Music That Mirrors the Heart
Sudden words: "Me, matching them?" Suyeon nodded at that. Seoha was genuinely curious. She was already matching them plenty. Yujin unnie on bass, the keyboard guy. Compared to her and Suyeon, they were nowhere near... people with that level of skill. And yet, Seoha had played at a level they could keep up with. So what more was there to match?
"I'm already matching them."
"No, you haven't really matched your playing to anyone. If anything, they're the ones matching you."
"What are you talking about?"
The word that rubbed Seoha the wrong way was "if anything." If anything. Who was matching whom, exactly? Those people who could barely keep up with her skill—what were they even matching?
Seoha was sincerely puzzled.
"The core of a band sound is harmony and unity. Going together. Whether you're lacking or overflowing, it's about the vocals, guitar and bass, drums and keys—all five instruments blending into one. That's the heart of a band."
Suyeon stroked her chin slightly at Seoha's question, then looked her straight in the eye and began to speak. Seoha listened, wondering what she was getting at.
"But right now, you're leading the other band members. Or rather, it feels like you're dragging them along by force."
"It's not by force—they just can't keep up..."
"That's what dragging them by force is. Isn't it?"
Is that what dragging by force means? Seoha stared at her fingertips for a moment. She couldn't agree. In her mind, she was the one held back by the others. She could charge ahead full throttle. She could show them what it really meant to play drums well. She could fill the empty sound completely. But in this band, she was stuck matching beats, her ankles shackled by the others. How was this not matching? How were they matching her?
"Can't admit it, huh?"
Suyeon's question hit her like that. Seoha looked up at her. A kid one year younger than her. But those eyes staring back were deeper than anyone she'd ever seen.
"Then think about just one thing."
"What?"
"You're thinking, 'I'm good, so they should follow me.' But how do I seem to be doing it?"
Seoha fell silent at the question. Come to think of it, Suyeon's playing felt the same in Group Sound as it did here. Why is that? Even to Seoha herself, her own playing... compared to Group Sound, it felt choppy and constrained. When she played thinking of jamming with the kids back then, the CCM bandmates would trip up or fail to follow. But Suyeon played the exact same way then as now. How is that possible? Seoha felt a surge of intense curiosity. No matter how skilled you are, how do you match such basic playing from others... and still pull it off like that?
"It looks like you're matching them."
"Yeah... but how?"
"Who knows."
Instead of answering, Suyeon took a sip of her canned coffee. What followed was silence, not words. Seeing no sign of an explanation from Suyeon, Seoha felt frustrated.
"How does that even work?"
"That's for you to figure out."
"What?"
Seoha shot back at the absurd response. But Suyeon, as if she'd said her piece, started heading back to the practice room—then paused and turned around.
"You said you wanted to show your parents a performance. A great one. Something unforgettable. If you want to do that, you need to solve this puzzle. What makes a great performance? What is music? What is harmony...? One thing I'll tell you."
Suyeon grinned. A smile that didn't fit the moment. But somehow, it did.
"Great technique doesn't guarantee great music. Music isn't made with your head, after all."
With those cryptic words, Suyeon vanished into the building. Seoha just stared blankly at her retreating back.
What did she mean? Seoha couldn't unravel the puzzle Suyeon had left her with. After days of agonizing with no answers, she finally asked Suyeon outright.
"So what's the answer, anyway?"
"I told you, you have to figure it out yourself."
When Seoha insisted she still didn't get it, Suyeon tossed her a "hint." A DVD of Cream's 2005 reunion show at the Royal Albert Hall. Just the three of them—Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Ginger Baker—no extra session players, up on stage.
"You might get a rough idea from that."
With no clue from Suyeon's vague advice, Seoha dug through the church storage for a DVD player and replayed the concert over and over. Even when passing deacons scolded, "You can't listen to the devil's music," she ignored them. What nonsense in 2024? After watching it countless times, Seoha reached one conclusion.
I have no idea.
She felt something faintly, though. These were guys whose prime was the '60s, long gone. Their faces, their bodies—old age was obvious. Their voices too. Three musicians dragging aged bodies and voices that wouldn't climb. Yet their playing had no empty spaces. At least, that's how it felt to Seoha.
Of course, sound tech fills some of it... Stacks of amps over a dozen high. Effects pedals galore. Audio correction. All sorts of tech in that show. Seoha knew that. But there was something more, something tech alone couldn't explain. And it was the same when she rewatched Group Sound's performances. Suyeon's playing—empty yet not empty. To explain that incomprehensible phenomenon, Seoha watched their own shows dozens of times. It was there too. Something indescribable. Something beyond "technique"...
Performance day. The CCM show was scheduled for the afternoon. Suyeon would arrive right on time, so Seoha had nothing much to do. Churchgoers, deacons, and deaconesses bustled about. Band members handled their tasks for the event prep. Seoha just sat at a table, chin in hand, watching.
