K-pop - The International Rise of the Korean Music Industry 9781138775961, 9781315773568

Citation preview

K-pop – The International Rise of the Korean Music Industry

K-pop, described by Time Magazine in 2012 as “South Korea’s greatest export”, has rapidly achieved a large worldwide audience of devoted fans, largely through distribution over the Internet. This book examines the phenomenon and discusses the reasons for its success. It considers the national and transnational conditions that have played a role in K-pop’s ascendancy and explores how they relate to post-colonial modernisation, post-Cold War politics in East Asia, connections with the Korean diaspora, and the state-initiated campaign to accumulate soft power. As it is particularly concerned with fandom and cultural agency, it analyses fan practices, discourses, and underlying psychologies within their local habitus, as well as in expanding topographies of online networks. Overall, the book addresses the question of how “Asian culture” can be global in a truly meaningful way and how popular culture from a “marginal” nation has become a global phenomenon. JungBong Choi is Assistant Professor in the Department of Cinema Studies at New York University, USA. Roald Maliangkay is Senior Lecturer in Korean Studies at the Australian National University, Australia.

Media, Culture and Social Change in Asia Series Editor Stephanie Hemelryk Donald, University of New South Wales

Editorial Board Gregory N. Evon, University of New South Wales Devleena Ghosh, University of Technology, Sydney Peter Horseld, RMIT University, Melbourne Chris Hudson, RMIT University, Melbourne K.P. Jayasankar, Unit for Media and Communications, Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Bombay Michael Keane, Queensland University of Technology Tania Lewis, RMIT University, Melbourne Vera Mackie, University of Melbourne Kama Maclean, University of New South Wales Jane Mills, University of New South Wales Anjali Monteiro, Unit for Media and Communications, Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Bombay Laikwan Pang, Chinese University of Hong Kong Gary Rawnsley, Aberystwyth University Ming-yeh Rawnsley, University of Leeds Jo Tacchi, RMIT University, Melbourne Adrian Vickers, University of Sydney Jing Wang, MIT Ying Zhu, City University of New York The aim of this series is to publish original, high-quality work by both new and established scholars in the West and the East, on all aspects of media, culture, and social change in Asia. 1 Television Across Asia Television industries, programme formats and globalisation Edited by Albert Moran and Michael Keane 2 Journalism and Democracy in Asia Edited by Angela Romano and Michael Bromley 3 Cultural Control and Globalization in Asia Copyright, piracy and cinema Laikwan Pang

4 Conict, Terrorism and the Media in Asia Edited by Benjamin Cole 5 Media and the Chinese Diaspora Community, communications and commerce Edited by Wanning Sun 6 Hong Kong Film, Hollywood and the New Global Cinema No lm is an island Edited by Gina Marchetti and Tan See Kam

7 Media in Hong Kong Press freedom and political change 1967–2005 Carol P. Lai

18 Global Chinese Cinema The culture and politics of hero Edited by Gary D. Rawnsley and Ming-Yeh T. Rawnsley

8 Chinese Documentaries From dogma to polyphony Yingchi Chu

19 Youth, Society and Mobile Media in Asia Edited by Stephanie Hemelryk Donald, Theresa Dirndorfer Anderson and Damien Spry

9 Japanese Popular Music Culture, authenticity and power Carolyn S. Stevens 10 The Origins of the Modern Chinese Press The inuence of the Protestant missionary press in late Qing China Xiantao Zhang 11 Created in China The great new leap forward Michael Keane 12 Political Regimes and the Media in Asia Edited by Krishna Sen and Terence Lee 13 Television in Post-Reform China Serial dramas, Confucian leadership and the global television market Ying Zhu 14 Tamil Cinema The cultural politics of India’s other lm industry Edited by Selvaraj Velayutham 15 Popular Culture in Indonesia Fluid identities in post-authoritarian politics Edited by Ariel Heryanto 16 Television in India Satellites, politics and cultural change Edited by Nalin Mehta 17 Media and Cultural Transformation in China Haiqing Yu

20 The Media, Cultural Control and Government in Singapore Terence Lee 21 Politics and the Media in Twenty-First Century Indonesia Edited by Krishna Sen and David T. Hill 22 Media, Social Mobilization and Mass Protests in Post-colonial Hong Kong The power of a critical event Francis L.F. Lee and Joseph M. Chan 23 HIV/AIDS, Health and the Media in China Imagined immunity through racialized disease Johanna Hood 24 Islam and Popular Culture in Indonesia and Malaysia Edited by Andrew N. Weintraub 25 Online Society in China Creating, celebrating, and instrumentalising the online carnival Edited by David Kurt Herold and Peter Marolt 26 Rethinking Transnational Chinese Cinemas The Amoy-dialect lm industry in Cold War Asia Jeremy E. Taylor

27 Film in Contemporary Southeast Asia Cultural interpretation and social intervention Edited by David C. L. Lim and Hiroyuki Yamamoto 28 China’s New Creative Clusters Governance, human capital, and investment Michael Keane 29 Media and Democratic Transition in South Korea Ki-Sung Kwak 30 The Asian Cinema Experience Styles, spaces, theory Stephen Teo 31 Asian Popular Culture Edited by Anthony Y.H. Fung 32 Rumor and Communication in Asia in the Internet Age Edited by Greg Dalziel 33 Genders and Sexualities in Indonesian Cinema Constructing gay, lesbi and waria identities on screen Ben Murtagh 34 Contemporary Chinese Print Media Cultivating middle class taste Yi Zheng

35 Culture, Aesthetics and Affect in Ubiquitous Media The prosaic image Helen Grace 36 Democracy, Media and Law in Malaysia and Singapore A space for speech Edited by Andrew T. Kenyon, Tim Marjoribanks and Amanda Whiting 37 Indonesia–Malaysia Relations Cultural heritage, politics and labour migration Marshall Clark and Juliet Pietsch 38 Chinese and Japanese Films on the Second World War Edited by King-fai Tam, Timothy Y. Tsu and Sandra Wilson 39 New Chinese-Language Documentaries Ethics, subject and place Kuei-fen Chiu and Yingjin Zhang 40 K-pop The international rise of the Korean music industry Edited by JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay 41 China Online Locating society in online spaces Edited by Peter Marolt and David Kurt Herold

K-pop – The International Rise of the Korean Music Industry

Edited by JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

First published 2015 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2015 Selection and editorial material, JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay; individual chapters, the contributors The right of JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay to be identied as authors of the editorial material, and of the individual authors as authors of their contributions, has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identication and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data K-pop : the international rise of the Korean music industry / edited by JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay. pages cm. -- (Media, culture and social change in Asia series ; 40) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Popular music--Korea (South)--History and criticism. I. Choi, JungBong, editor. II. Maliangkay, Roald, editor. ML3502.K6K66 2014 781.63095195--dc23 2014020168 ISBN: 978-1-138-77596-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-77356-8 (ebk) Typeset in Times by Saxon Graphics Ltd, Derby

Contents

List of gures Notes on contributors Introduction: why fandom matters to the international rise of K-pop

ix x

1

JUNGBONG CHOI AND ROALD MALIANGKAY

1

Same look through different eyes: Korea’s history of uniform pop music acts

19

ROALD MALIANGKAY

2

“Into the New World”: Girls’ Generation from the local to the global

35

STEPHEN EPSTEIN

3

The political economy of idols: South Korea’s neoliberal restructuring and its impact on the entertainment labour force

51

INKYU KANG

4

Despite not being Johnny’s: the cultural impact of TVXQ in the Japanese music industry

66

JU OAK KIM

5

SBS PopAsia: non-stop K-pop in Australia

81

LIZ GIUFFRE AND SARAH KEITH

6

Loyalty transmission and cultural enlisting of K-pop in Latin America JUNGBONG CHOI

98

viii Contents

7 Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan: patterns of consumption and reactionary responses

116

EUN-YOUNG JUNG

8 The dynamics of K-Pop spectatorship: the Tablo witch-hunt and its double-edged sword of enjoyment

133

HAERIN SHIN

9 “We keep it local” – Malaysianising “Gangnam Style”: a question of place and identity

146

GAIK CHENG KHOO

10 A sound wave of effeminacy: K-pop and the male beauty ideal in China

164

ROALD MALIANGKAY AND GENG SONG

Index

178

Figures

I.1 1.1 1.2

Big Bang cookies, at Incheon International Airport Arirang Sisters album from the 1960s (Asia Records ALS-81) DJ DOC performing their song “Dancing with DOC” (DOC-wa ch’um-ǎl) on MBC’s TV show Best 50 Pop Songs (In’gi kayo pesǎt’ǎ 50) on 13 September 1997 2.1 Girls’ Generation feature in an advert for Gangnam District 10.1 EXO-M appearing on Happy Camp on 9 June 2012 10.2 A kiosk booth in Yanji, 27 January 2012 10.3 Boy band 2PM feature in a Korean tourism advert on a Hong Kong bus, 15 March 2013

9 23

27 40 165 167 170

Contributors

JungBong Choi is Assistant Professor in the Department of Cinema Studies, New York University, where he teaches theories of cultural globalisation, transnational media/cinema/popular cultures, and the political economy of digital technologies. He authored Digitalization of Television in Japan: State, Economy, and Discourse (VDM Publishing, 2008) and edited Television, Japan and Globalization (University of Michigan Press, 2010), Unsettling the National in Korean Cinema (Journal of Korean Studies, Rowman & Littleeld, 2011), and Of TransnationalKorean Cinematrix (Transnational Cinemas Journal, Taylor & Francis, 2012). His book The Political Economy of K-pop Globalization: A Fanthropology (in Korean, KBS Broadcasting Culture Institute, 2014). Stephen Epstein is Associate Professor and Director of the Asian Studies Programme at the Victoria University of Wellington and the current President of the New Zealand Asian Studies Society. He has published widely on contemporary Korean society, popular media and literature and has translated numerous works of Korean and Indonesian ction. Recent full-length publications include Complicated Currents: Media Flows, Soft Power and East Asia, a volume co-edited with Alison Tokita and Daniel Black, which appeared on Monash University Publications in 2010, and translations of novels The Long Road by Kim In-suk (MerwinAsia, 2010) and Telegram by Putu Wijaya (Lontar Foundation, 2011). Liz Giuffre holds a PhD in Media, Music and Cultural Studies and an MA (Research) in Contemporary Music (both from Macquarie University), and a BA Hons (Media and Comms/English) from the University of New South Wales. Her research and teaching experience include engagement with music and media crossings, screen sound (particularly music and television), artist and audience engagement (including versioning and various professional and amateur participatory cultures), and Australian cultural history focused on popular music and (post-) broadcast media. In addition to this, she regularly works in the national independent arts press as a journalist and commentator, is a regular contributing editor for Metro Magazine, and is currently serving as the Publication Ofcer for IASPM Australia/New Zealand.

Contributors

xi

Eun-Young Jung is Assistant Professor of Integrative Studies in the Music Department at the University of California, San Diego. Her research focuses on transnational dynamics of music in and from East Asia and on music, media, race, and ethnicity in Asian American communities. Recent publications include “Transnational Migrations and YouTube Sensations: Korean Americans, Popular Music, and Social Media”, Ethnomusicology 58, 1 (University of Illinois, 2014) and “K-pop Female Idols in the West: Racial Imaginations and Erotic Fantasies”, in The Korean Wave: Korean Media Go Global (ed. Youna Kim, Routledge, 2013). Inkyu Kang is Assistant Professor of Digital Journalism at Penn State Erie, the Behrend College. He holds a PhD in Communication Arts from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. His major research interests are cultural studies and new media technologies. He has written two books on Korean society and culture and translated several books into Korean, including Semiotics: The Basics (Routledge, 2003), Entertainment and Gaming (Raintree, 2010), and Social Networks and Blogs (Raintree, 2011). He recently contributed a chapter on South Korea’s online gaming to The Korean Popular Culture Reader (Duke University Press, 2014). Sarah Keith is Lecturer in Music and Media at Macquarie University and holds a PhD in Contemporary Music. Her research encompasses a range of areas within popular music studies and media. Recent publications include journal articles on Taiwanese and Japanese popular music, as well as on sound in documentary lm, the contemporary music industries, music and cultural policy, and music technology. She is currently involved in two funded research projects; one on Hallyu (2013–) and one relating to the current state of the Australian music industry (2012–). Gaik Cheng Khoo is Associate Professor at the University of Nottingham Malaysia Campus, where she teaches Southeast Asian cinema, lm, and cultural studies. She has published extensively in journals and contributed book chapters on contemporary Malaysian cinema and independent lms. Her research interests include multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism. Among forthcoming publications are a co-edited special issue of Citizenship Studies on “Malaysia’s new ethnoscapes and different forms of belonging” (December 2014), a co-authored book on food, space and identity in Malaysia and Singapore (Altamira Press) and “Imagining hybrid cosmopolitan Malaysia through Chinese kungfu comedies” in the Journal of Chinese Cinemas 8.1, 2014). Ju Oak Kim is a doctoral student in media and communication at Temple University. She is a recipient of the Korean government’s Global Korea Scholarship and her current dissertation topic is the interaction of music and television industries in East Asia. She received a BA in Korean Language Education, an MA in Communication at Seoul National University, and an MFA in Television Production at the City University of New York. Her elds of research

xii Contributors include international communication, television studies, and media and popular culture in East Asia. Roald Maliangkay is Senior Lecturer in Korean studies at the Australian National University, where he specialises in East Asian music and popular culture. Recent publications include “Koreans Performing for Foreign Troops: The Occidentalism of the C.M.C. and K.P.K.”, East Asian History 37 (2011) and “There is No Amen in Shaman: Traditional Music Preservation and Christianity in South Korea”, Asian Music 45:1 (2014). He is currently working on a monograph on the preservation of Korean folksongs with the working title Broken Voices: Preserving Korean Folksongs from Seoul’s Periphery. Haerin Shin received a BA in English Literature from Seoul National University and a PhD in Comparative Literature from Stanford University in 2013. She is currently Assistant Professor of English Literature and Asian Studies at Vanderbilt University. Her publications include articles in 21st Century Literature, Stanford Journal of Asian American Studies, Art in Culture, and Asian American Society: An Encyclopedia. She is working on the manuscript for a book entitled A Transpacic Dialectic of Spectrality: Reality and Being in the Age of Cyberculture, which explores how the recent rise of digital and telepresence media illuminates the inherent spectrality of human subjectivity as a latent strain of thought. Geng Song is Associate Professor of China Studies and Translation Studies at the University of Hong Kong. His research has focused on interdisciplinary and cross-cultural investigations of gender, popular culture, mass media, and ideology in contemporary China. His recent publications include Men and Masculinities in Contemporary China (with Derek Hird, Brill, 2013) and Rethinking Chinese Television (co-edited with Ruoyun Bai, Routledge, forthcoming).

Introduction Why fandom matters to the international rise of K-pop JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

Following in the footsteps of the Korean Wave (also known as Hallyu), a rapid expansion of Korean popular culture across many parts of the world since the late 1990s, K-pop has recently entered the lexicon of global popular cultures. Connoting a new standard of popular music that is characterised by, among other things, the visual appeal of its idols and performance, as well as by a signicant degree of musical conservatism, it has captivated millions of fans across the world and drawn the attention of the international media. In part because of a tendency to rely too much on aggregated data and anecdotal evidence, academic studies on the topic have so far failed to shed much light on related phenomena. They do not elicit meaningful discussions as much as further enquiry in regards to the astounding upswing of the music industry from what remains a cultural periphery – South Korea. This volume seeks to respond to the conspicuous lacuna. While zeroing in on the productive, distributive, and cultural processes of K-pop, it aspires to be more than a compilation of reports on the ripple the Korean music industry has created. Broaching larger issues in popular culture, digital mediation, cultural politics, and transnationalism, it investigates the reception of K-pop and its application across cultures. It explores fandom and cultural agency through analyses of fan practices, discourses, and underlying psychologies within their local habitus as well as in expanding topographies of online networks. Fan communities may represent homogeneous subcultural groups spread across geographic sites yet united by shared interests, identities, and media use. The authors in this volume share a fascination with what it is that enthrals K-pop fans, and explore what their enchantment and its object signify locally, and crossculturally. New routes of mediations and types of agencies are involved in the viral spread of K-pop, and digital social media play an important role among them. This collection comprises approaches that examine the signicance of such new media to K-pop-related subcultures. They question in what ways those media are independent from and/or symbiotic with conventional broadcast media and discuss what roles other cultural agents play in the design, dissemination, or endorsement of K-pop-related cultural goods. While the focus is on the consumption of K-pop, by accounting for all kinds of cultural possibilities and barriers, this volume also illuminates how popular cultures from this marginal nation have become a semi-global phenomenon. Key issues explored include the

2

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

implications of the global expansion of K-pop on preceding discussions of cultural globalisation and empire: What cognitive or cultural changes does K-pop fandom bring about? What changes in cultural agency does it highlight? In order to engage with broader cultural debates we look at the ascendancy of K-pop beyond contemporary developments: How does K-pop’s international rise intersect with the history of colonial modernisation or post-Cold War politics in East Asia? And in what way does it relate to the psychology of cultural cringe, the mobilisation of diaspora, and ofcial policies to accumulate soft power? As these questions indicate, our interests in K-pop fandom are tied to other major areas of enquiry such as cultural cosmopolitanism, social media, digital youth culture, ethno-cultural capital, and the rise of Asia. This volume explores related issues on the basis of critical new ground. Corresponding to the multifaceted edice of K-pop, it espouses a methodological syncretism, whereby various modes of research – such as ethnography, institutional study, discourse analysis, historiography, political economy, and textual analysis – are brought together cogently.

The Hallyu–K-pop continuum and transnational valence K-pop departs from the earlier waves of Korean popular culture in its mediational route, geographic scope, and generational specicity. Preceding currents of Korean popular culture had centred on the transmission of Korean television dramas through conventional mass media – terrestrial, satellite, and cable television – to neighbouring countries such as Japan, China, Taiwan, and Vietnam. The K-pop heat wave has nevertheless gone beyond “Asian” ethno-regional bounds. In 2013 alone, K-pop concerts were held in, among others, Los Angeles, New York, Paris, London, Vancouver, Sydney, Berlin, and Mexico City, and K-pop ashmobs continue to take place in such metropolises as Singapore, Lima, São Paolo, Toronto, Jakarta, Dublin, Bergen, and Rome. From an empirical standpoint of fandom, a distinction between K-pop and Hallyu is implausible. Even from an analytic standpoint, K-pop has to be seen in continuity with Hallyu. In many ways, the K-pop craze is but the latest phase of Hallyu, and the former owes a great deal to the latter. Hence, this volume approaches the prevalence of K-pop in reference to the earlier or parallel groundwork laid by Korean cinema, television dramas, and, to some degree, Japanese popular cultures en masse. Take Hallyu drama, for example. Since the mid 1990s, South Korean television dramas have gained a foothold in China and Vietnam. From 2002, the year in which Korea cohosted the World Cup with Japan, they were exported to Japan, South Asia, the Middle East, and North and South America. The period in which the export of Korean dramas exploded was later dubbed Hallyu 2.0. Boldly stylistic, extravagantly melodramatic, and decidedly conscientious about ethical/communal values, Korean dramas have struck a chord with global audiences, for whom family, work, and a sense of justice are of paramount concern. Replete with velvety original soundtracks (OSTs), Korean dramas gently familiarised audiences with the world of Korean

Introduction

3

popular music. Featuring K-pop idols as main or minor characters, they accustomed the fans to K-pop’s sound and performing style (see Chapters 6 and 7). The South Korean government deserves credit for the synergy created between K-pop and other media/culture industries. It started building rapport with popular culture since the inauguration of the civilian regime in 1993, which offered a comprehensive package of deregulatory measures to creative industries en bloc. K-pop has enjoyed a long, undisturbed honeymoon with state-capital power from the late 1990s, when the creative industries as a whole were designated as a key sector for the growth of the South Korean economy. With various tax benets and support for expansion in overseas markets, the K-pop industry has since grown exponentially. Between the late 1990s and the mid 2000s – a period some have labelled Hallyu 1.0 – a number of Korean pop groups made successful international debuts. The rst Korean idol groups to establish a fan base across Northeast Asia include the boy bands H.O.T., Sechs Kies, Shinhwa, N.R.G., and G.O.D., and the girl groups S.E.S., Fin.K.L., and Baby V.O.X.1 The focal points of these groups were their visual and choreographic presentations on- and off-stage, with much less attention given to music itself. Nonetheless, their songs set the tone for the present form of idol-centred K-pop music: fast, mostly cheerful contemporary R&B dance tracks with a heavy beat and rapped bridge sections interspersed with random English phrases. In performance, the groups carried out perfectly synchronised dance routines in matching costumes (see Chapter 1). Apart from the musical and performative styles, however, the template for K-pop distribution and marketing also took shape around this time. Cognisant of the magnitude of music videos’ inuence, the management companies of these idol groups commissioned the production of narrative music videos to reputable experts in the advertising or lm industries. Overseas fans of the early K-pop watched their favourite videos on music channels like MTV Asia and Hong Kong’s Channel V, or purchased video CDs and DVDs, though mainly bootleg versions. The prominence of music videos in the early stage of K-pop was concomitant with the rise of multitalented entertainers with a strong visual appeal, who could juggle all at once: singing, acting, dancing, hosting, and modelling. As visuals began to take priority over sound, presentation came to outweigh representation. This cardinal rule of ocularcentrism in K-pop remains unaltered to date. Since the early 2000s, the scope of international involvement in the production of K-pop has gradually widened, as has the scale of overseas fandom. The frequency of holding K-pop concerts in foreign countries has increased, and, concomitantly, so has the number of songs sung in a foreign language, though most are sung in Chinese, Japanese, and English. Like the steady streaming of diasporic Koreans into K-pop production, a commensurate ow of foreign nationals into K-pop bands has grown in volume and velocity, as instantiated by 2PM, Miss A, f(x), Exo-M, and Super Junior M. While critics charge that K-pop reproduces Western music styles, defenders maintain that K-pop reprocesses them, giving peculiar Korean “spins” to the mode of presentation. Their argument

4

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

is that, despite the transnational thrust of K-pop fandom, a dominant mode of production and presentation in K-pop remains distinctly “Korean”. The trans/international valence in K-pop production has nevertheless become increasingly salient. Consider, for example, the people behind the product of Girls’ Generation (also known as SNSD). The group’s video for the song “Paparazzi” (2012) was produced by Miles Walker and sound engineer Tom Coyne of Sterling Sound, and their song “I Got a Boy” (2013) was “crafted” by composers from England, Norway, Sweden, and Korea. The group’s entry into the US market was handled by the renowned talent manager Scooter Braun, and the English version of the song was released through Interscope Records, owned by Universal Music Group. Similarly, f(x)’s 2013 album Pink Tape was produced by a total of 29 international composers, including people from Norway, the UK, France, the US and South Korea, while half of the staff responsible for the music of SHINee’s 2013 album Why So Serious? The Misconceptions of Me were from Canada, the US, Denmark, Finland, and Australia. A transnational production of K-pop in the fullest sense of the word is exemplied by the Korean–Indonesian talent agency YS Media Entertainment. The company formed and trained both a male and a female quartet for the Indonesian market, respectively named S4 (after the characters of the singers: sweet, smart, sexy, and sentimental) and S.O.S. (Sensation of Stage). Members of these groups were scouted from the nalists of the Indonesian talent show Galaxy Superstar, which also faithfully followed the formula of Korean audition programmes. In order to highlight their connections with Korea, the music video of S.O.S.’s song “Independent Girl” consciously shows the girls being trained in and walking around Seoul. An embodiment of what is called “Kin-pop”, that is Korean–Indonesian Pop, these two groups try to assure the Indonesian audience of both the music quality matching K-pop and cultural loyalty toward local fans.

K-pop as augmented entertainment Given the scale of multi/transnational coproduction in K-pop, the concept of hybridity may seem well suited to the textual composition of K-pop. But one must question whether any music genre is immune from hybridisation, and therefore whether the concept of hybridity adds any interpretive novelty to understanding K-pop in particular. We are ill at ease with the conceptual poverty in the analysis of global cultural affairs today. Previous works on Hallyu and K-pop have perfunctorily resorted to the much worn-out notions of transnational hybridity, glocalisation and the like. It is true that K-pop unequivocally embraces a stylistic eclecticism in its musical composition, performative style, workforce, marketing strategies, and organisational formats. But whereas this feature is intrinsic to every conceivable cultural form, the notion of hybridity promises little inspiration or explanatory power specic to K-pop, unless the mode of hybridisation is spelled out in analytically concrete terms. In the place of hybridity, we foreground the idea of augmented entertainment. Reasons to characterise K-pop as a form of augmented entertainment are abundant.

Introduction

5

Stylistically, K-pop is best described as an integrated popular culture sui generis – an entertainment of its own class. It is a mosaic that blends storytelling, music, group dance, body performance, and fashion show. In terms of musical and performative conventions, it draws on hip hop, Euro techno, grunge, pop, and rap, all the while incorporating contemporary choreographies, acrobatics, and runway acts. Linguistically, it routinely fuses Korean with English words, introduces neologisms and mobile device-based jargons, and occasionally interjects Japanese and Chinese onomatopoeia. From an industrial standpoint, K-pop is a business thriving on a vast pool of versatile human resources. K-pop management companies promiscuously dabble in radio/TV broadcasting, lm, popular music, advertisement, musical, and live concerts. K-pop idols are the gluing agent of this cross-industry assemblage, for whom “multitalent” is an imperative. The idols are as much a “common property” of the Korean culture industry in its entirety as the crux of the K-pop enterprise. K-pop idols have, for example, become an indispensable element of Korean television programmes. Starting with Full House (KBS 2004), which starred Rain2 as the male protagonist, Korean trendy dramas have become a “colony genre” for K-pop idols, who now dominate other television genres including sitcoms, quiz shows, talk shows, variety shows, reality shows, and even comedy programmes. The Korean lm industry is not impervious to the foray of K-pop idols, either. As a matter of fact, Korean movies constitute a new “suburb” crowded with former or active K-pop idols, whose prominence partly explains the outstanding box ofce record of domestically produced movies vis-à-vis Hollywood imports in the past several years. Apart from the mélange stylistics and industrial multidimensionality, one needs to pay attention to the functional variability of K-pop, stretching far beyond the perimeter of popular music. To the South Korean government and people alike, K-pop and its representative idols are arguably most treasured national assets. Some even say in jest that K-pop idols are, together with Samsung smartphones, the best merchandise ever produced by the nation. More often than not, K-pop idols have acted as a cheerleader for various state and market affairs in exchange for lavish underwritings from local/national governments. Under the state auspices, K-pop artistes/bands were showcased to a range of domestic and international events held by local/national governments. Over time, it became customary for K-pop idols to be appointed promotional envoys of public campaigns and corporate/governmental events like the 2010 G20 summit, 2012 Yeosu Expo, and 2014 Incheon Asian Games. Given the magnitude of brandenhancing effects K-pop idols bring to the country, they can be considered involuntary agents that facilitate the merger between South Korean entertainment and cultural diplomacy (see Chapter 2). Recently, South Korea’s incumbent President Park Geun-hye met with members of Girls’ Generation and Super Junior at the Korea–China Friendship Concert held in June 2013 in a clear move to accentuate cultural afnities between China and Korea. This meeting took place during her ofcial state visit to China, and analysts agree that K-pop and Hallyu are, presently, the only dependable antidote

6

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

to the troubled post-Cold War politics in East Asia. But President Park was not the rst to harness the adhesive power of K-pop in the treacherous foreign relations of East Asia. As is widely known, BoA performed at a formal dinner following the summit between Korea’s former president Roh Moo-hyun and Japan’s then prime minister Junichiro Koizumi in June 2004, when the political tension between the two long-estranged nations was at a peak. Psy is yet another gure that exemplies what might be regarded as the “compulsorily meddlesome” nature of K-pop in foreign affairs. After attending the 85th birthday of Thailand’s king, Bhumibol Adulyadej, in November 2012, Psy even met and dined with the President of the US, Barack Obama, during the “Christmas in Washington” concert at the National Building Museum on 9 December 2012. Curiously, this meeting took place immediately after the breakout of the controversy surrounding the rapper’s anti-American remarks in 2004 calling for the killing of “Yankees who have been torturing Iraqi captives”. Of course, he apologised in public for his provocative deeds and remarks prior to his “ofcial visit” to Washington. As these instances suggests, K-pop artistes/idols are the fulcrum of what might be termed an entertainment–diplomatic complex. The quality of K-pop as an all-round medium cannot be properly grasped when perceived as a mere subgenre of popular music. It is a nascent form of augmented entertainment with substantial impact on public/state affairs for the cultural parvenu that South Korea is.

Of the fan, by the fan, for the fan As the authors in this volume all point out, fan cultures often comprise activities that have little to do with K-pop music. At times, K-pop is but an outlet through which fans would express their feelings, identities, or interests. Like other popular cultures, K-pop could serve as a vector of communion, excuse for distraction, method of peer pressure, or simply a communication piece. This is not to trivialise but to stress the self-directedness of K-pop fandom. Put differently, K-pop fandom is as much about fans themselves as about K-pop. Even if fans may immerse themselves in K-pop, the immersion is not a form of drowning but of swimming. Fandom for young audiences is an extension of the individuation process elucidated in Jungian psychology. The journey for self-making requires both identication and dis-identication, just as fandom entails both belonging to a group and distancing from others. Hence, it is not uncommon for K-pop to be pitted against Japanese and American pop music. In places where K-pop is the bandwagon to jump on, like in Southeast Asia, K-pop fandom can be driven by fears of marginalisation and ostracisation. In contrast, a number of fans from the Middle East, Scandinavia, and Western Europe admitted to having concealed their love of K-pop for fear of being shunned and detested by their peers. Accordingly, it is not unusual to come across K-pop fans whose motivations are completely irrelevant to K-pop. Some say it is cool to support what few people like; some others say it is not so cool to not know what everyone else likes. For these young audiences, K-pop fandom can be a statement about their dispositions, dis/likings, and aspirations, not just reective of the actual, present self but also

Introduction

7

formative of the desired, future self. Sometimes, a statement can be made without strong faith or even falsely just to be on the same page with the group they wish to be a part of. Competitions and rivalry among fan clubs/members are an auxiliary cause for the distension of K-pop fandom. A host of fan clubs of local to global scales have mushroomed, due in part to the post-Fordist mode of production in the K-pop industry, a mode that produces an overabundance of “differentiated” items that are actually very similar to one another. What Freud calls the “narcissism of minor difference” is the name of the game for competing fan clubs, through which an unwitting ination of loyalty/disgust runs beyond control (see Chapter 8). A fan club is a community of passion, membership of which is granted to and maintained by only those demonstrating a sufcient level of enthusiasm. In the case of most online clubs, rare information about their beloved idols or a specialised skill such as language carries currency. For ofine clubs, however, allegiance is gauged by the amount of time, effort, and even by the size of donation to the charity their darling idols endorse (Chǂn 2012; SM Bae 2013). K-pop fandom is multifaceted and polycentric. Governed by global fans, K-pop fandom is not necessarily derivative of, but somewhat autonomous from, the music industry at the helm of K-pop. Fans of various age, gender, ethnicity, or nationality would have different interests in and expectations from K-pop. Fans in Thailand, for example, are on the trail of male K-pop bands by and large, while Japanese fans show a predilection for female bands (Lie 2013, 56). The difference is, of course, tangled with a myriad of factors we cannot possibly pretend to know. The only clear point we can extract from this divergence is the centrality of locality. Even though K-pop is inextricably tied to the culture, economy, and politics of South Korea, the primary site of concern for international fans is their own locality and its cultural milieus. The site-specicity of K-pop culture compels us to shift the focus away from K-pop to what K-pop means to local fans and how they use it (see Chapter 10). In Australia, for example, K-pop is a rallying point for Australians of Asian ethnicities and is leveraged for the promotion of multiculturalism (see Chapter 5). In various places including Korea and Malaysia, Psy’s “Gangnam Style” was employed as a vehicle of political criticism/activism (see Chapter 9). Some denounce the way in which K-pop is mobilised for the mercantile nationalism of South Korea. As a result, K-pop has met with signicant resistance in Japan. The anti-Hallyu and anti-K-pop sentiment expressed by some Japanese has less to do with cultural contents than with what the inux of Korean cultural products signies to them (see Chapter 7). K-pop, in this case, serves only to amplify latent anti-Korea sentiments. None of these suggests the insignicance of K-pop or the frivolity of K-pop fandom. Rather, they illustrate the importance of how and why K-pop is appropriated to what ends. As culture often becomes a medium through which political/economic objectives are communicated, K-pop, too, has become a unique channel through which heterogeneous interests of global fans are negotiated. Equipped with an array of communicational gears, individual fans come in touch with the greater circuit responsible for the post-textual production of K-pop

8

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

music – that is, K-pop culture. SNS (social networking services), or what we would like to call site-media,3 play a vital role in organising fan communities and activities. Songs shared through site-media stimulate online interactions among physically separated global fans, all while bringing visual and musical experiences to a new level. As discussed by authors in this volume, YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter are invaluable platforms for the cultural actions of K-pop enthusiasts as well as for the global visibility of K-pop. Together with leading fan sites like Allkpop and Soompi, these digital site-media hold enormous sway over the ora and fauna of K-pop ecosystems. Catalysed by these site-media and online fan clubs, K-pop has emerged as the epitome of digital youth culture: a social-mediafriendly, fan/user-steered, and participation-conducive anthropological occurrence. Upon the launch of YouTube’s K-pop channel, management companies started exerting greater efforts to streamline the virtual engine of K-pop. To maximise digital interfaces with fans, they assigned dozens of staff to bedecking their SNS sites and uploading an array of enticing materials in diverse formats.4 They would even offer voyeuristic perks like “inside scoops” – luring fans to peep into the supposedly unedited backstage practice of K-pop stars. The fact that the global K-pop rush is much obliged to the pervasiveness of portable digital devices and SNS was made evident by the Psy syndrome. South Korean singer Psy’s comic music video “Gangnam Style” went viral soon after it was released on 15 July 2012. It surpassed 100 million hits on YouTube in less than 80 days, making it the most-viewed video in such a short period of time, and it has now surpassed a record of two billion views. Countless parodies of Psy’s comic video have sprung up, further tightening the bond between SNS and K-pop fandom. Even though Psy’s connection with K-pop was tenuous, the “Gangnam Style” syndrome not only instanced the sheer distributive power of SNS, but also evidenced the creative instinct/aptitude of fans in their use of SNS, on which the globalisation of K-pop is predicated.5

Who calls fans consumers? Between K-pop and K-pop culture is a legion of commodities. In discussing K-pop culture/fandom, one cannot overlook “the elephant in the room” – that is, the question of cultural commodity and consumption. In fact, no other genre in popular music has ever shown as solid a connection with cultural commodities as K-pop has. It can even be argued that K-pop is a meta-commodity that can commodify a host of other cultural goods as pseudo avatars of K-pop idols. For better or worse, global K-pop devotees do hail the K-pop spinoffs manufactured by Korean conglomerates. Many fans joyfully succumb to the siren call of the cosmetic, fashion, gastronomic, and digital products, which are endorsed by deied idols and deceptively associated with the images and songs of K-pop. This interoperation of economy and culture in general, and of K-pop and pop commodities in particular, is most palpably observed in the case of digital electronics.6 Kitted up with idol-studded advertisements, hi-tech electronic goods

Introduction

9

Figure I.1 Big Bang cookies, at Incheon International Airport.

such as smartphones, tablet PCs, and 3D/UHD television sets have bombarded K-pop audiences with irresistible narratives of urban chic and ultra-modern life. Haptic, lifestyle-specic, loyalty-sensitive, media-intensive, and identityconditional, the digital devices are magically impregnated with popular zeitgeists symbolised by K-pop.7 Overall, the K-pop enterprise has been a faithful ally to the reign of capital, commodity, fame, and nationalist ideology. Conglomerates like Samsung and LG have sought to cash-in on the soaring value of the nation’s cultural capital enhanced by K-pop. Complicit with this state–corporate joint manoeuvre are Korean citizens, intellectuals, artists, and mainstream media, whose post-colonial impatience to exit the standing of cultural invisibility hazardously instils K-pop/ Hallyu with nationalist drives. It is for this reason that K-pop cannot afford to be reduced to a mere subgenre of popular culture. It is an econo-cultural spectacle that turns ocular-acoustic-choreographic styles into reied cultural commodities. It is a mutant character business that enmeshes advertisement, idol gures, digital technologies, and cultural merchandise – a business operated by the syndicate of South Korean mega-corporations and show-business magnates. In addressing international K-pop fandom, nevertheless, the volume keeps the simplistic image of consumer/consumption at arm’s length. We view K-pop fans as a massive, loosely connected collective, whose cultural endeavours traverse the curatorial, re/distributive, artistic, and consumptive spheres. A wealth of fan practices cropped up in different regions, broadening the global repertoire of

10

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

creative expressions and participatory undertakings. From K-pop night, ashmob, cover dance, and fashion show that have already been in vogue to K-pop garage sale, skit, ction, auction, donation, and bazaar – the gamut of K-pop fan culture is too vast and procreative to be encapsulated by the monotonous term consumption/ consumer. Instead of being a buyer with no other power but purchasing end products, they are trailblazers, expanding the cultural breadth and depth of K-pop products. Their “cultural brickwork” brace global K-pop strongholds, as their labour of love furnishes the productive core with distributive momenta. It is noteworthy that the K-pop industry has come to rely on fans to show them where the need for innovation is greatest. Two decades ago, John Fiske (1992, 47) contended that “There is a constant struggle between fans and the industry, in which the industry attempts to incorporate the tastes of the fans, and the fans to ‘excorporate’ the products of the industry.” But things have changed a great deal, and Fiske’s idea does not hold water any longer. In the case of K-pop, there is more collaboration/negotiation than struggle/tension between the industry and fans. During the late 1990s, for example, fans of certain groups would identify themselves by holding coloured balloons: white for H.O.T., yellow for Sechs Kies, orange for Shinhwa, and sky blue for G.O.D. (Pae 2012, 204). Later, K-pop management companies adopted the idea of fan colour, and began assigning bands to certain colours. The colour scheme in K-pop is ubiquitously practised today as a symbol of connection and bilateral inuence between the industry and fans. It is certainly alarming that a handful of Korean entertainment agencies wield absolute command over a legion of similar idol bands they have mass-produced and merchandised. Critics often claim that the unbridled power of those management giants smothers artistic agency with what is known as a “slave contract”, which has sparked major controversies over labour and human right issues of K-pop performers (see Chapter 3). Nevertheless, fans do chime in with the mis/management of the stars they root for, as shown by the passionate support for the debut of JYJ, a group that broke out of TVXQ. Keenly aware of the growing clout of global fans, the leading management moguls (SM, YG, and JYP Entertainment) make efforts to stay on good terms with the K-pop devotees. Indeed, the industry has learned over time the benets of engaging the audience in the process of production. Major management companies have cleverly maintained various channels of communication with fan representatives and even consulted their production plans face to face with ordinary fans. Today it is the industry who treats fans/audiences as adjunct producers, when many erudite scholars cling to the antiquated binary between producer/production and consumer/consumption.

The Big Three and the Cultural South From a macro perspective of cultural politics, the rise of Hallyu and K-pop brings to light the question of global cultural geometry and hegemony. The global culture industry has been ruled by the duopoly of the US and Western Europe. With Japan’s entry in the late 1980s, a Big Three league was formed – an exclusive

Introduction

11

circle governing the global ow of cultural products. The oligopoly in cultural production is founded on market and content divisions: the US is the indomitable baron in the realm of commercial movies, TV shows, popular music, and character industry; Western Europe has maintained its leading edge in fashion/design/ luxury goods, literary criticism/products, arts and artistic lms; and Japan has cornered the pre/teenage market with manga, anime, and video games. Accordingly, little room has been allowed for popular cultures from other nations to squeeze in. Exceptions are few and far between. Al Jazeera of Qatar and Globo of Brazil are meagre instances of TV networks with a reasonable degree of international success. Other than Al Jazeera News that wields pan-Islamic viewership and more, Telenovelas from Latin America are the only programmes that have garnered a large-scale viewership in Portuguese, Spanish, Filipino, and North American markets. In the arena of lm, Hong Kong cinema once carved out an Asian niche market by churning out a plethora of kung fu, martial arts, and gangster/cop movies. But its fame was short-lived, and its genre conventions dissipated into Hollywood’s action subgenres. Even though Bollywood of India and Nollywood of Nigeria merit serious attention today, their ascendancy is conned more or less to regional audiences. In popular music, so-called “ethnic” or “world” music has sporadically surged with an intense yet ephemeral are followed by a long period of silence. Good examples to conjure are reggae music of the 1970s, with the charisma of Bob Marley, and the legendary dance song of the 1990s, the Macarena.8 ABBA from Sweden is another instance, but the band can be grouped into Euro-pop broadly construed. Other than a few “ceremonial” exceptions, the sector has been dominated by the US–UK coalition. All of these attest to the agrant asymmetry in the cultural power/role between the Big Three and what might be termed the Cultural South.9 While the Big Three are proud creators and pacesetters of worldwide cultural trends, the Cultural South has remained a grateful customer at the mercy of the artistes and impresarios of the Big Three. In this respect, the quantum leap made by K-pop from a national sensation through a regional trend to a semi-global phenomenon is something of an anomaly in the history of popular cultures beyond the scope of popular music. It compels us to revisit and rethink the geopolitics in global popular cultures. Audiences across Asia, the Middle East, and Latin America have long lost patience with US products that are saturated with violence, drugs, and obscenity. The mounting discontent with the US media content – television dramas, rap music, war-mongering video games, etc. – has initiated a quest for “clean” alternatives. On the other hand, popular cultures from Japan and Western Europe fell short of the vitality to trigger trans-regional sensations. The vacuum was an enormous boon to the Korean culture industry. Nations in shortage of locally produced programmes of decent quality began turning to the Korean option, known for ideological and ethical soundness on top of dexterity in whipping up a cocktail for the best ingredients/formats from America, Europe, and Japan (see Chapter 4).

12

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

On the other hand, the Cultural South as a whole has been a dutiful yet often forced buyer of everything and anything that the Euro-American duopoly has supplied. Japan, too, is no exception in the mindset of cultural subservience. So much so that the sharp divide between cultural production and reception spurred theories of cultural imperialism during the 1970s and 1980s. Even after theories of cultural imperialism gave way to the far more pacifying narrative of cultural globalisation from the 1990s, the lopsided cultural trafc between the Cultural South and the Euro-American nexus has hardly changed. Despite the therapeutic account of cultural globalisation, the Cultural South has been at a standstill into the new millennium, easing its anxiety over the historically conditioned sterility/infertility in cultural production with the consoling precepts put forth by pundits of globalisation, namely polyvalence, decentralisation, glocalisation, and hybridisation. But the entrenched unevenness in cultural fecundity at the global scale seemed impossible to remedy. Outside the Cultural North, only a select few – such as mobile diaspora, transmigrants, and the inhabitants of the South with Western education – were granted to take part in the titular globality of cultural production. It is at this grim juncture that the prevalence of K-pop comes into the limelight of global cultural politics. In a way, the Korean Wave and its latest manifestation, K-pop, is symptomatic of the shift in the power geometry of global cultural supply and demand. It is the materialisation of the escalating demand for a new ecology in global popular cultures by countless fans who yearn for a better representation of their cultural inclinations, ethnic upbringings, and aesthetic standards, as well as by younger generations for whom joining the latest cultural developments is a requisite and a prerogative at the same time. The import of K-pop’s global becomes amplied when taking into consideration the rapid ascent of Korea’s soft power, also pronounced in the elds of television drama, lm, computer games and digital communications. The steep climb of Korea up the slippery ladder of cultural productivity signies an unprecedented “mutiny”, which could potentially imperil the centuries-long stability in global cultural hierarchies. It is so because Korea is a small country in Asia, a nation with a long history of colonial cringe, cultural obscurity, and economic dependency. For that matter, the sudden rise of Korea as a cultural upstart transmits a glimmer of hope to those with similar historical experiences of having been cultural subalterns. The ascendancy of K-pop, therefore, signies much more than a levitation of a popular music genre from Korea.

Meta/partisan fandom and soft racism For analytic purposes, it would be useful to distinguish the K-pop phenomenon from K-pop plus K-pop fandom. The K-pop phenomenon refers to the enormity of the whole response to K-pop, inclusive of the K-pop fever itself. It encompasses resounding international feedbacks to and professional accounts of the K-pop rage, be they favourable or hostile, and personal or institutional. Cynics would frown at apparently synthetic, mechanical modes of K-pop production; distant

Introduction

13

onlookers would show reservations on the sustainability of the eeting fad, while zealots keep themselves busy evangelising all that is K-pop. But they all throw in their two cents anyway. K-pop has been newscast, observed, analysed, documented, and discussed by laypeople, critics, journalists, culture industry workers, and policymakers alike. The New York Times, the New Yorker, the Wall Street Journal, the Times, the BBC, Canal+, and the Asahi Shimbun, to name but a few, have all fervently commented on the enigmatic discharge of cultural energy from a country unmarked on the map of global culture. Their search for convincing narratives illuminating the inscrutable incident is quite reminiscent of the hurried invention of tales to decipher the furious rise of Japan during the 1970s and 1980s.10 Our observation is that this K-pop phenomenon fortuitously undrapes the inner layer of ethno-cultural psychodynamics concerning cultural creativity. To put it bluntly, this global fascination with K-pop unveils a covert tenor of racism in the very hyperreaction to the success of K-pop. The hyperreaction is practically tantamount to asking in perplexity “Why K-pop and why Korea?” It therefore scrutinises the authenticity of cultural creativity held by Korea, a nameless “intern” in the production of global popular culture. As a matter of empirical fact, cognitive colonialism/racism still lingers on by the measure of cultural creativity, which is often diluted with the geo-marketing terminology of the productive North versus the consumptive South. The ostensibly “functional” divide between the polar opposites masquerades a sharp perceptual split between the artistic, original North and the aping, derivative South. Beneath the glitzy, cosmopolitan surface of global popular culture there lie intricate forms of cultural disdain and self-negation along the question of cultural creativity. The reason why the K-pop rush looms particularly seditious is that it plays havoc with the division of cultural labour/role that has been taken for granted. Far more delicate forms of cultural racism can be observed within K-pop fandom. There are two odd types of support for K-pop, which can be characterised as meta-fandom or partisan fandom. One is similar to the ethos of political correctness – hence, a “cultural correctness” so to speak – and the other is analogous to esprit de corps. Emanating from certain wards/groups of the Cultural North, the rst one imparts difference-based camaraderie, while the second one is afnity-driven empathy from a majority of the Cultural South. But both unite in their categorical, super-textual approval of K-pop. Unlike usual fandom, motives for these sweeping endorsements are extraneous to the presentational mode and content of the integrated entertainment genre, K-pop. Likes or dislikes of K-pop notwithstanding, these meta-fandoms rejoice at the very popularity of K-pop and ultimately root for the impressive upturn of the long-time cultural outcast, Korea. Emergent of political consciousness/sentiments regarding the inequity in global cultural geometry, these partisan fandoms cheer holistically on the Korean Wave and the country it derives from. One specic symptom of meta/partisan fandom is what we would like to call soft racism. A good portion of K-pop fandom comprises a fascination with the cultural craftsmanship of an undersized, undistinguished nation in Asia in

14

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

producing something comparable in quality to the ones that have been deemed singular to Euro-American nations. For fans of Asia and Asian diaspora/descent, the nature of this fascination is self-celebratory. For them it is a long-overdue vindication of their potency in cultural creativity. Summoning up an overinvested signier of Asia, they would lay collective claim to K-pop and Hallyu as an embodiment of their ethno-cultural asset: “My cultures by my folks.” For cultural subalterns of non-Asian ethnicities – those from the Middle East, North Africa, and South America, for instance – this fascination borders on a vicarious satisfaction aided by the sentiment of minority solidarity. For them, championing K-pop and Hallyu could mean a roundabout way of defying or at least distancing the Euro-American cultural products – an imposed option to which they have been grudgingly habituated. For fans from the Cultural North (or Euro-American, Caucasian fans in a more ethnocentric classication), it could well be an amazement/admiration at the gifted exotic Other. Their fascination has plural functions: it helps assuage pain over the programmed inequity in the global creative industry; allows them to parade their cosmopolitan propensities; and meets their need to be in sync with the emerging hot culture in an alleged era of Asia. Different ethno-cultural positions aside, all of them share the fascination with the role reversal in the global creative industry. The covert pleasure of soft racism in K-pop fandom’s can be compressed into an image of Euro-American fans cheering and marvelling at the dizzying performance of the former cultural subalterns in the limelight. This epic transposition is, perhaps, too stupefying to be instantly grasped, especially by those who have long been condemned to the position of envious audience on the oor. Additionally, the true nature of this soft racism is somehow ineffable due to the cognitive “hiccup” it triggers. Soft racism in K-pop fandom is unquestionably ethnocentric by nature; but it hardly is a resurgence of cultural essentialism that has been consistently administered into the vein of global popular culture. It is a form of retributive, if not restorative, racism spawned and nurtured by the perverted trajectories of colonialism and ensuing disparities in human values, creative prowess, and self-esteem between the Cultural North and South. The uncanny sight of soft racism in K-pop fandom “messes with” the deep psychology of cultural superiority and self-defeatism alike. To some K-pop fans we have observed, it is an ego-boosting shot in the arm, much needed and even sweet. It is historically incubated and politically understandable.

Summary of the chapters Fandom, especially when it concerns foreign people or cultural items, can cause a backlash and elicit claims of cultural imperialism, fetishism, exoticism, complacency, mimicry, or blind conformism. Both K-pop and its fans have been the target of such allegations. In Chapter 1, Roald Maliangkay investigates the claims of complacency and mimicry by tracing the history of K-pop’s primary characteristics. He nds that those elements belong to a well-established format of

Introduction

15

Korean popular music that despite revealing signicant mimicry has been repeatedly adapted over the years in order to maintain a “fresh” appeal to very different domestic and foreign audiences. In the second chapter, Stephen Epstein analyses how one of K-pop’s main acts, Girls’ Generation, has helped South Korea enter the arena of global popular culture. He shows that the group projects a multitude of symbolic images that range from highly localised to global ones. He demonstrates the way the group’s images have targeted very different audiences: while the girls’ representation of an ideal Korean femininity allowed, for example, their employment as ambassadors for different brands competing in the domestic market, their image as cosmopolitan, global Koreans underpinned the group’s success in Japan. In Chapter 3, Inkyu Kang studies the South Korean government’s decision to develop its national cultural industries following the economic crisis of the late 1990s. He argues that de-individualisation and hypercommodication characterise the approach adopted by the entertainment companies, which ultimately produced a form of popular music that a Marxist view might hold as the McDonaldisation of musical entertainment. He warns, however, that K-pop harbours signicant creativity and individualism, and to the consumers in particular, the promise of liberation. Ju Oak Kim also deliberates the key factors behind the fast rise of K-pop. She examines how the boy band TVXQ managed to break through in the Japanese music market in spite of the obvious political, historical, and sociocultural barriers, and nds that the promotion of the group’s various hybrid and localised qualities were instrumental in nding appeal among Japanese fans. Her analysis reveals that sensitivity to Japanese expectations and standards called for careful positioning and compliance, which ultimately led to various forms of collaboration between Korean and Japanese producers and fan communities. The role of the media is highlighted in Chapters 5 and 6. Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith discuss the intentions behind the Australian TV programme SBS PopAsia and its use of music videos to introduce cultural literacy to a youth demographic. The television series has had considerable impact, despite the marginality of Asian pop music otherwise. Through interviews and careful analysis of the show’s reception, Giuffre and Keith demonstrate not only that the channel has come to be regarded as an acknowledgement of the presence of Korean and other East and Southeast Asian migrants and diasporic communities in Australia, but that it has also formed a bridge between them and Australians more broadly. JungBong Choi investigates the various possible conductors of K-pop from one culture to another. Using examples of K-pop’s acclimatisation in Latin America, he examines the crucial groundwork laid by Korean TV dramas, arguing that Japanese popular culture has in many cases served to mediate K-pop’s fandom, often through online site-media. The possibility for K-pop acts to revive dormant sentiments over a similar foreign fad does not apply to Japan itself. In Chapter 7, Eun-Young Jung scrutinises the various responses to Hallyu in Japan, and to K-pop in particular, in Japan. She discusses the successful Japanese debuts by K-pop acts over the years and notes the important foundation laid by Korean TV dramas. She nds, among other things, that a lack of afnity with the Japanese language has not been an

16

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

impediment to all K-pop, and that Japan’s anti-Hallyu movement reacted less to K-pop per se than to the threat Japanese consumption posed to national pride. In Chapter 8, Haerin Shin explores the mechanism of K-pop content production, consumption, and re-mediation by analysing the online dispute over the academic credentials of rapper/musician Tablo. In particular, she examines how the public’s enjoyment of the witch-hunt was situated on the precarious balance between the violation of and subscription to social norms based on undened notions of integrity. The case highlights the hyperrealism of K-pop idols who have to conform to nigh unnatural standards of beauty and behaviour while remaining identiable role models that elicit emulation. By dissecting the many factors in play, Shin offers important new perspectives on the phenomenon of Internet vigilantism. In another study of the semiology of K-pop fandom, Gaik Cheng Khoo analyses the numerous Malaysian parodies of Psy’s “Gangnam Style” video that emerged in the months leading up to the nation’s general elections. She argues that rather than merely embracing K-pop for its offer of an alternative social identity, the parodies serve to reect on and nurture pride in the makers’ local place and identity. Khoo carefully examines YouTube videos and their comment threads to show that by allowing and nurturing debates over issues impermissible in the state-controlled media, the site-media had a signicantly impact on people’s notions of community. In the nal chapter, Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song investigate the impact of K-pop’s male idols on Chinese notions of male beauty. Arguing against the common treatment of China as a cultural monolith, they analyse the various factors that lead consumers towards or away from the contemporary Korean ideal of male beauty in two remote areas of China, the Korean autonomous prefecture of Yanbian, and Hong Kong. They nd that in formulating and pursuing their beauty ideal, consumers are driven by a compound range of concerns, which includes their socioeconomic position, their own aesthetic desires, and the realm of Korean culture as they imagine it.

