Raising a Neglected Singer-Songwriter - Chapter 1



Only Krnovel

EP. 1. BOY MEETS ROCK

I was the kind of kid who had to do it that way if someone told me to do it this way.

The so-called rebellion.

Of course, it wasn’t always like that in all situations, but in general… … .

When I was only in the first year of middle school.

When the teacher said something like, “Students, what are you protesting about? Your parents worked hard to earn money to send you to college, so what are you doing?”, I went out to protest wearing my oversized middle school uniform.

When the college students I met at the demonstration site tried to teach us that we must resist the times, I returned to school.

Zeitgeist… … .

A grand banner.

Well, the point is, there wasn’t really anything like that.

Anyway.

Because I was like that, it was only natural that I fell into rock.

A song of rebellion.

Spirit of resistance.

It wasn’t something grandiose like shouting to change the times.

It was just good.

The trigger was a large LP record that was rolling around in my uncle’s room.

There were five men with long, flowing hair.

Above their heads was written:

[DEEP PURPLE]

[MACHINE HEAD]

I picked it up.

I heard.

It was good.

If the Roman general Caesar had heard this music, wouldn’t he have said something like this?

It was just good.

I started learning English to interpret songs I couldn’t even understand.

Instead of the teacher’s incomprehensible Konglish, I started to acquire pronunciation that was as smooth as flowing water.

That was a bonus.

After school, I would run straight home, put the LP in, and play it over and over again.

To the point where I could memorize and dissect the song.

For two years, I listened to just one album countless times.

When I finally got my hands on the unknown acoustic guitar that had been rolling around in my uncle’s room, which I had been longing for all that time, I even shed tears of joy.

“Have a nice time in the army, Uncle.”

“That son of a bitch.”

“Hehehe… … .”

“Take care of your guitar. Rock never dies. So neither will your uncle. I’ll be back soon.”

At that time, my uncle and I were just fools who didn’t know anything.

Neither of us knew that my uncle’s acoustic guitar wasn’t a suitable instrument for rock music.

Even my uncle didn’t know how to play the guitar.

My uncle only took his guitar out to meet girls, so it was probably just for show.

I’m sixteen years old.

The boy, who had just entered his third year of middle school, was carrying an acoustic guitar.

The one who teaches.

There isn’t a single book to look at and learn from.

I plucked the guitar strings one by one and savored them slowly.

Ding—

The guitar was truly a fascinating instrument.

If you pull on a string as if pinching it, it makes a ding-like sound, but even for the same string, different sounds are made depending on which part of the string is pulled.

If you wave your hands up and down like the singers on the black and white TV, you can hear a diriringding sound.

If you put your fingers on the head of the guitar, which you were holding with a cool look, on the strings and apply force, you can hear another sound.

It’s a fascinating instrument.

There was a piano at school that produced exactly the same note when the same key was pressed.

Anyway, fortunately.

He had no teacher and no teaching materials to learn from, but he had talent.

The middle school student, who had no one to teach him, played the guitar backwards.

like that.

I picked up Deep Purple and swallowed it one by one.

“How have you been? Oh, you grew a little taller?”

“uncle!”

“Are you still playing the guitar?”

“of course!”

“Try it, just once.”

After saying that, my uncle sat down and enjoyed the song Highway Star played on the acoustic guitar.

It was my first performance that I showed to someone.

“Oh… … , it’s pretty good.”

“Are you okay?”

“It’s far.”

“You don’t even know how to play the guitar.”

My uncle, who had been smiling at my words, threw something in front of me again.

“In Korea, it’s Deep Purple, but globally, it’s Led Zeppelin.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Led Zeppelin.”

“Led Zeppelin… … .”

My uncle and I looked at each other and laughed like idiots.

“That’s it for my next vacation.”

“uh!”

That’s how Led Zeppelin entered my world.

My uncle took vacations so often that I wondered what kind of soldier got so many vacations.

Every time that happens, he throws the world at me.

“The Beatles.”

“The Beatles. Oh! I know that one.”

“It’s a legend.”

like that.

The Beatles.

“It’s AC/DC.”

“ACDC? What’s your name?”

“Just listen. I’ll tell you what I think.”

AC/DC too.

Pink Floyd.

