Chapter 35

035. The Next Step (2)

I shivered in the cold wind.

Entering the cafe, which was less than a five-minute walk from the company, I saw Pavel, who had just arrived, taking off his leather gloves.

As I approached, he quickly removed the glove from his other hand and placed it on the table.

Then, he extended his long, pale hand for a handshake.

"Are you here?"

"Hello."

"It's very cold, isn't it? Korea is no less cold than Russia."

"It seems particularly cold this year."

In the quiet cafe, a young student and a tall foreigner conversing in German drew some attention. Fortunately, there weren't many tables, so it wasn't too distracting.

We started our conversation with a coffee and a juice between us.

Pavel was even more enthusiastic about inviting me to Russia than he was last time.

"Can we start with what I asked you last time? I know it might seem like I'm jumping straight to the point, but if we leave this for the end, I might not have enough time to persuade you."

"That's not necessary..."

"There is. Last time, we were still getting to know each other, but honestly, I really want to invite you. Honestly. As a conductor, my biggest desire is to conduct your unique timbre, to have it under my fingertips."

To have a timbre under one's fingertips...

Is that what conducting feels like?

To have dozens of sounds under your fingertips and move them?

I was slightly impressed by his expression.

At the same time, I could faintly sense how deeply music was rooted in his life.

Today's conversation is sure to be enjoyable.

Seeing Pavel's clear blue eyes shining, I smiled and replied.

"That's not what I meant. I was saying there's no need to persuade me."

"······прекрасно!"

Pavel shouted, understanding the meaning of my words.

Russian suddenly burst out of his mouth.

"Does that mean 'perfect'?"

Pavel's eyes widened.

"Yes! You know Russian?"

"I can understand it, but my pronunciation is terrible. People can't understand me."

Based on my memories from my past life, Pavel, curious, urged me to try speaking Russian. After some hesitation, I tried a phrase, and he tilted his head.

See, you won't understand.

Pavel, jokingly asking if I had really learned Russian, laughed for a while before looking at me with bright eyes again.

"Then, when do you plan to come to Russia?"

The Beinoff Symphony is set to reconvene in February, before spring, and will continue to be active until the next winter.

I told him that any time during that period would be fine.

"I heard the Tchaikovsky International Competition will be held in June next year."

Pavel's eyes grew wider.

His mouth opened wide as well.

"The competition. That sounds interesting. By the way, we have an important event around that time. The White Nights Festival in St. Petersburg. The Beinoff Symphony will conclude the festival."

Hearing this, I remembered his words about possibly performing on stage.

Just thinking about it made my heart race.

I wanted to erase the word 'possibly.'

Licking my dry lips, I felt my enthusiasm rising,

but Pavel furrowed his brow and asked.

"However, if you decide to participate in the competition, which instrument do you plan to use?"

······For some reason, he looked more troubled than I did.

#

Most performers have a main instrument.

This is especially true for classical performers who strive to reach the limits of a particular instrument.

Focusing on other instruments would be a waste of effort and wouldn't help their career.

So, what is my main instrument?

-This question has been on my mind.

I've played the piano for about five years, but I haven't practiced classical pieces properly except when I visit Chairman Baek's mansion.

I've reached the desired timbre on the violin, but my technique is still far from perfect. Compared to Paganini, I'm not even at the elementary level.

Professor Yun and Lim Jin-gyu seem to hope I'll participate with the piano, which is their main instrument, but I'm not sure yet.

My main instrument and the competition.

'Still...'

Today, it's clear that my main instrument is the piano.

The studio of a composer, known for ballads, who is a classmate of my father.

I arrived in Mapo, Seoul, to keep the promise I made a few months ago at the company. The promise to visit.

While I was there, I ended up doing a piano session.

I could play, earn money, and meet people from a completely different genre of music, so there was no reason not to come.

"Hey, Seoho, you're here?"

As I entered the studio, the bald man I met before, who had received a call from my father, was waiting with the recording room door half-open.

"Hello, Composer."

I bowed, and he laughed and said,

"Your father dropped you off and went straight to work?"

"Yes, he has a meeting."

"Phew, he said he has to stay up all night again. What kind of meeting does he have?"

While saying this, he muttered, "Well, if a client calls, you have to go, right?" and opened the recording room door wide.

"Come in. The drum recording is almost done, so just wait a bit."

The recording room I entered had a different feel from our company.

