Recording (6)
The world is full of bands that rise and fall, over and over.
One-hit wonder.
One of the more common endings a band can meet, anywhere on earth. And yet, if you manage to be a one-hit wonder, you are almost lucky.
Countless bands vanish without ever carving their name—or even a single bar of a song—into anyone's memory.
The origin point of a band. Indie. In a world where thousands, tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of bands exist, it is the arena where the fiercest fight for survival is staged.
Listening to songs in that place, Tae-il was often startled.
No way. A melody and an intro like this…?
Bold, original obsessions of genre and sound that would not lose even set beside the pros—the kind that made you wonder why on earth they had never broken through.
Why didn't they make it?
But if he listened carefully all the way to the end, he came to understand the reason whether he wanted to or not.
Ah. The vocal here is a little lacking…
Ah. The chorus needs stamina behind it, and something's just a little…
It might be perfect in theory, and still the actual finish of the song left a thick regret. The clash of vocal, melody, and genre, especially, was a mismatch you ran into constantly in the indie world. It would be wonderful if every band on earth found members whose tastes and musical aims lined up, but sadly the world was rarely that kind.
Albums. And beyond that, hearing the songs live, you felt it. A guitar riff of desperate resistance that, though it was meant to be an ensemble, sounded like a solo, the chemistry plainly collapsed. A vocalist staring in despair at a cursed wall they longed to climb past their limits and simply could not. He had felt it, keenly, every time. Noise that could not be hidden, as if the thing had been recorded in mono rather than stereo; a collapsed soundstage; album audio so crude you wondered whether they had simply met the wrong engineer. Through those clumsily recorded songs there reached him an emotion much like the despair he himself had felt, drifting from one scene to the next, when he ran into the wall called professional.
Once, Tae-il had been exactly like them. No—worse. Unlike those who at least tried something, he had given up before he could take that last step. He had shut the delusion called a dream inside a small notebook and scraps of data, and gone on sketching a future that could never exist.
And then the chance arrived.
When Tae-il lifted his head, a vocalist worth hearing—a voice that could stand as a pearl of Japan—was facing him.
More than he deserved.
Just looking at her loosened the corners of his mouth with joy.
"I really am the luckiest person alive."
Iris tilted her head at the confession.
"Out of nowhere? Why? You about to confess to me or something?"
"If I did, would you take it?"
"I'll pass."
At his teasing answer Iris snickered and, laying it on, jerked a thumb behind her.
"Accept your confession and I'd probably get a knife in the back."
"Isn't it usually the other way around?"
"Right? Usually it would be. But this is just…"
Iris cut him a look gone cold and sour, as if to say he was really something. Sensing three pairs of eyes sharpen by a degree, Tae-il felt the danger on instinct and hunched his shoulders.
Iris smiled only with her mouth, and calmly cleared her throat in front of the mic.
"Ahem! Anyway, leader? I'm ready."
"Haha."
When she looked at him like a challenge, Tae-il swept his gaze over the members packed into the cramped studio.
Something…
Rena was glaring, puffed up and sulky. Ayane and Sakuya, having heard the exchange, looked thoroughly displeased.
Nice.
Mistaking all of it for people brimming with motivation, Tae-il nodded, pleased. He clapped his hands.
"All right, let's test and make sure everyone's miking is set!"
Then he hurried into the monitoring room. Sakuya shoved her lips out a mile.
"Ugh. Tae-il, that coward just ran."
"Hmphhh!"
"Pfft—hahaha!"
Iris laughed at the members' reactions.
"Senpai, could you get the filming ready ahead of time?"
"Sure."
"Thank you."
Tae-il thanked Yuuya and put on the headset.
"Can everyone hear me?"
Through the glass, Iris sent an okay.
"Sakuya first, then."
"Yo."
Sakuya fiddled with a purple pick and raked the strings with a confidence that did not belong to a beginner. The Telecaster's distinctive voice—a personality that did not vanish easily even with the drive on—buzzed at his ear with a slight delay.
"Tae-il, should I keep going?"
"Go, go."
Perhaps the calm in his tone had quietly given her confidence; Sakuya's slender fingers traveled the strings with more conviction.
Yeah. In Japan, a Telecaster is the right call.
