Chapter 33 : Second Performance(3)
by AfuhfuihgsA seated venue with about 250 seats and no standing area.
It was a band performance centered on anisongs, the first in a long time since COVID-19, and a significant number of people had taken their seats.
“There’s a chance we might sell out with today’s on-site sales. How many tickets were left after pre-sales?”
“Around 40.”
“Then we’ve already sold about 30 on-site. That’s unexpected. This isn’t bad at all. I thought we’d be in the red.”
“Tickets started selling rapidly a few days ago, but I didn’t expect a sellout…”
Even if 250 seats might seem small, it’s still a fairly large venue.
With ticket prices set at 25,000 won on-site and 20,000 won for pre-sales, selling out would generate roughly 5 million won in revenue.
Of course, some of it would go toward venue rental fees, and the rest to paying the bands, but a performance initially expected to operate at a loss had unexpectedly turned profitable. How could anyone not feel pleased?
Yeongshin watched the audience slowly trickle in.
When he thought about losses, he regretted organizing this and wanted to shave all those messy-haired attendees with clippers.
But now that it seemed profitable, he felt an urge to treat them to drinks. Though handing out drinks might push them back into the red.
“Could it be because of the new additions? Ticket sales seemed to surge after the additional lineup announcement.”
“Could be.”
It was the first paid performance for these new acts, yet their impact seemed noteworthy.
Yeongshin, however, attributed the surge to the increased number of bands making the event more cost-effective.
“But they were definitely good. They didn’t seem like your average anisong band. Especially the guitarist…”
Sehyun’s sat down and unzipped his parka.
Since it was a seated event, there’d be no jumping around, but it still felt better to loosen up indoors.
The number of attendees exceeded his expectations.
He had come because a friend performing in one of the bands had pleaded, “Please come… Tickets aren’t selling.”
While he liked anime and anisongs, he didn’t enjoy them enough to spend 20,000 won to attend a concert, so he felt a bit reluctant about the cost.
“Well, how good could they even be?”
He genuinely thought so.
No matter how much effort these performers put in, they were amateurs, not professionals.
The songs they played were created by professionals, after all.
No matter how skilled an amateur is, it’s hard to match a pro. “Live charm” or “reinterpretation” aside, the original songs are always superior.
Thinking that, Sehyun’s glanced around.
For an event like this—though this was his first time attending such an event, so his impressions were vague—there seemed to be a surprising number of women.
Come to think of it, hadn’t he heard that more women were into band-themed anime lately?
Apparently, some female otaku even started identifying with the protagonists of such anime.
He remembered reading something about it online and thought to himself that otakus, male or female, were essentially the same.
With that thought, Sehyun’s turned his gaze toward the stage.
Meanwhile, A-yoon, oblivious to being the subject of such misunderstandings, stared at the stage nervously.
“I’m looking forward to this.”
She was a fan of a certain band-themed game.
A-yoon, who originally had no interest in such things and only listened to idol songs, had her life as a fan completely transformed one day when she heard a song.
(A song she found utterly life-changing.)
Falling in love with that song, she devoted all her passion to the content it came from.
She bought albums, created social media accounts, and even looked into traveling to Japan to attend live performances.
However, passion alone couldn’t overcome certain barriers.
No matter how hard she tried, money didn’t magically appear.
As a broke college student, she couldn’t afford to attend live shows in Japan, with their tickets, flights, and accommodation costs.
Instead, she sought other ways to experience live anisong performances, which led to her current self—someone who attends anisong cover concerts to indirectly enjoy the essence of live performances.
“I have a good feeling about today’s concert.”
Though cover bands couldn’t match the originals, there were those that delivered respectable performances.
One such band was in today’s lineup.
“You can count on Solata!”
Clenching her fist with determination, she glanced at the lineup pamphlet.
Among the familiar band names, one stood out as unfamiliar—Group Sound.
“They’re covering Bocchi the Rock?”
She doubted how well they could pull it off.
Covering that kind of music wasn’t easy for a novice band, so she tempered her expectations.
“Thank you!!”
