Damn Idol, Chapter 129
* * *
Sunken eyes, rough, dry skin, hair no one knew when they had last washed.
Chocolate bars hidden between tables strewn with printed pages, and empty coffee cans that looked ready to come crashing down if someone so much as nudged them.
It was the natural scenery of a variety show meeting room in the production stage.
So natural that no one found it strange.
But there was one exception.
Usually, people were supposed to be sprawled all over the place, impossible to tell whether they were zombies or corpses, but…….
There was life.
On top of that, they were arguing passionately.
“Ah, what are you talking about? The ratings are guaranteed!”
“With just one cable program contestant…….”
“Are you kidding me, director? Just have him show his face in the programming ad. The first episode’s ratings will explode.”
“……
Is that so?”
“Of course! The final episode of Coming Up Next hit 11%! Eleven!
Percent!”
There was one reason the Stage Number Zero team at SBN Broadcasting was raising their voices.
That morning, an unimaginable commodity—no, applicant—had knocked on their door.
The greatest output Coming Up Next had produced, and a group even said to have brought glory to the nation through Color Show: Sedalbaegil.
One of its members, Choi Jaeseong.
The head writer said there was no question they had to grab Choi Jaeseong, while the head PD was dragging his feet.
The reason for this difference in attitude was simple.
The writer was a freelancer, and the PD was a full-time employee.
Both of them were equally desperate for ratings, but their desperation differed when it came to whether their pay would go up at the next contract renewal.
To put it bluntly, would Choi Daeho boycott the PD of a program that used Sedalbaegil, or would he boycott the writer?
Unable to watch any longer, the second writer cut in.
“No, first, let’s all calm down. Everyone’s on a caffeine high and a sugar high, so your brains aren’t working.”
“You’re saying we shouldn’t cast him?”
“No. That’s not it. First we have to find out if it’s even possible. We don’t cast people who already have companies, remember?”
Stage Number Zero’s application requirements said ages 1 to 99, but anyone affiliated with a company was disqualified.
More precisely, if they had an agency, the agency had to pay a proper sponsorship fee and promote them.
Because they could broadcast it as if the contestant were unaffiliated at the time of appearance, then make it look like they joined a company after the show ended.
“Aren’t they independent?”
“Even so, wouldn’t the team called Sedalbaegil itself be bound by a contract?”
“Uh, is that so?”
“I’ll call him. Confirming that comes first.”
After saying that, the second writer abruptly called Choi Jaeseong.
His answer was extremely simple.
Sedalbaegil’s activities, which had beaten Lion to a pulp and filled Korea’s entertainment news sections…….
—They’re club activities, though? Can I call it a crew to make it sound a little cooler?
Had been downgraded to club activities.
“No, then you don’t have any written contract?”
—No. We don’t.
“How do you split revenue? If you perform, you get paid, don’t you?”
—Ah, guest performances?
“G-guest performances?”
—We just split that by N. It’s group income from a crew performance.
The Stage Number Zero production staff listening to the speakerphone fell into confusion.
Crew culture was somewhat weak among indie bands, which had to move as a team.
But in hip-hop, crew culture was strong, because rappers were ultimately people who played solo.
They pooled money as a group, rented a venue, performed, and split the profits.
Also, some had agencies, and some did not.
Not only rappers, but R&B singers who did Black music were sometimes part of such crews as well.
In that sense, Choi Jaeseong’s words were not impossible to understand.
But.
‘What kind of crew is on this scale!’
This was where their values began to clash.
“Wait, wait. Then if you sign with an agency, what happens to Sedalbaegil?”
—Uh, our activities would probably become less frequent? But unless something major happens, I don’t intend to sign with any company.
“Then why are you coming on the show?”
—Because I want to prove myself as a solo artist.
“O-okay, for now. We’ll contact you again.”
—Call me anytime!
After the call ended, silence lingered for a moment.
The first to grasp the essence of the situation was the PD.
“Hey, aren’t these guys trying to break into TV appearances through us?”
“That’s even better.”
“Hm?”
“Then it’s even better. He absolutely won’t cause trouble, he’ll listen well, and it’ll be easy all the way to the end. On top of that, Choi Jaeseong’s fans mean guaranteed ratings, right?”
As the conversation returned to first principles, the PD sank into thought.
To be honest, at first he had been afraid of Choi Daeho’s boycott.
In the music industry, the reason major agencies wielded such powerful influence ultimately came down to the issue of boycotts.
Lion, Double M, LPL.
The Republic of Korea’s three major agencies.
Sometimes BVB and NT were added to call them the big five agencies.
These companies competed over the limited pie of the music industry, but in emergencies, they also banded tightly together.
So if all five of them boycotted his program, something terrible could happen.
But even if that were the case, wasn’t that fear meaningless if the program crashed and burned right now?
To put it bluntly, it wasn’t as if the five agencies would pool their money and fill his pockets just because he refused to let Choi Jaeseong appear.
“Writer Kim.”
“What?”
“Let’s do it. But we need to get a cheering video from Sedalbaegil as a full group. Since it’s come to this, let’s bait the trailer properly.”
“How?”
“Make it feel like all of Sedalbaegil is appearing. How’s that?”
When the head PD, who had suddenly gone over to the dark side, chuckled with a heh heh, the head writer felt a thrill run from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes.
It was too good.
If, in the trailer, all of Sedalbaegil appeared and said, “We want to do our best”?
Korea would be turned upside down.
By then, wouldn’t that Color Show or whatever have been released too?
“Director.”
“What?”
“That’s fucking amazing.”
“Let’s go for it. Audition programs are all about ratings anyway.”
Watching the head PD and head writer gush, the second writer shook her head.
She could see why those two had worked on so many programs together.
