“Alright, Changhyun. This should go by fairly quickly. It’s simple enough. Sing it exactly as you hear it. No ad-libs, no fancy embellishments, nothing fancy or creative,” the vocal instructor’s words were clear, and they were starting to make Ricky feel a little less nervous in the intimidating confines of the recording booth; it felt a little less like the walls were closing in on him as the complex contraption of a microphone hanging in front of him stared him in the face. “That should be easy for you.”
No, it wasn’t the walls closing in on him, it was the walls of his own mind. The implication was clear. It was already apparent that he was no vocalist; whatever he’d done to impress the judges on the MGAs two years ago meant nothing now, which showed in the unimpressive amount of lines he’d been giving for this evaluation. And his suspicions were confirmed by the unspoken accusation in the instructor’s tone, the reminder that everyone around him still saw him as Nova’s Performing Robot, mindless, emotionless, incapable of anything original or interesting or memorable. How fitting for the assignment at hand.
It all sat very heavy on his chest, his throat, which was the least bit conducive to singing, and he suddenly felt a wave of feeling rather alone wash over him.
The first time he opened his mouth to sing, his voice wobbled, cracked on the nervous lump sitting against his vocal chords and he could feel the exasperation radiating from his instructor, even through the panels of soundproofing and plexiglass.
“I’m sorry. I...wasn’t ready.” It was a lie, sort of, but it was the only excuse he could manage.
Surprisingly, there was no lecture form the other side, no scolding, no annoyed sigh. Just a simple, flat, “Let’s do it again,” which was somehow almost worse.
❛ &. APRIL EVALUATION !
------------------------------------ hush, 좀 더 가까이 ❜
when jungah had told her to pick from the varying repertoire of songs chosen for her at the end of the month, jihyun had been christened to expect the legendary ivy and not the (just as legendary) brave girls. ‘it’s time to get you out of your comfort zone,’ the vocal teacher had said at the time, a subtle command jihyun was very reluctant to follow. but soon enough, she was thrust into the recording booth; papers in her stricken clutches and a red pen for the very much needed corrections she was absolutely certain she’d be making.
it wasn’t that she didn’t like her brave girls sunbaes, the seniors were stars in their own right; achieving success in such an outstanding way jihyun could only dream to follow -- but never had jihyun seen such a contrasting parallel. where were her drawling ballads and tear-jerking high notes? obviously thrashed aside in order to reflect on a more refreshing, as jungah had phrased it, element to her vocals.
and of all evaluations to try something new -- it had to be the one she was so certain she’d be profoundly better than anyone at. flying under the radar; unscathed with very few cuts and bruises of criticism had been fine because those evaluations had mostly consisted of dancing, a talent, even now jihyun had yet to fully master -- sure, a quick toe-touch and twirl didn’t make her nauseous anymore but before this evaluation, she had never been particularly spectacular; it was only several months ago that she had actually made seeming progress with staying on count during a choreography evaluation. but singing, a talent jihyun actually carried an elated rhapsody over, was something she had never thought to be difficult; not when she had ten years of competitive vocal training under her belt.
so why was this becoming such a problem?
❛ wait -- can we go over that again? ❜
she ignores the words that come into the booth -- ‘jihyun-ssi, it was good, let’s move on,’ because no -- it didn’t sound good; not to her, at least. good wasn’t enough -- it should have been better, lighter; stronger.
she bends low, away from the microphone, fingers drumming against the headset she had pulled from her ears, her voice bellowing beneath the waist as she tried to re-incarnate the note; listening for the sharp shrill that accented it and winced, the fuck -- the nerves were becoming her. somehow, she was nervous over recording her voice -- a woman who had yet to be severed by the fright of the stage, was freezing up over simple notes and runs in a 4x4 studio. just delightful.
jihyun breathed through shallow nostrils; gentle, even drills of wind came in and out, only rustling the knots in her stomach even more. she had to calm down. she was better than this; she was trained to do so -- molded to overcome such a struggle. so why was she being dragged to the depths of her insecurities when in plain sight ... she was doing fine.
the pace quickens, stirring the pulse and awakening her nerves the moment the song begins again and she stands; lips parting. eyes directed to the paper with the monstrous red markings.
❛ stop stealing glances at me,
i already caught you .
