The Reincarnated Idol Hard Carries an Indie Band - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Rendezvous

Reincarnated Idol Hard Carries the Indie Band – Episode 5

Reincarnated Idol Hard Carries the Indie Band

Episode 5

“Rendezvous,” a punk rock song, was the first song I ever composed for the band.

But I didn’t create it alone.

After writing a draft—more like a blank canvas—I gathered the members’ opinions to finalize it.

We all shared a love for rock, but our specific subgenre preferences differed.

Integrating everyone’s ideas wasn’t easy. We fought a lot, and I lost count of how many revisions we made.

Moreover, it wasn’t an objectively outstanding song.

Its meaning was profound, but our skills at the time limited its potential.

But now, it’s different.

If I were me now, could I really bring this song to life?

To verify this, I realized I needed an objective approach.

I began recalling past memories and stacking up sessions as closely as possible to the original version of Rendezvous.

It was difficult to replicate it perfectly, but I managed to get it close.

A smile naturally bloomed as I heard the familiar music after so long.

It reeked of amateurism, but it was brimming with memories.

To be honest, there were some embarrassing memories too.

The reason Rendezvous was punk rock was that we wanted to rebel against the commercial mainstream music of the time.

Even as pop and idol songs dominated and hip-hop swept through Korea, we stubbornly stuck to rock, thinking it was cool.

At a time when I thought of idols as pretty dolls who mindlessly sang songs chosen by their agencies, and considered hip-hop the music of the tone-deaf, I realize now how embarrassing that thought was.

Music, after all, is meant to be heard by someone.

Considering the listener’s preferences is not only natural but also noble.

So, we were wrong back then.

That’s why I wanted to convince the members with this song.

Because good songs have power.

With that thought, I started arranging the original track.

From Rendezvous, which was once filled with amateurism and niche biases, I began the process of transforming it into a song that people would love.

We slowed the tempo to medium and reorganized the excessive variations into rhythmic patterns within a coherent framework.
Meanwhile, we reduced the overall prominence of the melody guitar, arranging it to be showcased more decisively in specific sections.
If the melody guitar runs wild for too long, the song becomes too complex and difficult to make popular.
However, we largely left the chorus untouched, as the goal wasn’t to create a purely pop song.
We considered changing the guitar tone as well, but decided against it, fearing it would undermine the identity of Rendezvous.
Looking at the final result, the punk rock song had transformed into a medium-tempo pop rock or pop-punk track.
“Hmm…”
80 points? 85 with nostalgia factored in?
Regardless, I was quite pleased with it.
***

Jo Hyeonseop, the owner of ST Studio, now only runs the studio, but he was once a highly renowned producer. Before the genre of K-pop was even named, he had tried forming idol groups inspired by Japanese trends.

That was ancient history now; he’d been running ST Studio for over fifteen years.

Yesterday, Jang Deokcheol of Resonance of Strings contacted Jo Hyeonseop with great excitement. He was raving about a high school student named Cha Seoha who was an incredible musician and was coming to the studio to record tomorrow.

“She’s recording her own song. Could you check out her level? She claims she’s better at composing than playing, but I don’t see how she could be better than her guitar skills.”

Jo Hyeonseop was torn between curiosity and skepticism.

If she’d caught Jang Deokcheol’s eye, she must have some basic talent, but could she really play that well? A high school student?

And she’s good at composing too?

That’s why Jo Hyeonseop had visited ST Studio to meet Cha Seoha at her scheduled time.

“Is Cha Seoha here yet?” Jo Hyeonseop asked Park Minji, the part-time staff member.

“Yes,” she replied.

“What’s she like?”

“She’s really good-looking and tall. Just like an idol.”

“An idol?”

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe a trainee? Her signature was so elegant.”

“Really?”

Jo Hyeonseop tilted his head, puzzled. So, Jang Deokcheol meant she has outstanding looks and plays quite well?

“Move aside.”

Jo Hyeonseop sat down at the monitor station where he could monitor the studio.

The boy, dressed in a neat school uniform, looked tall and striking even while seated.

His stoic, still-maturing face still had some baby fat, but it was the kind of face that would surely build a thick fan base once he grew up.

At that moment, Cha Seoha on the screen began playing the song she had just finished recording.

Jo Hyeonseop was surprised by the music.

It was a powerful melody, completely unlike the image of a student.

Rock, huh?

And pretty heavy, too.

It felt like an amateur’s homage to 1980s punk rock, but it wasn’t bad—it even evoked a sense of nostalgia.

Just as he was thinking he’d like to listen a bit longer, the male student stopped the music.

Park Minji, who had been watching from the side, chimed in.

“What do you think, Boss? I thought it was pretty good from the moment she started layering the tracks.”

“It’s decent. For an amateur.”

“Boss, are you just downplaying it because she’s good-looking?”

“What nonsense is that?”

“How can someone with a face like that and such amazing musical talent be so… no, so precious!”