Having had no say in the purchase, Tae-il found her eye impressive in more ways than one. The Telecaster: powerful personality made it one of Fender's flagships, and a fussy friend that was hard to handle. But in Japan—perhaps thanks to Ozaki Yutaka, who all but stood for J-pop—it was a guitar everyone wanted, one that, right alongside Gibson, you could hardly find a scene without. That signature ear-piercing twang was addictive. It made your head nod on its own.
Good.
Adjusting only the volume a little, Tae-il asked again.
"The sound's really good. How was it for you, Sakuya?"
"Uh… it feels a little off?"
"Off?"
"The sound feels different from usual. A feeling of a feeling?"
Sakuya scratched her head.
"Like, the clarity is really nice, but that signature resonance, and, um… how do I even say it?"
"It's probably the cabinet."
"Cabinet?"
"The amp speaker."
At the sharpness of her ear, Tae-il felt the corner of his mouth rise before he knew it. Like a chef: no matter how well you cook, if the ingredients you are given are garbage, there is no saving the dish. Recording was the same. Locking the tone in beforehand mattered more than anything.
"Sakuya, you only put drive on just now, right?"
"Yeah."
"Iris, mind giving Sakuya a hand?"
"Okay."
Iris walked over to the amp connected to the guitar. As befits a speaker built for an instrument, what most directly shapes the sound of electric instruments—guitars included—is still the amp. A top-tier amp has all kinds of functions. Used well, it can do more than an effects pedal or an audio interface.
"Hm-hm."
Iris hummed as she fiddled with the head. Tae-il watched, pleased. Later he meant to drill reverb into them by rote, matched to the style he liked, but anything beyond drive was still too soon.
For tone, I'm going to need a lot of Iris's help myself.
The ideal in a recording was a two-way loop of feedback, the player finding the best sound and tone for themselves. Right now, though, Tales Tale simply did not have the experience for that. Tae-il and Iris had to lead everyone.
The problem was this.
Is this direction even the right one?
Even Tae-il could not fully trust himself. An unprecedented weight settled on his shoulders. The eyes of chicks watching the mother bird were heavy.
"Want to try playing it again?"
Having turned the knob, Iris urged Sakuya to make a sound. Sakuya raked the strings at once. The pick in her hand rode them down, smooth and unobstructed.
Jiiing.
"Guess I didn't put in enough gain. Let's match it a few more times. That okay?"
"Of course."
After about five rounds of trial and error, Sakuya nodded, satisfied.
Jiing.
At the familiar tone, her ears perked. It was the same sound as the demo track Tae-il had played for them, and the same as when she had played it herself. Or was the amp simply that much better? It sounded even better.
"Heh."
A faint smile drifted from Sakuya's lips. It was nothing much, and still it felt good. She found herself recalling, all over again, those painfully sloppy ensemble sessions of the past. Maybe because Iris had sung dry so she would not wreck her throat, the star of every rehearsal had always been Ayane. If the vocalist went quiet, the member who ought to stand out most in the band was plainly her, the lead guitar. And yet Tae-il had paid Ayane special attention, diligently adjusting the tempo of his own playing around her.
"So unfair. Seriously."
Savoring the tremble of the strings, Sakuya side-eyed Ayane.
Well. Nothing else for it.
She would simply have to play so much better than Ayane that she stole his eyes, until no one but her was reflected in them. Had it started then? The moment Sakuya made that vow, her skill began climbing sharply with every practice.
Tae-il snapped his fingers, satisfied.
"Nice. Sakuya's sound seems to be coming through fine. Iris, just reset the mic position."
"Here?"
"Yeah. I'm going to check the noise while I'm at it, so Sakuya, keep playing until I tell you to stop."
"Not hard."
When you played without a break, it was chromatic runs, or repetitions of the pentatonic scale she had learned recently. While Sakuya played, Iris slowly moved the mic fixed to the cabinet. Beyond the glass, Tae-il—headset on—nodded, then lifted a hand over his head and shot a thumb up, and Iris stopped the miking.
"Perfect. Next, Rena—want to hit just the bass drum?"
"Haaah."
Worn out from waiting, Rena let out a low sigh.
"Sorry?"
"What are you apologizing for. Just listen properly."
She stepped on the pedal at once.
Thump. Thump.