They watched her walk into the room. For whatever reason she was called last, when she would have liked to get it over and done with quickly. Maybe she shouldn't have expressed her that. If they didn't know what she wanted, the they wouldn't be able to torture her like this. Maybe she really did think the world was out to get her. At least she had remembered to chose a song from the ones they presented to her.
That's why she was confused when they handed her a song sheet. "You told us you didn't care when we asked you to submit a song last time..so we chose for you." She couldn't remember doing that either but it was something that didn't matter. Yubin tossed her book bag onto the coach and grabbed her water bottle. Her own song sheet was replaced by theirs and Yubin looked over them again. They wanted to kill her, it would have to be four of them there to watch her. "You go in, we don't expect you be the best but you've done this before. So we expect something. Follow the guide vocals and listen."
They managed to get a half-hearted nod out of her but that was it. After taking a drink of her water, she put on the head phones and waited. The song was Global Icon's Happy, she wanted to say something smart but instead she nodded her for the music to start. Not trying to think to much about the lyrics sang the song as she heard it. There wasn't a real attempt. It sounded as if she was almost talking, it was clear that she had no passion for it. Something her coaches heard as they listened to her recording.
"Kim Yubin." One of them shouted as soon as they had the chance to speak. "You aren't even singing in half of this. Your words...I can't hear them, you're mumbling. Take it serous."
Half the complaints went in one ear and out the other. No where did it say she had to care. They music have seen the look in her face. "Don't forget, we'll be in here as long as you mess up." That kicked her ass into gear a little. The only thing she wanted as to leave here and be on her own.
The music started again and this time she did sing. They stopped her at some point and she looked at them expectantly.
if there is one thing that makes seungmi extremely uncomfortable, it would be singing in front of people. technically, recording in a studio with her vocal trainer and one or two other people wouldn’t count as a real public showcase of her talents (or lack thereof), but the feeling is more qualitative than it is quantitative. the number of people in the room doesn’t affect how she feels, it’s the mere presence of them that causes her heart to beat faster and pupils to dilate.
but negative thinking aside, she can always hold on to the belief that everyone in kt knows how bad she is anyways. she can probably get away with singing badly pretty easily with that concept in mind. then again, she knows deep down that it’s about time she start improving on her singing instead of being deadset on her on-stage charisma and dancing. she can only go so far depending on her rapping and comical gifts.
“seungmi, you’re going to record saturday night today. are you ready?”
looking at her coach with a forced smile, she nods. there really isn’t much to be ready for when she’s received only three weeks to fix her off-key voice and mouse-like squeaks she calls singing. the least she can do right now is to really give this evaluation her best shot and try to keep her voice steady and idol-standard at the bare minimum.
touching the back of her neck as she gets closer to the mic, she glances at the walls of the recording studio and how professional it all looks. soundproof walls, clean of any pictures or posters as both creates echoes that’ll sound bad on record. at this point, her mind is only filled with irrelevant thoughts like how college life is so far and whether or not she should clean her shoes once she gets home. she’s focused on anything but the evaluation, and her heart is not in the studio with her body.
“byeon seungmi! why aren’t you singing?” the stern voice of the vocal coach snaps her out of her daze and she looks at the tinted windows. the voice is coming from her headphones and she belatedly remembers that she’s not alone, and that she’s supposed to be concentrating on her evaluation instead of pointlessly distracting herself with other things. “i’m sorry.” she bows slightly towards the staff’s direction and squeezes her hand. get your head in the game, seung!
listening to the music this time, she holds the headphones against her ears, making sure it actually sticks to her ears and that she can pick up the cue to start and change verses or whatnot. she’s messed up already before she can open her mouth, this time she won’t waste it as easily as that.
with my heart torn from losing you, she starts and her voice is a key lower.
with my heart being completely empty, how can i live, she continues and it stays low. gaze flickering, she only had the change to drag the try longer by another sentence before she gets cut. “you call that singing? i would’ve thought that was mumbling if i hadn’t been the one to tell you to sing.”
head down, the rapper whispers a soft sorry before clearing her throat. it’s always like that, her saying sorry, followed by promises of hard-work. it’s all she can do at the time, all she can offer in order to stall everyone else and to block them from asking her more questions. facing the mic once more, she adjusts the headphones again and breathes. there’s only so much tries they’re willing to give her before they eventually give up on her. might as well get all this over with, she thinks, so they can all move on and carry out their normal day-to-day duties.
