Humbled on Live Television
Just before filming was about to begin, the host, Kato, stepped out of the restroom and spotted the judges still huddled inside the meeting room. They seemed deep in discussion, completely lost in their own world. Filming was scheduled to start any minute now. What could they possibly be doing?
"Everyone, we need to head in for filming!"
"Ah, right. Of course."
"Let's go together."
"Ah, Kato-san, you go on ahead. We have a few more things to discuss."
"...? Ah, alright. Please hurry!"
Kato shook his head. The judges seemed utterly preoccupied with whatever they were whispering about. Brushing it off with a wry smile, he grabbed a passing staff member.
"Hey. Why haven't you brought the judges over yet? Do you want to wrap up late tonight?"
"Ah! Yes, sir! Right away!"
"Get your head in the game, alright?"
Clicking his tongue as he watched the staff member scurry away, Kato walked into the studio. The studio audience, who also doubled as the voting panel, were already seated, along with a few celebrity guests. One of the production assistants walked over and handed him the cue sheet. He looked down at the guest's name written on it.
"What kind of name is this? Is she Korean?"
"Yes. Today's guest is Korean."
"Korean? Hah. There are plenty of Japanese guitarists who haven't even been on the show yet. Did the producer say why he didn't invite them instead?"
The staff member offered no reply. Kato muttered, "Unbelievable," and stood waiting in the center of the studio. Moments later, the breathless assistant returned, trailing behind the judges, who strolled in with their chins held high, oozing unearned authority.
"Alright, thank you all for coming to today's filming of Super Guitarist! I actually just heard the news—today's guest is from Korea! Haha. We still have so many incredible Japanese guitarists we haven't featured yet, so a Korean guitarist is quite a surprise. Of course, anyone is welcome, but... aren't we all curious to see just how good a Korean guitarist can really be?"
Just before the cameras started rolling, Kato tossed out the banter to warm up the crowd. A wave of chuckles rippled through the audience. After cracking a few more snide jokes at Korea's expense, the host glanced at the producer. The producer nodded, and a staff member rushed forward to snap the clapperboard.
"Alright! Let's get started! Super Guitarist... the quest to find the legendary guitarist! Will we finally discover a true super guitarist today? Let's find out right now!!"
After exchanging the usual rehearsed banter with the regular celebrity panelists, Kato glanced down at his cue sheet.
"Now, today's Super Guitarist hopeful! This person has traveled from a bit further away than our usual guests!"
"Gunma?"
"No, not Gunma! Gunma is still in Japan, isn't it? What would the proud citizens of Gunma Prefecture think of that?"
The audience burst into laughter. Kato gave a thumbs-up to the panelist who had cracked the Gunma joke, then read from his cue sheet to introduce the guest.
"Allow me to introduce her. Today's guest... from the Korean band, 'Gurupu Saundo'? Please welcome Ha Suyun!"
When the guest stepped onto the studio stage, Kato could hardly believe his eyes. The girl walking in was far too beautiful to be a typical rock guitarist. He wasn't the only one stunned; a collective murmur rippled through the panelists and the audience alike.
"Hello. I am Ha Suyun. I play guitar in the Korean band, Group Sound. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Wait, she's way too pretty!!"
"She's so cute!!"
"What is Korea even doing? Putting a girl like that in a band! That's a waste of talent!"
"Isn't she an idol?"
Compliments on her appearance rained down from all sides. The guitarist politely deflected them in slightly awkward Japanese. Kato waited for the flurry of praise to die down before speaking up.
"Are you really a band's guitarist?"
"Pardon?"
"I mean, looking at your face, you look like you belong to an entertainment agency... Is this some kind of project band?"
"What are you talking about? Kato-san, that's rude!"
"Rude or not, it's a question that needs to be asked!"
"We are a real band. Our agency is... uh, how should I put this? Just translate it roughly for me."
"Our band, Group Sound, is signed to an indie label called Label Echo Sound. We write, compose, and arrange all of our music ourselves."
The panelists nodded in approval at the interpreter's explanation. Comments like "That's great!" and "That's a real band for you" echoed around the room. Kato tapped his cue sheet against his hand to gather everyone's attention and move on to the next segment.
"Well then, let's take some time to learn more about guitarist Ha Suyun. We'll watch some of her released tracks in Korea, her broadcast appearances, and concert footage to judge whether she has what it takes to be a super guitarist. Roll the clip!"
As soon as Kato finished speaking, a video began playing on the studio's main screen. It showed the official music videos for Garden in the Air and Becoming a Star, as well as the behind-the-scenes making-of films for Meteor and The Moment I Meet You. As the unfamiliar melodies filled the studio, several panelists and audience members tapped their fingers and swayed to the rhythm, clearly enjoying the music.
"Alright... let's pause there! Everyone, what are your thoughts?"
"I think it's great."
"You say that about everything."
"It might be a bit much to say, but I think this is honestly some of the best music I've heard since I started appearing on this show."
"The music itself is practically flawless."
High praise from panelists who were usually brutally honest. Kato rubbed his nose. We need some harsh criticism to make this entertaining... It's going to be boring if everyone just praises her. Just as he was worrying about the lack of drama, a voice boomed from the judges' table, cutting right through his anxiety.
"The songs aren't bad, but the guitar's presence in them is far too small."
"Huh? What do you mean by that...?"
Kato cheered inwardly, though he maintained a confused expression as he approached the judge. The judge raised his microphone and continued.
"The songs themselves are good. Did that Korean girl over there write them?"
"Yes, that's correct. My name is Ha Suyun."
Despite having just heard her name, the judge pointedly referred to her as "that Korean girl." Suyun, unfazed, calmly corrected him. The judge didn't bother hiding his annoyance at her response as he spoke again.
