Brand New EP (2)
Rumors spread like wildfire in this industry these days. Everyone's already hooked on sensational tabloid gossip. 'It's Show Me season, after all.' Who's auditioning, who's getting cut, who's climbing the ranks—everyone's dying to know. Riding that wave, a fresh piece of bait, a little different from the audition show buzz, started circulating fast through the online communities.
Even if success is thanks to looks, that visual makes it believable. Still, plenty of worried voices too.
It's about genre purity. Dropping ballad or pop but claiming hip-hop and riding popularity? I'd be pissed too.
'Hits a little close to home.'
What he's bringing is far from orthodox hip-hop. Bound to get trashed hard, especially by the hip-hop purist guardians.
Like this guy.
This guy's a current rapper pretending to be a sincere hip-hop fan, but he manipulates opinions with alt accounts. Probably auditioned for Show Me too, can't stay off communities. With regressor knowledge, wanna mess with him, but.
'Ignore for now.' Let him ripen a few more years for that sweet dopamine hit. He'll get schooled eventually—I'll sit back.
Nonhyeondong Studio. Insanely pricey neighborhood, but factors offset it—like being up a hill.
"How do you even get up here."
Asphalt shimmering with heat haze. Inhale that, lungs fill with oil? Peak August. Brutal summer break heat. Iced Americano in hand.
'Actual apocalypse?' World-ending swelter no matter how you slice it. Salvation: AC.
Settling in to prep, villa intercom buzzed.
"Save me."
Kang Saero, right on cue. Door opens—hot air blasts in like the weather's lost its mind.
"Whoa. Feels alive."
She bolted inside like she'd cheated death.
"41 degrees today. Insane?"
"Gonna kill people."
"Couch time."
"Wipe sweat first."
"Psh. Treating me like an animal."
Knew it forever, but Saero sweats buckets. Carries ziplocks and bath towels in her bag now. Not handkerchiefs—full lime-green bathroom ones.
She dabbed forehead and nape, then grabbed my short-sleeve sleeve tight.
"Seryeon. Look away a sec."
What? Flirty?
"Bathroom's right there."
"Oh? Yeah...."
Heatstroke for real.
"Couch's yours. Wiping then crashing."
"Fine."
Weather's murderous, yeah. News calls it record heatwave—first life felt brutal too, digging memories.
Sitting at desk peeking monitor, post-bathroom Saero shoved something over.
"Gift."
The towel. She'd just sweat-wiped with.
"......"
"Why the straight face."
Not straight—flustered. Reined in expression.
"Pervert much?"
Middle school, thought bright, diligent, righteous prez. Closer look: shady corners.
She ziplocked the towel neatly, flopped on couch.
"Phew. Livable. Going out in this? Nuts."
Black menhera character cushion squished flat again.
"Wanna live here forever."
"No. Rest quick—re-record soon. Up."
"Nuuuh."
"Reservation's set."
"Nooo...."
"You live there. I'll go re-record sample."
"Waaah."
AC cooled sweat; headed straight to Gangnam pro studio. Home setup nice, but needed high-quality session plays. Real space, gear, facilities essential.
"Ah, you're here."
Back at the studio for Blue Lemon Sky vocals. Engineer Park Jincheol greeted us—round face, horn-rims, bearded uncle vibe.
Park skips chit-chat, straight pro. Solid rep too.
"Check gear till session ready."
Quick scan.
"Neon Blue re-record. Rights cleared, highlights only. Texture: original minus noise, crisper. Right?"
"Yes."
"Let's roll. Saero?"
"Ready."
Band session plus vocalist Saero. Heart-pounding peak—like gacha pull animation.
'Gotta hear it.'
Imagined in head, roughed vocals. But booth magic's different. Home sketch might nail—or total redo.
Session kicked off; Saero's voice layered on.
Reaction hit first from side.
"Whoa...."
Park low whistle. Saero couldn't hear, but he muttered.
"Coulda rocked a band. Killer."
Saero kept original melancholy but fresh texture. Yu Jeuni's was hid-in-room kid. Hers: teens wandering neon-lit city night. Cyberpunk sharp.
'Love it.'
Wonder how in sample beat. Midway happy thought—Saero booth-toweled sweat, asked.
"Kim Seryeon! How was it?"
Perfect, no cap.
Then towels/water for her, thanks to session crew. Group listen, quick feedback. Early good takes, no drag—short length helped.
Park eyed new sample on screen, T-rex hands: knuckles bent, chin propped. Kinda creepy.
"So Seryeon, sample this for hip-hop beat?"
"Aiming fresh vibe."
"Fresh. Hence re-record with Saero."
"?"
Pretend didn't hear.
T-rex Park cautiously asked.
"Mind if I hear a bit?"
Faked surprise, big nod.
"Was gonna ask anyway. You're way more pro, nailed tech last time...."
Basic schmooze. Mundaine taught.
"And knowing sample use helps final tweaks."
Worked—gentle smile spread.
Mundaine or not, probably chart #3 composer + face genius. Pretty people get favoritism, gender-blind.
Beaming Park—round, horn-rims, beard—headset on, dino'd again to track.
File: Neon Blue sample hip-hop beat + my keys topline.
Music start.
"Oh."
Good?
"Hm."
Nah. Overdid it?
Sounds heavy now.
"Aha."
Damn, what?
Done, arms crossed, nodding.
Conclusion time.
"Seryeon."
"Yes."
"Not going full hip-hop producer, right?"
"Nope."
Too firm? No full dive planned. Genres cycle, influence each other. Mainstream borrows hip-hop sound ongoing. Learning now? Smart move.
"Billboard trends got this emo-hip-hop eating up. Korea lacks it still."
"Yeah. Mainstream not fully."
"Show Me timing perfect. Broadcast spreads melodic rap vibes soon. That's the play."
Calm explain—Park's hands both T-rex. Chin-prop glasses, beard.
"Whoa...."
Max respect to peers, maybe.
"Genius, right?"