Damn Idol, Chapter 130
To begin with, Chris Edward had not asked the pub’s patrons about Han Sion.
He had simply heard it.
The name Zion, who had become the most famous musician in this city in just four days.
‘Han Sion?’
If he thought only of skill, it was not surprising.
Han Sion had more than enough ability to shake musicians’ hearts and leave their mouths hanging open.
Hadn’t he himself fallen for Han Sion’s music and flown all the way to Korea?
But his attitude was strange.
From Chris Edward’s perspective, Sion was someone who had no desire whatsoever to show off his talent.
That was truly odd.
Of course, someone might ask whether a genius necessarily had to boast.
But every genius was desperate to boast of their music, to show it to the world.
Especially the younger they were.
From that perspective, Chris Edward believed there were no geniuses buried and hidden in the world.
If such a person existed, then they were not a genius, but merely someone with a reasonable amount of talent.
But Han Sion had no desire to let people hear his music and feel smug about it.
He simply released as much as he needed into the world, and drew out only as much response as he needed.
The fact that he could calculate that was amazing in itself, but the attitude of making those calculations was strange too.
Why did Han Sion not pour out one hundred percent?
From Jankos Greenwood to Donald McGus.
Even though he was a genius acknowledged by every master.
That was why it was not easy to understand that Han Sion had turned this narrow beach town upside down.
Because the Han Sion he knew would never do such a thing.
At that moment, Donald McGus, who had been gulping down beer beside Chris Edward, spoke.
“He’s a little different from what I heard from you.”
“I’m confused too.”
“This might be his true self. I heard Korea’s rigid hierarchies and competitive atmosphere make it hard to express individuality.”
“Mm.”
That was true, but it did not feel like Han Sion.
If that had really been the case, he would never have clashed with a man like K-pop’s Vanderbilt (Choi Daeho).
Still, Chris Edward merely nodded obediently at Donald McGus’s words.
After all, he would find out once he met Han Sion.
“Then let’s go to the noisiest place too.”
“I’ll lead the way. I know this city a little.”
“Oh? When have you been here?”
“When I was DJing in New York, I came a few times.”
And so Chris Edward began wandering the musicians’ street near the beach with Donald McGus.
He did not think Han Sion would be in an underground club.
Since he was not yet twenty-one by American age, he would not be allowed into clubs where drinking was permitted.
He might be at a theater hosting an open mic, but that was a limited location, so they could check it last.
So, the beach.
Sure enough, as the two walked the streets, they were able to find Han Sion faster than expected.
To be precise, they found someone surrounded by a crowd, playing the guitar.
“That seems to be the place.”
“Mm……”
No clear answer came out.
At first, he thought it was Sion.
But the performance coming through the cheap amp was very different from Han Sion’s music as he knew it.
However, Donald McGus seemed certain, and began pushing his way through the people.
“Hey, you.”
“Sorry. I’ve got business inside.”
“……
Donald?”
As befitted musicians playing on the beach, everyone seemed to recognize the blues master.
Thanks to that, it was not difficult for the two of them to move toward the center of the performance.
The closer they got to the center, the more Donald McGus’s expression changed.
The music they had heard through the cheap amp had been fantastic, but hearing the performance directly was even more so.
But around then, Chris Edward reached a conclusion.
‘It’s not Sion.’
The performance was too free.
It was bound by neither form, technique, nor technicality.
He was playing an arrangement of Elmore James’s song, and it was unbelievably beautiful.
This song was more famous in Gary B. B. Coleman’s arranged version, but this went beyond that.
The jazziness and bluesiness contained within the rich melody were insane.
No matter how often people said jazz and blues were sibling genres, was it possible to cross the boundary this much?
At least within the genre of blues, this musician seemed to be above Han Sion.
“Oh my God!”
By then, Donald McGus could not hold himself back any longer.
Abandoning all composure, he madly pushed through the crowd.
Chris Edward also quickened his steps.
Even if it was not Han Sion, he wanted to meet a musician capable of playing music of this caliber.
Meanwhile, the people who recognized Donald McGus, who had arrived first, let out cheers, and soon the sound of two guitars began to ring out.
Unable to resist, Donald had joined the performance.
By then, Chris Edward had also reached the center of the performance.
And his eyes flew wide open.
“……!”
Because the person playing was Sion.
‘How?’
And yet he also looked like a completely different person.
Perhaps because of the melody flowing from the guitar in his hands, or perhaps because of the relaxed clothes Chris had never seen him wear in Korea.
As the two of them began playing madly, the people’s expressions turned entranced.
Blues was like the father of modern music genres.
Rock, metal, soul, funk, disco, hip-hop……
If one looked into the history and essence of all popular music, blues was dissolved within it.
Some even claimed that jazz was born on the foundation of blues.
The common view was that the two genres were sibling genres born while influencing each other, but that only proved how much blues had influenced countless kinds of music.
Therefore, Donald McGus, a master of blues, could be called a musician who expressed the essence of popular music in its most beautiful form.
And yet that nineteen-year-old musician was his equal.
No……
‘Am I crazy if I think Sion is better?’
He seemed superior.
