explain why a dream entered your heart.”
It wasn’t a bad answer.
Until now, everyone had only answered that they liked singing, or that they liked standing on stage.
The judges continued asking simple questions afterward as well, and Han Sion’s answers weren’t boring.
Finally, Yu Seonhwa spoke.
“What were you thinking when you chose your song? To be honest, I don’t think it’s a particularly attractive choice.”
Worried that it might sound as though she was looking down on the song itself, Blue quickly added,
“You mean that while
Realizing her mistake belatedly, Yu Seonhwa sent Blue a grateful look and nodded.
“That’s right. The first verse doesn’t contain the charm of this song.”
“I chose it because I thought it might be all right if I sang it just a little differently.”
“Differently? How?”
Han Sion smiled.
“Wouldn’t it be better to see it for yourself?”
He had a way of drawing people in when he spoke.
With the previous contestants, it had felt like a question-and-answer session. With Han Sion, it felt like a conversation.
And one taking place from a fairly equal position.
‘Ah, I want him.’
The corners of Choi Daeho’s mouth lifted slightly.
Because he was the type born with instinctive charisma, well suited to the role of team leader.
“Good. Let’s hear it.”
“I’m looking forward to this.”
At the judges’ words, the intro began to play.
* * *
Four judges,
nine contestants.
A dozen or so filming staff.
A similar number of broadcast writers.
Before an audience of just under forty, Han Sion took hold of the microphone.
Endless regression was agony.
Tedious and exhausting.
At times, he had even thought that he wanted to simply go insane and escape the cycle of regression.
But despite that, the reason he still hadn’t given up…
was because he had fans.
The only realism in a Truman Show where a single regression made everything fake again.
The cheers the audience sent toward his music.
‘Is that too childish a thought?’
But Han Sion truly believed it.
It was even more enjoyable when the audience stared at him with their arms crossed and suspicious eyes.
Because when he completely changed those eyes, he could feel that this place was real.
And so, he opened his mouth.
Somewhere at the end of a gray alley
—orange, beneath the streetlamp
A beginning different from the original.
‘As expected, he raised it an octave.’
A few of the contestants nodded.
Originally, the opening of this song was a part sung calmly in a fairly low register.
Raising the octave in that kind of section wasn’t particularly special, but it did seem like a wise choice.
However, the judges thought differently.
“Hmm…”
“Mm.”
It was the worst possible choice.
Because the original song’s range was so low, raising it by an octave didn’t make it feel unstable.
Han Sion sang it cleanly and well.
Nevertheless, the reason this choice was the worst was because the song’s strength had completely disappeared.
It could also appeal to those who liked that kind of feeling.
Even without going as far as Bob Dylan, weren’t there singers who sang that way and gained popularity?
But if you raised it by an octave?
It became neither one thing nor the other.
Because there were countless songs with far more attractive vocal lines in that octave range.
In other words, there was no longer any reason to sing
The shadow lying there, its color not yet spread
why is it orange
‘His tone suits it well.’
‘He’s singing it neatly. Why did he choose this song?’
‘It’s stable.’
But even so, the thought that it was a bad choice didn’t change.
It would probably only be good up to this point.
What made the first verse of this song so terribly tedious was that the vocal line repeated every two bars, and aside from one or two note variations, it was almost exactly the same.
No matter how well it suited his tone, if you heard the same progression four times, you had no choice but to get bored…
Maybe it’s because my direction
reaches your house at the end of the alley—
‘What is this?’
Blue, who had the weakest musical knowledge among the judges, blinked.
Was there any man who could hit high notes who hadn’t tried singing this song?
But it was a song that made even the singer feel bored before reaching the chorus, where they could show off those high notes.
And yet…
Why was it good?
Something was different.
There was definitely something different from the
Simply raising it by an octave could never produce this.
Standing
—stock
—still
beneath the streetlamp, orange
“Huh?”
“What is it?”
The contestants murmured.
A beat later than Blue, they had caught on that Han Sion was singing it in some different way.
But they didn’t know what was different.
If he had raised the range drastically or twisted the melody, they would have noticed right away.
But that wasn’t it.
It was similar to the original song.
There was an impression that the vocal line or bent notes were subtly different, but not greatly so.
There was only one clearly different point.
It wasn’t boring at all.
It was good to listen to.
Orange
—orange
—the opposite direction from where the sun sets
—
“Haha.”
At that moment, composer Lee Changjun let out a small laugh.
It wasn’t a laugh made with the camera in mind, but one that slipped out before he realized it.
‘He really was a genius, wasn’t he?’
To be honest, after hearing the song Han Sion had supposedly arranged, Lee Changjun had suspected that someone else had done it for him.
The moment he chose
Even so, he had been able to applaud.
Even if someone else had arranged it for him, he was still the one who had digested it.
But after hearing this song, he knew.
He had done the arrangement himself.
Without that level of skill, he wouldn’t even have been able to attempt reviving a song in such a special way.
‘Even if you told someone how, it’s not something they could do.’
In the meantime, Han Sion’s song had begun approaching the end of the first verse.
Before they knew it, the powerful chorus was shimmering in everyone’s minds.
‘Since he raised the octave, will the chorus go up too?’
‘That would be way too high.’
The chorus of
If you endured the tedious stretch of the first verse, an auditory pleasure that cleared your chest came pouring out.
That was why this song had once taken first place as the song men sang most often at karaoke.
At the same time, it had also taken first place as the song women least wanted to hear at karaoke.
If I walk just a little while,
to the place where you and I stayed,
that place, that place, there—
Han Sion no longer hid his intention.
Now, a song clearly different from the original flowed out.
He had assigned the role of a pre-hook, which didn’t exist in the original, to bars eleven and twelve.
It was almost amazing that he could change the way he sang like this without touching the MR.
Toward the shimmering chorus, the range slowly climbed.
Like a roller coaster going click, click up to its highest point.
Now, as soon as he got past one more line, the high notes would come pouring down, and the fiery melody would set off fireworks.
You and I
—beneath
—the streetlamp—!
Right now!
—cut.
“…”
“…”
“…?”
People were flustered.
‘Is this a broadcast accident?’
That was what the contestants, who had been singing along internally, thought.
At the same time, they felt a deep sense of disappointment.
No, to put it more honestly, they were pissed as hell.
It was just about to explode!
That insane chorus was about to come out!
You damn broadcast-station bastards, can’t you do anything right?
Among the contestants, only one person—
Han Sion alone smiled as if nothing had happened and bowed.
“Thank you.”
Only then did the contestants become aware of reality.
“Huh?”
“Ah…!”
They were currently filming the preliminary mission for Coming Up Next, and the rule of the preliminary mission was to sing only one verse.