What determines mass appeal?
There probably wasn’t a single correct answer, but people tended to repeat the same things.
─ A flow that doesn’t get tiring no matter how long you listen
─ Simple, intuitive lyrics
─ A melody easy to sing along to
─ Memorable choreography
─ Something irresistibly catchy
It took me a surprisingly long time to find a single phrase that summarized all of that. “Simple structure that never gets old” and “easy yet memorable” carried the same kind of dissonance as sweet kimchi stew overloaded with sugar—not quite warm iced Americano levels of contradiction, but close enough.
So I compressed all those opinions into one category:
Songs that make you think, “Get out of my head!”
If a song kept replaying in your mind while you ate or tried to sleep, there was no way you wouldn’t eventually add it to your playlist.
But despite its very real power, popularity constantly ran into walls of prejudice. People were quick to dismiss it as commercialized, and even within pop music itself, it often got treated as the kind of thing only kids liked.
If you failed to satisfy the majority, you lost marketability and profitability.
But if artistic quality fell behind, not only would existing consumers turn away, you’d also become prey for people waiting eagerly for an excuse to tear you apart.
There were too many rabbits to catch, and not a single one could be allowed to escape.
And in the middle of all that, Spark had decided to throw a full-length album into the ring.
While Lee Cheonghyeon practically killed himself writing songs, I did everything a beginner composer could possibly do to support him, and I mercilessly drove Choi Jeho and Kang Giyeon into the ground.
After everyone’s collective suffering, we ended up with something that could only be described as “the textbook definition of a hit song.”
A quality level the fans would be satisfied with.
Content with a low barrier to entry that people could enjoy casually.
“Dreamer” fulfilled both of those conditions. At the same time, compared to the title track releasing today, it was lower in tone, heavier, and leaned more toward musicality.
“Dreamer” was a kind of shield.
Proof that Spark could show this many different colors within a single album.
And the title track had to be more public-friendly than any other song on the album while also delivering overwhelming auditory and visual impact.
Narrative? Nice to have, but not essential.
As long as even one scene, one movement, one image etched itself into people’s minds.
More important than beautiful lyrics were words that suited the music and combinations of sounds that pierced directly into the ear.
Strip away everything unnecessary and leave only the core behind.
Because with “Dreamer” already out there, we could prove Spark and UA didn’t lack ability.
So what were we going to do with this song that “blatantly pursued simple addictiveness?”
“‘Alight’ was uploaded successfully!”
We were going to make money shamelessly.
Oh heavens, please forgive us for becoming dishonorable idols.
Lee Soohoon was in a terrible mood.
It all started because one of his classmates casually said, “Your brother had a comeback!” and he ended up looking up Spark’s new music video.
A house clearly built from rotten wood.
Smoke and dust that looked actively hazardous to human health.
Poorly maintained rugs, sofas that were practically rags, warped wooden floors, dim lighting—he hated every single thing about it.
Not to mention dunking people into fountains and making them run across ground distorted by giant tree roots.
Every element irritated him.
Nothing about it appealed to him.
“They’re calling this vintage?”
A dry laugh escaped him.
It felt like the hamster printed on one of the T-shirts sitting in his closet was mocking him. Even getting sprayed with cola beneath a gaudy multicolored mirror ball probably wouldn’t have annoyed him this much.
“This is exactly why I specifically asked them.”
Lee Soohoon glared at the white-haired man on his phone screen.
The guy called Park Juu wasn’t much better. Park Juu hung from ceilings, exposed his bare eyes to ultraviolet rays, and crouched in ways that absolutely couldn’t have been good for his lower back.
Still, this was too much.
His stomach burned.
Feeling restless, Lee Soohoon returned to the dorm unusually early that day. Then at 5:30 sharp, he sat on his bed staring at his phone.
When his roommate asked what he was doing, Lee Soohoon answered,
“I’m waiting for a music video.”
Fortunately, the video that had made him this anxious belonged to something called a “prerelease track.”
After searching a few things up, he learned that “prerelease” meant releasing secondary content ahead of the main content that received the bulk of the budget investment. That realization eased his worries a little.
The brothers’ father had said Spark never looked cheap when it came to concerts. Loud and chaotic, sure, but everyone around them seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves. He’d said Lee Cheonghyeon looked excited too.
And after watching the concert footage later himself, Lee Soohoon had agreed with their father’s opinion.
So he believed today’s video would finally be something more fitting for Lee Cheonghyeon.
The moment the clock struck the hour, Lee Soohoon entered Spark’s official Mitube channel.
A brand-new upload had appeared.
Against a black background, a short word written in white cursive floated at the center.
“Alight.”
It was the complete opposite of the flashy image Lee Soohoon had hoped for.
The moment he clicked the video, faint noise brushed against his ears.
Tick.
Tick.
Some indistinct gray shape slowly began taking form behind the darkness. Tiny sparks scattered each time the sound rang out.
“hold on
I need something to swallow.”
The instant the sparks flashed for the third time, a brilliant white flame ignited.