David Bowie.

My world is getting bigger.

The more I knew, the more my thirst grew.

excuse me.

There is a bigger world out there that I don’t know about.

I want to find the door, swing it open wide, and experience the vastness of that world for myself.

The waiting of one who does not know the sweetness of the oasis is nothing but a dry imagination, but the thirst of one who has felt a glimpse of the oasis presents low-quality pornography before his eyes.

It’s a mirage.

Thirst created my oasis, my mirage.

My throat felt like it was going to burst.

My day had one more repetition.

“Father! Is Uncle here?”

“I’m back, I’ll go first.”

“I’m back. Is Uncle here?”

“He didn’t come.”

Sometimes when I said that to my dad at home, he would respond curtly.

Every day, I listen to songs, hoping that my uncle will open up a new world for me.

I played the guitar.

How much time has passed like that?

“uncle!”

“Young one. Your eyes are so full of desire.”

Furry-

“Is it big?”

“Because it’s a videotape.”

“and!”

“And it’s Jimi Hendrix. It’s bound to be big.”

My uncle was always like that.

He’s a player who pretends to know even though he doesn’t.

Still, it was fun, unlike my dad.

So there were a lot of women.

He couldn’t play guitar, but he had a rock spirit.

“But we don’t have a video deck at home?”

“You figure it out.”

“uncle…….”

“Rock is passion.”

“ah…….”

“Next time, Jimi Hendrix. If you can’t play it, that’s the end.”

A person who strangely knows how to stimulate me.

My uncle was my friend, my older brother, and my teacher.

“… …Jimi Hendrix.”

I went to see the class president under the pretense of tutoring him.

We put our heads together and played the videotape my uncle had brought us.

“Come out, something dirty… … Come out, something dirty… … .”

The boy who was the class president but wasn’t very good at studying expected something unexpected, but it wasn’t.

The first screen of the video immediately showed a man.

A black man with an orange band around his head and a guitar.

The man’s black clothes, which look like they were made from rags, flutter in the wind.

And then the camera circled around the man.

That must have been it. I could see countless spectators staring at him, captured on camera.

As the man’s hand, now in sole possession of the camera, began to race across the guitar, the audience cheered and jumped around.

The image quality is poor, but you can imagine it.

This wasn’t some cheap pornography that hadn’t even the form of a boy had created.

It’s not a mirage.

This is a real wave.

People turned into the sea.

“I’m tired… … .”

“uh?”

“This is crazy… … completely.”

There was also this man named Jimi Hendrix who treated the guitar like it was his own body.

The audience below the stage looking at him.

Everyone is crazy.

“Where is this place?”

“USA……?”

“USA?”

“It could be England.”

“under…….”

Lightning strike to the heart.

I set a goal.

It might be America.

Or maybe it’s England.

If not, I will go to that place that may not be Earth.

So, like that guy, I’m going to dominate the people offstage and make them worship me.

Savoring the world that has expanded without any order.

Acquired without any teaching.

From listening to copying.

In the copy, I feel something inside me screaming again to break down the wall and the loud knocking.

“Abraxas.”

I finally shouted.

“Abraxas? What is that?”

He is the class president.

He’s a guy with a lot of money at home and he likes to wear hats himself, but he’s still my good friend.

I teach the guy how to study.

The guy offered me some tasty snacks and a video deck.

In addition, he was able to enjoy a new world where he could escape from the food his uncle threw him and save him from both the sun and the shade.

ah.

Of course, the new world he brought wasn’t just music.

“You have to bow down to me. This is called a pineapple, Mom. Even if you have money, you can’t get it and eat it.”

The class president said.

“Who is the great man who brought up a blockhead like you to play in the whole school?”

I replied.

“hmm.”

“Who is it? Shout it out. And show respect. Korea University is just around the corner.”

Natural hair.

I am someone who knows everything just by looking at it, but that doesn’t mean I am bad at teaching.

If you set your mind to teaching someone, you’re better off as a genius.

Disassemble, break down and interpret.

The teachings of someone who knows and speaks the principles and reasons cannot even be compared to the teachings of someone who provides the correct answer or a single solution.

“teacher.”

“big.”

“teacher!”

“Name it!”

“Move on, Senpai!”

