Memorial Concert
"Hello, everyone. The weather's warmed up quite a bit, hasn't it? Before we know it, summer will be upon us. The world itself seems to be changing, and so does the weather. When I was a kid, spring felt like a proper spring, and autumn like a proper autumn. It's been ages since I first met Teacher Myeongjeon. I'd heard rumors his health was failing, but one day I couldn't get in touch, and when I asked around, they said he'd passed away. It hit me like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. After getting through the grief, here we are now. Anyway, a warm welcome to all of you for attending this memorial concert for Teacher Seo Myeongjeon, held so suddenly. To honor Teacher Myeongjeon, who left such a profound mark on Korean music, many musicians have sent messages—even if just by video..."
The concert kicked off, and one of the people Myeongjeon remembered took the stage as MC and began his spiel. Most of the folks sending video tributes were famous musicians he'd done session work for or bumped into now and then. Some of the big names he was actually close to had shown up in person. Seeing them all gather like this—not for pay, but just to pay their respects—stirred a little lump in his throat.
Problem is, I'm right here alive, and it's kinda weird watching them mourn me like I'm gone.
Myeongjeon scratched his head and slipped into the waiting room.
With the concert slated to run about three or four hours, the waiting room was packed. The chatter felt oddly like a funeral home. Old-timers cracking open soju with shrimp crackers at a table. Young musicians dragged in, still clueless about what was going on. Staff rushing back and forth to keep the show moving.
A few people gave Myeongjeon some attention, but after he pulled his usual "high school girl" routine—just a curt "Yeah?" to signal he wasn't interested—they mostly left him alone to do their own thing.
"Teacher Suyeon?"
It was a concert staffer who stopped him, holding up a sheet with a few song titles scribbled on it.
"You're doing these today, right?"
"Yeah. And maybe one or two more..."
"More? Do you have sheet music? We'd need it now if you're adding any."
"Nah, just guitar solos."
The staffer made a troubled face and wandered off. Myeongjeon plopped into a chair, pulled out his guitar.
Might as well run through 'em a bit...
He plucked quietly in the noisy room, the faint strings evoking the illusion of playing alone in a bustling city square.
Is this that 'vibe' they talk about?
Iseo's yelling "Mood matters!!" when he'd grumbled about pointless fluff. Dain chiming in with "Wouldn't it be better if it's pretty anyway?" Stuff the old Seo Myeongjeon would've never gotten. But after months hanging with those high school girls, he was starting to sense it—that elusive "sensibility."
"That's not what I meant..."
As he idly strummed today's setlist, a slightly high-pitched voice cut through from a corner of the waiting room.
"I admit Myeongjeon hyung was a great guitarist."
"Then just admit it. Why add all the caveats?"
Myeongjeon peeked out to spot the source: a guitar junior he'd clashed with hard about a decade ago. Hadn't seen the guy since. Face flushed—probably from booze.
"Great guitarist, yeah, but not a great musician. Let's be real. His technique was killer, but nothing else—like, his songwriting sure wasn't. Honestly, his originals were straight-up trash."
"Hey!"
Voices rose in protest, followed by calls to cool it.
"What? Did I say something wrong?"
Not wrong, exactly.
Myeongjeon scratched his head again and focused on his guitar. It felt a bit cheap, but after today, "Seo Myeongjeon"'s rep would get a little polish...
"Hello! Uh, Group Sound, right? The band?"
"Hi~ Yeah, that's us!"
They were nobodies outside school—friends there might go "Iseo, you in a band? Cool~" or "Hyeona, band good for arts college apps?" Out in public, just "Three high school girls walking by."
But here, over ten people already recognized them and said hi. Some even asked for autographs; Iseo racked her brain inventing her first-ever signature on the spot.
"Lots of people know us."
"Yeah..."
"That Paradox gig must've helped."
"Makes sense—folks here are music fans. Plus, that show got buzz as 'Seo Myeongjeon's disciple Ha Suyeon's band.'"
Seoha explained, and the other two nodded. More fans sidled up for signatures anyway.
"Still, with a thousand people here, dozens recognizing us is a tiny ratio. Long way to go."
"True..."
Iseo eyed the stage. Break time now, but they'd played songs she'd never heard—ones "Seo Myeongjeon" wrote, or sessioned on, or loved. She wanted to see him positively as Suyeon's teacher, but... his originals just didn't measure up to the others. Applause was tepid.
Why didn't she join us onstage, anyway?
She'd hoped a bit. Gigging here could've boosted their name. But Suyeon never asked—just prepped quietly. A twinge of regret, but Iseo refocused. Suyeon's turn next.
"Next up... might not match the age vibe of the previous acts. But she's more fitting for this stage than anyone. Please welcome Ha Suyeon, guitarist of the band Group Sound—disciple of Teacher Seo Myeongjeon. Big applause!"
Amid thunderous applause, Myeongjeon grabbed his guitar and hit the stage. Maybe because a high school girl stood out amid all the old and middle-aged guys, but the cheers felt bigger than for the pros before.
"Hello. Nice to see you all."
Myeongjeon took the mic, spun some yarn about "Seo Myeongjeon" and "Ha Suyeon" memories, taught me tons of guitar stuff, etc. The crowd clapped.
"First song..."
He scanned the audience. Iseo, Hyeona, and Seoha waved when their eyes met; he waved back lightly.
"We'll kick off with one Teacher Myeongjeon loved. Please enjoy: Eric Clapton - Tearing Us Apart!"
Drumsticks cracked, upbeat rhythm guitar kicked in. Myeongjeon scraped a scratch, then dove into powerful lead. True to Clapton's later work, it had heavy pop flair. With male/female vocals split, he skipped the main parts. His bass-playing junior rasped to mimic Clapton. Then Myeongjeon's turn—high notes he rarely used live, sung bright and breezy.
Bass solo next. He cued applause from the crowd, glancing at far-off Iseo. Clapton live usually featured legends like Nathan East—not here, but Myeongjeon hoped it'd inspire her anyway.
Not the only reason I left 'em out, though.
Guitar solo followed bass. Real reason: Practicing with the band for this would've blown his cover.
Can't pull off the con.
His "Seo Myeongjeon Rep Rehab Project" would've tanked, so no band invite. That was it.
After the fourth song, roaring applause poured in. Thanks to Suyeon's diligent crowd work, cheers now carried real emotion.
"Next is the last song Teacher Myeongjeon left behind."
The roar faded; the audience went dead silent. Staff behind stirred, musicians in front rows murmured.
"I'll play one of them. Acoustic, titled [Untitled 12]. That's what you named it; I didn't change it."
Suyeon ignored the buzz, took an acoustic from staff, sat. In the awkward hush, she began.
All sounds ceased but the steel strings' faint twang. The shimmering tone dredged up ancient memories. Sound, melody, emotion—all vintage.
The crowd glanced back at the player unbidden. Big build, old, white-haired... crotchety guitarist vibe.
But no. Onstage sat a long-haired girl, carefully wielding an acoustic that looked oversized for her.
The mood shifted. Old blues and rock from the '60s-'70s. Uncritical embrace of that era's sound—so familiar, so ordinary, ripe for middling reviews. "Seo Myeongjeon"'s music, like trot tapes at highway rest stops, looping "the good old days."
But as it progressed—like time rewinding—it gained new colors. Like a stubborn old TV junkie finally bending, learning a smartphone.