The fire spread instantly, devouring the surrounding darkness. Papers covered in writing poured down over the burning black background.
They became firewood, feeding the flames larger and larger.
Then the face of the person who had come to burn the papers filled the screen.
Firelight flickered inside black eyes.
Lee Soohoon recognized those eyes.
They were Kim Iwol’s—the same eyes that had disappeared beyond the car window during the festival.
Long, delicate eyelashes, as though drawn with a fountain pen, slowly lowered over them.
“Because no one
can burn alone.”
Color flooded into the previously black-and-white screen.
Music as fierce as the flames surrounding the paper piles and Kim Iwol crashed directly into his ears.
“Desire never dies
and thirst never fades.”
The moment all six members appeared dancing together, the outfits changed.
Kim Iwol, who had been dressed in a black coat over a white shirt pinned with a brooch, transformed into a leather jacket covered in dangling straps.
And underneath the jacket—
“What is that?”
—there was essentially nothing except some impossibly sheer embroidered fabric. Gray shadows appeared whenever he moved, but that was all.
Everyone’s outfits followed a similar style. Only minor details differed—the jacket lengths, whether the buttons were fastened, things like that.
The smooth sheen of leather, the soft-looking translucent fabric, the shine running along the heels of their boots in time with their movements—
Everything blended together into flowing lines.
Their wet hair and gloved fingers created a sharp, restrained impression.
“There’s not enough heat
so I’ll swallow more.”
The pale purple-haired man wearing goggles was at least somewhat better.
What was his name again?
Choi Jeho.
Lee Soohoon remembered Lee Cheonghyeon enthusiastically showing him pictures and introducing each member one by one.
At least Choi Jeho was wearing a shirt beneath the jacket.
Though only half the buttons were done up.
The embroidery on his shirt was even more extravagant.
“Raise the temperature.”
That man felt like the center of the group, exactly as Lee Cheonghyeon had described. His atmosphere shifted moment by moment, just like his hair, which alternated between violet and blue depending on the angle.
As the pounding beat intensified, the music’s presence swelled larger and larger.
Every instrument screamed at once, loud and frantic, while the rhythm charged forward recklessly.
Whenever the members spun, slow whistling sounds followed them.
When they flicked their shoulders or hands sharply, rapid guitar riffs burst out.
Every step pounded against Lee Soohoon’s skull like thunderous drums.
Lee Cheonghyeon wearing a half-zipped outfit somehow felt even stranger than he had during “Hideout,” when he wore torn clothing full of holes. The long ornate earrings were another combination Lee Soohoon had never seen on him before.
The saffron-like embroidery wrapping around his upper body and neck looked inseparable from Lee Cheonghyeon himself.
Was it overwhelming? Confusing?
His thoughts were a complete mess.
And yet even amidst that chaos, Lee Soohoon found himself thinking the red streaks woven through Lee Cheonghyeon’s black hair resembled the flames from the beginning of the video.
The music never stopped.
It pinned Lee Soohoon in place through sheer destructive force.
“Become a great fire
that devours the world.”
The camera zoomed in on someone with bright green hair.
One of the people Lee Soohoon had worked especially hard to memorize.
“......Kang Giyeon.”
The only friend Lee Cheonghyeon had in the group.
“Melt everything.”
It wasn’t calm.
It was noisy and chaotic.
And yet he couldn’t stop listening.
Unlike “Dreamer,” it didn’t even have much of a story. The structure was simple—every so often, a different member would be emphasized.
And still—
he kept waiting for the next moment.
“When the soul burns
bright blue
until nothing remains—”
The two members Lee Cheonghyeon had excitedly shown him while proudly saying they were incredible singers appeared one after another, their high notes colliding—
“Let it—”
Kang Giyeon’s smile and gesture toward the camera mixed together with the overwhelming speed rushing forward—
“burn.”
—and exploded.
“Open a new era.”
Plain black three-piece suits and leather outfits flashed back and forth without pause.
Buttoned collars reaching all the way to the neck.
Glossy gloves extending past the backs of their hands to cover their wrists.
Black socks between polished shoes and trouser hems.
All of it contrasted against their opened jackets and created a strangely intoxicating feeling.
“Until I become ash
burn me—”
Silver accessories wrapped tightly around different parts of their bodies gleamed white.
Chains rippled and swayed.
“up.”
Violent flames swallowed everything whole.
Lee Soohoon slowly removed his earphones.
Then he sat there blankly for a long time.
“What did I just listen to?”
He decided the best word for what he was feeling right now was impulse.
Lee Soohoon felt an overwhelming urge to do something.
A dance that made him want to replay the movements.
Clear, vivid voices.
Scenes that flashed by too quickly, yet made him want to inspect them even more closely.
Each moment stirred up a strange craving inside him.
Lee Soohoon put his earphones back in.
And pressed play again.
The MV looped a second time.
Then a third.
Even that wasn’t enough.
It had already gone beyond simply replaying something over in his mind.
This was the compulsive urge to seek something out repeatedly.
Addiction had begun.
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