When Forced Admiration Breeds Backlash
Is Seonggwang's new song out yet? "Forcing love only breeds hatred, just as forcing faith only breeds disbelief." That's a quote from some famous philosopher. Don't ask me who—I'm not cultured enough to dig that deep.
Grand words aside, it boils down to this: pushing too hard turns fans into haters. Life's like that—excess in anything becomes poison. Overhype someone, and the backlash hits hard, tanking their rep.
"Actually, you can feel the free jazz elements here more directly than the avant-garde."
"…."
"They might seem similar, but they're distinct concepts. This piece clearly separates them…."
Im Siwoo is giving a perfect live demo of that principle right now. Instead of teaching, she's just ranting about how great Seonggwang is, and my already rock-bottom rep is drilling straight through the earth's core. There's bottom, and then there's bottom.
I can feel the prickling stares. Are those eyes sharpening with curses? They're narrowing like needles.
Church proselytizing gets annoying after five minutes—imagine fifty. Even if they liked me at first, they'd hate me by the end.
Of course, stripping away her Seonggwang worship, the lesson itself was solid. She wasn't just blindly praising; she used my music as legit examples. It showed she'd studied it thoroughly, dissecting the avant-garde jazz I'd woven in. Solid genre knowledge, too. A well-crafted class overall.
That's my verdict. Right on cue, the guy next to me sums up Im Siwoo's class in one line.
"…So, what's avant-garde jazz, anyway?"
Knowing something and understanding it are worlds apart. The genre's whole point is breaking music's established molds—good luck explaining that with a few tracks. Even if you get it, how do you apply it? Profitability? My second album proves it's in the toilet.
Try teaching that using the hot potato that is Seonggwang's songs. No matter the lesson quality, it breeds resentment by design.
Ding-dong-dang-dong. The salvation bell signals class end. The bored classmates start packing up, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Never thought she'd Seonggwang-kill me for a full hour. Even when Moon Juhee reamed me out for real, it never topped sixty minutes.
…Or maybe it did. Anyway, escaping this suffocating room is a win. I'm Seonggwang—unbending under harsh critiques and hate. But that doesn't make me a masochist who gets off on verbal abuse.
"That's all for today. Next class, bring the worksheets as listed. Everyone got it?"
As the class files out, they mutter curses about Im Siwoo's lesson mixed with slams on me. I hang back a beat to follow.
"Hold on a sec."
"…."
"Seonggwang. Could I see you for a moment?"
Im Siwoo grabs me just as I'm leaving. No clue why, but my gut screams bad vibes. Among people I know, she's the craziest when it comes to non-music stuff. Nothing good comes from tangling with her.
Old Seonggwang would've ghosted her coolly, flashing my sixteen controversy docs like a boss. But I'm a student now. And I don't wanna get pad-ripped by Moon Juhee via text, so I play nice.
"Uh… what is it…?"
I shuffle over awkwardly. She hands me a few sheets, eyeing me steadily.
"You transferred this month, right? Printed these since you might've missed some worksheets."
"…Ah, gotcha."
"Meant to give them last time, but finding the file took a bit. Sorry."
"No need to apologize."
In an industry full of musicians who spark scandals but never say sorry, apologizing for this? She's not all there, but that puts her in the top 1% for character. (Bottom? Me, Moon Juhee, Lee Junwoo.)
"Here's last month's worksheets… and this week's too, just in case. Sign this consent form for the performance eval."
"Sure, sure…."
I bump her up a notch in my mental rankings and take the stack. It's barely been months, but it feels heavy. Proof of her passion? Rare for this school… ugh, can I even say that? Lee Junwoo and Seo Hyun-gyu flash in my mind. I sign the form.
Think that's it? She pulls out one more sheet.
"Oh, and you missed a test. Got something to say about that too."
"A test? April's almost over."
"Not for grades—just to gauge your level. Basic stuff."
The test she hands over has entry-level harmony and genre questions. True to her word, nothing tough. Super basic.
"Anyone… not know this?"
"Instrumental kids might miss some. Even comp majors vary."
Right—this school's a joke. Show album sales and a few comps, you're in. No wonder the skill gaps. But dumping randos in like this—does class even work? Instrumentals split hairs too.
Whatever. Vent to Moon Juhee later. Focus on this test now.
"Looks easy… Do I have to? I know it all anyway."
"Not super hard, but please. Surface knowledge isn't true understanding."
Fair enough. I grab the pen and breeze through. Quick work.
Bored waiting? Im Siwoo chats me up.
