It had already been two weeks since I started living at the zoo with Eric. During this time, I learned a lot about Eric, and we were building our friendship, but Eric's health was clearly deteriorating. Even though he visited the hospital every morning for treatment, the pain consuming his body was gradually worsening.
Eventually, 15 days after his arrival at the zoo, Eric was hospitalized. I helped with his hospital admission and then visited his room, looking at him with concern.
"Eric, will you be okay?"
Eric, looking weak, sat on the bed and gazed out of the window.
"I'll be fine, I've been through worse."
I remained silent, lips sealed like a clam. This was because a few nights ago, after drinking beer, Eric shared the story of his life. He talked about his third band, Derek and the Dominos, how a band member, Duane Allman, died in a motorcycle accident, and the drummer, Jim Gordon, after showing symptoms of schizophrenia and murdering his mother, ended up in prison for many years. Then, living through years of drug addiction before finally getting his life back on track, only for his 4-year-old son to fall to his death from a 55-story building. It was a turbulent life story indeed.
At the time, listening to Eric's drunken tales, I realized how much misfortune one person could endure. Despite being called one of the greatest guitarists in the world and enjoying all the fame, it seemed like God had taken everything else away from him except for the gift of music.
Eric muttered, looking at the clouds drifting outside the window.
"I miss my dead son today."
Not knowing what to say, I just quietly sat there, looking at him. Then, quietly, Eric began to sing.
"Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?"
Despite the beautiful melody, the song 'Tears in Heaven' had such sad lyrics. Eric looked at me with a slight smile.
"Ah, sorry. I just missed my son all of a sudden."
I nodded slightly and asked.
"That song. You made it thinking of your son, right?"
Eric leaned back, supporting himself with his arms.
"Yeah, I wrote it for my son. Being sick makes me sentimental. I've always tried to keep a positive outlook."
As Eric continued looking out the window, I waited for him to speak. After a moment, he leaned forward.
"Now that I'm hospitalized, I can't help you with your practice."
I quickly replied.
"No, I can practice on my own. You should focus on getting better. Health comes first."
Eric sat up and rummaged through the drawer next to his bed, pulling out a business card and handing it to me.
"This is the card of the general manager of B.B King's Club. I called ahead; I asked them to fit you in during the band's practice times. The club used to be empty before brunch, but now they don't have free slots, so they rent practice spaces elsewhere."
I took the card from Eric and saw the name written in fancy gold ink.
"'Sambo Cuffe'"
Eric continued as I looked at the card.
"Sambo has been working there since he was eleven, working his way up to general manager. We've been close since we performed live together during B.B. King's lifetime. He's a good guy, he'll take care of you. I've already contacted him, so just ask about joining the practice."
I looked at him with a guilty expression.
"Eric, you're not well, and yet you're worrying about this? I'm grateful but also sorry."
Eric waved his hand dismissively.
"It's not just any favor. I've been watching you at the zoo for the past two weeks. You might become an even greater musician than me. You're accomplishing things I couldn't at your age. I'm investing in your genius. Someday, when I'm gone, people will still be able to hear good music, thanks to you."
I shook my head in disbelief.
"A successor? You shouldn't be thinking about that yet, Eric."
"Ha, don't worry. I'll focus on my treatment and get better. But I was also raised by my seniors. It's time to give back."
"Are you talking about B.B. King?"
"Yes, he taught me a lot."
"Who do you consider your mentor?"
"Well, B.B. King, Albert King, Freddie King, they're all my mentors. But the person who first made me pick up the guitar and inspired me to become a guitarist was Robert Johnson."
"Robert Johnson? I listened to his music recently."
"Yeah, it might sound a bit outdated now. It's from the 30s, so the recording quality is the worst. But after I overcame my drug addiction, I was so inspired by him that I named a facility for addicts after his song 'Crossroads'."
"Ah, I've heard that song
."
"Yeah, I've spent my life following in the footsteps of those seniors. I don't know if I'll leave a mark as a guitarist, but I can't say I've played the role of a pioneer like them. Keon, try to be like those seniors."
"Can I... do it?"
"With your ability to lull animals to sleep with your singing, what can't you do?"
"Ah.. that was just me singing quiet songs..."
