Chapter 30: A Natural Disaster Hits Hongdae
People are always searching for something new.
The familiar inevitably becomes tedious, and the human brain is naturally more sensitive to thrilling stimulation than to comfortable stability.
However, when pushed around by too much stimulation, one might suddenly find their head turning toward a familiar warmth.
And just as they thought they might stop to rest for a moment, that warmth was so inviting that everyone unconsciously drew closer.
As those drawn in gathered, they soon filled one corner of the street.
They thought it was the coziness provided by familiarity, but this was a different kind of stimulation. It was something that “newness” could never provide.
Once their feet stopped, they could not move.
Regardless of generation, the melody was familiar to their ears.
The ages of those gathered were truly diverse. There were children in school uniforms, young people who had been watching dance crews and rock bands until just a moment ago, and people of an ambiguous age, too old to be called “youth” but not quite “adults.”
They set aside their destinations for a moment and leaned into that cozy stimulation.
Queen.
A band that had debuted in the seventies.
They were an old band.
But they had been reintroduced through various media, and since every single song was a masterpiece, people had heard them often.
That made them easy to approach, but it was also a repertoire that could easily become boring.
Anyone might have hummed along.
Yet no one could open their mouth.
Afraid that their own voices might become noise and scratch the purity of that sound, they were cautious even in their movements.
Busking was, by nature, a realm of free emotion for both the performer and the listener.
It was a place where one could stop for a moment, listen, applaud, and then freely go on their way.
Wasn’t the charm of busking the fact that you could sing along when a song you knew came on, or even jump around with excitement?
But those gathered now were compelled.
They could no longer continue on their way. They could not take their eyes off the scene, and they could not mix their own voices into that noble sound.
As if the music were a ferocious dictator, it had imprisoned them with warm coziness.
Since it was not a designated spot for busking, the people surrounding the band, who had their backs against a wall, had no choice but to stand precariously on flowerbeds, railings, or stairs. Yet no one left the spot they first claimed.
Thus, the semicircle surrounding them continued to grow.
Someone remembered an urgent appointment and turned to leave.
But upon seeing the wall of people blocking the way, they quickly gave up.
Listening to the music of the animal-mask band was far better than the trouble of squeezing through the crowd.
Appointments no longer mattered.
Ah.
They hurriedly pulled out their phones and held them up.
As they pressed the record button and looked around, they saw countless other phones already pointed toward the band.
Occasionally, a celebrity walking by might join a busking session.
In those cases, massive crowds would gather.
But for a band of unknown identity to gather this many people through music alone was almost unprecedented.
There were no amplifiers. The drums consisted of only a small drum and a single cymbal. The two acoustic guitars were not loud, and the keyboard used its own built-in speakers.
No matter how much the regulars of Hongdae thought about it, these were strangers.
With a single appearance, they had conquered the busking street.
Seeing the masks, some thought it might be the play of some great professionals. And just as that thought crossed their minds, the final song ended.
Though they were barely a meter away, those in the front row did not dare approach.
What if there was an encore?
What if, by stepping forward to ask for an autograph, they caused the band to miss the chance for an encore?
If such a situation occurred, it would be hard to endure the glares of the countless people behind them.
Unlike them, a few desperate individuals tried to break through the barrier to get inside, but that was not easy either.
Seeing some of them pull out business cards, they were likely from entertainment agencies.
Just as those agents gave up on entering and decided to wait for the animal-mask band to pack up their gear, the band finished preparing to leave.
Then they jumped over the wall behind them.
The hollowed-out crowd stared blankly at the empty wall.
And so, the brief performance of the mask band came to an end.
There is a certain coziness felt when returning to a place after many years and finding it exactly as it was.
Separated by a single wall, the street where people busked had changed a lot.
However, once they crossed that wall, the unchanged alleys welcomed them.
Some were tangled like a maze, and despite the long passage of time, they vividly remembered which buildings to pass through to reach the next alley.
They ran excitedly and soon arrived in front of Hongdae.
They had intentionally played only six songs.
Today, they intended to shake the entirety of Hongdae.
Their gazes turned toward the “Hongdae Playground.”
Then each of them pulled their respective masks from their pockets.
“Yeah! I’m telling you, it was seriously insane! Ah! I’m not making excuses… Huh? Masks? A rabbit, a lion, a bear, and a leopard?”
A woman, hurrying because she was late for an appointment, tilted her head in confusion.
“What? They just performed down there?”
She hurriedly shoved her phone into her pocket and started running.
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In just twenty minutes, the masked band took their positions with their backs to the steep stairs of the Hongdae Playground.
After finishing the setup, Jinhyeok looked at the playground.
Though it had changed, the paths were the same, and the layout of the buildings remained.
Seeing that some signs had not changed in twenty-five years, a smile unconsciously formed on his lips.
People focused on their own lives did not find the sudden appearance of animal masks particularly strange.
