That Damn Idol – Episode 33
Album 4. Reminiscence
The moment the song title *At the End of Dawn* by With was revealed, people’s reactions were divided.
Quite a few people seemed not to know this song, but those who did were overjoyed.
Truthfully, in Korea, city pop was that kind of genre. Until before the 2010s, it had virtually no recognition, but from the mid-to-late 2010s onward, it was a genre that cultivated a fervent mania following.
In truth, city pop’s defining technical characteristics were so faint that a song someone called city pop could be AOR or fusion jazz to someone else.
In other words, what mattered in city pop wasn’t technical classification, but emotional classification.
A faded, distant feeling felt within a brilliantly shining city.
How well one could express this was what mattered.
In the meantime, after the long intro unique to old songs, the music began.
We enter the dawn and sit
Shining lights, just the two of us
A neon sign turned off
—Down below
Broken lights, a street with closed doors
The one who signaled the start of the song was Han Sion of Sedalbaegil.
There were no vocal tricks.
He sang flatly, tossing out the important notes lightly.
It was refreshing and pleasant to hear.
But conversely, it felt like that was all there was to it.
It didn’t evoke any special impression.
A dimly shining moon and
At the sound of heels opening the morning
An extinguished streetlamp, the sound of an engine starting
And a house with its door closed at the mouth of the alley
On the cafe monitor, Take Scene
—the word “Fade” appeared. The song coming in felt more polished than Han Sion’s.
He showed off more technique, and the way he handled the notes was closer to R&B.
The parts the two sang formed a contrast, so a direct comparison was possible, and I could feel Fade singing with a burst of force the parts that Han Sion had tossed out lightly.
Whether because it was city pop where emotion was important, or because of the old song’s unique melody usage.
In this song, the parts crossed over fewer times than in the previous song.
It was in a manner where once Han Sion completely finished a phrase, Fade would sing the next phrase completely.
Thus, they arrived at the chorus.
At the
-end of dawn, holding on and standing
Just you and me, the two of us
In this moment when the lights are fading
People who haven’t studied music often measure whether someone sings well or not based on themselves.
If someone uses a singing method or produces a sound they themselves can’t do, they evaluate it as difficult; if it’s a method or sound they can do, they evaluate it as easy.
Because of this, people inwardly believed Fade sang better.
However, for some reason, as the chorus began, people’s bodies gradually started leaning to the left.
In fact, most people weren’t even aware which way their bodies were leaning.
Because they simply turned instinctively toward the side that sounded better.
And the left was the direction from which Han Sion’s voice could be heard more clearly.
At the
-end of dawn, holding on and standing
Standing, just the two of us
You and me, the two of us
Clearly, Han Sion didn’t look outstanding technically.
But he produced a pleasant sound, sang a song people wanted to hear, and delivered an emotion that compelled you to listen.
A city somewhere between the moment just before dawn ends and just before the sun rises.
A quiet city in a time when most neon signs are turned off, and only faint shapes of the moon and sun remain.
With two people inside it.
In fact, the original songwriter had said that the “you” in this song was someone who had already left, and it was just imagining alone, but…….
The listener didn’t need to consider that far.
Because art is something the creator makes and the consumer interprets.
They simply imagined holding the hand of the person right beside them, or standing in the city with the person who had once held their hand.
Then, when the second verse began.
People finally realized.
That most of the audience had their heads turned to the left, their bodies leaning.
* * *
When the song ended, I handed the microphone to Choe Jaeseong.
Gu Taehwan, On Saemiro, and I I-on had already left the noraebang and gone down to the first floor, so only Choe Jaeseong and I remained.
Choe Jaeseong, holding the microphone, opened his mouth with bright, eager eyes.
“Hyung, you’re seriously amazing. At first, I was puzzled because you weren’t singing in your usual style. Wow. This feeling that can’t be put into words is really…….”
I smiled slightly at Choe Jaeseong’s fuss.
It only sounded easy; in truth, it wasn’t a song sung easily.
There was a point when I started hating the word “feeling.”
No, not just some point.
It was from the moment I became confident that I was technically complete, by my own judgment.
To me back then, the word “feeling” had sounded like an excuse.
“He sings well, but the feeling is lacking.”
“He sings well, but there’s no feeling that hooks you.”
“He sings well, but somehow the feeling is…… blah blah.”
I had thought it was an excuse they gave because they didn’t want to shoulder the risk of investing in an Asian like me.
But that excuse, which had sounded like one from others, was actually an excuse I had created myself.
After realizing that fact, I thought a lot about how to convey feeling.
Feeling is subjective, but in truth, objective analysis is possible.
Even singing the same song, if you hit the front of the tempo, it gives a tight feeling; if you hit the back, it gives a groovy feeling.
I’m not talking about actual syncopation, where you pull the beat forward, or layback, where you push it.
Even when singing with the exact same beat and timing, you could create such a feeling with very slight stronger and weaker accents.
I learned this when I gave up on being a vocalist and took up playing an instrument, because I felt I could never sell 200 million copies with singing alone.
Was it when I was learning jazz in New Orleans?
