The Birth of the Groupheads

A live tour where the audience actively participates is not, in truth, a particularly groundbreaking or revolutionary concept. Even a simple busking session where the performer takes requests can be considered an audience-participatory performance. In a broader sense, even the traditional encore—where the crowd's cheers alter the course of the show—is a form of audience participation. However, the type of performance Group Sound was attempting seemed like something never before seen in the mainstream music industries of Korea and Japan. At least, that was what Suyun thought.

"Release all the recordings? Isn't that a bit much?"

"Hmm. Here, look at this."

In response to her bandmates' skepticism, Seoha pulled out a piece of paper covered in scribbles. Then, grabbing another sheet, she began jotting down explanations with a ballpoint pen.

"For example, the basic playlist itself is obviously set by us. But we let the audience choose a few of the songs. That's the basic premise."

As she spoke, Seoha wrote down the following points:

"If we do this, we won't have a single overlapping playlist throughout the entire tour. That makes every single show completely unique. The audience is bound to love it."

"That actually sounds pretty good."

"Right?"

With a slightly excited expression, Seoha wrote down the next sentence, addressing the concern raised just moments ago.

"So, Iseor, this is the part you were iffy about, right? Releasing everything."

"Yeah."

"But think about it. Every show is different. If they were all the same, people would definitely complain about it being unfair. They'd get spoiled beforehand—knowing the setlist, what we're going to say, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all of it. If the shows were identical, there'd be endless complaints. But what if every single show is completely different?"

"Ah. I see where you're going with this."

"On top of that, we differentiate the quality. We release them in low quality... like 96kbps or something. It's listenable, but just enough to make them think, 'Ah, this is okay, but I wish I could hear it live,' or 'This doesn't even compare to hearing it clean at the actual venue.' That way, it acts as promotion for the upcoming shows. Even if the tickets for this tour are already sold out, it builds hype for the next one."

"Oh..."

Suyun murmured, genuinely intrigued. It was a perspective she hadn't considered, but it made perfect sense. After all, the recorded broadcast of Summer Sonic 2027 had a similar effect.

"And that's not all. We take it a step further."

"We do this so the audience isn't just deciding the playlist on the spot, but actually participating in our content by voting."

"Hmm... Is it just like a popularity poll? No prizes? If that's all, I don't know if you can really call it 'participation'..."

"No, no. I've thought this through."

At Hyun-ah's remark, Seoha wrote down what seemed to be the final piece of the puzzle. Looking at the sentence, Suyun's eyes widened, and she pushed up the non-prescription glasses Iseor had forced onto her face.

"Are you strapped for cash or something?"

"No, of course not. But isn't more money always better?"

Special limited-edition release. She didn't know the exact details, but it was a phrase that practically screamed 'cash cow.' While Iseor stared at Seoha with sparkling eyes, Seoha continued explaining.

"We already decided to release a live album after this tour, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, alongside the official live album we curate, we'll release a compiled live album based on the fan votes. Since the tracks they've been listening to online are low quality, they'll finally get to hear high-quality versions of the most voted songs! As fans, they'll have no choice but to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠buy it."

"Isn't that a bit too capitalistic?"

Suyun shook her head. No matter how she looked at it, this was a business tactic designed to make fans buy two or three copies of the same live album. But Seoha waved off her concern.

"How is this capitalistic? Capitalistic is making people buy albums just to collect random photo cards. This is actually very ethical."

"Is it...?"

"And to make sure we don't lose money, we can set up a crowdfunding campaign for premium members! We'll release it strictly as a limited edition, and we won't put it on streaming services. That way, it's a treat for the fans, highly collectible, and a must-buy for our core audience. It also incentivizes people to sign up for the premium membership. We can even throw in some limited-edition merchandise. Well? What do you think of my idea? They won't be able to resist, right?"

"Unni, that is absolutely genius! It's insane. Even I would buy that!"

"Wow, Seoha. You're smart..."

Seoha puffed out her chest proudly. While Iseor and Hyun-ah showered her with praise, Suyun watched the three of them plot their path to riches, thinking that these once-innocent girls had finally opened their eyes to the power of money.

Man, money is a scary thing...

People should live without greed, just like me, Suyun muttered to herself. Of course, this was highly hypocritical coming from the daughter of an agency CEO, who was currently raking in cash hand over fist through copyrights, album sales, composition fees, and various other streams.