They gave a brief, indifferent glance before returning their focus to themselves.
Because this place was overflowing with such people.
They simply viewed it as a performance by people trying to stand out.
Seeing the cheap-looking acoustic guitars, some recalled people who had reenacted action scenes with guitars the previous week.
Without receiving much attention, they settled in.
Once the setup was complete, the small drum and cymbal began to tickle the ears in a way that was not unpleasant. Soon, the keyboard melody blended in and drew people’s attention.
A melody.
One that anyone would recognize.
The two acoustic guitars filled out the sound.
“Huh?”
“What is this? Is this The Beatles?”
“Wow. This feels great.”
The mouth of the rabbit mask opened.
“Wow! What is this?”
“This is crazy.”
Without even time for further conversation, two people jumped up.
There was plenty of space for people to sit around the playground.
But those who had been watching them while sitting leisurely were forced to stand before the first song even ended.
One by one, they approached the band to hear the sound even a little closer.
After the Beatles song ended, Led Zeppelin began.
People started climbing onto structures meant for sitting, and the playground began to fill up around the stairs.
Naturally, people became curious when a crowd gathered. Those who peeked in could not leave.
In Hongdae, that playground was a place to meet people.
Or a place to rest for a while.
It was also a place to linger one last time and soothe the regret of going home while drunk.
Amidst the rushing waves of youth, it was a place that sat like an island.
The only spot of leisure.
Before they knew it, there was not a single person in that playground with their backside touching a chair.
After Led Zeppelin came The Rolling Stones, U2, and even Nirvana.
Regardless of generation, and even if they did not know the group names or song titles, the familiar music shook people with a completely different atmosphere.
It was a modest arrangement.
But with the overwhelming tone of the vocals, it felt as if this specific arrangement suited the songs even better.
When the vocalist stomped his foot, everyone stomped their feet.
When he stopped playing the guitar for a moment and raised his hand, everyone followed suit.
Five songs ended.
As if asking, “Want more?” the rabbit took his hand off the guitar and crossed his arms.
Only then did the people realize they were deeply immersed in something they could not escape.
Everyone began shouting, “One more song!”
The rabbit mask smiled brightly.
As the rabbit gripped the guitar again, the shouts filling the playground vanished instantly.
A group of people entered from the steep stairs.
A few people had gathered on the narrow sidewalk below the stairs, but those pushing through them were from the Merchants’ Association that managed the Hongdae Playground.
The playground was not managed by a public institution but was entrusted to them.
To perform in the playground, one had to obtain permission from the head of the Merchants’ Association.
Of course, simply sitting on a chair and playing an acoustic guitar or humming a song was not considered a “performance.”
It was hard to define precisely, but they usually judged it by whether “electricity was being drawn.”
Because of this, the grim-looking men coming up the stairs paused for a moment.
There were no amplifiers. The keyboard was a cheap wireless rechargeable model, and no power cables were visible anywhere.
“Hey. What do we do about this?”
“If this many people are gathered, shouldn’t we count it as a performance?”
“The association head sent us after seeing the CCTV. Let’s just kick them out.”
Just as they were about to move forward, the performers began to move while playing.
As if a path were opening in an ebbing tide, the crowd parted, and the band moved toward the fence next to the restroom.
Since they did not need electricity, they were free.
While the association members hesitated, blocked by the crowd, the song ended.
Hugging their instruments, they jumped over the fence.
The stunned audience tried to chase them, but they had already vanished into the flow of people beyond the fence.
The animal-mask band appeared.
For only one day.
During that evening, they were spotted in four locations.
First, starting at the “Walking Street,” their performance moved through the “Playground,” paralyzed one side of the parking lot in front of “Sangsangmadang,” and finally disappeared into the subway station after finishing a performance near Hapjeong Station.
Each performance was short, about thirty minutes, and since they vanished abruptly as the shows ended, no one saw the faces behind the masks.
Some tried to deduce their identities by comparing the slightly visible jawlines with various musicians, but no clues emerged.
Furthermore, since the rabbit mask did not utter a single word, no one knew his manner of speaking or original voice, other than his singing voice.
Literally.
A single typhoon had swept through the Hongdae area.
For those who made music in Hongdae, it was like a ruthless natural disaster.
Because all the issues and attention were focused on them.
Everywhere, not only among the general public but also among musicians, conversations revolved around guessing who the band was.
It was something anyone who did music vaguely felt.
It was not limited to a place like Hongdae.
Anyone working in music in Korea would recognize it.
An issue of this magnitude was a signal announcing the birth of a cultural dictator.
Music had evolved.
Mega-stars were born every quarter.
But the current music market was too diverse.
No mega-star could encompass all generations, and even within the same age group, they could not captivate everyone.
The number one spot was replaced whenever someone released a single, and there was effectively no musician who could be called the undisputed top.
The appearance of these people, reminiscent of the cultural dictators who had not been born for several decades, made everyone stir.
