Various Groups {The Story (1/?)}
Title: The Story
Fandom: SM Entertainment Groups. May feature other groups.
Pairing: No pairing at the moment. May not have a pairing at all.
Word count: 1,206
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The story of trainees and their struggles as they go from insignificant to world stars.
A/N: A shot at a genre that I'm completely unfamiliar with. Do bear with me. Comments are much appreciated.
[New Workplace]
Chapter 1
I like to… sing.
So why didn’t you become a singer? Is it because you couldn’t?
I smiled, and my hand hovered over the heavy cream paper, fountain pen poised inches above the surface. An ink drop welled at the tip and dripped down on the parchment, staining the pulpy surface a dark blue so deep that it almost looked black. I lowered my hand to scratch out the answer in my signature handwriting.
I like singing, but I’d much rather fill the world with music my own way. While others want the spotlight to be trained on them while they belt out soothing lullabies, I am content with teaching aspiring young artists and trainees how to spread their music to others. I may just be one person, but as I nurture each and every new talent, I am, in a way, making music of my own, indirectly.
I handed up the questionnaire to the magazine editor before walking out the door and down to the car park. As I threw my car in reverse and drove out of the building to head down to SM Entertainment, I checked my schedule.
Since it’s now 3PM, I have singing lessons with Eunhyuk alone from 3.30PM until 6PM, and then afterwards I have to teach the female trainees who are scheduled to debut in five months. Gosh, it’s March already, huh? Timing’s a bit tight, but hopefully they’ll be able to grasp the concept of what I’m trying to teach them today. And if they haven’t been practicing, I will know at once. My eyes hardened as they always do whenever I think about the saddening and emotionally draining task of punishing these kids.
I pulled into the car park and hopped out of the car, dashing into the building and up the vocal training room. I made it there 20 minutes early, and I rushed to set up the room. Gosh, who knew that the short segment the magazine decided to do on vocal and dance trainers from several different entertainment companies would take up so much time? For now, all I want to do is to immerse myself in my music.
I pulled out my manuscript book and opened it to be greeted by the familiar reassuring lines of black.
As soon as I began playing the familiar chords on the electric keyboard, the door opened and someone poked his head into the room.
“Good afternoon, Miss Lee.” He said timidly, bowing as he entered the room.
“Ah, Eunhyuk!” I stood up quickly and pushed back my chair. “How do you do, my name is Lee Minji, and you can call me Minji. I’m a pretty strict instructor, but do keep in mind that whenever I criticize you, it’s with the hopes that you’ll learn.” I leaned forward, reaching out my hand.
Apparently, this kind of interaction between instructors and trainees are normally frowned upon, but I didn’t care. This was how I ran things in that small cozy little performing arts school I taught in before I was recruited by SME to teach here. And I always believe that establishing a good trusting relationship is key to building the right teaching environment. Of course, that doesn’t mean that I can just let go of the discipline.
He eyed my hand warily, before reaching out and receiving my handshake in an uncertain grasp.
I’ve seen how the instructors treat the kids around here, and I don’t like it. They’re treated like robots, not humans, and sometimes they behave like scared animals surrounded by a group of predators. This relationship is just unhealthy, and it doesn’t even promote learning. Their only motivation to practice is because they’re afraid of getting scolded, and that’s just sad. They should want to learn singing because they love it, not because they’re forced to.
“So, Eunhyuk, I’m your new vocal instructor.” I smiled widely at him. At my current height of 165cm, I was a lot shorter than the gangly young man. “Let’s begin the session by introducing ourselves, yeah? So, your portfolio here says that you’re 21 years old, and that makes me two years your junior!”
His eyes widened in surprise, and I could tell that he wasn’t expecting me to be this young. I get this a lot. Sometimes the older instructors look down on me because I’m so young. But I started a lot younger than most of them. I started singing at the age of 3. And serious training started at 5. What’s more, I see that some of them have already lost their passion for teaching singing; they’re only here for the money.
