Goddamn Idol Chapter 54
* * *
When the traditional instrumentalists in hanbok were still blandly playing “Uptown Funk,” the audience’s response was not good.
Among those with one foot in idol communities, some thought Han Sion’s indie-snob tendencies were the problem after all.
But when lightning struck the stage and Gu Taehwan appeared, the situation changed.
Gu Taehwan was wearing a flashy stage outfit, the sort one might only see at a year-end song festival, and it stood in stark contrast to the performers in traditional hanbok.
At Gu Taehwan’s appearance, the instrumentalists stopped playing in surprise, as if they truly were people from a bygone era.
Gu Taehwan looked flustered as well.
But the silence was brief.
For some reason, the instrumentalists looked as if they absolutely had to play right now, and they began playing again.
And so the bland basic rhythm of “Uptown Funk” flowed out once more.
Hearing it, Gu Taehwan erased his bewildered expression, nodded his head to the beat, and then.
With a clean voice, he sang the opening.
This hit, that ice cold
Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold
Gu Taehwan’s opening was so clean it gave people chills, and astonishingly groovy.
Among the audience members who had rewatched Episode 1 of Coming Up Next several times, some were startled.
Gu Taehwan’s stage had certainly been broadcast, but he had failed to show any particular strength.
Yet what was this opening?
The playing, which had failed to make much of an impression, suddenly sounded rhythmic.
The performance had not changed.
The vocal had made it that way.
This opening was Gu Taehwan’s special sense of rhythm, polished by Han Sion and Gu Taehwan all week long.
The audience were not the only ones surprised.
The instrumentalist who had been mechanically playing the drum flinched in surprise and raised his head.
Then, as if struck by tremendous inspiration, he began playing the drum with larger movements.
Dum
- dum
- dum-!
A tight rhythm was born.
The moment the sound of the percussion, spreading farther than drums could, filled the stage.
Flash!
A silent bolt of lightning struck, and Choi Jaeseong and Lee Ion appeared onstage.
Unlike Gu Taehwan, the two were not flustered.
They immediately added harmony and began singing the bridge.
Girls hit your hallelujah
-Girls hit your hallelujah
-Girls hit your hallelujah
-This time, the taepyeongso and nabal players seemed inspired, and began spitting out a clear rhythm.
Cheers and applause began to rise from the audience.
Next was On Saemiro.
On Saemiro began singing the humming from the original intro, “Dum, dum-dum-dum, dum-dum-dum dum
-dum”……
It was high.
It was an unbelievably high register for humming.
At the same time, hi-hat drums, claps, and grand brass began to weave themselves between the sounds of the traditional instruments.
It was perfect.
A perfection that felt as if nothing more should be added.
However.
Flash!
When Han Sion appeared and the bass, electric guitar, and electric piano burst out, a mad roar of cheers erupted.
Because a sound even more perfect than what they had thought was already perfect had exploded forth.
At that moment, the five members of Sedal Baegil sprang out with steps that fell precisely in line with the percussion.
As if there were no need to hype the mood any further, Gu Taehwan’s opening began without warning.
This hit, that ice cold
Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold
Sedal Baegil’s “Seoul Town Funk” had Korean traditional instruments forming its framework, so it had a distinctly different feel from the original.
The taepyeongso wanted to create a slightly more competitive feeling, and the nabal wanted to produce a somewhat grander sound.
Between them, the drum formed an exquisite sense of rhythm as it blended with the drums, the empty spaces were filled by the hi-hat and claps, and the ends of the measures were adorned by brass.
Within that, the one who took over the opening was Choi Jaeseong.
A competing romance,
that’s our way,
please overtake me!
After distributing the parts, Han Sion had told them to write the lyrics however they wanted.
To begin with, “Uptown Funk” was a song whose lyrics did not carry much meaning.
It simply lined up witty references and homages one might shout during a moment of entertainment.
So Han Sion told the members to choose appropriate words and turn them into sentences that were as honest as possible.
He said it would be even better if they were so childish as to be blatant, or words no one could understand.
Except for Gu Taehwan, who, given the flow of the performance, had to deliver an opening the audience knew, all of the lyrics were written by the members themselves.
Sedal, Baegil
Livin’ it up the city
There were those, like On Saemiro, who kept the lyrics and feeling of the original as they were.
Sing while we’re high,
as if tomorrow we’ll go back to the beginning
And there were those, like Han Sion, who inserted metaphors only they themselves could understand.
But it did not matter either way.
Because Han Sion had taken all those lyrics and built a new rhythm with them.
At first, the audience thought Sedal Baegil had structured the stage like Take Scene.
Take Scene had changed the lyrics into Korean while keeping the original vocal line intact.
But that was not it.
The verse of “Seoul Town Funk” seemed similar to the original yet different, and seemed different yet similar.
The song racing along that ambiguous line gave an auditory thrill, and the performance that fell perfectly in time with the beat gave a visual thrill.
And at last, the chorus arrived.
The insane chorus that had allowed “Uptown Funk” to hold the top spot on Billboard for fourteen weeks.
-Kyaaaaaah!
-Wowwwww!
The audience were going so wild that it was visible even from the stage.
In truth, Han Sion had wanted to tinker with this part as well.
