Episode 2: First Audition at the Old Basement "Turtle Rock"

The inside of the underground live club 'TURTLE ROCK', located on the second basement floor after pushing through the heavy iron door, was filled with the smell of stale beer, the stale smell of old wooden floors, and the smell of heated vacuum tubes from amplifiers. The basement ceiling was low, and the peeling concrete walls were densely covered with stickers, graffiti, and torn performance posters of unknown indie bands that had played here over the past several decades. The lighting on the stage was not flashy laser or LED billboards like in clubs on the ground.

The creaky wooden stage was illuminated by a few simple spotlights covered with vintage gel filters in magenta, cyan, and warm amber. At the bar counter, bartender and club manager ‘Ma Seok-du’, an old bulldog wearing a leather vest and a gray beard, was wiping his beer glass with a dry towel and staring expressionlessly at the stage. At the old wooden tables in the audience, bohemian musicians with their own stories and five or six tired-looking regulars were sipping dark beer. An audition was in full swing on stage.

A young guitarist with a sharp punk rock hairstyle was playing an extreme speed metal solo, pumping out dozens of notes per second while using a lot of distortion effects. My fingers raced frantically across the fingerboard, and a shattering high note came out of the amplifier. However, the manager at the bar counter, Ma Seok-du, yawned and threw away a dry towel.

“Up there! Come down!” “Huh? Manager, I haven’t finished the second movement solo yet!” “It’s noisy. Speed ​​machines with quick fingers are only available on YouTube shorts. There’s no substance to your performance. There are only a lot of notes and nothing that touches the heart of the listener. You’re eliminated, next!” The guitarist couldn't shake off his anger and grunted, unplugged the amplifier cord and disappeared behind the stage. The inside of the club was filled with heavy silence, as if cold water had been poured on it. No one was willing to go up on stage in front of Ma Seok-doo's harsh words, who were known to be picky.

The bands and singer-songwriters of the previous three teams had already been rejected one after another. Breaking the heavy silence, regular, quiet footsteps echoed from the back of the hall. 'Tap, knock, knock.' A silver-haired cat girl wearing an oversized black techwear hooded jacket slowly walked towards the stage. Her white cat ears perked up cautiously, and in her arms was a light blue plush fish doll named ‘Popo’. The veteran musicians gathered under the stage began to whisper.

“What is that kid? Does he look old enough to wear a school uniform?”

"You're a cat beast? You're carrying a bass case... Are you really going to audition as a solo bass?"

“You’re crazy. There’s no way Bass could satisfy that strict old man on his own.” However, Sarah did not care at all about the gaze of those around her. She stepped onto the stage steps and carefully unzipped her leather gig bag. When the zipper was opened, what was revealed was a bright turquoise Fender Jazz Bass with paint peeling and scratches as a result of time. She went to the back of the amplifier and plugged a thick vintage cable into the amplifier's input terminal.

‘Clap, boom-’ The vacuum tube amplifier woke up, emitting a heavy hum noise. Sarah draped the strap over her shoulder and carefully placed the blue fish doll ‘Popo’ on the music stand instead of the music stand. It was a gentle gesture, as if asking an old friend to watch the performance today. Manager Ma Seok-doo folded his arms and looked at the little cat girl on stage with eyes full of suspicion.

“Kid, what’s your name?” “It’s Sarah.” The girl's voice was small, but clear and clear. “How old are you? This is a place that sells alcohol. Minors are, in principle, prohibited from entering.” “I’m seventeen. I didn’t come here to drink, I came to sing. The flyer said that any age was allowed.” One of Maseokdu’s eyebrows rose.

“Hmph, that’s quite a bit of talking back. So, what are you going to play? What are you going to show me with that heavy bass without a band session?” Instead of answering, Sarah slowly adjusted the height of the microphone stand to match the height of her lips. And closed my eyes. In the acrid air of the underground club, she pictured the cold blue night sea of ​​the East Sea in her mind. The sound of waves crashing, the small footprints of a baby turtle crawling silently while scratching the grains of sand. Sarah's right index and middle fingers were placed on the thickest 4th string of the bass.