“Let’s start by doing some vocal warm-ups. I trust that your previous instructor has already taught you this?” I asked, as I played a short scale on the keyboard.
He nodded, and I turned my attention to the keyboard. “All right then, let’s start.”
I listened closely as he started warming-up. I frowned as I noticed the several mistakes he made even during warm-ups alone. I stopped playing halfway through and he dropped his hands to his side, looking at me fearfully.
“Have you been practicing?” I asked sternly, hands on my hips. “Because it sure doesn’t sound like it has. First of all, you’re not closing your vocal chords properly. You must feel the closure of your chords. If you just allow the air to pass through those vocal folds without closing them from the start, it’s just going to become even harder to close them halfway through your notes. And use your back voice, mister. Not your front voice. Your front voice mostly uses the range in your nose, and this causes you to sound nasal. Try again. This time, with more closure in the vocal folds.”
We repeated the process, and warm-ups themselves took up to an hour. Being a perfectionist, I picked up on every single detail of his breathing, techniques, tone and control.
“Use your diaphragm!” I smacked his flat stomach with the back of my hands when his notes wavered and lacked in power. “What is the use of your diaphragm if you don’t use it to support your notes?”
He steeled himself and took a few deep breaths before starting again. I made him repeat a few more times until I became satisfied with it. “All right, remember to practice that. Now, I want to hear your transition notes. Has your previous instructor touched on that yet?”
He nodded, and I played the scale, listening out over the electronic notes to hear his voice as the switched between his chest voice and head voice. I nodded in approval when I heard no change in volume and strength between the notes.
“You’ve done well today.” I said, tossing him a bottle and a small packet of green tea jelly. “Remember to drink lots of water and take care of your throat. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, so practice on what I told you about today. I don’t expect them to be perfect, or even good at the moment. But they should be better than today, at least, you hear me?” I smiled.
This time, he managed a tentative grin at me before he bid me farewell.
Fandom: SM Entertainment Groups. May feature other groups.
Pairing: No pairing at the moment. May not have a pairing at all.
Word count: 1,206
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The story of trainees and their struggles as they go from insignificant to world stars.
A/N: A shot at a genre that I'm completely unfamiliar with. Do bear with me. Comments are much appreciated.
[New Workplace]
Chapter 1
I like to… sing.
So why didn’t you become a singer? Is it because you couldn’t?
I smiled, and my hand hovered over the heavy cream paper, fountain pen poised inches above the surface. An ink drop welled at the tip and dripped down on the parchment, staining the pulpy surface a dark blue so deep that it almost looked black. I lowered my hand to scratch out the answer in my signature handwriting.
I like singing, but I’d much rather fill the world with music my own way. While others want the spotlight to be trained on them while they belt out soothing lullabies, I am content with teaching aspiring young artists and trainees how to spread their music to others. I may just be one person, but as I nurture each and every new talent, I am, in a way, making music of my own, indirectly.
I handed up the questionnaire to the magazine editor before walking out the door and down to the car park. As I threw my car in reverse and drove out of the building to head down to SM Entertainment, I checked my schedule.
Since it’s now 3PM, I have singing lessons with Eunhyuk alone from 3.30PM until 6PM, and then afterwards I have to teach the female trainees who are scheduled to debut in five months. Gosh, it’s March already, huh? Timing’s a bit tight, but hopefully they’ll be able to grasp the concept of what I’m trying to teach them today. And if they haven’t been practicing, I will know at once. My eyes hardened as they always do whenever I think about the saddening and emotionally draining task of punishing these kids.
I pulled into the car park and hopped out of the car, dashing into the building and up the vocal training room. I made it there 20 minutes early, and I rushed to set up the room. Gosh, who knew that the short segment the magazine decided to do on vocal and dance trainers from several different entertainment companies would take up so much time? For now, all I want to do is to immerse myself in my music.