with my heart torn from losing you
with my heart being completely empty, the day is becoming sadder
opening her mouth a bit more, she managed to get on the right not on her starting steps. all her focus sourced on the song, she tries to match her voice to the guide her trainer has given her. as long as she sticks to it, she should be fine. whether or not it sounds good is another problem altogether. all she has to worry about is being on the right key and pitch.
on saturday night
exactly on that day, she keeps on singing, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the mic in front of her. all she has to do is imagine herself in the bathroom as 11-year-old seungmi, belting out katie lee and son dambi songs in the shower. as long as she follows the guide.
on saturday night
you left, she lets herself sink more into the song and lyrics. a bit more eased and relaxed, she can feel less of the weight on her shoulders. it doesn’t sound perfect, and it isn’t exactly like the guide just yet. but at least, she’s got more control now.
“seungmi,” the song is cut again and she looks up, “you were a bit off-key. let’s take it from the top.” head popping out of the door, the trainer looks at her a bit differently. it was as if she had surprised them, which she might’ve done, and she’s given another chance. nodding her head for the umpteenth time, she lets her headphone circle around her shoulders as she gets ready for her next try. even if she can’t be perfect, she’ll keep on trying until she’s on par with the guide she has received.
“When we are aware of our weaknesses or negative tendencies, we open the opportunity to work on them.”
POLARIS // KANGTA
he always second guesses himself when evaluations come up.
it’s always this or that-- he’s not good enough, he still needs improvement. he’s working hard, but not hard enough. you have the talent but you lack the finesse. it’s criticism after criticism, constant bouts of work and showcasing of your hard work only to be told you still need to work harder.
woohyun knows that. there is always room for improvement. he’s old enough to grasp that concept-- but it doesn’t mean he feels any less useless when hearing it time and time again.
but it’s a singing evaluation this time. his confidence should be held up high-- woohyun’s good talent is singing until his throat is raw and sore and his voice is no more. that’s what he excels in. but he just can’t shake the feeling.
he blames it on his birthday. he blames it on his mother’s hospitalization and the constant cloud looming over his head ever since. he blames it on his lack of sleep, he blames it on his inability to function as time progresses. he’s getting better, he knows that-- every day gets easier as time goes on, but it’s as if a tiny seed had been implanted. doubt and pessimism melting into his framework as he struggles to keep up with everything.
he knows it isn’t working, but he hopes it is in any case.
he bows automatically to the vocal coach-- offering a wide smile-- tired, but brimming with what he hopes to be excitement. he’s so exhausted, mentally and physically, but he needs to do this. evaluations are supposed to help and show improvement, and he can’t do that if he’s sulking around twenty-four seven. he keeps his body straight, form rigid and polite enough. he adjusts the headphones over his head, following instruction like they had given him when he entered. “i’ll be singing polaris,” he hums, averting his gaze as he licks his lips. “from kangta’s first solo album.”
kangta has been one of those artist he always enjoyed-- able to give off so much emotion in his voice that woohyun always felt inspired listening to him sing. the familiar notes of the song are comforting, just for a moment-- but the hawk eyes of the coach in front of him leave him feeling nervous and frayed. he nearly stumbles over the first couple seconds-- but he manages to grasp his voice and utilize it. he shuts his eyes and loses himself to the music, allows his voice to sing the story for him.
are you okay? i wonder if you’re weak from my thoughts.
although that is not possible.
like a fool, i am still insufficient. i lack too much to forget you.
because of the memories you left with me, i am living somehow.
but i worried a lot.
his voice cracks midway through-- voice faltering but he carries through. of all the things about singing woohyun has learned is that you try to bounce back from your mistake. improvise and work around it-- don’t let that one mistake be the rest of your downfall.he ducks his head and adjusts his grip on his headphones-- as shuddering breath leaving him as he continues.
thinking that the image of myself in pain would be a burden to you.
i prayed that we wouldn’t bump into each other even for a moment.
but why is it that i miss you many times a day.
i’m sorry forgive me.
he steels himself and swallows, focuses all his attention into garnering his emotions. the coaches in front of him are quiet, listening carefully-- and he knows that they’ll have something to say. pinpoint each of his flaws and give himself something to work on. he’s awaiting it, too focused on the aftermath he doesn’t focus on the now.
i tried to look okay from the news. i sometimes heard about you.
but still, like the regret left in me-- your everything is so special. our memories that i had to bear with wearily...