Romanisation and style Because the ofcial Korean Romanisation system promulgated in 2000 sometimes renders unfortunate connotations, we use the McCune-Reischauer system instead, albeit in the revised form created by the Korean Ministry of Education in 1988. This allows us to use “shi” for sounds previously transcribed as “si”, which does not represent the actual sound, and therefore defeats the main purpose of transcription. We make exceptions in the case of commonly accepted or personal names, using the spelling preferred by the person. We also add hyphens to separate sufxes from nouns, so the transcription reects how the sound of the noun’s nal consonant is inected when it is followed by the initial vowel of a sufx. Rather than kǎrup-ǎi, whereby ǎi is a possessive marker, therefore, we use kǎrub-ǎi. Chinese and Japanese terms are transcribed according to the Pinyin and Hepburn systems, respectively. Although it has become common in cultural studies to indicate when a particular website was last accessed by the author, the value of this information is often very

Introduction

17

small, especially in the case of discussions of comment threads, which can change radically over the course of a few days, or even hours. In this volume we have chosen to indicate the date on which something was uploaded instead. Not only does this help avoid having obsolete data in print, but it may also support attempts to locate the original data when the link displayed becomes invalid.

Acknowledgements The editors would like to deeply thank all contributors to this volume for their hard work, patience, responsiveness, and good humour. We owe much gratitude to Stephen Epstein, in particular, for providing crucial feedback on a number of the chapters, and his very helpful advice overall. We also wish to thank Routledge’s Peter Sowden and Helena Hurd for their invaluable encouragement and support. Finally, Lindy Allen did a beautiful job helping us pick out inconsistencies and oddly phrased sentences (like this one). While Lindy’s involvement was supported by funding from the Australian National University, the research for the work by Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song in this volume was supported by an Academy of Korean Studies (KSPS) Grant funded by the Korean government (MOE) (AKS-2011-BAA-2106). JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

Notes 1 Acronyms for K-pop groups came in vogue: H.O.T. is an acronym of High Five of Teenagers; N.R.G. of New Radiancy Group; G.O.D. of Groove Over Dose; S.E.S. of the rst names of singers Pada (sea), Eugene, and Shoo; Fin.K.L. of Fin Killing Liberty (a partly French, partly English mission statement opposing oppression); and Baby V.O.X. of Baby Voices of Xpression. 2 Rain is a K-pop heartthrob whose immense popularity across Asia and North America landed him on the roster of the world’s 100 most inuential people named by Time magazine in 2011. 3 They are not self-sufcient media technologies but only online sites with autonomous mediational features. 4 Contemporary K-pop videos can be easily viewed (and downloaded) in high denition. But the availability of digital content online or the widespread sale of counterfeit copies overseas scarcely threatens the commercial value of K-pop. Authentic copies of K-pop albums and live concerts remain popular with fans, because they are often sold in small numbers as limited editions, and commonly include collectible extras such as photo albums, posters, or various forms of artwork. Also, live concerts are the main source of income for the K-pop industry. Although a growing number of fans is coming to Korea to experience the culture of their idols rst-hand, K-pop bands travel extensively to meet the local demand for live concerts (see Maliangkay 2014). 5 Note that the video was not a phenomenon everywhere, not even in neighbouring Japan where K-pop had already won many fans (Lie 2013). 6 The wedlock between economy and culture has become a near-universal phenomenon. But the intensity of their coupling proves to be most salient in countries with an exportdriven economy, as is the case in Korea.

18

JungBong Choi and Roald Maliangkay

7 Digital pop commodities enhance cognitive proximity and cultural intimacy with South Korea among global youths. They foster audiences’ allegiance not simply to the manufacturers – namely LG and Samsung, South Korean electronics giants – but more importantly to the country they are from, to the cultural mores they uphold, and to the people they belong to. It is possible, therefore, to regard the corporate entities of pop commodities as agents of cultural diplomacy. 8 Originally by Los del Río before the release of the English version. 9 The Cultural South is not a geographic reference only. It is even embedded in the Cultural North. Ethnic, religious, and linguistic minorities in North America, Western/ Northern Europe, Australia, and Japan who have migrated from the Global South constitute broad strata of the Cultural South. 10 This concluded in a depiction of Japan as a permutation of Western modernity once thought to be innate to Euro-American civilisations.

References Bae, Soo-min. 2013. “K-pop Fans Raise Funds in Stars’ Names”, The Korea Herald, 20 February, p. 12. Chǂn, Chuyǂng. 2012. “‘Ssalssalhan’ yǂnmal … yǂnyein ssal kibu nyu t’ǎraendǎ-ro” [A cold year-end … idols’ donating rice as a new trend], Tonga ilbo [East Asia Daily] 27 December, p. A23. Fiske, John. 1992. “The Cultural Economy of Fandom”. In The Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media, edited by Lisa A. Lewis, 30–49. London and New York: Routledge, 1992. Lie, John. 2013. “Why Didn’t ‘Gangnam Style’ Go Viral in Japan? Gender Divide and Subcultural Heterogeneity in Contemporary Japan”, Cross-Currents: East Asian History and Culture Review 9 (December): 44–67. Maliangkay, Roald. 2014. “Dening Qualities: The Socio-Political Signicance of K-pop Collections”, Korean Histories 4(1): 3–14. Pae, Hyǂnju. 2012. “P’aendǂm-ǎl t’onghan hawi munhwa chabon ch’ukchǂk-kwa hwalyong: aidol kǎrub-ǎi p’aen kyǂnghǂm-ǎl chungshim-ǎro” [The subculture of accumulating and utilising capital through fandom: focusing on the fans of idol groups], Han’guk pangsong hakhoe haksul taehoe nonmunjip [Collection of academic papers of the Korean Association for Broadcasting and Telecommunication Studies] (November), 200–205.

1

Same look through different eyes Korea’s history of uniform pop music acts Roald Maliangkay

K-pop is commonly regarded as a form of musical entertainment. To most fans, however, the appeal of the genre lies as much in the look and visual performance of the acts involved as in their music. Its main menu is comprised of boy bands and girl groups whose members are often styled similarly, presumably in order to increase the visual appeal of their dance routines. Perfect looks, the latest fashion, and highly stylised, synchronised movements make K-pop acts seem like catwalk dance skits. As with fashion, it is the products and their models that are on display, rather than the creative minds themselves. A small number of idols are actively involved in the development of their act, but, like boy bands and girl groups elsewhere, most of them merely perform what others have created for them.1 Although each act has its own style of music and dance, due to the signicant homogeneity in the sound and performance across all K-pop acts it would be quite a challenge to ascribe a new music video to a particular music act without seeing the face(s) of its main idol(s).2 Differences and idiosyncrasies exist, but innovations are small, as the industry is conservative. It will be under pressure to diversify and innovate to a degree, but seeing as most K-pop fans are teenagers, it is likely to avoid too radical changes that might put them (or their parents) off. As a rule of thumb, “genre” in popular media is a crystallisation of market dynamics: innovative and repetitive, acquiescent to the gravity of the past as well as to the push for the new. K-pop is no exception. The look and performance of girl groups can easily be termed uniform. While boy bands also show a degree of uniformity in performance and appearance, such as by wearing matching combinations based on the same fabric, their members rarely wear identical outts and they tend to have longer solo sections within songs and videos. The range of K-pop is broad and includes playful early teen pop, rock ’n’ roll, electro and house acts. Most songs are fast dance tracks with a strong contemporary R&B avour in terms of their melodic contour and beat, and they often include short rap sequences. The sequences have little “attitude” and sound rushed, as if the fact that the lines do not suit the beat well is unintentional. Although the hurried performance of those lines, which often include a few random English phrases, can be reminiscent of an unrehearsed noraebang (Korean-style karaoke) rendition, singers always recite their lines within the beat, sometimes rushing through a set of phrases to do so. On recordings, voices are clear and pitch-

20

Roald Maliangkay

perfect, while auto-tuned, heavy arrangements and sound effects help support a rich “studio-sound” that involves few acoustic instruments. At “live” performances, the small number of acoustic instruments heard are rarely shown. In order to preserve their breath for the energetic dance routines, singers often lip-sync at least part of their songs. On stage, the complex choreographies are usually performed in front of giant video screens that show colourful computergenerated backgrounds and sceneries, and key phrases from the lyrics. The use of the video screens, and the set choreographies, allow the live performances to serve as re-enactments of ofcial music videos. Audiences appreciate good live singing, but they are no sine qua non as the music videos remain of primary importance. Contemporary K-pop is regularly criticised for being too homogenous and for prioritising looks over content (Willoughby 2006; Chua Beng Huat 2010, 19; Seabrook 2012, 91; Yu 2013). In an interview in January 2013, Yang Hyun Suk, the CEO of YG Entertainment, one of Korea’s main talent agencies, acknowledged that “too many similar groups” had saturated the market and reduced demand (Yi 2013). Critics commonly argue that the sound of the various acts is not Korean, but Western,3 and that there isn’t enough individualism in the acts to make them appeal to foreign audiences because the focus lies on uniform, synchronised looks and dance, rather than on the quality of the singing. To rebut the criticism, one could, in theory, argue that apart from the fact that pop music and true originality are virtually incompatible (see Shweta 2013), and that the sound of Western popular music has become increasingly homogenous over the past semi-decade (Serrà et al. 2012), many of the people involved in K-pop today have Western backgrounds, and that a growing number of performers were raised in a country other than Korea. But those involved in the industry are not bothered much by the criticism. Not only is the revenue generated by Korean pop music still growing – which Jason Yu argues (2013), unconvincingly, is because “bubblegum pop is incredibly easy to manufacture” – but all-boy/all-girl acts dressed in matching costumes performing in perfect sync have proven to be a successful format in Korea at least since the 1930s. What is more, by carefully tweaking the format, such song and dance acts have long managed to appeal to vastly different audiences over the years, transcending generations and cultural borders. Close examination of the history of Korean popular song and dance acts reveals that the uniform-looking template has been carefully adjusted over the years to maintain an element of “freshness”. Analysing changes in the appeal of such acts to different audiences should underscore the complexity behind them and add a useful historical dimension to discussions over the seeming complacency of today’s K-pop industry. In this chapter, I therefore explore the history of Korea’s uniform-looking pop acts and closely examine its dening concrete stylistics: visual uniformity in appearance and performance, and a repertoire largely comprised of relatively fast R&B songs with rapped bridge sections that include random phrases in a language different from that of the main song. Although other developments have also generated changes over the years – such as those ushered

Same look through different eyes

21

in by technological innovation and changes in the Korean language – I will not consider them here, since they are tied less to the realm of popular music.

Colonial uniforms Acts involving groups of young women performing synchronised, Western-style chorus-line dance in uniform dresses were introduced to Korea by Japanese entertainment companies in the early 1910s, and became popular on Korea’s elite live theatre stages in the 1920s. By 1929, a year before John Adol’s revue The Show of Shows would come to Korean cinemas,4 revue dance had become a standard part of the Western dance routines of all the Seoul-based schools (kwǂnbǂn) for young women entertainers, or kisaeng (Tonga ilbo [East Asia Daily] 8 February 1930, 5; Kim Yǂnghǎi 2009, 36–40, 44; Seoul yǂksa pangmulgwan 2003, 68–71). In 1930, following the success of revue-type shows, Kwǂn Samch’ǂn put together the Samch’ǂn kagǎktan (Three Streams Operetta Group), which was inspired by Japan’s Takarazuka theatre and offered a type of all-female vaudeville (Tonga ilbo 11 July 1931, 5; Pak Ch’anho 2009, 540).5 Little is known about the formation and repertoire of this group, but its repertoire is said to have included chorus-line dance, which was presumably performed in titillating, uniform costumes like other Korean revue acts, such as those involving dancer Pae Kuja (Tonga ilbo 3 February 1938, 5; Kim Yǂnghǎi 2009, 42–43). In 1932, musician and band manager Yi Ch’ǂl created a Korean subsidiary of the Japanese Imperial Record Co. Ltd. (Teikoku chikuonki kabushiki kaisha, or “Teichiku”), called Okeh. Yi had a nose for talent and was able to create the best talent portfolio among the record companies operating in Korea. In 1936, he produced the documentary-like movie A Korea of Songs (Norae Chosǂn). Although it is nowhere to be found, it is said to have included a signicant amount of footage of Okeh’s main stars performing as members of the so-called Okeh Band (Ok’e yǂnjudan) for Japanese audiences in Japan from February to March 1936.6 The movie featured an all-girl act called the Chǂgori (Jacket) Sisters, which comprised the young singers Yi Nanyǂng, Chang Sejǂng, Yi Chunhǎi, Kim Nǎngja, Pak Hyangnim, and Sǂ Ponghǎi and entailed them harmonising Korean and Japanese hit songs dressed in identical gowns (Pak Ch’anho 2009, 549–550; Maliangkay 2011, 62).7 To the Japanese audiences, which were mixed in terms of gender and social class, the Korean acts symbolised a war trophy: here was a group of women that emulated the summit of popular entertainment that the empire to which they now belonged and came to pay respect had introduced them.8 Folk and pop songs composed shortly after Liberation expressed a desire for overdue sociopolitical change and an end to foreign intervention. Although entertainers generally struggled to make a living and were often forced to nd other ways to make a living, former Chǂgori sister Yi Nanyǂng continued to play a key role in the music business. While her husband Kim Haesong, a well-established big band director and composer, was able to rely on his connections to secure a regular income for his family via regular gigging at clubs,

22

Roald Maliangkay

Yi began to turn her three teenage daughters into an all-girl singing group of her own. During and immediately after the Korean War (1950–53), the young girls – Sook-ja (b. 1941), Ai Ja (b. 1940), and Young Ja (b. 1939?) – would often perform at American military clubs singing both traditional and popular Korean as well as Western songs in identical dresses. With the support of their mother and uncle, Yi Pongnyong, another former Okeh talent, the girls became one of the most noted Korean pop acts and were sometimes referred to as the Korean Andrews Sisters. Because the emphasis of their act lay on them singing a large variety of songs and playing a large number of instruments, they were, arguably, the rst Korean all-girl band as opposed to merely being an all-girl group. But their image also relied much on their uniformity in styling and harmony in singing. The so-called Kim Sisters migrated to the US around 1958, where in the 1960s and early 1970s they became true celebrities: they brought out various singles and albums, regularly appeared on major TV and radio shows, as well as in a number of advertisements (Maliangkay 2006, 28–29). The girls’ success overseas provided much inspiration for others back home. Many similar acts would try to ll the void left by the departure of the Sisters, but they rarely played instruments. Acts such as the Pearl Sisters and Arirang Sisters would rely mostly on their physical appeal, and the mini-skirt fashion that helped them aunt it. As with the Kim Sisters, however, the technical difculty of their dance routines was low. They had a limited song repertoire that comprised well-known folk songs, a few Korean pop songs, and a number of covers of foreign hits.9 Many of them made a name for themselves through the USO (United Services Organizations) shows organised in and around the cities to entertain US servicemen (Shin et al. 1998, 25–29). Although their target audience was predominantly male, they emulated the latest fashion ideals and helped to set new ones. Their many foreign audiences were not genuinely excited by the quality of their performance. To them, all-girl acts served to not only highlight the preeminence of American pop culture, but also to quench their appetite for eroticism and to remind them of a love back home. Popular girl groups from the mid 1960s include the Lee Sisters, the Chǂng Sisters, and the Chebi (Swallow) Sisters. In the late 1960s they were joined by, among others, the Pearl Sisters, the Arirang Sisters, the Yuri (Glass) Sisters, the Hwani Sisters, the Tul (Two) Sisters, the Kimchi Kats, and the twin act of the Pani (Bunny) Girls (Shin et al. 1998, 235). Although uniform all-male pop acts existed too, they were outnumbered by girl groups. In the early to mid 1970s there were the Young Sisters, the Pidulgi (Dove) Sisters, the Venus Sisters, the Cool Sisters, the Candy Sisters, the Apple Sisters, the Lilly Sisters, and more competing for fame. Between the late 1970s and the late 1980s, however, few new girl groups emerged. All-girl groups from this period included the Chun Sisters, the Tol Sisters, Hǎi chamae (Hee Sisters), Ǎnpangul chamae (Silver Bell Sisters), and Kǎmbi tanbi (Golden Rain Sweet Rain). Another group worth mentioning from this period is the two-girl act Kukpo chamae (National Treasure Sisters), which debuted in 1981 with the hit songs “He’s Like Heaven” (Hanǎl kat’ǎn kǎ saram) and “I Look Lonely” (Nae mosǎb-i ssǎlssǎrhaeyo), and followed that up with the even bigger hit “Please Don’t Forget

Same look through different eyes

23

Figure 1.1 Arirang Sisters album from the 1960s (Asia Records ALS-81).

Me” (Na-rǎl na-rǎl itchi maseyo) in the following year. Although the teenagers Im Kyǂnghǎi and Im Sǂnghǎi had a strong musical pedigree, much like the Kim Sisters, it was their hot pants and sleeveless tops that led them to climb up the charts and even go on tour in Japan and the US. The act fell apart in 1986 when Kyǂnghǎi decided to complete her education at the Tokyo College of Music, where her father was a professor. In September that year, Sǂnghǎi announced she would go solo under her own name (Kyǂnghyang shinmun [Capital and Country Newspaper] 4 July 1986, 11; Maeil kyǂngje [Daily Economy] 23 September 1986, 9). Unlike male bands, most of the female groups comprised siblings, which usually limited the number of group members to two. Since they carried the responsibility of nancially supporting their family, men, let alone brothers, were less likely to dedicate their high school or university years to the pursuit of temporary fame. A notable exception to the rule were the twins of Nogojiri (Skylarks) and the three

24

Roald Maliangkay

brothers of the successful rock band Sanullim.10 Siblings who chose a career as a joint act were, nevertheless, less likely to ght over nancial matters or the sharing or relaying of responsibilities. Another factor in the relatively large number of girl groups was that they were particularly popular with the many all-male audiences during and shortly after the Korean War and in Vietnam during the time of Korea’s involvement in its war (1965–1973). Until the mid 1970s they could sway audiences with their physical charm and their repertoire of popular foreign and Korean songs. Among the former were well-known “Oriental” songs that their foreign audiences would expect and appreciate, partly because it conrmed their cultural superiority (Maliangkay 2011, 63–64).11 Movies and television had much impact on popular music, since they associated songs with the passion and sensuality expressed through dance. Although television broadcasting did not begin until the early 1960s,12 many Koreans had access to a wide range of foreign entertainment through the television channel of the American Forces Network Korea (AFKN) from 1957, the various radio and television channels, and the records sold on the black market (Sǂn Sǂngchin 2008: 292; Sǂn Sǂngwǂn 1996: 54). Films like Mambo, Rock Around the Clock and The Americano – which in Korea was entitled Mambo-ǎi yuhok (The temptation of mambo) (Yǂlhwadang yǂngsang charyoshil 1998, 126, 143, 179) – allowed Koreans to keep up with the latest music and dance fads from Europe and the US. From the mid 1950s to the early 1970s, many Korean movies began to feature somewhat voyeuristic cameos by Korea’s top music talents. In Han Hyǂngmo’s Madame Freedom (Chayu puin, 1956), for example, audiences could marvel at a performance by the real-life band of Pak Chugǎn playing an exotic mambo, shown almost uncut in real time. In Kang Taech’ǂl’s 1971 Tomorrow’s Korea (Naeir-ǎi p’aldo kangsan) one could watch a performance by the Pearl Sisters, while Pak Ku’s Cha Cha Cha Across the Nation (Uri kangsan ch’a ch’a ch’a) from the same year included a rather lacklustre performance by the Swell Sisters (Shwel sshisǎt’ǂsǎ) that, perhaps unsurprisingly, failed to launch the novel act’s career. From the early 1960s until the late 1980s, all media and venues for public entertainment were scrutinised for disorderly conduct or unpatriotic expressions, even in the case of traditional music (Wǂlbo kongyǂn yulli [Public Screening Monthly] 15 May 1977, 8; Yi Sǂnguk 2004, 116–117). Because the Seoul city government disapproved of go-go music and dance, on 12 October 1972 it banned both on account of them being “demoralising” (t’oep’ye) (Tonga ilbo [Tonga Daily] 12 October 1972, 7; 14 October 1972, 3). However, venues that were off-limits to Koreans – those located within US military camp towns and the Walker Hill resort on the outskirts of Seoul – continued to offer entertainment that was banned by the police outside the premises, like go-go dance nights and titillating all-girl acts, including one called the Doris Girl Dancers (Tonga ilbo 25 January 1972, 7; Wǂlbo kongyǂn yulli 15 January 1977, 8). Elsewhere, accompanying musicians or dancers were not exempt from scrutiny: on two occasions in 1987, for example, television shows that featured performances by the singers Hong Such’ǂl and Min Haegyǂng were permitted only after a warning

Same look through different eyes

25

was issued in relation to their backup dancers wearing swimsuits and skin-tight outts, respectively (Pangsong shimǎi wiwǂnhoe 1987, 79). In comparison to the many all-male rock bands, girl groups stood a better chance of swaying the censors with their optimistic repertoire, their predictable, cutesy dance routines, and their relatively uniform look. Nevertheless, interest in their type of entertainment was waning. Back in the 1950s, the image of a brightly smiling group singing irtatious songs in mini-skirts supported the still common perception of the US as a utopia, which began shifting in the 1970s. Koreans started tackling prevalent sociopolitical violence and injustice and became concerned over the possible repercussions of their government’s collaboration with the US. Their musical preference subsequently shifted in favour of performers featuring a critical view of the sociopolitical malaises in both their music and lyrics, despite rampant scrutiny by the tough censorship committees (Sǂn Sǂngwǂn 1996, 130–132). Many girl groups were unable to adapt to the changing conditions, and, instead, continued to rely on their amboyant presentation rather than their repertoire and the quality of their singing. While some were able to appear in a movie or on a major live entertainment television programme such as Show Show Show (Syo, syo, syo),13 eventually all-girl acts were superseded by rocks bands and singer-songwriters. Some of the latter wrote sentimental songs about friendship, honesty, and injustice, which provided much-needed inspiration for those behind the pro-democratisation movement that would eventually succeed in toppling the military regime in 1987. Uniform girl groups returned to the scene no sooner than the late 1990s. Groups such as S.E.S., Fin.K.L, and Baby V.O.X brought a female uniformity back to the stage, but this time their image was soft and playful as opposed to cheeky and seductive. Although their outts weren’t always identical, they were usually of similar designs. The lyrics they sang were about teenage love and relationships, and they presented themselves as decent girls who would stand up for their friends, but without showing much attitude. Over the course of several years, their presentation became as erotic as that of their peers back in the early 1930s. Although the average age of their fans was much younger, usually in the early to mid teens, the new acts once again attuned young women to the emulation of a masculine fantasy (Maliangkay 2014b). They failed to win the heart of the critical mass, namely college students, because the acts initially lacked any signicant dance prowess, and sang songs that were inferior both musically and lyrically to other domestic and foreign genres. Over time, however, and in particular since the mid-2000s, when they began to exhibit the traits described in the introduction of this chapter, the acts’ all-pervasiveness in the media has seen an increase in consumption among university students.14

A new generation of conformity Between 1991 and 1996, the boy band Seo Taiji and Boys15 would have a profound impact on developments in Korean popular culture. While the trio’s innovative music and presentation found an instant resonance, Seo Taiji, the band’s leader,

26

Roald Maliangkay

manager, lyricist, and composer, continued to innovate and set many popular trends in music, dance, and personal styling. Drawing on a wide range of musical and choreographic styles, including rap, hip-hop, and metal, and adding lyrics tuned to the struggles of his generation, Seo’s act became a major inspiration. His fan base was a generation in sync with a new civilian government that began relaxing censorship and liberalising the consumption of a wide range of popular entertainment, including Japanese music. Unlike preceding generations, this new audience had considerable purchasing power and substantial overseas travel experience. Seo Taiji and Boys would have a profound impact not only on them but also on other successful boy bands that followed in the group’s wake.16 Acts such as H.O.T. and Sechs Kies, which in the late 1990s had notable success in Korea and overseas, did not innovate much in their repertoires and performances and relied considerably on their teenage idol status. Their audiences were younger than those of Seo Taiji and Boys, and less critical. Much like singer/dancer Pak Namjǂng and the dance group Sobangch’a (Fire engine) did in the late 1980s, Seo Taiji and Boys incorporated complex dance routines as a primary aspect of their performance, both on stage and in their music videos. Their music videos were very popular, and were widely shared on VHS. Fans could also tune in to one of the satellite channels dedicated to pop music, such as Mnet and MTV Asia, visit a noraebang, or tune into one of the many pop programmes on Korea’s main terrestrial channels (Sǂn Sǂngwǂn 1996, 84; Kang Hyegyǂng 2011, 68–71). Another option, for the more afuent university students in particular, was to visit a so-called “rock café”, which played foreign and domestic music videos non-stop on large wall displays.17 In the late 1990s, when music videos began to be shared and viewed via personal computers, pop acts such as that of the Young Turks Club or singer Yu Sǎngjun began to take dance routines to a new level, encouraging others to follow suit (Yi Hǎngu 1997, 138–146).18 The music video for Yu’s 1997 dance hit “Saranghae nuna” (I Love You, Sis), for example, was noted in particular for the sequences in which Yu and ve male dancers performed energetic moves in perfect sync. Complex, synchronic dance routines have since become a standard aspect of K-pop group performances. The agencies make their stars go through notoriously harsh training regimes, and sometimes they release videos of their stars practising dance routines without make-up or uniform in front of a mirror. These “mirrored dance” videos show that without all the fanfare they look just like the fans, who might want to try the dance routines themselves, and thus become more involved in the act. What the videos highlight indirectly is the difculty of the synchronised performances and the many hours of hard work put in by the stars. Many fans upload similar videos of their own and circulate them via social networking services (SNS) just like the ofcial videos. Others show off their skill in public (while making the uninvolved passers-by appear to be out of touch) by way of a ashmob, videos of which are also commonly shared online. In response to the many ashmobs organised by K-pop fans overseas, the Wonder Girls’ video “Like This” (2012) shows the ve stars starting a ashmob

Same look through different eyes

27

at some foreign-looking shopping centre. Although the people doing the group dance in the video are all extras, it is another attempt at building on fans’ dream of one day becoming part of the real act, or at least a similar ashmob, and dancing in perfect sync. Like synced dance routines, rap has become another standard element of K-pop group performances. According to Sǂn Sǂngwǂn, it was rst introduced in Korea by the comic duo Chang Tusǂk and Yi Pongwǂn before Hong Sǂbǂm used it in his hit song “Kim Sakkat” (included on Hong’s 1989 un-named debut album with King Records Co., Ltd.). Rap also featured on 015B’s track “4210301” on the band’s second album Second Episode (1991), and on the track “Turn Off the T.V.” on the debut album of Shin Haech’ǂl’s band N.EX.T.19 (Home 1992), but in the latter case, the respective lyrics were rapped in English. While N.EX.T.’s fan base mostly comprised college students, DJ DOC – a hip-hop band that emerged on the scene in 1994 – became popular with children and young teenagers, in particular due to the group’s tongue-in-cheek lyrics, slapstick humour, and synchronic dance (Hong Hop’yo 1995). The trio often resembled Seo Taiji and Boys in the way it performed on stage – rap, b-boy dance sequences, and baggy hip-hop streetwear – but the rap and song sequences were slower, the dances often silly, and the voices unvarnished, giving the act an impromptu feel that eschewed gravitas.

Figure 1.2 DJ DOC performing their song “Dancing with DOC” (DOC-wa ch’um-ǎl) on MBC’s TV show Best 50 Pop Songs (In’gi kayo pesǎt’ǎ 50) on 13 September 1997.

28

Roald Maliangkay

It was Seo Taiji who rst rapped about sociopolitical issues in Korean in the mainstream (Sǂn Sǂngwǂn 1993, 195–197; 1996, 80, 210). Unlike his predecessor Hong, whose “English” had comprised mostly rap with a melodically sung bridge section, Seo reserved the use of rap for the bridges of what are perhaps best described as fast R&B or rock ballads (see also Eun-Young Jung 2006, 114). The rap followed the same or double the tempo of the verse over up to four measures. It did not commonly use crotchet triplet-type patterns, but often included appoggiatura-type single grace notes, with a small number of tuplets. The application of these rhythmic ornaments to the same beat as that of the verse sometimes makes the rap sound hurried, as if the poor t between the words and the beat is unintentional. Although the 1981 song “Rapture”, by the American pop band Blondie, features a similar use of what appear to be unintentionally poorly tting words in the rap chorus, Seo Taiji’s songs are faster overall, and his rap more expressive. His lyrics addressed the violence and extreme pressure that Korean students were subjected to, and they preached the importance of individualism. When Seo refused to follow the order from the censorship committees to change a few phrases that criticised the older generations, his fans staged public protests. Seo’s music and rap had become a token of individualism, even though his masses of fans conformed to his style in order to express that notion (Maliangkay 2014a). Many pop acts have used rap in their songs’ bridge sections since. The lyrics of mainstream acts that these days regularly appear on the broadcast media are, however, all devoid of social criticism. Around the turn of the millennium, when mixed bands like Roo’ra (1994–2001) and Sharp (1998–2002) were still popular, it was usually the male members’ duty to perform the rap segments.20 In recent years, girl groups perform their own rap, though a few leave it up to their single androgynous member, such as in the case of f(x) (Amber Liu) and 2NE1 (CL; orig. name Yi Ch’aerin).21 The use of the androgynous member associates the rap segments with “attitude” – an element that a few decades earlier led to many people voicing their concern over the popularity of Seo Taiji and Boys. Even though the rap of boy bands and girl groups rarely takes up any particular sociopolitical issues, the association of attitude with individualism and a degree of independence from the industry remains an important ingredient.22 While the element of rap in the songs of girl groups may be less about the actual lyrics than their musical role in the structure of the song, it retains its importance overall. Rap sequences in K-pop idol bands these days often consist of random English phrases. An early example of this use was Seo Taiji and Boys’ song “Come Back Home” (2005). Although it was sung entirely in Korean for Korean audiences, the refrain ended with the title phrase, which hinted at some correlation with the rest of the lyrics despite its mainly acoustic function. Many other acts followed suit and began to also regularly include easy sing-along random English phrases in their chorus. Many foreign fans of K-pop these days tend to nd this enjoyable. A particularly noted example is the phrase “hey sexy lady” in the refrain of Psy’s 2012 global hit “Gangnam Style”, which has often been gleefully recited by non-Korean speakers. Although such phrases were at rst targeted at Korean

Same look through different eyes

29

audiences, they have eventually come to be devised for K-pop’s foreign fans. English is no longer the only language used. In the Chinese song “Growl” by boy band Exo-M, for example, the refrain “I growl growl growl at you” (Wo ǎrǎrǂng ǎrǎrǂng ǎrǎrǂng ni) is a mixture of Chinese and Korean. What is more, while I suspect that a fair number of Koreans failed to notice the rude pun – “I’m a mother-father-gentleman” – in the refrain of Psy’s follow-up hit “Gentleman”, I doubt native English speakers did. Similarly, three Chinese students taking my course on pop culture at the time of writing were able to recite, unrehearsed, the rst few nonsense English lyrics of boy band Exo-M’s Chinese-language hit “Mama” – “Careless, careless. Shoot anonymous, anonymous. Heartless, mindless. No one who care about me?”23 The rapped bridge section remains one of the main musical aspects of contemporary K-pop groups. Since few performers these days have more than average singing talent, the sections potentially serve four purposes; they can: (1) announce a break in the melody of a song; (2) reduce the risk a solo would pose to the vocal quality of a live performance (the rapped part often coincides with a change of singer to allow the previous one to catch his/her breath); (2) allow non-Korean speakers to sing along to a particular verse, sometimes by using one or two English phrases; and (4) add a degree of attitude, albeit a cosmetic one, to the performance. Without the rap, several K-pop girl groups could easily be dened as modern-day revue formations as opposed to music acts. Although the rapped words no longer bear any particular message like they did in the heydays of Seo Taiji and Boys, they can still lend a small degree of attitude to the act and as such associate it with mild resistance to the hegemony.

Conclusion Many contemporary K-pop acts share a similar look, sound, and style of performance. Whereas some of their trademarks were created almost a century ago due to, and in response to, changing audiences, the ongoing success of the format has continued to inspire many new representatives over the years. The lyrics sometimes contain clear messages, but usually the particular aspirations of a specic act or performer are not directly expressed through the music or performance, in particular since relatively few performers have been involved in the creative process. During the colonial period, for example, some will have regarded the Okeh Band’s Chǂgori Sisters’ all-girl act as representative of the promise of Korean talent, while others regarded it as evidence of Japan’s successful policy of colonisation and incorporation. When the girls performed in Japan in front of a large crowd of paying Japanese customers, to some this may have represented a minor Korean victory, while to others it may have merely conrmed that they had chosen the right profession to make a living. Despite their look, uniform acts have always made careful adjustments according to their audiences by way of different outts, lyrics, repertoires, and moves. Although considerable differences in the qualities of the various aspects of the acts must be taken into account – with today’s acts being superior to earlier ones in terms of the dance

30

Roald Maliangkay

sequences – the acts have always relied rst and foremost on their visual presentation. The commercial appeal of that presentation with a specic, targetable male or female audience helps to explain why, even today, mixed-sex non-uniform K-pop groups are virtually non-existent.24 Over the past decade and a half, the music and performance of uniform girl groups have improved considerably, and, along with the media saturation, this helps to explain the considerable broadening of their domestic audience. Their physical attraction nevertheless continues to play a major role. Their image on stage and in videos has remained largely unchanged: singers are portrayed as teenager-cute puppets or sexy barelegged divas performing in similar or identical outts in perfect sync, often lip-syncing to the music rather than singing live. The video for the Wonder Girls’ (Wǂndǂgǂlsǎ) song “Nobody” (2009) may have been intended as a modern homage to early acts like that of the Chǂgori, Andrews, or Kim Sisters, but without the tall, vintage microphones, the gloves, and the 1960s French twist hairstyles,25 the video might not have been associated with the past at all. Korean teenagers are unfamiliar with the Korean or Western acts from more than half a century ago, yet they are no less accustomed to the format of the uniformlooking girl group performing in perfect sync, and the attraction it holds to men. The video for the Wonder Girls’ hit “Like This” was different from most other actual ashmob videos available on YouTube at the time, in that it features grannies and children dancing alongside the idols. The age range of girl group fans is, however, widening and it includes a growing number of adult men (Kim Sua 2010, 80). Acts such as Crayon Pop – whose cutesy dance routine for their 2013 hit “Bar Bar Bar”, though perhaps uncharacteristically simple for a contemporary K-pop group, proved very popular with overseas audiences – play a role in this. The audiences of uniform K-pop groups have not only become older on average, but, much like the formations themselves, they have now also come to include many people overseas. Elsewhere, similar acts may exist, but for many overseas fans, the Korean groups represent a novelty and will come to be endorsed rst by younger fans willing to explore them. The broadening of the fan base nevertheless applies to more than just age and location. While revue dance was performed in front of primarily male audiences at venues restricted to rich middleor upper-class audiences, the domestic and foreign audiences these days are made up of people from a much wider range of social backgrounds. Different backgrounds represent a great diversity in the ways in which the various aspects of the acts are consumed and evaluated. Uniform K-pop acts have met the needs and expectations of many different audiences over the years and they have managed to do so by carefully adjusting their act to the audiences they aimed to attract. As Epstein shows in the next chapter, even the single act Girls’ Generation has targeted different audiences over the years. Critics would argue that the success of such acts is based mostly on their sex appeal and their lack of individualism, but the sheer number of more senior, female fans suggests that they do more than satisfy a need for voyeurism. The “perfect” beauty of contemporary idol groups will not sway K-pop critics, but the increasing number of tomboy group members and tomboy acts suggest a new

Same look through different eyes

31

range of uniform acts is being created that may lure in, among others, the teenage girls who feel overwhelmed by the picture-perfect look of so many groups. It is likely that there are other reasons for the surge in tomboy-like idols, but, like their predecessors, uniform tomboy girl groups such as Global Icon (GI) will respond to a need for entertainment that justies closer examination of the market they attract, rather than mere criticism over their lack of musical innovation or individualism.

Notes 1 The word “band” may refer to a group of musicians, but in practice only few of the members of Korean boy bands compose or play the music to which they sing and dance. Director Lee Hark-Joon of the documentary Nine Muses of Star Empire (2013) found that only the successful idols could get involved in the creative process (Daniella 2013). 2 Although I am aware of the unfortunate connotation with things fake, in this chapter I use the word “act” to refer to music groups or bands. 3 Jocelyn Clark proposes to use the term seoryu (㾯⍱) for K-pop because it represents a love of the West in Korea (2013, 22). 4 The movie was renamed Rebyu-shidae (The age of revue) in Korea (Tonga ilbo [Tonga Daily], 7 February 1930, 1). Revue musicals like this were popular throughout East Asia. Although The Show of Shows would not come to China until 1931, a similar one, Joe Francis’s La Revue des Revues (1927) had opened in China in 1928 (The China Press, 9 October 1928, 4; 27 March 1931, 6). 5 According to Hwang Munp’yǂng (1981, 154), the person responsible for establishing the group was Kim Sorang. 6 The band stayed three days in Tokyo, three days in Osaka, and one day in Kobe, Kyoto and Nagoya, respectively. According to Kim Chip’yǂng (2000, 370) this is the earliest record of a Korean act performing for foreign troops overseas. 7 An all-male Arirang Boys act was also part of the same pool of Okeh talent and comprised singers Yi Pokpon, Yi Haesong, Hyǂn Kyǂngsǂp, Pak Shich’un, and Song Hǎisǂn (Kim Chip’yǂng 2000, 371–372). 8 In 1932 the Japanese military sent a group of 20 Korean “sing-song” girls to Shanghai to entertain Japanese troops in bars there. See The China Press, 27 April 1932, 2. 9 In the mid 1960s they appeared alongside several popular boy bands. Examples are the Kim Sisters’ own siblings, the Kim Brothers, as well as the Key Boys and the K’okkiri (elephant) Brothers. In the late 1960s they were followed by groups such as Add 4, He 6, the Arirang Brothers, and the Johnny Brothers, as well as the Kimch’is, and the Pabosǎ (idiots). As the inspiration for these groups came mostly from the Beatles, the Doors, and the Rolling Stones, they tended to play either pop ballads, rock ‘n’ roll, or psychedelic rock or a mixture of these three. 10 See picture in Shin and Kim 2014, 292. 11 In the 1960s, most North American girl groups were also characterised by uniformity in appearance and performance. Cynthia Cyrus argues that it served to make the acts more familiar to fans by emphasising that the girls were not so much individual stars in their own right, but, rather, team members of equal importance to the group act (Cyrus 2003, 179). 12 In December 1961, Korean Broadcasting System’s KBS-TV was established. It was joined in December 1964 by the TV channel of Tonga Pangsongguk (East Asia broadcasting station; TBC), and in 1969 by that of the Munhwa (Culture) Broadcasting Corporation (MBC) (Hwang 1981, 246).

32

Roald Maliangkay

13 Show Show Show was broadcast rst by TBC-TV in 1964 and was later taken over by KBS until 1983 (Kyǂnghyang shinmun [Capital and Country News], 9 August 1983, 12; Pak Yunu 1995, 133; Sǂn Sǂngwǂn 1996, 31–32, 41). 14 For a discussion of the possible rationale behind the uniformity of contemporary girl groups, see Maliangkay 2014b. 15 Although the name of the act suggested a family relationship, the three young group members were unrelated to one another. Very few acts have used a name suggestive of a family connection since. More than 1.5 million copies of the debut album were sold within a month from the date of its release and together with its other three albums, which came out in 1993, 1994, and 1995, Seo Taiji and Boys reached a total sales volume of approximately ve million within the space of four years (Howard 2006, 87; Lee 2007, 59; Kim Chip’yǂng 2000, 245). 16 Seo Taiji and Boys emphasised the enormous commercial potential of boy bands. Seo’s fans bought his music, his merchandise, sang his songs in noraebang, and adopted his fashion. The boy bands and girl groups that were set up in the wake of Seo Taiji and Boys and successfully emulated its idol culture constituted important drivers of the Korean Wave. 17 Because the size of personal television sets and the speed of the Internet increased rapidly, the appeal of rock cafés wore off around the early 2000s, approximately a decade after they had rst emerged. 18 K-pop act dance trainer Oh Seongjin says he was himself inspired by Yu (Naega net’ǎwǂk’ǎ 2012, 151). 19 N.EX.T. is an acronym of New Experiment Team. 20 See, for example, Sharp’s hit “Tell Me” (2000), and Roo’ra’s hit “3! 4!” (1998). In 1997 Shinhwa boy band members Mun Chǂnghyǂk (Eric) and Yi Sǂnho (Andy) became known rst for rapping in the song “I’m Your Girl” of girl group S.E.S. 21 See f(x)’s song “Rum Pum Pum Pum” (2013). 22 The fact that, just like in Japan, talent agencies are all owned by men may need to be considered when assessing the products and marketing strategies (Aoyagi 2005, 17). Even so, the implications of the industry being run predominantly by men cannot be deliberated effectively without at least some competition from female-owned agencies. 23 Even though some acts, such as Exo-M and Super Junior M (the M stands for Mandarin), are created for a particular foreign market, many others have brought out Chinese or Japanese versions of their songs. 24 Mixed-sex groups were prominent in the mid 1990s. Heather Willoughby (2006, 101–2) has argued convincingly that industries decide on their audiences well before they pick their pop stars, who are easily shelved in case of disappointing sales. 25 See fabulousyaejin, “Hair Stylist – Ayumi”, Asiance Magazine, www.asiancemagazine. com/print/4894, uploaded 30 November 2009.

References Aoyagi, Hiroshi. 2005. Islands of Eight Million Smiles: Idol Performance and Symbolic Production in Contemporary Japan. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Asia Center. Chua, Beng Huat. 2010. “Korean Pop Culture”, Jurnal PengaJian Media Malaysia [Malaysian Journal of Media Studies] 12(1): 15–24.

Same look through different eyes

33

Clark, Jocelyn. 2013. “Kongyǂn miri pogi 1: Chǂlmǎn chakkokka-ga pijǂnaen tokch’angsǂng-ǎi kyǂlchǂngch’e – Kungnip kugak kwanhyǂn aktan (p’at’ǎ obǎ neich’ǂ)” [Performance Preview 1: The True Originality of a Young Composer – National Orchestra of Korea (Part of Nature), Kungnip kǎkchang Mir [Theatre Magazine Mir] 286(11): 20–22. Cyrus, Cynthia J. 2003. “Selling an Image: Girl Groups of the 1960s”, Popular Music 22(2): 173–193. Daniella. 2013. “Interview with Director Lee Hark-Joon”, Kome World. www.kome-world. com/us/articles-15106-interview-with-director-lee-hark-joon.html, uploaded 1 April 2013. Hong, Hop’yo. 1995. “DJ-Dǂk ‘Myujik paksǎ’ t’alch’ul raep chǂngsang nok’ǎ” [DJ Doc Escapes from “Music Box” to Become Ultimate Rap Hit], Tonga ilbo [East Asia Daily] 5 January, p. 39. Howard, Keith. 2006. “Coming of Age: Korean Pop in the 1990s”. In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard. Kent: Global Oriental, pp. 82–98. Hwang Munp’yǂng. 1981. Norae paengnyǂnsa [A 100-Year History of Songs]. Seoul: Sungil munhwasa. Jung, Eun-Young. 2006. “Articulating Korean Youth Culture through Global Popular Music Styles: Seo Taiji’s Use of Rap and Metal”. In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard. Kent: Global Oriental, pp. 109–122. Kang, Hyegyǂng. 2011. “Aidol sunwi-ǎi kyebohak: Kaekwansǂng nollan-esǂ kogaengnimdǎr-ǎi yuhǎikkaji” [A Genealogy of the Ranking of Idols: From a Critique of Objectivity to Entertainment for Travellers]. In Aidol: H.O.T.-esǂ sonyǂshidae-kkaji, aidol munhwa pogosǂ [Idols: A Survey of Idol Culture, from H.O.T. to Girls’ Generation], edited by Yi Tongyǂn. Seoul: Imaejin, pp. 66–89. Kim, Chip’yǂng. 2000. Han’guk kayo chǂngshinsa [A Spiritual History of Korean Songs]. Seoul: Arǎm ch’ulp’ansa. Kim, Sua. 2010. “Sonyǂ imiji-ǎi polgǂrihwa-wa sobi pangshig-ǎi kusǂng: sonyǂ kǎrub-ǎi samch’on p’aen tamnon kusǂng” [The Increasing Objectication and Commercialisation of the Image of Young Women: The Formation of Discourse about Girl Groups’ “Uncle Fans”], Midiǂ, chendǂ & munhwa [Media, Gender and Culture] 15: 79–119. Kim, Yǂnghǎi. 2009. “Ilche kangjǂmgi `rebyuch’um’ yǂn’gu” [A Study of Revue Dance During the Period of Japanese Colonial Rule], Kongyǂn-gwa ribyu [Performance and Review] 65: 35–51. Lee, Kee-hyeung. 2007. “Looking Back at the Cultural Politics of Youth Culture in South Korea in the 1990s: On the “New Generation” Phenomenon and the Emergence of Cultural Studies”, Korean Journal of Communication Studies 15(4): 47–79. Maliangkay, Roald. 2006. “Supporting Our Boys: American Military Entertainment and Korean Pop Music in the 1950s and early 1960s”. In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard. Kent: Global Oriental, pp. 21–33. ——. 2011. “Koreans Performing for Foreign Troops: The Occidentalism of the C.M.C. and K.P.K.”, East Asian History 37: 59–72. ——. 2014a. “The Popularity of Individualism: The Seo Taiji Phenomenon in the 1990s”. In The Korean Popular Culture Reader, edited by Kyung Hyun Kim and Youngmin Choe. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, pp. 296–313. ——. 2014b (in press). “Uniformity and Nonconformity: The Packaging of Korean Girl Groups”. In Hallyu 2.0: The Korean Wave in the Age of Social Media, edited by Sangjoon Lee and Abé Mark Nornes. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press.

34

Roald Maliangkay

Naega net’ǎwǂk’ǎ [I’m a network]. 2012. Kasu’rǎl kkumkku-nǎn ne-ga arayahal modǎn kǂt [Everything You Who Dreams of Becoming a Singer Needs to Know]. Seoul: Hǎrǎm ch’ulp’an. Pak Ch’anho. 2009. Han’guk kayosa [A History of Korean Popular Songs], Vol. 1. Seoul: Mizi Books. Pak Yunu. 1995. “Haebanghu taejung kayo-ǎi sahoe sa” [A Social History of Popular Songs After the Liberation], Norae [Songs] 2, 120–162. Pangsong shimǎi wiwǂnhoe [Broadcasts Screening Committee]. 1987. ‘87 pangsong shimǎi p’yǂngkasǂ [Assessing the Broadcasts Screenings of 1987]. Seoul: Pangsong shimǎi wiwǂnhoe. Seabrook, John. 2012. “Factory Girls: Cultural Technology and the Making of K-pop”, New Yorker, 8 October, pp. 88–97. Seoul yǂksa pangmulgwan [Seoul Museum of History]. 2003. Kǎndae taejung yesul: sori-wa yǂngsang [Popular Art of the Modern Age: Sounds and Images] Seoul: Seoul yǂksa pangmulgwan, pp. 68–71. Serrà, Joan, Álvaro Corral, Marián Boguñá, Martín Haro and Josep L. Arcos. 2012. “Measuring the Evolution of Contemporary Western Popular Music,” Scientic Reports 2(521): 1–6. Shin, Hyǂnjun and Pil Ho Kim. 2014. “Birth, Death, and Resurrection of Group Sound Rock”. In The Korean Popular Culture Reader, edited by Kyung Hyun Kim and Youngmin Choe. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, pp. 275–95. Shin, Hyǂnjun, Yi Yongu and Ch’oe Chisǂn, eds. 1998. Han’guk p’ab-ǎi kogohak 1960: Han’guk p’ab-ǎi t’ansaeng-gwa hyǂngmyǂng [A Study of Korea’s Go-go Pop in the 1960s: The Emergence and Revolution of Korean Pop]. P’aju: Han’gil at’ǎ. Shweta. 2013. “In Defense of K-Pop: Why its Songs Do, and Should, Sound the Same”, Seoul Beats. http://seoulbeats.com/2013/04/in-defense-of-k-pop-why-its-songs-do-andshould-sound-the-same, uploaded 16 April 2013. Sǂn, Sǂngchin. 2008. Lǂkk’i Sǂul pǎrabo taehan min’guk [Lucky Seoul Bravo Korea]. Seoul: Ch’usupat. Sǂn, Sǂngwǂn. 1993. P’algunsyo-esǂ raepkkaji [From the Eighth Army Shows to Rap]. Seoul: Arǎm ch’ulp’ansa. ——. 1996. Taejung ǎmag-ǎi ppuri [The Roots of Korean Pop]. Seoul: Tosǂ ch’ulp’an Kkun. Willoughby, Heather. 2006. “Image is Everything: The Marketing of Femininity in South Korean Popular Music”. In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard. Kent: Global Oriental, pp. 99–108. Yi, Hǎngu. 1997. Ch’ello-wa samgyǂpsal [Cello and Samgyǂpsal]. Seoul: Kyemongsa. Yi, Sǂnguk. 2004. Syo, syo, syo: Kim Ch’uja, Sǂndei Sǂul kedaga kin’gǎp choch’i [Show, Show, Show: Kim Ch’uja, An Emergency Measure for Seoul on Sunday]. Seoul: Saenggag-ǎi namu. Yi, Sǂnhǎi. 2013. “‘Kkǂp’i masyǂnnǎnde tto kk’ǂp’i … pungǂppang aidol tǂnǎn ant’onghae’” [Another Coffee When You’ve Just Had One … The Demise of Identical Idols is Misunderstood], Maeil kyǂngje nyusǎ [Economy Daily News] 2 January, p. 31. Yǂlhwadang yǂngsang charyoshil, ed. 1998. Kungp’iphan shidae ǎi hǎimang, yǂnghwa: 1950-nyǂndae uri chapchi-e shillin yǂnghwa, kwanggo [Hope and Films at a Time of Distress: Film Advertisements in Magazines of the 1950s]. Seoul: Sǂlhwadang. Yu, Jason. 2013. “Has K-Pop Lowered Our Music Standards”, Omona. http:// omonatheydidnt.livejournal.com/10347301.html, uploaded 1 January 2013.

2

“Into the New World” Girls’ Generation from the local to the global Stephen Epstein

In the last few years, as this volume makes abundantly clear, Korean popular music’s quest for a share of the global market has proceeded with remarkable speed and success. Fan interest is obvious, as websites devoted to K-pop garner millions of hits, and dance covers of the genre blanket YouTube. Indeed, YouTube celebrated its seventh anniversary in May 2012 with a K-pop-themed concert in partnership with Google; 2NE1 – a hip-hop inected, attitude-lled alternative to Girls’ Generation, the focus of this chapter – were voted as MTV‘s best new artist of 2011; and Girls’ Generation themselves made a well-publicised American television debut in January 2012. And then, of course, “Gangnam Style” arrived in July 2012 to give awareness of music emanating from South Korea a nuclearfuelled rocket boost into global consciousness with the single most extraordinary example of a viral video that the world has yet seen. Perhaps even more strikingly, though, articles about K-pop as a phenomenon are now commonplace and appear with regularity in prominent Western mainstream media outlets, from the Wall Street Journal to CNN to the Guardian. How do we make sense of these signicant ows of music from a country that was once part of the global periphery back to the global centre?