I pulled out my manuscript book and opened it to be greeted by the familiar reassuring lines of black.
As soon as I began playing the familiar chords on the electric keyboard, the door opened and someone poked his head into the room.
“Good afternoon, Miss Lee.” He said timidly, bowing as he entered the room.
“Ah, Eunhyuk!” I stood up quickly and pushed back my chair. “How do you do, my name is Lee Minji, and you can call me Minji. I’m a pretty strict instructor, but do keep in mind that whenever I criticize you, it’s with the hopes that you’ll learn.” I leaned forward, reaching out my hand.
Apparently, this kind of interaction between instructors and trainees are normally frowned upon, but I didn’t care. This was how I ran things in that small cozy little performing arts school I taught in before I was recruited by SME to teach here. And I always believe that establishing a good trusting relationship is key to building the right teaching environment. Of course, that doesn’t mean that I can just let go of the discipline.
He eyed my hand warily, before reaching out and receiving my handshake in an uncertain grasp.
I’ve seen how the instructors treat the kids around here, and I don’t like it. They’re treated like robots, not humans, and sometimes they behave like scared animals surrounded by a group of predators. This relationship is just unhealthy, and it doesn’t even promote learning. Their only motivation to practice is because they’re afraid of getting scolded, and that’s just sad. They should want to learn singing because they love it, not because they’re forced to.
“So, Eunhyuk, I’m your new vocal instructor.” I smiled widely at him. At my current height of 165cm, I was a lot shorter than the gangly young man. “Let’s begin the session by introducing ourselves, yeah? So, your portfolio here says that you’re 21 years old, and that makes me two years your junior!”
His eyes widened in surprise, and I could tell that he wasn’t expecting me to be this young. I get this a lot. Sometimes the older instructors look down on me because I’m so young. But I started a lot younger than most of them. I started singing at the age of 3. And serious training started at 5. What’s more, I see that some of them have already lost their passion for teaching singing; they’re only here for the money.
“Let’s start by doing some vocal warm-ups. I trust that your previous instructor has already taught you this?” I asked, as I played a short scale on the keyboard.
He nodded, and I turned my attention to the keyboard. “All right then, let’s start.”
I listened closely as he started warming-up. I frowned as I noticed the several mistakes he made even during warm-ups alone. I stopped playing halfway through and he dropped his hands to his side, looking at me fearfully.
“Have you been practicing?” I asked sternly, hands on my hips. “Because it sure doesn’t sound like it has. First of all, you’re not closing your vocal chords properly. You must feel the closure of your chords. If you just allow the air to pass through those vocal folds without closing them from the start, it’s just going to become even harder to close them halfway through your notes. And use your back voice, mister. Not your front voice. Your front voice mostly uses the range in your nose, and this causes you to sound nasal. Try again. This time, with more closure in the vocal folds.”
We repeated the process, and warm-ups themselves took up to an hour. Being a perfectionist, I picked up on every single detail of his breathing, techniques, tone and control.
“Use your diaphragm!” I smacked his flat stomach with the back of my hands when his notes wavered and lacked in power. “What is the use of your diaphragm if you don’t use it to support your notes?”
He steeled himself and took a few deep breaths before starting again. I made him repeat a few more times until I became satisfied with it. “All right, remember to practice that. Now, I want to hear your transition notes. Has your previous instructor touched on that yet?”
He nodded, and I played the scale, listening out over the electronic notes to hear his voice as the switched between his chest voice and head voice. I nodded in approval when I heard no change in volume and strength between the notes.
“You’ve done well today.” I said, tossing him a bottle and a small packet of green tea jelly. “Remember to drink lots of water and take care of your throat. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, so practice on what I told you about today. I don’t expect them to be perfect, or even good at the moment. But they should be better than today, at least, you hear me?” I smiled.
This time, he managed a tentative grin at me before he bid me farewell.