080.
Written in <1hr on a post-music high. Definitely does not reflect my taste in music and/or preference for specific voices.
Sungmin, despite the fact he is 25 and growing, is constantly dragged along with his father to underground gigs. His father says it builds character. Sungmin says it's a waste of his Thursday/Friday/Saturday/Sunday night.
Despite the complaining, Sungmin has to agree that his father's job of making and testing instruments, which has fallen onto Sungmin at times, has given him opportunities he never thought he'd have. He's heard music he would have never heard otherwise, experienced music he'd never known existed and met people he's sure he'd never known outside this underground, music scene.
There are a few that Sungmin will know he'll treasure -- Kyuhyun the clarinet player who had been good player, but not great, but otherwise a fantastic singer, the violin player Jungsu who played as if he'd be broken if he didn't, and the double bass player, Yongwoon, who looked as if he couldn't care less, though his music said otherwise.
Then there are others Sungmin knows he'll never forget, as long as he's alive.
The foreign singer, Zhou Mi, who sang with all his heart, and cried as the final note rung out, the piano a soft backing track. Though he'd only spoken and sung in a language Sungmin couldn't understand, both he and his father had to sneakily reach up to brush away tears and Zhou Mi bowed and bid them a farewell, a sincere thank you ringing out into the dark space, his folk music and ballads a welcome memory.
Ryeowook, the small flute player whose whole body seemed to be possessed with the music, his small frame carried by the sound. When the first note had rung out, Sungmin had been scared that Ryeowook's small frame wouldn't be able to support the volume and feeling it held, but it did, and Sungmin and his father agreed that Ryeowook was... was something.
Heechul's, whose hands lazily fingered the electric guitar, the sound reverberating throughout the entire club and making Sungmin's bones vibrate as their eyes closed in sync. Though Heechul's face said that he couldn't care less about where he was or what he was doing, his hands told a different story as they traveled up and down the neck of the guitar at frightening speeds, his arms and legs locked into place.
Han Geng, the soft spoken foreign one who had juggled both piccolo and flute, their sounds ringing throughout the dark space, speaking of stories untold. Sungmin had to admit that if he'd seen Han Geng outside of this place, he never would've guessed this quiet individual to make such ringing, beautiful notes that told of stories Sungmin had never heard.
And Henry, the unspoken one who played violin as if it was the only thing holding him together. With such vigor and passion, Sungmin was enthralled as Henry possessed the stage and moved as if he owned it, fingers never leaving the bow or strings.
But these all paled, Sungmin knew, to the one place he'd been to without his father, the bar he'd been invited to by Donghae and Hyukjae. It had been open night, and Donghae and Hyukjae had complained that Sungmin arrived too late and had missed the comical exchange between Siwon and Donghee, but had at least arrived in time for Jongwoon.
Jongwoon's voice was something different - velvet, caramel, rich, smooth chocolate. He sang an old blues song in English that Sungmin recognised from one of the other thousand gigs he'd been too, but Jongwoon owned the music and made the notes his, enriching the runs and sustained notes until they sounded like him, and Sungmin forgot that any other song -- blues, jazz, rnb -- ever existed.
This, Sungmin understood, was why Donghae and Hyukjae, who never cared for music, suddenly cared where Jongwoon was concerned. Jongwoon had something about him in his voice, so hypnotic and beautiful, that Sungmin couldn't not watch. Yes, Sungmin loved music (admittedly, he was biased towards acoustic guitar and sometimes saxophone music) but this brought his appreciation to a whole new level.
"Hey."
Sungmin looked up as Donghae gestured for Jongwoon to sit, and Hyukjae called for another drink.
"I'm Jongwoon." Jongwoon held out a hand, and Sungmin took it, shyly smiling at the person whose voice he had basked in moments ago.
"Hi, I'm Sungmin. You have a really great voice."
"Oh." He looked a bit embarrassed, smiling shyly back. "Thank you."
"No," Sungmin said, surprising himself. "You really do, you should consider going professional."
"Oh, well, thank you, then." Jongwoon still had the small smile on, and Sungmin really couldn't help smiling back.