Girl (soft) power In this chapter I take the iconic K-pop group Girls’ Generation as a case study in exploring how, amidst these swirling ows, bands situated within “the Korean Wave” can become imbued with a variety of meanings as multiple as the proliferating, cross-linguistic terms of identication, encompassing multiple scripts and forms of Romanisation, with which the reigning princesses of K-pop have been endowed.1 As Girls’ Generation videos on YouTube presented statistical maps that suggest popularity in countries as diverse as Mongolia, Peru, Saudi Arabia, the Philippines, New Zealand, and the US, I ask in what ways the group has taken Korea, as in the title of their rst single, “Into the New World”. In many ways, this chapter is an extended response to a logical question put to me by one of the volume editors: how is it that the members of Girls’ Generation collectively managed to set themselves apart from a hoard of similar acts? Bifurcated approaches to an answer offer themselves here. One, of course, is that

36

Stephen Epstein

of the fan, and perhaps the below comment posted to a YouTube clip about K-pop’s popularity in Japan strips the question of appeal to its most basic elements: SNSD IS MORE BETTER, MORE PRETTIER, MORE TALENTED, MORE DORKIEST, MORE CUTIEST, AND MOST OF ALL THEY HAVE GOOD RELATIONSHIP !! whoah>>>>:D௘2 Whoah indeed. For this chapter, though, one may rightly expect a more scholarly analysis. In fact, what an answer to this question needs to articulate is how a K-pop ensemble composed of nine young women, who debuted only in 2007, came so rapidly to be one of the most globally recognised signs of Korea. Such a statement is not hyperbolic. A recent survey of 3600 respondents in nine countries, whose results were published at the end of 2012, indicate tremendous shifts in how Korea is conceived internationally, all subsumed broadly within what the survey analysts consider to be Hallyu – that is, the Korean Wave.3 Food, dramas, and K-pop topped the list, and Girls’ Generation, by common consent, are the standard bearers of the musical form, although one has to give a nod here to PSY, who moves at the margins of a more narrowly dened K-pop that focuses on idol bands. My basic argument is straightforward, although there is much to explore within it. Put simply, Girls’ Generation, in the well-known words of Claude Levi-Strauss, are bonnes à penser (“good to think with”). Levi-Strauss coined the phrase in La Pensée Sauvage (The Savage Mind) in reference to animals, with the subtext that animals are bonnes à manger (“good to eat”). Levi-Strauss was critiquing the functionalist view of totemism that economic signicance was what endowed particular animals with social value. Rather, in his view, totemic species were, rst and foremost, categories that carry social value. In parallel fashion, as I hope to show, Girls’ Generation, though ultimately objects of consumption, have come to offer multiple, often largely symbolic, meanings ranging from the highly localised to the fully global that extend well beyond their position as a pop group that generates economic value. Although not entirely an empty signier (cf. Lie 2012), in that regardless of context, representations of the members always draw on conceptions of youthful attractive femininity, the band is embedded in overlapping webs of relentlessly mediated top-down promotion and bottom-up interpretations that allow them to be deployed as a vehicle reecting a variety of interests and desires. Examples of such malleability readily present themselves, all the more so if one takes into account the multiplication of imagery possible by considering the nine members of the group as individuals. Caveats, however, are necessary on this point: while each of the women in the group has indeed become a celebrity at an individual level within Korea, and various members have developed reputations of note for particular personal qualities,4 Korean girl groups have a long tradition of emphasising uniformity (see Chapter 1). In addition, Girls’ Generation, more than some of its rivals, and at least in part by virtue of its size, has achieved much mileage from tightly synchronised ensemble choreography and costuming that

“Into the New World”

37

has aimed at enhancing likeness rather than difference. Indeed, in one playful clip recorded for their debut in Japan, members Yuri, Yoona, and Seohyeon, who are often said to resemble one another, tease viewers over a presumed inability to distinguish among them.5 The group retains its greatest meaning, then, as an ensemble and has achieved dominance in the South Korean entertainment world as a unit, as exemplied by its having been named in both 2011 and 2012 the “most inuential entertainment star” in Korea by the prominent news magazine Sisa Journal – the only non-individual present among the top ten each year (No 2012). I therefore focus on the group as a collective and present here a portion of the examples of its aggregate malleability in order to elicit some key themes that emerge in these concentric circles of meaning production via the medium of K-pop. K-pop has been leading Hallyu 2.0 (for example, Lee and Nornes, in press), both because it involves a resurgence in the Korean Wave, rst kicked off over a decade ago primarily with the success of South Korean dramas in the broader Asian region, and because it is very much marked by the prominent role of social media and interactive, digitally mediated fan communities. Within Hallyu 2.0, Korea’s girl groups have achieved particular prominence, and the recent explosion of girl groups as a media-worthy item for the public has been especially striking: a search of the KBS News archive, for example, turns up the rst use of the term kǂl k·rup (“girl group”) only in 2008, with but three citations for the entire year.6 By 2009, however, this number had increased to 39, and in 2010 KBS News ran 174 items employing the term kǂl k·rup. By 2011, 356 stories on KBS featured the term. Equally notably, governmental forces have taken advantage of this trend: in May 2010, one girl group’s song – “Huh” by 4Minute – was championed as “extolling freedom of choice” and used as part of a radio propaganda broadcast to North Korea (Lim 2010); the following month, the Defense Ministry discussed broadcasting girl group music videos on screens along the Demilitarised Zone as part of psychological warfare operations.7 This general trend of government exploitation has thus far reached its peak, as I will show below, with Girls’ Generation. These phenomena are occurring in part because patriarchal ideologies are in ux and colliding head-on with the imperatives of consumer capitalism. When Girls’ Generation debuted in 2007 they were targeted at the local market with a decidedly cute image, but the larger geographical spread of imagery related to the group has intersected with the maturation of its members. In step with their own rise in age and an increasing sexualisation in the presentation of K-pop bands that has resulted from growing competition within the industry, a seemingly inexorable move towards greater permissiveness in attitudes toward sexuality in Korean popular culture, and an awareness of the role of the physical attractiveness of its performers as a key selling point, modes of representation have become more multifaceted. It is important to draw attention here to the “K” in K-pop – Special K, one might call it – for two reasons: rst, South Korea has shown itself as one of the world’s most eager proponents of branding, from the municipal to the national

38

Stephen Epstein

level, and there has been a determined effort to wield globalisation in the services of a nationalistic form of development, as scholars have discussed (see, for example, Shin 2006, 204–221), and the spread of K-pop has an unusually strong linkage to South Korea’s nation-building projects and aspirations for global recognition. Second, Korean entertainment companies are self-consciously playing up qualities that have marked out territory for Korean cultural productions in catering to the international market (Epstein and Joo 2012). Girls’ Generation is, in fact, arguably the globe’s single most remarkable example of a pop group becoming implicated in a proliferation of branding projects. Although in the terms of Iwabuchi (2002) and Jung (2011), the Wonder Girls, who were Girls’ Generation’s main rivals until a few years ago, chose at the behest of their impresario Jin Young Park to foreground a nationally odourless (mukokuseki/ mugukchǂk) appeal and not play up their Koreanness. Girls’ Generation, on the other hand, as the standard bearers for K-pop, have tried to carry a Korean essence of the genre with them, even when they are performing their music in other languages, such as Japanese, and treated their Korean origins as an important marketing ploy. One can, in fact, readily argue that in the arrival of what scholar Kim Yeran (2011) has called the “Idol Republic”, the signicance of Girls’ Generation is that they reect changes in the way that South Korea is organising its institutional and economic structures vis-à-vis the outside world. The nation is increasingly exporting not just heavy industry or electronic goods that showcase technological prowess via Hyundai, Samsung, and LG, but also its cultural products and marshalling the resources of its youth, and in particular young women, to market itself on the global stage. One would not go astray here in drawing intriguing parallels with the way young women were mobilised in the past via the textile industry or prostitution in camptowns near US military bases toward service for the nation: issues of personal agency clash with potential for greater and lesser exploitation by hegemonic structures. As a result, complementary and occasionally contradictory representations and reception thus arise for Girls’ Generation and interact with interests that include, among others, the band’s entertainment company, the Korean government, business corporations, national and international media, and, not least, fans situated around the world. In the remainder of this chapter, then, let me trace manifestations of these various representations and receptions from the local to the global level.

Nunan Gangnam style The management company of Girls’ Generation, SM Entertainment, is headquartered in the Apkujǂng-dong ward of Seoul. There it operates an unsurprisingly pricey major retail outlet called Everysing, which combines a shop for band merchandise, noraebang (Korean-style karaoke) rooms, a cafe, and photo booths where fans can take pictures “with” the artists of the SM stable. This close connection for SM Entertainment and Girls’ Generation with Apkujǂngdong has important resonances in the local imagination, for Apkujǂng has a

“Into the New World”

39

noteworthy (some might prefer notorious) reputation as home to many of Korea’s most wealthy, a signicant proportion of whom might be considered nouveau riche. In the early 1990s, Apkujǂng was particularly associated with the “Orange Tribe” (orenji-jok) subculture, which was known for especially conspicuous consumption. The youth who were designated as members of the “Orange Tribe” generated a minor moral panic that laid bare the rapid changes Korea was experiencing during that era in the wake of democratisation and continued turbocharged economic development. Now, Apkujǂng also stands out as a centre for Korea’s burgeoning plastic surgery industry and as a home to various facets of Korea’s entertainment business. In other words, the area is intimately connected with the notion of celebrity and moulded perfection. Apkujǂng, in fact, is often regarded as the heart of the larger Gangnam district that encompasses much of the southern and southeastern section of Seoul, and Girls’ Generation may thus be seen as exemplifying the “Gangnam Style” celebrity perfection that PSY humorously aspires to in his viral sensation. Indeed, the group were chosen to represent the Gangnam district as goodwill promotional ambassadors specically before the release of “Gangnam Style” (Lee Woo-Young 2012). Photographs from the appointment ceremony depict members with various municipal bureaucrats, and although an air of formality is evident, shots that show collective right sts raised, presumably to the accompaniment of slogans such as “Go For It, Gangnam” (Gangnam hwait’ing), suggest a spirited will to market the local at a much broader level and to stamp the district with the panache that these newly appointed public relations ambassadors might bring. A promotional advert produced on behalf of Gangnam, with the group emblazoned upon it, makes clear a concerted effort to draw a link between the desirable qualities of the two.8 All nine group members, looking stylish, cosmopolitan, and condent, are posed in front of a Photoshopped backdrop of tall buildings, Roman alphabet lettering visible upon one of them, with a large piece of disembodied celluloid wafting above. The most salient slogan is again written in English (“City of Girls’ Generation, GANGNAM”), but directly below it, with a nod to the Sinophone market, is a similar rendering, with the inclusion of Chinese characters that also add “the centre of the Korean Wave” (hanliu zhongxin shaonüshidai dushi jiangnan). Interestingly, this promotion for overseas consumers, in essence, detaches Gangnam from Seoul and bestows upon the district a ranking as a city in its own right as it achieves increasing prominence within the global imagination. In yet smaller lettering, a tripartite division of items makes clear what local public relations people view as their comparative advantage: “Culture & Shopping/Medical tourism/IT & Entertainment”. Girls’ Generation thus ties itself approvingly here to a destination that wishes to brand itself as a forward-looking, technologically sophisticated consumer playground that encourages the remaking of the self (medical tourism is surely a slightly euphemistic rendering of “cosmetic surgery”). However, the group was used at an earlier stage of its career for local promotion at a larger level for the entire city of Seoul. Regardless of whether it is a result of ongoing changes in Korea’s international image in recent years or an alternate

40

Stephen Epstein

Figure 2.1 Girls’ Generation feature in an advert for Gangnam District.

vision that Seoul as a whole wished to appropriate for itself, striking differences from the above campaign emerge in both the representation of the group and the city itself. Girls’ Generation recorded a song in 2010, for example, devoted to “My Friend, Haechi” – the animated mascot of the city. The lyrics for this bright, poppy number contain what some might regard as a cloying mixture of Korean and English (“We’re pulled together like magnets, Haechi happy ppungppung … Where did you come from? You’re so so lovable; how did you y here? A world together with Haechi”) that summoned the group to deploy all the pubescent cuteness in its repertoire, as did promotional photos that showed its members as they posed with the leonine symbolic icon. Likewise, a comparison of the way they aid in branding Seoul in videos made available on the ofcial YouTube channel of the Seoul metropolitan government suggest the inherent exibility of imagery related to the band and the desire to manipulate it for a variety of purposes. A video entitled “Seoul Is …” depicts most of the group together trying to answer a question about how to best dene the capital. The answers they arrive at, however, differ markedly from the consumerist images of the Gangnam promotion and emphasise Seoul’s more natural attractions. Beginning with the statement that Seoul is “beautiful”, they enumerate the four seasons and that Seoul is a site endowed with beautiful (arǎmdaun) nature.9 (Also noteworthy is the prominent admixture of English, and that the English comes from the two members of the group who are Korean-American – a point to which I return below.) In a further campaign that went by the name “Innitely Yours, Seoul”, they appear with fellow SM artists Super Junior for a song whose music video presents a series of shots that offer something of a “day in the life” of Seoul. Wholesome, family-oriented entertainments are emphasised: clips of iconic tourist sites crop up in profusion, and the viewer is treated as well to cuts of Ch’ǂnggyech’ǂn and Kyǂngbok Palace. We see, for example, group leader

“Into the New World”

41

Taeyeon jogging and cycling along the Han, while Sunny strolls through downtown with a group of children, Sooyoung practises ballet moves, and Jessica busily snaps photos with an oversized camera like a tourist, as a song devoted to “S.E.O.U.L.” and its beautiful world plays.10

Daughters of the nation The frequency with which Girls’ Generation have been called upon to embody Seoul as representatives at these multiple municipal levels is remarkable; equally striking is the extent to which they are pressed into service for the nation as a whole. In addition to their music videos, live performances, fashion shoots, and commercials, regular appearances on variety and reality shows have allowed them ample opportunity to mark themselves out in the national eye as emblematic idols, which in turn increases their usefulness as representatives of Korea, Inc. The women in the group can be individually pressed into service for numerous activities, such as when member Seohyun acted as a goodwill ambassador for the 2012 World Expo, held in the Korean provincial city of Yǂsu, and was photographed in this role with fellow South Korean and head of the United Nations, Ban Ki-moon.11 Most notably in this regard they were chosen collectively as public relations ambassadors for Visit Korea Year 2010–2012 [sic]. Publicity photos that circulated display the group in the Blue House with the First Lady, looking elegant yet demure. Coupled with the value they bring as sexy popular culture icons, they thus become ideal national representatives for South Korea’s self-image in 2013 – a point not missed by ofcial bureaucracy, which is quite open about its desire to capitalise on their success: An ofcial from Visit Korea committee stated, “Recently, K-POP has been becoming a hot issue throughout the world, therefore we are anticipating an increase in Visit Korea Year promotions as well as the value of the Korean sightseeing brand by appointing Girls’ Generation who have been leading the Korean wave. Girls’ Generation will provide a huge impact on ‘Visit Korea Year’ promotional efforts”. 12 Not only do they frequently receive the designation “girl group of the nation” (kungmin-ǎi kǂl kǎrup), they also become very literally a physical embodiment of the nation, as during their appointment ceremony for this role, in which they were described as being “like the face of Korea” (taehan min’guk ǂlgul-ch’ǂrǂm).13 Neither should we ignore their relationship to local military morale and their frequent performance for troops to encourage not merely thousands of the most testosterone-fuelled segment of the population, but those who serve as male counterparts, in acting as the youthful pillar of national strength. No other group has achieved equal status to Girls’ Generation in representing Korea and being extrapolated to convey the “body public” (cf. Epstein and Joo 2012). One very striking example of this aspect of discourse surrounding the group can be seen in a remark a member of the boy band Super Junior made when

42

Stephen Epstein

Girls’ Generation appeared on their talk show Kiss the Radio. Teasing them, he said “Girls’ Generation can’t get hurt without permission. Their bodies aren’t their own. They’re treasures of the nation”.14 Such transformations in the saturation of media into multiple facets of contemporary Korean life have scarcely gone unnoticed and call forth self-reexive satire. The 2011 drama The Greatest Love (Ch’oego-ǎi sarang) plays upon this recent exaltation of pop stars to the status of Korean national icons in a more thorough manner than has ever been seen before as a result of the conuence of branding, nationalism, and consumer culture: the girl group that its protagonist once belonged to receives the satirical and well-chosen name “The National Treasure Girls” (Kukpo Sonyǂ). Let me develop these notions a bit further here, as Girls’ Generation very literally embody not only Korean ideals of contemporary femininity, but are also made to intertwine with more familiar traditions of womanhood. Consider, for example, an appearance of the group on the popular television variety show Come to Play (Nollǂ wa). In this episode, which was aired to coincide with the New Year in 2011, the band was rechristened Filial Daughters’ Generation (Hyonyǂ shidae) and spent much of the show discussing their loving relationship with their parents. They thus become representatives of the most desired qualities of traditional young Korean femininity for a domestic public, but then, in the subtitling of this episode on YouTube by fans, they in turn become agents of soft power, propagating cherished Korean values in a way that foregrounds familial relationships both at an individual and a national level. In one notable segment, Seohyeon – the mangnae (youngest) of the group, itself a term taken from the position that siblings hold relative to one another – meets with teasing but serious praise for her maintenance of traits that are seen as representative of traditional Korea: she speaks of an attempted trip with a friend to walk in traditional Korean garb (hanbok) at Kyǂngbok Palace, and her love for sweet potato – a rustic food item that is seen as symbolising the Korean countryside. The show’s host, enumerating these points, then describes her with a familial metaphor as a “true daughter of Korea”.15 Moreover, at appropriate times of the year, most particularly New Year’s and Korea’s autumn harvest festival (Ch’usǂk), one can readily nd shots of the members dressed in hanbok, and acting as the face of Korea with a display of respect for national traditions. Particularly noteworthy is the issuance of commemorative stamps by the national postal service and the faces of members of Girls’ Generation depicted as being on the ଄50,000 note. The decision to spuriously add their faces to currency gains additional salience if one is aware of the contestation that surrounded the decision over which woman to place on the ଄50,000 note, which was released only in 2009. Early on, the government had determined to place a woman on the newly minted bills, and, ultimately, Shim Saimdang – a revered gure who embodied the pinnacle of the Confucian tradition of wise mother, good wife (hyǂnmo yangch’ǂ) – was selected to grace the note. This choice was opposed in some circles, however, because although Shim certainly was a woman of remarkable accomplishments in her own right, she is primarily known for her dutiful raising of a great Confucian scholar. To then insert Girls’ Generation – who are often seen as epitomising the contemporary

“Into the New World”

43

Korean ideal of young womanhood, but in a way that offers only an ambiguous empowerment – raises similar questions, albeit from a different angle.16 As a measure of the extent to which branding at a multiple levels has come to be central to the K-pop industry, it is striking that even when Girls’ Generation represent Korea at its most traditional, commercial interests come strongly into play, as, for example, in an ad campaign in Ch’usǂk that has the group members hawking items for Lotte Department Store’s holiday food product sale. Respect for traditional Korea in 2013 goes hand in hand with commodication. Unsurprisingly, moreover, while Girls’ Generation are pressed into service for a variety of local and national government promotional interests, they are also tapped frequently for corporate interests. Indeed, in 2011 Forbes Korea placed them as number one among Korea’s top celebrities, taking into account earnings from lms, commercials, dramas, but also music videos, magazines, and appearances on TV shows.17 To cite this statistic, however, does not perhaps convey its full signicance, for in Korean society and popular culture, celebrity endorsements are far more important to advertising than they are in the West. This strong local brand translates into their use with Korea’s multinational promotions and one can readily nd them being used in, for example, Chinese-language advertisements for Samsung’s forays into the Chinese market. A striking feature with Girls’ Generation, then, not just within Korea but at a global level, is the frequency with which their musical offerings intertwine with marketing, such that two of their major songs were actually created to market products: “Visual Dreams” served above all as a promotion for Intel, and “Chocolate Love” did the same for LG Cyon’s Chocolate Phone. A further special feature of Girls’ Generation among Korean girl groups is that two prominent members within the ensemble are Korean-Americans born in California. Through Tiffany and Jessica, the group takes the motif of embodiment of notions of transnationality and cosmopolitanism a step further, in literally incorporating two Korean-American diaspora returnees among its members. There is little question either that their presence within the group is seen as redounding to South Korea’s credit. In South Korean hierarchical visions of its diaspora, returnees from Anglophone countries (and from the global hegemon the US in particular) have pride of place in suggesting cosmopolitanism and the height of contemporary modernity; conversely, girl groups have studiously thus far avoided Chosǂnjok (Korean-Chinese) and ethnic Koreans from former states of the USSR (Koryǂ saram) members. The presence of two Korean-Americans in Girls’ Generation has served as a valuable tool in the global marketing of the band and allowed them to handle themselves with aplomb in English-speaking situations, when the two take over as leaders of the group. During their US television debut tour, for example, they appeared on the Live With Kelly show. Upon chatting with them after their performance, cohost Howie Mandel, startled to be confronted by Tiffany’s native English, remarks “Your English is very good.” When Tiffany explained that she was in fact born in the US, Mandel, in order to defuse the potentially awkward situation in humorous fashion, repeated, “And your English is very good.” The

44

Stephen Epstein

encounter, however, underscored the importance to the Korean cultural contents industry of incorporating overseas Koreans in order to expand its reach more broadly around the world. Nonetheless, for performers with strong links to the diaspora to maintain a place successfully in a K-pop group, their allegiance to Korea must remain unquestioned, as Korean-American Jay Park (JaeBeom) of boy band 2AM found out to his sorrow when disparaging comments that he had made about Korea surfaced and he was forced to leave the band in disgrace. Conversely, in an interview done with Jessica and Tiffany for Soompi, one of the largest English-language fora devoted to K-pop, Tiffany can be seen proudly sporting a t’aegǎkki pin on the lapel of her mock ROK Air Force uniform, as if to declare the primacy of her connection with her ethnic homeland.18

Seoul, Tokyo, London, New York All of the above suggests how Girls’ Generation as a group serves a wide variety of discursive functions within the Korean context that cause it to become emblematic of imaginings that range from the local to the global. A close consideration of their songs and music videos also reveals a telling interplay of cosmopolitanism and national belongings that unfolds in a series of repeated motifs involving travel and an external orientation that projects the band outwards. Although SM Entertainment could not have been certain that Girls’ Generation would achieve the success that they have, it does seem apparent that from their very inception the managing company had high hopes of, if not a global, at least a regional reach, and in comparison to most other K-pop groups, the imagery related to the group from early on has tapped into tropes of movement and transnationalism. That Jessica and Tiffany appear in mock South Korean Air Force uniforms in their appearance for Soompi and are photographed in front of a painted backdrop of clouds is not, in fact, especially surprising. Likewise, “Into the New World” – their rst single, released in 2007 – begins with shots of a small prop jet taking off juxtaposed with a young woman launching a paper airplane; a caption unfolds on the screen that reads “Into the New World, or not, it’s up to your choice.” The overall theme of the video suggests young women on the cusp of adulthood eager to step out bravely into the opportunities that await, and is tied specically to aviator imagery. In “Oh”, they are depicted as cheerleaders for (American-style) football, which is hardly a major sport in Korea. The music video thus engages in a deliberately foreignising strategy that also arrogates for itself a connection to the US as global metropole – the seat of its largest music industry and the most dominant source of its popular culture. In order to make this connection even more explicit, an English-language sign in the locker room in which they begin their choreographed routine reads in oxymoronic fashion “American Football World Championships” (rather than the Super Bowl) and betrays the aspirational qualities here to paint themselves as potential challengers on a global stage. Indeed, the globally aspirational nature of their programme and marketing strategies is perhaps made even more apparent in the lyrics and music video for

“Into the New World”

45

the song “Mr. Taxi”, which was initially released in Japanese. The music video depicts the members of the group in taxi driver uniforms, which again implicitly connects the group to metaphors of motion, and the rst four words “Tokyo, Seoul, London, New York” patently offer both local specicity and global cities. The order of progression here evokes, for a specically Japanese audience, a move outward in concentric circles, starting rst with the local capital then moving back to the Korean point of origin of the band and then ambitiously onward to great cosmopolitan centres in Europe and North America. A screen behind the group displays the cities’ names and then morphs into a digital display map of the world. Lyrics mix Japanese with interspersed and somewhat nonsensical English, but the interjected English words have as a unifying theme in the idea of speed and travel: “drive tonight”, “I’m so fast”, “supersonic”, “shooting star”, “non-stop”. “Flower Power” – a song also rst released in Japan – continues the motif of cosmopolitan movement in depicting the band in the opening to the music video that accompanies it as ight attendants. We nd behind them once more an LCD screen, busy with lettering. On it can be seen small aeroplane icons and among its words not only, again, “Seoul” and “Tokyo”, but such unusual terms as “border”, “journey”, “city lights”, and “we hope you have a good trip”. Very brief clips of night-time cityscapes are interspersed with the dance footage. The curious mélange of phrases in conjunction with the ight attendant garb and rapid urban shots again suggests a deliberate desire to propagate imagery for the group that characterises them as sophisticated, globetrotting stars. In a public relations still taken to promote the song, the group stands in matching ight attendant uniforms in front of an airport ight announcement board that matches each member of the group with a (ight) number and a noteworthy global destination: “0005 – Taeyeon – ROM; 0006 – Hyoyeon – BCN; 0007 – Yuri – PAR”.19 As I reach the nal portion of this chapter, let me close the loop in moving from issues surrounding presentation of the band to thinking about reception of the band in a variety of ways, both at an international level and the reaction they have produced at a more micro level, considering other potential effects that the celebration of Girls’ Generation has upon individual fans and more generally in wider society, domestically and internationally. As I have discussed elsewhere (Epstein 2011; Epstein and Joo 2012), the successful 2010 debut of Girls’ Generation in Japan had a variety of signicant features, not least South Korean pride in exporting highly successful popular culture to their erstwhile colonisers. One aspect of this success has been Japanese admiration for Korean attractiveness, and not least a fascination with the legs of Girls’ Generation. Given Korea’s troubled colonial history with Japan, and the presence of such hot-button issues as ongoing Japanese sex tourism in Korea and the unresolved matter of compensation for comfort women, the sexualised representation of Korean women in a Japanese context becomes almost immediately problematic. And, in fact, the adulation that Girls’ Generation experienced in Japan as icons of desirable femininity appears at rst glance to revive sexualised colonial images of Korea, but a closer look suggests instead, as I have argued (Epstein 2011; Epstein and Joo 2012), shifting relationships of power in Northeast Asia and what we might call the cultural marketplace.

46

Stephen Epstein

The translations below of Japanese tweets that were uploaded on the popular English-language website allkpop.com20 immediately after the Tokyo debut of Girls’ Generation in August 2010 make it clear that many among the Japanese audience were extremely impressed with the performance, although this was often from a position of self-confessed prior ignorance, which has been a feature in the genealogy of Japanese discourse about Korean popular culture, as Chie Yamanaka (2010) has pointed out. Furthermore, viewers noted repeatedly the group’s long legs, and the comments regularly use language with erotic overtones: This morning I was shocked by the high quality of the Korean idol group SNSD. They have a whole different presence. I saw SNSD for the rst time, this group is amazing what is this feeling, They have great looks and are so cute. is Kpop this amazing? Tired–this morning on TV SNSD was on, and I was shocked by their amazingly beautiful legs. The dance was as if dolls were dancing and it was wondrous. I was transxed watching SNSD for the rst time, and I am falling for them–. They’re cute, long legs, sings great, even as a female I can see they are wonderful. As made clear by this last comment, though, and another that states “as u read here, most of their fans are girls–so that that [sic] haterz~”, this transnational sexual attraction is complex. Contrary to the expectations of SM Entertainment, whose CEO has gone on record as saying that they largely targeted men in their thirties and forties in their marketing of Girls’ Generation,21 the group’s predominant fan base in Japan has been females in their teens and early twenties. Korea has been particularly eager to report on both Japanese media accounts of Korean girl group success within Japan generally, and to note this latter unanticipated feature in particular – for example, a Sports Seoul piece goes into detail not only about the rivalry among Japanese press outlets to cover the showcase debut of Girls’ Generation, but also the overwhelming prevalence of young females in the audience.22 The article is accompanied by shots of numerous fans dressed as members of Girls’ Generation, frequently wearing the hot pants for which the group has become well known. In the terms of Sun Jung, fans are now “embodying” K-pop at a regional and global level. We can see this both in vaguer fashion decisions, and, more concretely, through multiple dance cover bands that attempt to reproduce as a troupe the style and look of Girls’ Generation, with examples globally that range from Chile’s Myu Jeu 9 to Indonesia’s Q-Girls. Media outlets frequently cite Japanese sources from industry professionals to fans themselves to support the notion that Korea has a more polished and adult image for its idol groups than Japan’s homegrown version. A 2011 Mnet show entitled Boom the Kpop featured Girls’ Generation in its rst episodes, and without

“Into the New World”

47

a trace of irony argued that the group had even changed the lifestyle (laipǎsǎt’ailkkaji) of Japanese people. Quoting a Japanese cameraman who has specialised in photography of Korean bands in Japan, the show treats him as an authoritative source to convey the notion that in comparison with local groups, Girls’ Generation’s “dancing skills, performances, and singing skills are already perfect”.23 In other words, Korea’s girl groups, and Girls’ Generation in particular, become involved in a discourse of Korean feminine desirability and competitive strength that showcases the nation’s power in the neo-Social Darwinistic environment of neoliberalism. Certainly for female stars themselves, display of attractive legs has changed from being a selling point to being a point of constant surveillance.24 This calculated display and “showing off” for the gaze of the international audience become repeated tropes and we encounter a “dollication” of idol groups (Puzar 2011) – that is, treating them in some way as if they are living inhyǂng (dolls). Take, for example, two articles on the English-language koreaboo fan website entitled, respectively, “Girls’ Generation Yuri Shows Off Her Beautiful Legs” and “Girls’ Generation’s Tiffany Shows Off Her Doll-like Legs”.25 Top-down promotion may create consumer pride within Korea, but it also works with interactive fandom cultures in the Web 2.0 era to produce sites that focus obsessively on the bodies of K-pop stars,26 and Yuri has complained in public about the Japanese media’s focus on their legs and the pressure it placed on the group to keep them in perfect condition.27 These increasingly present structures enhance a situation that invites peers and the group’s fans to take part in enforcing media ideals. Individual members become subject to scrutiny and comparison among themselves, and cannot escape being judged for how they look.28 Furthermore, when curious fans and casual consumers are given “special” insight by the commercial media on how the members of SNSD maintain their striking legs, and “magic ratios” for beautiful legs are spread about (5:3:2, in which the numbers indicate the thickest part of the thigh, thickest part of the calf, and ankles) along with all the various lines that women are supposed to adhere to: s-lines, v-lines and so on, problematic issues quickly arise.29 Unfortunately, I’m going to have to conclude on a sour note in considering the interplay of the global and the local: a related effect of this celebration of Girls’ Generation, then, and the relentless promotion of their embodiment of ideal femininity particularly in physical appearance that stresses slimness and long legs is the simultaneous production of narcissism and insecurity within Korea and the maintenance of industries that cater to taking care of these insecurities, which include invasive cosmetic surgery for calf muscles. Statistics demonstrate a signicant acceleration in body dysphoria this decade. As early as 2002 a study found that fully half of high-school girls in Korea were unable to donate blood because of anaemia and malnutrition caused by dieting (Kim and Lennon 2006, 357). It is noteworthy that if one conducts an English-language search even on google.co.kr for “Girls’ Generation” and “legs”, one mostly nds admiring fan sites devoted to attering photos, such as kpoplegs.tumblr.com, and the almost identically named k-poplegs.tumblr.com, but the same search in Korean for the

48

Stephen Epstein

equivalents Sonyǂ Shidae and tari (legs) brings up, above all, discussions of how to get a similar look to the group with an emphasis on remaking oneself. The women in Girls’ Generation are said to be kept on a diet of 1200 calories a day by their trainers (although this has been disputed), and member Seohyun, reportedly 9 kg underweight in 2011, continues to remain so in 2013. Nor it is merely academics who take note. I give the last word to an offhand comment from a YouTube thread on a now-deleted clip of a Girls’ Generation song promoting a product, which testies to awareness, and resentful acknowledgement, of disempowering consumption messages propagated by Girls’ Generation as they take Korea into the new world, and we see that Korean ideals and soft power, as they move from the local to the global, just like those of the US, may have other negative consequences: “So I just ate a bag of chips. Like, those large bags. Then I came and watched this CF [commercial lm] … I feel so fat. ;~; excuse me while I go burn all the junk food in my house and go exercise for 10 hours. Soshi, why must you have such an effect on me? I WANT TO EAT MY FOOD IN PEACE.”

Notes 1 One may, for example readily encounter the group referred to not only as “Girls’ Generation”, but ㏢⎖㔲╖; Sonyǂ Shidae; SonyeoShidae; 蔯羬藸耲; Shoujo Jidai; SoShi; and SNSD. 2 www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GsZAoo63Yo. 3 www.thejakartapost.com/news/2012/12/19/hallyu-cited-face-korea.html, uploaded 19 December 2012. 4 Each of the nine members of Girls’ Generation were listed among the rst 11 slots of Korea’s Mnet network’s top 100 idol stars in a survey that relied on online fan voting and polling results from Gallup. See www.soshied.com/2012/08/girls-generation-isthe-most-inuential-celebrity-in-korea, uploaded 16 August 2012. Sunny, for example, has come to be known for her displays of the studied cuteness known as aegyo; Jessica is nicknamed the “Ice Queen”; Seohyeon, the youngest member of the ensemble, has a reputation for being serious and studious and so on. 5 The clip is titled “SNSD – Yuri, Seohyun, Yoona – We are Different” and is available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHgzmpDXyHs, uploaded 29 December 2011. 6 The term yǂsǂng k·rup (“female group”) has been in circulation longer but never achieved widespread currency. 7 “Girl Bands to Assist in ‘Psychological Warfare’”, The Chosun Ilbo [Korea Daily]. http://english.chosun.com/site/data/html_dir/2010/06/11/2010061100432.htm, uploaded 11 June 2010. 8 For a copy of this image, see www.kpopstarz.com/articles/6167/20120307/girlsgeneration-snsd-honorary-ambassador-gangnam-appointment-ceremony.htm, uploaded 7 March 2012. 9 www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8xw5yCtmRM, uploaded 27 July 2009. 10 www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4dwReS_4Ec, uploaded 19 April 2012. 11 http://snsdkorean.com/2012/05/04/a-new-goodwill-ambassador-in-town, uploaded 4 May 2012. 12 www.allkpop.com/2011/08/snsd-feels-honored-to-be-appointed-as-ambassadors-forvisit-korea-year, uploaded 19 August 2011.

“Into the New World”

49

13 www.ytn.co.kr/_sn/1412_201108191357773194, uploaded 19 August 2011. 14 www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPuEBI6fqFE, uploaded 2 November 2012. The remark occurs at 21:30 of the clip. 15 See 17:50–18:05 of www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fN24ehXqKk, uploaded 24 June 2013. 16 One might also compare the rather dubious celebrations of the election of Park Geun-hye as South Korea’s rst female president as representing a step forward for equality within Korea. 17 http://seoulbeats.com/2011/02/forbes-koreas-top-40-power-celebrities, uploaded 27 February 2011. 18 www.soompi.com/2010/01/12/soompi-gets-to-know-jessica-and-tiffany-of-snsd, uploaded 12 January 2010. 19 The image may be seen on various fan websites, including www.fanpop.com/clubs/ girls-generation-and-exo-exoshidae/images/32981379/title/snsd-ower-power-photo. 20 www.allkpop.com/2010/09/snsds-debut-performances-in-japan, uploaded 10 September 2010. 21 “Who Is the Real Midas in Korean Showbiz?” Chosun Ilbo. http://english.chosun.com/ site/data/html_dir/2008/11/05/2008110561003.html, uploaded 5 November 2008. 22 http://news.sportsseoul.com/read/entertain/869340.htm, uploaded 26 August 2010. 23 www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GsZAoo63Yo, uploaded 15 November 2011. 24 www.allkpop.com/2010/09/how-girl-groups-take-care-of-their-legs, uploaded 4 September 2010. 25 See www.koreaboo.com/index.html/_/general/girls-generation-yuri-shows-off-herbeauti-r10949, uploaded 25 October 2011; www.koreaboo.com/index.html/_/general/ girls-generations-tiffany-shows-off-h-r11629, uploaded 21 November 2011. The dollication of the group is made particularly explicit in their most popular music video “Gee”, where they are mannequins brought to life. See also Puzar 2011. 26 http://kpoplegs.tumblr.com/. 27 www.allkpop.com/2010/11/yuri-feels-pressured-by-the-focus-on-snsds-legs, uploaded 1 December 2010. 28 For example, http://snsdgirlsgenerationforever.blogspot.com/2011/05/comparingtaeyeon-and-sooyoungs-legs.html, uploaded 23 May 2011; http://behindtheworkout. com/2012/01/21/btw-special-the-girls-generation-snsd-workout, uploaded 21 January 2012. 29 http://behindtheworkout.com/2012/01/21/btw-special-the-girls-generation-snsdworkout, uploaded 21 January 2012.

References Epstein, Stephen. 2011. “J-Pop, K-Pop, and Transnational Reconciliation”. In Korean Studies in Shift: PACKS 2010 Proceedings, edited by Changzoo Song. Auckland: New Zealand Asia Institute, pp. 73–86. Epstein, Stephen and Rachael M. Joo. 2012. “Multiple Exposures: Korean Bodies and the Transnational Imagination”, The Asia-Pacic Journal 10(33.1), http://japanfocus. org/-Rachael_M_-Joo/3807. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 2002. Recentering Globalization: Popular Culture and Japanese Transnationalism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

50

Stephen Epstein

Jung, Sun. 2011. Korean Masculinities and Transcultural Consumption: Yonsama, Rain, Oldboy, K-pop Idols. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Kim, Minjeong and Sharron Lennon. 2006. “Content Analysis of Diet Advertisements: A Cross-National Comparison of Korean and U.S. Women’s Magazines”, Clothing and Textiles Research Journal 24(4): 345–362. Kim, Yeran. 2011. “Idol Republic: The Global Emergence of Girl Industries and the Commercialization of Girl Bodies”, Journal of Gender Studies 20(4): 333–345. Lee, Sangjoon and Abé Mark Nornes, eds, in press. Hallyu 2.0: The Korean Wave in the Age of Social Media. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Lee Woo-Young. 2012. “Girls’ Generation Named Gangnam Envoys”, AsiaOne Showbiz. www.asiaone.com/News/Latest%2BNews/Showbiz/Story/A1Story20120306-331822. html, uploaded 6 March 2012. Levi-Strauss, Claude. 1962. La Pensée Sauvage [The Savage Mind]. Paris: Plon. Lie, John. 2012. “What is the K in K-pop? South Korean Popular Music, the Culture Industry, and National Identity”, Korea Observer 43(3): 339–363. Lim, Bomi. 2010. “S. Korea Renews Propaganda With Pop Song, Eating Advice”, Bloomberg. www.bloomberg.com/news/2010-05-24/south-korean-song-blasted-intonorth-as-propaganda-war-revived-on-sinking.html, uploaded 24 May 2010. No, Chinsǂp. 2012. “Mujǂk sonyǂshidae shinbaram ‘tokjǂm shidae’” [The exciting “era of monopoly” of the invincible Girls’ Generation], Shisa Journal 1191, 14 August, p. 44. Puzar, Aljosa. 2011. “Asian Dolls and the Western Gaze: Notes on the Female Dollication in South Korea”, Asian Women 27(2): 81–111. Shin, Gi-Wook. 2006. Ethnic Nationalism in Korea: Genealogy, Politics and Legacy. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Yamanaka, Chie. 2010. “The Korean Wave and Anti-Korean Discourse in Japan: A Genealogy of Popular Representations of Korea”. In Complicated Currents: Media Flows, Soft Power and East Asia, edited by Daniel Black, Stephen Epstein and Alison Tokita. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 2.1–2.14.

3

The political economy of idols South Korea’s neoliberal restructuring and its impact on the entertainment labour force Inkyu Kang

South Korea’s (hereafter Korea’s) cultural industry has undergone a sea change since the 1997 nancial crisis swept the country. The most striking shift has happened in the perception of culture: from something to preserve and pass on to the next generation, to something to be sold for prot. During the early 1990s, when Samsung Electronics and Hyundai Motor Company were expanding into global markets, Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park became a worldwide sensation grossing over hundreds of millions of dollars. It was a watershed event that awakened the Korean government and conglomerates to the realisation that culture can be a lucrative commodity – often more protable than semiconductors and automobiles. On 17 May 1994, the Presidential Advisory Council on Science and Technology (PACST) gave the president a brieng entitled “Strategic Plan for the Growth of the High-Tech Visual Arts Industry”. It was an important meeting attended by all major government ofcials including the deputy prime minister for economic affairs, the nance minister, the minister of communications, the minister of trade and industry, the minister of culture and sports, the minister of science and technology, and even the minister of environment. A statement made at this event ended up becoming the nation’s obsession for years to come: “Jurassic Park, directed by bankable lmmaker Steve Spielberg on a budget of US$65 million, has earned a total of US$850 million in one year. The revenue the movie has brought in is equivalent to the export sales of 1.5 million motor vehicles” (Kim 1994). At that time, Korea was exporting barely 700,000 automobiles per year. Since the PACST report hit the headlines, both the government and the press started routinely measuring the success of blockbuster movies in terms of vehicle sales. Now they would instantly count the number of semiconductors and videocassette recorders to be sold in order to match the gross revenue generated by smash hit lms like The Lion King (1994) and Titanic (1997), which would together earn over US$3 billion worldwide. It was a drastic change in attitude towards culture: a pure commodity that is evaluated for its exchange value rather than its use value. The shift meant Korea substantially loosened its grip on, if not entirely threw away, its position on “cultural exception”. The idea the country had adamantly

52

Inkyu Kang

stuck to is summed up effectively by Karel De Gucht, the European commissioner for trade: “Culture is not a commodity – far from it” (Giannoulis 2013). In seeing culture, Korea has moved from one extreme to the other. Of course, the reversal was not caused by a single movie, but Spielberg’s dinosaur classic was indeed impressive. By mixing creativity and cutting-edge technology to perfection, the genius lmmaker provided inspiration to many Koreans who felt that their country was in serious need of a new growth engine. Korea’s geopolitical situation was also a factor. At the turn of the new millennium, the idea that Korea is “a shrimp among whales” led its government to embrace the “sandwich theory” that saw Korea as being squeezed between high-tech Japan and an emerging China armed with inexpensive labour. Something had to be done – soon. The changed perception of culture affected the lm industry rst and then the music industry.

Culture for sale Korea was always wary of “cultural invasion”, especially by Hollywood, as one of the avid advocates of cultural sovereignty under the belief that “cultural products encompass values, identity and meanings that go beyond their strictly commercial value” (Coalition for Cultural Diversity 2010, 5). Inspired by the huge success of Jurassic Park and other blockbuster lms, however, many Koreans started to see Hollywood as a role model to emulate rather than an arch-enemy. Korean conglomerates (chaebol) such as Samsung, Daewoo, SKC, and Hyundai plunged hastily into the cultural and creative sector. The entertainment industry was a completely new venture for most of the chaebol, whose forte was manufacturing. But it did not matter to those looking for opportunities to create a positive cashow. After all, most of the family-controlled corporations had diversied into areas entirely different from their original businesses: Samsung had begun as a sugar renery and Hyundai as a rice trader. The former spearheaded strategic investments in the cultural industry starting from 1993, through its numerous subsidiaries, even before the legendary Jurassic Park report went public. In 1995 the electronics behemoth established Samsung Entertainment, which encompassed major areas of the industry: lm and video (Dreambox, Star Max), television (Q Channel, Catch-One), and music (Nices). Coincidentally, DreamWorks SKG was looking for Asian partners. It looked almost too good to be true: an opportunity to invest in a newborn Hollywood studio founded by Steven Spielberg – the very gure that changed the concept of culture – with two big names like Jeffrey Katzenberg and David Geffen. Samsung was not going to miss it. To the celebrated lmmakers, Samsung, with its deep pockets and its chairman, Kun-Hee Lee, known as an avid movie collector, looked like a perfect t. Spielberg invited Lee over to his house for dinner. They discussed a US$900 million investment at the dinner table, but the meeting left a bitter aftertaste.

The political economy of idols 53 Film may be the universal language, but business can be Babel. When the Koreans, through an interpreter, explained their goals, Spielberg got a twinge in his belly – and it wasn’t the bass. “The word semiconductor must have been used about 20 times during that 2½-hr. encounter”, Spielberg recalls. “I thought to myself, ‘How are they going to know anything about the lm business when they’re so obsessed with semiconductors?’ It was another one of those evenings that turned out to be a complete waste of time”. (Corliss 1995) The reclusive entrepreneur’s hardware mindset may have been a turnoff for the creative minds, but his obsession with semiconductors was not the sole deal breaker. As it turned out, Lee had insisted that Samsung not only be the only outside investor, but also have effective control. Geffen said later in his New York Times interview: “if we were only interested in making money we’d also build semiconductor plants” (Pollack 1996, D4). After the talk went sour, DreamWorks cut a deal – to add insult to Lee’s injury – with his nephew and niece, Jay and Miky Lee, who managed a food and pharmaceutical company. The Lees agreed to invest US$300 million for an 11 per cent stake in the start-up studio. The partnership sparked Cheil Jedang Corp. to create its own entertainment division – CJ Entertainment, which has grown into Korea’s largest of its kind. Samsung went the other way. In an effort to cash in on Hollywood, it spent US$600 million to acquire a 7.4 per cent stake in New Regency Productions – the independent studio that had made J.F.K., Natural Born Killers and Under Siege. The memory chip giant invested heavily in domestic lm production, helping Shiri, Korea’s rst Hollywood-style blockbuster, to become the greatest domestic box ofce hit until 2001. The 1999 big-budget thriller attracted over six million viewers nation-wide, breaking the record of 5.2 million tickets sold set by Titanic in the previous year. Unfortunately, the enormous success did not please the major investor; Samsung had already decided to give up its entertainment business before the ambitious project opened in movie theatres. Samsung Entertainment was shut down in January 1999 after three and a half years in operation. Like Samsung, most of the Korean conglomerates that had rushed into entertainment pulled out during and after the Asian nancial crisis. Soon after SKC withdrew from the lm business in the midst of the recession in 1998, Daewoo and Hyundai joined the exodus. Having accumulated wealth through construction, shipbuilding, heavy machinery, and chemical manufacturing, they were not quite ready for the high-risk, ckle nature of the entertainment industry. Furthermore, liquidity shortage caused by the crisis made them even more impatient. The vacuum left by the manufacturing moguls opened doors for an oligopolistic market dominated by a handful of latecomers. Although the involvement of heavyweight players was short-lived, it changed the industry for good. Its most remarkable inuence was the rationalisation of the motion picture industry (Pacquet 2005, 38). They introduced a corporate approach by embracing the star system and the vertical integration of the movie industry that combines production, distribution, and exhibition. Such rationalised practices

54

Inkyu Kang

to reduce risk and maximise prots were emulated by would-be major companies like CJ Entertainment, Lotte Cinema and Mediaplex. CJ Entertainment (now CJ E&M), which set off as the Korean distributor for DreamWorks (sold to Paramount Pictures in 2005), opened Korea’s rst multiplex cinema in 1998. It turned out to be an extremely timely and rewarding endeavour, thanks to the phenomenal success of Shiri and other homegrown blockbuster movies like JSA (2000), Friend (2001), Silmido (2003), and Tae Guk Gi: The Brotherhood of War (2004). All these movies sold more tickets in Korea than James Cameron’s epic lm Titanic did, leading the South Korean lm renaissance. Initially, until the mid 2000s, CJ competed ercely with production/distribution companies like Cinema Service and Showbox, who quickly took over the market vacated by the chaebols. The rivalry did not last long. Having everything from production to exhibition under one corporate roof, CJ easily outdid its competitors, who lacked its powerful synergy. Cinema Service, which distributed megahits such as My Sassy Girl, Silmido, and King and the Clown, was acquired by CJ in 2006. Mediaplex used to constitute the “Big Three” along with CJ and Cinema Service, but with diminishing inuence, it had to sell off its movie theatre chain Megabox in 2007. Fortied with their own cinema chains, CJ and Lotte’s market dominance has grown. By 2011, CJ’s megaplex CGV had garnered a 42.2 per cent screen share, and Lotte a 25.3 per cent share, amounting to a combined total of 67.5 per cent. Although the number of movies produced or imported has steadily grown, there is a growing concern that the oligopolistic dominance could stie diversity and creativity. For instance, the share of independent and low-budget lms played at CGV theatres has decreased from 10.19 per cent in 2009 to 6.42 per cent in 2011, and to 1.41 per cent in 2012. The issue was more serious in the case of Lotte Cinema, accounting for no more than 0.95 per cent in 2012 (Jung 2012). At stake are not just obscure productions and starving artists. Even internationally renowned lmmakers like Ki-duk Kim, who won the Best Director awards at the Berlin International Film Festival and the Venice Film Festival, have expressed difculty in securing funding or distribution. “There are countless lms out there that won’t get a chance to screen due to politics at multiplex theater chains”, Kim complained (Park 2012). The vertically integrated oligopoly is not limited to the motion picture industry alone; it has spread into all areas of culture, noticeably the music business, where CJ also is a dominant player. By 2011 CJ claimed over 30 per cent of the top 100 albums chart (Kim, T. 2012). It is involved in every step from producing to broadcasting music through its own media outlets, including two music television channels, Mnet and KM. It also runs a music school (M Academy) and even a “music studio pub” (M Pub) that serves food with alcohol under the motto “Drink Your Music”. The leading entertainment company’s inuence abroad grew as Korean pop music, or K-pop, began to attract fans around the world. CJ hosts several national and international music festivals, including “Mnet Asian Music Awards”; its 2012 event attracted more than one billion viewers globally (Kim 2013).

The political economy of idols 55

The political economy of culture and neoliberal globalisation This chapter investigates the evolution of K-pop, contextualising it in the neoliberal reformation of South Korea’s cultural industry since the Asian nancial crisis and subsequent neoliberal reforms. Based on political economy, it explores how the economic “base” wields tremendous inuence in shaping the cultural “superstructure”. Although some have dismissed political economy as being irrelevant in post-industrial and postmodern society, I would argue that it can still best explain the fundamental change in the entertainment industry. Many concepts in political economy – such as “standardisation”, “rationalisation”, and “commodication” – provide valuable insight into the revolutionised production system of K-pop. It is suggested in this chapter that neoliberal globalisation has made its theoretical framework even more convincing. Political economy, by denition, explores “issues of power and inequalities that are associated with the allocation of resources and the formation of wealth” (Baldwin et al. 2000, 36). The political economy of culture, in particular, deals with how culture itself is turned into commodity to be bought and sold in the marketplace. Culture matters; it not only reects economic inequality but also works as an ideological apparatus, according to Louis Althusser, to maintain the current social order by naturalising and reproducing the social relations of production. Over the last few decades, neoliberal globalisation has drastically changed the way cultural goods and services are planned, produced, delivered, and consumed. Global nancial crises in the late 1990s and the late 2000s seem to make the political economic approach even more relevant. They have had a tremendous impact, not only on the mode of production, but also on the representations of class, gender, and race in the media. Since the Wall Street meltdown, for example, a great number of movies and dramas have been made to criticise corporate greed – Capitalism: A Love Story (2009), Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps (2010), and Too Big to Fail (2011) to name a few – and to explore the brutality of downsizing and mass layoffs – Up in the Air (2009), Everything Must Go (2010), and The Company Men (2011) – in the US alone. The 2008 recession caused by the global nancial meltdown was jokingly called “man-cession” or “he-cession” in that more men lost their jobs than their female counterparts. The disparity was caused by the shrinkage of traditionally male-dominated industries like construction and manufacturing that were hit especially hard by massive job losses. The shifting gender dynamics in the labour market has brought changes to the representations of masculinity and femininity, as Hanna Rosin (2012, 55) convincingly shows: The 2010 sitcom season was populated by out-of-work husbands, meek boyfriends, stay-at-home dads, killer career wives, and a couple of men who have to dress up like women in order to get a job. For the rst time, a slew of new sitcoms were shot with the premise that women go to work while men

56

Inkyu Kang stay home to take care of the house, stock the refrigerator with low-fat yogurt, or pretend to be taking care of the baby while watching a hockey game.

The Asian nancial crisis was no exception. The impact of the crisis on Korea’s economy and culture has been particularly enormous. According to David Harvey (2005, 72), “One of the main effects of the Asian crisis of 1997–1998 was to bring developmental states more in line with standard neoliberal practices.” There is no canonical denition of neoliberalism, but it is generally understood to have market-friendly tendencies such as deregulation, privatisation, competitiveness, and exibility (Wacquant 2010, 212–213). I would argue that all these neoliberal ideas have dominated every aspect of Korean society, including its education and culture, not to mention its economy. Especially notable is the drastic change such neoliberal restructuring has brought to Korea’s popular music scene. The transformation can be summed up in terms of hypercommodication and hyperrationalisation.

K-pop idols, the new entertainment labour force Although Psy’s “Gangnam Style” video went viral, garnering over 2 billion views on YouTube by 2014, his unpolished, unconventional style is more exceptional than typical in Korea. The country’s pop music landscape is largely dominated by highly formulaic musicianship evinced by the fact that out of the top-selling 100 albums of 2011, 74 were those of young idols (Kim, T. 2012). Remarkably conspicuous is the growth of all-female groups. Until 1997, virtually all of the roughly two dozen major pop groups that appeared between 1992 and 1996 were all-male or mixed-gender. Since then, however, a considerable number of all-female bands have been launched, seemingly as a replacement of mixedgender groups, which have become virtually extinct. The invasion of young female bands – with members mostly in their teens or early twenties, armed with bubblegum pop – was sparked in 1997 when S.E.S. was unveiled. The girl group was composed of three teenage girls: a 17-year-old and two 16-year-olds. Since then, talent agencies have sprouted up, competing ercely with each other for eyeballs and ears by introducing new faces and voices. Coincidentally, the big shift was triggered in 1997, when the waves of neoliberalism started engulng every inch of society. It was no accident. After all, free competition constitutes the very essence of neoliberal ideas. The rst-generation girl groups, including Baby V.O.X., DIVA, Fin.K.L., and Circle, did not sell blatant sexuality. The predominant image running through the bands was non-sexual, innocent femininity. Most of the members were also found, rather than made, through the practice known as “street casting”. The second-generation idol groups born during the 2010s are modelled after their predecessors. In many ways, however, the second-generation bands such as Wonder Girls, KARA, and Girls’ Generation are strikingly different from the rst-generation idols: apart from the fact that they are even younger and place more emphasis on their sex appeal, they are formed through intensive auditions

The political economy of idols 57 and training sessions. In other words, band members are made, rather than found, through a highly rationalised and systematic business practice. Tightly controlled is not only the construction of the image of a band as a whole. Each member’s private life is also under the watchful eye of the management company. When signing a contract, for example, many agencies require their debuted idols and trainees to refrain from drinking, smoking, using a personal cellphone, and even having romantic relationships. Members are typically supposed to live together in one dorm provided by the agency. It is an attempt to maintain the stars’ public image that the management companies have carefully chosen and packaged. It is not like-minded trainees with similar musical tastes who organize and launch a band. The talent agency cherry-picks members, putting them together based on its own road map; each of the selected trainees must play a preset role within the group according to the image the agency has carefully crafted and assigned. If they anger their employer or act up, the agency, which manages the trainees as its assets, can easily eliminate one of the members by way of exemplary punishment. The scare tactics is an effective strategy to discipline budding stars. (Yi 2010) An image is determined rst, and then members are selected accordingly, not vice versa. Group members are cast like actors playing a character. If a band can exist prior to its members, it would not be meaningful to talk about whether the image is real or not. The only meaning that can be found corresponds with the obsession with entertainment and money that Neil Postman (1985, 3) found in Las Vegas. He saw the city built solely for amusement as the embodiment of “the spirit of a culture in which all public discourse increasingly takes the form of entertainment”. Since the late 1990s, South Korea’s cultural industry has embraced a similar mindset. Meanings and values like creativity, morality, and social awareness, which used to fascinate people, have thoroughly weakened. Meanwhile, the advertising copy “Be rich” has become a popular phrase to greet people. Crook et al. (1992, 61) explain the depletion of meaning as a symptom of hypercommodication, which is dened as “the spread of the commodity form into all spheres of life, negating the distinction between commodied and noncommodied regions”. The de-individualisation, or the loss of individual uniqueness, of idol stars is one of the key consequences of hypercommodication. For example, many group members have similar heights, gures, and roles. Of course, they are not completely identical; each member’s image is carefully cultivated so that the whole group can appeal to as wide an audience as possible. However, the members must not be distinctive enough to threaten the unity of their group. To put it differently, any member should be easily replaceable. For example, the successful idol band Girl’s Day did not have any trouble expanding its fan base after losing

58

Inkyu Kang

three of its four original members. Two of them left in the same year, but the talent agency lled the openings within four days of the announcement. Now each member functions as a standardised part that can be readily replaced, which seems to reect the increasing exibility of labour approach that has been applied in all of Korea’s industries. Replaceability is a key element of the neoliberal hyperrationality that George Ritzer (2013) calls “McDonaldization”. So it can be argued that the emergence of K-pop group idols follows the McDonaldisation of the entertainment labour force. Increasing the size of a group is another key de-individualising strategy many entertainment companies have employed since the mid 2000s. In the past, a band used to be composed of two to ve members, but now many idol groups have more than six: After School has eight members; Girls’ Generation, Nine Muses, ZE:A, and Speed have nine; Co-Ed School, ten; Super Junior and EXO, twelve; and SEVENTEEN a whopping seventeen, to name a few. The bigger the group, the more difcult it becomes for individual members to determine the character of the group. For that reason, having more than six members is quite unusual in the global music scene. “Western boy and girl groups rarely number more than ve – One Direction, a ve-member boy band from the U.K., is the latest group to conquer the U.S. – and marketers are at pains to emphasise the individuality of each member” (Seabrook 2012, 94). It is not an issue at all in Korea. Most idol bands are marketed as a group, which is far more than the sum of its parts, at least in the K-pop nation. Each member is expected to precisely copy the moves the agency determines for the whole. Of course, there are some idol groups, such as 2NE1 and T-ara, whose members play relatively distinctive roles. It is also true that a growing number of young bands are experimenting with new musical genres and styles partly to differentiate themselves from rivals. However, they are by no means typical cases. According to the 2013 Idol Group Rankings released by Dispatch, most of the top-ranked girl groups were those faithfully following the generic footsteps of Girls’ Generation, including Sistar, f(x), 4Minute, A Pink, Crayon Pop, Girl’s Day, Secret, and Miss A.