And - 'Dung--------.' The moment the first note cut through the old space of the underground club, the density of the air changed in an instant. It was not a sound heard by the ear. It was an infrasound shiver that came up the old wooden floor, passed through the soles and abdomen of the people sitting in the audience, and shook the center of their hearts. The BPM was only 72. It was an extremely slow tempo, only half of the fast dance music popular these days, but the space between the beats contained tremendous weight and breath.

'Dung, Dung, Dung- Dungchi, Dung-.' Sarah's slender fingers slid across the fingerboard and began to weave a flowing yet strong walking bass line. The groove was as flexible as the swimming of a huge whale swimming in the depths of the sea, and there was no shaking at all like the steps of a turtle stepping on the land. And toward the microphone, Sarah’s lips opened.

"My shadow reflected in the moonlight... Footsteps moving at a slow pace... Me holding on even in the dark,"

“Even if you can’t see the end far away...” Sarah’s husky yet clear soulful vocals were laid over the heavy bass line. There was no fancy technique or high-pitched shouting. However, her voice, filled with sincerity in each note, had the magical power to soothe the loneliness and wounds buried deep in the hearts of those who listened. “A slow turtle tumbles along… It doesn’t stop and runs until the end… Countless stories engraved on my black shell.”

“The star of my life...” Ma Seok-du’s hand, which was wiping a beer glass at the bar counter, suddenly stopped. His eyes wavered. The heart of an old musician who had seen all kinds of monstrous performers on this stage for 40 years was completely captivated by the simple bass playing and one line of singing of a 17-year-old girl. The guests sitting in the audience also put down their beer glasses and stared at the stage in fascination. A sobbing sound was heard from somewhere. Strangers in the city who came down to the basement to escape after a tiring day, discovered their forgotten dreams and tears in Sarah's song.

The bass note of the last octave faded out, leaving a long lingering sound. 'Ugh...' Even after the sound had completely died down, there was no sound in the club for over 10 seconds. Only Sarah's heavy breathing on stage could faintly echo through the microphone. Sarah carefully opened her eyes and looked down at the stage.

'As expected... was it too slow and boring?' At the very moment when Sarah's anxious cat ears were about to lie back slightly - 'Clap! match! match!' Ma Seok-doo at the bar counter slowly stood up and started clapping. And the applause instantly spread throughout the hall, exploding into thunderous applause and cheers that shook the ceiling of the old basement club!

"bravo!"

“That’s ridiculous… I’ve never heard a bass tone like that before!”

“You’re the best, little girl!” Manager Ma Seok-doo walked to the front of the stage with long strides. A deep smile suddenly appeared on his stern face. “You… said your name was Sarah?” “Yes...” “You pass. No, you don’t pass. You are the lifeblood of this club. But kid, a bass isn’t enough to handle this huge song on your own. You need a drummer to support you solidly and a keyboard to give wings to your melody.” At that time, two young people slowly stood up from a dark table in the corner of the club.

There was a young wolf beastman with a strong physique wearing a leather vest, and a fox beastman girl with a sophisticated style, pricking her red fox ears and looking at Sarah with sparkling eyes. In their eyes, excitement over the miracle they had just witnessed and uncontrollable musical passion burned like a flame. The song of the sloth tortoise was the moment when, as fate would have it, it finally brought together lifelong companions who would join her. Inside the doors of the club ‘Turtle Rock’, it seemed like another isolated island, cut off from the glittering civilization on the ground. The sound of ventilator blades rattling and spinning, the sound of water dripping from a stainless steel bucket filled with ice, and the sound of beer glasses being violently clashed by customers.