is no longer by my side.
i prayed that we wouldn’t bump into each other, even for a moment.
but why is it that i miss you many times a day?
i’m sorry. forgive me.
keeping trying. he tells himself-- he tells other. trying will be your key to success; you can’t succeed if you don’t try. it’s a staple point he tells himself but what happens if nothing comes from it?
what happens if you keep trying but it’s all in vain?
if we could bump into each other for just a moment, i would confess.
that i feel like going crazy many times a day because i miss you...
that i love you, forever.
he waits. he waits and he waits; the seconds feel like hours after the song comes to a close-- the last bits of the melody fading into nothing. his head is downcast, unable to look up the the coach’s faces. he doesn’t want to hear it-- doesn’t want to hear all the negatives, all the pessimism. woohyun ahs enough of it. he has enough to go around and more and he can’t bear to hear his talent, his love, his life’s dream be picked apart and verbally abused.
“woohyun-ssi, yes?” the face that stares before him is unfamiliar, a coach he hasn’t had the pleasure of working with. woohyun nods his head slowly, shyly lifting his gaze as he listens-- shoulders tense for feedback. “well-- i’ll be honest. i’ve heard better. much better. your voice is nice, workable. there’s potential-- but your key is off.” and here it is-- the onslaught. the little jabs of negativity that will come to pierce through woohyun’s already fragile shell.
but woohyun nods none the less, purses his lips and listens like a good boy.
“let’s see,” the coach murmurs. “you started off a little rough-- but you got back on your feet. that’s good. your tone was great-- the emotion was well put forward. but it didn’t sound like a kangta song to me.” a click of his tongue. “the lyrics were correct. but you went off key, and almost warped it. put your own little twist in it-- which isn’t what you’re supposed to do.” the coach taps the play button. the music starts up and he gestures for woohyun to go. “try again. this time-- sing it like you’re singing kangta. try as if you are kangta, okay?”
so woohyun tries again, nods his head and lets himself fall deep into the melody. he doesn’t stutter this time-- lets himself reign his voice amidst the silence. he gets to the chorus before the music shuts off-- and woohyun tightly closes his mouth as the coach frowns at him.
“you’re doing it again.” damn it. “try again. this time remember-- stay in the vocal range. don’t go off key.”
woohyun tries again.
and doesn’t get halfway through the song before he’s stopped once more.
the coach slides the glasses off his face, rubs the bridge of his nose-- leaving woohyun to stare quietly at his form, shaking and trembling because he just can’t seem to get it right. “i’m disappointed.” it hurts-- it hurts for him to hear it out loud-- and woohyun feels the tears stinging in his eyes before he can help it. “you have the potential. i know you can do it-- but you’re showing no promise of improvement.” he presses a button on the soundboard in front of him-- playback the recording and woohyun hears it. he hears his voice, his sadness; his emotions are poured in but it doesn’t sound right. it sounds off-- completely unlike the version is supposed to be. he keeps adding too much, and lacks in the bits he needs more emphasis in. his voice needs to adapt to the music but it’s not curving right.it sounds too potent and strong where it needs to be soft and lilting-- too rough in strong areas. he sounds untrained and juvenile and it embarrasses him more than anything. “do you hear that? it sounds awful, woohyun-ssi. if you want to be an idol, you need to adapt. you need to improve, and i hear nothing but the same thing. over and over again.” awful.
he sounds awful.
“try it again. and this time, do it right.” the stern tone to the other’s voice has woohyun wincing, slipping a tongue over dry lips and clearing his throat. the music returns, loud in his hears-- and he sings. he sings until his voice breaks and fresh tears are falling off his face. but he doesn’t stop-- sings and he sings, lets his voice wail on, even after the music is shut off. “stop. stop, stop, stop.”
his breathing is uneven, and he doesn’t spare a glance at the trainer-- hand pressing into his eyes as he tries to grasp onto his composure. this is so childish of him-- to fall under pressure so easily. to lose himself to this cloud-- this isn’t him. what has happened?
“if you can’t handle this, woohyun-ssi.” he sounds like he’s underwater-- muffled and confusing. “then maybe you should rethink this decision. i’ve heard trainees with less singing experience than you be able to fix their mistakes more quickly than you are showing me. if you can’t handle something as simple as singing-- then maybe you’re not cut out for this.”
he feels stupid. he feels vulnerable. he feels so very angry at the fact he can’t hold himself together for one evaluation. how could he succumb to this? let his emotions run rampant, run himself to the ground? how could he be so blind to let it continue for so long?
woohyun should know better. even though bad things may occur-- it isn’t the end of the world. even if the world is against you, you should stand tall.
even if they knock you to your feet-- get back up. brandish your cuts and your scrapes, use them as your weapon.