Don’t try to cut your ears There is no single entity that has as much power as CJ E&M in Korea’s entertainment industry. It is not CJ, however, that rst introduced the hyperrationalised, market-driven approach to Korea’s music industry. The pioneer was Soo Man Lee – a former singer-songwriter. He founded SM Entertainment in 1989, long before CJ Entertainment came into existence. Lee once said that, although he had studied in the US, the most meaningful experience there was not the completion of his degree but the inspiration he got from MTV sensations and the American music industry’s systematic management techniques. It would be simplistic to argue that K-pop idols cannot sing, but their musical skills have undeniably become less important. Soo Man Lee, who pioneered K-pop and idol culture, has been an advocate of lip-syncing, now a common

The political economy of idols 59 practice among K-pop idols, since he founded the SM empire. Lip-syncing was taboo in Korea, even on television, at least until the early 2000s. The general dislike was revealed by the 1997 campaign launched by KBS – Korea’s largest television network – “to banish lip-syncing and refrain from featuring teenage idols” (Koh 1997, 15). Lee offered a different take on that issue three years later, but it was not received favourably. When asked in a 2000 interview about the “allegations of lip-syncing and plagiarism faced by almost every SM artist including H.O.T., S.E.S. and Shinhwa”, he replied: Lip-syncing is culture, as is dyeing hair blonde. Our singers are not musicians but “singing entertainers”. A new era needs such new types of singers. I know there are a lot of plagiarism controversies, but none of the cases has yet been conrmed. I’d want people to pay more attention to our commitment to entertainment business and our competitive advantage in the global entertainment industry. (Yang 2000, 19) His view on lip-syncing, or “culture” for that matter, led to another round of heated debates. Quite a few musicians and critics retorted angrily, “Lip-syncers are no singers.” There are still people out there criticising some of the idols’ obvious lack of talent, but the young pop stars have prevailed – irrespective of whether they should be termed “non-singers” or “new types of singers”. In 2010 Lee gave a speech entitled “Don’t Try to Cut Your Ears”. In his Harvard talk, which appeared to be inspired by Vincent van Gogh, he asserted, “You don’t have to cut your ear to come up with masterpieces now” (Korea Times, 2010). Lee’s idols are manufactured in the fullest sense. In a 2012 article for the New Yorker, Seabrook (2012, 93) compared his production system to an assembly line: “His stars would be made, not born, according to a sophisticated system of artistic development.” The “assembly line” metaphor may sound a little harsh, but to be an idol, especially a girl group star, the most important qualication would undoubtedly be physical appearance. Agencies themselves admit that physical attractiveness is a primary consideration, and that their stars are “made, not born”. “Anything about a person can be created”, SM manager Sukhyun Kim conded in an interview, “Sometimes a candidate’s teeth need to be replaced. Trainees’ faces are relatively easy to manage, but their height is not” (Kim 2010). Wook Chung – the CEO of JYP Entertainment – talked about similar difculties. “Sometimes, we request young trainees to undergo a medical examination”, Chung said, “to see how tall they are likely to grow” (Lee 2011, 390). Remember: they are not musicians, as the SM founder emphasised, but all-round entertainers. Thus, rst and foremost, idol hopefuls must be endowed with a body that is suitable for exposure on stage and screen. That is why many trainees or debuted stars are known to go on a strict diet and even go under the knife. It is no longer news, of course, that a person’s image can be groomed, commodied, and marketed. Even so, when the image is created and controlled by its enforcer, not by its owner, it becomes even more arbitrary and alien. Keeping

60

Inkyu Kang

it intact, then, means more than avoiding scandals in the traditional sense; the celebrity’s life itself, not just his or her onstage presence, should be scrutinised so that the real life does not stand in the way of the image. A person’s image that goes against him or her might sound postmodern, but it can be better explained in terms of Karl Marx’s notion of alienated labour and externalisation. Marx (1977, 79) said, “The externalization of the worker in his product implies not only that his labour becomes an object, an exterior existence but also that it exists outside him, independent and alien, and becomes a self-sufcient power opposite him, that the life that he has lent to the object affronts him, hostile and alien.” Marx also warned about the commodication of labour and the labourer: “Labor does not only produce commodities; it produces itself and the laborer as a commodity” (Marx 1977, 78). Korea’s new production system has turned the entertainment labourer’s private life – the lack of it, to be precise – into part of the commodity. Those who have creative abilities are rarely welcomed by entertainment agencies. Individuality is something to be avoided. De-individualisation is an essential element of an idol group and K-pop in general, which works to the advantage of employers. In the past, even during the time the rst-generation idols were gaining popularity, an idol band was normally made up of a small number of members – usually no more than ve – playing clearly distinct roles. As a result, if one member left, the whole group would suffer and even be dissolved. Individuality, which makes each member irreplaceable, poses serious risks for entertainment companies.

The irrationality of K-pop rationality The idol phenomenon feeds on the harsh reality of the Korean youth. The young generation is often dubbed the “880,000 won Generation” in that they are destined to be employed in low-paid irregular jobs for as low as ଄880,000 (about US$860) a month. Many of the idols and their fans suffered from the 1997–1998 Asian nancial crisis during their childhood; some even saw their parents laid off and their family ripped apart after losing their home. The economic turmoil that lasted for two years was painful enough in and of itself, but it has also had a more profound long-term effect on the lives of young Koreans. Suicide rates soared in 1998, hitting a record high of 18.4 per 100,000, increasing over 40 per cent from the previous year. Things appeared to be getting back to normal when the South Korean economy grew 10.7 per cent in 1999 and its suicide rate dropped sharply to 13.6 per 100,000 in 2000. Quite a few Koreans painted a rosy picture of their future when the government solemnly declared “We’ve retaken our economic sovereignty” after paying off its debt to the International Monetary Fund (IMF) far ahead of schedule in the following year (People’s Daily, 2001). Unfortunately, things did not turn out that way. People did not recognise until later that they were no longer living in the same country. Koreans used to enjoy de facto lifelong employment. At a 2 per cent unemployment rate before the economic meltdown, most Koreans did not

The political economy of idols 61 have trouble nding a job, although they did compete for higher-paid, more respected career options. The Asian nancial crisis brought a shift from lifetime employment to lifetime job searching. Especially hard-hit were young students about to start their careers for the rst time. The “880,000 won Generation” constitutes not only a domestic fan base by embracing K-pop to get a break from their stressful lives, but also a vast pool of entertainment labour patiently waiting for a “big break”. In reality, however, only 2–3 per cent of the trainees get a chance to debut. Even to be a trainee, you need to pass highly competitive auditions. Then why bother? Korean youth have few options to choose from. To succeed in life they need to go through cut-throat competitions to get into a handful of prestigious universities. In this “one-shot society”, as The Economist puts it, “ticking a few wrong boxes, then, may mean that they are permanently locked out of the upper tier of Korean society” (2011, 77). The neoliberalisation of Korean society has turned its people’s time-honoured obsession with education to a different level. Now Korean youth compete to death – literally. Suicide is the leading cause of death among teenagers, and the problem is becoming more serious. Statistics show that the suicide rates of Korean teenagers doubled between 2000 and 2010 (Kim, B. 2012). Unfortunately, elite universities can be counted on one hand; the majority of Koreans have no choice but to pursue stardom as an alternative option to academia. In other words, Korean youth have only two options: the classroom or the stage. One of the rst things Koreans learn in school about their country is that Korea is a “small country with few resources”. This “fact” has justied Korea’s elitist education system to produce competitive “human resources” to overcome their lack of natural resources. The education fever and cut-throat competition have resulted in high suicide rates among young students even before Korea was touched by economic malaise. A survey shows that one out of 20 juveniles attempt suicide at least once per year (Kim 2009). Life has not improved at all, especially since two consecutive right-wing administrations came into power (2008–2012 and 2013–2017), implementing further neoliberal policies in the public sector. The success of Korea’s entertainment industry is indebted to the neoliberalism that has made the lives of many Koreans – including idol fans – unstable, restless, and hopeless. Many pop star wannabes pursue their dreams, tired of the brutal competition in school and at work, but it means going through similar or more severe rounds of competition. They are expected to learn not only how to sing, dance, and act, but also how to speak foreign languages including English, Chinese, and Japanese – similar to Korean students in school. The lucky few who have successfully beaten the thousand-to-one odds to pass the audition and get a chance to debut will comfort, through their work, other young people leading tough lives in society. Korea tends to see K-pop idols as one of the many export products, like Samsung smartphones and Hyundai mini-vans. The country is “excited by what this new musical export could do for its image – and its economy” (Williams, 2011). It would be no surprise, then, that its government and entertainment

62

Inkyu Kang

companies would not stop at exporting CJ blockbusters and Girls’ Generation ringtones. They would like to globalise Korea’s highly rationalised production system. Seabrook (2012, 93) discusses SM’s “manual of cultural technology” that “catalogued the steps necessary to popularize K-pop artists” in not only the country of its origin but also other countries: The manual, which all SM employees are instructed to learn, explains when to bring in foreign composers, producers, and choreographers; what chord progressions to use in what country; the precise color of eyeshadow a performer should wear in a particular country; the exact hand gestures he or she should make; and the camera angles to be used in the videos (a threehundred-and-sixty-degree group shot to open the video, followed by a montage of individual closeups). Writing a detailed manual is the rst step towards rationalisation. Scientic management requires everything to be calculable and predictable, and narrowly dening instructions is essential to achieve the goal. Working at McDonald’s, for example, means following manuals that spell out a series of regulations: “seven steps to window service: greet the customer, take the order, assemble the order, present the order, receive payment, thank the customer, and ask for repeat business” (Ritzer 2013, 95). George Ritzer believes hyperrationalisation, or McDonaldisation, constitutes one of the most important globalisation processes. K-pop, in that sense, is the McDonaldisation of the music business and the globalisation of radical neoliberalism. Max Weber, on whom Ritzer’s arguments are based, saw rationality as the central pillar of capitalism. The US has undeniably played a key role in disseminating neoliberal ideas since the 1980s, and Korea has been one of its faithful followers. That is why, to some, globalisation has been synonymous with “Americanisation”. Now, some might beg to differ. “Even America has been unable to establish a management system like ours”, Soo Man Lee, the pioneer of global idol culture, declared proudly in 2011. “Recruiting young trainees, signing them long-term contracts and putting them through years of intensive training – this just can’t happen there.” Interestingly enough, the US, the original hotbed of neoliberalism, has become a little weary of the idea since the 2008 nancial crisis, as the Occupy movement showed. Ironically, the neoliberal juggernaut from East Asia has emerged from the ashes of the 1997 nancial crisis. It seems unstoppable even after what some are calling “the crisis of global capitalism”. Ritzer (2001, 29), in a different book, discusses Milli Vanilli’s two singers “who did not actually sing on their record album” as part of the “unreality industry” budding in the early 1990s. The lip-syncers, who sold two million albums in the US alone, later confessed “We were not hired, we were trapped” (Marks and Tannenbaum 2011, 361). Joel Achenbach (1990) saw it as “part of some larger, uglier phenomenon, a deterioration of authenticity, a breakdown of the barrier between truth and illusion”. K-pop should be regarded, then, as the perfection of the “unreality industry”. Korea’s entertainment industry has not only adopted the

The political economy of idols 63 model successfully but also made people not care anymore whether a singer lip-syncs or not. Although I have analysed South Korea’s cultural industry from a critical perspective, it is not to say that its production system always works negatively. The radically rationalised, standardised business model has achieved unparalleled efciency and productivity. Like the notion of power Michel Foucault theorised, rationality is not just a coercive or repressive force; it can be productive, even liberating. In a society where academic success is the only route to success in life, K-pop has told frustrated youth there is an alternative. That is what makes K-pop so fascinating, and that is what makes popular culture so powerful. K-pop seems to work like religion in the way Karl Marx described it back in 1844: “the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions”. If K-pop comforts the “880,000 won Generation” by masking their real conditions, the abolition of “the illusory happiness of the people is the demand for their real happiness”. K-pop’s production system has succeeded partly by exploiting young people, and its business model is being exported around the world. According to a government report released in 2010, about 36 per cent of Korea’s adolescent entertainers (including trainees) worked over eight hours per day, with 41 per cent working at night and on weekends. Half of the respondents were asked to go on a diet, and about 15 per cent were recommended to have cosmetic surgery. Over 10 per cent of the minors replied they had worn revealing clothes; 60 per cent of these said it was done under coercion (Yonhap News, 2010). We may not have to abolish K-pop, but we do need further investigation into how the meanings and pleasures it provokes contribute to the justication of the productive yet exploitative system. K-pop seemingly provides alternative visions in a country “where education is virtually the only gateway to success and high status” (Sorensen 1994, 34). What it actually offers is an illusory sense of empowerment; the vast majority of the trainees – a stunning 97-98 per cent – will never see the light of day. Although K-pop does not exist to exploit, it cannot “succeed” without sacricing most of the entertainment labor pool willing to do almost anything to survive. The competitiveness of K-pop, as Soo Man Lee boastfully remarked, lies in “signing [young trainees’] long-term contracts and putting them through years of intensive training” guaranteeing neither debut opportunities nor minimum wages. “This just can’t happen” everywhere, as the SM Entertainment chair admitted. It could not happen in pre-crisis Korea, either. Neoliberalism has provided fertile ground for K-pop’s radical business practices by increasing labour-market exibility and reducing the role of the public sector. It is not surprising, then, that the K-pop model has been emulated passionately in countries that have newly embraced the neoliberal orthodoxy such as Thailand, China, and Japan. K-pop not only masks the harsh reality young people face; it feeds on the desperation of them struggling in a society with no proper social safety net. We cannot simply celebrate what K-pop has achieved if we believe there is more to life than efciency and productivity. If people’s suffering in today’s world is real,

64

Inkyu Kang

Marx’s distinction between real happiness and illusory happiness seems to maintain its relevance – especially in the realm of popular culture.

References Achenbach, Joel. 1990. “The Age of Unreality: Milli Vanilli & the Phony-Baloney Factor”, Washington Post, 22 November. Baldwin, Elaine, Brian Longhurst, Scott McCracken, Miles Ogborn, and Greg Smith. 2000. Introducing Cultural Studies. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press. Coalition for Cultural Diversity. 2010. The Campaign for Cultural Diversity: Why It Matters to You. Montreal: Coalition for Cultural Diversity. Corliss, Richard. 1995. “Hey, Let’s Put on a Show!” Time, 27 March. Crook, Stephen, Jan Pakulski, and Malcolm Waters. 1992. Postmodernization: Change in Advanced Society. London: Sage. The Economist. 2011. “The One-shot Society”. 17 December, pp. 77–80. Giannoulis, Karallis. 2013. “De Gucht: Cultural Exception is Not Under Negotiation”, New Europe. www.neurope.eu/article/de-gucht-cultural-exception-not-undernegotiation, uploaded 23 April 2013. Harvey, David. 2005. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jung, Daun. 2012. “Big Three Monopolize Film Distribution and Exhibition”, Wide Coverage. www.widecoverage.co.kr/news/article.html?no=8060, uploaded 15 October. Kim, Bo-eun. 2012. “Teenage Suicides Double over 10 Years”, Korea Times. www. koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/nation/2013/07/117_119800.html, uploaded 9 December 2012. Kim, Hemang. 2009. “Why Juveniles Choose Suicide”, Hankyoreh. www.hani.co.kr/arti/ society/schooling/346953.html, uploaded 30 March 2009. Kim, Hongmuk. 1994. “PACST’s Unusual Presidential Brieng”, Tonga ilbo [East Asia Daily], 18 May, p. 29. Kim, ǁjun. 2010. “Aidora, ne insaeng-ǎl sarara” [Idols, Live Your Life], Hankyoreh. www.hani.co.kr/arti/SERIES/260/424154.html, uploaded 4 June 2010. Kim, So-hyun. 2013. “CJ Rises as Beacon of Korean Food, Shopping, Pop Culture”, Korea Herald. www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20130304000759, uploaded 4 March 2013. Kim Toyǂn. 2012. “Shijang p’yǂnjung hyǂnjuso … ‘t’op 100’ ǎmban 74-jang-i aidol… sǎk’ǎrin 86% taegiǂb-i tokchǂm” [The State of the Imbalanced Market: 74 Albums of the “Top 100” are by Idols … Large Businesses Occupy 86 Per Cent of Screens]. Munhwa Ilbo [Culture Daily]. www.munhwa.com/news/view.html?no=20121101010351 30021002, uploaded 1 November 2012. Koh, Sewook. 1997. “Dance Music Reins”, Kookmin Ilbo [People’s Daily], 6 January, p. 15. Korea Times. 2010. “Lee Soo-man Says Asia Becoming Culture Center”. Korea Times. www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/special/2011/10/178_63230.html, uploaded 29 March 2010. Lee, Tongyeon. 2011. Aidol [Idol]. Seoul: Imagine. Marks, Craig and Rob Tannenbaum. 2011. I Want My MTV: The Uncensored Story of the Music Video Revolution. New York: Plume. Marx, Karl. 1977. “Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts”. In Karl Marx: Selected Writings, edited by David McLellan. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 75–112.

The political economy of idols 65 Pacquet, Darcy. 2005. “The Korean Film Industry: 1992 to the Present”. In New Korean Cinema, edited by Chi-Yun Shin and Jullian Stringer. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 32–50 Park, Eun-jee. 2012. “Conglomerates Direct Korea’ Film Industry”, Korea JungAng Daily. http://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/news/article/article.aspx?aid=296346, uploaded 6 December 2012. People’s Daily. 2001. “South Korea Pays Off Debt to IMF”. http://english.people.com.cn/ english/200108/24/eng20010824_78160.html, uploaded 24 August 2001. Pollack, Andrew. 1996. “Unlikely Credits for a Korean Movie Mogul”, New York Times, 5 July, D4. Postman, Neil. 1985. Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business. New York: Penguin Books. Ritzer, George. 2001. Explorations in the Sociology of Consumption: Fast Food, Credit Cards and Casinos. London: Sage. Ritzer, George. 2013. The McDonaldization of Society. London: Sage. Rosin, Hanna. 2012. The End of Men. New York: Riverhead Books. Seabrook, John. 2012. “Factory Girls: Cultural Technology and the Making of K-pop”, New Yorker, 8 October, pp. 88–97. Sorensen, Clark. 1994. “Success and Education in South Korea”, Comparative Education 38(1): 10–35. Wacquant, Loïc. 2010. “Crafting the Neoliberal State: Workfare, Prisonfare, and Social Insecurity”, Sociological Forum 25(2): 197–220. Williamson, Lucy. 2011. “The Dark Side of South Korea Pop Music”. BBC News, Seoul. www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacic-13760064, uploaded 14 June 2011. Yang, Sǂnghǎi. 2000. “SM Entertainment CEO Soo Man Lee”. Munhwa Ilbo [Culture Daily], 31 March, p. 9. Yi, An. 2010. “Wǂndǂgǂlsǎ Sǂnmi t’alt’oe-ro pich’wǂbon aidor-e taehan hosang” [Illusions About Idols Revealed by Sunmi’s Departure from Wonder Girls], Media Today. www.mediatoday.co.kr/news/articleView.html?idxno=85617, uploaded 26 January 2010. Yonhap News. 2010. “Sexual Objectication of Teenage Entertainers Becoming Serious”. http://app.yonhapnews.co.kr/YNA/Basic/article/Press/YIBW_showPress.aspx? contents_id=RPR20100823025300353&from=search, uploaded 23 August 2010.

4

Despite not being Johnny’s The cultural impact of TVXQ in the Japanese music industry Ju Oak Kim

The popularity of Korean popular culture overseas transitioned to a new phase when a fast-growing number of Korean idol groups entered the Japanese music market in the late 2000s. TVXQ (Korean: “Tongbangshin’gi”; Japanese: “Tohoshinki”) produced a particularly noteworthy achievement. In November 2012, SM Entertainment (hereafter SME), the leading Korean music agency, announced that male idol group TVXQ would hold ve Dome tours in Japan. At the group’s rst performance in the Saitama Super Arena, members of the group also revealed their plan to add another concert at the International Stadium Yokohama. This tour made TVXQ the rst foreign artist to undertake a ve-Dome tour and perform in a Japanese stadium in front of a total of 850,000 people.1 This chapter examines what led to TVXQ’s success in the Japanese music market, and how TVXQ’s achievements reect changing Korean–Japanese cultural relations. After the end of the Japanese colonial period in 1945, a primary goal of the Korean government was to escape from the inuence of Japanese culture (Kwak 2010, 5). Thus, the Korean government passed laws prohibiting the exchange of cultural products with Japan until the late 1990s (Mǀri 2008, 129). However, cohosting the 2002 FIFA World Cup and the exceptional success of a Korean television drama, Winter Sonata, noticeably improved cultural interactions between the two nations (Ryoo 2009, 140). The changing climate led SME to establish a foreign subsidiary in order to enter the Japanese music market in Tokyo in 2001.2 The company achieved reasonable success with BoA, a 15-year-old female singer. In March 2002 BoA’s Japanese album, Listen to My Heart, was ranked no. 1 on Japan’s Oricon chart, one of the primary music charts in Japan.3 With BoA’s success, SME expanded its partnership with AVEX Group (hereafter AVEX), a major Japanese music agency, and continued the promotion of the company’s artists in Japan (Kang 2006). In spite of the full support of AVEX, however, for the rst two years TVXQ had a tough time in the Japanese music market (Yi, H. 2013). In Japan, the talent agency Johnny and Associates (hereafter Johnny’s) has dominated the male idol business since the debut of their rst idol group, The Four Leaves, in 1967 (Aoyagi 2000, 317). Due to the strong relationship between Johnny’s and major media corporations, TVXQ was given few opportunities to appear on nation-wide television shows. Instead, the group appeared on cable channels and performed at

Despite not being Johnny’s 67 shopping precincts or college festivals (Chǂng 2011, 33). Through these local venues TVXQ was able to nurture a strong fan base and become one of the most popular international artists in Japan. In order to examine the impact of TVXQ in the Japanese entertainment industry and the changing dynamics of East Asian cultural interactions, it is necessary to consider the following questions: How and why did SME enter into the Japanese entertainment market in the 2000s? What kinds of elements allowed TVXQ to cross not only the national border, but also political, historical, and sociocultural barriers? By analysing news articles, music videos, and albums, this chapter addresses how TVXQ’s success in the Japanese market has affected both societies.

Cultural hybridity: popular music, masculinity, and fan culture Media scholars employ hybridity to investigate cultural mixture and exchange in an era of globalisation (Kraidy 2005). The encounter of distinctive forms and identities creates hybrid media texts; these hybrid media texts reect the historical, economic, and cultural relations between societies (Kraidy 2005, 5). Kraidy’s cultural hybridity is exemplied in the East Asian popular cultures of China, Korea, and Japan, which have seen media cross national borders, often mixing with the local culture (Iwabuchi 2010, 199). In this context, Iwabuchi pays attention to the changing dynamics of these exchanges, such as Korean and Taiwanese remakes of Japanese TV dramas, which are creatively localised rather than simply made to imitate the original works (Iwabuchi 2010, 199). Many Asian scholars have discussed the expansion of Korean popular culture across the Asian region through the logic of cultural hybridisation (Huang 2011; Ryoo 2009; Shim 2006). Huang’s research points out the similarity of Japan and Korea in their construction of a hybrid of national and Western cultures. Huang argues that both nations strategically promote their hybrid culture as a national brand and therefore become leading actors in the Asian cultural market (2011). The growth of Hallyu (the Korean Wave) reects that Korean culture industries successfully “translate Western or American culture to t Asian tastes” (Ryoo 2009, 145). Ryoo argues that Korean television directors and writers actively employ Confucian values and ideologies in narratives of television dramas (2009, 145). Korean musicians also consider Confucianism in the hybridisation process of Western pop, developing their own authentic style of Korean pop. (Howard 2006, 90). The adaptation of Western music forms and star-making systems helps Korean pop artists gain popularity in Asian markets (Shim 2006, 38). Shim (2006) provides examples of young Korean musicians, such as the idol groups Seo Taiji and Boys and H.O.T., who in the 1990s established the standards of Korean dance music and eliminated the unfamiliarity of Western music, causing a sensation among young people in Asia. Most analyses that deal with Hallyu in the Asian region tend to emphasise an Asian-styled transformation of Western culture. This approach, however, does not aid in seeking to understand the expansion of Korean popular culture to more Westernised countries, particularly Japan. Iwabuchi argues that through the increasing

68

Ju Oak Kim

consumption of media content produced by other Asian countries the Japanese public have enjoyed a different way of mixing Western and Asian cultures (2008, 247). He exemplies using the Korean television drama Winter Sonata, which was a hit with Japanese older female viewers in the early 2000s. Many Japanese women were enthusiastic about the Korean drama, which made them recall personal memories, often of unrequited love (Iwabuchi 2008, 248). Winter Sonata led the Japanese public to explore other Korean cultural products (Iwabuchi 2008, 249). The growing awareness of Korean pop music shows the multidimensional nature of Hallyu in Japan. Using the analytical tool of cultural hybridisation, some scholars address the ways in which Korean pop music created its own domain in the Japanese music industry. Jamie Shinhee Lee explores the expansion of Korean pop to Japan by employing the concept of “crossing”, which is dened as “speakers’ use of apparently outgroup linguistic styles” (Rampton 1999, 421, as cited in Lee 2006). Lee argues that the occurrence of physical and linguistic crossing in Korean pop can be understood as the strategic adaptation of other resources (2006, 235–236) rather than “a sign of an-ex-colonizee’s deep-rooted surrender to ideological hegemony” (2006, 248). She points out that, unlike Korean singers who worked in Japan before the revision of cultural policies in 1998, most Korean idols perform back and forth from Korea to Japan (Lee 2006, 237). The growing popularity of Korean boy bands across the Asian region is attributed to the construction of “manufactured versatile masculinity”, which refers to the Korean image of men, which is “multi-layered, culturally mixed, simultaneously contradictory, and most of all strategically manufactured” (Jung 2011, 165). This characteristic of Korean boy groups applies to our understanding of TVXQ’s appeal to the Japanese audience. In Japan, there have been men who “have transgressed the socially constructed boundaries of masculinity” (Lunsing 2003, 21). Like actors on the kabuki stage in the Edo period, male idols often construct transgendered images and behaviours in the media (Darling-Wolf 2004, 292). These male idols are conrming that Japanese audiences are interested in kawaii (cute) men who sing and dance “in a sweet, meek, and ‘adorable’ way” (Aoyagi 2000, 312). Meanwhile, Korean society constructed masculinity through two approaches in the postwar period. On the one hand, media texts created exaggerated images of Korean men in the imitation of male characters of Western movies (Cho 2005, 100). On the other hand, the society attempted to overcome the collective trauma of the Japanese colonial period and the Korean War through the cultural resumption of Korean men from the premodern period, which had power and authority under the patriarchal social order (Shin 2007, 379). The amalgamation of Korean masculinity and “national specicity” has become one of the important factors in the transnational popularity of Korean idol groups (Jung 2011, 163). A new type of male idol group coming from Korea has attracted some Japanese female consumers. Fandom deeply and widely engages in the star-making process in a society; its recreation of industrially produced commodities helps celebrities maintain visibility and power in the market (Fiske 1992; Yang 2009). Yoshitaka Mǀri argues that Japanese fans of Korean celebrities contribute greatly to the

Despite not being Johnny’s 69 expansion of Korean popular culture to Japan. The emergence of Hallyu in Japan is indebted to fans of Winter Sonata (Mǀri 2008). Through interviews with fans of Bae Yong-joon, who played a main character on Winter Sonata, Mǀri argues that Japanese fans created the Yon-sama (His Majesty Yong) – the Japanese fans’ nickname for Bae – boom in Japanese society by consuming material and symbolic goods and touring Korea (2008, 136). These fans are not limited to only being consumers but can also engage in promotional activities of Korean idol groups in the Japanese market (Mǀri 2008, 137). Further, because digital technologies enable fans to build strong connections with geographically dispersed people (see Jenkins and Carpentier 2013, 268), Japanese fans of Korean celebrities have constructed partnerships with Korean fan communities. This cross-national encounter of Korean and Japanese fans has caused the creation of a hybrid fan culture, the cornerstone of TVXQ’s success in Japan.

SM Factory: the standardisation of Korean male idol groups Music producers crystallise musical standards of hit songs by repeating “the imitation of most popular hits, types, and ‘ratios’ between elements”, and these standards allow some cartelised music agencies to dominate the market (Adorno 2002, 443). If one adopts Adorno’s argument, SME has dominated the domestic and Asian music market by standardising the production system of idol groups (Seabrook 2012). After the huge success of the ve-member idol group H.O.T. in the late 1990s, SME has concentrated on producing boy bands such as Shinhwa, TVXQ, Super Junior, SHINee, and EXO. Similarities between the company’s male idol groups are illustrated by the following characteristics: (1) good-looking teenage members, (2) SME-style electronic dance music, and (3) strenuous rhythmic formation dance. Standards of male idol groups are mainly established and developed by Soo Man Lee, the founder and executive producer of the company. Lee had conceived an idol business plan while in graduate school in the US (Kwǂn 2000). During the 1980s, music videos and lip-synced live programmes on the music channel MTV helped good-looking male singers like Michael Jackson to gain huge popularity in the US and Lee witnessed these changes in American pop music and media industries (Russell 2008, 139). After returning to Korea, Lee established SME. In order to produce albums of dance music, he attempted to purchase well arranged beats, rhythms, and melodies from European and American musicians. Music producers and composers of SME subsequently nalised the arrangement of the musical elements in order to suit Korean listeners’ tastes (Yi, K. 2013). Critics dene SME-style performance music as a combination of lyrics about social criticism, electric rock sounds based on powerful beats, and strenuous dance performances (Hwang 2013). The music has become the dening characteristic of SME male idols: SME introduced its style of music on H.O.T.’s rst album, We Hate All Kinds of Violence, and Shinhwa’s Yo! (Hwang 2013). Young-Jin Yoo, an executive producer of the company, stated at an interview with an online magazine, 10Asia, that he had noticeably developed the SME-style

70

Ju Oak Kim

when producing TVXQ’s second album, Rising Sun, in 2005 (as cited in Kang 2010). Further, SME attempted to diversify its music and performance styles. For instance, while Super Junior’s song “Sorry Sorry” consists of easy-to-follow melodies and dance moves, SHINee’s “Sherlock”, and EXO’s “Growl” focus more on the complicated choreography. SME-style performance music has already proven its effectiveness by attracting fans over a short period of time (Hwang 2013). Since the late 1990s, SME’s male idol groups have received unprecedented reactions from South Asian countries and China. H.O.T. held concerts in various regions of China in the late 1990s (Shim 2006), and TVXQ did their Asia Tour Rising Sun in Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur in 2006.4 The growing popularity of its idol groups in Asia led SME to expand its overseas activities.

TVXQ’s crossing over the border TVXQ, which debuted as a ve-member male idol group in 2003 and relaunched as a duo in 2010, has released seven albums in Korea.5 After becoming one of the most popular idol groups in the domestic market, the group released their rst Japanese single in 2005. Under AVEX and SME’s localising strategy, the teenage members of the group stayed in Tokyo, and for a couple of years they learned Japanese while on a tight schedule that had them practising, performing, and doing interviews and other promotion activities, even when sick or injured (Oricon 2011; Yi Hyǂnu 2013). SME invested heavily in TVXQ’s debut in Japan; Changmin Shim, a member of TVXQ, stated that SME had spent three-quarters of the company’s annual budget to prepare TVXQ members for the Japanese market (Yi, K. 2012). Even though TVXQ was popular in Korea, the entry barrier of the Japanese market was high due to the domination of Johnny’s in the Japanese idol business (Chǂng, 2011). Japanese audiences feel close to common-looking boys because Japanese idols appear in ubiquitous media content (Darling-Wolf 2004, 291). In addition, most Japanese male idols do not have outstanding singing and dancing skills because their “above-average” ability helps build up “feelings of solidarity and reciprocity between performers, producers, and audience” (Aoyagi 2000, 311). These traditional marketing strategies of Japanese idol businesses made it difcult for TVXQ to obtain a guest appearance on the programmes of major TV stations and to draw Japanese public attention. They only appeared on late-night programmes in local areas and participated in small events, such as college festivals and corporate events, for the promotion of new albums in Japan (Chǂng, 2011, 33). In January 2008, TVXQ’s 16th single, “Purple Line”, was their rst to reach no. 1 on the Oricon weekly sales chart.6 It was an important achievement because this was a typical SME-style song by SME producer Young-Jin Yoo. TVXQ has increasingly released songs from their Korean albums in Japan, and by doing so, they differentiate themselves from other Japanese idol groups. Yoo explained in

Despite not being Johnny’s 71 an interview with a news agency how TVXQ released this song in Japan (Yonhap News Agency 2008): SME aims to introduce a new culture in combination with good quality sounds and performances to the Japanese public. I wanted to give them a refreshing jolt of SMP music …. TVXQ’s songs, produced by AVEX, are melodic, which is more familiar to the Japanese audience …. However, Soo Man Lee persuaded Japanese producers to introduce SMP music to Asian consumers through TVXQ’s album. The close collaboration between Japanese and Korean producers was an important factor in TVXQ’s success in Japan. It reects how both hybridism and the localisation of Korean pop music have been actively and strategically applied in order to maintain a competitive edge in the Japanese market. While releasing and performing SMP music in Japan, the group did not stick to something very Korean. Music performances, stage costumes, and backgrounds for tour concerts are often revised to suit the Japanese context. The choreography of their song “Maximum” is a good example of this compromise. The original song, recorded in January 2011 in Korea, mixes Western orchestration. However, on their 2012 Japan tour, TVXQ performed the song dressed in Japanese costumes, holding Japanese umbrellas, with digital images of a Japanese-style castle projected in the background. By strategically locating themselves in a different context, TVXQ have produced remarkable results. With the release of their 34th Japanese single, “Android”, in July 2012, the group became the biggest selling international artist in Japanese pop music history (Oricon 2012). Their fth album, Tone, made TVXQ the rst foreign artist to achieve the greatest album sales in Japan in the rst week of its release, surpassing the record of Bon Jovi’s album Crash in 2000 (Billboard Korea Staff 2011). TVXQ also left their mark on the history of Japanese music festivals by being the nal act of AVEX’s 2011 and 2012 A-Nation concerts in Tokyo, one of the largest summer festivals in Japan. This decision surprised both the media and concert-goers because Hamasaki Ayumi, dubbed “the queen of Japanese pop”, had closed the festival for the past nine years (Kwǂn 2011). Tetsuo Hiraga, an editor-in-chief of Billboard Japan, reacted to the idol band’s performance at the summer festivals as follows: So, everyone in the music business. Let us think about how we can beat TVXQ. In terms of music, performance, story, popularity, there is no place to aim a complaint. They actualized the highest standard everyone has been pursuing. (Hiraga 2012) Once its album sales began to grow and a good reputation was established, TVXQ gained more opportunities to appear at mass-media venues. TVXQ performed three times on NHK’s Kohaku Uta Gassen, a year-end music event. It is considered

72

Ju Oak Kim

a signicant achievement because a majority of the Japanese audience watches this prestigious show on New Year’s Eve, which broadcasts on NHK, the public media network (Fellezs 2012, 338). TVXQ’s media exposure through advertisements, magazine interviews, and news reports has also increased. The duo often appears on nationwide weekly music programmes and talk shows, including NHK’s Music Japan, TBS’s King’s Brunch, and Asahi TV’s Music Station, while entertainment and fashion magazines such as MORE, Vogue, and ViVi have chosen TVXQ as cover models.7 In various ways, TVXQ reect the inuential role that Korean male idols have played in the Japanese entertainment industry since the late 2000s. Because TVXQ were in the front line of competing with Japanese idol groups, once they broke records in album sales and concert attendees, other Korean male idols began to also receive attention from Japanese industries and audiences. With several years’ worth of know-how in promoting TVXQ, SME has an advantage in introducing male idols in Japan. SME regularly holds the company’s annual concert “SMTown Live Tour” in Tokyo. The concert provides SME with an opportunity to promote other idol groups to Korean pop fans in Japan. The success of the scheme allowed Super Junior to give concerts at the Tokyo Dome without an ofcial debut in Japan (Kim 2012), and saw SHINee completing its second tour with a concert in front of more than 200,000 people (Yi, C. 2013).

Hybrid masculinity of TVXQ in Japanese media The appearance of Korean male idols in the media enables Japanese audiences to recognise the difference between Korean and Japanese masculinity. Japanese male idols construct their cute images through music videos, television dramas, and reality TV shows (Darling-Wolf 2004, 291). TVXQ’s masculinity is constructed in the Japanese media through their energetic, synchronised performances on stage and their polite, composed behaviour offstage. When they returned as a duo with the release of their new song “Why? Keep Your Head Down” in January 2011, TVXQ presented an arguably more masculine image. Their comeback story after three former members led a lawsuit against SME helped construct their faithful images to some Japanese fans. The song’s lyrics tell the story of a man betrayed by his girlfriend, which reminds of the separation of TVXQ’s members (Kim, C. 2011). The choreography includes two aggressive scenes. In the rst, members of the group pressed backup dancers on the back of the head. In the second, the two members engage in a erce ghting scene. When TVXQ performed this song on the stage of Asahi TV’s Music Station on 26 January 2011, their performance drew a huge and impassioned response from the Japanese public. The single ranked no. 1 on the Oricon chart.8 The strong image of the Korean duo was underpinned by the music videos for their fth and sixth studio albums. The music video for the song “B.U.T” (Be-aU-Ty), released in September 2011, for example, is set in an underground ghting cage and has Yun-ho Chung, the leader of TVXQ, knocking down a bold and obese opponent of another barely visible ghter with a powerful kick at the end of the video. The act’s tough and

Despite not being Johnny’s 73 powerful image was further supported by the music video for the song “Catch Me”, which was released in January 2013. US-based choreographer Tony Testa created a “hulk dance” for the song based on the movie The Avengers (Whedon 2012; Yi, H. 2012). With a very grave look on their faces, the two idols wear dark costumes with various metal accessories and perform in a dark, dystopian studio. A respectful mentality also characterises TVXQ’s masculinity in the Japanese media. Contrary to their powerful performance on stage, TVXQ members express modesty in interviews. In a chief editor’s column for the website Oricon Style, the reasons behind TVXQ’s success in Japan are analysed (Oricon 2011). It points out that TVXQ have maintained ambitions and treated their Japanese fans respectfully: While covering TVXQ, I could tell that the duo’s behavior reected their sincere attitude to work. They spare no effort to develop their performance. In addition, their mind to cherish fans is extraordinary …. Not only their outstanding performance but also their personal appeal attracts fans. (Oricon 2011) Media representations of TVXQ’s masculinity, based on the mixture of active physicality and a faithful mentality, help the Japanese audience construct Korean masculinity. The members of the group also recognise that their words and behaviours can help to build up images of Korea in Japan (Ohtaka 2012). In an interview with a Japanese weekly magazine, President, TVXQ described the characteristics of Korean masculinity: Shim: When performing in other countries, it is important to have professional mentality as a national representative. We want to look stoic. TVXQ aims for perfect performances on stage because actions speak louder than words. (Cited in Ohtaka 2012, 96). Japanese colonisation and the Korean War led Koreans to overcome the collective trauma through the construction of a new national image (Shin, 2007). The creation of “Koreanness” was also strongly related to the redemption of traditional patriarchy (Shin 2007, 368). Considering its key role as representatives of contemporary Korean culture in Japan, Korean male idols performing in Japan were, therefore, under particular pressure to maintain their national specicity. While BoA, a female singer, had positioned herself as a mugukchǂk (countryneutral) artist (Kim, H. 2011), TVXQ members have maintained their national identity in the Japanese media. Japanese consumers generally accepted TVXQ’s representation of Koreanness because of the group’s positive attitude when assimilating into Japanese culture. Chang-min Shim states somewhat chauvinistically that TVXQ’s charm comprises the raw, unpolished, unique traits that only Koreans are capable of, and that they work hard to learn Japanese language and culture at the same time (cited in Ohtaka 2012, 96). Their humble attempt to develop capability in the Japanese language at high levels and to establish friendly relations with Japanese people in media and

74

Ju Oak Kim

music industries helps Japanese journalists and audiences accept TVXQ’s music performance and increases TVXQ’s popularity in Japan (Oricon 2011). Nevertheless, the way in which Korean boy bands construct their national identity in Japan is still a sensitive issue. As Iwabuchi points out, “Koreanness is not something that can be comfortably consumed as a mass exotic commodity in the Japanese public imagery unless its origin is suppressed or ‘Japanized’” (2008, 254). In the 2010 promotion event of the TV drama No Limit, Yun-ho Chung, the leader of TVXQ, was asked a question about which team he would support during the World Cup. Rather than choosing sides, he responded saying that “Asian teams are all strong” (as cited by Shin 2010). It is another example of the various ways in which Korea-born celebrities consistently deal with the issue of their national identities in Japan (Iwabuchi 2008, 254). The Korean masculinity as performed by TVXQ is deeply intertwined with “national specicity” (Jung 2011, 163). It demonstrates how historical tensions play a role in the media representation of Korean boy bands in Japan. While Japanese boy bands focus on constructing romantic and intimate images (Aoyagi 2000; Darling-Wolf 2004), TVXQ members emphasise their masculine image on stage and their humility offstage. The group’s images in the Japanese media are closely tied to their Koreanness and it reects the resumption of masculinity from the pre-modern period; men’s authority is justied and maintained by a higher quality of performances in professional elds (Shin 2007). At the same time, TVXQ are careful to assimilate to Japanese culture so as to make their hybrid masculinity acceptable to Japanese consumers.

Fandom community’s transnational connections Fandom has a substantial effect on the accomplishments of TVXQ, in both Korean and Japanese music industries. When it rst branched out to Japan, SME and AVEX formed TVXQ’s Japanese fan club, BigEast. By establishing its own fan club in Japan, the Korean idol group and music company showed their respect to Japanese fans. Like Cassiopeia in Korea, the members of BigEast are key consumers of TVXQ’s albums, concert tickets, and goods. SME and AVEX offer a range of benets to increase membership of the ofcial fan club: BigEast members can purchase new CDs and DVDs at discount prices, book concert tickets in advance, and receive a membership card number and ofcial goods exclusively.9 With the increase in Japanese fans, TVXQ has achieved unprecedented records on the Oricon album, video, and book charts.10 Meanwhile, TVXQ’s Korean fan club, Cassiopeia, has helped TVXQ to become one of the most successful male idol groups in Korea in the 2000s. In 2008, their fourth album, Mirotic, sold over 500,000 copies and ranked as the bestselling album of the year (Hong 2009). In addition, ardent fans participate in surveys and online polls and support their group’s further prominence in the music industry; their online votes have made TVXQ win popularity awards at major music festivals, including the 2008 Mnet KM Music Festival and the 2009 Seoul Music Awards, in spite of their long-term absence in Korea.11 Korean fans also played a

Despite not being Johnny’s 75 major role during the group’s crisis. When the three former members of the group, Jaejung Kim, Junsu Kim, and Yucheon Park, submitted an appeal for a provisional disposition to terminate their contract with SME in July 2009, 121,073 fans presented a petition to the National Human Rights Commission of Korea about the unfair contractual relationship between TVXQ and SME (Kim 2009). Like Korean fans, the Japanese fan community has had a great inuence in maintaining the power of TVXQ in Japan during a crisis of international relations. In 2012 the Korean government reinforced the control of Dokdo – the group of small islands claimed by both Japan and Korea (Park and Bae 2013). The political strain had a direct and indirect impact on Korean idol groups’ activities in Japan. NHK’s Kohaku Uta Gassen, Fuji TV’s FNS Song Festival, and Yomiuri TV’s Best Hit Song Festival restricted Korean artists from the guest list in 2012, and more than ten times the number of anti-Korean Wave demonstrations were held at Koreatown in Tokyo in 2013 (Park and Bae 2013). Although many Korean celebrities are drastically losing ground in the Japanese entertainment market, TVXQ’s presence remains undiminished thanks to the rm advocacy of their Japanese fans. As a result TVXQ became the twelfth artist to perform at the International Stadium Yokohama in Japanese pop music history and have consistently put their new singles on the Oricon chart. TVXQ’s strategies foster the interaction of Korean and Japanese fandom communities. Digital and network communications enable fans, regardless of geographical distance, to participate in collective production, such as fansubbing, video editing, and photographing (Ito 2012). Korean and Japanese fans share their domestic media content through Facebook, YouTube, and Twitter. The growing exposure to media content helps them to understand each other’s culture. At various tour concerts and festivals, they put on red items and hold red lights because it is a “signature color for TVXQ” (Oak 2013). During the concert, at TVXQ’s suggestion, they all shout their slogan, “We are T” (Yi 2013). The increasing interaction between Korean and Japanese fans, along with TVXQ’s transnational activities, causes the fans to construct cultural identity cross borders.

Conclusion This chapter analyses the cultural impact of TVXQ – a Korean male idol group – in the Japanese entertainment business. As Iwabuchi argues, the increasing media ow among Asian countries has shaken Japan’s long-held belief of cultural superiority over the other Asian countries, while the television drama Winter Sonata compelled Japanese audiences to construct an intimate image of Korean society, leading to a search for more content (2008, 247). The success of TVXQ in Japan shows that the popularity of Korean culture there has grown. The popularity of the TV drama Winter Sonata occurred with an active acceptance of older female consumers in Japan (Mǀri 2008). However, the growing popularity of Korean pop idols is related more to the Korean music company’s aggressive marketing to capitalise overseas markets. SME, Korea’s top music agency, has produced standardised idol groups for almost 20 years. In

76

Ju Oak Kim

domestic and international markets, its idol groups are characterised by dynamic group dance and beat music. Its music producers have developed a unique music style, SMP music, in collaboration with American and European composers and choreographers. The mixture of Western and Korean sounds and dance performances lures in Asian fans (Shim 2006). In the latter, a careful negotiation of Korean and Japanese traits, under the inuence of Western music trends, makes TVXQ successfully reach the Japanese audience. By branding this hybrid music as the company’s identity, SME constructs an image of itself as a trendsetter. Hybrid masculinity of TVXQ is another reason why the Korean group appeals to Japanese fans. The omnipresent appearance of Johnny’s idols in television shows and commercials satises the fantasy of female fans that local idols are a neighbour or friend. However, TVXQ provides a different experience of masculinity to them. The media representation of Korean masculinity is composed of active physicality and a faithful mentality. In Japan, masculinity of Korean boy groups is constructed in connection with their national specicity. TVXQ’s dynamic, synchronised performance and prudent attitude reects social pressure, which makes them behave like a representative of Korean contemporary culture. At the same time, this Korean group tries to learn Japanese culture and customs. By incorporating elements of these two societies, TVXQ presents a different type of ideal man and successfully appeals to female fans in Japan. Fiske (1992) discussed the substantial contribution of fans in the popular culture industry. He argues that these self-esteemed people produce a form of popular culture that inuences various cultural institutions (Fiske 1992, 33). A Japanese TVXQ fan club contributes greatly to changes in the Korean and Japanese industries. Japanese fans become loyal consumers of TVXQ’s albums, concert tickets, and goods in both societies. Thanks to the consumers, Korean music companies keep producing various content of idol groups for the Japanese market. Thus, Japanese fandom of the Korean idol group helps continue the expansion of Korean popular culture to Japan. In addition, while undergoing a disbandment crisis, TVXQ fans in both societies shared their common goal of supporting the group. Considering the long preference of the Japanese public for Western musicians, the remarkable achievements of TVXQ have given a new approach to the imaginary of Asia in Japanese entertainment industries and consumers. During the 1990s, the reconstruction of Asian identity in Japan derived from the diffusion of Japanese media content to other Asian countries. In Japanese society the separation between Japan and Asia was nevertheless widely maintained (Iwabuchi 2002). The growing awareness of Korean pop idols in the 2000s reects the change of Asian imaginary in Japanese society. The emerging actor of cultural production in the region enhances the Japanese audience’s feeling of the need to rework Japanese popular culture in Asian contexts. For example, lack of singing and dancing skills in Johnny’s idols is denitely “its own form of aesthetic expression”, and the social meaning of idols is to share the intimacy with the domestic audience (Nagaike 2012, 100). However, the achievement of TVXQ in Japanese society brings an issue of how the Japanese culture industry reformulates its systems to compete with other Asian actors in the era of globalisation. TVXQ

Despite not being Johnny’s 77 also serves Korean music industries and the public to show their growing cultural power in the region and to overcome their feelings of inferiority to Japanese culture in some ways.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

See www.smtown.com/Link/Board/3443147. See www.smtown.jp/about-us. See the prole section from http://boa.smtown.com. See the prole section from http://tvxq.smtown.com. See the discography section from http://tvxq.smtown.com. See the prole section from http://tvxq.smtown.com. See http://toho-jp.net/media. See the prole section from http://tvxq.smtown.com. See http://toho-jp.net/fan/ and http://fc.avex.jp/bigeast. See “prole” on TVXQ’s ofcial website, http://tvxq.smtown.com. See “prole” on TVXQ’s ofcial website http://tvxq.smtown.com.

References Adorno, Theodor. 2002. Essays on Music. Translated by Susan H. Gillespie. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Aoyagi, Hiroshi. 2000. “Pop Idols and the Asian Identity”. In Japan Pop! Inside the World of Japanese Popular Culture, edited by Timothy J. Craig. Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, pp. 309–326. Avex Marketing, Inc. Tohoshinki’s Ofcial Fanclub “Bigeast” Website. http://fc.avex.jp/ bigeast. Avex Marketing, Inc. Tohoshinki’s Ofcial Website. http://toho-jp.net/index.html. Billboard Korea Staff. 2011. “TVXQ Breaks Bon Jovi’s Record in Japan, Headlines Billboard KPOP Masters Concert”. www.billboard.com/articles/news/466543/ tvxq-breaks-bon-jovis-record-in-japan-headlines-billboard-kpop-masters-concert, uploaded 6 October 2011. Cho, Eunsun. 2005. “The Stray Bullet and the Crisis of Korean Masculinity”. In South Korean Golden Age Melodrama, edited by Kathleen McHugh and Nancy Abelmann. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, pp. 99–116. Chǂng, Haesǎng. 2011. K’illǂ k’ǂnt’ench’ǎ-ǎi sǎngbusa-dǎl [Adventurers Who Produce “Killer Content”]. Seoul: Monster. Ch’u, Yǂngjun. 2010. “Haech’e ‘tongbangshin’gi’ naenyǂn tyuo-ro k’ǂmbaek” [Broken-up TVXQ Will Return as a Duo Next Year], Segye ilbo [World Daily]. www.segye.com/ content/html/2010/11/24/20101124003802.html, uploaded 23 November 2010. Darling-Wolf, Fabienne. 2004. “Women and New Men: Negotiating Masculinity in the Japanese Media”, The Communication Review 7: 285–303. Fellezs, Kevin. 2012. “‘This is Who I Am’: Jero, Young, Gifted, Polycultural”, Journal of Popular Music Studies 24: 333–356. Fiske, John. 1992. “The Cultural Economy of Fandom”. In Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media, edited by Lisa Lewis. New York: Routledge, pp. 30–49. Hiraga, Tetsuo. 2012. “Sate, zen ongaku gyǀkai no minasan. Tǀhǀshinki ni dǀ shintara kateru ka kangaemashǀka? Ongakuteki ni mo pafǀmansuteki ni mo sutǀrƯteki ni mo

78

Ju Oak Kim

ninkiteki ni mo monku no tsukedokoro arimasen yo. Minna-ga mezashita saikyǀ wo gugenka shitemasuyo”. [So, everyone in the music business. Let’s think about how we can beat TVXQ. In terms of music, performance, story, popularity, there’s no place to aim a complaint. They actualised the highest standard everyone has been pursuing]. Tweet. https://twitter.com/Tetsuo_Hiraga, uploaded 25 August 2012. Hong, Chaehyǂn. 2009. “Tongbangshin’gi, 4-jip 50-manjang tolp’a kungnae ǎmban shijang sasang 5-nyǂn man-ǎi k’waegǂ” [TVXQ Sells a 5-Year Record-Topping 500,000 Copies of Their Fourth Album], Tonga ilbo [East Asia Daily]. http://news.donga.com/3/ all/20090108/8681470/1, uploaded 23 September 2009. Howard, Keith. 2006. “Coming of Age: Korean Pop in the 1990s”. In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard. Kent: Global Oriental, pp. 82–98. Huang, Shuling. 2011. “Nation-branding and Transnational Consumption: Japan-mania and the Korean Wave in Taiwan”, Media, Culture and Society 33: 3–18. Hwang, Hyojin. 2013. “SMP: SM wǂnch’ǂn kisur-ǎi chinhwaron” [SMP: The Development of SM’s Culture Technology], IZE. http://ize.co.kr/articleView.html?no= 2013080815217252858, uploaded 13 August 2013. Ito, Mizuko. 2012. “Contributors Versus Leechers: Fansubbing Ethics and a Hybrid Public Culture”. In Fandom Unbound: Otaku Culture in a Connected World, edited by Mizuko Ito, Daisuke Okabe, and Izumi Tsuji. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, pp. 179–206. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 2002. Recentering Globalization: Popular Culture and Japanese Transnationalism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 2008. “When the Korean Wave Meets Resident Koreans in Japan: Intersections of the Transnational, the Postcolonial and Multicultural”. In East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave, edited by Chua Beng Huat and Koichi Iwabuchi. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, pp. 243–264. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 2010. “Globalization, East Asian Media Cultures and Their Publics”, Asian Journal of Communication 20: 197–212. Jenkins, Henry and Nico Carpentier. 2013. “Theorizing Participatory Intensities: A Conversation about Participation and Politics”, Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies 19: 265–286. Jung, Sun. 2011. Korean Masculinities and Transcultural Consumption: Yonsama, Rain, Oldboy, K-pop Idols. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Kang, Myǂngsǂk. 2007. “SM-wa JYP yǂnswae saǂp chinch’ul sagǂn” [SM and JYP, Embarking on Domino-type Enterprises], The Hankyoreh 21 (issue 672). http://legacy. h21.hani.co.kr/section-021015000/2007/08/021015000200708090672059.html, uploaded 9 August 2007. Kang, Myǂngsǂk. 2010. “Yu Yǂngjin, ‘i int’ǂbyu ihuro-nǎn int’ǂbyu-rǎl an hal saenggak’”. [Young Jin Yoo, ‘After This Interview, I Won’t do Interviews Anymore’], TenAsia. http://tenasia.hankyung.com/archives/4252, uploaded 9 June. 2010 Kang, Sǎnghun. 2006. “Poa Tongbangshin’gi, il hwaldong chunggan chǂnggǂm ‘SM at’isǎt’ǎ’ shok’eisǎ” [BoA and TVXQ Hold “SM Artists” Showcase During Japan Tour], MyDaily. http://news.naver.com/main/read.nhn?mode=LSD&mid=sec&sid1=10 6&oid=117&aid=0000052222, uploaded 27 June 2006. Kim, Chihye. 2011. “I-injo Tongbangshin’gi, i-mak ije shijak” [TVXQ Comes Back as a Duo for a New Second Act”], The Daily Focus. www.fnn.co.kr/content.asp?aid=d78a83 91440e455487b0cf5290caa7a2, uploaded 12 January 2011. Kim, Hyǂnggon. 2011. “Yi Suman-ǎl chǂngch’aek chojǂng hoiǎi-e pullǂra“ [Lee Soo Man Must be Invited to Policy Coordination Meeting”, Herǂldǎ kyǂngje [Herald Economic].