"It's fine. It seems you're not yet aware of yourself. One day, you will realize what kind of being you are. That day will also be the day you awaken your abilities and soar. Anyway, head straight to the club. Sambo will be waiting for you. I need to rest."
Lying down and crawling into the blanket, Eric watched as Geon spoke.
"Then, I'll visit often, Eric. Thank you."
As Eric waved his hand weakly and turned to lie down, Geon left the hospital room and headed for B.B. King's Blues Club. Arriving at the club by taxi, Geon noticed its entrance at the corner. The facade was adorned with flamboyant neon signs, prominently featuring the red letters "B.B. King," and a scrolling sign below continuously displayed snapshots of currently performing musicians.
Upon entering the club, a black female staff member approached and asked,
"How many in your party?"
Geon took out a business card from his pocket and showed it to her.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Sambo Cuff."
The staff member, suspicious of Geon wearing a hat and mask, watched him until he hurriedly removed them to show his face. She then smiled warmly.
"Oh! Are you Geon? I'm a fan, haha. Please, this way."
The moment Geon removed his hat and mask, murmurs from the seated customers grew louder.
"It's Geon!"
"Really? Where, where?"
"Right there, in front of the counter."
"Wow, the restaurant of a famous musician is different. Even stars like him come here. Should we get an autograph?"
"Let's try later if we get a chance."
As the attention focused on him, Geon waved and greeted them. Applause and whistles erupted from various directions. After a brief moment of fan service, Geon followed the waiting staff member to the office located behind the club. The staff stopped in front of a large black door and knocked.
"Knock knock"
"Come in."
As a deep male voice beckoned from inside, the staff member turned to Geon and said,
"Go ahead. I've been told you have an appointment, so I won't accompany you. I'm swamped with work, haha. Promise to give me an autograph later?"
Geon smiled warmly at the staff member's cute gesture of showing her pinky and entered the office. Inside, a huge black man in a gray suit and sunglasses sat. He was not a muscle-bound giant nor overweight, but had a unique build with a lot of muscle mass and a protruding belly. Upon seeing Geon, he stood up and approached,
"Geon. You've arrived. Eric called me ahead of time. Please, have a seat."
Feeling intimidated by the man's presence, Geon cautiously sat down on the offered sofa. The man then fetched a drink from a mini-fridge and sat opposite Geon, who worried the sofa might collapse under the man's weight. Smiling, showing his teeth, he introduced himself while touching his short, curly hair.
"I'm Sambo Cuff. Nice to meet you."
"Ah, I'm Geon. I've heard a lot about you."
Sambo leaned back on the sofa and crossed his legs,
"I heard you want to participate in the bands' rehearsals at our club, is that correct?"
Geon nodded and replied,
"Yes, Mr. Cuff. I'm still a student learning about blues. I think it would be a great learning opportunity for me."
"Haha, everyone knows you're a student at Juilliard. So, which band's rehearsal would you like to join? We have many musicians performing on different days."
"I don't have a preference for any band. I'd be happy to participate in any band's practice."
Sambo glanced at the performance schedule on the wall, pondering. Geon followed his gaze, waiting for Sambo to speak. After a moment, Sambo suggested,
"For rehearsal, it's best to have a band with many instrumentalists. And the band should have a welcoming atmosphere and be willing to accommodate you... Do you prefer a white band?"
Geon chuckled,
"I'm Asian, Mr. Cuff. I don't choose based on race."
"Hmm, good thinking. If you want to learn the true essence of blues, it might be best to join a band with black soul. How about 'a decade of soul', the band responsible for Saturday evening performances?"
Geon shrugged,
"Any band is fine with me."
Sambo smiled, raising one finger,
"But I have one condition, Geon."
Geon looked at him curiously as Sambo continued,
"I'm a businessman. I don't do things that don't make money. In exchange for helping with your practice, you'll need to perform with them at B.B. King's Blues Club during your practice period."
Geon found the basement rehearsal room across from the club, following Sambo's directions. It appeared that the space, originally not designed as a rehearsal room, was situated in the basement of a regular commercial building, divided into several rooms. Having shown his face to the caretaker, Geon was led to a rather spacious rehearsal room and sat down on an empty chair, browsing information about 'a decade of soul' on his phone.
