Chapter 47 : Open Mic (7)

“HYSTERIA!!”

Ha Su-yeon shouted the song title like a thunderclap, then started grooving to the rhythm.

Some members of the audience looked displeased, while others seemed unsure of the song.

However, most of the audience erupted in cheers.

For anyone familiar with rock or songs from the 2000s onward, it was a track they had likely heard before.

The performance began with an intense synthesizer sound arranged on the keyboard, followed by a drum fill.

Then came the explosive guitar.

The guitarist played dynamically, syncing with the rhythm, their movements full of energy.

In contrast, the bassist wore an expressionless face, propping their foot on the monitor speaker while aggressively plucking the bass strings.

The slightly rough and unrefined fingerpicking added an edgy, raw quality to the performance.

And yet, it perfectly complemented the song’s mood.

“It’s bugging me, grating me And twisting me around.”

Outside the window, the sky, cloaked in an ominous purple sunset, screamed its final cry as the sun was about to set.

The relentless bassline never faltered, its continuous vibration intertwining with the specially tuned speakers to half-paralyze the audience.

Those standing in front of the speakers felt not just the air quivering but the sensation of their heads being tapped by a massager.

“Yeah, I’m endlessly caving in
And turning inside out.”

Amid it all, the bassist—a high school girl with slightly dramatic makeup—kept playing tirelessly, her expression unchanged.

‘The formation is a bit different this time.’

A-yun recalled the first performance she had seen.

At the Yongsan concert, the guitar had taken center stage while the others stepped slightly back.

But now, the bassist was positioned separately at the front left, with the other band members spread out in their own spots.

“‘Cause I want it now

Give me your heart and your soul.”

Thanks to this setup, A-yun could clearly see the bassist, whom she couldn’t get a good look at during the first concert.

The bassist had a lean yet strong build, with long limbs, a tall stature, and large hands.

In many ways, she was just… big.

‘She looks so incredibly cool.’

To reach this performance today, A-yun had overcome countless challenges and obstacles.

She had scoured the internet for every scrap of information, trying to figure out where the band’s SNS accounts were and what they were all about.

Along the way, she encountered malicious comments online.

Many posts praised the guitarist’s skills but added remarks like, “Ah, but the bassist is kind of…”

These so-called “scraping” comments often carried a hint of malice.

“And I’m breaking out, I’m breaking out
Last chance to lose control.”

A-yun liked band music but wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about it.

Neither were the friends she had brought along.

They couldn’t follow the talk of instrumental harmony, the intricacies of the guitar, or the nuances of the bass.

She couldn’t even tell how skilled the bassist truly was.

But even without knowing all that, there was one thing she could say for certain.

‘The bass… it’s unbelievably cool.’

The bassist’s expressionless face seemed to convey unyielding determination.

However, her dazzlingly moving fingers reminded A-yun of a swan’s legs paddling furiously beneath the calm surface of the water.

Watching her, A-yun thought back to how bass characters in animations always seemed so cool.

Characters like Akiyama Mio, Yamada Ryo, and Imai Lisa came to mind.

Somehow, she felt she had always liked bass players, even before now.

The human body is not objective.

It does not perceive external sensations as they are but adjusts and interprets them according to its own standards.

A prime example is the nose in front of our eyes.

If things were as they should be, humans would constantly be aware of their nose.

However, due to the brain’s adjustments, people live without consciously noticing it.

The current situation was much the same.

The sound settings for Paradox were not overpowering enough to drown out all other sounds, yet they were loud enough to completely shatter the stereotype of the “inaudible instrument.”

This was intentional.

The settings were designed to emphasize the bass for the trick of “louder is better.”

Of course, Lee Seo’s bass skills were decent.

But Ha Su-yeon didn’t want it to merely sound “decent,” which is why the venue’s sound settings had undergone meticulous adjustments.

As a result, all but the most critical hipsters came away with the impression, “Wow, the bass sounds incredible.”

