That Guy

I never made music that could be described as mainstream. Mostly I just plugged a bunch of drum machines and effects pedals through a bunch of distortion with an occasional yelp into a microphone. My harsh noise set often seemed to be the perfect time for the audience to go outside for a smoke break. I knew I was never going to be the next big thing; I was always just going to be “that guy” in the Brooklyn indie music scene.

But then the Great Shift happened.

Suddenly, I wasn’t “that guy” anymore. I wasn’t even a guy at all anymore; I swapped bodies with a woman. And if I had swapped bodies with some random woman, like a lawyer or a nurse, I probably would’ve continued to perform in obscurity. But a weird twist of fate caused me to swap bodies with one of the members of the biggest kpop girl bands in the world.

Her manager and agent tried to pressure me into continuing her career, but there was no way I was going to play pop music. I continued playing my harsh noise sets in underground Brooklyn venues. But the word started to get around about whose body I now had. It started with people no longer leaving during my set, instead watching with curiosity. Then people started showing up specifically to see my set. It eventually built into a large, sweaty crowd -- obviously breaking any sort of capacity or fire codes. I knew they weren’t really there for my music; they were all there to simply see the body of a kpop superstar. They’d cheer my random yelps into the microphone, so happy to hear her voice even through layers of distortion. But I didn’t even want to look up; I didn’t want to acknowledge an audience. I knew they didn’t care. Not really. I preferred my former obscurity.