The River and the Riverbed

The doubts harbored by Kirishima, the project band's bassist, were actually quite reasonable to some extent. Those without creative experience often believe that art and technique are worlds apart. The perception that art begins with a flash of inspiration, while technique is merely something built up over time, reinforces this misunderstanding. And as the word "misunderstanding" suggests, such claims are generally incorrect.

Take Pablo Picasso, a genius of art—a man truly worthy of being called a genius among geniuses. He is said to have mastered drawing by the age of ten and surpassed Raphael by twelve. To put it another way, even Picasso had to reach the age of ten to master drawing, and twelve to surpass Raphael. Contrary to the anecdotes of geniuses who seem to create masterpieces in a single flash of inspiration, beneath the works they built lie countless traces of practice and technique.

Is this true only of art? Music is the same. Musicians who begin to stand out from a young age usually start playing music around the time they are toddlers or just beginning to make sense of the world. For most children hailed as "prodigies" or "geniuses," the phrase "for their age" is silently omitted. After all, showing that level of skill despite not having had enough time to accumulate experience is precisely what proves their genius.

The same went for Ha Suyun. The songs presented by Ha Suyun and Group Sound were objectively excellent, as were their performances. However, that was merely the conventional "genius of a young artist." The kind of musician who occasionally achieves massive commercial success when their talent aligns perfectly with luck and timing. Thus, there was absolutely no reason to question the success Group Sound had achieved.

Yet, the praise heaped upon Ha Suyun by people who knew the industry inside out—like Araki Ryosuke and Asano Shohei—clearly transcended the usual compliments reserved for a "young artist with genius talent." It was as if they were describing an unprecedented, once-in-a-lifetime genius across all of history... Naturally, given the nature of musicians who have dedicated their lives to art—a profession that requires a massive ego to begin with—they couldn't help but think, Who the hell is she?

Sure, she achieved massive success at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a young age. But there's something more than that? I don't see it. She's good at guitar? Hmm, is she really that good? It feels like anyone decent could do that. That was the sentiment.

But if there was one thing they overlooked... the person standing before them right now was not, in fact, the "genius girl who debuted as a professional only a year after picking up the guitar," as the world believed. She was someone who had inherited the experience of playing the guitar for longer than their entire lifespans... and was now explosively unleashing the latent talent dormant within her.

And in the middle of the practice room, where the dazzling sounds of guitar, bass, and drums resonated.

Does this even make sense?

Kirishima, the source of those doubts, glanced at Ha Suyun with an utterly dumbfounded expression even as she diligently plucked her bass.

Contrary to public perception, improvisation itself is not that difficult. Anyone who has internalized chords and scales can do it. At a professional level, it is something you should be embarrassed not to be able to do. The same goes for a "jam session," a gathering for improvisation. Any musician who has reached a certain level can do it. Therefore, what shocked Kirishima was not that a jam session was happening, or even that it was flowing smoothly. That was only natural.

What shocked her was... that the performance right now was not just a sequence of playing, nor was it merely a pleasant sound. It was becoming music.

"Wait, you two... I mean, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the rest of you, have you ever played together before?"

"No."

"Right? I've seen your faces around, but this is the first time we're actually playing like this, isn't it?"

Ito asked the other three while keeping his hands busy on the drums. Araki shook his head as he answered. The same went for Kirishima. Leave aside Ha Suyun, whom she was meeting for the first time today; she had never once jammed with Araki, with whom she was quite close, or Ito, whom she had only passed by a few times.

Yet, the jam session currently unfolding reminded her of the absolute best sessions out of the hundreds or thousands she had ever played. A jam where everyone read each other's minds with effortless mastery, as if they had been playing together for years.

What was the reason? Kirishima believed that even without saying it aloud, all three of them in this room knew why. Because all three of them were actively feeling it.

Even a river with enough power to uproot mountains has no choice but to follow the riverbed once it finds its path. It can swell and boast of its power, but ultimately, it must flow forward along the path laid out for it. Just like that principle. The clean tone flowing smoothly from her black Stratocaster to the amplifier was guiding the sounds echoing in this practice room like a riverbed. It ensured that their energies were not wasted in vain, leaving behind mere "good sounds" or "decent playing," but instead allowed them to become music.

"Phew."

The continuous performance finally came to a brief rest as the drums cooled down. Kirishima exhaled the breath she had unconsciously been holding and looked at the other two. Judging by their stunned expressions, their eyes said they didn't quite understand what had just happened either.

"I mean..."

"Uh, well."

Amidst the exchange of subtle, half-formed thoughts that couldn't even shape into words, Suyun lightly stretched her hands and fiddled with her guitar as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Her attitude suggested that what had just occurred was merely a routine affair for her.

"Shall we go again?"

And Kirishima unconsciously blurted out a proposal to resume the jam immediately. The reason? Who knew. Was it because they were in such perfect sync? Or was she simply unable to resist?

"Let's do it."

"I'll take rhythm guitar this time," Ha Suyun said.

"Okay!"

With immediate agreement from the others, Ha Suyun shifted to rhythm guitar. The performance resumed. Drums, bass, two guitars. As soon as she confirmed all the layers were built up...

Let's do this...!