To solidify this impression, the band had one more trick up their sleeve.

“And I’m breaking out, I’m breaking out—
Last chance to lose control—!”

With the high notes signaling the climax, an instrumental section began.

Cheers erupted from the crowd as the band launched into their performance.

This was the part where a flashy guitar solo would typically take center stage, but…

“Huh, what?”

“A bass solo?”

The guitar solo faded into the background, its volume lowered, making way for a driving 16th-note bass solo.

It was a J-rock-style performance, blending slap techniques with an emphasis on higher frequencies.

The audience, who had so far been grooving to the bass’s steady rhythms, erupted in cheers at the bassist’s flashy slapping.

Though a few sneered, calling it J-rock cosplay, such reactions were rare.

The majority marveled at how seamlessly the styles blended.

‘This isn’t how it was originally supposed to go.’

While playing his guitar, Ha Su-yeon glanced sideways at Lee Seo.

She performed with precision, showing neither hesitation nor mistakes, playing the bass coolly and calmly.

It was a stark contrast to the carefree and silly demeanor she usually exhibited.

She seemed like someone who could easily captivate a crowd.

Initially, Ha Su-yeon had envisioned something more akin to the thunderous style of John Entwistle from The Who—a bass solo that relentlessly pounded the rhythm at lightning speed.

He had thought such a solo would suit this track perfectly.

But Lee Seo had a different idea.

And I’m breaking out, Escaping now

Feeling my faith erode

“I think this style suits better. Slapping itself has a cool vibe…”

Lee Seo’s bassline, as she explained, blended seamlessly into the song.

It was a performance that showed flair without going overboard, incorporating just the right amount of slap bass to make it shine.

Judging by the reactions, the calculation seemed to have hit the mark.

The audience in front of Lee Seo repeatedly gasped in admiration as they watched her slap technique.

“And I’m breaking out, escaping now

Feeling my faith erode.”

As the vocals ended, cheers erupted once again.

The band poured all their energy into the finale, bringing it to a close by simultaneously striking the drums, synth, bass, and guitar.

“Thank you!!”

Thunderous applause followed.

Some audience members aimed their cameras at Lee Seo, capturing her as she swept her hair back.

It seemed their plan had worked perfectly.

“Did you enjoy it? Our bassist is quite something, isn’t she? We chose this song to highlight her skills.

People often say the bass is the ‘inaudible instrument,’ right? We wanted to show you what it means for it to truly be heard.

Anyway, welcome once again to Club Paradox! We are Group Sound.

I’m Ha Su-yeon , lead guitarist and vocalist. Over there is our bassist and backup vocalist, Lee Seo…”

Each band member’s introduction was met with cheers.

The audience, impressed by the first song, erupted into even louder applause when Lee Seo was introduced.

Then came  Jeong Hyun-ah and Seoha.

Interestingly, some people seemed to recognize Seoha and called out to her during her introduction.

“It’s a shame we can only play three songs, but it can’t be helped since we’re still a rookie band.

Hopefully, we’ll get to perform longer shows in the future.

For now, here’s an original piece. The title is…”

“I’m Still Searching for You, the One I’ve Yet to Meet…”

The solo that followed was unparalleled.

With perfectly tuned speakers and effects pedals, the tone was on a completely different level from what had been shown on YouTube.

It was a sound that seemed to embody all the trials and tribulations of life.

Even those who had been dancing indifferently to any music suddenly froze, captivated by the performance.

The relentless waves of sound surged for several minutes before subsiding.

The club, once roaring with energy, was now tranquil, as if nothing had happened.

Ha Su-yeon gave a short strum on his guitar before stepping up to the microphone.

“Thank you. That was Group Sound.”

The applause that followed was of a different nature.

While the earlier clapping was out of excitement and admiration for their skill, this round felt like an acknowledgment of the emotional immersion the song had delivered.