First, the variety of instruments used for recording made it smaller in size. Instead, it was filled with equipment I had never seen before.

I've been learning a bit about mixing and mastering by asking the engineers, but I couldn't figure out what these things were used for.

As I marveled at the new gadgets, the composer introduced me to the people in the recording room.

After exchanging greetings, I sat on the sofa at the back and waited for the recording to start.

Meanwhile, a young man in front glanced at me and whispered,

"You look really... young?"

"Don't worry. He plays the piano incredibly well."

The young man looked at me again, our eyes met, and he awkwardly smiled and greeted me again.

"Okay, let's get back to the drums."

The recording resumed, and it was a bit unfamiliar. Drums are used in film music, but not very often.

'Interesting.'

I lost track of time watching. Before I knew it, the recording was over, and the drummer came out of the booth.

"Okay. Now it's Seoho's turn."

I entered the booth and sat at the piano. The eyes of everyone in the recording room were on me.

Except for the composer, question marks appeared on everyone's faces.

-Just play the score, and if you want, you can play it in sections. If you don't like it, just give a signal.

"Got it."

I nodded and placed the score I had received on the stand.

Compared to classical music, the score was sparse.

This meant a certain degree of freedom for the performer, so I could start playing with a bit of ease.

I gently touched the keys.

A slow-paced ballad.

But it was different from a classical ballad. It was simpler and more intuitive.

However, there were similarities.

A poem that tells a story.

Ultimately, the direction ballads aim for, whether in the past or now, hasn't changed.

How many people's emotions can it stir?

I sharpened my fingertips.

Recalling the lyrics and the demo version's atmosphere, I played the trials of adversity.

At the same time, I held back about half of what I could express.

This wasn't a solo performance.

The other instruments would fill in the rest, so I did my best within my role.

And at the last two measures,

Finally, a ritardando (Ritardando).

······The song gradually slowed down, like the ripples on a lake calming, and came to an end.

Lifting my head from the last key, I saw the composer smiling. Next to him, the young man was impressed.

-Haha, it's so perfect that there's no need to record it again...

The composer, pressing the talkback, extended the conversation and asked me personally.

-This time, can you play more freely? Just look at the chords... Oh, you said you only know basic chords, right?

That's true. I haven't studied jazz separately.

But, aren't chords just about pressing harmonious notes?

And there are only 88 keys on a piano.

'······I think I can do it.'

Scratching my chin, I told the composer, who was thinking, "I'll give it a try."

#

Young composer.

It sounds a bit strange, but that's what they call the young man who thought I looked too young.

A term used to refer to a composer's apprentice.

Anyway, the young composer, who was stirring the noodles, has had a dazed look on his face since a while ago.

Suddenly, he turned his head and asked the composer.

"Is that it? That."

"What?"

"A prodigy."

"Ha...!"

I almost choked on my water.

The composer, finding it ridiculous, scolded the young composer.

"You're asking what a prodigy is in front of him."

"Ah, sorry. The word just didn't come to me."

"Haha, it's okay."

"But your performance was really amazing. Especially the second recording..."

I smiled, grateful, and stirred the fried rice, reflecting on it.

Indeed, pressing harmonious notes was simple.

I even pressed dissonant notes to create tension.

The result was a performance I was satisfied with.

However, the first recording was ultimately used in the song.

The reason was that the piano melody might overshadow the vocals.

Sigh. I got carried away and couldn't control myself.

Still, thinking it was fun, I put the fried rice in my mouth, and the young composer suddenly said,

"Now, if Shin Soo-a comes tomorrow and adds the violin, the MR will be complete."

Hearing a familiar name, my head naturally lifted.

The composer asked me,

"Seoho, you know Shin Soo-a, right? She often does sessions at SoundFilm."

"Ah, yes. We've recorded a few times together."

The young composer continued, "When I first saw her play the violin, it was as shocking as today. She may seem a bit cold, but her performance is incredible."

I couldn't help but nod in agreement.

Cold, but an incredible performer.

"Really, if her family's financial situation wasn't so difficult, she might have gone abroad to study and become a renowned violinist in Korea..."

The young composer, who was talking freely, stopped when he saw the composer's expression and picked up a mouthful of noodles.

"Phew, my loose lips keep saying things. I need to control them."

He put them all in his mouth at once.

The composer, looking at his apprentice with a disapproving eye, told me,

"Pretend you didn't hear that."