Seoha's grand 'money-printing' scheme was immediately forwarded to Label Echo Sound's business department. The department quickly fleshed out the concept and sent it over to Zenith Music Entertainment.

"We do need to adjust some clauses, but..."

Though Zenith Music Entertainment agonized over the (in their opinion) unfavorable contract terms, they ultimately accepted Echo Sound's proposal. It was only natural. No matter how bad the clauses were, they weren't the ones losing out. If someone was offering to make them money, there was absolutely no reason to reject it.

"I'm telling you, the fans won't be able to resist participating in this," Seoha said confidently.

"Why?"

"The people who actually show up to an artist's solo concert are mostly core fans. And core fans always want to prove their refined taste."

Because that's exactly what I used to do, Seoha muttered. Watching her, Suyun figured that Seoha must have spent a lot of time on online forums in her past life.

And Seoha's prediction hit the bullseye.

"Alright, everyone, let's get started! It's time to vote!"

"Aaaaahhhhh!"

"Whooooo!"

"Number three! Number three! Number three!"

"Number one! It has to be number one!"

"Play them all!"

It didn't take long for scenes like this to become the norm. By the second live show, every time the selection segment came around, the audience went wild trying to get their preferred songs chosen.

"Everyone, we did say you could scream as much as you want, but... Hey! Aren't you guys being a bit too loud?!"

At Iseor's playful scolding, a wave of laughter rippled through the crowd. Suyun watched the scene ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with a wry smile. They were incredibly passionate.

"Alright, let's start the vote! Option number one!"

The sound that followed was less like applause and more like a clap of thunder. Suyun furrowed her brow and scanned the audience. Amidst the sea of clapping hands, some people had somehow smuggled in plastic clappers and were shaking them furiously. How on earth did they sneak those in? Just how badly did they want to hear their favorite song?

"You over there! No cheating! Win with your own hands! Don't play dirty!"

"There are no rules in the world of competition!"

"Hey, is it really okay for you to say that?! We might bring out sirens for the next show! You might not come to the next live, but our ears will be ruined and we'll have to stop performing!"

"We don't care!"

"What do you mean you don't care, hey!"

Iseor and the audience traded banter like a comedy duo. They laughed, joked, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves, completely breaking the ice. But the concert wasn't just about comedy.

It was a duet between Iseor and Suyun. The audience's massive chorus backed up their voices. The crowd was even more enthusiastic and supportive than the highly energetic audience of the first concert.

"Alright! Shall we keep going?! Kingdom!"

After the second concert wrapped up in that high-energy fashion, the audio tracks were uploaded to Bandcamp as planned. People immediately began listening and sharing their thoughts.

What happened next was something absolutely no one had intended. Not Suyun, not Iseor, not Hyun-ah, not Deputy Manager Jung, not Team Leader Ko—no one. Not even Seoha herself, who had designed the 'audience participation' concept for this live tour.

To the members of Group Sound and the staff at Label Echo Sound, a 'core fan' was simply defined as someone who joined the Group Sound Premium fan club, watched their self-produced content, and bought their merchandise. That was it. They didn't think beyond that. It wasn't that they deemed it unnecessary, but rather that they couldn't imagine what else a fan could possibly do.

Since two of the four members were massive geeks, they had thoughts like, "Maybe they'll make some fan art or fan fiction!" but that was the extent of it.

However, what are the actual conditions required to forge a core fandom? Just because the conditions are met doesn't mean a fandom will automatically form. If it were that simple, every marketing department in the world would be fired for negligence. But it is true that meeting certain conditions drastically increases the probability.

And one of those key conditions was having 'deep-dive content.'

For instance, K-pop idols often use elaborate 'universes' involving superpowers or the metaverse to give fans something to analyze. Of course, Group Sound had never established any such lore. Idols who rely on fictional universes usually do so as a temporary distraction because they lack ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a musical legacy to fall back on.

So, what was Group Sound's 'deep-dive content'?

It was their live performances.

With every single live show being recorded and released, Group Sound's fans listened to the tracks religiously, despite the less-than-stellar audio quality. And at some point, they realized something.

If every live performance was different, which version was the absolute best?

Couldn't they discuss this among themselves?

Wouldn't it be great to have a dedicated community to talk about these things?

This realization sparked the creation of Group Sound's unofficial fan community, and gave birth to the term used to describe their most dedicated core fans: the Groupheads.