Despite not being Johnny’s 79 http://news.heraldcorp.com/view.php?ud=20111005000164&md=20120317063551_ AT, uploaded 5 October 2011. Kim, Myǂngǎn. 2012. “Chǂngshik tebwi ǂpshi il tok’yodom 10-man kwan’gaek moǎn shuju-ǎi him” [Super Junior has the Power to Bring Together a Crowd of 100,000 Inside Japan’s Tokyo Dome Without an Ofcial Debut], Sǎp’och’ǎ Chosǂn [Sports Korea]. http://sports.chosun.com/news/ntype.htm?id=201205150100111600008393&service date=20120514, uploaded 12 May 2012. Kim, Pǂmt’ae. 2009. “’Tongbangshin’gi’ p’aen moim k’ashiop’ea, in’gwǂnwi-e chinjǂngsǂ chech’ul” [TVXQ’s Fan Club, Cassiopeia, Presents Petition to National Human Rights Commission of Korea], OhmyNews. www.ohmynews.com/NWS_Web/view/at_pg. aspx?CNTN_CD=A0001206004, uploaded 28 August 2009. Kraidy, Marwan. 2005. Hybridity, or the Cultural Logic of Globalization. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Kwak, Sunyoung. 2010. “Between the Korean Wave and the Japanese Wave: BoA and the East Asian Pop Culture Flow”. Paper presented at the annual meeting for the International Communication Association. Singapore, 22–26 June, pp. 1–30. Kwǂn, Hyesuk. 2000. “Munhwa-wa sanǂb-i mannal ttae: Ǎmban kihoekcha Yi Sumansshi” [The Integration Between Culture and Industry: Music Producer Yi Suman], The Kukmin ilbo [People’s Daily], 10 May, p. 20. Kwǂn, Subin. 2011. “Tongbangshin’gi, chep’ap yǂwang Hamasaki taeshin ending changshik ’9-nyǂnman-e ch’ǂǎm’” [TVXQ Closes “A-Nation” instead of J-pop Queen Ayumi Hamasaki “For The First Time in 9 Years”], Newsen. www.newsen.com/news_ view.php?uid=201108291253581002, uploaded 29 August 2011. Lee, Jamie Shinhee. 2006. “Crossing and Crossers in East Asian Pop Music: Korea and Japan”, World Englishes 25: 235–250. Lunsing, Wim. 2003. “What Masculinity? Transgender Practices among Japanese ‘Men’”. In Men and Masculinities in Contemporary Japan: Dislocating the Salaryman Doxa, edited by James E. Roberson and Nobue Suzuki. Oxon: Routledge, pp. 20–36. Mǀri, Yoshitaka. 2008. “Winter Sonata and Cultural Practices of Active Fans in Japan: Considering Middle-Aged Women as Cultural Agents”. In East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave, edited by Chua Beng Huat and Koichi Iwabuchi. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, pp. 127–142. Oak, Jessica. 2013. “TVXQ! Rocks L.A. Feeling ‘Brand New’ at World Tour Stop: Live Review”, Billboard. www.billboard.com/articles/columns/k-town/1569804/tvxq-rocksla-feeling-brand-new-at-world-tour-stop-live-review?page=0%2C0, uploaded 12 July 2013. Ohtaka, Siho. 2012. “Kankokujin yori moteru tame ni wa dǀ subeki ka?” [What Should We do to be More Popular than Koreans?], President 1–2: 96. Oricon Inc. 2011. “Henshu-cho no metsu! Tǀhǀshinki to iu na no kibǀ” [From the Perspective of the Editor-in-Chief: The Hope Named TVXQ], Oricon Style. www. oricon.co.jp/news/2002510/full/?cat_id=tw, uploaded 6 October 2011. Oricon Inc. 2012. “Orikon: Tǀhǀshinki, shinkyoku-ga 11-sakumoku shui. Kaigai gurupu rekidai 1-i no sǀ uriage 310.4 manmai” [Oricon: TVXQ’s New Song Becomes their 11th no. 1 Hit on the Oricon Chart. Their 3.104 Million Sales Make it the Biggest Selling Foreign Group in History], Oricon Style, www.oricon.co.jp/news/2014400/full, uploaded 17 July 2012. Park, Hyung Jun and Bae, Keuk In. 2013. “Thirty-six Japanese Companies Are Willing to Re-re the Korean Wave”, Tonga ilbo, 3 July, p. 8.

80

Ju Oak Kim

Rampton, Ben. 1999. “Styling the Other: Introduction”, Journal of Sociolinguistics, 3: 421–7. Russell, Mark J. 2008. Pop Goes Korea: Behind the Revolution in Movies, Music, and Internet Culture. Berkeley, CA: Stone Bridge Press. Ryoo, Woongjae. 2009. “Globalization, or the Logic of Cultural Hybridization: The Case of the Korean Wave”, Asian Journal of Communication 19: 137–151. SM Entertainment Co. Ltd. SMTOWN Ofcial Website, www.smtown.com. SM Entertainment Co.Ltd. BoA’s Ofcial Website. http://boa.smtown.com. SM Entertainment Co.Ltd. TVXQ’s Ofcial Website. http://tvxq.smtown.com. SM Entertainment Japan. Ofcial Website. www.smtown.jp/about-us. SM Entertainment Co. Ltd. 2013. “Ch’oich’o, ch’oidae! Kǎb-i tarǎn Tongbangshin’gi, muryǂ 85-manmyǂng tongwǂn ilt’uǂ kiyǂm” [TVXQ is on Another Level. Their Japanese Tours Attracted 850,000 People, Reaching the Largest Record], SMTOWN Ofcal Website. www.smtown.com/Link/Board/3443147, uploaded 30 April 2013. Seabrook, John. 2012. “Factory Girls: Cultural Technology and the Making of K-pop”, New Yorker, 8 October, pp. 88–97. Shim, Doo Bo. 2006. “Hybridity and the Rise of Korean Popular Culture in Asia”, Media, Culture & Society 28: 25–44. Shin, Ji-Young. 2007. “The Construction of National Identity in South Korea and the Tradition of Masculinity in Korean Abstract Painting”, Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 8: 367–389. Shin, Ǎnjǂng. 2010. “Yuno Yunho, ilp’aen-e ‘Tae~hanmin’guk’ paksu shik’yǂ” [U-Know Yunho has Japanese Fans Clap their Hands “Ko~rea”], Kungmin ilbo [People’s Daily]. http://news.kukinews.com/article/view.asp?page=1&gCode=all&arcid=0003863703&c p=nv, uploaded 28 June 2010. Whedon, Joss (Director). 2012. The Avengers. Walt Disney Studio Motion Pictures. Yang, Lin. 2009. “All for Love: The Corn Fandom, Prosumers, and the Chinese Way of Creating a Superstar”, International Journal of Cultural Studies 12: 527–543. Yi, Chaehun. 2013. “Shaini, ilbon tebwi chǎkshi taebak … arena 20-manmyǂng” [SHINee gets a Crowd of 200,000 on its First Arena Tour], Chungang ilbo [Central Daily]. http:// article.joins.com/news/article/article.asp?total_id=8630211 uploaded 2 July 2013. Yi, Hyǂnu. 2012. “Tongbangshin’gi ibǂn-en ‘hǂlk’ǎ-ch’um’… ǂttǂn p’ǂp’omǂnsǎ poyǂjulkka?” [TVXQ Now Come With a “Hulk dance” … What Kind of Performance Will They Give?] Sǎt’a t’udei [Today’s Stars]. http://star.mk.co.kr/new/view. php?mc=ST&no=618273&year=2012, uploaded 25 September 2012. Yi, Hyǂnu. 2013. “Tongbangshin’gi, tǂ isang ollagal koshi ǂpta” [TVXQ Stands at the Summit], Sǎt’a t’udei [Star Today]. http://star.mk.co.kr/new/view.php?mc=ST&no= 732691&year=2013, uploaded 19 August 2013. Yi, Kyǂnghǎi. 2013. “K-p’ap twi-en tagukchǂk chakkokka … 200-kok mandǎl-myǂn han kok saranama” [Multinational Composers Create Songs, and Only One Can be Selected, Chungang ilbo [Central Daily], 4 September, p. 23. Yi, Kyǂngnan. 2012. “Tongbangshin’gi ‘Il hwaldong tcholttak manghae ǎisang tu pǂllo hwaldong’” [TVXQ, “We Had Only Two Costumes in Japan Because the Company was Completely Failed”], Ilgan sǎp’och’ǎ [Daily Sports]. http://isplus.live.joins.com/news/ article/article.asp?total_id=9499825&cloc=cloc, uploaded 5 October 2012. Yonhap News Agency. 2008. “ Tongbangshin’gi Orik’on 1-wigok chakkokka Yu Yǂngjin” [Interview: Yǂngjin Yu, Composer of TVXQ’s No. 1 Song on the Oricon Chart]. http://news.naver.com/main/read.nhn?mode=LSD&mid=sec&sid1=106&oid=0 01&aid=0001996796, uploaded 12 March 2008.

5

SBS PopAsia Non-stop K-pop in Australia Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

Introduction In late 2011, SBS PopAsia debuted on Australian television, presenting back-toback music videos in a two-hour timeslot on Sunday mornings. Produced and broadcast by the Special Broadcasting Service (SBS) – a public service broadcaster and one of Australia’s ve major national networks – the show is a remarkable acknowledgement of Asian popular music, which has been described as “incredibly marginal” in the Australian media landscape (Campbell 2011), and South Korean popular music in particular. In 2013, the programme was extended to three and a half hours of prime-time broadcast across Saturday and Sunday evenings on SBS2, one of the broadcaster’s four digital television stations. Using the tagline “Non-stop Asian Pop”, this television programme plays new and established pop music videos from Asian artists; Korean music predominates, although videos from countries including Japan, Taiwan, China, and Vietnam are also shown. These videos are occasionally interspersed with short original features such as brief primers on selected artists, interviews, and on-location pieces from cultural and pop music events. SBS PopAsia’s media presence includes the weekly music video television programmes, a 24-hour digital radio station, as well as a daily two-hour live radio show, up to ten hours a week on SBS analogue radio, a streaming radio app for mobile phones, a streaming radio service online, YouTube videos, social media presence, and live events. These programmes were developed following online feedback from fans, and it has been this interaction between audiences, established media forms, and new media that has helped to expand the formal K-pop industry in Australia. SBS PopAsia is a unique addition to the Australian music and media landscape, as well as public service broadcasting more broadly. The programme has proven to be a key platform in facilitating and formalising an Australian engagement with K-pop, as well as Asian cultures more generally. Its success is particularly notable as the music videos it broadcasts are available elsewhere online, and as it is a non-English-language, mostly un-subtitled show broadcast in prime time.1 This chapter uses SBS PopAsia to explore how Hallyu (Korean Wave) and K-pop reect the public service broadcaster’s approach to cultural diversity within Australia. It further illustrates how music video is used to introduce cultural literacy to a youth

82

Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

demographic. Lastly, it surveys the SBS PopAsia television programme as it ts within a broader history of Australian music programming, and its use of K-pop to engage a youth demographic through cross-media production.

SBS PopAsia and the Australian broadcasting landscape Although geographically part of Oceania, Australia is most often aligned with European and other Western cultural industries. Like similar countries with relatively small populations and colonial backgrounds, Australia’s music and media landscape has been dominated by British and American culture. The establishment of television in Australia was heavily inuenced by the models of the two powers. The development of the Australian public service broadcaster, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC), in particular, was modelled on the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). In addition to these industrial inuences, Pingree and Hawkins identify a “cultivation effect” (1981, 97), which, in response to the inuence of British and American programming, seeks to develop local content for the Australian television market (Goldsmith and Thomas 2012). Music programming on Australian television has also historically been based on British and American formats; this is evident from the beginning of the Australian television industry, with a local version of the British programme Six Five Special, called Six O’Clock Rock (1959–1962), and an Australian remake of America’s Bandstand in the 1950s (1958–1972). It continues today as local versions of internationally developed music competition programmes Pop Idol and The Voice, which are produced domestically. The development of SBS PopAsia is signicant because it is a marked change from these traditional sources of musical and cultural inuence in Australia. The programme emerged through the patronage of SBS,2 which is differentiated from Australia’s other public service broadcaster, the ABC, by its approach to reecting and engaging Australian identity. As Ang et al. describe in their study The SBS Story, SBS is “one of the key institutional expressions of Australia’s ofcial understanding of itself as a nation of many cultures, languages and communities, as opposed to a single, homogenous monoculture” (2008, 9). SBS broadcasts in 53 different languages, “representing more than 170 cultures” (SBS 2011, 34). SBS PopAsia is delivered in diverse languages, with English used by the programme’s hosts for interviews and spots to camera, but music and videos delivered in the original language used by musicians without translation. This approach to the music television format has been effective, and SBS PopAsia has proven to be a popular and inuential piece of programming. This popularity is reected in the swift expansion of the programme across platforms over a threeyear period (from radio to radio, television, and online). The show has also been critically recognised, most recently at the 2012 National Multicultural Marketing Awards, winning the Advertising and Communication Award and the Grand Award for all categories (Community Relations Commission 2012), and the 2012 Asian Broadcasting Union awards, where it won the Radio Prize for Interactive Programming) (IF.com.au 2012).

SBS PopAsia

83

In contrast to the ABC’s emphasis on a promotion of unity and development of original Australian cultural content, SBS acknowledges Australia’s diverse, multicultural and considerable migrant population. This commitment to diversity is articulated clearly in the SBS Charter, as drawn from Section 6 of the Federal Government’s Special Broadcasting Service Act 1991, which emphasises the broadcaster’s duty to “promote understanding and acceptance of the cultural, linguistic and ethnic diversity of the Australian people; contribute to the retention and continuing development of language and other cultural skills; as far as practicable, inform, educate and entertain Australians in their preferred languages” (SBS 2012a). Given its place within this unique type of public service broadcaster, SBS PopAsia can at rst be understood as an acknowledgement of the presence of Korean and other East and Southeast Asian migrants and diasporic communities in Australia. It can also be seen as a bridge between these communities and a broader Australian audience. This argument is drawn from analysis of the programme and is informed by interviews conducted with key production staff, namely executive producer Mark Cumming and producer Madelyn Fryer. Using these three key aims of SBS’s charter, the following sections explore how SBS PopAsia exists within the Australian media landscape more broadly.

Hallyu, Australia, and Asian-Australians Purpose 1: promote understanding and acceptance of the cultural, linguistic, and ethnic diversity of the Australian people The viewership of SBS PopAsia can rst be explained in demographic terms. Australia is a culturally diverse nation with the third-highest proportion of migrant residents in the world, with 27 per cent of its population born overseas (ABS 2010). On one level, SBS PopAsia can be interpreted as providing culture-specic content to Asian-Australian communities. In this sense, SBS serves its conventional mandate as a multicultural broadcaster, airing content in non-English languages to meet the needs of distinct cultural and linguistic groups. The Asian diaspora in Australia consists of recent migrants as well as secondand third-generation residents, and a large number of international students from China, South Korea, Hong Kong, Japan, Vietnam, Indonesia, Malaysia, and beyond. Over half of Australia’s signicant number of international students (one-third of a million) are from East and Southeast Asian countries (Department of Immigration and Citizenship 2011, 10), while 12 per cent of Australians describe themselves as Asian-Australians (Colebatch 2012). Although not the dominant ancestry of the Asian-Australian sector, there is a sizeable Korean community in Australia, which is estimated to be the sixth largest outside Korea (JSCFADT 2006, 4). Australian-Koreans constitute 1 per cent of the population of the state of New South Wales (JSCFADT 2006, 4) and number around 90,000 nationally (ABS 2011). Furthermore, Korean-Australians are likely to maintain a cultural and linguistic connection to Korea, given that many are relatively recent (post-1970) migrants (Han and Han 2010). SBS PopAsia’s development is thus

84

Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

explainable in terms of Australia’s considerable, and comparatively recent, AsianAustralian population. However, its focus on K-pop is notable, especially as other Asian-Australian populations are signicantly larger; the Chinese-Australian community, for instance, numbers almost one million (ABS 2011). Before its development for television, SBS PopAsia existed as a 24-hour digital radio station, which began in 2010. The initial idea for the station was informed by the Asian Pop Show – a weekly two-hour segment on Alchemy, SBS’s youth radio programme. Executive producer Mark Cumming recounted that a major contributing factor to SBS PopAsia’s establishment was the popularity of the Asian Pop Show, as shown by online fan engagement. He links the form of SBS PopAsia specically to the Hallyu phenomenon, stating, “It came with the K-pop wave, it was part of that […] we realised that it’s not J-pop anymore, it’s K-pop where most of the activity is.” Although SBS PopAsia caters to other forms of Asian popular music and nominally focuses on “Asia” rather than a particular country, it also positions Korean popular music as the current dominant form of Asian pop, with the television show consisting of 80–90 per cent K-pop on average.3 The interchangeability of K-pop with a broader Asian appeal is directly informed by the global popularity of Hallyu. Pop music, television series, and other media from Korea have had signicant impact across Asia, and, more recently, in the West. This Hallyu phenomenon (Shim 2006; Maliangkay 2006) has been extensively analysed, notably in regard to intercultural relations and nationalisms within Asia (Huat and Iwabuchi 2008; Jung 2011a). It can be considered an export-focused Korean cultural industry, similar to Japanese animation (Iwabuchi 1998) and Chinese martial arts cinema (Wu and Chan 2007), and its inuence within Asia has been acknowledged for the last decade (Jung 2011a, 2). As such, SBS PopAsia’s employment of K-pop meets the needs of a general Asian-Australian demographic that is not limited to a particular language or culture, as opposed to a specically Korean-Australian viewership. Aside from the development of SBS PopAsia, Hallyu’s effect within Australia is reected in a number of high-prole events, particularly in Sydney. These include the 2011 Korea–Australia Friendship Concert, featuring a performance by popular group SHINee, and the Sydney 2011 K-pop concert, which was among the rst K-pop showcase concerts held throughout 2011 in selected Western cities, including New York and Paris. In 2012, inaugural Sydney auditions for major Korean talent agency YG Entertainment were held, as well as the rst Australian auditions for Korean talent shows Superstar K4 and K-Pop Star – the latter featuring rookie group NU’EST as guest judges. Meanwhile, the Korean Cultural Ofce, based in Sydney’s central business district, hosts K-pop dance classes and makes specic reference to the importance of music in Hallyu on its website. Perhaps the event that has received the most attention in mainstream media is singer PSY’s visit in October 2012; this was widely covered by media outlets, including SBS, which used the opportunity to cross-promote its SBS PopAsia on the evening news.4 The growing interest in K-pop within Australia has led to SBS PopAsia fostering an active rapport between Australia and Korea. When developing the show for

SBS PopAsia

85

television, Cumming and Fryer noted the importance of music video in developing formal media partnerships and relationships between the countries. As Cumming described, Firstly, we tried to meet as many people as we could in Korea. We went over to Seoul and just tried to open some doors. Just to sort of say, “Hello, we’re from Australia and we’re called SBS PopAsia”, and tell them about ourselves. And the response we had at those meetings, over a week, was “we’ve never thought about Australia before”. The people we met seemed immediately interested, because Korea was going through a period of understanding that K-pop and the K-wave was a new kind of soft diplomacy, very good for the country. So the people that we met very quickly understood what we needed, and gradually it’s gotten easier to access tracks, but it’s still a hard slog. It’s still a process of calling them up each week and saying “what have you got? What’s coming out? Can you get it through to us”, and just making sure it’s delivered. The diplomatic aspect of K-pop and its use as a cultural export to audiences beyond Korea dates back to the late 1990s. Howard discusses the increasing musical diversity of Korean pop music following decreasing state control of the media in the early 1990s, allowing it to incorporate aspects of “reggae, hip hop, house, techno, and other 1990s musical fashions” (2002, 90). By 1996, K-pop, in the form of Western-inuenced boy bands and girl groups, had begun its domination of the mainstream in Korea (Shin 2009, 149–150) and beyond. To make K-pop attractive to other nations, a particular “cultural technology” (Seabrook 2012) is implemented. The term, popularised by Lee Soo-Man, founder of talent agency SM Entertainment, refers to a formula for pop group success, involving rigorous training in singing, dance, and presentation, as well as “localising” talent to specic markets (Seabrook 2012). A further discernible feature is the de-emphasising of Korean-ness, which Jung (2011a, 17) describes as mugukchǂk (country-neutral). This produces the Western-inuenced sound of contemporary K-pop, including English words and phrases. Its high-budget music videos are often shot on indoor stages rather than discernibly Korean outdoor settings, and are also similar to the Western pop model; these create a more familiar, consumable product for Australian audiences. Regarding the localisation of talent, which Jung (2011a, 163) terms chogukchǂk (trans-nationality), many acts focus on East Asian countries, particularly China and Japan, though smaller markets including Thailand (Siriyuvasak and Shin 2007) and Indonesia (Jung 2011b) are also targeted. More recently, a distinctly Australian chogukchǂk can be observed. A growing number of K-pop groups feature Australian citizens or former residents, including One Way (2010–: Peter and Young Sky), LEDApple (2010–: Hanbyul), ZE:A (2010–: Kevin), EvoL (2012–: Hayana), and C-Clown (2012–: Rome). The Australian presence in K-pop is emphasised by SBS PopAsia, which draws attention to the members’ Australian backgrounds when introducing their music videos, and in interviews.

86

Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

SBS PopAsia thus provides a distinctly Australian “accent” to acknowledge this international form, and builds on an Asian-Australian fan base with backgrounds from Korea, China, Taiwan, Japan, Vietnam, and beyond. However, as Jin (2012, 6–7) points out, the spread of “Hallyu 2.0” across various territories is largely online, and intellectual property rights are seldom actualised. The issue of rights is one that has been negotiated by SBS PopAsia’s producers, who have emphasised the potential of the Australian audience as a legitimate K-pop market. Obtaining rights is an ongoing process for the show, which the viewers are becoming aware of: Fryer stated, “They’ll email us and say ‘When are you getting the rights to this video?’” When describing discussions with Korean providers surrounding broadcast rights, Cumming pointed out the size of the unregulated K-pop market in Australia as follows: Australia is still seen as a small market, but I think we’ve slowly been able to feed labels with information […]. Another thing we actually used to talk about [in those meetings, and in our letters] was that, of the biggest K-pop pirate sites in the world, Australia had four out of ve. So we could show that there was a demand here that was not being able to be met. (Cumming, pers. comm., 16 August 2012) Hallyu’s role in dening SBS’s approach to Asian pop is clear, and in turn, SBS has established a formal presence for Korean popular music on broadcast television.5 Its use of non-English-language material allows SBS PopAsia to position itself as a programme that directly serves the needs of CALD (culturally and linguistically diverse) groups, as noted by SBS in its 2010–2011 annual report (SBS 2011, 34). However, the community actually served is arguably not linguistically or culturally limited; the interchangeability of Korean pop music with a wider Asian appeal is reected in SBS’s categorisation of SBS PopAsia elsewhere as “a mainstream pop music service for younger Chinese Australians with music from China, Japan, Korea, Taiwan and Hong Kong” (SBS 2011, 37), despite the fact that up to 90 per cent of the music videos shown are Korean. This “pan-Asian” strategy – not demarcating or limiting certain broadcasts or segments to “Chinese-only” or “Korean-only” interests – reects the internationalising valence of Hallyu. As Mandy Wicks, SBS’s director of audio and language content, states, “It’s been our intention to take what might seem like a niche genre but is incredibly popular and, especially in terms of our charter for all Australians, give it relevance and appeal to second and third generation Asian-Australians” (Bodey 2012). SBS PopAsia’s K-pop-focused playlists have created some new issues for the broadcaster. Cumming described SBS PopAsia as a “contemporary hits music channel”, creating a brand which is “massively mainstream – in the Asian Pop niche”. This targeting of popular material is one that Cumming called “very un-SBS” in terms of the broadcaster’s history, as SBS has historically focused on marginalised rather than commercial material, seeking out international and diverse language content. At the same time, aligning the programme so closely

SBS PopAsia

87

with Hallyu ts with SBS’s aim of appealing to Australians from CALD backgrounds. The contradiction between serving diverse communities and reecting the prevalence of K-pop across Asia has led to some opposition, such as the creation of the “SBS Pop ‘Asia’ Sucks” Facebook page, which protests the show’s perceived view “that South Korean [sic] and its puny music industry represents ALL of Asia”. However, the producers afrmed that the show’s content is selected based on audience feedback, and that the proportion of Korean content is due to the high volume of requests (interview with Cumming and Fryer, 16 August 2012). A nal point about Australia’s particular landscape in regard to consumption of popular music comes from a 2002 SBS study into perspectives on multiculturalism (Ang et al. 2002). In the study, Noble (2002, 32) suggests that music listening habits among various cultural groups do not fall rigidly into the categories of “English-speaking” or “country of origin”. Instead, Noble discerns an intercultural trend, recognising “a small but important consumption of music that is neither mainstream English language popular music nor ‘traditional’ or popular music from the homeland” (2002, 32). This uidity of music-listening habits among people of differing backgrounds suggests that K-pop’s popularity within Australia is also due to its diverse population, which is more likely to exchange and share music across cultures.

K-pop and Australian cultural literacy Purpose 2: contribute to the retention and continuing development of language and other cultural skills SBS PopAsia is not only limited to audiences with Asian backgrounds. It is also constructed as a transcultural ‘youth’ product, engaging audiences generally interested in pop music and Asian culture, but not necessarily of Asian backgrounds themselves. This is demonstrated by SBS PopAsia’s use of English as the sole language for the show. There is no known precedent for a national public broadcaster presenting an English-language show for non-English-language pop music like SBS PopAsia, within Australia or internationally; while community radio shows such as the Melbourne-based SYN’s Asian Pop Night do present in English, the audience is smaller and limited to local listeners. SBS PopAsia has overcome the ‘niche’ role of non-English musics, bringing K-pop into the mainstream rather than separating it. This can be seen in SBS PopAsia’s “PopAsia 101” videos, which are short featurettes allowing those with little or no prior knowledge of K-pop to engage with the diversity of the music and develop an understanding and interest in the form. “PopAsia 101” segments, which provide overviews of artists’ careers, trivia, and context, are delivered in English by host Jay K. Introduced with the tagline “Welcome to PopAsia 101, your super-fast, pop master class”, these videos are screened during the programme’s broadcast, and are also published online via YouTube. The segments are clearly intended to provide a gateway for

88

Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

viewers to engage with the landscape of Asian pop. This inclusive approach to music television also provides a space for cross-generational audiences, positioning SBS PopAsia as an accessible, family-friendly television programme. As Fryer explained, It’s a safe space for people to be in, and it’s a family space. And so everyone in the family can walk in and out, and not worry that it’ll have too much violence or too much sexual innuendo – our style, or PopAsia, is a little bit safer […] what we do is for all Australians. SBS PopAsia is evidently both an accessible programme for “all Australians” regardless of age or ancestry, and a show aimed at young Asian-Australians of culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds. The latter function is demonstrated by the show’s recognition at the 2012 National Multicultural Marketing Awards. SBS PopAsia was described as “ground-breaking media in a multicultural society” and was praised for its ability to “meet the needs of people of non-English speaking backgrounds and to tailor services and information to their language and cultural differences” (Community Relations Commission 2012). This ability to exist both as a specialist cultural broadcaster, and a non-culturally specic show is contingent on SBS PopAsia’s inclusive approach and role as cultural interpreter, and also on the appeal of K-pop as a transcultural product. Although there are no available statistics on SBS PopAsia’s viewership demographics, producers Cumming and Fryer anecdotally conrmed a signicant number of viewers of non-Asian backgrounds. According to SBS’s communication specialist, Claudine Ellis, “Right from the beginning, the show attracted more than just international students and Asian Australians. Plenty of viewers come from non-Asian backgrounds too, and are utterly obsessed with Asian pop” (Scarton 2011). By acting as interpreter, SBS PopAsia allows Australians unfamiliar with Korea and other Asian cultures to develop cultural awareness, using the medium of K-pop and its own “PopAsia 101” segments. The focus on cultural awareness is evident in a “PopAsia 101” segment focusing on PSY, broadcast in August 2012, shortly after the release of the music video for “Gangnam Style” on 15 July. Unlike other Australian and international commentators who treated the artist as a novelty, this feature provided details of PSY’s previous releases, their impact, and his musical and cultural context. The video starts with host Jay K superimposed upon the music video, performing the “Gangnam Style” dance moves made famous through the music video. Focus quickly shifts away from the novelty aspect of the video towards PSY’s lengthy music career and training. A text cue reads “Gangnam is one of the most afuent areas of Seoul in South Korea!” and host Jay K proceeds to explain, “PSY is a South Korean hip-hop artist who entered the rap game in 2001. Known for his unique sense of style and awesome sense of humour, PSY debuted with a cool and honest birth.” Further details about PSY are provided: “Real Name, Park Jae Sang. Nickname, Bizarre Singer”, including his latest album, his work as a songwriter, artistic approach, and music qualications.

SBS PopAsia

89

This detailed account of PSY’s career and place within K-pop predates and is in stark contrast to coverage by other major media outlets in Australia. Australian television audiences were rst introduced to PSY on The Ellen Show (re-broadcast on Australian commercial television), where Ellen DeGeneres and Britney Spears were given a “Gangnam Style” dance lesson by PSY, following their admiration of the music video (The Ellen Show 2012). Unlike “PopAsia 101”, there is no focus on PSY as an artist; before teaching the “Gangnam Style” dance to DeGeneres and Spears, he asks “can I introduce myself, not just dancing?” Similar mainstream media typecasting of PSY and his work occurred in local Australian talk shows, when PSY appeared in person on the Sunrise show in mid-October, ahead of an Australian concert in early 2013. The host began by acknowledging PSY’s already established career, but focused primarily on his novelty and viral success. PSY’s mainstream recognition also demonstrates the formation of a distinct K-pop community within Australia on a national level, with SBS PopAsia providing a gathering place for fans. The SBS PopAsia Facebook page explicitly encouraged the sharing of pride in PSY’s achievement, posting an announcement stating “It’s a good day PopAsians!! PSY’s ‘Gangnam Style’ hits #1 on iTunes in 8 countries! Show your pride & share this on your wall!” As well as serving the Asian-Australian community and general music video audience, the informal “PopAsian” community is dened by its collective cultural literacy and fandom of Asian Pop and K-pop, while not being limited to a particular cultural background or community. A crucial step in developing cultural literacy, as encouraged by SBS PopAsia and the PopAsian community, is simply to introduce an Asian and Asian-Australian presence on television. This is a positive aspect of Hallyu within Australia, as dominant broadcast media have historically drawn primarily on Western content, presenting an overwhelmingly Anglo-Australian depiction of Australia. A reviewer of the programme remarks on its deance of “a decades-old expectation that global pop culture is necessarily Anglophone (and, by extension, ethnically ‘Western’) in orientation” (Rowlands 2012). The scarcity of positive representations of AsianAustralians on Australian television has been recognised (May 2002), and Fryer commented on SBS PopAsia’s work in this regard, stating “Here, it’s now cool to be Asian, and that for us, that’s the positive work we want to do here”. Participants in the SBS PopAsia online community are actively invested in how their culture is shown on the television show. As Cumming explained, Young Asian Australians can watch SBS PopAsia and see other young Asians doing cool things, with great fashion and all that stuff, and that’s great. But there’s another thing that people tune to SBS for – it’s because they want to see how their culture’s being represented for everybody else. […] SBS PopAsia, with great music, with amazing looking people and amazing looking visuals, allows them to feel – “Yes! Finally someone’s showing my culture in a cool way for everybody else.” Here, Cumming pointed out the broader, cross-cultural viewership of the programme, naming two stakeholders in the SBS PopAsia audience and

90

Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

“PopAsian” community: young Asian-Australians engaged in shaping their representation, and “everybody else”. A nal important point in discussing SBS PopAsia’s role as an intermediary between an Asian-Australian audience and a more broadly dened viewership comes from a submission made by SBS to a 2012 white paper commissioned by the Australian government. Called “Australia in the Asian Century”, it recognises the increasing importance of Asia to Australia, and, as described in a speech by the prime minister, calls for “stronger, deeper, broader cultural links with the nations of Asia at every level of society” (Gillard 2012). This notion of cultural exchange is echoed by Korea’s Consul General, Jin Soo Kim, who emphasises existing strong economic links (citing Korea’s status as Australia’s third-largest export market) and notes K-pop’s potential to introduce dialogue on a cultural level (Kim 2013). SBS’s submission to this white paper identies three roles for the broadcaster, including: “familiarisation of Australians with the politics, cultures, languages and societies in our region”, “to encourage Asian literacy”, and “to ensure that there are strong role models for young Australians of both Asian and non-Asian backgrounds” (SBS 2012b, 1). SBS PopAsia’s potential to develop an ongoing cultural literacy and exchange within “an enthusiastic audience which grows each month” (SBS 2012b, 1) has also been recognised by advertisers; the programme is used as a vehicle for outreach by the Korean Tourism Ofce, airing videos such as PSY’s “Wiki Korea” tourism project. Although SBS PopAsia has signicant potential to foster cultural awareness in a mainstream broadcasting arena, it is worth commenting on some limitations still faced in expanding cultural literacy more broadly. For example, the programme positions “Asian pop” (and thereby Korean pop) as something distinct from, rather than integrated with, “pop” in a more general sense. This is in contrast to East Asian countries such as Japan and Taiwan, where Asian and Korean cultural products (including music and, in particular, television dramas) are able to enter mainstream local circulation to a much greater extent (see Shim 2006; Shim 2006). The demarcation of “Asian pop” bespeaks the enduring, though not surprising, “othering” of Asia in Australian discourse, as well as the deeper cultural factors explaining the popularity of Hallyu in East Asia compared to other regions (see Yang 2012). Australia’s historical and ongoing association with Western cultural inuences, and its position “outside of a cultural geography based on East Asian cultural afnity” (Cho 2011) still presents a signicant barrier to developing new cultural links. It remains to be seen whether K-pop expands further into mainstream media presence beyond SBS, and how SBS PopAsia’s effect on Australians’ cultural literacy manifests, for example in increased engagement with Korean and other Asian entertainment, language learning, or travel. Lastly, it should be asked whether the show’s focus on commercial pop risks marginalising other musical genres or alienating emerging artists who do not have mainstream commercial backing. Nonetheless, the show arguably fulls all of the three key roles identied in the white paper submission, principally through using K-pop as an approachable, engaging, and inviting form of content for young Asian-Australians and Australians more broadly.

SBS PopAsia

91

Music video and youth engagement Purpose 3: as far as practicable, inform, educate, and entertain Australians in their preferred languages The languages used in the SBS PopAsia television show include English, as used by the presenters, as well as music videos in many different languages; Korean is used in the majority of music videos, and Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Vietnamese, Thai, and Indonesian in the remainder. The diversity of these languages and the wide viewership of SBS PopAsia, however, suggest that these languages are not essential in terms of their communication. Pop music, throughout its history, has often attracted audiences using means other than direct lyrical engagement and literal meanings. This includes non-English-speaking artists who have had success in mainstream English markets including in the US and UK (of which 2012’s “Gangnam Style” is a notable example), as well as artists who have created novelty songs based on playing with language-like tones or crossed meanings (such as The Beatles’ iconic “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”). Such creative adaptations of language in pop music have been well documented as part of the appeal of music for audiences (see, for example, West and Martindale 1996). Therefore, the literal notion of “preferred language” does not necessarily relate to the context of music and video, and furthermore, young Asian-Australian viewers’ preferred language may in fact be English, despite their being of diverse cultural backgrounds. The “preferred language” for youth watching SBS PopAsia can instead be dened as music and music video itself. SBS PopAsia has been established as a unique programme in Australia in terms of its content and aims. It simultaneously also ts within the broader history of music television forms in Australia. As a piece of music television, SBS PopAsia is broadcast at times that have been historically successful with youth audiences. The programme’s initial weekend morning slot is one that has long been occupied by music video programmes, including Video Hits (a mainstream popular music video programme broadcast on commercial television in 1987–2011), and Rage (a mainstream and alternative music video programme broadcast on public service broadcaster ABC since 1987). Furthermore, the recent move to early evening weekend broadcasts echoes a time slot that helped establish music and television in Australia, with iconic programmes like Six O’Clock Rock and Countdown (1974–1987) screening at these times. Thus SBS PopAsia’s broadcast time slot has long been considered to be appropriate for music video and “general viewership”; therefore we can expect that young viewers, as well as families, may be watching. It has consequently succeeded in expanding the broadcaster’s reach with particular audiences, particularly the youth demographic. The mission to “attract and retain younger audiences” is one of SBS’s core strategies (SBS 2010), and the launch of a second channel, SBS2, described as “The New Channel for Emerging Culture” (SBS2 2013), focuses on youth-oriented programming rather than multicultural content. SBS PopAsia was shifted to this new channel in April 2013, coinciding with the move to a prime-time slot on weekends. This shift

92

Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

implicitly positions SBS PopAsia, and thereby K-pop, as an “emerging culture” within the Australian landscape. Another aspect of the show’s youth engagement is the use of new media platforms. SBS PopAsia has established itself as a cross-media, cross-broadcast programme for SBS. This cross-platform approach is part of SBS’s strategy to extend audience engagement (SBS 2011, 47), and the community of loyal viewers is actively fostered through SBS PopAsia’s interactions online. The success of the SBS PopAsia broadcast television programme, in a Hallyu 2.0 (Jin 2012) era where almost all of the show’s content is freely available online, is noteworthy. Young people’s daily consumption of free-to-air and subscription television is declining steadily (ACMA 2010, 14), while contemporary K-pop fandom is heavily reliant on the availability of videos online (both ofcial releases and fan-made), news and discussion on key websites, and communication via social media. K-pop, on the whole, possesses acutely engaged fan communities; these include fan clubs and local chapters supporting particular groups and artists (many of which are ofcially sanctioned by artists’ entertainment agencies), as well as broader communities dedicated to video subtitling, entertainment news, and general discussion. These online communities are important both in terms of connecting artists with fans, and fans with each other (Jung 2011b; Yoon 2010). This young and technologically engaged demographic, combined with the participatory culture of K-pop fandom, explains the necessity of SBS PopAsia’s cross-media approach to music video broadcasting. The show maintains an active presence within social media, interacting and taking requests via YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, and telephone (for radio only), and regularly running contests for prizes. The television show itself can be streamed from SBS’s site for up to seven days after broadcast, and original content such as SBS PopAsia “101s” and interviews with artists are published via YouTube. The latter is particularly notable, as SBS PopAsia is one of the relatively few English-language programmes conducting original interviews with Korean popular artists; its presence on YouTube has, therefore, expanded SBS PopAsia’s viewership beyond Australia, with commenters originating from Singapore, Indonesia, Israel, and beyond. The show also serves as a media outlet for visiting artists, conducting interviews, providing publicity for upcoming shows, and organising competitions for concert tickets and merchandise. Regarding this constant interaction with the “PopAsian” community, Fryer stated “You can see when people are unhappy, or when they’re really happy – that guides us with our programming”, reinforcing the audiencedriven direction of the show. The community’s lively online audience participation with the show is central to SBS PopAsia’s success, as social media and online interaction provide a critical follow-through to the television show. SBS PopAsia, therefore, functions as an “event” television show, similar to programmes like reality and sports programming (Holmes 2004, 215), where participants are able to contribute to the show’s direction and engage in discussion with the show’s presenters and other fans, and where fans can express support for artists. This participatory fandom aspect of SBS PopAsia reects both the heavily engaged nature of K-pop fandom and mirrors music television shows in Korea,

SBS PopAsia

93

where the merging of music television, performance, and participation/voting is well established in shows such as M! Countdown. Although most of SBS PopAsia’s content (music videos) is freely available online, the medium of broadcast television can, therefore, still play an important part in the consumption and fandom of K-pop. As Cumming stated, “this generation, very technically savvy, still wants to be entertained, still wants to be given a show”. He goes on to explain: “Our audience could watch a YouTube channel and get everything they want, but people still say ‘can you please play artists A, B, C, on the show?’ They want to see it on TV.” Instead of television simply being another medium for fans to view videos, SBS PopAsia’s online communication and request mechanism cater to dedicated fans who want to show support for their chosen artist and participate in the show’s fan base.

Conclusion Australia provides a unique case study for examining the impact of Hallyu, and K-pop in particular, within the West. Its geographic and geopolitical closeness to Asia, considerable Asian-Australian population, and SBS’s role as multicultural public broadcaster have allowed K-pop to enter mainstream broadcast media and public consciousness. The development of SBS PopAsia can be considered a formalisation of the second wave of Hallyu, as its development for mainstream broadcast media is predicated on K-pop’s already-established popularity throughout Asia and in Australia. SBS PopAsia has proven to be a remarkable success for SBS, in terms of the number of viewers, critical recognition by industry bodies, and its fullment of SBS’s charter and core strategies,6 due to K-pop’s internationalising characteristics, and the phenomenon of Hallyu more generally. The broad appeal of K-pop allows SBS PopAsia to simultaneously exist as a product that meets the needs of a particular cultural group, and a way to develop cultural literacy for Australians more broadly. It should be stated that K-pop is a relatively recent phenomenon in the mainstream Australian media landscape, and many areas remain to be further researched. For example, the follow-on effects of increasing cultural literacy – if any – have yet to be determined. Another area for future research is a quantitative study on audience formation, in terms of cultural diversity, age, and other musical interests, of SBS PopAsia, Korean pop, and Asian pop more generally in Australia. At the time of original interviews with the show’s producers, only anecdotal information was available about the show’s viewership in terms of cultural background. Lastly, given that broadcast music television has been overlooked by commentators on Hallyu 2.0 in favour of analysis of online delivery, SBS PopAsia presents an important case study of how broadcast television and radio are still inuential methods of music delivery and audience engagement. K-pop’s pre-existing popularity across Asia establishes a wide potential audience among Asian-Australians, while music video is a reliable form of programming that attracts younger viewers and is accessible to a range of ages and backgrounds. Furthermore, the cultivation of the “PopAsian” community

94

Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

draws on the participatory nature of K-pop fandom, and allows participants to shape the show’s direction, ensuring that current trends are mirrored. Lastly, as a government-funded public service, SBS’s role as a “multicultural broadcaster” reects a formal engagement with Hallyu that is arguably specic to Australia. The soft diplomacy of Korean popular music dovetails with Australia’s focus on the upcoming “Asian century”, resulting in an outreach that is actively welcomed.

Acknowledgements The authors extend their sincere thanks to Mark Cumming and Madelyn Fryer for their time and generosity.

Notes 1 Subtitles are used in the show’s occasional interviews with artists, which are broadcast in their original language (for example, Korean) but translated/subtitled in English. Music videos, however, which make up the vast majority of the programme, are not translated/subtitled. 2 The authors note here that SBS does also receive commercial funding, but it remains part of the Public Service Broadcasting sector in Australia. 3 Based on the authors’ analyses of playlists from January/February 2012. 4 Interestingly, PSY’s popularity within Australia (according to percentage of search engine searches) considerably outranks that of other countries outside Asia, such as the UK and US (Lovitt 2012). 5 Likewise, the SBS PopAsia mobile phone app., which streams audio of the digital radio station, has been described as expanding the formal market for recorded music via its inclusion of a “click to buy” function. As explained by a spokesperson for SBS, “It is to help legal sales of music to encourage the many labels that we deal with that there is a market for their music in Australia” (SaveOurSBS 2012). 6 The positive reception of SBS PopAsia has led to the launch of two new digital radio stations in July 2012: PopDesi (focusing on Indian pop music) and PopAraby (Arabic pop music), though these have not as yet been extended to television broadcast.

References ABS (Australian Bureau of Statistics). 2010. “Australia-born and Overseas-born”. In 3412.0: Migration, Australia, 2009–10. Canberra: ABS. www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/ [email protected]/Previousproducts/52F24D6A97BC0A67CA2578B0001197B8?opendocu ment. ABS. 2011. “Census of Population and Housing”. Canberra: ABS. www.abs.gov.au/ census. ACMA (Australian Communications and Media Authority). 2010. “Trends in Media Use by Children and Young People: Insights from the Kaiser Family Foundation’s Generation M2 2009 (USA), and Results from the ACMA’s Media and Communications in Australian Families 2007”. Canberra: ACMA. www.acma.gov.au/webwr/_assets/main/ lib310665/trends_in_media_use_by_children_and_young_people.pdf, uploaded June 2010.

SBS PopAsia

95

Ang, Ien, Jeffrey E. Brand, Greg Noble, and Derek Wilding. 2002. Living Diversity: Australia’s Multicultural Future. Sydney: Special Broadcasting Services Corporation. Ang, Ien, Gay Hawkins, and Lamia Dabboussy. 2008. The SBS Story: The Challenge of Cultural Diversity. Sydney: UNSW Press. Bodey, Michael. 2012. “SBS Rides Wave of Booming Asia Pop”, The Australian. www. theaustralian.com.au/media/sbs-rides-wave-of-booming-asia-pop/storye6frg996-1226453609623, uploaded 20 August 2012. Campbell, Mel. 2011. “Say Hello to Asian Video Hits”, The Enthusiast. www.theenthusiast. com.au/archives/2011/say-hello-to-asian-video-hits, uploaded 25 August 2011. Cho, Younghan. 2011. “Desperately Seeking East Asia Amidst the Popularity of South Korean Pop Culture in Asia,” Cultural Studies 25(3): 383–404. Colebatch, Tim. 2012. “Land of Many Cultures, Ancestries and Faiths”, Sydney Morning Herald. www.smh.com.au/opinion/political-news/land-of-many-cultures-ancestriesand-faiths-20120621-20r3g.html, uploaded 22 June 2012. Community Relations Commission. 2012. National Multicultural Marketing Awards: 2012 Winners. www.crc.nsw.gov.au/Awards_and_Sponsorships/nmma/previous_ winners/2012_winners. Department of Immigration and Citizenship. 2011. Student Visa Program Trends, 2004–05 to 2010–11. Canberra: Dept of Immigration and Citizenship. www.immi.gov.au/media/ statistics/study/_pdf/student-visa-program-trends-2010-11.pdf. The Ellen Show. 2012. “Surprise! Britney Learns ‘Gangnam Style’ from PSY!” www. youtube.com/watch?v=QZmkU5Pg1sw, uploaded 10 September 2012. Gillard, Julia. 2012. Speech at the Launch of the White Paper on Australia in the Asian Century: “History Asks Great Nations Great Questions”, 28 October 2012. Goldsmith, Ben and Thomas, Julian. 2012. “The Convergence Review and the Future of Australian Content Regulation”, Telecommunications Journal of Australia 62(3): 44.1–44.12. Han, Gil-Soo and Joy J. Han. 2010. “Koreans”. Dictionary of Sydney. http:// dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/koreans. Holmes, Su. 2004. “‘But This Time You Choose’: Approaching the Interactive Audience in Reality TV”, International Journal of Cultural Studies 7(2): 213–231. Howard, Keith. 2002. “Exploding Ballads: The Transformation of Korean Pop Music”. In Global Goes Local: Popular Culture in Asia, edited by Timothy J. Craig and Richard King. Vancouver: UBC Press, pp. 80–98. Huat, Chua Beng and Koichi Iwabuchi. 2008. East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. IF.com.au. 2012. “SBS Wins Three Awards at the Asia-Pacic Broadcasting Union Awards”. http://if.com.au/2012/10/18/article/SBS-wins-three-Awards-at-the-AsiaPacic-Broadcasting-Union-Awards/GHCWLNBCZJ.html, uploaded 18 October 2012. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 1998. “Marketing ‘Japan’: Japanese Cultural Presence Under a Global Gaze”, Japanese Studies 18(2): 165–180. Jin, Dal Yong. 2012. “Hallyu 2.0: The New Korean Wave in the Creative Industry”, International Institute Journal 2(1): 3–7. JSCFADT (Joint Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade. Foreign Affairs Sub-Committee). 2006. Australia’s Relationship with the Republic of Korea; and Developments on the Korean Peninsula. Canberra: Parliament of the Commonwealth of Australia. www.aph.gov.au/Parliamentary_Business/Committees/House_of_ Representatives_Committees?url=jfadt/korea/report/fullreport.pdf.

96

Liz Giuffre and Sarah Keith

Jung, Sun. 2011a. Korean Masculinities and Transcultural Consumption: Yonsama, Rain, Oldboy, K-Pop Idols. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Jung, Sun. 2011b. “K-Pop, Indonesian Fandom, and Social Media”, Transformative Works and Cultures 8, doi:10.3983/twc.2011.0289. Kim, Jin Soo. 2013. “K-Pop Tunes Australia into Korean Culture”, Sydney Morning Herald. www.smh.com.au/world/kpop-tunes-australia-into-korean-culture-201304152hv6a.html, uploaded 13 April 2013. Lovitt, Tim. 2012. “Australia, Gangnam Style”. Experian Marketing Services. www. experian.com.au/blogs/marketing-forward/2012/10/31/australia-gangnam-style, uploaded 31 October 2012. Maliangkay, Roald. 2006. “When the Korean Wave Ripples”, IIAS Newsletter 42: 15. May, Harvey. 2002. Broadcast in Colour: Cultural Diversity and Television Programming in Four Countries. Woolloomooloo: Australian Film Commission. http://afcarchive. screenaustralia.gov.au/downloads/policies/broadcast_colour.pdf. Noble, Greg. 2002. “People Mixing: Everyday Diversity in Work and Play”. In Living Diversity: Australia’s Multicultural Future, edited by Ien Ang, Jeffrey E. Brand, Greg Noble, and Derek Wilding. Sydney: Special Broadcasting Services Corporation. http:// media.sbs.com.au/sbscorporate/documents/Living_Diversity.pdf, pp. 25–38. Pingree, Suzanne and Robert Hawkins. 1981. “U.S. Programs on Australian Television: The Cultivation Effect”, Journal of Communication 31(1): 97–105. Rowlands, David T. 2012. “‘Can’t Nobody Hold Us Down’: PopAsia and Multiculturalism”, Green Left Weekly. www.greenleft.org.au/node/52270, uploaded 17 September 2012. SaveOurSBS. 2012. “Two New SBS Radio Stations”. http://saveoursbs.org/archives/3183, uploaded 11 September 2012. SBS. 2010. SBS Corporate Plan 2010–2013. SBS Sydney, Artarmon, NSW. http://media. sbs.com.au/home/upload_media/site_20_rand_1685307411_sbs_corporate_plan7.pdf. SBS. 2011. SBS Annual Report 2010–2011. SBS Sydney, Artarmon, NSW. http://media. sbs.com.au/home/upload_media/site_20_rand_1237101070_sbs_annual_report_ 2010_11.pdf. SBS. 2012a. “SBS Charter”. www.sbs.com.au/aboutus/corporate/index/id/25/h/ SBS-Charter. SBS. 2012b. “SBS Submission: Australia in the Asian Century”. SBS Sydney, Artarmon, NSW. http://asiancentury.dpmc.gov.au/sites/default/les/public-submissions/sbs.pdf. SBS2. 2013. “SBS 2 (SBS2) on Twitter”. Twitter (online resource). Accessed 20 June. https://twitter.com/SBS2. Scarton, Elisa. 2011. “SBS PopAsia Branches Out into Television”. Meld Magazine, 18 November www.meldmagazine.com.au/2011/11/sbs-popasia, uploaded 18 November. Seabrook, John. 2012. “Factory Girls”, New Yorker, 8 October, pp. 88–97. Shim, Doobo. 2006. “Hybridity and the Rise of Korean Popular Culture in Asia”, Media Culture Society 28(25): 25–44. Shin, Hyunjoon. 2009. “The Success of Hopelessness: The Evolution of Korean Indie Music,” Perfect Beat 12(2): 147–165. Siriyuvasak, Ubonrat and Hyunjoon Shin. 2007. “Asianizing K-pop: Production, Consumption and Identication Patterns Among Thai Youth”, Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 8(1): 109–136. West, Alan and Martindale, Colin. 1996. “Creative Trends in the Content of Beatles Lyrics”, Popular Music and Society 24(4): 103–125.

SBS PopAsia

97

Wu, Huaiting and Joseph Man Chan. 2007. “Globalizing Chinese Martial Arts Cinema: The Global–Local Alliance and the Production of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon”, Media Culture Society 29(2): 195–217. Yang, Jonghoe. 2012. “The Korean Wave (Hallyu) in East Asia: A Comparison of Chinese, Japanese, and Taiwanese Audiences Who Watch Korean TV Dramas,” Development and Society, 4(1): 103–147. Yoon, Lina. 2010. “Korean Pop, with Online Help, Goes Global”, Time World. www.time. com/time/world/article/0,8599,2013227,00.html, uploaded 26 August 2010.

