This is one of the early, early ones. A question drops down from the top of the screen, What is important when it comes to vocals in an idol group? Ichiko sighs before speaking up. “Idol groups put a priority on personality and endurance rather than practiced skill? In fact, when a group is starting out, a wobbly but enthusiastic performance is a bit preferred. As they improve, the audience feels they’ve watched them learn and grow, a connection is formed, and warm dizzies are felt. That’s what the fans come to idols to feel. We’re trying to do a bit better for them, and a bit of variation is to be expected, but these boys.” She stares to one side, past the people, past the walls, past this plane of existence. “These boys.”
The text at the top reads “Week 1” as there’s a brief montage of warmups in age order. Lip rolls, basic scales, tongue twisters, loud (purposeful) yawning, going through consonants, arpeggios. Then the fun begins. Ichiko either plays piano or lets them find the tune online as she asks them each for a song that they think they can sing well. She looks a bit afraid, but she would look even worse if these weren’t one on one sessions.
Much of her shock, basic bro Osomatsu chooses something not quite basic. A big band feel, jazzy vocals, and… ah, extreme egotism, that’s where he shines through. As expected of the Double Down cover of This Is The Life. When he sings “You can tell I’m a living legend, not some ordinary creep,” Ichiko can only show her soulless disdain by staring into the camera. He looks at her when he finishes, expectant and more than a little prideful.
“Come on, my pipes are one of the, like… three good things about me. That was good, right?”
She pauses for a few seconds, just to let him suffer. “It was ok. Enunciation needs work, as does your ego.“
Karamatsu’s another shocker until she thinks about it a bit longer. The strut, how he projects his voice, his ridiculous range and how many different tones he can mimic. Of course this flouncy little dork was in musicals and drama club. He didn’t need any assistance to remember all of amenbo no uta, and he chose something appropriately Broadway and depressing, Breathe from In The Heights. “Straighten the spine, smile for the neighbors. Everything’s fine, everything’s cool!” She’s more than a little taken aback, especially when he looks so nervous afterwards, he’s still wiping tears from his eyes.
“You did good. I think you have promise, but we need to get you to sound a bit more, well. Pop.”
Choromatsu took the longest to choose a song, and yet, somehow, he didn’t think this through. He quickly proves he’s not the frantic, hyper type by barely making it through DenDen Passion by Dempagumi.inc intact. He brings it down an octave and hits the highs with ease, but he’s more quiet than the two eldest. His sound is more crisp, no vibrato in sight.
“Projection and endurance are top priority. You could have chosen something slower, you know.” After she states that last point, the poor thing nearly whimpers. When asked if he’s ok, he nods stiffly with his eyes focused on the floor.
Ichimatsu has no idea what to do. After some serious coaxing, he sits next to Ichiko to sing a song full of nonsense and occasionally press a single key on the piano in lieu of a xylophone. Shoehorn With Teeth by TMBG. He quickly proves that he’s a little whimsical, much more bitter, and very, very tired.
“I know you can do better than that,” she says simply.
He shrugs and says, “Yeah, I can.”
She’s tired already.
Jyuushimatsu also picks a song by that group, but something significantly sweeter, albeit no less confusing. She’s An Angel, a sweet little tune about racing and love and pinheads and space and lucky things that happen very infrequently, probably. He kicks his legs and sways a little as he sings. He doesn’t know when to pause to breathe, but he does sing for an impressively long time on what little air he gets. He smiles all he way through it, and looks very hopeful when it’s over. “Was I good?”
She doesn’t have it in her to say anything cruel, not when he smiles so much like Jyuushiko does. “You did just fine. You could just use a little extra oomph, and I’ll make sure you get it.” He hugs her, and she can’t figure out why she’s not upset.
Todomatsu ends up gushing about an artist signed to Banderole, a certain twodiefour. Everything about him, from his compositions to his lyrics to his refusal to be seen without a mask is admirable in Totty’s eyes, and he decides to pick one of his favorite songwriters’ tunes. ((I’m thinking Soap by Melanie Martinez in a different key, honestly.)) Todomatsu’s delivery is calculatedly sweet, more gentle than the original, effectively turning a song of stress and worry into a tender, awkward ode.
“That was almost sickeningly sweet.” His face turns into one of complete exasperation until she adds on, “You fit the boy band shtick just fine.” He basks in the compliments like a cat in sunlight, and immediately becomes a kitten in a bathtub when she says “Your technique still needs work, though.”
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