Jo Hyeonseop shrugged at Park Minji’s over-the-top reaction. This is the textbook response. Jang Deokcheol probably reacted the same way.

Just as Jo Hyeonseop was about to ignore Cha Seoha, the high school student, a new song began to play. It wasn’t entirely new; it sounded like an arrangement of the previous one. But the quality was on another level.

The mid-tempo track was uplifting just to listen to. The lack of any jarring elements meant the instruments were harmoniously blended. The refreshing verse led into a chorus that maintained a perfect balance of tension. As the song reached the pre-chorus, something began to build.

The moderate tension in the music surged to its peak, and the instruments, driven by the drums, began to race forward.
The moment they hit the chorus, the tension dissolved completely, and a funky rhythm, nearly identical to the original song, burst forth.
“Huh?”
It was only when the chorus began that I realized it.
That high schooler had built up the chorus perfectly through the pre-chorus.
Most amateur composers tend to overemphasize the chorus, but this kid knew what he was doing.
To leave a strong impression, the preceding section is crucial, and he had executed it brilliantly.
Thanks to that, the emotional impact was undeniable.
A sense of youthful excitement mixed with a touch of immaturity.

Under a blue sky, I couldn’t help but picture youth running around in their school uniforms.

I was taken aback.

This was professional-level work.

Not just any professional, but the level of a producer who was making waves in the current scene.

How could a high schooler do this?

Then what was the original song from earlier?

Ah, could she have been asked to arrange it?

But unlike Jo Hyeonseop’s admiration, Cha Seoha on the monitor seemed unsatisfied, tilting her head slightly.

Then she began tweaking the song for about twenty minutes.

Watching her, Jo Hyeonseop wasn’t bored at all.

He felt a sense of anticipation.

What else could she be trying to add to this?

But absurdly, Jo Hyeonseop couldn’t hear the song.

The student on the monitor finished listening through her monitoring headphones, extracted the file, and saved it to a USB drive.

Unless we play it through the speakers, we can’t properly monitor it from the counter.

But Cha Seoha had already started working on another song.

With guitar-driven songs, you can tell just from the riff.

This riff is a hit.

It’s highly likely to sell extremely well.

But the new song seems to be in a female key. Was it a commissioned piece?

What is this girl?

Her talent was so compelling that I wanted to sign her immediately.

With her striking looks, she’d make a fortune as an idol.

“Does she have a company?”

“Of course. You think this kind of talent comes from ordinary training?”

“Hey, this isn’t something you can train for.”

It’s talent. Innate talent.

Despite that, the company would likely endure.
After all, there were far too many people in the world with an eye for raw talent.

How much time passed?

Finally, the studio door opened, and the student I’d been watching on the monitor stepped out.
He was even more handsome in person than on screen, exuding an air of maturity rarely seen in someone his age.
His face had a real, lived-in quality.

“Excuse me, where’s the restroom?”

His voice was even better.

“The restroom is just around the corner… Student.”

“Yes?”

“I happened to overhear while monitoring—is that your own song?”

The student calmly nodded at Jo Hyeonseop’s question.

“Yes.”

“Did you get a commission to arrange it? The quality of the two songs was completely different.”

“I just… revised a song I made with my friends a while back.”

A while back?

He’s still this young. How far back could that be?

“The company you’re signed with? You have one, right?”

“No.”

“Huh. So you’ve been doing all this alone?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’ve listened to your songs, and they’re really good. If you’re interested, I’d love to introduce you to some good companies.”

The student stared at Jo Hyeonseop.

Realizing he might seem suspicious, Jo Hyeonseop quickly handed him his business card.

“I’m the CEO of this company. I’m offering this in good faith, with no ulterior motives.”

“You know , right? The CEO wrote that song and produced the group that sang it,” Park Minji, who was standing nearby, added.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m sorry.”

“It’s just a shame to see such talent go to waste. You don’t have to sign a contract, but I’d at least like you to come talk to us.”

“Because I’m not alone.”

“Not alone?”

“I’m preparing to start a band with some friends.”

“Oh.”

The word “band” elicited a gasp from Jo Hyeonseop. He’d only assumed the music genre was rock-based, never imagining they’d actually form a real rock band.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Why?”

“I used to be in a band myself. And Deokcheol has been singing your praises.”

“Ah, um… thank you.”

The student accepted the business card, but didn’t seem particularly interested in it.

“May I ask how you plan to pursue the band?”

Jo Hyeonseop knew it was overstepping, but the current band market was severely shrinking. He worried that such a talented individual might become disheartened by the harsh realities.

The student’s answer was simple:

“I haven’t found all the members yet. But I appreciate the offer.”

This life, for some reason, feels like it’s swarming with middle-aged men.

I know there are many who cherish the nostalgia for rock music, but it’s like a Pokémon game.

You could say it’s like meeting a gym leader every time I enter a new gym.

The question those two men asked me was the same:

“In this stagnant band market, what exactly do you want to achieve?”