But it was interesting.
Judging by what Choi Jaeseong had said, he did not want to leave Sedalbaegil.
The reason he had honestly revealed that to the production staff was probably to tell them not to clumsily attach some other agency to him.
From the Top Ten onward, contestants who already had agencies, or the sponsorship rush from agencies that had already staked claims on someone, began to enter the picture.
So Choi Jaeseong would probably reach the Top Ten at best.
But…….
‘Will he be able to withstand the temptation?’
If Choi Jaeseong truly made it to the Top Ten by skill, countless temptations from show business would pour down on him.
At a level difficult for a boy not yet twenty to withstand.
The second writer was curious about that.
* * *
[Hyung, I got cast.]
[See you when I get back to Korea.]
I closed my smartphone.
Choi Jaeseong would do well, and Stage Number Zero was a program that would do well even if left alone.
I hadn’t paid attention to it after crossing over to the United States, but while I was active in Korea, I had always seen it succeed.
Even when it failed because of chance factors, it hit over 10%, and when it did best, I saw it reach 17%.
For reference, in the second season I appeared in, it was higher than that.
I don’t remember the details, but I think it might have gone over 20%.
It had been a time when, without missing a single day, articles about the accident at the intersection and my parents poured out.
Back then, I had truly hated that.
It was only my second life, after all, before my emotions had been worn dry and dull.
But now, it did not matter.
No matter how big the issues surrounding me became, I could create an even bigger issue with music.
To sell two hundred million records, I had to.
That was why I came to New Jersey.
For a regressor, objective self-assessment was extremely important.
Ordinary people live with the standard of “me,” but I do not have a “me.”
Because with just one regression, every bit of history I had built up would disappear.
So even though I had come to like the members of Sedalbaegil, I was prepared for the fact that someday, I might have to part with them as well.
That was why what mattered to me was music.
Across countless regressions, the only thing that steadily accumulated was musical skill.
No one remembered that I had tied for fourth place in the Chopin Competition, but what I had realized then had melted into my music.
That was why I could not simply overlook the fact that my music had changed.
I had to know how it had changed.
Whether it had gotten better, or worse.
Whether it had become softer, or harder.
I had to grasp everything.
To do that, I had to pour out and pour out everything I could do…….
“Get it!”
“Hey!”
At the present point in time, there was nowhere like New Jersey.
New Jersey was a dull gray city overshadowed by New York, but the central shore town of Seaside Heights was different.
Maybe it was because of the influence of the reality program Jersey Shore, or maybe the city had always been like that, but…….
There were a lot of crazy bastards here.
So there were also a lot of crazy bastards obsessed with music.
The impulses hidden beneath the surface of this dull gray city, where all sorts of races were mixed together, manifested in countless underground clubs.
From small theater stages imitating New York’s Apollo Theater to impromptu jams held by the beach.
So I intended to empty myself out completely.
To find out what had changed in me.
With just one guitar slung over my shoulder, I headed toward wherever music could be heard.
In front of some guy who had placed a strange drum on a bench and was beating it like mad, I began playing guitar.
When I cut into his performance, the drummer wore an ambiguous expression, but that expression soon changed.
Because after only thirty seconds, he could tell.
That I was better than him.
As he was gradually pushed by my tempo and reduced to backup sound, the shaggy-haired Indian American shouted and stopped playing.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“Do it again.”
This time, I played the guitar first.
After wondering what kind of feeling I should bring out, I started with the feel of progressive rock.
The drummer twitched his hands as if wondering how to come in, but I did not make room for him.
If he could come in, he would come in; if he couldn’t, he couldn’t.
Whenever I made music with Sedalbaegil, I always made places for them.
This was where this person came in, and that was where that person came in.
It wasn’t that I hated that.
That was simply what this life had required.
But now, it was different.
At first, I had started playing with the intention of teasing the drummer, but before I knew it, I had become deeply immersed.
The surroundings were so noisy that I could barely hear the sound of my own playing, but it did not matter.
When my fingers moved, what sound came out, and when I played in a certain way, what kind of difference it made—I knew that better than anyone.
I could say with certainty that there was no one in this world who had handled this instrument more than I had.
I didn’t remember how many lives I had lived, but I didn’t think there had been a single life where I had not played guitar.
Uh, was that not true?
When I did EDM, I might not have played guitar.
But at the time, my mind had been so broken that I had been repeating regressions constantly, so I did not remember well.
Since I was at it, should I try bringing out an electronic music feel?
I couldn’t produce electronic sounds with an acoustic guitar, but I could mislead people’s ears.
So I played like a madman.
It felt like I had played for roughly more than thirty minutes, but I could not hear the drums at all.
The reason I stopped playing was because it felt like the tips of my fingers were bleeding.
They had not yet been trained enough to form calluses.
And when I lowered the guitar like that…….
“Bravo!”
People of all different races, each clutching an instrument, were applauding.
There were a great many of them, too.
“Big band. Jazz, how about it?”
After saying that, I picked up the guitar again.
My fingers hurt a little, but the stage had been set.
And so I began playing, emptying everything out.
* * *
Chris Edward, who had arrived in Seaside Heights, was slightly irritated because Han Sion was not answering his phone.
They had said he would be able to find him if he came here, but when was he supposed to search through this huge place?
He had not even come alone; he had come with Donald McGuth.
“Let’s look around.”
“Don’t be so nervous. Musicians are all like that. Let’s have a beer first.”
At the pub they stopped by to buy beer, Chris Edward was able to hear the story he wanted.
Over the past four days, stories of Han Sion had been spreading from mouth to mouth among the musicians filling this beach town.
As an absurdly genius musician from the East.
They even said that more than ten agencies, interested in Han Sion, had sent managers here.