The walls were filled with graffiti left by legendary Korean underground rock bands from the 80s and 90s. 'We Don't Die Here - 1989 Wild Dogs'

'Music doesn't feed you, but it doesn't starve your soul - 1994 Black Butterfly' Sarah walked towards the stage, tracing each of the faded scribbles with her fingertips. The acrid vacuum tube heat was still radiating from the amplifier of the guitarist who had been kicked out for playing speed metal on stage. Ma Seok-doo, the bar counter manager, had his arms crossed and was staring sharply at Sarah's small figure as she stood up on stage. Maseokdu was a veteran who had been rolling on this floor for 40 years. He was a man who witnessed the heyday of legendary bands such as Sanullim, Wild Chrysanthemum, and Sinawi, and saw with his own eyes many geniuses falling into the temptation of commercialism, selling their souls and falling into ruin.

That's why he had an extreme aversion to the superficial trends and pretentiousness of today's generation. 'She's a cat beast... and she's a solo bass player?' A sigh came out from between Maseokdu’s rough bulldog beard. The bass is the backbone and pillar of the band, but since it is not a melodic instrument, capturing the audience's attention on its own is extremely difficult, even for professional musicians. If you made a mistake, it was likely to end in boring muttering.

“Kid, if you’re ready, get started. My ears don’t have much patience.” Ma Seok-du’s blunt voice cut through the darkness of the club. Sarah nodded. She adjusted the volume and tone knobs on the turquoise base. The volume of the front pickup was raised to maximum and the tone knob was slightly shaved to maximize the warmth of the low range and heavy mid-bass. And then he put his hand on the microphone stand. Her white fingers were trembling slightly, but her eyes were as calm as the deep sea.

‘Heart, beat slowly. 'Follow my steps, with the breath of a turtle.' And the moment Sarah's fingertips plucked the bass string, all the air in the club sank as if experiencing a sudden change in air pressure. 'ridge--------.' It wasn't just the sound of an electronic instrument. It was like the majestic horn of a huge ship made of old oak wood as it cuts through the foggy sea deep at night. The vibration of the low sound came up through the wooden planks of the floor, sending chills down the spines of the guests sitting in the audience. Sarah's left hand glided fluidly from the 1st to 12th frets of the neck, weaving a lyrical contrapuntal melody rather than a simple listing of root notes.

A unique phrasing that exquisitely combines the softness of jazz and the hardness of rock. Within the slow tempo of BPM 72, Sarah did not rush the notes and let them resonate sufficiently. It was a perfect command of space, embracing even the faint reverberation (decay) of sound filling the space and slowly disappearing as part of the music. And Sarah’s voice flowing through the microphone.

"My shadow reflected in the moonlight... Footsteps moving at a slow pace..." An old poet drinking dark beer in a corner of the audience almost dropped the glass he was holding. Her tone contained a deep melancholy and sorrow that was hard to believe for a 17-year-old girl, and a noble vitality that never broke. The melody, which is recited calmly as if speaking without any flashy vibrations or exaggerated bending singing techniques, mercilessly exposes the old wounds that were hidden in the hearts of the listeners.

'That... is real.' Ma Seok-du at the bar counter trembled, the hand holding the dry towel trembling. For the first time in decades, he felt goosebumps that made the hairs on his body stand on end. It was not a song made by mechanical puppets in a commercial music factory. It was the monologue of the soul of a small turtle written with bloody tears while looking out at the night sea alone amidst the cold contempt and loneliness of the world. Wolf beast drummer Kang Jin-woo and fox fox keyboardist Han Yu-na, who were watching the audition in the corner of the club, also couldn't keep their mouths shut. Jinwoo muttered, squeezing his chest with his rough wolf claws.

“That bass… that beat… if I could play the drums behind that guy, I wouldn’t have any regrets even if I died tomorrow.” Yuna also had tears in her eyes and wiggled her fingers. "I want to put my piano on that child's song... I want to embrace that child's sadness with my harmony..." Under the old lighting in the basement, the sloth turtle's song was already creating a huge miracle that touched the soul of the dry city. The silence that filled the club was tense, as if time had frozen. The people sitting in the audience could not even breathe properly until Ma Seok-du's rough palms erupted into heavy applause that shook the floor.