At first, she chatted with the kids she hadn't seen in ages, but they all took the hint and scattered to work. Left alone, she fiddled with her phone.
Should've just told Suyeon to come early. We could've talked. But if Suyeon—an outsider—came and just sat bored while Seoha was already bored... Seoha shook her head to clear the thought and reached for her earphones to rewatch the Cream concert.
"Seoha!"
"Yes."
A church lay leader's voice stopped her. He strode over and spoke.
"Pastor Yu's coming in 30 minutes."
"Really? He's early. I thought afternoon."
"He said he's coming early for lunch with you."
Seoha replied casually, "Got it," hiding her delight... but she couldn't stop the good feeling. Even after their harsh words on her career and music... they were still her parents.
"How've you been? Coming to church okay?"
Her mom's first greeting after so long soured Seoha's mood. But what could she do? That's how they were.
"Uh... yeah. Been going fine."
"Good. The Lord is always watching."
Seoha hugged her parents silently and sat. Couldn't they skip faith, piety, church talk for even one moment at a family meal? She'd accepted it, but it still stung.
"How's life these days?"
"Just... school, CCM band. That's it."
"Grandma?"
"She's okay. Complains about her knees all the time. Massaging doesn't help much."
Seoha answered her dad's questions. How have I been? She had been busy lately—why? Recalling recent events, she remembered something she hadn't told her parents.
"Oh right, Mom, Dad. I didn't mention this."
"What?"
"I won a band audition show. Got the prize money too. 100 million won. I told Deacon Park, but..."
The prize money not yet disbursed—Suyeon's mom had taken it, minimized taxes, and would divvy it up. Seoha figured her parents would be shocked. Winning an audition and 100 million won? Who wouldn't be?
"Band audition show?"
"Yeah. With Hyeona and some underclassmen from other schools. We won together."
"That's great."
"Congrats. Winning something like that's a good thing."
Their pleased smiles warmed Seoha. Yeah, with results like this, even Mom and Dad might approve. No need for the band show...
"So, you gonna keep doing it?"
The words sounded kind, but carried weight. Seoha's good mood plummeted. Keep doing it? What did that even mean? Keep doing it? She barely heard the rest. The talk continued, but it wasn't conversation. It was a wall. An insurmountable, unyielding wall between her and her parents—one she didn't know when it had risen. Seoha stared at it. Too high to climb, too solid to break. She could only crouch before it.
When Seoha snapped out of it, the performance was moments away. In the waiting room, her bandmates and Suyeon looked at her worriedly.
"Seoha."
Yujin's concerned voice just annoyed her. Why did Mom and Dad say that?Why did this happen?Why am I in this mess?Why did I end up like this?
"Get the band ready first. I'll bring Seoha."
"...Okay."
At Suyeon's words, Yujin and the others left. Just Seoha and Suyeon remained. Silence stretched.
"Yoo Seoha. One more hint."
Words that didn't fit the moment. But Seoha looked up. Suyeon's calm, steady gaze met hers.
"A musician who can reflect their own heart and feelings in their music is the one who lasts to the end."
"What does that mean?"
"Think about it. You've got about 3 minutes, so sort your feelings and hit the stage."
With that, Suyeon left the waiting room. Seoha glanced at her hands, then let them drop limply. No rehearsal, straight to showtime. This was a recipe for disaster.
So what if it flops?
That was all that came to mind. So what if it flopped? Play well or not. Win auditions or not. Show talent or not. In the end, all her parents saw was that damn faith, nothing else...
The lay leader's voice directing the event barely registered. Seoha sat blankly at the drums. Yujin talking to her, the bassist or keyboard guy chatting—it all faded. All she saw was one thing: the gesture Suyeon made to start playing, seen every day for a year. Instinctively, Seoha kicked in the drums.
The song began, progressed. Hands moved before thoughts. In the end, following Suyeon's words, she "matched the bandmates," flailing emptily in the gaps.
Sad.
Why had her parents said that? Keep doing it? Of course she would. Wasn't the audition win enough? Or did they just hate her doing music? No intention to accept it?
Annoying.
Everything annoyed her. Bandmates who wouldn't listen. Their stagnant skills. Suyeon's cryptic talk. The forced matching. The hollow sound. Even now, her hands veering off-script.
Pissed.
Why was she like this? Parents this, parents that. They'd ditched her for the countryside to do what they wanted. So why should she be sad? Hurt because she didn't meet their approval? Why did she need their approval?
Seoha wanted to spill it all. Confide in someone. Show that indescribable something, her heart...
The drum sound changed. As if it always had. The metronome-steady beat gained color, bit by bit. Maybe red. Maybe blue. Maybe something else. She saw flower buds. At her fingertips. Blooming one by one from the drumsticks. Rich, vibrant flowers spreading through the hall.
Then Seoha realized.
"A musician who can reflect their own heart and feelings in their music is the one who lasts to the end."
This was the "indescribable something." This was what Suyeon meant.
It was emotion.