Bandmaster's Trial
The session guitarist for the concert was a big guy. Black T-shirt emblazoned with some band's logo she didn't recognize. Gold chain around his neck, arms covered in tattoos. Head shaved bald with a fresh shave. She wasn't one to judge by appearances, but something about him just radiated a certain vibe. You know those people where you can just tell their personality at a glance? The type who spoke too loud for no reason.
It's not like being bandmaster comes with extra pay or anything, Myeongjeon thought.
Was he just the type who loved wearing the armband? That was her guess.
The bandmaster was the one who oversaw the session band. They handled the flow, caught things the singer might miss and pointed them out. They'd rearrange parts for certain songs, adjust the sessions based on the singer's feedback. It took experience and skill. But that was it. No real perks. Just a pile of hassle.
Sure, putting "bandmaster for such-and-such concert" on your resume was a nice boost. But only to that extent.
Still, you couldn't just say, "Nah, I don't wanna be bandmaster~" and wash your hands of it. A good bandmaster blended in seamlessly, but a bad one stuck out like a sore thumb.
After the guy had gone on about experience and skill, no one spoke up. Taekyung glanced nervously at the sessions, but they didn't budge.
Can't someone else do it? That guy seems like a jerk, he thought.
If it were some random off the street, no big deal. But as staff handling comms for the session band—something Juhyeon's team hadn't dealt with before—Taekyung wanted someone with a decent personality. No one to ask for advice, no way to tell if ridiculous demands were legit.
"No objections? Then I'll do it."
"Hold up."
A thick voice cut in as a hand shot up. Taekyung sighed inwardly in relief and spotted the owner: the leader of the main session band, Ha Suyeon.
"Bandmaster's an oversight role, right? Makes sense for us, the main session band, to handle it."
"Main session band?"
The guy eyed Taekyung like he'd never heard the term, then spoke again.
"Even so, we're not just gonna follow whatever the band wants. You look pretty green. Do you even know the session side of things... uh, at all?"
It came off like, Do you even know sessions?
But Suyeon stayed cool. "If you're talking experience, yeah, it's short. But skill, knowledge? I don't think I'm lacking. I know the session gig inside out."
"Pardon?"
The man sounded utterly incredulous. Most people her age wouldn't get that reaction. But even to Taekyung's ears, it sounded off—mostly because of physics. How could a high school sophomore know sessions, have the skills and knowledge?
Juhyeon's team hadn't used sessions before, but Taekyung had worked with them plenty. He knew bullshit when he heard it.
"I-I mean, no offense, but you're just a kid."
Taekyung figured the rest went without saying: Does that even make sense? The staff and other sessions nodded along, heads turning in the tense standoff.
But Suyeon just grinned. "Does age matter? Isn't it about skill?"
"...We're talking skill here."
His tone dropped, like he'd been slighted. Suyeon smirked faintly; everyone else watched, baffled.
"You good on guitar? I'm no slouch myself. Let's see it."
"Hey, bandmaster isn't just about shredding guitar. It's arrangements, comms. As main band leader, it'd be easier for me anyway."
His voice sank lower. Maybe to defuse, Suyeon pivoted.
"So, can you play this level?"
To Taekyung, the session guitarist already looked riled. Why's he so mad? Feels dissed by a kid?
Yeah, that tracked. She looked greener than him experience-wise, yet here she was leading the main band, claiming better skills and knowledge. No wonder it burned.
Meantime, he plugged into the amp and unleashed speed-picking. Quick as hell—the staff went "Ooh."
Suyeon just chuckled dryly.
"You judge guitar skill on speed runs? Anyone with session chops knows that's meaningless."
"So, can you do this?"
"Well... ha. Yeah, I can play that level no sweat."
Myeongjeon answered half-resigned. What was this guy's deal? Speed told you zilch. They weren't kids jamming Cannon Rock; he looked 40s. Why cling to that myth?
Still, straight-up "skill test" was fine—simple, no debate.
Plugged in, tweaked the knobs. This amp couldn't nail it perfectly, but close enough. Dialed a heavy tone from the single coils without killing the Strat's character. Stomped a few pedals...
And Myeongjeon played. One of those warm-up jams: Yngwie Malmsteen's Far Beyond the Sun.
Iseo watched the session guitarist's face. First, amused disdain. Then disbelief twisting his features. Finally, blank shock.
Suyeon kept ripping regardless. He'd done 30 seconds; she went nearly five minutes on the metal speeder with its classical flair.
The crowd? Not stopping her—mesmerized.
"This good enough?"
Final note rang out. She turned to him. He scratched his neck, soul clearly gone, packed his gear, and bailed without a word.
"Guess we need a new rhythm guitar?"
Someone muttered; low chuckles spread.
Iseo thought, Yeah, why pick a fight with her outta nowhere?
Session practice after that? Smooth sailing. Missing rhythm guitar was annoying, but what could you do? Not a crucial part—new guy next week, readjust then.
"Not easy, huh."
Break time, everyone out. Seoha sidled up to Myeongjeon chugging canned coffee.
"Eh, nothing easy in this world..."
"You ever notice how old-man you sound sometimes?"
Myeongjeon flinched. 'Old-man' was putting it mildly.
Seoha plopped into a chair, oblivious.
"Why'd that guy flip out?"
"Dunno. My guess? Age."
Looked mid-40s. Myeongjeon, session vet, had never heard of him. Bad form to speculate, but age fit. Young girl leading main band, him on rhythm—and her preaching "skill over age"? Artists were moody; no shock he'd snap.
Myeongjeon got it—had snapped at young talents himself.
But that's different from taking it out on me.
"Anyway, he's out. Concert sessions are no joke—tons to watch."
"True."
Concert session sizes varied wildly. Small: seven-eight. Huge: thirty, forty. Strings, percussion (drums, bongos), bass section, guitars (lead, rhythm 1-3...), castanets, tambourines, harmonicas, you name it.
This setup wasn't massive—strings, rhythms, lead, specials, band. But Seoha, solo on drums, felt the weight.
"Feels like if I slip, everything shakes. We're tight among ourselves, and you're rock-solid, so I can follow you... but they don't know that."
"Am I too loose? Drums off-beat? This won't do."
Seoha yelped. Myeongjeon grinned, drained the can.
"But survive this, and you'll level up huge."
Hardship breeds growth. Wrestle chaos into control through practice... and boom, you're better.
"Can't wait for the concert."
"Bit early for that? More practices left."
"Don't kill the vibe!"
Myeongjeon laughed again. Trading dumb jokes with the kids? These days were getting fun.