The cheerful voice of a band leader echoed as they left the stage, though their expression seemed far from cheerful.
The applause from the audience sounded perfunctory at best.
Their performance had been underwhelming.
Harmony is the most crucial aspect of a band.
Whether it’s vocals, guitar, bass, drums, or even keyboards, these components must work together to form cohesive music.
When one element dominates, no matter how impressive it may be, the rest fail to support it, resulting in mere noise.
Even the most inexperienced band would recognize this after one rehearsal.
Despite that, the previous band seemed to have forgotten this principle.
Each member played as they pleased—guitar, drums, bass, and vocals all out of sync.
“The first performance wasn’t bad, though.”
Sehyun’s thought.
Even without the amateur handicap, the first act had been decent.
But this band? Not so much.
In the distracted murmurs of the audience, Sehyun’s wondered why.
Surely, if they made it to this stage, they must have some skill.
Yet even to his untrained ears, they’d made basic mistakes.
“Did they feel pressured or something?”
A-yoon thought about it.
250 seats might be significant, but not enough to intimidate a seasoned band.
She’d seen them before and didn’t think they’d be fazed by the size of the venue.
Could something have happened during rehearsal?
“Thank you for waiting! Up next…”
While she pondered, the MC took the stage.
The silhouettes of four figures emerged as the third band prepared to perform.
“Covering songs from the hit anime Bocchi the Rock, an unprecedented high school girl band…!”
The MC’s introduction stirred a buzz of excitement among the audience.
A-yoon wondered, “Is that even possible?”
If it were true, the music itself wouldn’t matter much.
The novelty of a high school girl band would steal the show regardless of their skills.
“Introducing Group Sound!”
Applause, tinged with anticipation, followed the MC’s announcement as the stage lights dimmed.
Seconds later, a single spotlight illuminated the stage.
A girl with long black hair.
A black hoodie, black pants, and even a black guitar.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the ground, then strummed her guitar.
A single note, followed by a progression of ascending tones.
And suddenly, a burst of intense playing.
“This is… exactly like the original!”
As the band perfectly recreated a scene from the anime, a roar of cheers erupted from the crowd.
It had been an impromptu solo, starting without any signal. But it was worth it.
A few seconds later, with the cymbals striking in rhythm, the music began.
What was different?
Perhaps just the rhythm guitar being replaced by a keyboard and the lead guitarist doubling as the vocalist.
Beyond that, there was nothing else.
Nothing was lacking.
In fact, the audience felt the performance had surpassed the original in quality.
Why was that?
The bass and drums were steady, unremarkable but solid.
The keyboard, adding some flair, had been rearranged slightly, but not enough to diverge significantly from the original rhythm guitar.
And then, there was the lead guitar.
Unwavering rhythm and timing.
A tone that was slightly different from the original but not drastically so.
Yet, the audience felt it.
That this wasn’t merely a guitar performance.
The flow of the song—or rather, the entirety of the band’s music—seemed to revolve around that one guitar.
And the performance unfolded before the audience, unraveling slowly.
One strand at a time, precisely as the guitarist intended.
At the tempo she desired.
After the third song ended, there was a slight delay before the cheers erupted.
Then, applause exploded like thunder, as if it marked the end of the band’s set.
“That was insane!”
A-yoon thought to herself.
Where on earth had a band like this been hiding?
No, they couldn’t have been hidden.
A band like this couldn’t remain unnoticed because anyone who heard such a performance wouldn’t stay quiet.
They’d rave about it and post something like, ‘I just heard the most incredible performance.’
Therefore, this must have been their debut.
Jumping to that bold conclusion, A-yoon opened her SNS.
[Currently at Yeongshin APARK, and this concert is absolutely insane!!!]
As A-yoon typed her message, the venue lights brightened slightly.
The lead guitarist, who had hung her mic on the stand after the song ended, picked it up again.
“Then, we’ll play our last song.”
At those words, someone in the audience shouted.
“Why?! Just one more song!”
Laughter broke out, along with scattered calls for an encore from different parts of the audience.