6

Loyalty transmission and cultural enlisting of K-pop in Latin America JungBong Choi

The expansion of K-pop’s reach on a semiglobal level poses a simple question concerning media and mediation: how does K-pop travel to distant places – through what channels? As the question couples geographic distance with cultural distance, the answer derives from both technological and anthropological grounds. Geography-defying media, such as satellites, the Internet, and social networking services (SNS), are the potent gear of surmounting physical distance. Alongside distance-cancelling technologies, however, one has to account for the anthropological congurations that enable K-pop’s landing on the opposite side of the planet. The rst section of this chapter addresses how Korean dramas in Latin America have piqued cultural interest in Korea as a whole, and paved the way for the inux of K-pop. I contend that television dramas are the nucleus of Hallyu (the Korean Wave), both in Latin America and elsewhere, acting as highly efcient “conductors” of loyalty transmission. Packed with a slew of socio-anthropological references, they serve as a friendly gateway to the extradiegetic world, including language, social organisation, ethical code, fashion, and education. In this section, I look into the interface between Korean dramas and K-pop in an effort to explicate how one form of popular culture lays the groundwork for another, and how this concatenation amplies into a greater cultural allegiance to the whole society from which these popular cultures derive. In the second part, I argue that Japanese popular cultures have been a powerful intermediary for the “chemistry” between K-pop and Latin American youth. And I contend that the mode of mediation can be characterised as a techno-cultural contagion in the sense that the transmission/diffusion of cultural loyalty from Japanese popular culture to that of Korea was prompted through online site-media1 that both simulate and stimulate peer cultures in actual life. This, of course, is not a case conned to Latin America. A good measure of K-pop fans in Europe and North America used to be – and still are to a great extent – devout enthusiasts of manga and Japanese animation/drama. However, no other place is as salient as Latin America with respect to the catalysing function of Japanese popular cultures for the K-pop turn on the horizon. The last section opens up a conceptual discussion on how K-pop gets acclimatised to Latin American cultural milieus. It starts with a distinction

K-pop in Latin America 99 between K-pop culture and K-pop per se: the former denotes fan-made cultural rituals and practices revolving around the latter. The idea of K-pop culture with relative autonomy from the K-pop industry allows us to recognise the communicative and creative instinct of fans, as well as a symbiosis between the culture industry and fandom. Then, I move onto the concept of cultural enlisting dened as a fan/user’s cumulative contribution to and participation in the cultural enrichment surrounding the given object/content/style without “tampering” with the quality of the latter. I argue that K-pop cover dancing began life as the epitome of cultural enlisting by local fans, yet has transmuted recently into a bone of contention. I analyse how Korean state organisations seek to institutionalise global cover dance culture and capitalise on the zeal of “K-poppers” in an effort to further boost the nation’s cultural clout.

Korean drama before K-pop The impact of Korean dramas in Latin America may seem negligible. However, it is hard to deny that they have paved the way for the K-pop boom in the region. In the South American TV market, telenovelas keeps claiming the lion’s share, with American television programmes coming second. Unlike shows from the US, Korean dramas are said to bear good ethical and aesthetical “chemistry” with telenovelas. While the penchant for US television dramas represents the rational quest for products of high quality, the budding interest in Korean dramas is related, it seems, to the cultural leaning toward the “similar other”. All About Eve (Todo sobre Eva in Spanish, MBC 2000) and Wish Upon a Star (MBC 1997) were the rst South Korean hit dramas in Mexico. First aired in October 2002, All About Eve was rebroadcast ve times in prime-time, giving rise to four fan/culture clubs with 1,200 dedicated members. Since then, Korean dramas have continued to attract young and middle-aged female audiences in Latin America. In Peru, too, several Korean dramas – including My Lovely Sam-Soon and Stairway to Heaven (Escalera al cielo in Spanish), which aired on major television networks in 2006 and 2007, respectively – became smash hits yet again with their humorous or fairytale-like storylines. Having aired on major television networks in Latin America, these dramas were the most effective catalyst for sparking public interest in Korean popular culture as a whole. The main actors of these dramas, Ahn Jae-wook, Kwon Sang-woo, and Jang Dong-gun, rose to stardom overnight. The Korean embassy in Peru estimates that there are nine active Hallyu drama fan clubs as of March 2011. The pan-Latin American fan club “I Will Give You All Jang Dong-gun” is said to have about 2,500 members from Mexico, Peru, Costa Rica, Dominican Republic, Guatemala, Chile, Puerto Rico, Venezuela, and Colombia. Rocio Salinas, the president of the fan club, states: “Ever-since I got to know Jang Dong-gun, I became a fan of his and interested in Korean culture and language. I traveled two times to Korea and hope to study in Korea for some years.” The 25-year-old engineering student, who also studies Korean at the National University Autonomy of Mexico, adds that somewhere between 100 and 150 club members get together every two to three months to play games and make Korean

100

JungBong Choi

and Mexican food. According to Salinas, some hardcore members of the fan club visited Korea in March 2007 to celebrate Jang Dong-gun’s birthday. They even made headlines in Korean news media back in 2003 when former South Korean president Roh Moo-hyun paid a state visit to Mexico. The fan club staged a surprise picket right in front of the former South Korean president, urging him to arrange Jang Dong-gun’s visit to Mexico. In an email interview with the Korea Times (an English daily published in Korea), Salinas comments, “being fans of Jang Dong-gun, we are fans of the Korean culture and hope to help people with interest in Korean culture. … I even thought about a new word Mexico + Corea [in Spanish Korea is written with C] = MexiCorea. With this word we make the union of the Mexican and Korean culture” (Lee 2007). Her statement that “being fans of Jang Dong-gun, we are fans of the Korean culture” deserves to be chewed over. Culture is a eld conducive to intense loyalty transmission. Love of a part is liable to cultivate the love of the whole in time. Like this metonymic transfer of loyalty from a celebrity to his or her country of origin, the affective diffusion from a drama to other popular cultures, and similarly from popular cultures to the whole anthropological culture, is not unusual. Generally speaking, television dramas are highly efcient “conductors” of loyalty transmission. Brimming with an array of socio-anthropological references, they serve as a friendly gateway to the extradiegetic world. Transmitted in serialised instalments at a regular interval over a certain duration – as opposed to a one-time screening event as with movies – television dramas allow the audience to cultivate intellectual curiosity and analytic acumen encompassing the contextual and extratextual facets of an entire programme, be they characters’ psychologies, speech styles, or fashion items used as props. Korea television drama, in particular, is dense with socio-anthropological allusions. By “dense” I mean a creative template that offers an abundance of anthropological and sociological references to actual people’s livelihood outside dramatised stories. For audiences from as distant a place as Latin America, Korean dramas function like an amphitheatre for Korean culture, through which a cornucopia of Korean cuisine, fashion, buzzwords, popular music, cultural mores, lifestyles, and land/ cityscapes are panoramically displayed. A survey conducted in January 2012 by a fan portal based in Brazil reveals that more than 80 per cent of respondents who liked Korean dramas and movies were also partial to Korean fashion products, Korean food, and made-in-Korea technologies (Pak 2012). One Peruvian female fan stated: “I am a big fan of Korea TV dramas. I love how dramatic their background music is, and also enjoy looking at the Korean food on display. These extra-plot elements have the effect of enriching the plot itself and help me focus more on the characters.” The richness in “extra-plot elements”, in her words, amounts to the dense nature of Korean television drama. In proportion to the referential wealth of Korean television drama grows the overseas audience’s cultural insight into the society of which these dramas are a part. And the expansion of the foreign audience’s cultural knowledge prompts commensurate growth in their yearning to master the language that these dramas speak. As the popularity of Korean drama expands, the demand

K-pop in Latin America 101 for Korean-language programmes has also escalated. According to the Korea International Cooperation Agency (KOICA), an increasing number of universities in Peru as well as in Brazil, Mexico, and Chile are seeking Korean-language teachers. In Peru, four universities, including the National University of San Marcos (Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos), have started to offer Korean language programmes since 2008. Jang Bong-soon, head of the KOICA ofce in Peru, is deliberating on the establishment of a culture centre in Peru to keep up with the rising linguistic and cultural demand. As he puts it, “We can teach Korean language there, or organize a variety of cultural events to raise awareness of Korean culture. We can also consider a youth exchange program targeting Peruvian university students who are interested in knowing more about Korea” (Kang 2011). Korean drama and language are locked in a feedback circuit. Although it was Korean drama that initially fuelled the linguistic curiosity, heightened linguistic prociency spawned a greater cultural interest in and appreciation of the former. The burgeoning linguistic enthusiasm also proved to be propitious for the takeoff of K-pop, as linguistic competence helps raise the cultural legibility of K-pop music. Of course, this is not to say that the path of cultural loyalty diffusion in Latin America has unfolded strictly from Korean drama through language to K-pop. The three components intertwine simultaneously, and the reverse ow may well be the case. Natalia Pak from Brazil, for example, conrms that the increasing interest in Korean language among the Brazilian youth was triggered by their passion for K-pop rather than dramas. She states: It does not surprise me at all to see the burgeoning new classes on the Korean language in 2011, not only in São Paulo, but also in other great cities of Brazil, since the number of young Brazilians wanting to learn the language of their pop idols is on a steady rise. In Fortaleza, a city in Northeastern Brazil, for example, young K-poppers got together in 2011 and pooled their money together to buy ight tickets for a teacher in Korea so that he could come to Brazil, stay for 6 months, and teach them how to speak Korean. (Pak 2012) As thus testied, the demand for Korean language was propelled by the desire to enhance the young audience’s delight in enjoying K-pop. Nevertheless, prior to the rise of K-pop as the main thrust for the Korean language boom in Latin America, the centrality of Korean drama as the main portal of Korean culture cannot be underestimated. Indeed, Korean dramas have continued to be a fertile ground onto which other forms of popular cultures are implanted and out of which socio-anthropological interest in Korea keeps evolving.

Industrial incest of drama and K-pop The K-pop industry, too, has long been a “tenant” in the cluttered edice of Korean dramas. While sound effects are rarely engaged in dramas, an excessive dosage of background music and theme songs tend to saturate the whole stretch of a

102

JungBong Choi

programme’s running time. Sugary or melancholic, dramatic theme songs constitute a substrate of K-pop and are often sung by celebrated K-pop singers. As it can be easily surmised, Latin American audiences are exceptionally responsive to the theme songs of Korean dramas. The original soundtracks of Korean dramas have enjoyed resounding reception, and CD and DVD purchases have spiralled accordingly. Encouraged by the unexpected success of drama music, a Korean MP3 device manufacturer Mpio launched several models specically targeted at the Latin American market a decade ago. The MP3 player manufacturer released a strategy called “El Conquistador” at the 2004 Fair of Korean Products and Technologies (Feira de Technologia e Productos da Coreia 2004) in São Paulo, Brazil, to penetrate the Central and South American markets, including Argentina, Colombia, Chile, Uruguay, and Ecuador. The unusual popularity of Korean drama music, of course, helped K-pop to fare much better with the Latin American youth. Yet, there is a more direct conduit that has hastened the bilateral ow of cultural loyalty between Korean drama and K-pop. Recently, it has become a quasi-norm for Korean dramas and entertainment shows to star K-pop idols. Boys Over Flowers (KBS 2009) is an exemplar par excellence of the “incestuous” practice between the two adjacent entertainment genres. Starring Kim Hyun-joong – a member of K-pop idol band SS501 – the drama became a benchmark television series, after which a legion of Korean dramas and variety shows (and, to a lesser extent, movies) started to feature K-pop idols in their cast. The interchange of drama/movie and K-pop workforce is an industry-wide practice, modelled after the time-honoured strategy developed by the Hong Kong and Japanese entertainment business from the 1980s. At present, virtually any major television drama vying for prime-time viewership adheres to the convention of interpolating K-pop stars, inducing audience trafc to move between Korean dramas and K-pop avenues. A Chilean fan comments: “We especially love dancing and listening to K-pop music. We are also great fans of the versatile talents that K-pop artists show on TV and in movies, musical and otherwise” (Pak 2012). Indeed, the foray of K-pop idols into television dramas and entertainment shows has spurred a merging of fan groups that were formerly divided according to particular genres. A female fan from Brazil states: “We could see many non-ofcial [K-pop] fan communities on the Web providing hit Korean TV dramas and movies featuring their favorite [K-pop] starts, with non-ofcial Portuguese subtitles” (Pak 2012). As this suggests, the mobility of K-pop idols across music, drama, talk shows, and musical genres on diverse media platforms catalyses the amalgamation of Hallyu repertoires in addition to the consolidation of Hallyu fan networks. The cultural affect transmitted across various entertainment genres eventually gels into a broader interest in or allegiance to the socio-anthropological ambiance of the society en bloc, as indicated by a female Brazilian fan’s remark: “[W]e have grown this strong desire to learn more about everything Korea, including the country’s culture, music, tradition, language, food, society and education” (Pak 2012). It would not be unreasonable to postulate that fans in love with, say, Super Junior’s song “Sorry Sorry” (2009) would nd equally alluring an entertainment

K-pop in Latin America 103 show like Intimate Note (SBS 2009), in which members of such K-pop idol groups would discuss their private life. By the same token, fascination with the dizzying footwork of K-pop artists may well extend to their clothing and hairstyles. Those who fall for these idol bands’ sweet voices and charming body lines would also adore their on/off-stage demeanour; and the esteem for how idols treat their teammates or fans could grow into a greater respect for the ethical code of the society by which they abide. A second-generation Brazilian, Natalia Pak, adds: I discovered recently that the Korean manners and the way the K-pop band members treat one another as sunbae-hoobae (senior-junior) make the fans love Korean music that much more, prompting them to learn more about Korean culture and traditions. Some parents have told me ... it is interesting and wonderful to see the way Korean people treat one another, and the respectful, polite manners they show to older and younger people. (Pak 2012) In sum, my argument is that there are multiple launch pads from which K-pop took off in Latin America, in much the same way that K-pop has become a gateway for other cultural choices/genres. No cultural genre is an island but rather just a part of an archipelagic system within complex cultural networks. As a totalentertainment genre, K-pop is an assemblage of elaborate choreographies, amboyant dress codes, catchy multilingual lyrics, pulsating rhythm, and stirring electro-visual effects. At the same time, it is inexorably interlaced with myriad social, aesthetic bres endemic to the cultural (and even economic) ecology in and around Korea. In this regard, it does not come as a surprise to hear that: “When LG released its cellular phone ‘Corby’ with [idol band] 2PM’s endorsement, the product became a subject of fever among the Brazilian fans upon its release here a few months later. At the fan events one could see K-poppers gathered together speaking about Corby just because of 2PM” (Pak 2012). K-pop is every inch a product and a producer of Hallyu – a valence that coalesces a variety of cultural genres, practices, and products. In order to grasp the global spread of K-pop, it is essential to trace K-pop’s footsteps, which cut transversely across neighbouring cultural, economic, and political terrains.

Cultural glide: Japanese culture as gateway to K-pop Cadena Maldonado is a leader of Asia Dream – a group that won a K-pop cover dance contest held in Mexico in 2012. According to Cadena, her fascination with K-pop began with her passion for Japanese animation. After rst falling in love with “Every Heart” – the theme song of the Japanese animation series Inuyasha – she later learned that it was sung by BoA, a Korean female singer whose popularity in Japan had set off the K-pop boom across Asia. Like Cadena, countless K-pop fans in Latin America were devotees of Japanese manga and animation. Wendy Galván Romero – another member of Asia Dream – explains how Japanese popular cultures became an entry point to K-pop: “I grew up with

104

JungBong Choi

friends who were big fans of Japanese culture even as kids. I got to know about elements of the Japanese and other Asian cultures on their blogs, which were also sources of information about young Korean singers” (KOFICE 2012). The love of Japanese popular cultures in effect has functioned as a major conduit for the inux of K-pop and Hallyu in their entirety. In an interesting turn of events, global youth who had previously harboured enormous cultural allegiance to Japan were abbergasted when they discovered that many Japanese had become obsessed with the popular cultures of Korea. This caused the global youth to reorient their attention towards Korean dramas and popular music. Pak Yu-jin – a founding member of the largest K-pop fan site in Brazil – submits: Even though there have been numerous Brazilian fans of K-pop since the time of ShinHwa, g.o.d., H.O.T. and others, I can assure you that it was BoA and Dong Bang Shin Ki (TVXQ) who ushered in a whole new phase of K-pop’s popularity in Brazil. Their extensive careers and fame in Japan became the starting point of interest to Brazilians, [for] who[m] until then Japan was the only country in Asia. (Pak 2012) This appears to be an enlightening and reliable observation. It would be no exaggeration to say that Korea had remained an uncharted territory in global youth culture prior to the year 2000. An odd twist as it is, global Japanophiles began scrambling to Korean popular cultures, as they would align themselves with whatever Japanese media would turn to. Replete with Korean dramas and popular songs, Japanese television programmes shepherded the global Japanophiles into the pasture of Korean popular cultures. Fan portal sites and blogs that were previously gung-ho on Japanese popular cultures, too, played no less pivotal roles in herding the international enthusiasts into the under-grazed prairie of Korean pop cultures. This pattern of what I would like to call cultural glide (or cultural transfer) is commonly found in Europe, Latin America, the US, and Southeast Asia. Having started out from early childhood absorbed with Japanese popular cultures – including video games, trading card games, manga, and anime – the global youth’s cultural appetite for exotic yet high-quality culture beyond the shrub border of Japan has grown correspondingly. That is, as these youths mature into their twenties or thirties, their interests also segue into music, dance, fashion, drama, and beauty products suited to their rising consumption power as well as physical/psychological conditions. From an international perspective, Japan holds a stronger foothold in popular cultures suitable for children and early to late teens than for those in their twenties and thirties. In addition, Japanese popular music is geared more toward domestic fans as far as musical and visual styles are concerned. The politico-economic rise of China, on the other hand, has yet to be matched by comparable renements in popular cultures, which are deemed short of “oomph” to magnetise an international sensation. The vacuum was taken up by the Korean culture industry, which over the past 15 years or so has churned out a balanced portfolio of popular contents

K-pop in Latin America 105 ranging from movies, dramas, and online games to music, sports, and variety shows. Such genre diversity corresponds to the wide appeal that these contents have across geographic, gender, and age brackets. There is a specic reason why Korea’s turn in the arena of popular culture needs to be perceived as the case of cultural glide rather than cultural “ascent”. Stressing a lateral movement as opposed to a vertical one, the notion of cultural glide underscores the continuity between Japanese and Korean popular cultures. During the infant stage of Hallyu earlier this century, some Korean dramas were frequently misrecognised as Japanese in much the same way that some Koreabased global companies like Samsung, LG, and Hyundai had been misconstrued – and at times, deliberately left to be misconstrued – as Japanese. YunJung Im, who teaches Korean language and culture at the University of São Paulo, conrms the perceived continuities and discontinuities between Japanese and Korean cultures. I interviewed 32 students of the Korean class offered in the rst semester of this year [2011] at the largest university in Brazil, University of São Paulo. Most of these students had been introduced rst to Japanese culture through Japanese drama, movies and music communities where they discovered Korean cultural products. The most commonly “consumed” Korean culture is music and drama. The Korean essence of these contents can be summarized as being “powerful”, “rhythmical” and “dynamic”. I could see why the students were attracted to the “unique Korean sensitivity”. (Im 2011) Despite the perceived difference between Japanese and Korean popular cultures, it should be noted that the latter owes a great deal to the stylistic, organisational, and managerial precedent set by the former. The two neighbouring countries bear an undeniable kinship in terms of cultural sensibility and propensity, not to mention socioeconomic and juridico-educational systems, which is a watermark of post-colonial interdependency against the grain of their unrelenting political estrangement. Their historically formulated interpenetration and resemblance, paradoxically, does assist in an affective and cultural osmosis between Japanese and Korean popular cultures. For fans from the two nations, however, there has always been a “political hiccup” that either subdues or delays a smooth and free passage between the two kindred cultures. For international fans unhampered by this politico-historical “sticking point”, on the contrary, there is no hurdle to obstruct their affective migration or cultural glide. Truth be told, numerous fans hold a double allegiance to the popular cultures of the two countries. As widely known, a fair number of Korean lms and dramas have drawn upon Japanese sources. Movies like Old Boy (Park Chan-wook 2003), 200 Pounds Beauty (Kim Yong-ha 2006), and Fly, Daddy, Fly (Choi Jong-tae 2006) are adaptations of Japanese manga. The hit drama Boys Over Flowers (KBS2 2009), too, is a remake of a Japanese manga series, Hana Yori Dango, by Kamio Yoko. The steady stream of Japanese content into the Korean culture industry has not

106

JungBong Choi

subsided even after Hallyu and K-pop attained a quasi-global standing. Most recently, Korean dramas That Winter, the Wind Blows (SBS 2013), God of the Workplace (KBS 2013), and The Suspicious Housekeeper (SBS 2013) are yet again remakes of the Japanese dramas Ai Nante Irane Yo, Natsu (TBS 2002), Haken no Hinkaku (NTV 2007) and Kaseifu no Mita (NTV 2011). K-pop, also, is not clear of such “indebtedness” to J-pop, whose presentational and marketing techniques have crystallised into conventions faithfully benchmarked by Korean production companies like SM, YG, and JYP. Evidently, this cultural loan (without payback) is more an upshot of commercial considerations than of creative dependency. This is because Japan continues to be the most lucrative market for the Korean culture industry, with the latter dancing to the tune favoured by the former. Nonetheless, it is hard to deny that the creative ow of contents and management techniques continues to be one-sided. Ironic though it may seem, the cultural/affective glide of global fans to K-pop is accelerated to some extent by the conspicuous entwinement between Japanese and Korean popular cultures. For international fans, after all, the “creative debt” that K-pop and Hallyu may have to the Japanese culture industry is of little to no signicance, as long as it doubles their enjoyment.

Digintimacy Another element to consider with regard to cultural/affective glide is what I call digintimacy. A portmanteau of digital and intimacy, digintimacy refers to the concurrence of technologically rendered immediacy and cultural/psychological intimacy. Technologically rendered immediacy is afforded when interest-based information, materials, or sites on digital devices cluster together through crossreferencing and hyperlinks. Cultural/psychological intimacy is, on the other hand, a type of camaraderie felt among the users of close-knit information or visual materials. Digintimacy transpires when these two coincide and conate. Digintimacy is a superstructure emergent from site-media equipped with a wealth of hyperlinks, user-created threads, targeted advertising, and forums. Site-media are a base, space- and time-shifting apparatuses that condition the user’s habit and taste. Through this herding mechanism, site-media boost intimacy and commensurate immediacy among users of variegated contents that otherwise may not be so tightly networked. Epitomising the interest-formative site-media beloved by relatively younger users, YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter feature a much higher level of connectivity and contiguity between Japanese and Korean popular cultures than what ofine mass media would render.2 Today, the cultural preferences/propensities of youth are vastly inuenced by the ways in which online contents are organised. And the organisational logic of these site-media is quite distinct from cultural ows outside the Internet and digital devices. In other words, digintimacy is resultant of cultural orientations and congurations specic to digital site-media. An 18-year-old Mexican female, Irma Karina Luis Colorado, submits:

K-pop in Latin America 107 I am a huge follower of animations, so I used to spend hours on various animation-themed websites and blogs. On one of those sites I came across an article on the Korean TV dramas, and also checked out a link to the music video of a K-pop band. That’s when I rst discovered SHINee and their hit song, Ring Ding Dong. I was so fascinated by them that I got to look up more K-pop singers and their works online. (KOFICE 2012) Evidently, the digital needlework that sutures Japanese animation fan sites with Korean pop music blogs is far more seamless than the actual interface between Japanese and Korean popular cultures. Colorado’s itinerary of interest transfer (departing from animation ĺ animation-themed websites and blogs ĺ article on Korean TV dramas ĺ a link to K-pop music video ĺ SHINee’s “Ring Ding Dong” ĺ arriving at more K-pop online) represents a compressed digital route traversable with only a few clicks. But the cultural distance that she has digitally journeyed across heterogeneous geographies, genres, and media is truly immense. For international fans, physically far-off from Korea in particular, such digital immediacy is a godsend that nullies a burdensome spatio-temporal gap, not to mention the cost of purchasing goods from abroad. A Brazilian fan attests: “We mostly turn to YouTube and the blogosphere to get the latest updates on K-pop. Thanks to the Internet, we now don’t have to buy the original albums of K-pop artists from overseas ... . Overseas shipping and handling cost a fortune, so it’s not something we can do very often” (KOFICE 2012). Of course, digintimacy does spill into ofine domains, as much as sociocultural practices in actuality inuence the architecture of digintimacy. At times, digintimacy resembles or materialises cultural matrices “out there”. For instance, the coupling of Japanese and Korean popular cultures can be ascertained outside digital space. According to Lucia Guzman – a staff member selling music CDs and comic books at an Arenales shopping mall in Peru – sales of K-pop CDs have shot up, together with Japanese comics. Her customers are mostly high-school students who were infatuated with Japanese manga and now devote themselves to K-pop idols without forsaking their earlier passion (Kang 2011). The two-pronged passion of her customers no doubt prompted the reorganisation of her store and sales items as well. Site-media fosters digintimacy, and digintimacy in turn induces cultural glide or new cultural relations in real life. As Kandee Zertuche Ortiz – an 18-year-old female from Mexico – puts it: “The Internet is always the best place to go to for the latest K-pop music videos. We also keep a lively blogosphere on K-pop here, sharing opinions and comments with fellow fans. Then, my friends watch these music videos together to practice our dance moves and choreographies” (KOFICE 2012). This corroborates that digintimacy is a peculiar type of mediation that results in the diversication and strengthening of actual human contact and interaction. In other words, digintimacy hardly supplants anthropologically woven intimacy and culturally wrought immediacy. Rather, it modulates and reorganises extant relations among scattered information, geographies, cultural genres, and

108

JungBong Choi

people. Thanks to unique congurations online, digintimacy accelerates cultural glide by shrinking the cognitive distance between Japanese and Korean popular cultures, thereby narrowing the alleged anthropological gulf between Latin America and Korea.

Fan-made K-pop culture and enlisting Unlike youths living in East Asia, those in Latin America can hardly afford the luxury of travelling to Korea just to attend the performances of K-pop idols. Aside from the physical distance between Korea and Latin America, even the ticket price of K-pop concerts held in their own countries is incredibly high for the great majority of K-pop fans. A young female bemoans the exorbitant cost of being, as fans refer to themselves, a “K-popper”: Despite the growing popularity of K-pop … it is often too costly for its worldwide fans to enjoy it to the full. The K-pop community in Brazil, for instance, consists mostly of very young people aged between 14 and 20, who are largely dependent on their parents for nancial support. While some do have part-time jobs, their income is not enough to buy authentic CDs of K-pop artists or tickets to their concerts. (Pak 2012) This complaint is based on a vexing experience she had. On 12 December 2011, Cube Entertainment singers, including Beast (B2ST), 4Minute, and G.NA, gathered for the United Cube Concert at Espaço das Américas in São Paulo, Brazil. As it was the very rst K-pop concert held in Brazil, national and local broadcasters, including Globo TV’s Fantástico, did extensive coverage of the concert. However, the concert had been announced only a month earlier, leaving too little time for most young fans to save enough money for a ticket. A Brazilian high-school fan complains, “These tickets are often prohibitive, barring a majority of K-pop fans in Brazil from even attempting to save money. Even though many are desperate to collect authentic CDs of K-pop artists, doing so is only a distant dream they can imagine” (Pak 2012). The discontented female fan adds a biting yet astute criticism of the inconsiderate and one-sided practice of Korean entertainment companies: Pop artists in Brazil take six or even more months between the announcement of their concerts and actually organizing them, so that they and their fans can have enough time to prepare. Korean entertainment companies need to be more sensitive to these facts. There is also as much cultural gap between Brazil and Korea as there is a physical distance. Just as Brazilian fans of hallyu want to know Korean culture better and study it, Korean companies and agencies seeking to hold concerts or distribute music albums here need to make greater efforts to understand Brazilian culture better. That will represent a signicant step toward improving and narrowing the relationship between

K-pop in Latin America 109 the Korean pop artists and their Brazilian fans, which will be necessary for K-pop’s true, long-lasting success here. (Pak 2012) A remedy to the cultural gulf and economy asymmetry came from the local fans’ side rather than that of Korean management companies. Here, I am alluding to what may be termed as the practice of cultural enlisting among international fans. Cultural enlisting can be understood as a process by which globally “hot” trends are tied down and settled into the cultural routines of local fans/users. It ranges from the spatial anchoring of drifting trends by securing/asserting the cultural membership of local users/fans to the cultivation of a new ecology of fan/user cultures. A culture initiated and organised by fans, in simple terms, it also represents the deviance of localisation that surfaces when the indigenisation or permanent embedding of the peripatetic culture is unattainable. Conceptually, a line must be drawn between localisation (or indigenisation) and enlisting.3 The concept of localisation rst presumes the initial exteriority of the cultural object/content/style in question, then acknowledges the creative input of local inhabitants in altering the original, and nally accentuates the difference generated as a result of such local intervention. However, not every cultural content/ style/text is subject to localisation or is better off with it. Hence, the concept of localisation is unsuitable for cases when there is fan/user reluctance or inability to take on cultural negotiation and redenition. Cultural enlisting, on the contrary, highlights the fan/user’s cumulative contribution to and participation in the cultural enrichment surrounding the given object/content/style without “tampering” with the quality of the latter. Usually, it takes place when local forces do not desire that the said object/content/style be modied or redened. Reasons for not wanting any alteration vary: there could be legal, aesthetic, economic, or cultural considerations. Cultural enlisting can take place when the productive locus is deemed integral to the authenticity of the said object/content/style, and when the authenticity is chosen to be protected rather than challenged. For example, Japanese manga or anime is not something that is strongly desired to be localised. If localised, it would wind up becoming something else, losing its productive/aesthetic integrity, with which fans are highly content. In lieu of localisation, Japanese manga and anime remain intact and have been, instead, enlisted by fans with such events as “cosplay” and anime/manga fairs. Central to enlisting is the creative addition of cultural phenomena and actions on top of or around the given product/content/ style. The “additional” and “circumferential”, though not necessarily peripheral, feature is vital to cultural enlisting by fans, for whom the original cultural text/ object/style is the centrepiece for their undertaking of creative addition. Apposite instances of cultural enlisting in the case of K-pop are cover dances, song contests, and ashmobbing. Yet, cultural enlisting cannot be equated with simple mimicry, duplication, or parody of the original cultural object/content/style. It, too, involves originality as illustrated by fan-clubbing, fan-blogging, and the holding parties or conventions. The following section will offer thumbnail images of cultural enlisting by Latin American K-pop fans.

110

JungBong Choi

In an effort to narrow the physical distance, youth in Latin America have been organising what might be called a “virtual live concert-cum-party”. Such screenbased K-pop parties are usually held in public venues like concert halls, where fans would dance or socialise amid the non-stop blast of K-pop music videos. In 2010, for example, it is reported that a huge crowd of high-school and college students ocked to an event hall in San Isidro, Lima, singing and dancing for hours around a mega-screen that featured the music videos of Girls’ Generation, SS501, Big Bang, and TVXQ (Kang 2011). A hybrid between a concert and party, it provides a unique atmosphere wherein the physical absence of K-pop performers is compensated by the virtualisation of these idols with the projection of recorded audiovisuals on a super-size screen. And this virtual presence of K-pop idols propels fans to be more active and closer to one another, thereby taking up multiple roles as the producer, performer, singer, and audience of their own “gig”. Far from being a lesser substitute, the live concert-cum-party is a stand-alone K-pop culture germinated and enacted by distant fans themselves. Gaining wide currency in other outlying regions, including Europe and Southeast Asia, it now constitutes a platform for global K-pop cultures, out of which other variants keep emerging. One needs to make analytic and conceptual distinctions between K-pop and K-pop culture. The former refers to a popular music genre produced by the Korean music industry, whereas the latter stands for popular cultures that came to life at the hands of global fans of K-pop, a clear embodiment of cultural enlisting. To distinguish K-pop from fan-made K-pop culture is to recognise the communicative and creative instinct of fans – the symbiosis between the culture industry and fandom, and also the bifocal imperative of scholarly research in popular cultures. Fan clubs of various kinds – local/national/transnational, on/ofine, individual idol-based/band-based/genre-based, etc. – are front and centre of global K-pop culture. The following is a rst-hand account of cultural enlisting among K-pop fans in Lima, Peru: In Arenales shopping mall in Lima, visitors can easily nd posters advertising K-pop fan clubs that organize get-togethers of their own. Some fan clubs launch a dance off where contestants are invited to show off their dancing skills. Some other fans set up a date on July 3 to celebrate the birthday of singer Kim Hyun-joong, an SS501 member. Girl group KARA fans are slated to meet at 1:30 p.m. on June 25 to celebrate two birthday girls, Han Seungyeon and Park Gyuri. (Kang 2011) The organisation of such fan club conventions, dance-off contests, and birthday parties is not unique to K-pop culture, of course. The practice must have grown out of various pedigrees of fan cultures that have traversed different generations, localities, and genres. But some fan performances – for instance, using balloons, glowsticks, and electronic notepads at concerts, organising parties for stars, or collectively interjecting fan-made lyrical chants while songs are being played – are directly imported from K-pop fans in Korea, who have also adopted and

K-pop in Latin America 111 adapted an array of fan actions and rituals from the US, Japan, and elsewhere. Transcultural and transnational in nature, these fan performances are always in the process of non-commercial dissemination and undergoing creative addition.

Cover dance incorporated: producive-ness vs. productiveness One of the most outstanding examples of grassroots K-pop culture is cover dance. Cover dance is a fan practice that reproduces the choreography of their favourite artists. Kicked off initially as a spontaneous local practice among overseas fans, K-pop cover dance was later repurposed into a bridgehead to expand the global foothold of K-pop by Korean broadcasting networks hand in hand with para-state bureaus. Maria del Pilar Alvarez – a doctoral candidate at the University of Buenos Aires – attended a K-pop cover dance regional competition for Latin America that was held in Buenos Aires, Argentina on 10 October 2010. According to her report, the contest was co-ordinated by the Korean Cultural Center of Latin America located in Buenos Aires, which has avowed to promote Korean culture and language by harnessing Korea’s dynamic popular cultures. The event featured nearly 300 teams selected from ten South American and Caribbean nations: 98 from Argentina, 64 from Chile, 45 from Mexico, 29 from Peru, 15 from Venezuela, 12 from Colombia, six from Paraguay, six from Dominican Republic, ve from Ecuador, and one from Costa Rica (Del Pilar Alvarez 2011). Pilar Alvarez describes the scene as follows: After months of choreographic practices, repetition of lyrics in a language that they did not understand at all, and local competitions, the selected groups traveled to the nal in Buenos Aires. They were, once again, judged by a jury comprised of famous K-pop singers, Korean-Argentinean artistes and other recognized personalities. Moreover, a varied public formed by young people from the Korean community in Argentina, students of Korean language, and enthusiastic locals participated in the event. (Del Pilar Alvarez 2011) Dance and choreography are effective mediums for optimising the participatory gratication of fandom, especially for those experiencing the linguistic hurdles of K-pop. Also, as an internationally recognised fan practice, cover dance has become a means for asserting the existence and pride of gifted fans, whose performative skills often equal or even surpass those of the original K-pop artists. Lying outside the clutches of copyright, gestural and choreographic simulations are legitimate fan practices fervently hailed and fostered via a site-medium like YouTube, where fan-created video clips are uploaded, circulated, commented on, and generative of further spin-off cultures. In this respect, cover dance can be said to be the quintessence of cultural enlisting – a manifestation of fans’ democratic and religious aspirations in popular cultures. At once an homage to idol artists and a leveraging of their aura, cover dance places a dual emphasis on what is being covered and who is doing the covering. It is as much about the covering subject as the object that is being covered.

112

JungBong Choi

Cover dance can be seen as a fan performance that rst marvels at the prowess of the K-pop industry capable of crafting such amboyant bodily motions. But, then, it redirects such awe toward the ingenuity of “lay fans”, whose reverseengineering skills turn out to be as sophisticated as the professional, industrialised presentation. In a way, cover dance is a performative deconstruction whereby the popularised dances of the K-pop industry are turned into a shared cultural property, and the prestige of K-pop idol troupes is employed to accentuate fans’ potency. In a nutshell, K-pop cover dance is a merging of piety and secular desire: it is a pleasurable ritual loaded with both the admiration for K-pop idols and the self-celebration of K-pop fandom. It is an eloquent testimony to the psychodynamics of cultural enlisting by and large. Despite its commencement as a classic instance of grassroots popular culture, K-pop cover dance has taken on a formal structure as major international contests/ festivals. The rst contest, held in 2011, was titled Cover Dance Festival! KPOP Roadshow 40120. As the number 40,120 – the circumference of the Earth in kilometres – suggests, it carried the ambition of globalising K-pop as the kernel of the much-touted Korean Wave, Hallyu. Nearly 1,700 teams from 64 countries took part in the preliminary online competition, out of which 55 international winners were selected. Having gone through overseas competitions held, respectively, in Africa, Russia, Brazil, Spain, Japan, the US, and Thailand, the international cover dance troupes were invited to perform on the nal round stage of Hallyu Dream Festival in Gyeongju. Curiously, this festival was jointly hosted by the Visit Korea Committee – a sub-organisation of the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism – and MBC – one of three major broadcasting networks in Korea. And the rationale for this event is, as stated in the ofcial website of the Visit Korea Committee, “for all international fans across the globe to come together and celebrate Hallyu through this event where top stars visit various foreign countries and participate as judges for local dance contests” (Visit Korea Committee 2012a). Indeed, a number of K-pop idol bands were dispatched to attend the local/national/regional contests – SHINee to Russia, MBLAQ to Brazil, T-ara and Kara to Japan, Miss A and f(x) to the US, Beast to Spain, and 2PM to Thailand – and the global publicity campaign was aired at weekly intervals from September through November 2011 on MBC. This whole event attests to the intense capitalisation of popular culture through the systematic intervention of the state organisation. Hong Ju-min, the secretary general of the Visit Korea Committee, unambiguously afrms that, “The combination of K-pop and cover dance will help promote the Hallyu (Korean Wave) and ... the festival will ultimately promote Korea as an attractive tourist destination” (Visit Korea Committee 2012a). The committee executed its afrmation to mobilise K-pop for the nation’s tourism industry by inviting 55 foreign contestants for seven nights and eight days to travel to Korea’s famous tourist sites, and then eventually by appointing them honorary ambassadors for Korean tourism. The committee is hosting the contest again this year, a shot in the arm of the nation’s tourism, which has grown heavily dependent on Hallyu-starved tourists.4

K-pop in Latin America 113 The committee states: “Beginning 2013, we will invite Hallyu fans worldwide to Korea for the K-pop festival in Gangwon 2013 to promote the tourist attractions in Gangwondo, the venue for the 2018 Pyeongchang Winter Olympics. Get a chance to visit Korea, the birthplace of K-pop and perform on the same stage with K-pop artists!” (Visit Korea Committee 2012b). Yoked to a host of promotional causes for Hallyu, national tourism, and the Winter Olympics, the verve of international K-pop culture is hijacked by and redirected into cultural nationalism. For the “lofty” cause of national economy/tourism, the para-state organisation goes as far as to commodify the opportunity to rub shoulders with near-deied K-pop idols, as evidenced by the list of benets for contest participants. It states: K-pop artists themselves visit some countries where overseas nals are held and serve as judges during the nals; You can advance to the nals wherein K-pop artists themselves serve as judges and perform on the same stage with them; and you can be appointed an honorary ambassador for Korean tourism. (Visit Korea Committee 2012b) As is made clear, the state committee exhibits little appreciation for the creative contribution of international fans in disseminating and enriching K-pop culture as well as K-pop as such; instead, it is preoccupied with how to funnel the cultural allegiance of fans into a lucrative pilgrimage business to the self-designated Mecca of K-pop, Korea. Rather than being treated with cultural respect, international K-pop fans are objectied as gullible zealots with a blind passion for K-pop. The way in which K-pop is instrumentalised and capitalised by the state bureau is no less mercantile and myopic than it is at the hands of the aforesaid K-pop management companies. Together, the state and business make a perfect team to milk what is currently regarded as the nation’s most precious resource, popular culture. With such commercial endeavours by the state institution, K-pop cover dance is mutating into an event where cultural cosmopolitanism dances awkwardly with economic nationalism, where the participatory yen of international fans intimately approaches the huckster state that lives off of the semiglobalised Hallyu boon. Again, K-pop cover dance by international fans has to be analytically separated from cover dance festivals orchestrated by Korean state bureaus in tandem with the media industry. Over and beyond cultural merchandising and capitalisation, K-pop cover dance at its inception was the praxis of international fans/users intended for self-contentment or the fullment of their cultural aspirations. Driven by enthusiasm, albeit not totally free from the logic of social capital, practitioners of cover dance have tended toward non-monetary rewards, such as fun, pride, and recognition. The analytic distinction between the two cover dance cultures is analogous to the separation between “productiveness” and what I would like to call “producive-ness”. Put simply, producive is to the cultural what productive is to the economic. Producive-ness normally stems from the cultural motive of the user/fan, while productiveness derives from the economic want of the capitaldesiring state. Locally practised K-pop cover dances, as well as various kinds of voluntary fan labour, are common examples of producive-ness.

114

JungBong Choi

One has to be cautious not to romanticise producive-ness, however. Produciveness is often conjugated with productiveness, as they both orbit around cultural products that are premised on market transactions. Not only are they codependent, but they are also in erce competition with each other. The economic libido of productiveness co-opts, harnesses, or supplants producive-ness, while the cultural impulse of fan/user frequently appreciates and appropriates the “perks” offered by the eager state and corporate entities. While the realm of producive-ness cannot be reduced or succumbed to the sway of productiveness, it is not completely immune to the latter’s pecuniary seduction. Now that the institutionalisation of cover dance is in full swing, the cultural destiny of K-pop cover dance is in the midst of a contest between cultural enlisting and counter-enlisting (or co-optation). The ongoing negotiation over K-pop between the stakeholders of cultural fullment and the upholders of cultural capitalisation is of great interest to many concerned with global cultural politics.

Notes 1 I call YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook site-media, because they operate as online sites yet their function amounts to autonomous media. 2 It is worth noting that the rise of Korea as an East Asian hub of the entertainment industry coincides with the nation’s prominence in the province of digital technologies, both hardware and software. Interestingly, Japan’s rise as a global cultural power was concurrent with the supremacy wielded by Japanese electronics makers. Sony’s Walkman, for example, was an icon of international youth culture during the 1980s through early 1990s, until it was supplanted successively by CD players, MP3 devices, the iPod, and then by smartphones. The eminence of Samsung and LG in the world of digital technologies, likewise, cannot be deemed extraneous either to Korea’s IT prowess or to the reign of K-pop. 3 Enlisting differs from the notion of cultural appropriation in that the former underscores the user’s creative addition to the cultural text/product without much alteration, while the latter stresses the relative autonomy of the user in repurposing the cultural text/ product. 4 In 2013 the whole event took place over a period of ve months, April to September. Online preliminaries consist of contestants being asked to submit a video of their performance to the festival homepage. Those who had passed the video-based selection advanced to local nals by respective countries, which then were followed by a nal round held in Wonju (the host city) Dynamic Festival in Korea.

Bibliography Clark, Walter Aaron, ed. 2002. From Tejano to Tango: Essays on Latin American Popular Music. New York: Routledge. Del Pilar Alvarez, Maria. 2011. “K-pop in Latin America”, Korea Times. www.koreatimes. co.kr/www/news/opinon/2013/06/160_82773.html, uploaded 9 March 2011. Generación E-QUIPU. 2009. “Un Deseo en las Estrellas: Primera Novela Coreana en el Perú” [Stairway to Heaven: Korea’s Television Drama in Peru]. http://blog.pucp.edu.pe/

K-pop in Latin America 115 item/62736/un-deseo-en-las-estrellas-primera-novela-coreana-en-el-peru, uploaded 4 July 2009. Hernandez, Deborah Pacini, Héctor Fernández-L’Hoeste, and Eric Zolov, eds. 2004. Rockin’ Las Américas: The Global Politics of Rock in Latin/o America. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Hintz, Arne. 2011. “From Media Niche to Policy Spotlight: Mapping Community-Media Policy Change in Latin America”, Canadian Journal of Communication 36(1): 147–159. Howard, Keith, ed. 2006. Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave. Folkestone: Global Oriental. Im, Yun Jung. 2011. “Talking about Hallyu in Brazil”, KOFICE Webzine 78. http:// webzine.koce.or.kr/201104/eng/sub_01_01.asp, uploaded 4 April 2011. Jang, Minho. 2011. “K-Pop in South America. Why so Famous?” Soompi. www.soompi. com/2011/07/08/kpop-in-south-america-why-so-famous, uploaded 8 July 2011. Kang, Hyun-kyung. 2011. “Peruvian Fans Meet K-pop Idols through Concert Videos”, Korea Times. www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/nation/2011/06/116_88406.html, uploaded 6 June 2011. Kim, Won-Ho. 1998. “Korean–Latin American Relations: Trends and Prospects”, Asian Journal of Latin American Studies 11, Special Issue: 21–43. KOFICE. 2012. “Mexicans Fall in Love with K-pop: Interview with Asia Dream”, KOFICE Webzine 96. http://webzine.koce.or.kr/201210/eng/sub_02_01.asp, uploaded 5 October 2012. Lee, Hyo-won. 2007. “Hallyu Reaches Other Side of the World”, Korea Times. www. koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/issues/2012/12/229_12812.html, uploaded 30 October 2007. Margheritis, Ana and Anthony W. Pereira. 2007. “The Neoliberal Turn in Latin America: The Cycle of Ideas and the Search for an Alternative”, Latin American Perspectives 34(3) (May): 25–48. Medina, Mercedes and Leticia Barrón. 2010. “La telenovela en el mundo1/Television Soap Operas on a Global Scale”, Clave 13(1) (June): 77–97. Pak, Natalia. 2012. “K-pop in Brazil”, KOFICE Webzine 90 http://webzine.koce.or. kr/201204/eng/sub_01_01.asp, uploaded 2 April 2012. Simpson, David. 2005. “LG Electronics Mexico: Bringing LG Culture to Monterrey”, Appliance Magazine, March. www.appliancemagazine.com/editorial.php?article=880& zone=1&rst=1. Sinclair, John. 2005. “International Television Channels in the Latin American Space”. In Transnational Television Worldwide: Towards a New Media Order, edited by Jean K. Chalaby. London and New York: I.B. Tauris. Straubhaar, Joseph D. 1991. “Beyond Media Imperialism: Asymmetrical Interdependence and Cultural Proximity”, Critical Studies in Mass Communication 8 (March): 39–59. Visit Korea Committee. 2012a. “The ‘2012 K-Pop Cover Dance Festival’ Held to Celebrate Visit Korea Year”. http://english.visitkoreayear.com/english/community/community_ 01_01_01_view.asp?bidx=292, uploaded 23 April 2012. Visit Korea Committee. 2012b. “K-POP Festival in Gangwon 2013”. http://english. visitkoreayear.com/english/infor/infor_01_18_01.asp, uploaded December 2012. Waisbord, Silvio. 1998. “The Ties that Still Bind: Media and National Culture in Latin America”, Canadian Journal of Communication 23(3) (Summer): 381–401.

7

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan Patterns of consumption and reactionary responses Eun-Young Jung

Introduction Relations between Korea and Japan have long been strained, most severely during the colonial period (1910–1945), but despite growing interactions between the two countries through popular culture, post-colonial disputes persist. Often described as “close-but-distant” and “similar-but-different”, Korea and Japan have stood apart from each other, from the rest of Asia, and from the West. As partners and rivals at once, they have formed a symbiosis that is complex and contradictory by nature. Cultural ows between the two countries have intensied since the late 1990s, yielding new patterns of cultural consumption that have triggered new expressions of strong xenophobic resistance. The intensication was spurred largely by the Korean government’s decision to lift its ofcial ban on Japanese cultural imports through the step-by-step Open-Door Policy (1998–2004) in Korea. The Korean Wave or Hallyu (Hanryu 㡑ὶ or Hanryu boom 㡑ὶࣈ࣮࣒ in Japanese) also became apparent in Japan beginning in early 2004 (Jung 2007; 2009). These two major developments seemed at rst to generate the reciprocation of positive images of Japan to Korea and of Korea to Japan and to encourage mutual understanding of their cultural similarities and differences. However, as evident in a series of protests in Japan against Hallyu and against Korea and Koreans, which involved hostile political exchanges both online and ofine, the antagonism seems lately not to have subsided but to be deepening instead. On 7 and 21 August 2011, thousands of Japanese protesters rallied in front of Fuji Television headquarters in Odaiba, Tokyo, to protest the network’s perpetuation of Hallyu through its daily diet of various Korean television dramas and K-pop related content. The protest was sparked by Japanese male actor Takaoka Sousuke’s strong anti-Hallyu sentiments, disseminated through Twitter: I don’t really watch 8 [referring to channel 8 by Fuji TV] anymore. It sometimes makes me wonder if it’s a Korean channel. We Japanese want to see authentic Japanese programs. If anything related to Korea is on, I just turn the TV off … it’s like, what country is this?! It makes me sick! It feels like we’re being brainwashed by Korean programs … I get scared every time when I hear the word Hallyu.1

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan 117 Understandably, some Japanese supported the actor’s opinion and some did not. His controversial comments stimulated some Japanese to initiate protests against Hallyu, and more generally Korea and “things Korean”. Yet in 2011, the popularity of Korean pop idol groups in Japan was soaring, especially Tohoshinki (also known as TVXQ), KARA, and Girls’ Generation (also known as SNSD): their singles and regular albums topped music charts, concerts sold out, their appearance on music and other variety shows increased, and their fashion/beauty styles became the vogue among their Japanese fans. In addition, many other Korean idol groups have debuted and expanded their careers in Japan successfully, turning Japan into the most protable market for K-pop. With this unexpected development in Japan following Korea’s rise to a powerhouse in the arena of international popular culture, their longstanding “close-but-distant” relationship has taken a new turn. In this chapter I will be investigating Japanese ambivalent responses to Korea’s pop music success, and its fascination with and revulsion against “things Korean”.

Consuming Korea: Hallyu and K-pop idols in Japan As I have discussed elsewhere (Jung 2007; 2009), it is something of an oversimplication to identify Korean pop music and musicians consumed in Japan as a single stylistic category under the broad rubric of Hallyu, even though the popular media, especially Korean, have done so. It is also problematic to situate all young Korean singers of pop music within what is recognised internationally as “K-pop”, not only because the term K-pop itself is somewhat ambiguous, but also because some of the Korean musicians have become singers of Japanese pop music or have become crossover performers of both Korean and Japanese pop music. Before discussing the different phases of Japan’s engagement with Korea in the realm of the mainstream Japanese pop music industry from the late 1990s, I offer here a brief summary of the earlier history. Pre-Hallyu cases Prior to the initial penetration by Korean pop music and musicians in Japan in the late 1990s, a few Korean pop singers did gain popularity in Japan. One of the most famous Korean male singers in Korean pop music history, Cho Yong-pil, built a strong fan base in Japan in the 1980s and 1990s, receiving multiple music awards, and holding numerous concerts there. One of his early hits, the 1980 trot2 song “Come Back to the Pusan Harbour” (Korean = Torawayo Pusanhang-e; Japanese = Pusan-kou e Kaere), was especially popular. With his popularity within the Japanese enka3 market, he was invited to perform at NHK Kouhaku Uta Gassen (also called Kouhaku, the most prestigious annual music show in Japan) in 1987, 1988, and 1990.4 Two female trot singers in the 1980s – Kye Eun-Sook and Kim Yeon-Ja – also became successful in Japan as enka singers after relocating there from Korea in the late 1980s. Known for the emotionality of their singing, both of them became popular enough to be invited to Kouhaku multiple times. The

118

Eun-Young Jung

legendary male hip-hop trio Seo Taiji and Boys (Sǂ T’aeji-wa Aidǎl) also had an active following in Japan, despite very little marketing, and released their original Korean language albums in Japan in 1994 and 1995. One of the most popular female singers in the early 1990s, Kang Suji, had a relatively long-term career in Japan as a tarento (multi-entertainer) during her residency in Japan from 1995 to 2000. Scouted by the Japanese talent agency Sky Production, Kang released a few Japanese singles, produced photo albums, and appeared on variety shows – typical activities of Japanese pop idol (aidoru)5 and tarento. Japan had engaged Asian pop cultures in the 1990s (Aoyagi 2000; Iwabuchi 2002), including Hong Kong lms and pop stars. Some Asian female singer-entertainers were scouted by Japan’s culture industry, including Kang and Taiwanese female tarento Vivian Hsu, to meet Japan’s desire to “return to Asia” in Iwabuchi’s words (2002, 1–6). In summer 1999, when I visited Fuji Television headquarters in Odaiba (the futuristic landmark building was a popular tourist destination), I was surprised to see a large photo of Kang displayed in the hallway next to popular Japanese and other non-Japanese entertainers. As Kang relocated to Japan a few years after her career peak in Korea, the Korean media offered little coverage of her career in Japan (this in contrast to the overtly celebratory coverage Korean singers receive these days). While their success in Japan is not insignicant, it is important to note that Japanese reception of Korean pop music and musicians in the 1980s and the 1990s was limited to enka and other genres outside the mainstream Japanese pop music scene. Given the rarity of collaboration and transaction between the two countries’ music industries, the success of these Korean singers in Japan was rather anomalous. As I have discussed elsewhere (Jung 2007; 2009), the rst important case of Japan’s acceptance of Korea within its mainstream media and pop music industry was S.E.S. – Korea’s most popular girl group in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Modelled after the typical Japanese female idol groups and carefully formed to be marketable internationally by its management company SM Entertainment (hereafter SME), the trio included Korean American and zainichi (Korean resident in Japan) members along with a Korean member. S.E.S. quickly gained popularity based on its cutesy musical and visual styles and released J-pop albums during their activities in Japan from 1998 to 2001. Zainichi member Shoo’s native Japanese language skills facilitated the group’s smooth entrance into Japanese music and variety television shows. Another key factor in its success in Japan’s mainstream music industry was its adoption of idol group styles, with which many Japanese fans were familiar. However, because S.E.S. did not have the support of any of the major Japanese media companies, it was unable to attain superstar status in Japan.6 Music industry control in Japan rests almost entirely in the hands of only a few giant multimedia companies, such as AVEX and Sony,7 and Korean pop musicians had yet to gain the promotional attention of these companies.