The bass drum's heavy, characteristic sound boomed. Maybe because the studio kit had a port cut in the kick for miking, the resonance felt stronger than usual.
"All the cymbals. Like the real thing."
"Going?"
Rena struck them. A sharp, stabbing sound passed through the mic, through the headphones, and rang against Tae-il's eardrums. After checking the toms and the snare in turn, he shot a thumb up.
"Okay. Prep's done. We'll start as soon as Iris's throat is ready?"
"Tae-il, you're not doing Ayane?"
"She and I locked hers in first thing, the moment we got here."
"Hehe."
When everyone looked at her, Ayane shyly stuck out her tongue and threw a V-sign. Tae-il took off the headphones.
"Yuuya-senpai, how should we handle the filming?"
"With one camera, hmm…"
Yuuya, who had been poking his cheek with a fingertip while he thought, finally pulled an iPhone from his pocket.
"Monitoring room on the phone. Studio on the camera."
"We might genuinely be recording all night, so taking it slow is fine."
"Mm. I want to try it this way."
"…Well, if that's what you'd like."
He put the headphones back on and turned to the members.
"Everyone ready?"
At the question, they glanced at one another. Tuning, done. Warm-up, practice included, done. Tone, dialed in. Neither Tae-il nor the members had the confidence to do anything more. If there was one person still on his mind…
"Iris."
At his question, Iris grinned. Into the mic, voice full of confidence, she promised them.
"Let's go. I'm in peak condition right now."
Condition maxed out, she sent an okay with her hand on everyone's behalf. Tae-il, tense in reverse, let out a deep sigh.
"Good. Then we're going? Three, two, one…"
Cue.
A light came on in the studio, signaling that the recording had begun.
Tae-il had a tendency to obsess over perfection. But even he had decided to compromise.
Tales Tale is…
A school band and an indie band: two people with a bit of musical history, and an overwhelming lack of experience besides. Show the raw thing. Leave an impression with their pure first challenge. So for the first recording, they had agreed to play together as a band, rather than tracking individually to chase polish and cleanliness.
Rena crossed her sticks.
Tock. Tock.
The drumsticks crossed and set the beat, and on that foundation Sakuya's playing opened the intro. A performance, by rights, ought to be perfect. But you must not sink so deep into perfection that you lose the personality and the expression that belong to each of you—just as dancers doing the same dance still differ enormously in expression and line. For an artist, individuality is life itself.
I'm still…
Sakuya had no room to worry about that far. Even so. A little like playing a rhythm game. Between the bouncing hits of her rhythm, Tae-il's pulse threaded in tight.
Okay!
Inside the stereo filling the studio, Sakuya was sure. At least right now, her playing was the best she could give. The moment she passed the baton to the next phase, Iris sang in a voice without a tremor.
Clear.
Ah.
On nothing more than the first line, Tae-il clenched a trembling hand without meaning to and bit his lip hard. Drums and bass cut in, locking the rhythm, and Sakuya moved straight into backing.
Their eyes met. Iris, singing, laughed with delight. She sang with a bright smile, as if bursting the anguish she had held back and held back again.
Everyone in the studio painted autumn in their heads. A boy appeared.
A loner with no drive for anything, standing apart, alone.
Seeing the names left on the blackboard, the boy's face crumpled miserably. A look of dislike anyone could read.
For a loner who could not even blend into his own class, the hardest, most annoying role of all. But as if the world had no law that simply told you to drop dead, a saving hand reached that boy.
Tae-il lifted his head. In a space that existed only in imagination, the smile of the girl offering the boy her hand overlapped with Iris's.
Two "boys" stared at "her" as if spellbound.
Tae-il, who had the lyrics memorized, murmured them at the same time as Iris beyond the glass.
"Again! This time just Ayane!"
"Y-yeah!"
After several full-band takes, the individual tracking began. You never knew. For someone as inexperienced as he was, the more material he had to work with, the better. A kind of insurance. Thanks to that, Tae-il felt as if even two bodies would not be enough.
He watched the members play, and if something needed a quick fix or a request, he explained it. When a difficult explanation put a troubled look on their faces, he played it himself as an example. Right after, he sat beside them hammering at the synth and the Launchpad, helping the recording along again. After a take he dashed back to the monitoring room to check the recorded sound—tone and noise both.