The lead guitarist chuckled softly and continued speaking.
“If you want to hear more of our music, remember our band’s name. One day, somewhere, you’ll hear it again.”
The performance resumed.
Familiar music played as the vocalist began to sing.
It’s almost six o’clock on the clock.
The first star is already there.
“Are they recreating the original again?”
The recreation from the first song had left a deep impression on Sehyun’s.
He had also watched the anime and found that particular scene to be incredibly memorable.
It was only natural to expect another faithful recreation.
“But I heard that’s supposed to be really difficult…”
According to “that wiki,” which leads you to uncover more the deeper you look, bottleneck guitar techniques were said to be quite challenging.
It was described as impossible to play without proper dedication.
Even if they managed to recreate it, it might be nothing more than a memorized rendition.
“But even that much… wouldn’t it be enough?”
Sehyun’s tried to calm his unexpectedly racing heart as he continued watching the performance.
The climax was steadily approaching.
And, as expected, the rhythm guitar—or rather, the rhythm keyboard solo began.
Despite knowing it might be considered rude, cheers and applause erupted from some parts of the audience.
“If they did that, then obviously…”
Sehyun’s looked toward the lead guitarist.
There she was, deftly unraveling the first string with swift movements.
“Are they going to replicate even that part?”
Except for the fact that her guitar wasn’t the Onigoroshi (footnote 1), it was a stunningly faithful recreation.
Just as Sehyun’s was thinking that, the lead guitarist timed her movements perfectly and began sliding the bar.
“Wow!”
Cheers erupted once more, this time louder than during the keyboard solo.
When the faithful recreation ended, there was another round of applause and cheers, though more subdued this time.
Sehyun’s noticed the lead guitarist reconnecting a string amidst the applause.
So let’s gather and become a constellation , Shining with lights of all different colors.
“Is the next part a dive?”
That thought crossed Sehyun’s mind.
In fact, everyone in the audience seemed to think the same.
If they were committed to recreating the original, the final act had to involve a dive.
But with everyone seated, would they really dive?
Would the audience catch her, or would she crash to the floor alone, completing the recreation with brutal accuracy?
I won’t untangle the lines that connect us , No matter how dazzling you may be.
The lyrics ended.
Naturally, the audience assumed the performance was over.
After all, that was how it ended in the original.
They clapped, cheered, and shouted praises at the band.
But such applause quickly faded.
Because the performance wasn’t over.
Ha Su-yeon tilted his head slightly, a faint smile on his lips.
Using a glass bottle, he continued playing with slide techniques to compensate for the broken string.
The idea was creative and had real precedent.
But to waste slide techniques in such a trivial way—wasn’t it regrettable?
“I’ll show you what slide guitar truly is,” he thought.
The glass cylinder on his ring finger was no more than 5 cm long and less than 1 cm thick.
A simple, transparent tube designed to fit over a finger.
Yet, in the hands of a skilled guitarist, it transformed the instrument.
It turned a guitar into an omnipotent tool, capable of producing infinite sounds beyond its 21 frets, 12 semitones, and 23,000 chords.
Ha Su-yeon began moving his left hand with intense precision.
The unique sound of slide guitar filled the air, continuous and relentless.
The music shifted into a completely different, bluesy tone.
It effortlessly transitioned between high and low notes with an untamed yet delicate melody.
There was no sense of disharmony.
Or rather, there wasn’t even time to feel it.
Beautiful music can make someone stop in their tracks.
But overwhelming music—what does that do?
What about a performance so extraordinary that missing even a second feels like a loss you can never recover?
Such music existed, and everyone present could only stand in awe, letting the tidal wave of sound wash over them.
The atmosphere rose higher and higher, climbing toward its peak.
The guitar reached unprecedented heights, breaking through its limits with piercing high notes.
The drums, keyboard, and bass joined in, each building toward the climax.
The melody cascaded like a waterfall, surged like waves, and then, like a fleeting sea breeze, it was gone before anyone realized it.
Finally, as the performance reached its peak, the keyboard let out a vibrant glissando.
And with that, the performance came to an end.
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