“no,” he cuts in sharply, a snap as his arm shoots up to wipe his eyes roughly. he sucks in a sharp breath, dropping the limb as he straightens his form. he meets eyes with the trainer-- jaw tense and rigid as he lets himself breath. “i...can do this. i don’t need to rethink anything.” he adjusts the headphones on his head, inhaling deeply-- exhaling just as sharp. “replay it. please-- i can do this.”
“we’re going to be here all day if you don’t start improving.” woohyun shakes his head as the coach continues. “this isn’t something light. i’m taking this seriously-- and you should too. get on track and focus. i’m trying to help you-- i can’t help you if you can’t help yourself.”
“i can do this.” he snaps-- ducking his head. he squeezes his eyes shut, jerks his head from side to side before lifting his gaze. “i’m sorry-- i’ll do better. i can do this, i know i can. please, let me try.”
the coach is unconvinced-- but he sighs none the less, runs a hand through greying hair. he waves his hand in dismissal, shifting closer to the soundboard-- and woohyun fights back an appreciative smile as the older tiredly states. “alright, alright. back on track then. if you don’t show improvement soon that’s the end of it. do you understand me?”
“yes sir!” he retorts-- straightening his posture and evening his breath.
trainees: time to get ready for april evaluations!
For idols, recording is a delicate, tiring process. Some idol groups, especially rookies and those from smaller companies, record multiple albums a year. Then there are overseas promotions to take into account, and multiple versions of songs, and solo activities. All of these require idols to record as many as 35 songs a year. With how many times each song needs to be recorded over and over to reach the proper standard, it’s vital that idols are familiar and comfortable with the recording process as soon as possible to avoid wasting time on silly mistakes.
April’s evaluation will make sure of just that. All trainees, regardless of their best skill, will be led into a recording studio at the end of the month. They’ll be instructed by the vocal coach in the studio with them to choose from a few songs by sunbaes, selected specifically to suit the trainee’s vocal level, and then they’ll proceed to record specific portions of the song. The process will be strict, involving lots of repetition and singing the same lines over and over to achieve vocal perfection. The vocal instructor will stay in the studio and offer criticism based on what’s recorded, and the evaluation will end when they’re satisfied with the outcome.
That’s not all, though; this isn’t just an evaluation on vocal ability, and is based primarily on a trainee’s ability to listen. They won’t be allowed to deviate beyond the guide vocals of their chosen song, and will be expected to sing it exactly as recorded, and if they try to take any creative liberty while recording, the vocal instructor present will have them record it again until they record it to match the guide. It’s important that they learn their parts to a T, because real idols aren’t allowed to deviate from the vocal guide in live performances, either. All of those impressive ad-libs that are performance only and don’t come out in the studio versions? Still part of the guide vocals. The earlier idol hopefuls learn not to deviate from them, the better.
Keep in mind that chances of your muse recording perfectly on the very first try are slim. Use this as an opportunity to help your muse grow, both in their training and otherwise!
For reference on how this evaluation will work and feedback trainees may receive from their instructors, check out this video of CLC’s Sorn in vocal lessons before she debuted. In this clip, Amber Liu and Eric Nam discuss how usually singers are required to follow the guide vocals exactly, even on ad libs. Here’s a video of T-ara recording Sexy Love- in practice, K-Pop groups often have members record many more lines than they will actually have in the final recording so that the producers can decide who sounds best on which parts and decide on the final arrangement during production. For idols who can’t sing very well, they’re instructed to not worry too much about the melody and instead sing loudly and with confidence- you can see the producer encouraging Nine Muses to do this in their documentary when recording No Playboy (the documentary appears to have been taken offline at this time).
You have until midnight at the end of April 30th EST to write your 250+ word solo about this evaluation. You may work in groups if you like, but each person must contribute a solo in order to earn points. The tag for this is #rkapr16eval, and for completing the task you’ll be rewarded +3 SINGING POINTS, +2 DEBUT POINTS and +1 WEEK IN ANY SINGING ACHIEVEMENT.