What is music really? Is it fast-moving, flashy, instant entertainment that stimulates the listener's dopamine, or is it the water of life that quietly draws up the loneliness and tears that sink to the bottom of a person's soul? Serra's performance was clearly the latter. Her turquoise base was not flashy or exaggerated for a moment. It simply drew a thick and neat sound trajectory, like the footsteps of an elephant silently stepping on the ground, or the fin of a deep-sea fish swimming in an endless trench.

“Hey, little girl.” Jinwoo, a wolf beast, walked out from the other side of the hall and spoke, putting his drumstick in his pants pocket. “When you entered the second verse, you slightly pushed the beat back on the descending third, right? Was that calculated, or was it just your breathing?” Sarah carefully raised her head. Her clear blue eyes met Jinwoo’s rough wolf eyes.

"I didn't calculate it... I just... wanted to express the weight of the moment when the turtle's feet are buried in the sand and then come out again when they step on the heavy sand. The ground is so deep and heavy that it's hard to take their feet off, but it's the feeling of picking up your feet and moving forward." Jinwoo was listening to Sarah's words blankly, then suddenly touched his forehead and burst into laughter.

"Ha... I'm going crazy. The weight of the sand. I've been playing drums for 10 years and have met all kinds of geniuses, but this is the first time in my life I've ever seen a guy who understands and plays the weight of low notes so poetically." Next to her, Yuna, a fox beast, was making a fuss, squeezing Sarah's small hand.

“Sera! You are so amazing! I thought I was going to die because my heart was pounding while I was listening to you sing. I used to be a classical piano major, right? But always just play according to the sheet music, play like Bach, play like Chopin... I was so out of breath that I ran away. But when I heard your bass line, I felt like my keyboard was freed from the prison of the sheet music and I could fly freely in the blue night sky!” Sarah's cheeks turned bright red. Until now, she had always been scolded at school or at auditions for being ‘frustrating’, ‘slow’, and ‘not aware of trends’.

But here, in this old, smelly club in the basement, these rough and honest musicians were praising Sarah's slowness and solidity like a dazzling jewel. Manager Ma Seok-doo took out an old glass bottle from under the bar counter. It was a homemade ginger ale that did not contain any alcohol.

“Now, moisten your throat. You can’t give alcohol to minors, so let’s toast with this.” The spicy, sweet smell of ginger spread across the narrow bar counter. Sarah took the glass with both hands and carefully took a sip. The warmth flowing down my throat seemed to melt the frozen core in my chest.

“Did you say Sarah? Jinwoo Kang over there may have rough hand habits, but he is the most honest drummer in Korea when it comes to beats. And that girl, Han Yuna, is a problem because she has too much emotion, but her sense of handling the colors of the melody is genius. If the three of you come together... yes, we might be able to throw a real nuclear bomb into this rotten music scene in Neon City.” Jinwoo and Yuna looked at each other and grinned at Maseokdu's words.

“I’m always ready. If I’m behind that kid’s bass, I can pound the beat until my drum heads fall apart.” “Me too! I’m going to put my synth chords on every song Sarah makes!” Sarah hugged Popo, a light blue plush fish doll, held close to her chest. Since I was a child, I had always been alone in my room, and the lonely times when my only companion was the regular ticking of a metronome passed by like a flash of light. But not anymore. I now have reliable colleagues who will support my slow and heavy steps.

It was a thrilling moment when the slow turtle's lonely solo finally began to wriggle towards one huge orchestra. In the darkness of the club ‘Turtle Rock’, Sarah’s fingers holding the glass of Manager Maseokdu’s ginger ale were still trembling slightly. The trembling was not fear. It was a feeling of wonder that one's soul had completely reached another person, and an overwhelming thrill of joy that one had finally dipped one's first step into the vast ocean called music. A white-haired music critic who was drinking beer in the corner of the bar counter approached me, adjusting his glasses.