"By the way, Seonggwang. Mind if I ask something?"
"Shoot. But why the formal talk? I'm a student now—drop it."
Her polite speech feels off, creating distance.
"Can't do that. Student or not, you're a musician. I must show respect."
"These kids couldn't touch your toenails."
"Why tie respect to hierarchy or career?"
True. Respect's about the person, not extras. Me and Moon Juhee aren't saints—we throw sales and awards at beefs. Guess I'm still adjusting from that world.
"Fair point. Can't argue there…."
Self-reflection mode, I keep solving. Later problems get trickier—not hard, but poking gaps. Even I, cocky about harmony, pause on some obscure bits.
Fun puzzle, actually.
"Musically, I have to use formal with you."
"Huh?"
"I genuinely respect musician Seonggwang. I learn from every track."
Mid-problem, she fan-gushes. Fits—she's my diehard.
"Heh… that much?"
"No exaggeration. Played it for peers—they raved."
Nice ego boost. I play humble.
Direct praise hits different. Joy of creation. Meeting someone who loves my work? Priceless.
I'm grinning; her voice warms too.
"I respect Seonggwang the musician and love his music—no overstatement."
"Aw, c'mon… enough flattery…."
"That's why I'm deeply disappointed in Seonggwang the person's antics."
"……."
I look up from the test. Her face is rotten. Chilling, despite spring bloom.
"Did some digging. Affairs, profanity—every interview trashes industry peers. No respect."
"…."
"Doubted if a pro would act like that. Wondered if you're tanking the whole scene on purpose."
"…You could stop there."
Not humble—please stop. Praise good, this bad.
I block, but she unloads like she's held it in forever.
"Truly, regret respecting you this much."
"…Isn't this normal in jazz? Affairs and all… not that weird…."
Lame excuse. Her face hardens to contempt.
"……."
She glares murderously. I drop my gaze. She clears her throat, rebuts.
"…Sure, scandals happen here, but don't normalize it as industry morals. Offensive."
"Yessir…."
She sighs long, stares pitifully, lips purse tiredly.
"Heard you got booted from your label amid all that."
"…Yeah."
No way they could've covered it all. No attachment anyway.
"Worried a lot."
"For real?"
Surprising. Thought she'd cheer.
"Of course. Colleague or not, you're a 17-year-old kid. Scandal hits? Natural to worry."
Genuine concern tugs my heart. Friends just sent anti-gallery links, laughing. Didn't expect this here.
Should've built rapport sooner.
"Siwoo-sensei…."
"Though, top worry was no new songs if you're blacklisted forever."
"…."
Yeah, that tracks as priority. Fair—losing fave artist's work? Gut punch.
"Worried how it'd go, but glad you're not quitting."
"Guess so."
No foundation but music. Too late for pivots.
Royalties are sweet; no masochism for scraps.
Polish that greed romantic.
"My life's music. Living drunk on worthless notes—that's the musician's fate…."
She widens eyes.
"Got mental issues?"
"……."
"That's some '98 underground rapper crap. Even smoky old jazzers don't say that now."
She doesn't get my philosophy. Drunk Moon Juhee (blackout only) would've applauded.
P.S. Mental illness is musician basics. **Two stars**.
"So… here for new works, right? Plans?"
Her eyes sparkle casually.
Works, huh….
"Eh, no solid ideas yet. Observing, forming framework. Sketch soon-ish."
"Observing what?"
"Partner? Tch, not quite protégé."
Collaborator fits-ish, but not really. No co-creation.
"Got some fun folks. Expect good stuff."
She quirks oddly, nods.
For her, new works = relief.
"Alright. Looking forward. Hope no scandals till then."
"…C'mon, trouble here?"
"That's why I'm saying. Watch your mouth—no, shut it. Booted again? Nowhere left."
"…"
She shrugs blankly, collects the test. Glances, reds a perfect score.
Student level? Still peak Seonggwang.
I puff privately; she hands another sheet.
What now? I tilt head; she says,
"Sign, please."
"What for? More forms?"
This school—endless consents. I glare grumpily; she softens.
"Personal collection."
"……."
Absurd. I stare; she averts sheepishly, shoots back innocently.
"…What."
"Nothing."
Signature? Easy. Teacher begging student's? Hilarious.
I scrawl; she pulls film/frame from nowhere, seals it.
"Business done. Finish last month's by next class."
Satisfied, she leaves. I watch her back, complex feelings bubbling.
"…Tsk. Fans are great, but…."
Power imbalance with a superior? Messy dynamic.
Musing alone, I exit the classroom too.