If it had only been rumors, they would have dismissed it as an urban legend.
But the videos that began to surface one by one soon numbered in the hundreds.
And the view counts were enormous.
There was someone staring intently at those videos.
It was CEO Seo Donggu of SJ Entertainment.
“Hey! You’re telling me they appeared four times, and you couldn’t get a single contact number?”
“I’m sorry.”
“In my day, kid, I went around all the Hongdae clubs, huh? Until sweat poured off the soles of my feet! Huh? You can’t even track them down to hand over a business card. Sigh…”
“That… they ended the performance and vanished at unexpected moments…”
“Sigh…”
The song choices were old, but the sound created by two acoustic guitars, one crude keyboard, a small drum, and a cymbal was truly art.
A full sound, without a single empty spot.
A long time ago, the greed for an idol band he had dreamed of began to rise again.
Korea had one of the most unique music cultures in the world.
Among countries where music developed under Western influence, there were few where band music was not popular.
Except for South Korea.
While the status of “K-POP” shook the world, it could not erase the stigma of being “planned artists” created by a peculiar fandom culture.
Some overseas critics even compared the Korean entertainment industry to a franchise.
It was the most watched art market in the world, but compared to movies and dramas, the music side was mixed with a bit of ridicule.
‘If only that accident hadn’t happened back then…’
Seo Donggu recalled the Hongdae club he had visited with the CEO who had then been a managing director.
If they had continued their activities, perhaps the music representing Korea today would have stood tall in the world, centered around bands.
“Sigh…”
He looked at the monitor again.
Without a single word, they captured strangers through music alone.
Their attire was modest, and there were no extravagant performances.
They did not shout to get attention, and they did not even have amplifiers.
And yet, with music alone, they gathered people with the very first song.
Since there was no help from speakers, the sound was inevitably small.
The rabbit mask did not bother to raise his voice to make it heard further.
As if saying, “If you want to hear it, come closer.”
The people attending the performance had to be cautious of every breath, every cough, and even the sound of brushing clothes.
‘What is this…?’
He controlled people with an absurd level of naturalness.
As if they were gods within their own space.
The audience followed even without being commanded.
And if one acted contrary to that, it was as if they were a heretic.
‘Huh?’
He felt he had experienced this feeling somewhere before.
As Seo Donggu tilted his head and searched his memories, the door burst open.
“CEO! You know I can’t do that kind of thing!”
The woman from “Hwang Jisun’s Canvas,” the most senior person in the company, was fuming.
“Ah… I told you to say I’m not here…”
As Hwang Jisun raised the proposal in her hand as if to throw it, Seo Donggu quickly covered his face.
The title of the proposal was visible.
[High School Band]
“Seriously! Just!”
“Ah… but I’m the CEO…”
“Sigh…”
“Just this once, okay?”
“This isn’t a reality show again, is it?”
“No! No! This time, they said the judges’ influence will definitely be properly reflected.”
In truth, audition programs had become rigged games at some point.
Some programs were so blatant that the producers faced legal responsibility.
Consequently, the judges were often nothing more than figureheads.
No matter how much they raised their voices, they could not beat the viewership ratings the program pursued.
Established mid-career musicians began to avoid such “placeholder” positions at some point.
“That… Jisun, I heard your friend Im Doyu is appearing.”
“What?”
“If they’re using Im Doyu, they must be prepared for it.”
Im Doyu already had a history of completely demolishing one audition program.
What was impressive was that he endured and held back during the recording, only to unleash a torrent of vitriol during the live broadcast and completely smash it.
The corners of Hwang Jisun’s mouth curled up slightly.
“Hmm. This time might be a bit interesting.”
“Right?”
“Tell them if they play games this time, I might flip the whole thing over along with him.”
“Ah! Okay.”
Seo Donggu breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hey! Are you done studying?”
“Yes!”
Eunseo, who had been packing her reference books in the corner of the practice room, stood up while holding the guitar beside her.
Since they had increased band practice time by cutting out academy hours, she had decided to do at least the minimum amount of studying in the practice room.
“Ah. And about that feedback…”
The members’ expectant gazes turned toward Gisu.
“I’m worried that if we get it from people in the industry, there might be talk…”
“Ah… true. It might become an issue of fairness.”
“If it becomes known later, it could be a problem.”
Gisu had intended to let a musician he knew hear the songs they had written, but upon reflection, he felt there was a slight problem.
“Um… by any chance, do you know anyone around here who used to do music but retired, or maybe someone who knows about composing or arranging? Someone who… wouldn’t be talked about by other people….”
“I know. It would be great if someone who knows music could listen to it.”
“For now! Let’s just practice! Jo! From now on, if you mess up, you have to stand in the corner with your hands up.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Let’s go through it twice more before the chicken gets here.”
“Yes, sir!”
Eunseo answered energetically and plugged the jack into the guitar.
Live performances of the bands mentioned:
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