Read Pop Singer: A Dark BWAM / AMBW Romance for Free Online Page B
Authors: Asia Olanna
conservative crowd: they wore their hair back like they were going to a corporate Halloween party, the craziest parts of their attire being how they talked to one another, excitedly, expectantly. They whispered on their lips: “Jong-soo is so sexy. Jong-soo is so hot. I can’t wait to hear him sing!”
I liked the fact that our crowds were mostly women. Performing for them came easily to me. And, hell, the attention wasn’t so bad either. After every show, you could easily get with any girl you wanted.
If you were me.
My bandmates? Not so lucky. For whatever reason, the girls focused most of their admiration on me. Like a laser beam, a strict center, with a radiating outer perimeter. Sure, some girls preferred Hae-il, and others preferred the guitarist or the drummer. But unlike most of the acts in mainstream Korean media, I had the lion’s share of love.
A couple of girls stood at the front of the stage, screaming already. There was barely anyone there at that time—about 5 PM in the afternoon—and they wanted my autograph. I knelt down low, considering they were so eager and early. I adored those who showed me such lavish praise.
I soaked it up. It was nice. Being away from the hustle and bustle of the streets. Not having to think about money or North Korean activities or Beijing politicians. I had no one to answer to like this.
Just standing outside in my jeans and T-shirt, holding a guitar around my waist. Ready to go and sing to my heart’s content. This is what I lived for: the moment where I could interact with another human being who was normal.
If only I could tell them the truth of what was going on. The smiling faces, giggling at me, showing me what life was like beyond my four walls, the walls of the mansion, my room, the gym, the hallways and the dining and living room…
“Thank you so much,” the girls said. “You’re so inspiring.”
They had probably read my biography. The official one you would find on the website or on a poster or that I would give away during an interview.
It went a little something like this:
Jong-soo Jeup, born and raised in the far-flung provinces of South Korea, had always wanted to be a musician. But he never knew if he had the chops to make it; his parents were poor; and he had little in the way of professional training.
But then out of nowhere, he broke out as a superstar, getting signed onto LBC Records, which was also a breakaway hit: one of the first record labels to not be tied to Seoul.
After only a couple of years, and much promotion near the countryside, Jong-soo Jeup became one of the fastest selling pop singers in all of Korea. His work was smuggled across the border, into Pyongyang homes, and further out into Chinese and Japanese territory.
Before he knew it, he was on everyone’s mind across the Far Eastern seas. Everyone knew his name, and everyone wanted to be like him. Men started cutting their hair. Women kissed pictures of him in their bedrooms.
Who didn’t want a piece of Jong-soo Jeup?
Soon enough, he would be headlining in the United States. Certainly! That was the next stop for big-name men like him. America, Europe. Canada? Who knew how far he could go. All across the world, and in time, everyone would come to know his music, his style, and his image.
There was little scrutiny about who I really was. The Double Dragons were so good at staying underground. We were so incredibly immaculate about leaving crumbs behind. As in, we didn’t leave any. No one could trace our trail. There was no paper to be found. Money laundering was done strictly by the books, mafia style. How do you think the Sicilians or the Chinese could get away with so much? The Yakuza in Japan and Brazil?
Criminals knew—and still know—how to be good chefs. How to cook the books real well so that no one could tell what was going on.
“You’re looking a little bit nervous,” Hae-il
I liked the fact that our crowds were mostly women. Performing for them came easily to me. And, hell, the attention wasn’t so bad either. After every show, you could easily get with any girl you wanted.
If you were me.
My bandmates? Not so lucky. For whatever reason, the girls focused most of their admiration on me. Like a laser beam, a strict center, with a radiating outer perimeter. Sure, some girls preferred Hae-il, and others preferred the guitarist or the drummer. But unlike most of the acts in mainstream Korean media, I had the lion’s share of love.
A couple of girls stood at the front of the stage, screaming already. There was barely anyone there at that time—about 5 PM in the afternoon—and they wanted my autograph. I knelt down low, considering they were so eager and early. I adored those who showed me such lavish praise.
I soaked it up. It was nice. Being away from the hustle and bustle of the streets. Not having to think about money or North Korean activities or Beijing politicians. I had no one to answer to like this.
Just standing outside in my jeans and T-shirt, holding a guitar around my waist. Ready to go and sing to my heart’s content. This is what I lived for: the moment where I could interact with another human being who was normal.
If only I could tell them the truth of what was going on. The smiling faces, giggling at me, showing me what life was like beyond my four walls, the walls of the mansion, my room, the gym, the hallways and the dining and living room…
“Thank you so much,” the girls said. “You’re so inspiring.”
They had probably read my biography. The official one you would find on the website or on a poster or that I would give away during an interview.
It went a little something like this:
Jong-soo Jeup, born and raised in the far-flung provinces of South Korea, had always wanted to be a musician. But he never knew if he had the chops to make it; his parents were poor; and he had little in the way of professional training.
But then out of nowhere, he broke out as a superstar, getting signed onto LBC Records, which was also a breakaway hit: one of the first record labels to not be tied to Seoul.
After only a couple of years, and much promotion near the countryside, Jong-soo Jeup became one of the fastest selling pop singers in all of Korea. His work was smuggled across the border, into Pyongyang homes, and further out into Chinese and Japanese territory.
Before he knew it, he was on everyone’s mind across the Far Eastern seas. Everyone knew his name, and everyone wanted to be like him. Men started cutting their hair. Women kissed pictures of him in their bedrooms.
Who didn’t want a piece of Jong-soo Jeup?
Soon enough, he would be headlining in the United States. Certainly! That was the next stop for big-name men like him. America, Europe. Canada? Who knew how far he could go. All across the world, and in time, everyone would come to know his music, his style, and his image.
There was little scrutiny about who I really was. The Double Dragons were so good at staying underground. We were so incredibly immaculate about leaving crumbs behind. As in, we didn’t leave any. No one could trace our trail. There was no paper to be found. Money laundering was done strictly by the books, mafia style. How do you think the Sicilians or the Chinese could get away with so much? The Yakuza in Japan and Brazil?
Criminals knew—and still know—how to be good chefs. How to cook the books real well so that no one could tell what was going on.
“You’re looking a little bit nervous,” Hae-il
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