'Nine members, quite a large band, 'a decade of soul' is.'
Geon was recalling his conversation with Sambo while browsing through the search results about them.
"A performance, me? I'm just a student learning; I don't think I have the skills to perform on stage."
"Ha, your reputation alone is enough. The moment your name hits our rolling banner, our guests will surely increase."
"But won't that be a nuisance to the band?"
"Who do you think you are? You're someone introduced by Eric Clapton, not just any student. Your presence might even intimidate the band members with the image you've shown to the public so far."
"It's great that you're offering me the opportunity to perform... but why are you going to such lengths for me?"
"Ha, as I've said, I'm a businessman. I have a keen nose for profitable ventures. That's why I'm sitting here. To you, music might be an art, but to me, it's business. Music business, that's the reason for my current existence."
Geon shook his head as he recalled his conversation with Sambo.
'Didn't seem like someone consumed by money, but I guess you really can't judge a person until you've dealt with them.'
Geon checked his watch.
'It's three o'clock. The band's rehearsal starts at four thirty, I came too early. Maybe I should practice a bit in the meantime?'
Geon connected his guitar, Haku, to the amplifier. The rehearsal room of a premier club featured a renowned amp, 'Marshall JCM 2000'. After connecting the jack and trying out a few notes, Geon smiled in satisfaction.
'The sound is killer!'
Geon played the riff section of 'A Decade of Soul's 'Knock on Wood'. His body moving to the lively rhythm, Geon then connected his smartphone to the amp and started playing along to the music, adding his own guitar ad-libs. Although it was his first attempt at improvisation and felt awkward, he soon immersed in the joy and fun it brought, taking out a notebook to write down the music score as it flowed through the amp. The score under Geon's pen started to turn a deep red color. Smiling at the color-changing score, Geon's expression turned curious.
'Black?'
Between the red notes, black notes began to find their color. The changing colors turned into notes mixed with both red and black, creating a chaotic blend. Geon pondered, 'Red represents passion and love, and black signifies emptiness and despair? What does it mean?'
Geon tried playing the riff as an ad-lib, following the emotions suggested by the score. The music that poured out was a direct reflection of the emotions the score intended to convey. After playing through one song, Geon stroked his chin thoughtfully.
'It feels right... but if I can't interpret the song correctly, then it's just skill.'
Suddenly, the rehearsal room door burst open, and two white men with guitar cases entered, looking at Geon in surprise. Both wore horn-rimmed glasses; one donned a beanie, and the other had his short blonde hair slicked back.
Geon stood up to greet them.
"Hello?"
The short blonde-haired man scanned Geon from head to toe.
"Ah, hello, Geon. We've been informed about you. But was that your playing just now?"
Geon smiled shyly.
"Oh, yes, just practicing for a bit."
The man in the beanie set down his guitar.
"Not just any famous person, then. Just a practice session and it's already at that level. I'm truly impressed. My name is Reece."
The short blonde-haired man followed, "Call me Lettie. Nice to meet you."
Geon smiled back and forth at them.
"Thank you for the opportunity, I'm Geon."
Lettie, momentarily dumbfounded, then said, "At first, I thought you were just a well-known student among the public, offering help at a student level... But hearing your play, my mind has changed. Looks like we might be the ones getting help."
Geon waved his hands dismissively.
"Oh, no. I really need a lot of help. My understanding of blues is still very shallow."
Reece took out his guitar and sat down.
"If Geon's understanding is shallow, what does that make us? We've been playing blues for over ten years but lack that level of skill."
Geon scratched
the back of his head.
"No, I still have a lot to learn. Playing isn't just about skill; it's about soul, right?"
Lettie laughed heartily.
"Well said! You already grasp the most important part of playing. So, what don't you understand?"
Geon composed himself before answering.
"I've listened to 'A Decade of Soul's music, which is mostly bright and passionate. Yet, strangely, I feel despair and emptiness in their music."
As Geon spoke, the door opened and a portly 70-year-old black man entered. Without looking at Geon, he said,
"That's blues for you. Because it's blues, you feel that despair and emptiness."
Geon stood up and greeted him.
"Hello, I'm Geon, looking forward to practicing together starting today."
