Sample Clearance (3)
"So, we've got sampling permission, but just barely."
The strategy was simple.
"If things go well after we get the okay, you'll have to re-record it for me, Saero."
The song going into the new track via sampling: Tears of Courage. They'd re-record just the highlight section.
Why? "Original samples are expensive."
For now, they could use the ooooh cold cold cold part.
"All five band members have rights upfront, so it costs a fortune. Getting individual permissions is a nightmare too."
And with the band blowing up, how do you get all five to agree? It didn't make sense.
"More than that, the vocalist bolted overnight, which is why the band imploded. I don't think it's fair for the money to go her way. Jeuni won't agree to that."
"Yeah, fair point."
It was common knowledge among Neon Blue fans that the vocalist was the villain. The other members hadn't been great either... but any veteran Neon Blue fan was basically a Jeuni solo stan. Kang Saero, a die-hard Neon Blue fan, nodded.
"Even I think it's messed up. From Jeuni unnie's perspective, it'd piss her off big time."
"But is it that bad?"
"Not quite—more like she'd wanna straight-up murder her?"
The fandom's hatred for the runaway vocalist Han Jiyu was apparently vicious.
"So you're saying re-recording solves all these issues. That's your pitch right now."
"Yep. Clean and simple."
It was a tried-and-true method abroad. Kanye West was the poster boy. Exaggerating just a tad, the man some called the father of modern pop said:
"My name is Ye, you bitch."
The guy spouted a lot of nonsense day-to-day. But his music moves? Plenty to learn from.
"They call it interpolation. Super common overseas."
Not just Kanye—tons of artists did it. If sample clearance was a hassle, they'd just re-record.
"You're not using the original sound source itself. Just get the composer's okay and record it fresh."
"Ah, so you settle copyright with the composer and sidestep neighboring rights?"
"Spot on."
Daughter of an entertainment family, alright. She might not know Billboard trends cold, but she nailed this stuff.
Songs had two main rights. First: the songwriter's copyright. Second: the performers' and recording artists' neighboring rights.
"So if we re-record, we only worry about copyright."
"And no original band vocals or session players involved...!"
Perfect counter-strategy, just like Saero said. And this was ahead of its time too. Taylor Swift's re-recording saga was a prime example—but that hit in the 2020s.
One thing to confirm first, though: any other copyright holders tangled up?
"Checked the copyright association records. For Tears of Courage, both lyrics and composition are under Yu Jeuni."
No other names popped up. How much dead weight had this woman been carrying?
"Even the minor neighboring rights got sorted to her when the band blew up."
Neon Blue was indie—no fancy agency. Jeuni had shouldered everything.
"So we just need her okay."
"You sound like a lawyer..."
Kang Saero muttered, then suddenly perked up as another thought hit.
"You mentioned starting a one-man label, right?"
"Yeah."
"Take me with you."
"Then it's a two-man label?"
"Watching you, I figure you could handle a hundred. Let's sign now."
Regressor's knowledge was a cheat code even here. Next phase of the plan.
"Alright, now we need Jeuni's permission."
"Just text her and ask? She'd probably love sticking it to the other members most."
"It's complicated."
"What the hell happened?"
"Details later."
Too much privacy to spill casually. "But we've got work to do."
Perfect timing—they were in the studio. Time to become the blonde-tanned-delinquent-music-thief.
Yu Jeuni was the masochistic type of creator. Call it diligence on a good day, obsession on a bad one.
Stack more inputs, hoard killer ideas, hone skills to craft great songs. Invest time for flawless performances. Only perfection leads to success.
Not just composing—band management too. Better songs. Smarter marketing. Better opportunities. They could've made it...
She'd handpicked those members herself for shared success. Their long obscurity? Her failure alone.
Might've been for the best. Neon Blue ended, but reverse-charted to glory at the last. Everyone landed on their feet after.
Gulp gulp.
"Urghhh..."
So why was her heart shattered? Like those fun times were erased, betrayed and left alone. Empty. It hurt. Hurt so bad.
Yu Jeuni nursed a lemon highball to kill time. Heart too heavy—craved attention, someone to whine to. Hence the summer landmine fashion, park bench day-drinking.
She'd never pull this sober.
Bzzz.
Right then. A text.
From Kim Seryeon.
A 3:30 work-in-progress video. Kim Seryeon at his studio monitor, speaking through it.
"Hey, Jeuni noona? Watching?"
"Your precious song's about to become a hip-hop beat via sampling?"
He didn't say it outright, but vibes.
"Cough! Cough!"
Highball went down wrong, burned. Coughs laced with booze.
"Hngh..."
Music-thief Kim Seryeon was mangling her precious Tears of Courage.
And damn, it slapped. Fresh vibe.
Twin-tailed Yu Jeuni blinked dumbly on the park bench, convenience store highball in hand. Like a cuck whose cherished lover got stolen—twisted thrill hit her.
"Eeeeh?!"
Mind-blowing. Seryeon's deft hands kneaded the original into an infinite climax loop.
Brain melting gooey. In hazy consciousness, she reflexively shook her head.
"Nooo."
Her head was already booze-mashed—why...? Why loop the best part of a great song infinitely...?
I'm losing it...
Head shake whipped twin-tails. Drunk as hell, but she was a music pro who knew her stuff. Even twitching in sensation, she sensed what came next.
No new topline.
Scary. Beat alone slayed, but Seryeon's moves toward keysynth for topline? Terrifying.
He'd left the laptop, settled at the keyboard.
Please, not that!
She tried escaping. Tapped to stop the video.
Body wouldn't obey. Unbeknownst, sound bliss had her submitting. Trembling fingers found wireless earbuds, jammed deep.
Crunch.
Felt too much—body exhausted. Booze-heightened nerves screamed for rest, trapping her. Video had ages left.
Could it feel even better?
Just a bit more...
Video resumed—Seryeon hit keys. Dreamy, swelling loop pierced by sharp synth stabs.
Insane. This was electronic music.
Music: the one legal porn Korea's censorship state allowed.
Yu Jeuni bowed her head, surrendering to violent pleasure.
Lost. Totally lost.
Defeated.
I'm the original artist—why...
Should be mad, pissed—why this?
Fingers typed reply on autopilot.
Tap. Send.
Shouldn't send. Total loss.
But booze-betrayed body hit send anyway.
"This'll really work?"
Kang Saero after hearing the plan. Longtime fan—strong read on Jeuni.
"Jeuni unnie's got huge musical pride. Won't fall for this."
"Hm. We'll see."
"The drinking and weird outfits? Just a phase 'cause she's hurting."
A fangirl's hopes hung on Jeuni's path.
"I believe in unnie. Love how dead serious she is about music."
"Yeah yeah, got it. Camera a bit closer."
But 10 minutes later—text.
I shrugged. "Told ya?"
"No way."
"Checked her band stuff and works—folks like this are trend-sensitive."
"Ahh!"
Shocked Saero went dead-eyed.
Jeuni snapped to, firing off a different vibe.
Typos screamed day-drinking. Not surprising anymore.
Saero typed beside me.
Talent too good to waste. Time for tough love to fix her.
Jeuni faced losing song and guitar. Sure, she claimed her heart was broken, done with music—but did it ever cut that clean?
I knew. Lived it in life one.
She couldn't quit. No way.
And soon after.
Yu Jeuni rolled up to the studio in full landmine fashion.