“Miss, that performance from earlier... Where did you learn the blues walking line with a slight flat five (b5) note in the bridge part in particular?” Sarah shook her head carefully. “I didn’t learn it somewhere… When I was practicing alone at night, I imitated the sound that the street lights in the alley made as they flickered. I thought that when a perfect harmony was mixed with a little crack and anxiety, it actually seemed to be able to better comfort a person’s wounded heart.” The critic looked at Sarah blankly and let out a deep sigh of admiration.

“You didn’t learn it through theory, but through the sounds of nature and intuition. Ma Seok-doo, the real thing has arrived in your club. Kids these days only memorize the Berklee College of Music textbook and play like math formulas, but this kid has real, living poetry breathing at his fingertips.” Jinwoo tapped Sarah on the shoulder and grinned.

“Look, what did I say! You’re such a badass. Hey, Sarah. Come to our rooftop room right away tomorrow. My drum set and Yuna synthesizer are on the roof of an old commercial building on 3rd Street in the old downtown area. Let’s play ‘Turtle’s Song’ there while watching the sunset!” Yuna also ran around, shaking Sarah's hand.

“That’s right! I’ll buy you some delicious tteokbokki and fish cakes, so you have to come! Okay?” Sarah cupped her red cheeks and nodded brightly. It was the moment when the little cat girl, who had always cowered alone in the blizzards of the cold world, finally had a warm nest where she could open up her heart and lean on. The past 40 years were still evident on the backstage of the underground club ‘Turtle Rock’. Among the faded black-and-white photos that filled the wall were the youth of legendary senior musicians who played rock in the basement while avoiding police crackdowns during the military regime in the 1980s with long hair and jeans.

Manager Maseokdu took out an old hex wrench and an oil bottle from the counter drawer and placed them in front of Sarah's base. “Kid, your bass has a slightly over-bowed neck. The action is too high, putting unnecessary force on your fingers. To get deep sustain at slow tempos, you need to turn the truss rod one-eighth of a turn clockwise to straighten the neck.” Maseokdu skillfully adjusted Sarah's bass neck with his rough and calloused fingers. His touch was imbued with deep reverence and affection for the instrument.

Ma Seok-du was also the bassist of the legendary underground band ‘Blue Dragon’ in the 80s when he was young. At the time, they conquered the underground with their original soul rock, but fell for a sweet contract from a major record label and were reduced to a soulless commercial dance-pop band. Eventually, the band disintegrated due to discord among the members, and Ma Seok-doo had to wander away from the music world for several years, suffering from tinnitus and depression.

"I couldn't protect my music and sold it for money. That's the sorrow of my life. That's why I opened this basement. No matter how much the world squeezes musicians with its trends and speed, I wanted to be a breakwater that protects the children who really sing their hearts out." Seeing the remorse and sincerity in Maseokdu's eyes, Sarah tightly held the sky blue fish doll 'Popo' attached to her chest.

“Manager... I will never compromise. No matter how hungry I am or how small the stage is, I will walk to the end with my own breath.” Ma Seok-du smiled happily and strummed the 4th string of Sarah's bass. 'Duuuuung----------.' Once the neck was corrected, a clear and heavy resonance without buzzing shook the entire basement. It was the majestic sound of resurrection made by perfectly tuned soul string instruments. As we left the door of the underground club, the cold night air of the old city center after midnight cooled Sarah's flushed cheeks.

Sarah adjusted the shoulder strap of her gig bag and hugged the sky blue fish doll ‘Popo’ tightly to her chest. ‘Popo, did you hear? They said I passed. They said my slowness wasn't wrong.' Sarah's long shadow under the streetlights of the alley looked strong and strong, like the shell of a large sea turtle. The ensemble performance on the rooftop starts tomorrow. Just imagining the moment when wolf drummer Jinwoo's rough beats and fox keyboardist Yuna's warm synths would blend in with her bass, Sarah's heart was pounding with excitement and hope for the first time in her life.

The slow but unstoppable steps of a turtle were finally moving past the fateful night and toward a new dawn.