"My pleasure."
what a crappy ending!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sungmin, despite the fact he is 25 and growing, is constantly dragged along with his father to underground gigs. His father says it builds character. Sungmin says it's a waste of his Thursday/Friday/Saturday/Sunday night.
Despite the complaining, Sungmin has to agree that his father's job of making and testing instruments, which has fallen onto Sungmin at times, has given him opportunities he never thought he'd have. He's heard music he would have never heard otherwise, experienced music he'd never known existed and met people he's sure he'd never known outside this underground, music scene.
There are a few that Sungmin will know he'll treasure -- Kyuhyun the clarinet player who had been good player, but not great, but otherwise a fantastic singer, the violin player Jungsu who played as if he'd be broken if he didn't, and the double bass player, Yongwoon, who looked as if he couldn't care less, though his music said otherwise.
Then there are others Sungmin knows he'll never forget, as long as he's alive.
The foreign singer, Zhou Mi, who sang with all his heart, and cried as the final note rung out, the piano a soft backing track. Though he'd only spoken and sung in a language Sungmin couldn't understand, both he and his father had to sneakily reach up to brush away tears and Zhou Mi bowed and bid them a farewell, a sincere thank you ringing out into the dark space, his folk music and ballads a welcome memory.
Ryeowook, the small flute player whose whole body seemed to be possessed with the music, his small frame carried by the sound. When the first note had rung out, Sungmin had been scared that Ryeowook's small frame wouldn't be able to support the volume and feeling it held, but it did, and Sungmin and his father agreed that Ryeowook was... was something.
Heechul's, whose hands lazily fingered the electric guitar, the sound reverberating throughout the entire club and making Sungmin's bones vibrate as their eyes closed in sync. Though Heechul's face said that he couldn't care less about where he was or what he was doing, his hands told a different story as they traveled up and down the neck of the guitar at frightening speeds, his arms and legs locked into place.
Han Geng, the soft spoken foreign one who had juggled both piccolo and flute, their sounds ringing throughout the dark space, speaking of stories untold. Sungmin had to admit that if he'd seen Han Geng outside of this place, he never would've guessed this quiet individual to make such ringing, beautiful notes that told of stories Sungmin had never heard.
And Henry, the unspoken one who played violin as if it was the only thing holding him together. With such vigor and passion, Sungmin was enthralled as Henry possessed the stage and moved as if he owned it, fingers never leaving the bow or strings.
But these all paled, Sungmin knew, to the one place he'd been to without his father, the bar he'd been invited to by Donghae and Hyukjae. It had been open night, and Donghae and Hyukjae had complained that Sungmin arrived too late and had missed the comical exchange between Siwon and Donghee, but had at least arrived in time for Jongwoon.
Jongwoon's voice was something different - velvet, caramel, rich, smooth chocolate. He sang an old blues song in English that Sungmin recognised from one of the other thousand gigs he'd been too, but Jongwoon owned the music and made the notes his, enriching the runs and sustained notes until they sounded like him, and Sungmin forgot that any other song -- blues, jazz, rnb -- ever existed.
This, Sungmin understood, was why Donghae and Hyukjae, who never cared for music, suddenly cared where Jongwoon was concerned. Jongwoon had something about him in his voice, so hypnotic and beautiful, that Sungmin couldn't not watch. Yes, Sungmin loved music (admittedly, he was biased towards acoustic guitar and sometimes saxophone music) but this brought his appreciation to a whole new level.
"Hey."
Sungmin looked up as Donghae gestured for Jongwoon to sit, and Hyukjae called for another drink.
"I'm Jongwoon." Jongwoon held out a hand, and Sungmin took it, shyly smiling at the person whose voice he had basked in moments ago.
"Hi, I'm Sungmin. You have a really great voice."
"Oh." He looked a bit embarrassed, smiling shyly back. "Thank you."
"No," Sungmin said, surprising himself. "You really do, you should consider going professional."
"Oh, well, thank you, then." Jongwoon still had the small smile on, and Sungmin really couldn't help smiling back.
"My pleasure."
what a crappy ending!!!!!!!!!!!!!