"Okay."
Tae-il quickly jotted a note in his notebook. There was too much to think about. Afraid he would forget all of it if he lost the thread even a little, he memoed desperately.
"Sakuya! From the ended up together by chance part!"
"Roger!"
Seeing how desperate he looked, the members' mindsets shifted too. Rena held her breath and watched. Tae-il narrowed his eyes and listened through the buzzing quiet. Unlike the full-band take, a melody missing her part reached the ear under the headset. A flat melody, Sakuya's guitar riff gone. Like a black-and-white drawing with no color filled in. That hollow, monotonous space, short on sound pressure—Sakuya began to fill it herself with the guitar.
His mouth fell open. Around the time her playing ended, Tae-il shouted.
"Next, Rena!"
At the shout, Rena took the request at once and hit the drums. Her forehead was drenched in sweat.
"Huuuh."
A pattern already repeated who knew how many times. Strength went into her hands. Sweat-soaked hair stuck to her skin. Drums were hard. An instrument that used the whole body—stamina, of course, and everything from posture on, affected the sound. Nerves stood on end. Drums were convenient to record, but as an instrument that could make or break a band's sound, even a small mistake stood out large. Slip even a little, and in that instant you started over from the top. But as if mistakes did not exist, Rena brought the crashes down hard, one after another.
"Good!"
Scrawling through his notebook while he edited scratch takes he could no longer count the lines of, Tae-il ran for the live room.
"Iris! Watch the monitor for me for a second!"
"Haha."
Iris, who had retired first for the sake of her throat, nodded with a bitter smile.
"Rena. Wrist, lower back, shoulders."
"No problem."
Rena's shoulders heaved. Breathing hard, her skin was pale. With a pitying look, Tae-il tidied her hair and gently wiped the sweat away.
"One last time. Let's lock it in together, just once more."
"Haa."
Rena nodded heavily.
"This is tough."
"Sorry. I'm being a little greedy."
"Forget it. Hurry up and get ready. I'm the one who has to start this, aren't I?"
"Yeah."
Rena quietly rolled her wrists, loosened her finger joints, and crossed the sticks again.
"One, two…"
Tae-il faced her straight on and pressed the pad. Electronic tones he had recorded separately layered over her drumming. Watching from inside the monitoring room while she rested, Ayane muttered.
"Recording takes forever…"
"Yeah."
Sakuya, who had come in to rest as well, trudged over and dropped onto the sofa.
"Ahaha. When they said they wouldn't let us sleep, I guess they meant it…"
"Are we going to be like this every time we record from now on?"
"Whoa. Just imagining it wears me out."
Lying with her head pillowed on Ayane's thigh, Sakuya stared at the ceiling and shook her head. Iris, checking the sound through the headset, smiled faintly and butted in.
"We're only doing this because it's one song. If we ever record an album, it'll be even harder."
"Uegh…"
Ayane looked revolted. Iris giggled, then turned her head back to look through the glass.
Recording…
This was her first proper band activity, but Iris had picked up quite a bit on the side. Album recording, without a single lie added, was the stage where fights broke out most in a band. Personal circumstances. Misunderstandings and prejudice born of pride and a failure to talk. Differences in musical values. Money. Strangely enough, even relationships that had been rattling along just fine, loose and patched together, exploded with their piled-up problems the moment recording arrived, as if they had been waiting.
We're lucky, at least.
Iris had secretly worried that Tae-il's self-esteem, and his pride, sat far too low. But amazingly, once they actually hit the real thing, she understood. This band did not run at all without Tae-il. He was working hard to fill the gaps in skill between the members, and the limits of expression those gaps created.
How much has this kid even studied…
Iris slowly turned the pages of the notebook lying beside the MIDI. The handwriting was awful, and it was in Korean, so reading it on the spot was a little hard—but she could see it. Clearly. What he was drawing in his head.
Next is…
She glanced at the time. It was already just before evening. Once Rena's turn ended, he might call a break, and they would go eat and come back.
Haa. Until then I should at least loosen up my throat…
Iris had seen it. Through the glass, perfectly clearly. After that first full-band recording, which everyone had been so satisfied with, the leader whose mouth kept jutting forward in a look of discontent. If only to satisfy that strict leader, she turned her ear once more to the music flowing from the headset.