“That’s senior and idiot.”

“Sensei, move on! Thank you Xnari arigatou gozaimasu!”

After laughing for a while, we continued our conversation.

“So what is Abraxas?”

“It’s a famous quote from Demian.”

The bird struggles to come out of the egg.

Eggs are the world.

Anyone who wants to be born must destroy a world.

The bird flies towards God.

“The name of that god is Abraxas.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“This is delicious. Pineapple? Bring me more and I’ll let you know.”

I decided to destroy a world by eating the new world fruit called pineapple that my rich friend gave me.

Destruction leads to creation.

Although I was self-taught, I learned how to read and write music.

Wrote it down.

My world.

How many days?

Time passed by without me even knowing how much time had passed.

I woke up, clutching my hungry stomach.

I’m excited.

I want to show off to the world.

The music I made.

I haven’t slept with a woman before, but I don’t think it gets any more exciting than this.

I guarantee it.

Just a few pieces of paper in hand.

Holding a bean sprout head with graffiti scribbled on it.

A third year high school student, where the servant Sancho and his friends were focusing on their studies.

I swept through Itaewon and Jongno.

“Rock and roll!”

“… … What anime are you doing?”

“Ro! Big! Roll!”

A man with a long, wavy body and hair that is longer than that of a woman.

Finally met.

It was the entrance to a shabby concert hall in Jongro.

“… … Are you a fan? Do you want me to sign it?”

“Let’s compete.”

“……what?”

“You said you’re the best guitar player in Korea? So let’s have a competition.”

Now that I’m out in the world of martial arts, it’s time to test my skills through martial arts.

I was confident.

The tiger just knows.

The fact that he was a tiger.

That tiger has been training for years.

Why waste your time dealing with scum?

If I beat this guy, that’s it for me!

“… … Do you want to take that thing off your back and look at it?”

“Huh.”

I laughed.

As expected, an expert recognizes an expert.

On the road?

It has some charm.

It looks like something straight out of a martial arts novel.

Even though he was holding a musical instrument instead of a sword.

To a musician, his instrument is his sword.

I took the guitar out of its case and slung it over my shoulder.

Then the current leader of the martial arts world spoke in vain.

“Is the genre folk?”

“fork?”

“Lim Tae-hee and Seseifong. Things like that.”

“It’s rock.”

“But why is the guitar like that?”

“?”

“Rock plays electric guitar. The one you have is acoustic.”

“?”

“You don’t know anything at all?”

“… … ?”

Um… … I was a genius.

surely.

When it comes to studying, I just glance at it and know it, and when I glance at it, it sticks in my head and doesn’t go away. It’s the same with music.

but.

Even geniuses make mistakes.

Mistakes often occur in very small things.

Like now, I didn’t know that guitars were divided into folk, electric, etc…

Even if you’re a genius, it doesn’t mean you can know what you don’t know.

I made a childish mistake of not looking into it further because I was so happy to have received my uncle’s guitar.

My little uncle who introduced me to the world.

Sancho, the squad leader who got to know Jimi Hendrix together, also said, “It’s great. I knew how to do it, but I didn’t know anything about the guitar.”

All of those little things combined to make me take out a green onion root instead of a sword on my first adventure into the world of martial arts.

The guitar he plays resembles Jimi Hendrix’s.

My guitar… … was exactly the same as the ones used by Jo Young-nam and Yoon Hyung-joo.

The man who had been staring at me with eyes full of envy for a long time, like a skeleton wearing a wig, said this.

“Come with me. Give it a try.”

And Highway Star, my first electric guitar.

“… … Didn’t Elek say this was his first time?”

I muttered while carefully caressing the guitar I received from the long-haired bone.

“This is the sound that comes from my hand.”

In my hands, an intensity similar to theirs bursts out, not the twang of an acoustic guitar.

I felt a change in the way the long-haired bony type and the few people around me looked at me.

“… … Hey, try something else.”

“Led Zeppelin.”

No more words are needed.

Stairway to Heaven is a great way to showcase your guitar skills.

“Uh… … Uh… … .”

“Why, sir… …, what is it, Emma?”

After my performance, there were a few curses and a brief silence.

Finally, the long-haired bone opened its mouth.