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan 119 The rst round of Hallyu in Japan: arrival and development BoA – a Korean female who debuted in 2002 as a J-pop singer (Jung 2007) – heralded a new phase of Japan’s engagement with Korean singers in the domain of mainstream pop music. Trained, groomed, and marketed with greater care by SME, BoA yielded remarkable success in Japan during the rst half of the 2000s at a much younger age than her predecessors, S.E.S. Under AVEX’s management, she was produced and promoted as a typical J-pop singer. Also, the timing of her Japan career happened to coincide with dramatic cultural developments. First was Korea’s Open-Door policy – a four-stage process whereby the Korean government relinquished its decades-long ban on the importation of Japanese cultural products. The process began in 1998 and was completed only in 2004 with the legalisation of the importation and sale of Japanese music CDs. Also during this period, Korea and Japan cohosted the 2002 FIFA World Cup, which required intensive collaborative planning and spawned various goodwill exchanges in the cultural realm. A little more than a year after this important sports event, Hallyu came to Japan in the wake of the spectacularly popular television drama Winter Sonata, rst aired in Japan in 2003. With all the right components lined up, including her uent Japanese language skills, BoA became one of the leading female J-pop singers in Japan and was invited to perform at the prestigious Kouhaku six times consecutively from 2002 through 2007, making her the most frequently invited foreign singer of J-pop in Kouhaku history.8 It is important to stress that BoA’s debut and success as a mainstream J-pop solo singer in Japan complicates and differentiates her case from Japan’s reception of other Korean musicians during the same period, such as Park Yong-ha, K, Rain, and others. As discussed by many scholars (Ham and Hu 2005; Hirata 2008; Iwabuchi 2008; Mori 2008), the arrival of Hallyu in Japan in 2003 and its exploding popularity in 2004 and 2005 were predominantly based on television dramas, Winter Sonata in particular, and on the male actors who played ideal men (handsome, successful, romantic, devoted, and even kind) in Korean melodramas. Yet as the boom expanded to other kinds of Korean cultural products, including pop music, a series of developments in Japanese engagement with Korea within the mainstream pop music industry took place. As I have discussed elsewhere (Jung 2007), four trends emerged: (1) collaboration between the two countries’ major music companies; (2) Korean television drama actors became pop singers; (3) new Korean singers debuted as J-pop singers rst, before being introduced professionally in Korea; and (4) Korea produced superstars with huge followings in Asia and beyond. The rst type was set by BoA’s career path in Japan as a J-pop singer, an extensive localisation – de-Koreanisation and Japanisation through systematic repackaging strategies – through collaboration between SME and AVEX. Following BoA’s great success, SME’s popular boy band TVXQ, with familiar Japanese aidoru band styles, smoothly entered the mainstream J-pop industry under AVEX’s management in 2005, only to conrm the effectiveness of the systematic collaboration. I will return to TVXQ’s later activities in Japan shortly.

120

Eun-Young Jung

The second type was created by the devoted Japanese female fans of the famous Korean television drama Winter Sonata, which had been the main force in Japan’s rst-round Hallyu boom. The Japanese fans’ desire to consume all things relating to Winter Sonata and its leading male actors, Bae Yong-joon and Park Yong-ha, had the following results: (1) Ryu, the singer of the theme songs, who was all-butunknown in Korea, was frequently televised in Japan and held concerts there in 2004; and (2) the actor Park Yong-ha, who was rather unknown in Korea then, became very popular as a singer in Japan, and regularly appeared on major Japanese music programmes such as Hey!Hey!Hey! Music Champ and Utaban, with a Japanese translator, as he was not uent in Japanese. With a series of J-pop singles, albums, and concerts that were well received by his dedicated female fans in Japan, he enjoyed much greater popularity in Japan than in Korea. Male actor Ryu Si-Won also gained success as a singer in Japan after his hit television drama Beautiful Days was broadcast there. Like Park Yong-ha, Ryu Si-Won released multiple J-pop singles and albums and held numerous concerts as extensions of the television drama-driven Hanryu boom in Japan. The third type signalled growing interest in Hallyu from the mainstream Japanese media and music industries as the new Korean singers – including Younha and K, who had not even debuted in Korea – were introduced through the conventional Japanese media “tie-up” strategy.9 Younha – a female singer who was only 16 in 2004 – struggled to be signed by the Korean music industry before her Japan debut as a J-pop singer. Sufciently uent in Japanese, Younha was signed by EPIC Records (a part of Sony Music)10 and achieved moderate success in Japan, which in turn eventually helped her establish a career in Korea. The male singer K debuted in Japan as a J-pop singer after being scouted by Sony Music personnel who heard him playing in a bar in Seoul in early 2005. K’s debut song “Over …” and “Only Human” were tied up with popular Japanese television dramas. With the successful debut album Beyond the Sea (2006), and his near-perfect Japanese language skills, K established a notable career in Japan as a J-pop singer.11 Despite many differences, Younha and K were produced and consumed as J-pop products by the same Japanese music industry that had proven to be very effective a few years earlier in launching and sustaining BoA. The last type of Japanese reception of Korean pop music and musicians was focused on the two male superstars Se7en and Rain, who had already established extensive popularity throughout Asia. With their Asian star status, they did not strictly have to adopt the systematic production and promotion strategies that the other Korean singers had, but were able to gain success in Japan mainly by releasing their hit Korean songs in Japanese.12 The Japanese fans’ embrace of these two pop stars exemplied the expansion of Hallyu in Japan in the mid 2000s. During the rst round of Hallyu, led by television dramas, Japan’s consumption of Korea within the music industry was not so much about the music as such but about the musicians, who mostly delivered typical Japanese pop songs and were produced and promoted by Japanese companies. While their being Korean was certainly a part of the picture during the boom, most of their deliberate localisation/ Japanisation through the systematic repackaging processes demanded by the

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan 121 Japanese music industry had complicated the nature of the overall Hallyu phenomenon in Japan in the mid-2000s by the simple but glaring fact of their lacking Korean-ness. As the initial phase of Hallyu began to recede by the end of 2005 in Japan, Japan’s consumption of Korean singers went into decline, with the exception of BoA and the ve-member boy band TVXQ. Hallyu in Japan: the case of TVXQ/Tohoshinki Between the end of the rst round and the beginning in 2010 of the second-round of Hallyu (more commonly referred to as the K-pop boom), TVXQ played an important role by establishing platforms for the future K-pop idol bands within the mainstream media and music industry. Known as Tohoshinki in Japanese, the band became the rst foreign male group to reach the number-one position on the Oricon single chart, which it achieved in January 2008,13 and released a number of singles and albums that continuously topped the Oricon charts.14 In contrast to BoA and the other Korean singers active in the mid 2000s in Japan, the popular idol band Tohoshinki debuted in Japan after they had gained popularity in Asia and subsequently remained there, focusing on their career in Japan. Tohoshinki was able to build a strong fan base with mostly young Japanese female fans. What catalysed their supremacy were their unrivalled versatilities in addition to familiar musical and visual styles. All ve members boast great linguistic talent, high-quality musical and choreographic skills, not to mention attractive appearance coupled with charming personalities suited to non-musical entertainment on variety.15 Tohoshinki achieved huge success within the Japanese male idol market, rivalling such groups as Arashi, which is the product of Johnny’s Entertainment, the powerful male idol factory dominant in Japan since the 1960s. Tohoshinki’s basic format and the ways in which they are produced, managed, and promoted by the Korean idol powerhouse SME and its exclusive Japanese partner AVEX are identical to the typical aidoru band practice in Japan. Yet their musical and visual styles include some elements that are recognised as “different”, and that have fed into what subsequently has come to be known as the K-pop style. Many of the band’s hit J-pop songs released in Japan are received as J-pop by Japanese fans. The songs were written by or in collaboration with SME’s in-house producer Yoo Young-Jin, known for his eclectic mix of electro-pop, dance-pop, rap, and R&B, and increasingly articulated use of Auto-Tune. These include “Purple Line” (January 2008) and “Jumon: Mirotic/Magic Spell” (September 2008). Also, with their much faster tempos and variety in song structure, Tohoshinki’s musical style is different from that of conventional Japanese aidoru pop, which tends to employ bubblegum-pop styles and simpler song structures. Other obvious differences between Tohoshinki and the Japanese male aidoru bands are Tohoshinki’s more muscular body features and the ways these features are intentionally emphasised in their powerful dance moves and revealing clothing. Yet such physical masculinity is toned down at the same time with their feminised facial features, which are enhanced by wearing make-up. This feminising is engineered so as not

122

Eun-Young Jung

to overwhelm the Japanese fans, who are accustomed to Japanese male idols’ “life-sized” young boy qualities (cf. Aoyagi 2000). Their fashion and hairstyles, such as the covering of their foreheads partially or entirely with long bangs, is identied as distinctly Korean and is sometimes ridiculed as such in the Japanese media.16 The second round of Hallyu in Japan: K-pop boom The second round of Hallyu in Japan – more widely referred as the K-pop boom – exploded in 2011, reecting K-pop’s rapidly growing transnational popularity beyond Asia. The popularity of the television dramas during the rst-round Hallyu rapidly expanded into other domains of cultural expression, including food and fashion, and led some Japanese to study Korean language and to travel to Korea as tourists. Korean pop music t naturally with this expansion of appetite for things Korean. Before I focus on the specics of the K-pop boom in Japan, let me briey discuss the term K-pop itself. Unlike the term Hallyu, credited to a Chinese journalist around 1997, it is unclear exactly when, where, and by whom the term K-pop began to circulate. As part of the larger Hallyu phenomenon, K-pop emerged around the mid 2000s among international media and audiences. While it is easy to make a quick connection to the term J-pop and place the term K-pop as a Korean counterpart to J-pop, it is important to understand their different connotations. Similar to the way that the term J-pop had emerged in the 1990s within the Asian pop music scene as mainstream Japanese pop music became popular outside Japan (Stevens 2008), the term K-pop emerged in the mid 2000s as Korean pop music became popular outside Korea. However, K-pop is limited to a more specic and smaller segment of mainstream pop music than is the term J-pop. Different from the earlier Korean pop music consumption patterns developed in Asia – which revolved around the musicians, thereby including both Korean and Japanese pop songs and also including songs from television dramas – the new pattern for Korean pop music has been predominantly idol bands. These are young girl and boy groups that are manufactured by all-in-one idol-making companies like SME, with wider transnational exports in mind, including not only Asia, but also Europe and America. Over the years, the terms J-pop and J-pop culture have become more inclusive, referring to other Japanese pop cultural products, including anime, manga, computer games, and character goods. Sometimes the term K-pop was used rather loosely to refer to Korean pop music as a whole. But as other genres and styles of Korean popular music began to be recognised by transnational pop media and discovered by international fans via social media spaces like YouTube, the fuzziness of the term K-pop became confusing and seems now to be more narrowly used to refer to idol bands and idol pop from Korea.17 The sharp rise in the popularity of K-pop in Japan in 2011 is no less complex than the explosion of Hallyu in 2004. Tohoshinki, returning as a duo after the break-up in 2010, began to be perceived by some as a J-pop aidoru band rather

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan 123 than a K-pop idol band, as the duo’s main activities were in Japan, not Korea. The new ve-girl group KARA (formed in Korea in 2007 by DSP Media) has become very popular in Japan as a K-pop idol band since 2010. Despite their mediocre status within the K-pop idol industry in Korea, KARA successfully released their K-pop songs in Japanese. Signed by Universal Sigma (a subsidiary of Universal Music Japan), KARA became one of the most successful Korean pop music groups in Japan, topping Oricon charts, selling over one million singles between 2010 and 2011, and becoming the rst Korean act to perform at Tokyo Dome in January 2013.18 Following the standardised K-pop musical trends of the late 2000s, KARA also exhibits near-constant use of Auto-Tune, short, catchy, and highly repetitive refrains, minimalist lyrics, and synchronised dance movements specic to each song.19 Their dance moves, including the popular “oshiri-dance” (butt-dance) from “Mister” (2010), were considered to be much sexier than typical Japanese female idol groups’ dance styles. However, their cute, lively, fun, happy, and silly sides evident in their variety programme appearances triggered favourable responses by the Japanese media industry and Japanese fans.20 By providing the familiar “cute, life-sized, and approachable” Japanese female idol qualities (Aoyagi 2000, 310–316), KARA was also able to build a strong fandom in Japan. Even their imperfect command of the Japanese language seems to have worked in their favour, contributing to their public image by sounding cute and childish. As with other top K-pop idol groups, it is not unusual to nd KARA’s devoted Japanese fans travelling to the band’s concerts and show appearances even outside Japan (Boon 2012) – clear evidence of their exceptional appeal. With the successful career developments by Tohoshinki and KARA within the Japanese aidoru pop market, other leading male and female K-pop idol bands, such as Big Bang, 2PM, SHINee, After School, 2NE1, and Girls’ Generation, all soon released singles and albums in Japan. These releases consisted mostly of Japanese versions of their K-pop songs. They also held a series of small and largescale concerts, showcases, and fan meetings, and were invited to various music and variety programmes. Among them, SME’s nine-girl group Girls’ Generation (known as Shoujo Jidai in Japan) became SME’s third act to achieve major success in Japan. As Jung and Hirata argue (2012), Shoujo Jidai’s case is different in some ways. Jung and Hirata believe the group’s success in Japan was achieved by “rejecting the localization processes”, as most of the members do not speak Japanese. This sets them in clear contrast to BoA and Tohoshinki. I would, however, argue that the band’s success is still due at least in part to their following the basics of the standardised localisation process for the Japanese market. While mastering the Japanese language has been important for most of the previously successful Korean acts, some of them, such as Park Yong-ha and Rain, gained a large Japanese following without speaking Japanese uently. Also, a few members of Shoujo Jidai are uent enough to communicate in Japanese without a translator. More importantly, just like BoA and Tohoshinki, Shoujo Jidai released a series of original J-pop songs, including “Mr. Taxi” (2011) and “Paparazzi” (2012), specically for

124

Eun-Young Jung

Japanese fans, in addition to releasing their hit K-pop songs in Japanese. While their foray into variety programmes has been less frequent than Tohoshinki’s and KARA’s, they regularly appear on major music programmes and a series of Japanese television commercials. Following another standard Japanese aidoru practice, the band published a Japanese photobook, Holiday (2011). The commonly perceived difference is that their visual images are considered to be sexier and more mature than the typical Japanese female aidoru. However, female sexuality can certainly be a crucial component of conventional Japanese female aidoru performance. For example, currently the most popular Japanese female aidoru band, AKB48’s, 2010 song “Heavy Rotation” contains extremely racy adult images. Also, while their costumes may look girlish and their dance movements are not particularly suggestive, song lyrics tend to be blunt – for example, “Please Don’t Take off My School Uniform” (Se-rafuku o nugasanai de), and “My School Uniform is Getting in the Way” (Seifuku ga jama o suru). Furthermore, Shoujo Jidai has consistently played the familiar cutesy, girly, naive, bubbly, and all-pink young girls’ images in their songs and music videos, including “Gee” (Japanese release in 2010) and “Flower Power” (original Japanese single, 2012). Famous for their long and slim legs, Shoujo Jidai’s popularity is centred around their physical beauty and has further increased Korean cosmetic product sales among Japanese women. The Shoujo Judai difference, of course, is not mere happenstance, but has been carefully crafted by SME. They represent more than just girly, sexy, bubbly teenage tastes. They appeal also to modern, unruly, opinionated, feisty, powerful, professional girls in their twenties. The latter imageries embody the perceived difference between what can be seen as a relatively stagnant female status in Japan contrasted with the upward mobility of Korean women. This Janus-faced duality is a major appeal of Shoujo Judai to fans in Japan, and more broadly to fans worldwide. Like Tohoshinki and KARA, Shoujo Jidai’s perceived identity in Japan is complex, as their songs, styles, and images often crossover between J-pop aidoru specics and K-pop idol specics. In other words, Japan’s K-pop boom is closely related to its domestic aidoru industry and readily available aidoru fans. K-pop idol music is not perceived as a completely new and different genre of pop music but consumed within the larger frame of J-pop aidoru performance practices and expected physical appearance.21 The expanding K-pop boom in Japan and friendly cultural collaborations and transnational consumptions took a dramatic turn in 2012 as the Japanese public’s anti-Korea/Korean/Korean Wave sentiments began to grow, aggravated by many post-colonial political disputes, including the resurgence of the Dokdo/Takeshima islets sovereignty issue following former Korean president Lee Myung-Bak’s visit to the islets in August 2012.

Reactionary responses to Hallyu in Japan The political protests driven by antagonistic nationalism in the mid 2000s due to the intensied Dokdo/Takeshima territorial disputes have increased in both countries. In this respect, the surge of anti-Korea/Hallyu sentiments and protests

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan 125 did not come as a surprise, especially given the full-scale foray of Korean cultural products into Japan’s domestic markets. As noted by many scholars (Hirata 2008; Huat and Iwabuchi 2008; Mori 2008; Yi 2011; Jung and Hirata 2012; among others), Japan’s reactionary responses to the rst-round Hallyu and the secondround K-pop boom have gone beyond nationalistic cultural conservatism or economic protectionism to reference broader national conicts. From the early years of the Korean Wave, Korea’s continuous success and growing market shares began to be seen as cultural and economic threats to local culture industries in some Asian countries such as China, Taiwan, and Vietnam. While these countries’ resistant responses have mainly been caused by actual and potential economic loss, Japan’s more advanced and self-sufcient culture industry would seem to be far less vulnerable to foreign competition. In the midst of the rst round of Hallyu during the mid 2000s, the rst volume of the infamous anti-Korean Wave comic book Hating the Korean Wave (Kenkanryu, in Japanese) became a sizzling international issue as it quickly became a bestseller in Japan. Norimitsu Onishi writes (2005): The reality that South Korea had emerged as a rival hit many Japanese with full force in 2002, when the countries were co-hosts of soccer’s World Cup and South Korea advanced further than Japan. At the same time, the so-called Korean Wave – television dramas, movies and music from South Korea – swept Japan and the rest of Asia, often displacing Japanese pop cultural exports. The wave, though popular among Japanese women, gave rise to a countermovement, especially on the Internet. As Iwabuchi also argues, post-colonial Japan’s superior position over the rest of Asia – “similar but superior” and “in but above Asia” – was greatly challenged by Japan’s own voluntary embrace of cultural products from Korea, its “inferior and backward” neighbour and former colony (2002). Positively framed by the notion of post-colonial nostalgia and desires and by Japan’s popular nostalgia for a different Asia in the 1990s (Iwabuchi 2002, 158–198), the initial phase of Hallyu in Japan was not particularly controversial. However, as the patterns of consumptive desire rapidly expanded to include all things Korean, and created unexpected social phenomenon – such as the sudden rise of Japanese women’s interest in Korean men through international dating and marriage services (Onishi 2004) – the mainstream Japanese media began to criticise the main consumer groups, ridiculing middle-aged housewives’ fascination with Hallyu as unsophisticated, unrealistic, and even embarrassing. As the rst round of the Wave began to lose strength in Japan with the decline in Korean television dramas in the late 2000s, the continued importation of and desire for Korean cultural products by still sizeable numbers of Japanese women did not trigger massive media coverage or further controversy. However, just as many Japanese were thinking that Hallyu was nished, it returned to Japan with K-pop idol bands. As their visibility became pervasive and undeniable, Japan’s resistance to and rejection of this K-pop boom became

126

Eun-Young Jung

increasingly and alarmingly evident. Movements were staged in public places against all things Korean, fed by Japan’s national anxiety over questions of its superiority over Asia. More than the rst round of Hallyu, the 2011 K-pop boom was difcult to ignore as the popular K-pop idols took typical aidoru-tarento roles in multimedia. These included the usual music and variety programmes, television commercials, anime and computer game theme songs, and television dramas. Furthermore, many K-pop idol groups’ broader international popularity was abundantly evident on the Internet, thanks to the K-pop industry’s successful adaptations and clever marketing strategies through new social media spaces such as YouTube. The rst round of Hallyu had been media-driven, but it began to wane just as social media were becoming prominent. The potential for viral dissemination via social media seemed to give unprecedented strength to the K-pop boom. As mentioned earlier, the revived anti-Hallyu movements were sparked by male actor Takaoka’s xenophobic anti-Hallyu tweets that initiated a series of protests against Fuji TV from 2011. Although some protesters claimed that the protests were not against Korea or Koreans but against the network and Japanese media, they singled out Hallyu and shouted loudly “Get out of Japan”, indicating quite clearly their animosity toward Korea and towards Korean immigrants (zainichi). Their particular claim concerning Fuji TV being unfairly pro-Korean/ Hallyu may well be due at least in part to their perception of Fuji TV being partially owned by zainichi. In fact, the other major broadcasting companies, including TV Asahi and Nippon Television, were airing almost as many hours of the Hallyu content per week as Fuji in 2011.22 Other controversial tweets were posted by Tamura Atsushi – a member of the popular comedian duo London Boots – who asked Kouhaku to invite Japanese singers only. His widely publicised stance caused another round of online debates among pro- and anti-Hallyu parties, although Tamura claried that he did not mean to refer only to Korea (Park 2011). Despite the apparent anti-Korea/Hallyu sentiments, the three most popular K-pop idol bands – Tohoshinki, KARA, and Shoujo Jidai – were invited to the 62nd NHK Kouhaku on 31 December 2011. However, as the wider Japanese public’s anti-Korea fervour rose after former president Lee’s visit to the Dokdo/Takeshima islets in August 2012, no K-pop act was invited to Kouhaku in 2012. This anti-Korean stance predominated despite the continued record-breaking sales gures of these leading K-pop idol bands (Sophie 2012). Implausibly, NHK denied any correlation between the political tensions and the decision not to invite K-pop acts, but offered no alternative explanation. It seems clear that Hallyu became the site of Japan’s conicting desires, stimulating both consumption of and resistance to Korea’s pop cultural products. It also exacerbated Japan’s national anxiety as its status as a world superpower has been challenged by China’s overpowering economic and political rise and Korea’s advance as a transnational cultural powerhouse. The ultranationalist group Zaitokukai (full name, Zainichi Tokken o Yurusanai Shimin no Kai, meaning Citizens Group That Will Not Forgive Privileges for Koreans in Japan) organised a series of anti-Korea public protests in Shin-Okubo (the popular Korea Town in Tokyo). Through these protests, it began to gain both local and international

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan 127 media attention for being particularly racist and radical. Since 2011 members of Zaitokukai have waved the war ags of the imperial Japanese army in their street protests, shouted slogans like “Kill Koreans” and “Kill Zainichi”, and carried signs saying “Cockroaches”, “Criminals and Rapists”, “Racist”, “Like Hyenas Stealing from Us”, “Go Back to Korea”, and “Plastic Surgery Addicted K-pop Singers” (Hayashi 2013; Osaki 2013). As the Hallyu and K-pop boom have been considered to be both economically and emotionally (due to the rise of their “homeland” culture in Japan) benecial for zainichi communities like Shin-Okubo, zainichi have become an easy target. Zaitokukai’s racist attack on zainichi reveals their desire to maintain the post-colonial power relationship – superior Japan, inferior Korea – by continuously marginalising zainichi, who have long been oppressed by their second-class ethnic/racial status in Japan. Thus, seeing Shin-Okubo’s dramatic transformations from a ghetto-like district to a booming business district and popular tourist destination is particularly hard to swallow for Zaitokukai (Hongo 2013). By constantly confronting zainichi, as well as Japanese consumers who come to Shin-Okubo for Korean merchandise, Zaitokukai tries to prevent zainichi from gaining economic and cultural power within Japan. The efforts by Zaitokukai have become more visible, especially through social media. It has been promoting its agenda via the popular Japanese video-sharing site Nico Nico Douga, via YouTube, and 2channel, which is a popular and inuential Japanese Internet textboard that allows completely anonymous postings. In addition to their regular street protest in Shin-Okubo, the group has been frequently hosting public protests in other big cities, including Osaka and Nagoya. From the standpoint of the Japanese music industry, the growing popularity of K-pop internationally has been bittersweet. The local media and music industries have certainly proted from the K-pop boom through their exclusive partnership deals. However, their failure to make J-pop singers internationally popular from the 1990s, especially in the US, may have hurt their national pride. Second only to the United States in size, Japan’s domestic music industry has been robust enough since the 1970s, boasts which render the nation’s protectionist sentiment toward K-pop needless and rather peculiar. However, seeing Korea’s success despite its small size and its heavy dependency on foreign markets (especially Japanese) may have been hard to comprehend for a substantial number of Japanese. That the music itself and the very notion of “idol” are so clearly indebted to Japanese popular culture only exacerbates the situation. The timing of the Japanese government’s initiation of a “Cool Japan” national branding programme in 201023 strongly suggests Japan’s recognition of Korea’s soft power success and its government’s branding know-how (for example, “Dynamic Korea” from 2007) as something to take very seriously. As Mori points out in his discussion of “Cool Japan” (2011, 37): This coincides with a global phenomenon in which governments ofcially start to promote domestic creative industries, such as popular music, lm, cartoons and animation. It was Tony Blair, the UK Prime Minister, who successfully promoted the soft power of British popular culture under the

128

Eun-Young Jung banner of “Cool Britannia” in 1997. His cultural policy was inuential in East Asia, in particular in Korea in the late 1990s. The Korean Wave in the early 2000s can be seen as an achievement of national cultural policy, while the Japanese government proposed “Cool Japan”, following the UK, Korea and other countries.

Also, according to a Japan Times report on the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry’s public forum on “Cool Japan”, the ministry’s goals are “to promote the nation’s creativity-based industries both at home and overseas”. Its participating experts mentioned that “Japan should look to South Korea to learn how various businesses collaborate to promote Korean products” (Nagata 2012). While not as central as Japanese animation for the project, J-pop is certainly a part of the “Cool Japan” plan. Its very inclusion underscores the presence of cultural alternatives, one of which is certainly K-pop.

Concluding remarks The past decade has been eventful for both Korea and Japan in terms of their already strained international relations. As the two countries’ interactions increased in various elds, new kinds of cultural developments have arisen. The ow of cultural products between these two countries has created conicting dynamics, as made evident in recent patterns of consumption and resistance. My focus in this chapter has been on Japan’s consumption and resistance to Korea’s cultural products, mainly pop music. By tracing both sides of Japan’s two-pronged responses to Hallyu and the subsequent K-pop boom during the past decade, I have examined the complexities of the two countries’ power dynamics. We have seen how Japan’s contested national pride is played out in the realm of popular culture. The international popularity of Japanese popular products from previous decades, including television dramas, cartoon, anime, and pop music, has signicantly decreased since the early 2000s. The recent international spotlight on Korea through the Korean Wave, and particularly the K-pop boom, seems to have rekindled the re of Japan’s anti-Korea sentiments. The surprising allure of Korean popular culture in Japan has resulted in ultranationalist Japanese groups such as Zaitokukai displaying hatred towards Korea in their protests and campaigns. The growth of K-pop’s presence globally and the Japanese fandom that is playing a major part in this rise have simultaneously taken away the Japanese industry’s international supremacy and diminished their local market share. The K-pop boom in Japan shows no signs of relenting. More and more K-pop idol bands are expanding their careers in Japan. The leading groups, such as Tohoshinki, KARA, and Shoujo Jidai, nd growing success in their album and concert ticket sales in Japan. Indeed, it is remarkable that Japan has become one of the biggest importers of K-pop idol bands despite its own well-established pop idol industry producing an almost identical line of products. Due to the intensied resistance to K-pop in certain circles in Japan since 2012, the current status of Korea–Japan relations seems to be even more strained than

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan 129 during the long period between the end of Japanese colonisation (1945) and the beginning of Hallyu in Japan in early 2004. As the dynamics of their diplomatic ties can shift at any time, we can only expect that their cultural interactions can also make dramatic turns in the future, adding still newer layers of complexity to the ongoing saga of Korean–Japanese relations. Popular culture and diplomatic relations can be, and often are, unpredictable. Although neither is resultant or subordinate to the other, they can interact. K-pop and the range of Korean popular cultural products have been touted proudly by the Korean government and Korean public as evidence of Korean global viability in Japan as much as anywhere. This perception has triggered an anti-Korean reaction that is deeply rooted and not entirely surprising, but unable to rub out the Korean presence there. How the popular culture and diplomatic terrain will look in a decade or even a few years from now is difcult to predict, but the Hallyu phenomenon has already inscribed itself into twenty-rst-century Japanese history – a development that will continue to invite interpretation and inspire debate at many levels in the years to come.

Notes 1 Excerpts from his original tweets on 23 July 2011: “↓ⴤǃǟц䂡ȀǿǸǴһȗཊdž ǗȠǦǾȄӺɦɀǼ㾻ǿǙDŽ 七ഭȃ79ተǠǽᙍǛһȗǬȅǬȅDŽǬόȅǬ όȅDŽǛǶȞᰕᵜӪȄᰕᵜȃՍ㎡⮚㍴≲ȖǻȓǮǦǾDŽਆȟਸǝǯ七ഭɕɇ ࠪǻᶕǴȞ⎸ǬǻȓǮAA ǥǸȅǙDŽǨǨȄǾǨȃഭǵȝǸǻᝏǭAA ≇ᤱǶ ᛚǙʽǩȖȨȂǃྭǢǿȞDŽ⍇㝣≇ᤱǶᛚǙʽǂǙǙഭǠ̚DŽDzȡȄǾǛǠ Ȅ⸕ȞǿǙǦǾǃᰕᵜǵǠȞȂǨǨAA ᰕᵜȃ⮚㍴ȧșǸǻⅢǬǙȤǿDŽⅼȗ ǪDŽǽᙍǛȤǦȝDŽ七⍱Ǹǻ䀰㩹ǮǩǤᙆǙ䀰㩹Ȁ㚎ǨǝȠȝDŽ” From http:// matome.naver.jp/odai/2131201627630594001. 2 Trot (also known as ppongtchak) is a kind of Korean pop music that is widely considered to be derived from Japanese enka as it shares a lot of stylistic similarities. For more details on trot and its Japanese connection, see Lee Pak (2006). 3 Enka is a kind of Japanese popular music that has undergone radical changes in lyric content and musical style, but since the 1920s has incorporated Western popular music instruments and harmony and mixed it with Japanese scales and vocal styles. The repertory consists mostly of sentimental ballad songs, predominantly consumed by older generations. For more details on enka and Kim Yeon-Ja, see Yano (2004). 4 Cho became the rst Korean singer to perform at Kouhaku in 1987. For more details, see www1.nhk.or.jp/kouhaku/history. 5 Also spelled idoru. 6 S.E.S. also faced formidable competition from the newly formed Japanese female idol group Morning Musume, which began to dominate the local female idol pop market from late 1999. 7 S.E.S. eventually joined AVEX as its Korean management company, SME, realised its importance, but the trio soon disbanded and released only one compilation album under AVEX. See www.cdjapan.co.jp/detailview.html?KEY=AVCD-18047 for the song lists. 8 For more details, see www1.nhk.or.jp/kouhaku/history. 9 “Tie-up” is a typical marketing strategy of the Japanese pop music industry from the early 1990s that involves the packaging (“tying-up”) of a newly released song with a

130

10 11 12 13

14 15

16 17

18 19 20

21

22 23

Eun-Young Jung

new television drama, movie, television commercial, or computer game in order to maximise promotion of the packaged items. Rarely available to new or unknown singers, “tie-up” strategy indicates a strict structure of Japanese pop music and media industry practice (Umeda 1997, 27–30). For Younha’s J-pop releases under EPIC Records, see www.younha.net. For K’s complete discography, see www.k-ofcial.com/main.html. Se7en’s adequate Japanese language skills were certainly welcomed by the Japanese media although they were not critical to his initial entrance to the Japanese market. Japan’s Oricon provides the most important weekly music charts. Tohoshinki’s sixteenth Japanese single “Purple Line” became their rst number-one song. For the song’s complete ranking results, see www.oricon.co.jp/music/release/d/743460/1. For their record-breaking single and album sale results on Oricon as of July 2008, see www.oricon.co.jp/news/rankmusic/56557. The band’s ofcial fan club Cassiopeia has been one of the largest fan clubs in the world. Its Japanese counterpart is called BigEast (managed by their Japanese management company AVEX). For their other Guinness World Record inclusions as of 2009, see http://world.kbs.co.kr/english/program/program_musicnews_detail.htm?No= 9374, uploaded 24 March 2009. Although not specically in an insulting way, such hairstyles were often ridiculed or imitated in comical frames of Japanese music and variety programmes. The term K-pop is not widely used in Korea, since the Korean term kayo (or gayo) has long been used to refer to Korean pop music as a whole, and aidol paendǎ has been used to refer to idol bands in recent years. See www.universal-music.co.jp/kara/news. For example, in the 2010 song “Jumping”, the word “Jumpin” is repeated 50 times, increasing the song’s catchiness. KARA’s particularly well-received friendly idol images are evident in their numerous major Japanese television commercial endorsements, including DoCoMo smartphone and Rohto C-cube (eye drops). Besides the leading K-pop idol bands mentioned here, a male actor/singer/model Jang Keun Suk, known as Keun-chan in Japan, was very popular among young and older Japanese women in 2011 as he was meeting all the conventional Japanese male aidoru qualities, including “coolness” and “life-sized cuteness”, with his rather slim petite body and lively persona. Some believe it was Jang who started the actual K-pop boom in Japan in 2011. (From NHK’s variety programme Otonin Doriru (Adult drill) – “Naze Ninki? Hanryu Bu-mu” (Why popular? The Hanryu boom), aired on 31 October 2011). From NHK’s variety programme Otonin Doriru (Adult drill) – “Naze Ninki? Hanryu Bu-mu” (Why popular? The Hanryu boom), aired on 31 October 2011. For more details on the “Cool Japan” programme, see www.meti.go.jp/policy/mono_ info_service/mono/creative/creative_tokyo/index_en.html. See also Mori’s discussion on the modelling and inspiration for “Cool Japan” (Mori 2011, 37).

References Aoyagi, Hiroshi. 2000. “Pop Idols and the Asian Identity”. In Japan Pop! Inside the World of Japanese Popular Culture, edited by Timothy J. Craig. New York: M.E. Sharpe, pp. 309–326 .

Hallyu and the K-pop boom in Japan 131 Boon, Rachael. 2012. “Fans Go GaGa over KARA”, The Straits Times. www.asianewsnet. net/Fans-go-gaga-over-Kara-33337.html, uploaded 7 December 2012. Ham, Han-Hee and Hu In-Soon. 2005. Kyǂul yǂn’ga-wa Nabi hwantaji [Winter Sonata and Buttery Fantasy]. Seoul: Sowha. Hayashi, Yuka. 2013. “Anti-Korean Voices Grow in Japan: Small but Venomous Rallies Become More Frequent, Prompt Soul-Searching over Hate”, Wall Street Journal, http:// online.wsj.com/article/SB1000142412788732403140457, uploaded 16 May 2013. Hirata, Yukie. 2008. “Touring ‘Dramatic Korea’: Japanese Women as Viewers of Hanryu Dramas and Tourists on Hanryu Tours”. In East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave, edited by Chua Beng Huat and Koichi Iwabuchi. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, pp. 143–156. Hongo, Jun. 2013. “Tokyo’s Koreatown Emerged from the Flow of Bilateral Ties”, Japan Times. www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2013/05/28/reference/tokyos-koreatown-emergedfrom-the-ow-of-bilateral-ties/#.UdPQQFOoWR0, uploaded 28 May 2013. Huat, Chua Beng and Koichi Iwabuchi. 2008. “Introduction”. In East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave, edited by Chua Beng Huat and Koichi Iwabuchi. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, pp. 1–12. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 2002. Recentering Globalization: Popular Culture and Japanese Transnationalism. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. ——. 2008. “When the Korean Wave Meets Resident Koreans in Japan: Intersections of the Transnational, the Postcolonial and the Multicultural”. In East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave, edited by Chua Beng Huat and Koichi Iwabuchi. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, pp. 243–264 Jung, Eun-Young. 2007. “Transnational Cultural Trafc in Northeast Asia: The ‘Presence’ of Japan in Korea’s Popular Music Culture”. PhD dissertation, University of Pittsburgh. ——. 2009. “Korean Wave in Japan vs. Japanese Wave in Korea”, Asian Musicology 14: 5–40. Jung, Sun and Yukie Hirata. 2012. “Conicting Desires: K-Pop Idol Girl Group Flows in Japan in the Era of Web 2.0”, Ejcjs 12: 2. www.japanesestudies.org.uk/ejcjs/vol12/iss2/ jung.html. Lee Pak, Gloria. 2006. “On the Mimetic Faculty: A Critical Study of the 1984 Ppongtchak Debate and Post-Colonial Mimesis”. In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard. Kent: Global Oriental, pp. 62–71. Mori, Yoshitaka. 2008. “Winter Sonata and Cultural Practices of Active Fans in Japan: Considering Middle-Aged Women as Cultural Agents”. In East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave, edited by Chua Beng Huat and Koichi Iwabuchi. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, pp. 127–142. ——. 2011. “The Pitfall Facing the Cool Japan Project: The Transnational Development of the Anime Industry under the Condition of Post-Fordism”, International Journal of Japanese Sociology 20: 30–42. Nagata, Kazuaki. 2012. “Exporting Culture via ‘Cool Japan’: METI promoting art, food, fashion abroad to cash in on ‘soft power’”, Japan Times. www.japantimes.co.jp/ news/2012/05/15/reference/exporting-culture-via-cool-japan/#.Urfo9I2oWR0, uploaded 15 May 2012. Onishi, Norimitsu. 2004. “What’s Korean for ‘Real Man?’ Ask a Japanese Woman”, New York Times, 23 December, A3. ——. 2005. “Ugly Images of Asian Rivals Become Best Sellers in Japan”, New York Times, 19 November, A1.

132

Eun-Young Jung

Osaki, Tomohiro. 2013. “Nationalism Rearing Ugly Head with Greater Frequency: Rightwingers Think Nothing of Making Public Death Threats”, Japan Times. www. japantimes.co.jp/news/2013/05/23/national/nationalism-rearing-ugly-head-withgreater-frequency/#.UdOkVlOoWR0, uploaded on 29 May 2013. Park, Jung Eun. 2011. “Inside Japan”, comment posted on “Kara – SNSD – Tohoshinki, ‘Free-Riding’ Controversy Over Japan’s ‘Kǀhaku Uta Gassen’”, Continue TVXQ. http:// continuetvxq.com/2011/12/11/kara-snsd-tohoshinki-free-riding-controversy-overjapans-kohaku-uta-gassen, uploaded 11 December 2011. Sophie. 2012. “Worry for the Right Reasons: K-Pop and Kohaku”, Seoulbeats. http:// seoulbeats.com/2012/12/worry-for-the-right-reasons-k-pop-and-kohaku, uploaded 10 December 2012. Stevens, Carolyn S. 2008. Japanese Popular Music: Culture, Authenticity, and Power. London and New York: Routledge. Umeda, Koji. (Kim, Hyung-Chan, trans.). 1997. Ilbon Ûmak Myujik Pijûnisû [Music Business of Japan]. Seoul: People of Fresh Mind Publishing Co., Ltd. Yano, Christine. 2004. “Raising the Ante of Desire: Foreign Female Singers in a Japanese Pop Music World”. In Refashioning Pop Music in Asia: Cosmopolitan Flows, Political Tempos and Aesthetic Industries, edited by Allen Chun, Ned Rossiter, and Brian Shoesmith. London and New York: RoutledgeCurzon, pp. 159–172. Yi Tongyǂn, ed. 2011. Aidol: H.O.T.-esǂ sonyǂshidae-kkaji, aidol munhwa pogosǂ [Idols: A Survey of Idol Culture, from H.O.T. to Girls’ Generation]. Seoul: Imaejin.

8

The dynamics of K-pop spectatorship The Tablo witch-hunt and its double-edged sword of enjoyment Haerin Shin

Introduction The year 2010 was memorable in the history of Korea’s pop culture and networked media, as the online dispute over the academic credentials of rapper/musician Tablo spilled over to the ofine world and became a national scandal. Suspicions concerning Tablo’s claim that he is an alumnus of Stanford University began circulating around 2007, when an art history professor named Jung-ah Shin was exposed as having obtained her Yale PhD certicate by illegal means. Her case sparked a chain of exposures involving public gures who had exaggerated or falsely claimed their college degrees. Tablo’s rather understated refutation allowed the rumour to persist, which reached its boiling point in the summer of 2010. Online communities called Sangchinse and Tachinyo (acronyms for A World Where Common Sense is the Truth and We Demand the Truth from Tablo, in Korean) accused Tablo of fabricating material evidence of his degree and displayed his personal documents for popular scrutiny on the Internet. Tachinyo and Sangchinse’s offensive reached its peak later that year, with the number of Tachinyo’s members increasing to 130,000 and Sangchinse ling a collective suit against Tablo for impersonation and forgery. In November, the authorities ofcially conrmed the authenticity of Tablo’s degree and convicted Tachinyo’s key members for defamation in violation of the “Law on the Use of Communication Networks and the Protection of Information and the like” (Chǂngbo t’ongshinmang iyong ch’okchin mit chǂngbo poho tǎng-e kwanhan pǂmnyul).1 The case was ofcially closed in 2012, when the Supreme Court of Korea sentenced two of the three Tachinyo leaders to prison (Shin 2013). However, Tablo’s most vocal detractor – an unnamed Korean-American male who goes by the online alias of “whatbecomes” – eluded legal penalisation owing to his American citizenship, and remains free and active to this day. Occasionally resurfacing in the gossip columns with ungrounded accusations of fraud directed towards other celebrities holding advanced degrees from prestigious institutions, whatbecomes serves as a reminder of the unprecedented force and lasting impact with which Tablo’s witch-hunt shook the nation. Tablo’s persecution stands at a critical juncture of K-pop spectatorship culture, sensationalist media coverage, as well as a deeply ingrained moral ambivalence that characterise the mechanism of K-pop content production, consumption, and

134

Haerin Shin

remediation. In this chapter, I examine the peculiarity of Tablo’s incident to explicate a kind of transgressive enjoyment specic to K-pop spectatorship; transgressive because the source of pleasure hangs precariously between the violation of and subscription to social norms, but also due to the fact that the object of enjoyment – moral and national/cultural integrity – is an illusory construct arising from the cultural, economic, political, and historical logic K-pop spectators in Korea resort to when engaging with the entertainment industry. My use of the term “spectatorship” results from an attempt to locate a term other than fandom (connoting active devotion) or audience (a more neutral group that retains a certain degree of emotional distance), and frame K-pop into a social discourse that at once originates from and transcends engaged consumption. Koichi Iwabuchi stipulates that “the line between fan and audience thins and blurs. More and more people now enjoy indulging themselves with a playful commitment to a particular object of media culture, thanks to the development of digital communication technologies and of marketing strategies aimed at niche tastes” (Iwabuchi 2010, 88). The scale and intensity of engagement we see in Tablo’s case calls for the designation of a third group (other than fans or audience) – one that pertains to the comprehensive public. As such, the term “K-pop spectatorship” refers specically to the “pop” (popular) portion of the word “K-pop” in conjunction with the wide-reaching coverage of “spectatorship”, encompassing those who do not actively consume yet regularly encounter K-pop content and participate in establishing its discursive framework.

Just the “right” dose of transgression: K-pop stars as precarious role models Popular entertainers in Korea are weighed down by an unusually high demand for moral integrity. For instance, Girl group T-ara incited public outrage in 2012 when signs of collective bullying and discord among its members leaked out through Twitter. Also, idol boy band 2PM’s previous member Jaebum, who stood at the apogee of stardom at the time, was forced to withdraw from the group in 2009 due to the exposure of an unpatriotic MySpace post he wrote years before. The modier “patriotic” has been the subject of much debate; Jaebum’s comments (for example, “Korea is gay”, “I hate Koreans”, “I want to go back to the States again”, “Korea is whack … but everyone thinks I’m like the illest rapper when I suck nuts at rapping …”, etc.) were no doubt offensive to the ears of the Korean public, but they sound more like an immature boy venting personal frustrations to a select group or audience in a private space than a sociopolitical diatribe. However, in the case of major media celebrity such as T-ara or Jaebum, such missteps carry far more weight and cannot be easily forgiven as a minor mistake in conduct. The instant, powerful impact media entertainers wield upon its spectators with their alluring appearances and performances establish them as “role models”. Expected to represent and demonstrate only the desirable, the “roles” they are expected to serve become a sweeping qualier that permits no deviation. The “role

The dynamics of K-pop spectatorship 135 model” stance is problematic, moreover, because its application is not only uncritically categorical but also ambiguous, and at times even self-contradictory, and the criteria for the “deviations” are essentially degree-based rather than absolute. Media entertainers are seen as objects of envy and desire, but the serviceoriented nature of their work often renders them vulnerable to the public’s frivolous demands, as we see with Tablo’s rise to and fall from fame. The public demand for perfection, for instance, is often spiced with a dose of transgression within a morally and socially permissible range. Tablo’s academic accomplishment was a different variety of “perfection” fans expected to see in the general pool of K-pop idols whose appeal usually rests on physical beauty, musical talent, or performative prowess. Yet, his choice to enter the relatively unstable and (ironically) less respected eld of show business against the grain of Korea’s meritocratic society effectively qualied him as the symbol of coolness. Other practices that successfully negotiate this ambivalence imposed upon entertainers can be seen, for example, in the way Girls’ Generation or Rain balance stage performance, music videos, and talk-show appearances to act out the unspoken code of “sexy in public display but not promiscuous in real life, charismatic and mysterious in the limelight but friendly and personable off stage”.2 The bifocality of this moral coding system can sometimes become a double-edged sword; when transgression crosses the line and becomes violation, the punishment is doubly severe. However, as in most celebrity scandals, such aberrations tend to be eventually forgotten when the public’s interest simmers down and is redirected to other issues by the news and events the media pours out each day. Indeed, T-ara’s popularity endures, and Jaebum relaunched as a solo singer in 2013, securing a small but devoted following on cable channels. What was different, then, about Tablo’s case? What kind of logic drove the unprecedentedly massive and unrelentingly vicious online mobilisation, and its enjoyment not only among dedicated fans and random trolls, but across a wide variety of social strata, including even the most conservative and established echelons? In order to unpack the complicated nexus of desires at the heart of Tablo’s persecution, we must rst uncover the raw texture of pleasure that a community nds in reafrming itself through an aggressive rejection of alterity. The ethical discrepancy between the means and ends in vigilantism – which is a manifestation of “othering” – reects a deep-seated distrust of institutionalised justice and the mass’s desire to reclaim ownership of power. Tablo’s incident effectively showcases the social, political, and economic dynamics of K-pop spectatorship, the underlying objective and system of which boils down to the idea of “entertainment” as a commodity. To parse out the sense of “ownership” that denes the relationship between spectators and K-pop stars as objects of desire, I employ the concept of “enjoyment” in the place of “entertainment”. The latter (1) highlights pleasure as the result and objective of an economic exchange, and (2) instils a sense of distance between the eventfulness of performance and the consumers who sit back and react to the delivered content. In contrast, the concept of “enjoyment” underscores the agency of spectators who (1) exercise conscious agency in identifying or rejecting certain aspects of the entertainers as idolised

136

Haerin Shin

objects, and (2) become actively involved not only in the process of consumption but also production and remediation, a characteristic most prominent in and specic to the user-driven, electronically mediated ecology of Korea’s entertainment industry. In short, entertainment is what cultural workers make, while enjoyment is what cultural consumers make of entertainment.

The name of the game is pleasure: the crowd, vigilantism, and voyeurism MBC’s (Munhwa Bangsong – a Korean TV and radio broadcasting company) two-part special documentary Tablo Goes to Stanford,3 aired in October of 2010, was the rst breakthrough in the case that turned the tide in favour of Tablo. The programme’s producer, Ki-yeon Sung, personally accompanied Tablo on a trip to Stanford and conversed with professors, administrators, Tablo’s friends, advocates, and even Tachinyo’s leaders in a series of one-on-one interviews. She proposed a simple and straightforward answer when asked about the motivation behind this epochal scandal: “Because it was fun. It was all about fun, from start to nish.”4 People enjoy the misfortunes of others – the majority of Tachinyo and Sangchinse’s members, Sung pointed out, were simply “there for the ride”. The evidence they presented, such as suspiciously advanced levels of non-English major courses listed in Tablo’s transcript, copies of his passport page containing an incorrect address of residence, and discrepancies among the names articulated in various certicates Tablo received from Stanford, were essentially props in a voyeuristic user-driven reality show. From a producer’s perspective, Sung added, Tachinyo’s strategy of soliciting its members’ active participation in this quest as a voluntarily organised community board was an effective move. Whereas passive spectatorship has its saturation point, the act of sharing and building the narrative to be enjoyed engenders ownership and momentum. In Sung’s words, the communal making/telling of stories “keeps the show going”, extending and amplifying its commodity value. The illusory anonymity of online communication also instils the fantasy that the Internet offers a secure channel for unleashing pent-up frustrations, which often results in a form of tightly knit, militant crowd. Elias Canetti presents the concept of the “crowd crystal”, which refers to “a small, rigid group of men, strictly delimited and of great constancy” (Canetti 1962, 73) that amasses others around them in pursuit of a shared goal: “This crowd is out for killing and it knows whom it wants to kill. It heads for this goal with unique determination and cannot be cheated of it. Proclaiming of the goal, the spreading about of who it is that is to perish, is enough to make the crowd form” (Canetti 1962, 49). This crystallised crowd, meanwhile, is often carried away by the inertia of the action and becomes oblivious to the root cause that makes them want to target the victim. In a sense, the leaders of Tachinyo (and Sangchinse) were themselves victim to the mesmerising effect of mob mentality according to Gustave Le Bon, who maintains that crowds are a self-reexive kind of contagion: “[the leader] has himself been hypnotized by the idea, whose apostle he has since become. It has

The dynamics of K-pop spectatorship 137 taken possession of him to such a degree that everything outside it vanishes, and that every contrary opinion appears to him an error” (Le Bon 1896, 113). Le Bon and Canetti’s idea that xation on the target could be a self-sufcient reason for mass mobilisation rings particularly true with the anonymous denizens of our digitally networked age. Canetti asserts that: One important reason for the rapid growth of the baiting crowd is that there is no risk involved. There is no risk because the crowd has immense superiority on their side. The victim can do nothing to them. He is either bound or in ight, and cannot hit back; in his defenselessness he is victim only. (Canetti 1962, 49) Since the advent of the World Wide Web, communities or crowds on the net are becoming powerful forces, turning into most efcient persecutors who can easily overcome temporal and spatial obstacles in their chase. Moreover, as Howard Rheingold observed in Smart Mobs (2003), new technologies are producing proactive and smarter crowds that encourage conscious co-operation rather than blind subscription. Considering the greater accessibility of information and the innitely wide variety of entertainment sources available on- and ofine, those who are “in for the game” are active agents who wilfully and skilfully manipulate the rules of the game in pursuit of their target. Speaking of “games”, we must also note how the Korean entertainment industry structurally condones or even actively promotes voyeurism as a lucrative add-on commodity, allowing its audience another kind of pleasure in the act of dismantling and observing the very constitution of their enjoyment. The “bodies” of the entertainers are not only the source codes and moulds for the “entertainment” (commodity) they provide; they become the commodity itself, subject to reimagining, reshaping, and retelling. A key characteristic of contemporary show business is its heavy reliance on the outbound force of spectatorship, in conjunction with the thorough commodication of entertainers as sustainable generators of enjoyable, consumable stories. In addition to the fantasy they create on stage, personal faculties of individual entertainers are often publically exhibited and capitalised on to inspire tales about the very “bodies” that contain and enliven the fairytale. Content such as dramas, lms, music videos, and live performances create an immediate source of attraction, but for their appeals to retain a longer lasting shelf life, they must serve as seeds for voluntary reproduction and dissemination on the part of the consumers. Also, given that such fantasies may serve as vicarious wish-fullment mechanisms, their enactors, who are objects of not only desire but also identication, must go beyond presenting the wishes in a palatable package and assure the audience that its attainment is a realistic venture. This may be one reason why yen·ng programmes – meaning art, performance, and talent shows, but also referred to as “real variety shows” – are so popular in Korea. Capturing the momentum that K-pop (and K-drama) stars produce in their “bodily” and personal appeal to spectatorship, yen·ng programmes have become one of the greatest beneciaries as well as supporting forces of Hallyu (the Korean

138

Haerin Shin

Wave). Yen·ng programmes comprise talk shows, games, and reality shows that offer a purportedly more candid picture of the entertainers as real people by focusing on aspects of their personalities or life stories that the audience can readily empathise with,5 turning the entertainers into characters in a commercially serviceable hyperreality, which is dened as “the generation by models of a real without origin or reality” (Baudrillard 1994, 1). K-pop “idols” themselves often use yen·ng shows to compensate for the aura of unreality Korea’s “idol worship” paradigm instils. They would run, fall, reveal unmade-up faces fresh out of bed, confess past failures, and even engage in romantic (albeit staged) relationships like a “normal” and approachable individual. Popular yen·ng programmes like One Night and Two Days (Ilbak i-il), Running Man, We Got Married (Uri kyǂrhonhaessǂyo), and Healing Camp offer the audience an approved channel for gossip and voyeuristic enjoyment, simultaneously empowering and gratifying the consumers by elevating them to the position of producers. The formidable marketing effect of yen·ng, in short, hinges on the user-generated narratives (the “buzz”) that revolve around the entertainers, who are embodiments as well as living bodies of interest. Korean Wave star Lee Seung-ki, for instance, is one of the biggest beneciaries of the yen·ng paradigm. Crafting the image of being a h·dang (adorable klutz) in One Night and Two Days, he distinguished himself from countless other “pretty singers” and became the “national little brother” (kungmin namdongseng), inviting the viewers to take genuine interest in him as a likeable individual who offered more for enjoyment than merely looks or talents. Online chat boards, UGC (user-generated content), social network dialogues, and tweets construct the esh and blood of yen·ng stars for whom characterisation is the very essence and cause of their popularity. Existing fame based on performative excellence or exceptional beauty naturally gives rise to responsive buzz. However, a character interesting in and of him/herself (someone who has a story to tell, or rather, to be told of) becomes fodder for gossip. As such, yen·ng establishes a symbiotic relationship with K-pop or K-drama, based on a user-driven process or consumption and production. Tablo was less fortunate than Lee. Tachinyo, Sangchinse, and the general public’s participation in and dissemination of the scandal reproduced the yen·ng model, yet the scandal took on the shape of a scavenger hunt and mystery thriller hybrid. The cultural barriers that incurred mis- or non-communication between Stanford as the epicentre and Korea as the actual site of dispute, which was one of the factors that delayed stateside intervention, became motivational prompts for further sleuthing and new conspiracy theories. For example, the discrepancy among appellations that appear on Tablo’s identications or certications (for example, Danial Sungwoong Lee, Daniel Armand Lee, Daniel Lee, etc.) triggered a homonym theory, though it is in fact a common phenomenon in the US, where nicknames or middle names often result in varying notations. Moreover, Tablo’s singularly fast progress to degree (three-and-a-half years), combined with the Korean public’s unfamiliarity with the co-term system used in many American institutions, aroused suspicion. Some claimed that the Stanford seal on the

The dynamics of K-pop spectatorship 139 electronic transcript Tablo disclosed did not coincide with the design on hard-copy transcripts. Meanwhile, others demanded that Tablo announce the call number for his master’s thesis as proof, oblivious to the common practice of US creative writing departments that allows the submission of a collection of essays for graduation credit instead of a single thesis. In this fashion, a host of misleading evidence amounted to a thrilling chase for the self-designated online detectives in Tablo’s persecution show.6 Even the notion of schadenfreude or of mob mentality cannot fully explain the sheer intensity of feeling exhibited by both active and passive participants in Tablo’s case. The ringleaders, a small yet dedicated group of forum members, and even the sensationalist reporters who closely followed their moves, were “out on a mission” to uphold the public’s right to know and “correct a social injustice”. The issue of professional (and moral) integrity has, of course, always been a matter of scrutiny on both individual and collective levels in any given society with strict standards for assessing and assigning pertinent roles to its constituents. The assumption of privileges based on falsied credentials, such as a degree in higher education from a prestigious institution or outstanding test scores that can guarantee nancial success or general professional excellence, can pose a threat to the community. It undermines the morale and motivation of other members who feel cheated of the appropriated benets, and attests to a systematic failure of the structural foundation on which such enjoyments rely. However, the kind of justice to which Tablo’s opponents claimed ownership was exclusive and limiting rather than democratic in its nature, for the course of its pursuit involved grave violations of privacy as the ruthless inquisitors probed into Tablo’s emotional, social, and professional life. This paradoxical compound of self-righteousness and a total disregard for individual (at least Tablo’s) rights adds yet another layer of perverted enjoyment to the affair. Online vigilantism shares its roots with the excessively rigorous moral standards imposed upon media celebrities in Korea. A deep-seated distrust of the political, economic, and intellectual elites has permeated Korean society for over half a century. Korea’s rst democratic administration failed to eradicate the legacies of Japan’s colonial rule, reaccepting pro-Japan collaborators into the political body of governance and leaving the wealth they acquired largely intact. The political turmoil and dictatorship that followed the Korean War marred the legitimacy of the leading forces in the political power structure, whose growth-driven economic policies also led to a widespread discontent concerning the opportunities for and distribution of economic wealth. The advent of the Internet provided Korea’s long-silenced masses with affordable access to information, communication, and (albeit virtual) congregation, portending a new era of grassroots democracy. However, the public’s lack of practice and desirable set of references in exercising its power of governance carried the danger of repeating the “socio-political injustice” it has set out to correct, as we see in Tablo’s case. In this light, Tablo’s persecution must be distinguished from idle celebrity gossip or generic manifestations of slander such as trolling in the US or “ak-pԃl”s (a Korean-English compound of ak, meaning evil or malicious, and p·l, a

140

Haerin Shin

phonetically Koreanised, shortened version of the English word “reply”) that plague online chat rooms and news bulletins in Korea. The hunt was not only fun but also a political and moral imperative, precisely because the witch and her sins were tangible menaces to the wellbeing of the community. As such, comparable examples of greater pertinence include the Birther Movement that occurred during the 2008 presidential election in the US, or moral/political deployments of online “human esh search engines” (蝸蜈莟苄: a mass-scale, investigative mobilisation of bodies that often take place online)7 seen in China, in the case of which the persecutors conceived themselves as guardians of grassroots power. Moreover, with Tachinyo and Sanchinse, successful precedents of political online mobilisation in Korea functioned as models to be emulated. Nosamo’s (an acronym of No Muhyǂn-ǎl saranghanǎn saramdǎr-ǎi moim, “Congregation of people who love Roh Moo-hyun”) contribution to President Roh Moo-hyun’s election in 2002, or the 2008 candlelight demonstrations in Korea, for instance, boosted the Korean public’s condence in its capacities and further reinforced a sense of civic responsibility.8 Producer Sung commented that she had received countless calls from self-professed respectable members of society (for example, lawyers, civil servants, doctors, etc.) imploring her to “unearth the truth and restore social morale”. Her experience is most illuminating in that it effectively reects the exceptional degree of entitlement Tachinyo and Sanchinse members showed in positioning Tablo as not only an individual fraud but also a public enemy. Tachinyo and Sanchinse’s agrant disregard for boundaries between legally accepted levels of inquiry and explicit infringement upon privacy must therefore be understood as a collective form of vigilantism motivated not only by pleasure, but also by aspirations to power and desire for justice.