"What?"

"Hmm, a sensible kid. No, eat quickly. Eat a lot. I'm not the type to envy anyone, but I'm a bit envious of you today."

Sigh, sigh. He wiped his mouth and asked,

"Seoho, I heard from your father that you have a lot of compositions?"

"Ah, yes. But most are in the sketch stage."

"How many are there? Your father is someone who did a lot of practice, so he wouldn't be impressed by a small number, but he was really impressed."

I don't know the exact number. I haven't counted. Probably a few hundred...

"Most are just ideas I jot down on sheet music when they come to me, so there are quite a few."

"Would you consider compiling them into an album someday?"

That would be nice.

But...

"There aren't many that are good enough."

Not every piece can be good.

Even the old masters discarded nine out of ten pieces they wrote.

Some used them as kindling, some tore them up on the spot, and some used them as letter paper to send me letters, but in any case,

they boldly discarded subpar pieces.

But I can't do that...

At that moment, the young composer, who had been chewing on the noodles, said,

"Or, you could just record them roughly and upload them to SoundCloud."

"SoundCloud?"

"Ah, you don't know? How should I put it... It's like a free music sharing site. There's no complicated review process like regular music sites, so it's a good place to share practice pieces you don't want to throw away."

The composer, who had been listening silently, scolded him.

"Right. There's such a useful site, but why don't you do more practice?"

"······."

The young composer, who was again eating a large bite of noodles.

I smiled and asked,

"If I upload them, people can listen freely?"

"Yes. They can leave comments and like the tracks. The rest is similar to social media."

······There's such a thing?

"But since it's a site dominated by hip-hop, classical music might not get much response."

#

Returning to the studio, I naturally approached the piano chair.

I opened the lid and looked at the scores inside for a moment before starting to take them out.

There are really a lot.

Since I was 12, that is, since Brinner's memories resurfaced, I've been jotting down the inspirations that pour down like stars in the night sky.

Papers were piled up in one corner of the studio as if for a tax audit.

I sat on the floor and started examining them one by one.

The quality and inspiration of the pieces varied greatly.

'This one could be a good melody with a bit more work.'

'This one has an interesting motif, so it could be salvaged.'

'And this one has a too fragmented fixed idea...'

I started setting aside the ones that showed potential for arrangement or had good melodies.

Since I had made so many, the pile of selected papers was about a hundred sheets.

"This one, I'll keep."

I put the 'high-quality' scores back in the piano chair and looked at the rest.

Indeed, I can't just throw them away.

If I hadn't made them, it would be one thing. But it feels wrong to have written them as compositions and then discard them without anyone hearing them.

······Isn't that what Brinner would do?

Determined, I picked up the scores with both hands.

As I stood up, the door suddenly opened.

My father, who looked unusually tired today, saw me and was slightly surprised.

"···What are you doing?"

"Ah, I was organizing the scores."

"Are you going to throw them away?"

"No, I think I'll do the opposite."

My father, looking at me as if to say, "What are you talking about?" said,

"It's already 10 PM. I have a lot of work to catch up on, so I'll probably stay up all night. Do you want me to take you home now?"

I thought for a moment and lifted the stack of scores slightly.

"Can I stay here and catch up on some work tonight?"

#

-Seoho?

Hearing his wife's completely hoarse voice, Han Ki-joon chuckled.

He stood up and stretched.

The sky outside the window was already tinged with the pale light of dawn.

"I'm going to the studio now. I think he might be sleeping. Did you get some sleep?"

-Uh... Are you okay? You're not a young man anymore.

"Haha, I'm still in my prime."

Blowing his nose, Han Ki-joon opened the studio door. But Han Seoho wasn't there.

"···?"

Puzzled about where the kid had gone, Han Ki-joon glanced at the next room.

Since recording the grand piano in the studio, Seoho had started frequenting the next room.

Moving his steps, Han Ki-joon opened the next room. Sure enough,

"He's sleeping like a log."

-Seoho?

"Uh-huh."

Seeing his son, who was lying on the desk, Han Ki-joon smiled softly.

The fact that he was here meant he had either recorded a performance or created something on his laptop...

Lately, he had been asking the engineers for drinks and asking them various questions. Had he made something?

Curious, Han Ki-joon quietly approached and shook the laptop mouse.

To see what he had been working on.

[Enter your password]

······This kid.

He's a pro now.