But no matter how he took it apart and examined it, there was nothing to touch.
A sound of a higher caliber than the original?
He could make one.
An instrumental arrangement that excited listeners even more?
He could do that well enough.
But he did not think it would be better than the original.
An extremely proper state of excitement created with an extremely proper sound.
A slight ease and a slight emptiness within the sweeping performance.
Because it was a tremendous chorus born from all those elements harmonizing together, even Han Sion had no choice but to give up.
But using a completely identical sound was something his pride as a regressor would not allow.
So Han Sion sampled the sounds of traditional instruments and created “a sound just as good, but different.”
‘I’ll have to be satisfied with this much.’
That was what he thought, but the thoughts of those watching the stage were different.
Especially those with deep musical knowledge, like Chris Edward, were dealt an enormous shock.
You could create the exact same feeling as the original with unique instruments whose textures were completely different?
That was possible?
How?
‘If that’s possible, then what reason do composers have to suffer over sound choice!’
It was enough to make them feel betrayed.
Amid such impressions, Lee Ion’s turn finally came around.
Because while the first verse and chorus had ended, Lee Ion alone had not had a part.
* * *
To be honest, Lee Ion had been more than a little flustered while preparing “Seoul Town Funk.”
Not once until now had he ever thought his own skills were lacking.
He knew it would be hard to beat monsters like Han Sion or On Saemiro in vocal ability.
But he had confidence that he could digest any part he was given through his own strengths.
Objectively speaking, Lee Ion was also someone who sang well.
But what Han Sion said was a little different.
“Hyung, your tone is one that has to be the main character.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hyung, sing do
-mi
-sol
-here. On the exact notes.”
Lee Ion, who had quite a lot of training experience, had no difficulty hitting the exact scale.
Han Sion then had the other members record the same thing.
Because Choi Jaeseong kept going flat, they had to rerecord several times, but everyone was able to sing do-mi-sol without much difficulty.
“Everyone, close your eyes. Now, if you feel a dissonance, raise your hand.”
Han Sion began randomly mixing the members’ voices and playing a C chord made of do, mi, and sol.
Do was Choi Jaeseong, mi was On Saemiro, sol was Han Sion, and so on.
All of the members’ voices formed a normal C chord.
Except for one person: Lee Ion.
Whenever the members with their eyes closed raised their hands, Lee Ion’s voice was always included within the harmony without fail.
“W-what happened? Did I sing it wrong?”
“It’s not that your pitch was wrong. If you look at this from the perspective of music theory, this is also a proper C chord.”
“Then?”
“Your tone doesn’t blend in. With other people’s voices. That’s why it sounds like dissonance.”
“……”
“Don’t worry too much. The reason I brought this up is because I wanted everyone to understand before distributing parts.”
Lee Ion thought Han Sion was about to tell him he would be given fewer parts.
But that was not it.
“From now on, hyung, you’ll play the role of the rapper in Sedal Baegil.”
“What? You want me to rap?”
“No. I mean your singing will be used like rap.”
“Why?”
“What is the role of rap in idol songs?”
“……
Impact?”
“That’s not wrong, but to be more precise, it refreshes the threshold.”
Idol group music, where addictive choruses and kitschy melodies were important, tended to have particularly frequent riffs in similar sections.
However, when one continues to receive stimulation at the same level, it gradually begins to feel weaker.
That was how human senses were designed.
That was why, in concert venues, they sometimes started with the volume at 10, then gradually raised it to 11, 12, and 13 as time passed.
If they did not, an audience whose threshold had risen could mistakenly feel that the volume had gone down.
“Rap can refresh the threshold that comes from melody and rhythm. Because it’s completely different from singing.”
Lee Ion finally understood what Han Sion wanted to say.
“You have to do that for us, hyung.”
* * *
The moment the chorus of “Seoul Town Funk” ended, the electric guitar and electronic keyboard vanished.
Then the sound of the traditional instruments filling the front of the song felt even larger, giving it a raw feeling.
In the six measures given to him, Lee Ion began to sing.
Stop, wait a minute
The guitar and keyboard are out
Camera! A little farther back
You’re getting me well, right? How’s my smile?
The moment Lee Ion’s voice formed a groove, it carried a somehow violent feeling.
That was not about the lyrics or his attitude.
It was the way he delivered the melody.
Because that method felt closer to firing it off than letting people hear it.
But……
It did not feel bad at all.
No, rather, it was good.
Han Sion even thought Lee Ion’s tone might be perfect for post-disco, especially genres like boogie.
And “Uptown Funk” was a song that mixed the boogie genre into soul and disco pop.
In other words, this was a playground where Lee Ion could romp to his heart’s content.
Seoul, town,
the city where I was born
In the gray jungle,
splitting sides like gray elements
The place where the electric guitar and keyboard had disappeared was filled by Lee Ion’s rough voice.
The audience did not know it, but Han Sion had even adjusted the EQ of the overall beat for Lee Ion’s solo part.
And the moment Lee Ion’s part ended.
Bzzzzzt!
Amid the dissonance of the EQ he had adjusted suddenly springing up, the chorus burst out without warning.
It was a different development from the original, but that did not matter.
Because Lee Ion’s voice had reset the threshold back to zero.