Anyway, after that, I lived through several more rounds and learned how to play with my voice.
This song was the same.
It might have sounded easy, but I controlled many parts to create a feeling that was brilliant yet wistful, bitter yet longing.
Well, Choe Jaeseong wouldn’t be able to know all that.
“Thanks. I’ll head down first. Fighting.”
“Hyung, before you go, do you have any tips for me?”
“Tips?”
“Tips for singing well.”
Choe Jaeseong is a vocalist with many strengths and no weaknesses.
If you put it that way, he might sound like an amazing vocalist, but sadly, the reality was that he showed no great potential.
He could pull his weight on any team, but he could be the protagonist on no team—a hexagonal vocalist.
If I were to give advice to such a Choe Jaeseong…….
“Force yourself to take long breaths.”
“Breath? My breathing?”
“Yeah. Except for me, your breath control is the longest and most stable.”
“Uh…… yes.”
“When others have to sing half a phrase, breathe, then sing another half, you can sing it all in one go.”
“Ah, I know what you mean. I sometimes sing like that at karaoke with friends when we do rock songs.”
“Try singing like that this time too.”
“Why?”
Why do you think? It was to see whether your hexagon is innate or forced.
Among vocalists, there are those who obsessively maintain balance to the point of suppressing their own strengths.
It’s a trait often seen in those who’ve received excessive training; I had once thought that perhaps Choe Jaeseong might be like that.
For these people, you have to break that balance for their true skill to show.
Of course, if I said this, Choe Jaeseong wouldn’t understand…….
I don’t really have a decent excuse for that, do I?
“You’ll know once you try using your breath longer.”
So I just said that.
Choe Jaeseong, muttering “breath, long” as if wondering what I was thinking, gripped the microphone tightly and nodded.
As I was about to leave the noraebang like that, the fixed camera occurred to me belatedly, so I patted Choe Jaeseong’s shoulder.
“You can do it. Cheer up.”
“Yes!”
When I went down to the first floor like that…….
My prediction was right.
Around fifty audience members were sitting in rows, and behind them were the members of Sedalbaegil and Take Scene.
However, there were only three members of Take Scene, who should total five.
Our side had three members, their side had three members.
A format where you come down to the first floor after singing.
Could it be that Take Scene sang the same song in another room?
Was that why they received a list of favorite songs, and *At the End of Dawn*, which had been low on my list, was selected?
Because it overlapped with someone’s favorite song in Take Scene?
Thinking this, I naturally scanned the audience.
As expected. Everyone was holding a remote control, and there were two buttons.
It seemed they played the songs sung by members of both teams simultaneously and had them choose.
If so, the ladder lottery to decide order was likely staged as well.
They probably presented an app set to produce the same result.
I should probably stop thinking here.
The audience was looking, so I bowed my head slightly and introduced myself.
“Hello. I’m Han Sion of Sedalbaegil.”
The audience seats instantly grew noisy. My song must have been pretty good.
Then, footsteps were heard from the stairs I had come down.
It seemed a member of Take Scene who had been singing in another room was coming down.
Truthfully, the only member of Take Scene whose future I know is the main vocalist, Juyeon.
Because Juyeon would later shake off the label of “idol origin” and become a renowned solo vocalist.
Juyeon had already finished singing and was sitting down, so my opponent must be someone I didn’t know.
I remembered that fitting for a team name like Take Scene, they all had names related to filming sets.
Juyeon, Redi, Aeksyeon…… I think it was names like that?
While thinking that, someone behind me spoke.
“Uh, um. Hello.”
Hearing the voice, I naturally turned around.
And then.
“……!”
I doubted my eyes.
Because it was a familiar face.
“I’m Fade of Take Scene. Please take care of me.”
Jo Yongseong.
What’s this guy doing here?
He’s not supposed to debut with Take Scene.
Jo Yongseong should debut two years later with a team called “For the Youth.”
And For the Youth is…….
“Will people believe the words of the four of us? Or will they believe the words of you alone?”
That was the team through which I had first experienced this damn idol life.
* * *
After appearing on *Stage Number Zero* in Round 2 and getting thoroughly trounced, I chose the path of a solo singer in Round 3.
At the same time, based on my future knowledge, I had gathered talent left and right and started a company.
It was around then that I learned albums you produce also count toward the 200 million.
It varied depending on how involved you were in production, but if you were exclusively in charge, it seemed they usually counted it as roughly 0.2 to 0.3 copies.
In this process, I had also come to know lawyer Choe Jiun over legal issues.
But I failed again, and in Round 4, I turned my eyes to Japan, where the record market was large.
Doing so, I had finally thought I learned how to sing properly.
Looking back now, that realization was also just a part of the technical domain, but to me at the time, it was an innovative change.
Having achieved some results in Japan where I headed, I prepared for Round 5.
And in Round 5, I achieved truly great success.
I don’t remember well, but I think I sold 30 million copies throughout my singing career.
Since in Korea I had sold at most 8 million, the difference felt huge.
Nevertheless, I failed.
No, not only did I fail, but I also suffered mental anguish.
I think that was probably when I took depression medication for the first time.