After warming up her hands, Kirishima began her solo. She crammed a barrage of slaps and plucks into the split seconds of subdivided beats. She plunged into a path that might or might not be open, like someone absolutely certain a road existed there.

Can she keep up? No, please keep up. If it's you, who just showed me that kind of playing, you can definitely do it.

Did that thought somehow ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reach Ha Suyun, standing a few paces away?

"Wow!"

While Ito let out an exclamation of admiration at Kirishima's playing while keeping the beat, Ha Suyun's rhythm guitar slid in seamlessly without a single millisecond of delay, backing up her performance as if she had anticipated all of this, as if she had known it would happen.

On the solid road built beneath her, Kirishima began to sprint smoothly, like a skateboarder coasting down a hill with arms wide open. A vast landscape opened up, and the blowing wind felt almost tangible. At this moment, she was the master of the music—as long as this sturdy road stretched on endlessly.

Suyun certainly had talent for the guitar. If one were to say she only had "a little" talent, those who actually had "a little" talent would probably band together and set the Earth on fire in outrage. But that didn't mean Suyun possessed some sort of precognition, or that she could match the playing of strangers perfectly just because she was a historic genius. Of course, having talent made it easier.

Therefore, what Suyun had achieved was actually based on the skills she had acquired while leading her friends and bandmates. It came from wrangling with Iseor, who didn't even know how to improvise before their jam sessions, and the other two, who could play to some extent but were still far from advanced.

Rolling around the practice room floor in frustration, or banging her head against the wall. Swinging her guitar only to hit the microphone and leave a dent (a physical scar on the guitar's wood) was a common occurrence, and she had broken practice guitars a couple of times. The kids were nice, but the time she spent with them was painful enough to cultivate Buddhist relics in her ashes.

But those painful days were what made the Suyun of today. Combined with her "past" experience, she could now roughly match almost anyone's playing just by looking at their posture.

Seriously, this is what a jam should be. This is jamming, this is playing, this is music.

Suyun nodded slightly and looked at the other three. All of them looked deeply moved by the performance they had just pulled off. A feeling of, Wow, I can't believe this is possible.

If exchanging thoughts and intentions is a conversation, then playing together in an ensemble is a conversation at an incredibly deep level. Having engaged in such a high-level musical dialogue for over twenty minutes, there should have been no awkwardness left between them.

...Or so it should have been, but it wasn't.

"Ahem! So, Ha-san..."

"Yes. I, well... in June, after the final concert, I'm going back to Korea."

"So there's still a bit of time left then?"

"But I have schedules. Broadcast appearances and other things. I'm not that free."

"Hmm... What about Kiri-san?"

"I don't have much time either. I have some Blue Note Tokyo schedules lined up, and HokiHoki is about to release a full-length album soon."

"Am I the only one who's free?"

"Me too, Takayuki-san."

"Wait, shouldn't you be busy?"

The conversation was entirely about work. Schedules, when they were unavailable, and so on. While that was typical when working adults met, the conversation was excessively dry even by those standards. Suyun listened without much thought, but Araki, seemingly feeling that things shouldn't be this cold, tried to bring up various topics. For example, how did they like the practice room? Were the instruments okay? What kind of coffee did they want? What coffee beans did they prefer? They were staying for dinner, right? What kind of food did they like?

"How about pizza for dinner?"

"I don't like pizza."

"Ah..."

However, all such attempts were thwarted by a strangely mismatched wavelength. And just as Araki, exhausted by these attempts, was about to pivot the purpose of this gathering from [Socializing] to [Business], the gears of the conversation began to click together in an unexpected place.

"Come to think of it, Kiri-san, you use social media a lot, don't you? How is it?"

"Uh... if you ask me how it is..."

"I just can't seem to adapt to that kind of stuff. I try it because it seems like it would be fun, but I don't know what I'm supposed to find enjoyable about it."

"Drop it, Araki. Getting sucked into the internet is a losing game. Look at me. Even though I know I shouldn't, I look at the internet every day, ego-search my own name, get pissed off, and drink."

The conversation, ignited by such a trivial topic (though Suyun was excluded since she didn't know much about the Japanese internet), began to drift into strange territory. Mostly, it turned to people's reactions to their albums.

"No, seriously, people are so ridiculous. I made the music I wanted to make, but if it doesn't sound good to them, they just call it a trash album. Then don't listen to it! Why are they even listening?"

"You have it easy. Look at me. Whenever our band is mentioned on the internet, they always say we're a one-hit wonder band with nothing but that one masterpiece, Ippin. No matter what we do, they say it couldn't beat Ippin, or that we can't escape the shadow of Ippin. If we try a slightly different direction, they ask if we're abandoning the listeners from the Ippin era. What do they even want from us?"

"Well, people aren't all the same."

"If you ask me, Ha-san needs to enjoy this while she can. There are people who just hate seeing others succeed, even if you haven't done anything wrong. The moment you stumble even a little, those people will pounce on you and tear you apart."

The three musicians, who had been holding a rally against the internet and average listeners, fell into a sudden, coincidental silence. Seizing that moment, Araki suddenly spoke up.

"You know... about the album we're releasing."

"Yeah."

"What if... we release it anonymously? Not under our names. Under a different ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠name."