The kindly-looking elderly man adjusted his light-colored sunglasses and smiled.
"Nice to meet you. I'm William. I've heard about you in advance."
William unfolded a portable chair next to Geon and sat down, breathing heavily as if the movement was strenuous for him.
"Have you ever played the blues?"
"Yes, I was fortunate enough to meet a great teacher and learned all the scales."
"Ever performed?"
"No, I haven't had the opportunity yet."
"But you were able to interpret the emotions conveyed by the blues? Not just from books but by playing a song? Which song was it?"
"'Knock on Wood.'"
"I see. A good song. Full of upbeat lyrics. But you sensed despair and emptiness in it? You're quite something. Who's your teacher?"
"Uh... Eric Clapton."
Reece and Lettie stood up in shock.
"Eric Clapton is your teacher?"
Geon smiled awkwardly.
"Well, I only studied with him for a few weeks, so it feels strange to call him my teacher, but yes, he taught me the blues scales.
Reece and Lettie were speechless, and William commented, "Hmm... So the rumors about you being a genius are true? If Eric Clapton taught you, it must be."
"Tease? Who's that?"
"Our band's female vocalist. The only woman in the band."
"Oh, she knows me?"
"Of course. You performed at the zoo orchestra recently, right? Tease went there. She's been talking about you ever since. When Sambo asked if he could fit you into the band's practice, it was Tease who welcomed you with open arms."
"Ah, I'm grateful to her then, haha. I'll have to repay her kindness."
"Married, so be careful, haha."
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that, haha."
William took off his sunglasses, pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, and began cleaning the lenses before returning to the conversation.
"Let's get back to what we were talking about. You were asking why a song full of passion could contain despair and emptiness?"
"Yes, William. It's a bit confusing because the emotions are so contrasting."
"Have you ever seen the movie '12 Years a Slave'?"
"Uh... I haven't seen it yet."
"You should watch it when you can. It might help you understand."
"I will, William."
William offered Geon a cigar from his case, but Geon declined.
"I don't smoke."
William, seeming a bit disappointed, lit one for himself.
"It's a top-quality Cuban cigar. I don't offer these to many. You're missing out on a great opportunity."
Geon just smiled, and William continued after exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"During the Civil War, the white plantation owners, outnumbered by the black slaves, often resorted to systematic violence to maintain efficient control. Despite this, they always felt tense because of the physically superior slaves, leading them to exercise even higher levels of violence and eventually banning conversations among the black slaves."
William took another deep puff of his cigar, blowing smoke from his mouth and nose.
"Blacks, who had lived freely in Africa, found themselves in a suffocating predicament, living worse than animals in front of the barbaric whites' guns. Can you imagine the frustration? Africans, who once roamed the vast savannas and hunted, needed a way to express anything to survive the hard labor and to stay alive. So, they started pouring out their grievances to the heavens, which became known as 'field hollers,' the work songs of the slaves."
Geon asked, puzzled, "Field hollers? That's the first I've heard of it."
"It's an old term, young friend might not know it. Anyway, it was a spiritual song where the blacks, almost unable to converse with their fellow men, had to engage in unwanted labor, expressing their pain, frustration, and sorrow to God. The white plantation owners didn't particularly stop them since it wasn't a conversation but a song to endure painful work."
"Field hollers evolved through the Civil War and the Industrial Revolution into two genres: the religious 'gospel' and the secular 'blues.' Gospel, as you know, became a genre adding soul to hymns, while blues sang about secular, everyday life."
After unloading his explanation in one breath, William took another deep inhale from his cigar.
"Some say blues lyrics are crude. They fail to realize how much the field hollers reflected the cruel reality. You know, regional folk songs also have many secular lyrics?"
"Yes, the folk songs from my homeland, Korea, often have quite bold lyrics."
"That's right. Blues started with direct lyrics for that reason. Most blues music incorporates despair and emptiness because it's rooted in the pain of black slaves."
Geon looked thoughtful for a moment. William watched him silently smoking his cigar, giving him time to ponder. After a while, Geon spoke,
"Can people who are not black understand and express that sentiment through music?"
William chuckled and pointed at Reece and Lettie.
"Do they look black to you?"