“I had fun.”

“Should we head home?”

“Honestly, I don’t feel like I need to check out their next performance…”

Such comments could be heard among the departing audience.

Ha Su-yeon gave a bittersweet smile as he packed up his equipment.

“Was that how the song was supposed to be?”

“I put some thought into it.”

“It’s not just putting thought into it… At this rate, wouldn’t it make more sense to start a blues rock band?”

Seoha responded to Ha Su-yeon comment.

However, Ha Su-yeon wasn’t inclined to head in that direction.

It wasn’t about whether it was feasible or not—it just didn’t feel right to him.

After all, dedicating another lifetime to something he had already spent decades doing seemed redundant.

“This song might have been my work, but moving forward, I’ll need to talk with these girls about what kind of music they really want to make,” he thought, raising his head.

Lee Seo was sitting at the edge of the stage, chatting with a few female fans who had come as part of the audience.

“It’s a good time in life, isn’t it?”

Knowing that someone appreciates you and actually feeling it are two entirely different experiences.

Even if millions on the internet expressed their dislike, the memory of a single fan handing over a signboard and saying, “It’s such an honor, could you please sign this for me?” could drive a person to keep going.

With a small chuckle, Ha Su-yeon packed up his guitar and stepped into the office.

“Great show. No need for lengthy discussions—let’s make it official. You’re in the lineup,” said the club owner.

“So, what would our performances look like?” Ha Su-yeon asked.

The owner handed him a few papers filled with Club Paradox’s rules and guidelines.

After skimming through them, Ha Su-yeon passed them to the others.

“In short,” the owner explained, “there’s a minimum number of performances per month, but you’re free to perform more than that. At the start of each month, we’ll set the schedule for the next, and barring any major issues, you’ll perform as planned.”

“And the pay?” Seoha inquired.

After taxes, it’s a 50:50 split.

We don’t operate on counting pay (note: a fee per performance based on attendance), so all entrance revenue is split 50:50 after taxes.

The 50 is then divided among the band members,” the owner explained, pausing awkwardly as if he knew 50:50 wouldn’t suffice for this particular group.

“You can tell just by listening—we’re the kind of band that can draw a crowd anywhere we go,” Ha Su-yeon
thought.

Four high school girls in a band, all reasonably attractive, and their music covering various genres—who wouldn’t be curious?

“But for you, we’re offering a 70:30 split.

Seventy for the band, thirty for the club.

Merchandise sales at the venue will also follow a 90:10 split, with production costs deducted first.”

“That sounds like a pretty solid deal,” Seoha remarked, and Ha Su-yeon agreed.

Paradox was already a top-tier club simply because they didn’t enforce counting pay.

The 70:30 revenue split and merchandise sales arrangement made it even more appealing.

When asked if there were any additional terms, Ha Su-yeon shook his head.

“Send the contract to this address. We’ll need to review it first.”

“Uh, yes, of course,” the owner stammered, visibly sweating.

With that, Ha Su-yeon and the girls left the club.

“We’ve secured a live practice stage and a way to make money,” Ha Su-yeon announced, sipping her coffee.

The iced americano disappeared through the straw in one satisfying gulp.

“Isn’t she cold?” Lee Seo wondered.

“Ugh, that was exhausting,” someone muttered.

“But our skills have improved a lot,” Seoha noted optimistically.

“I think I’ll have to skip practice for about a week—I’ve got way too much work piled up,” Ha Su-yeon declared, causing the group to collapse onto the table in mock defeat.

Lee Seo was no exception.

After the sudden change in their cover song, they had postponed everything to focus on practice.

Now, there was no more room to procrastinate.

“So, does this mean we can finally take a breather? Can we relax now?” Lee Seo asked hopefully.

“What are you talking about?”

Ha Su-yeon raised an eyebrow, dashing any hopes of rest.

“We’ve got to prepare for the government support program. There’s no time to relax!”