He could not quite say overwhelmingly so, but the key points in the two people’s performance were clearly flowing from Sion’s fingertips.
At that moment, unable to contain his excitement, Donald McGus began to sing.
The sky is crying
Can you see the tears roll down the street
Then someone brought a stand with a cheap microphone plugged into it and set it in front of Donald McGus.
Screeech—
It was a microphone that let out an unpleasant feedback squeal, but……
In front of Donald McGus’s voice, which sounded as if molten brass were dripping from it, it did not matter.
But the one who took the next verse was Han Sion, with a smile on his lips.
The sky is crying,
Can you see the tears roll down the street
An old man and a boy began playing madly and singing.
Chris Edward, who understood this music perfectly, was able to notice the game the two were playing.
When Donald McGus sang first, Han Sion twisted the performance.
Then Donald McGus had to modify his singing to match that performance.
Conversely, when Han Sion sang, Donald McGus changed the performance.
Then that lunatic Han Sion created a new chord progression with his voice.
In the very way Iion had been practicing.
Free, and beautiful.
At that moment, Chris Edward recalled what he had said to Han Sion at the moment of farewell.
“A musician with your level of talent doesn’t need to be anxious. You don’t need to be afraid, and you don’t need to calculate.”
“Just let it out. The public may seem indifferent at a glance, but they absolutely aren’t.”
“There will be so many people in the world who recognize the essence contained in your music.”
He did not know the reason.
But he knew the cause.
Han Sion was, just as he had said, simply letting it out.
Without any calculation, drunk on music.
The one hundred percent of Han Sion he was witnessing for the first time was……
‘Insane.’
A beauty one could not endure without loving.
* * *
Chris Edward, Donald McGus, and Han Sion.
The three of them held a small party in a hotel room.
It was consideration for Han Sion, who could not drink in bars.
“Haha! I can’t believe it. To think I was pushed back in performance by a boy far younger than my own children.”
“Pushed back? You were leading.”
“You think I don’t know you were matching my lead? You truly are like God’s mistake.”
“It could be the devil’s mistake.”
“Considering the origin of blues, that sounds more fitting.”
Donald McGus could not hide his curiosity about Han Sion, and Han Sion enjoyed the conversation with an easygoing attitude.
The two exchanged all sorts of stories, including conversations about music.
He was especially interested in Han Sion’s current situation.
But rather than feeling sorry for him, he seemed to be enjoying it.
“You live like the protagonist of a film. Are you fighting an evil capitalist like that with music?”
“I’m in the middle of teaching him a lesson like a hero.”
“Hahaha. Good. I think I might be able to help a little.”
“In what way? I have no intention of working in America.”
“Do you know what the power of old men like me is?”
“I’m not sure. Connections? Wealth?”
“More than that, it’s that we somehow look impressive. When old men speak, it looks impressive, you see?”
Donald McGus seemed to have some kind of plan, but he did not seem inclined to reveal it here.
At one point, Han Sion and Chris Edward had once talked about Donald McGus.
“Why were you confused about Donald McGus?”
“I couldn’t picture his younger years.”
“Ah, right. McGus’s music is almost the same now as it was when he was young. He’s an incredible man. A god of blues.”
Not only his music, but even his attitude toward life was like that of a young man.
The way he conversed with Han Sion was like a teenage boy he had happened to meet at a concert venue.
After yielding the chance to converse to Donald McGus for a while, Chris Edward opened his mouth.
“Why have you changed so much?”
“Do I seem that different?”
“Yeah. Very free, and…… it felt like you were pouring everything out.”
Han Sion smiled faintly.
“My resolve to go all the way had more power than I expected.”
“What does that mean?”
“At some point, I had that thought. That I would go as far as I could with my current teammates.”
“And?”
“But when I thought about it again, saying I’d go all the way means there’s no end that can stop me, doesn’t it?”
“If you’re rising forever, then yes.”
“That’s it. That’s why my music changed.”
Chris Edward did not understand everything Han Sion said, but he understood the change in his attitude.
He was saying he would no longer calculate and put out only as much as necessary.
His heart pounded.
Then what kind of music would Han Sion make?
“How much longer will you be here?”
“Three days. No, since it’s past midnight now, two days.”
Donald McGus, who had been listening quietly, cut in.
“Then shall we go on a performance trip together for two days?”
“I’m sorry, but I have something to do. I gained certainty today. That I’ve become a better musician.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“I have to make an album.”
“In two days?”
“Yes. I need to arrange the music you all sent me.”
“We haven’t even written up a contract yet, have we?”
“Whatever the conditions are, I will accept them entirely.”
* * *
The next day, Han Sion shut himself inside a hastily rented studio in New York and truly did not come out for nearly forty hours.
He came out only after four pizza boxes had been emptied and six plastic bottles of cola had run out.
In his hand was a USB containing a total of eleven tracks.
If he added that and Color Show’s song to it……
Thirteen tracks.
These songs would be tied together as tracks with organic cohesion and released to the world.
But it was not an EP.
It was Three Months and One Hundred Days’ first full-length album.
The next day after that.
Han Sion returned to Korea.
It was one day before the Color Show video was released.