"But the guitar parts in the songs are far too minimal. To me, this shows a lack of a guitarist's heart—a lack of pride. If you have confidence in your skills, you should be stepping forward and making your presence known."
"Ah... so because the guitar doesn't stand out much, it looks like a lack of confidence? Meaning her composing is fine, but she falls short as a guitarist?"
"Exactly. Confidence is a crucial part of being a musician."
"And the guitar techniques used in the tracks are incredibly basic. What's the point of being good in the background? If all that actually makes it into the song is a few simple strums, it's completely meaningless."
"It would be one thing if it were just one song, but almost all of your tracks have very little guitar. The technique is lacking, and there's no dynamism. Have you ever seen a guitar master put less guitar in their own songs? No one does something so bizarre."
Whether they were overcompensating for the panelists' glowing praise or acting on some personal bias, the judges relentlessly tore down Ha Suyun's guitar skills.
"So, to summarize... you write good songs, but focusing strictly on the guitar, you are severely lacking as a pure 'guitarist.' You need to practice more. That's the verdict."
The judges concluded their evaluation with a heavy-handed display of authority. Usually, when contestants were crushed like this, the more fragile ones would burst into tears. Thinking that a crying, pretty girl would make for excellent television, Kato walked over to Ha Suyun.
"How do you feel about their feedback? We'd love to hear your thoughts."
"May I speak honestly?"
"Ah, of course, of course!"
Ha Suyun lowered her head slightly, then raised it to look directly at the host. Kato leaned in, anticipating a highly entertaining reaction. Then, Suyun opened her mouth.
"To be perfectly honest... I seriously doubt whether the judges actually understand what composition is, based on what they just said."
"...Pardon??"
Her response was entirely unexpected. The panelists and the audience gasped in shock. The judges' eyes widened in sheer disbelief. In the midst of the sudden tension, Ha Suyun was the only one who remained completely calm.
"The guitar parts are written that way because that's what the songs require. Did Eric Clapton play like that in 'Tears in Heaven' or 'Wonderful Tonight' because he didn't know how to play guitar? 'Smoke on the Water' is built entirely around a single riff—does that make Ritchie Blackmore a mediocre guitarist? I have no idea what kind of nonsense you're talking about."
"...is what she says," the interpreter stammered.
"No dynamics? Lacking guitar technique? I intentionally left those out to make the songs pleasant and easy on the listener's ears. Is it a rule that they must be crammed in? I could name dozens of songs by legendary guitarists that fit your description perfectly. By your logic, are all of those legends just terrible guitarists who can't play?"
"...is what she says," the interpreter translated again, sweating.
Unlike any guest before her, Ha Suyun was systematically dismantling the judges' arguments to their faces. While the panelists and the audience listened in stunned silence to the slightly softened translation, one of the judges, red-faced and huffing with rage, spoke up.
"A true guitarist must know how to showcase their technique in a song!"
"What absolute rubbish. I have no idea who decided that a guitarist has to do that. Isn't that just your own narrow-minded opinion? Dictating that a guitarist must do this or must do that... Even before the show started, you came up to me asking if I even knew how to play."
Though the Japanese hosts couldn't understand her raw Korean, the sheer exasperation in Ha Suyun's voice was unmistakable. The interpreter quickly summarized: "She says you are trapped in strange stereotypes, and there is no law in the world that dictates how a guitarist must play."
"And technique? I don't know what kind of technique you're looking for... but are you talking about something like this? Someone plug me into an amp, please."
The interpreter frantically relayed her request. A cable was quickly handed over, and an amp was switched on. Suyun flexed her fingers a few times, then rested her guitar on her right thigh. What erupted from her fingertips next could only be described as pure, unadulterated violence.
The solo from "Acid Rain"—one of the signature tracks of guitar virtuoso John Petrucci—instantly seized control of the studio.
It looked as though she had ten fingers on her left hand, as if she were wielding an eight-string beast. Without pausing for a single breath, every single beat was struck with surgical precision. A relentless storm of alternate picking left not a single note behind, combined with flawless hammer-ons and pull-offs that made it seem like both of her hands were dancing across the fretboard in perfect unison.
"W-What on earth..."
The breathless mutter from the judges' table perfectly captured the sentiment of everyone in the room. This was a performance where, even in death, no one could ever dare utter the words "she can't play." It was highly doubtful whether everyone in the studio combined could replicate even fifty percent of the technical wizardry they were witnessing.
"Well? I wonder if this is enough 'technique' for you."
After a full minute and a half of a sonic tempest tearing through the studio, Suyun spoke. No one answered. Everyone was utterly shell-shocked.
"Actually, I'd like to ask a question instead. Do you judges even play the guitar these days?"
Suyun's blunt Korean shattered the stunned silence. As the interpreter translated, one of the judges nodded in a daze. Suyun locked eyes with him and asked directly:
"How much do you practice?"
"Practice...? Well, at my age, surely six to eight hours a day is more than enough."
Caught off guard, the judge blurted out an answer, but quickly recovering his senses, he inflated his actual practice time by at least fourfold. He didn't know where she was going with this, but he figured claiming eight hours of daily practice would shut her up.
Unfortunately for him, he had miscalculated spectacularly.
"That is too little. You are lazy. You need to take it seriously. Why do you practice so little?"
"What?"
"Setting aside a specific 'practice time' is already a mistake. Eating, sleeping, washing—aside from those, everything else should be practice. Why aren't you doing that?"
It was a mindset that even these veterans, who had played for decades and practiced countless hours, could never have conceived. Yet the young girl standing before them was declaring it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.