Transgressive rules of engagement: nationhood and its enjoyment The marriage of politics and enjoyment, particularly in conjunction with the economic rubrics of Korea’s K-pop entertainment scene, also produces a new avour of aggressive ownership. Two cases involving people unrelated to the show business industry offer interesting comparisons to the Tablo witch-hunt because of the similarities in the charges levied upon the accused and the widespread public indignation they instigated. As mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, the suspicions that befell Tablo were not the rst of their kind; Jung-ah Shin’s case was the prototypical scandal involving falsied academic credentials (Park 2007). Shin eventually admitted that her Yale doctorate was illegally procured through a certicate broker but insisted on the validity of the degree, maintaining that regardless of the means she employed to obtain it, the certicate itself should be acknowledged. Despite Shin’s impudence, the opacity of the investigation procedure,9 and media sensationalism, the public’s involvement in unpacking the mystery was notably less than in Tablo’s case. On the other hand, in 2005 a woman who refused to clean up after her dog on the subway10 became the target of a ruthless shinsang t·lgi (investigating and exposing private

The dynamics of K-pop spectatorship 141 information on the web, such as residential addresses, professional afliations, phone numbers, email addresses, etc.) ruckus. Another passenger captured the scene and posted the photos on the Internet; scandalised netizens rallied against her blatant disregard for public etiquette, excavated and exposed the minutest details of her personal prole. However, even the kaettongnyǂ (dog dung woman) incident – despite it being one of the most violent examples of online vigilantism – eventually settled down, and the wavelength and duration of its impact pale when juxtaposed with Tablo’s case. What specic characteristic, then, did the latter have? The answer, I argue, lies in the cultural mechanism of Korea’s K-pop entertainment industry and its spectatorship. The relational dynamic between the persecutor and the persecuted consisted of an inverse form of abjection, which renders the target neither subject nor object (see Kristeva 1982), rather than straightforward projection (ascribing certain unpalatable attributes of one’s own onto other people). As noted above, “entertainment” has become Korea’s most cherished asset – the source of nationalistic pride since the rst break of the Korean Wave in the late 1990s.11 In this light, the “enjoyment” Tablo offered to the public must be understood as an ensemble of literal entertainment, a celebration of communal agency, and an exaltation of popular culture. The tale of a young Korean-Canadian with a freshly minted BA and co-term MA degree (in none other than English, itself a major object of desire in Korean society’s push towards globalisation) from a prestigious university, a man who voluntarily descended to the ranks of a ttanttara (a derogatory term for entertainers),12 was in itself a national(istic) scandal to begin with. An article in Stanford Magazine succinctly captures how unconventional and idiosyncratic a gure Tablo was in the eyes of the dominant majority of K-pop spectatorship, or even the Korean public in general. In 2001, when Lee told his parents that he was going to be a hip-hop musician, they were horried. They were thinking doctor or lawyer, not rapper. In Korea at the time, hip-hop was not a popular genre. The music scene was dominated by attractive young people assembled into groups by record labels. They belted out sugary sweet songs – dubbed K-pop – and strived to sound upbeat and happy. Critics saw no room for a guy who produced his own lyrically complex music, particularly when it dealt with issues like discrimination and class warfare. (Davis 2011) Meanwhile, Tablo’s repatriation with his precious degree in tow translated into a reclamation of an intangible asset on the national balance sheet, given the widespread concern about the increasing one-way ow of intellectual talent heading overseas, particularly to US academic institutions. This exogenous – unrelated to his skills or qualication as a performer/musician – nature of his popularity rendered him more or less uninteresting to K-pop subscribers abroad, to whom the nationalistic or culture-specic values he held carried little to no

142

Haerin Shin

appeal. Naturally, Tablo’s case was relatively insular in its impact, despite the transpacic character of its origin. Even members of the Stanford community were largely unaware of the developments, notwithstanding their direct involvement, until Stanford Daily published a feature article in September 2010 (Abbott 2010). Inquiries ooded the English Department ofce and the registrar all throughout the summer, but Tablo’s cohort (class of 2001 or 2002) had already left the campus, and legal restrictions kept the university administration from releasing Tablo’s enrolment records without his consent.

Closing words The self-contradictory blend of intimacy (for example, demanding transcripts and identication documents) and exclusive aggression shown by Tablo’s denunciators, and the sheer magnitude of destructive force their coalitions yielded, emerged from a cross-pollination of unique cultural characteristics that dene the K-pop entertainment industry and spectatorship. K-pop spectatorship’s relationship with its object of production/consumption (namely, K-pop stars) is an ambivalent imposition of conicting standards, and the entertainment industry’s structural reliance on user-driven digital media networks.13 K-pop’s popularity is mainly propelled by “idols” who occupy the status of a distant object of worship and admiration as connoted by the etymology of the term. Tablo’s prole may not exactly match that of most mainstream idols, but in Korea’s meritocratic society, his Stanford credentials bestowed an aura of prestige and professional excellence that could successfully compete with the usual repertoires of K-pop stardom, such as idealised physical beauty, admirably choreographed group performance, or the catchy appeal of electronic club music. The singularly robust fan culture that supports and consumes these idols, often engendering devoted followings that verge on religious cults, is heavily indebted to Korea’s powerful digital telecommunication infrastructure and the tradition of communal sharing represented by social networking platforms. Fans, as not only consumers but also creators and distributors of cultural content, have gained radically greater access to and agency over their beloved stars. Also, the asset value of K-pop as a nationalistic source of pride has rendered the entertainment industry and its spectatorship into a “thing to be owned and controlled”. Under such conditions, entertainers are often condemned to a state of inversed abjection: they are the creators, but also the very objects, of enjoyment. As a vicarious agent of social transgression that combines pangs of guilt with joys of deance, and a cultural asset fans could at once admire and aspire to, Tablo bridged the cognitive dissonance between the distancing and levelling effects that dene the relational politics of K-pop spectatorship. Once the grounds for respect fell apart with the outbreak of the scandal, camaraderie took a radical turn towards betrayal, branding him a thief/outsider who had inltrated and deprived the community of its own enjoyment.

The dynamics of K-pop spectatorship 143

Notes 1 Law #10560, National Legislation Information Center, www.law.go.kr/lsInfoP. do?lsiSeq=111970#0000. 2 For a more gender-focused approach to the issue of moral ambiguity and identity politics in K-pop spectatorship and its desires, see Yang and Safe 2010. 3 Tablo Goes to Stanford Part I, directed by Ki Yeon Sung (Seoul: MBC, 2010); Tablo Goes to Stanford Part II, directed by Ki Yeon Sung (Seoul: MBC, 2010). 4 Ki Yeon Sung (MBC producer), pers. comm., 18 July 2013. 5 For more details, see Kim 2008. 6 For an alternative perspective on the issue of vigilantism regarding Tablo’s case, focusing more on what lies beneath the public’s desire for truth rather than social justice, see An 2010. 7 An article in the New York Times provides a wide variety of case studies, along with reections on the ethical implication of what an interviewee in the story calls “becoming evil” by ghting evil (Downey 2010). 8 The following works provide detailed accounts of the two examples I present here: Ko and Song 2010; Paik 2008; and Hyeon 2010. These references have also been used in another article of mine, where I observe the rise of Korea’s empowered digital communities. 9 The investigation procedure was complicated by miscommunications between Yale’s administration departments and the Korean authorities. 10 The Washington Post picked up the story and called the world’s attention to the newly emergent form of digital vigilantism. See Krim 2005. 11 The following studies (among many other works published on Hallyu from a social, political, or economic perspective) and their approach demonstrate this point: Maeil kyǂngje Hallyu ponsaek p’ǎrojekt’ǎt’im 2012; Kukche munhwa sanǂp kyoryu chaedan 2008; Segye kyǂngje yǂn’guwǂn 2012; Ch’oe 2010; Paek 2005; and Pak 2008. For more critical perspectives on the nationalist/transnational tendency of the Hallyu phenomenon, see Yi et al. 2006; and Iwabuchi 2003. 12 The term derives from an onomatopoetic reference to itinerant musicians, dating back to the colonial period. 13 For a closer look into the consumer/producer dynamic of Korea’s digital fandom, see Chu 2002; and Kweon 2010.

References Abbott, Kate. 2010. “Korean Pop Star Battles Attacks on Stanford Record”, Stanford Daily, www.stanforddaily.com/2010/09/27/korean-pop-star-battles-attacks-on-stanfordrecord, uploaded 27 September 2010. An, Tonggǎn. 2010. “Web 2.0 shidae Han’gugin-ǎi sot’ong v.1.0: Chinsil, hǂgu kǎrigo maengsin – T’abǎllo sagǂn-e taehan che 3-ǎi shisǂn” [Korean Communication v. 1.0 in the Web 2.0 Era: Truth, Falsity and Blind faIth – A Third Person Perspective Regarding the Case of Tablo], Han’guk sot’ong hakhoe [Korean Communication Studies Conference] 1: 127–129. Baudrillard, Jean. 1994. Simulacra and Simulation. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Canetti, Elias. 1962. Crowds and Power. New York: Viking Press.

144

Haerin Shin

Ch’oe, Hyeshil. 2010. Hallyu munhwa-wa Tongbuga kongdongch’e [Hallyu Culture and the Northeast Asian Community]. Paju: Chimmundang. Chu, Ch’angyun. 2002. “Int’ǂnet suyongja-ǎi ch’amyǂ bangshik-kwa munhwajǂk saengsan” [Internet Audience Participation Methods and Cultural Production], Han’guk ǂllon chǂngbo hakpo [Korean Journal of Communication & Information] 19: 265–294. Davis, Joshua. 2011. “The Persecution of Daniel Lee”, Stanford Magazine, July/August. http://alumni.stanford.edu/get/page/magazine/article/?article_id=4091. Downey, Tom. 2010. “China’s Cyberposse”, New York Times. www.nytimes. com/2010/03/07/magazine/07Human-t.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0, uploaded 3 March 2010. Hyeon, Muam. 2010. Digital Democracy and the Era of Moohyun Rho. Seoul: Shilch’ǂn munhaksa. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 2003. “Ilbon taejung munhwa-ǎi iyong kach’i: ch’ogukkajuǎi-wa ashia-e taehan t’alshik minjǂk yongmang” [The Utility Value of Japanese Pop Culture: Transnationalism and the Postcolonial Desire Towards ASIA]. In ‘Hallyu’-wa Asia-ǎi taejung munhwa [The Korean Wave and Asian Pop Culture], edited by Cho Han Hyejǂng. Seoul: Yonsei University Press, pp. 87–123. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 2010. “Undoing Inter-national Fandom in the Age of Brand Nationalism”, Mechademia 5: 87–96. Kim, Young-mann. 2008. “Study on Structure of Storytelling in TV Reality Show Program Format”, Munhwa Yesul Contents 2: 115–139. Ko, Kyung-min and Hyo-jin Song. 2010. “Protest Using the Internet, Political Participation and Its Democratic Implications: The Case of the 2008 Candlelight Protest in Korea”, Democracy and Human Rights 10(3): 451–484. Krim, Jonathan. 2013. “Subway Fracas Escalates into Test of the Internet’s Power to Shame”, Washington Post. www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/ 07/06/AR2005070601953.html, uploaded 7 July 2013. Kristeva, Julia. 1982. “Approaching Abjection”. In The Powers of Horror, by Julia Kristeva. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 1–31. Kukche munhwa sanǂp kyoryu chaedan [International Culture Industry Foundation]. 2008. Hallyu p’oebǂ: Hallyu-ǎi hyǂnjuso-wa kyǂngjejǂk hyogwa punsǂk [Hallyu Forever: An Analysis of the Current State of Hallyu and its Economic Impact]. Seoul: Kukche munhwa sanǂp kyoryu chaedan. Kweon, Sang Hee. 2010. “Munhwa inshik-kwa midiǂ munhwa sobi: mobail, int’ǂnet, t’ellebijǂn-ǎi munhwajǂk sobi haengwi yǂn’gu” [Cultural Cognitive and Consumption of Media Culture: A Study of Cultural Consumption Behavior on the Mobile, Internet, and Television], Munhwa kyǂngje yǂn’gu [Studies of Cultural Economy] 13(2): 243–274. Le Bon, Gustave. 1896. The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind. New York: Macmillan. Maeil kyǂngje Hallyu ponsaek p’ǎrojekt’ǎt’im [Daily Economy’s True Colours of the Korean Wave Project Team]. 2012. Hallyu ponsaek: Asia-rǎl nǂmǂ segye-ro, munhwa kangguk K’oria p’ǎrojekt’ǎ [The True Colours of the Korean Wave: Going Global Beyond Asia, Cultural Power Nation Korea Project]. Seoul: Maeil kyǂngje shinmunsa [Daily Economy Newspaper Company]. Paek, Wǂndam. 2005. Tong-Asia-ǎi munhwa sǂnt’aek hallyu [East Asia’s Cultural Choice Hallyu]. Seoul: Pentragram. Paik, Wook-Inn. 2008. “Candle Demonstration and Information Mass: The Formation of the Mass in the Age of Information”, Trends and Prospects 74: 159–188.

The dynamics of K-pop spectatorship 145 Pak, Changsun. 2008. Hallyu, Han’guk-kwa Ilbon-ǎi tǎrama chǂnjaeng [Hallyu, Korea and Japan’s Drama War]. Seoul: Communication Books. Park, Chung-a. 2007. “University Prof. Forges Degrees”, Korea Times. http://koreatimes. co.kr/www/news/nation/2007/07/113_6336.html. Rheingold, Howard. 2003. Smart Mobs: The Next Social Revolution. Cambridge, MA: Perseus Pub. Segye kyǂngje yǂn’guwǂn [World Economy Research Institute]. 2012. Munhwa-wa Han’guk kyǂngje, kǎrigo hallyu [Culture, the Korean Economy, and the Korean Wave]. Seoul: Segye kyǂngje yǂn’guwǂn. Shin, Chongch’ǂl. 2013. “Taebǂpwǂn ‘T’ajinyo’ hyǂngnyang hwakchǂng … T’abǎllo sagǂn chonggyǂl” [Supreme Court Passes Sentence on Tajinyo … Tablo Case closed]. OhmyNews. www.ohmynews.com/NWS_Web/View/at_pg.aspx?CNTN_CD=A000182 2727, uploaded 8 January 2013. Yang, Hon-Lun Yang and Michael Safe. 2010. “The 12 Girls Band: Traditions, Gender, Globalization, and (Inter)national Identity”, Asian Music 41(2): 88–112. Yi, Kihyǂng, Tongyǂn Yi, Pyǂngu Son, Ǎn’gyǂng Yang, and Kisu Pak. 2006. “Che 3-bu Hallyu-e taehan pip’anjǂk sǂngch’al-gwa chǂnmang” [Part III: Critical Reection on and Prospects of Hallyu], in Hallyu-wa 21-segi munhwa pijǂn [The Korean Wave and a Vision of Twentieth-century Culture], edited by Sui Kim. Seoul: Ch’ǂngdong kǂul, pp. 219–335.

9

“We keep it local” – Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” A question of place and identity Gaik Cheng Khoo

Introduction In 2012, Psy’s “Gangnam Style” reached rst place on the iTunes chart in Indonesia, Malaysia, Philippines, Singapore, and Thailand, among over 30 countries where the song topped the chart.1 It spread quickly through social media among Malaysians, prompting the Malaysian prime minister to tweet “Been hearing about Gangnam Style all of last week, even in the news. What’s your view that makes it so popular?”2 A conventional answer would be the catchy tune and simple dance moves that, unlike other K-pop songs and music videos, make it easy for children and older people to participate in the numerous ashmobs, line-dancing groups, and parody videos. That aside, I suggest that its parodic qualities and the replicability of its modern urban settings call out to be re-performed, recast in, and adapted to different locales; in that way, giving forth new identities. This chapter analyses the representation, production, and reception of Malaysian fan parody videos of “Oppa Gangnam Style”. It builds on and intersects with studies on K-pop fans in Southeast Asia (Jung 2011 in Indonesia; Siriyuvasak and Shin 2007 in Thailand). In particular, Jung’s essay on how Indonesian fans use social media to produce “dance covers” (2011) of their favourite K-pop bands is instructive. Jung argues that participating in remaking and performing these music videos enables young Indonesian women to deconstruct normative gender representations and to produce new modern identities for women in the post-Suharto era. The attraction of Hallyu (the Korean Wave) as an alternative culture for fans in other parts of Asia (Paek [Baek] 2005 in Jung 2011; Chitransh 2012; Jung 2011) as these nations move into a period of socio-ideological change arguably suggests the possibility for more complex types of social identities and agency to emerge for youth in these locations. Fans consume and circulate Korean pop music via the Internet and social media, and with the exibility of Web 2.0, in turn may adapt, reconstruct, and recirculate glocalised products of their own, becoming prosumers (Tofer 1980) or producers (Bruns 2008). In the case of the diverse agendas of over 40 Malaysian “Gangnam Style” parodies I analyse, I argue that these parodies are less about embracing K-pop specically for its offering of an alternative complex social identity alone. Rather, these parodies

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 147 assert pride in local place and identity – an identity based self-consciously on a series of dialectical relationships: national to global pop culture, and regional to national place. This is demonstrated not only in what the producers of the videos claim, or in the content of the parodies themselves, but also in what YouTube viewers, fans, and “haters” write in the comment thread – in that sense, becoming a site for contesting racial/ethnic, gender, political, state, and national identities, as well as reecting the dichotomy between liberal and conservative (moral) positions with regard to pop cultural inuences from abroad operating as a form of cultural hegemony. Analysing the videos and their reception gives an insight to the progress of a middle-class multicultural society making tentative steps towards democracy, much of which has been aided by digital technology and the relatively uncensored Internet. Simultaneously, these parody videos need to be considered alongside a broader range of youthful creative expression that deploys pop culture, some more political than others, via online activism in Malaysia (see Lim 2013). Since youth activists as well as politicians are keen to appear popular by participating in the parody or associating with Psy, it is hard to characterise all the videos made as tributes by Psy fans. Instead, each production speaks to the individual or individual group’s own agenda and motivations; each cultivates its own following no matter how small or large. Even though I allow for Van Dijck’s point that “only one in a hundred people will be active online content producers, with 10 ‘interacting’ by commenting, and the remaining 89 simply viewing” (in Bird 2011, 504), and I also take Bird’s point that most comments are brief, banal, and “inconsequential banter”, this chapter will demonstrate that comments, no matter how brief, add up to draw a bigger picture of how such digital platforms become a contentious public sphere to debate issues not permissible in the heavily state-controlled print and television media. In that way, the overtly political parodies which illustrate the coming together of popular culture and politics advance Henry Jenkins’ point about digital democracy as “decentralized, unevenly dispersed, profoundly contradictory” yet resulting in a “changed sense of community, a greater sense of participation, less dependence on ofcial expertise and a greater trust in collaborative problem solving” (Jenkins 2006, 208–209). These videos and their messages of “peace and love”, references to Bersih 2.0 (the coalition for free and fair elections in Malaysia), and, when deployed by the political Opposition (“Ubah Rocket Style”) and those critical of the current Barisan Nasional (National Front) government, indeed manifest what Jenkins calls “old-style politics conducted in new ways” to “shape public opinion, register voters, mobilize supporters, and pump up the ‘negatives’ of a rival candidate” (2006, 209). Before venturing into an analysis of the Malaysian parodies, it is crucial to provide a context for understanding the dynamics of national, regional, and racial identities that shape the discourse in these videos’ production and reception. Racialisation is entrenched in Malaysian society, and Malaysians continue to be divided according to ethnicity and religion in multiple structured and systemic ways – via ethnic politics, pro-Malay policies, the discourse of Malay dominance (ketuanan Melayu), and market segmentation in the media along language lines.3

148

Gaik Cheng Khoo

The Barisan Nasional, which has been in power since Independence (1957), consists of three traditional ethnic-based parties – the United Malays National Organisation, the Malaysian Chinese Association, and the Malaysian Indian Congress – as well as a range of smaller component parties. In contrast, the newly established political opposition (Pakatan Rakyat or People’s Alliance, 2008) formed a multiethnic and people-friendly platform that eschews privileging of Malay hegemony, cronyism, and the divisive politics of race, which is often unfortunately played out as a zero-sum game between Malays and non-Malays. The 2008 general elections saw the Opposition make signicant gains at the federal level, denying the Barisan Nasional its usual two-thirds majority in parliament. As the nation geared up for the thirteenth general election (5 May 2013), which was one of the closest electoral races in the nation’s history, activism increased on social media and the Internet – the only democratic spaces where contentious journalism (George 2010) and criticism can take place, since the press and mainstream media are state controlled. Indeed, social networking sites like YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook were used to provide photographic accounts from rally attendees and witnesses that countered the mainstream media reports of what happened at Bersih 2.0 (Walk for Democracy, 9 July 2011) and Bersih 3.0 (Sit In, 28 April 2012) – massive public demonstrations that were peaceful until the police unleashed water cannon and tear gas on the crowd. Bersih’s now-iconic yellow T-shirts were banned shortly before the second mass rally on 9 July 2011. Sympathisers and Malaysians overseas also staged global solidarity protests on those two occasions that were captured in blogs, YouTube videos, and online news sites. In July 2012, “Oppa Gangnam Style” swept to fame as Malaysians were still recovering from the aftershock of Bersih 3.0 – a supposedly “independent” panel had been set up to investigate police brutality in May. Simultaneously, the global emergence of Gangnam Style coincided with a series of local and national sociocultural events – the Muslim post-fasting holiday Hari Raya Aidiltri (19–20 August), and Malaysian Independence Day (31 August). A few “Gangnam Style” videos were made of Malay Muslims celebrating Hari Raya dressed in their traditional clothing,4 while several of the videos that promoted regional identity (“Orang Sabah Style”) also wished its viewers Happy Merdeka (Independence). Such wishes are also reciprocated, with commentators returning good wishes. These events frame and cast a different light on the parodies, imbuing pop cultural texts usually perceived as trivial entertainment with a national signicance; in this case, the ability to unite Malaysians across ethnic, religious, and regional divides. The Happy Independence Day wishes from Sabahans (posted on “Api Hakka Style” and “Orang Sabah Style”) were particularly notable as they displayed an acceptance and acknowledgement of 31 August 1957 as the national day, rather than insist on 16 September, when Sabah and Sarawak joined independent Peninsula Malaya to form Malaysia in 1963. The following section will begin with a discussion of the subversive qualities of parody with regard to politics, sex, and gender to demonstrate how humour in the face of unending corruption, injustice, and lack of progressive policies (for

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 149 example, with regard to sex education5) becomes a form of creative resistance and implies a certain maturity and independence among producers as participants in a semi-liberal democracy. I then shift the attention to place identities, arguing that the uniqueness of the Malaysian “Gangnam Style” parodies lies predominantly in the strong role of place identities, allowing Malaysians to pay tribute to their hometown, sometimes self-reectively, but always playfully, while aware of being compared to other towns and cities as well as other nationalities. This reection and pride about local identity is often tied up with other aspects of localism such as language, customs, and food, represented in the parodies. They transform into symbolic and nostalgic spaces of belonging and home, especially for viewers from these small towns who migrate to the capital or go overseas to work, study, or settle. Such “insiders” welcome the parochial colloquialism, stating support through expressions like “best” or clicking “like” or thanking the producer for reminding them of home after claiming that “x” is their hometown: “Love Penang!” Lastly, identity and what it means to be Malaysian, Muslim, Chinese, or Malay all come to the fore in the nal section, which examines the viewer responses in the comment thread. Here, it is evident that such online spaces become nascent public spheres for beginning conversations about identity. It is the dialogues in this section wherein negotiations between state-legislated identities and ideologies and more liberal, progressive interpretations and understandings of identities take place, suggesting signs of a maturing civil democracy.

Parody of politics, sex, and gender The subjects of parody typically include Malaysians’ love of food, obsession over technological gadgets and expensive cars, idealised representations of gender, the nation’s social diversity and cultural hybridity, and its uneven chaotic modernity. This section discusses three categories of Malaysian “Gangnam Style” parodies that deal with politics, sex, and gender. Such themes are, however, in the minority among the parodies. But while overtly political parodies are few, they are worth mentioning precisely because, rst, they capture the fears of some producers that they risk arrest and, second, because politics and pop culture intersect among the Malaysian youth who became politicised from Bersih, who might well be from the same age group as producers and consumers of these parody videos. Much more than any of the other K-pop songs, the ultimate gift of “Oppa Gangnam Style” that allows regifting (or sharing) comes in the form of parody, which by the very nature of ridicule implies a detached position towards the source of imitation. It distinguishes the numerous music parodies of “Gangnam Style” from other straightforward dance cover tributes from fans as well as promotional trailers for local commercial lms (“Oppa Rempit Style” and “Oppa Taikun Style”). What is clear about the production is that the makers understand the nature of parody, even if not all the viewers do, the aim being to make fun of norms and quirks peculiar to Malaysia and Malaysians. Such a sensibility assumes a subject whose relationship to his or her object of parody (that is, the self) is somewhat ambivalent, for it is built on the knowledge of both one’s good and bad

150

Gaik Cheng Khoo

habits. Producers are simultaneously celebratory yet critical in their pursuit foremost of fun and pleasure, crediting the music to Psy and calling their parodies “light-hearted entertainment”, accompanied by “This vid was made for fun, please dont hate us :D”. Some frankly state that they are doing this “to follow a trend” (“Batu Pahat Style”), or perhaps they are college students staving off boredom (“GANGNAM style – Malaysian Edition”6). Maintaining critical distance is crucial in light of policies that encourage rote learning and unquestioning obedience to authority gures, as well as in being in a society where various repressive measures were put in place under former prime minister Mahathir Mohamad to curtail dissent and free speech. Thence the existence of these parodies marks Malaysian civil society’s healthy resistance to authoritarianism. Malaysian political parody and comic satire that, in the 1980s–1990s was limited to English-language theatre and underground Malay ’zines, has moved online, where it potentially and probably has a broader circulation through going viral on social media. After all, urbanised Malaysia has an Internet penetration rate of 61.7 per cent7 and 13,078,320 Facebook users as of 30 September 2012 (60.7 per cent of the total population). Parody is exempt from censorship under the Communications and Multimedia Forum of Malaysia content code (Article 7.3) (Khoo 2014, 187). However, this does not guarantee that satirical bloggers and cartoonists will not be prosecuted under the Multimedia Act (Khoo 2014, 187). In fact, bloggers and those posting and circulating mail or comments regarded as offensive or critical of the Barisan Nasional government have been sued for defamation by the government-owned New Straits Times Press (bloggers Jeff Ooi and Ahirudin “Rocky” Atan in 2007) or charged with sedition (political blogger Raja Petra Kamaruddin in 2008). Since the targets of sedition are selective and seem random, a few Malaysian “Gangnam Style” producers include disclaimers to avoid being regarded as critical of the government (“Open Condom Style (A Gangnam Style Parody Animation)”) or as political because the dancers wear yellow T-shirts, which are the trademark of Bersih (“Open Condom Style”8). In fact, the most subversive “Gangnam Style” parody is a low-tech animation whose title “Open Condom Style (A Gangnam Style Parody Animation)” gives no indication of its political inclination. A reference to the commonly misheard Korean title translated into the nonsensical English title “Open Condom Style” (Wagner 2012), the producer “animates” the parodic title by referring to the sex scandal of former health minister Chua Soi Lek (caught on video in a hotel room with a sex worker) and portraying him as a lecherous old man preying on young women. The producer insinuates, “Both Gangnam Style and its parody videos are too mainstream, so I made an animation/cartoon version out of it. Malaysian [sic] will nd this parody video extra enjoyable and funny, if you know what I mean” (my italics). Malaysians would either be amused or offended by the close resemblance to politicians embroiled in various scandals, including the former minister of women’s affairs, Shahrizat Abdul Jalil, for corruption in the National Feedlot Corporation, also known as the “cowgate scandal”. The scene with “C4 explosives” blowing up around characters that resemble the prime minister refer to the 2006 Altantuya murder scandal that has blighted his leadership since he

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 151 took power in 2008 (Quek 2013). The prime minister’s wife, Rosmah Mansor, well known for her penchant for expensive jewellery and handbags, is portrayed wearing a big diamond around her neck. In contrast, the “Gangnam Style” parody issued by the Opposition Democratic Action Party – “Ubah Rocket Style” (uploaded on 15 December 2012) – is explicit in its political ideology and intention: the rocket is the party symbol, and “ubah” (meaning “change”) was the 2013 election slogan.9 Its lyrics focus on the repercussions of the ineffectual Barisan Nasional government policies on the daily lives of ordinary Malaysians, shot using similar scenes to the original “Gangnam Style”. The scene of Hyuna sliding against a pole in a subway train is replaced by a Rosmah look-alike doing the same thing while carrying two handbags and wearing a massive diamond ring and designer sunshades. The lyrics juxtaposed across this scene are: “Ini nak duit. Henti rasuah, kami nak telus” (“This requires money. Stop bribery, we want transparency”). In the ideological counter-struggle to win the hearts and minds of voters, especially the youth in the oppositionstronghold of Penang, Najib shared the stage with Psy when the pop star was invited by MCA to perform at a Chinese New Year Open House event in February 2013. Recognising Psy’s hipness as currency, Najib Razak must have hoped to borrow it. When Najib introduced the Korean star to the stage and asked, “Are you ready for PSY?” Penang fans shouted “YES!” However when he followed up this question with “Are you ready for BN [Barisan Nasional]?” he was greeted with “NO!” He repeated his question two more times and received the same negative response (Loone 2013).10 Even before Psy’s arrival, when news broke that he had been invited by the unpopular incumbent prime minister to perform at the Chinese New Year Open House event, concerned Malaysians and Psy’s fans had already begun to petition the star on Facebook. Several fans addressed the star to try to persuade him against coming, explaining to him about nancial mismanagement and corruption under Najib, resulting in massive national debt (see Malaysiakini 2013). At the Penang performance, when Psy failed to appear after ve minutes despite the MC repeatedly inviting him to come out on stage to toss the Chinese New Year raw sh (yee sang) with the prime minister and other politicians after his performance, some chose to read this gesture as a sign of acknowledgement and solidarity with those fans, though Psy did not directly respond on this matter. Perhaps Psy is an astute semiotician who recognises the interchangeability of meanings between two systems (Najib’s and his own) and while happy to allow the prime minister to borrow some of his hipness, would rather not trade his positive appeal for the taint of an unpopular politician. Such instances where “Gangnam Style” drew references to national politics were rare among the Malaysian parodies, most of which focused on Malaysian lifestyles, with their everyday references to food, cultural practices, and places unique to Malaysia, which I will discuss later. There is only one parody that overtly references sex – a sex-education parody entitled “Gangnam Style – Made Entirely with Condoms – ‘Open Condom Style’”11 with lyrics in English advocating the use of prophylactics. However, it unfortunately associates STDs with women.

152

Gaik Cheng Khoo

On the other hand, notably more gender parody videos were made and, in that way, struck a contrast to Psy’s original version. If Psy’s 30-something portly physicality challenges the conformity of the youthful ideal body types of younger K-pop stars, it also represents a certain instantly familiar but everyday Korean male look that is a comfortable reminder of ordinariness – what Lisa Leung terms “textual cuddliness” (2012). His “ordinary” looks and the music video allow ordinary-looking people to imitate Psy’s funny exaggerated moves and, like Psy, also not take “being sexy” or “being glamorous” too seriously – but instead via mimicking and overperforming glamour, turn glamour into an object of ridicule. This is made evident in numerous outtakes included at the end of several Malaysian parody videos. An instance of how exaggerated male glamour quickly transforms into camp appears in “Synergy Api Hakka Style”. Set in Kota Kinabalu in Sabah and consisting of an all-male cast of dancers and singers from Synergy Studio, the video parodies idealised masculinity, talking about the current obsession for men with “bicep, tricep, six-pack” and opens with a male transvestite in high heels, a long pink wig, sunglasses, and a dress. Such transgendered gures commonly found in Malaysia are derogatorily known in Hokkien as Ah knwa and are often wrongly assumed to be gay. Several of the parodies mention Ah knwa in their lyrics or feature men in drag, in turn provoking homophobic responses like “soo gaaay”. As spaces for gender-bending and queer representation absent in Psy’s original, these videos may not necessarily suggest an embrace of transgenderism. The producer of “Api Hakka Style” even issues a disclaimer that none of the male dancers are gay. Instead, these queer representations are merely carnivalesque ornamentation contained in a form that is understood as subversive play. In parody, men are allowed to enact or perform transgressive gender norms, and women cross-dress as males (“Disted Gangnam Style”12) – for the fun of it, just as everyone else in the video is imitating Psy’s parodic humour and funny dance moves. Thus, cross-dressing for comic effect and entertainment purposes is socially acceptable, even if queer sexualities are not. In this sense, I would hesitate to draw any conclusions about such video parodies as progressive sex/gender paradigms, although they do diversify gender representations and critique muscular masculinity, both of the K-pop boy band variety as well as the conventional male looks that Psy sports. Indeed, Psy’s short-trimmed hair and a face without any perceptible plastic surgery13 together with his “cuddly” physique, sheathed in the glitzy tuxedo, surrounded by hyper-feminine women dancers in “Oppa Gangnam Style” perhaps invites this gender parody. Psy’s body does not reect the obsession with “biceps, triceps and six packs”, but it does not make him less attractive either as he is surrounded by beautiful women.

Representations of place and identity As mentioned above, the majority of Malaysian parody videos focus on representing place and place identities rather than parodying politics and gender. Covering a broad diversity of national, regional, and personal identities, Malaysian

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 153 “Gangnam Style” parodies obsess over questions of place and identity, using the original as a template to engage with global culture in a localised way.14 For those unfamiliar with the suburb, “Gangnam Style’s” location shots seem ordinary and meaningless. Yet the representation of ordinary urban spaces is one of the reasons a Malaysian student studying at the Australian National University cites for the music video’s easy replicability (Tee). Banal, ubiquitous, and anonymous locations like playgrounds, gardens or parks, basement parking lots, elevators, tourist buses, subway/MRT, outdoor recreation spaces, swimming pools, saunas, on the steps in front of tall buildings, a pedestrian crossing at a set of trafc lights, and alleys can be found in any global city today, and thus, Psy’s critique of the suburb of Gangnam makes it popular for reparodying to t other geographical locations.15 Substituting place names, the song allows the assertion of pride in regional and small town identities that are tied to distinct languages, accents, and dialects, as well as specic foods and famous landmarks. “Super Nogori Style” – a solo effort voiced in Minangkabau dialect using Psy’s tune – mentions towns within the state of Negeri Sembilan, and the protagonist stands in front of signboards of these places beside the main road. The backwater landscape with the exception of a shot of a replica of Raja Melewar’s palace (with culturally distinctive Minangkabau roofs) conveys a sense of unease about the encroachment of fast-food restaurants and supermarkets (“MacD” is shot without its characteristic happy Golden Arches, and the mall is full of goods but empty of shoppers). The singer/producer, a native son, focuses on shots of “bom” [bomb] (cow dung on the road) in his parody of Negeri Sembilan’s rurality and the uploader writes that the video is not to be taken seriously, meaning he does not intend to offend or insult Negeri Sembilan inhabitants.16 Specicity and colloquialisms are lost to outsiders but producers and other commentators in the know are only too happy to educate those who are ignorant about the context of the parodies. For example, not many Malaysians and non-Malaysians know that the largest Chinese dialect group in Sabah is Hakka, which explains why there are three Hakka parodies from Sabah.17 Although the Chinese are a minority in the largely indigenous population of this state, they are urban based and Internet savvy. Sabahan commentators end up educating others about the diverse ethnic population of their home state, rst explaining Sabah’s relationship to Malaysia – Sabah only joined Malaya in 1963 – and the island of Borneo, and then explaining how there is no room for racism in a diverse multicultural state as theirs whenever anti-Chinese sentiments are expressed in the comments section.18 Insiders also bring local knowledge about particular locations in the videos to bear and recognise the artful and illegal lengths producers have gone to get a shot. For example, “Georgetown Gangnam Style by Parazee” featured someone planking at the trafc junction of a very busy Penang Road in front of Komtar and another dancing sequence shot on the Penang Bridge where cars are not allowed to stop. At the same time, the regional identities are implicitly based on a dialogical relationship with the nation, represented by the cosmopolitan multicultural production that takes Kuala Lumpur as its centre. Regional identities asserted in

154

Gaik Cheng Khoo

videos set in Georgetown (Penang), Segamat, Yong Peng, Sabah, Klang, Putrajaya, Melaka, etc. are compared unfavourably to “KL Style” by viewers, even though the DJ from hitzFM insists: “we keep it local”. Perhaps the comparison is unfair as “KL Style” and “Super Kampung Style” are professionally made. KL is home to national monuments and architectural wonders iconic of Malaysia’s Islamic modernity abroad – most signicantly the Petronas Twin Towers, which appear in several KL-based parodies. The national is afrmed against the global in a manifestation of Malaysia’s glitzy consumerist modernity, but American culture is also embraced to give global cache to “KL Style”, which included famous Asian American YouTube actor Ryan Higa in a guest starring role. Moreover, it is the KL ones that self-consciously attempt to represent a multicultural Malaysia, drawn from the diverse backgrounds of its citizens who migrate to KL for work. “Super Kampung Style” and “KL Style” feature DJs of diverse ethnic backgrounds, singing mostly in English but with a sprinkle of Malay, Chinese, and Tamil words to represent Malaysian multiculturalism. In fact, the FLY FM Morning Crew DJs from “Super Kampung Style” were invited to sing the song (and teach it to a larger crowd for a “ashmob”) at the ofcial Independence Day celebrations, because the song embodied prime minister Najib’s 1Malaysia, a point many viewers also made in the comment thread. At the same time, the big city productions like “Super Kampung Style” reect Malaysians’ sense of ambivalence about modernity or urbanisation where wearing the traditional sarung seems out of place in the city, like an unsophisticated kampung (village or one’s hometown) habit to be embarrassed about: Everybody wants to come to the city For the promise of bling and lots and lots of money What they don’t realise is that it’s noisy and hazy And a ve minute trip becomes a ve hour journey. But in your kampung, You can wear sarung Anywhere you go oh Everybody knows oh In your kampung, Lepak kat lorong [hang out in the lane] You can go Everybody knows You can pancing, pull the pacat, panjat pokok, gotong royong Super kampung style.19 The cringe-worthy song knowingly rehearses the tropes of rural nostalgia, associating the kampung with shing, leeches, climbing trees, and getting together for collective projects as opposed to weekends shopping at the mall. It nostalgises a past of poverty and simple rustic living to claim the kampung as the alternative to the city, a place where one can really feel at home and just hang out and relax. Simultaneously, the music video also acknowledges that for some Malaysians

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 155 such as urban Indians in Brickelds, the city is their kampung or hometown. Such an inclusion is crucial in breaking down the former identication of race and place in Malaysia whereby Malays were identied closely with kampung, Chinese with small towns and urban areas, and Indians with rubber plantations. At times, the word kampung works as a metonym to mean village, nation, and hometown. The “super kampung” is a metropolitan multicultural hybrid place where cosmopolitans (“US is my kampong yo, we eat burrito”) and villagers (from Kelantan, Trengganu, and small towns) mingle or live side by side and where hybrid cultures spawn. It is this picture of the cosmopolis as tolerant of differences and diversity that perhaps explains the reason for why the singers in “KL Style” insist on calling KL home. Analysis of the representation and consumption of Malaysian “Gangnam Style” parodies suggests that Malaysians are self-reective about their engagement with consumer culture and can relate to Psy’s critique of the obsession with materialism, crass consumption, and keeping up appearances (form over substance) targeted at the nouveau rich neighbourhood of Gangnam in Seoul. For example, “Sabah Hakka Style by Tian Long”20 may be read as a parody of greed and overconsumption, as emblematised by his shame about maximising his credit card: “baby baby tonight better don drink too much because oh, to tell you the truth, I still haven’t embarrassed credit card oledi [sic]”. The popularity of “Gangnam Style” among Malaysians could plausibly be attributed to a general backlash against the urge to consume. However, most Malaysians who have experienced development in the form of rapid urbanisation and its ensuing problems since the 1980s can also relate to Psy’s message. Indeed, haphazard urban planning has led to modern-day problems such as trafc jams, the construction of expensive tollways, pollution, and the general concretisation and mallication of cities. This is evident in the lyrics of “Super Kampung Style” above. Similarly, “Oppa KL Style”, while a loving tribute to Malaysia’s capital city, Kuala Lumpur, also wryly observes the vagaries of city living, strategising over which highways require paying a toll and which are free, before complaining about weekends spent in malls: But there’s no parking there We spend our weekend at the malls looking for parking bay Then when you jumpa [nd] parking bay we spend our whole days there We jalan-jalan dengan kawan [walk around with friends] but buy nothing there All we eat is air [punning on the Malay and Hokkien expression “to eat wind”, meaning “to take in some air or go out”]21 Yet “KL Style” (by Jinnyboytv) represents the city as a vibrant lively place compared to the kampung. The rapper notes that he would never leave it, despite the problems with urban living. The nal group dance suggests perhaps the reason why: not only are the characters of different ethnicities and gender, their costumes reect KL as home to the traditional and the modern, the ordinary (schoolgirl) and

156

Gaik Cheng Khoo

the bizarre (Charlie Chaplin look-alike, someone dressed in a crocodile suit). KL city, in other words, accommodates differences. Due to the centralisation of work and industries in the Greater Klang Valley area as well as the growth of large cities, migration to the city has meant greater population numbers in urban areas (72.2 per cent in 2010 according to a World Bank report),22 which may account for the greater sense of nostalgia for, loyalty to and appreciation of, smaller hometowns by those who have left. In that sense, the Malaysian small town or regional parodies conduct a three-way dialogue, speaking back to the Psy original that they imitate and adapt, as well as paying tribute to and making fun of their regional identities (as backward or unique) in relation to Kuala Lumpur.

Reception Lastly, a study of the reception of these Malaysian “Gangnam Style” parodies reveal how the feedback section on YouTube can become a site for contested meanings over representation between “haters” and supporters. Strangely, viewers rarely discuss or offer an analysis on the substance of the parodies. Instead, they dwell on racial and religious representations. Representation is such a powerful aspect of identity, especially to those who are self-conscious and insecure about their identity in relation to others, that self-regulation occurs via the discourse of shame, as evidenced in the comments section. The Malay word malu (shame) frequently appears as Malay commentators worry about the image Malay Muslims present to the world (of Muslims and non-Muslims) of themselves as improper and immodest Muslims,23 or of other Malaysians tarnishing Malaysia’s image abroad: “i feel that Pas and Bn [the two Malay rival political parties] should unite. thats the only way. i feel that the production of this video is a big mistake. Don’t shame m’sia. Aren’t you embarrassed making this? This would give foreign countries the opportunity to get involved because m’sian citizens are not in agreement. Do you guys want what happened before to recur? please be matured [sic]. as a malaysian, i’m really disappointed with this situation” (myibhu syg, 3 days ago, accessed 30 November 2012).24 This viewer reiterates the state narrative that should the opposition parties and those critical of the current government win in the upcoming thirteenth general election, race riots like the 13 May 1969 one would recur. She/he is fearful that being critical of state leaders could become a pretext for foreign intervention in Malaysia’s sovereignty. Viewers, not only producers, are equally aware of the “invisible audiences” (Boyd 2007) online. Equally potent are the heated arguments that break out among Malays themselves over the question of moral policing and tolerance, and the boundaries of what is acceptable behaviour for Muslims. Conservatives found issue with “Super Kampung Style” DJ Haz wearing a skull cap and a long white robe (jubah) while dancing and rapping to Psy’s music, deeming it inappropriate behaviour for Islamic apparel. A viewer by the name of “Joe Ramos”, chuckling, writes: “hahaha, wearing baju kurung, Malay dress, but copies foreign styles … this takes after the expression Malays will never be lost in the world but they are easy to be lost in the blink of an eye … it’s the end of Malay identity, destroyed

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 157 by the work of these people … in the eyes of the world, this is the image of young women and Malays who are jumping around like monkeys.”25 The comment thread reveals how these sites become a public sphere for a rational discussion about the interpretations of Islam and contesting ideologies between liberal Malay Muslims and more conservative ones: Your thinking shouldn’t be so narrow … lol. How can you guys criticise clothing? Lol … clothing doesn’t symbolise religion, that thinking hasn’t broadened and is still stuck at an old level, that’s why it’s easier to criticise others but not watch ourselves, like the saying, spitting at the sky means it will fall back on one’s own nose. LOL – Hadie Saiful If you want to do it, do it well, wear sarong with a T-shirt only…the white Malay shirt is also worn in the city … moreover, that is baju melayu … wearing a full “jubah” and dancing like that … don’t you have brains? – Rizzi Nordin A triing and the insults have begun about the video. Why don’t we insult Malay lms which are even more polluted? Chill out guys. Don’t go amok. “sit n njoy dis vid”. If you want to talk about religion you need to have patriotic characteristics, everyone is actually right, this video has both wrong and right things, no need to ght. Moreover, if the dancing is not appropriate, what are you gonna do? Cane them? The [original] dance moves are already like that … is “riding ghoman horse” also appropriate? – zowalurve We’re not preventing you from doing it, we just want to improve what’s lacking … – Wan Zul in reply to liesa5632 Yes I agree … if you all want to dance like crazy then there’s no need to wear clothes that symbolise Islam … you’ve insulted Islam whether you realise it or perhaps intentionally. – Liesa5632 in reply to Wan Zul Comment removed Author withheld “nenek molek nye” [repeating line from the song]. – fakriwoo funny, wow it’s the best! – Zamani dota if you’re gonna get upset about something, do it over something else … at Malay lms which you guys are always watching that’s got way more people wearing jubah who rape, and those covered up people who act nice at the mosque but go home to disco, sure they end up regretting but those scenes where they’re touching women go against our religious laws, ok? I’m still in school and I can think like this, what more you older brothers and sisters … calm down. – HYPROGAZER (author’s translation).26 As reected above, third-party rationalist interventions like HYPROGAZER’s that mediate the conservative/rigid Islamists and the liberal Muslims are common.

158

Gaik Cheng Khoo

Although there are brief, banal comments as shown above by zamani dota and fakriwoo, the discussion threads over issues of race and religious identity are not “inconsequential banter” (Bird 2011, 504). Serious commentators like HYPROGAZER post several responses back and forth. Similarly, hard-line Muslim commentators like tongkatsakti2000 have posted many comments in a lengthy thread on “Suasana Gangnam Raya”, which the family explains is about “celebrating life”. The music video was so popular on YouTube that Tok Haroon was interviewed on a television breakfast show on TV3. The comments on the TV3 site show a debate between tongkatsakti2000 and others about Allah, and the real meaning of Hari Raya, saying that these people are being individualistic rather than collective. Others criticise tongkatsakti2000 for being narrow-minded and judgemental. But he seems to persist and in his persistence, illustrates a failure to understand Psy’s parody of materialism and consumerism. tongkatsakti2000 critiques the video participants for behaving in a hedonistic fashion while Muslims in Palestine, Iraq, Somalia, and Sudan are celebrating Aidiltri with poverty, war, sweat, and tears. Other commentators declare that no one in the video has broken any boundaries and that the family is celebrating in their own home and sharing it with others. Racialisation and racism do not prevent Malay commentators from watching Chinese-language Malaysian “Gangnam Style” parodies, perhaps because they come up as a string of “Gangnam Style” parodies on YouTube whenever one is called up. The responses to “Orang Sabah Style”, which on 23 November 2012 had generated over ve million hits and 7,272 comments, may be said to be representative of the other Malaysian “Gangnam Style” parodies that are produced by Chinese Malaysians. These invite comments not only from other Chinese Malaysians but also Malay Malaysians, some of whom make anti-Chinese slurs like cina babi [Chinese pig] or pukimak [vulgar swear word], etc. in customary capital letters. One commentator, FendizKorean, writes, “ni bkn sabah style, ni china punya style … puihhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!” [this isn’t sabah style, this is chinese style … spit!!] as if to highlight his disgust and contempt for the video. Racist insults are not tolerated in silence, and may invite an equally anti-Malay racist comment or a more reasonable response, usually a third party intervening to remind the respondents that “we are all Malaysian” and therefore, support diversity and difference: “you people just stop those rude comment … i mean, this is parody,, don’t take it seriously … suddenly you people become racist … and dont compare [to KL Style]!!” (EnabellaBeAr, 23 November 2012) In many cases, there is a struggle between those who just want to enjoy the video and those who argue over racial and religious representation.27 On the positive side, there are also instances that demonstrate that some Malaysians are beyond racialisation and are equally patriotic: “I’m not a Chinese, but pl watch your language. We are Malaysian. Try to respect others”, and “don’t be mad bro … not all malays are like that … those kind of people who promotes racism are just pathetic and useless …. maybe their parents don’t teach them to respect other people races … we are malaysian what … no need to argue among us”. (gara737 in reply to missionwin, on “Orang Sabah Style”). Chinese Malaysians also watch

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 159 “Suasana Gangnam Raya”, with a few claiming support: “I’m Chinese and I like this video too! Don’t let extremists/fanatics/those crazy for power stop you all! One’s religion shouldn’t be something for others to debate, [it’s not] as if those people are perfect. Malaysia Boleh” (TheLolism, p. 25 of comment thread, written mostly in Malay).28 “Orang Sabah Style” also became a site for nationalist projections, as one Vietnamese posted anti-Chinese sentiments on it,29 mistaking the video to be made by Chinese nationals. More recently, the culture wars between Indonesians and Malaysians are occurring in the comment thread.30 In the case of the overtly political animation parody “Open Condom Style (A Gangnam Style Parody Animation)”, the producer had to disable the comment feature after collecting “enough racist, radical, brutal, rude and uncivilized comments from haters and cyber troopers [pro-government hackers]”.31 Some of the commentators appeal to the producer to remove the “shameful” video and others invite the producer to leave Malaysia and take up citizenship elsewhere. Such comments echo sentiments made by Barisan Nasional-friendly politicians reported in the media and are often used to shut down any criticism. This section has demonstrated that Malaysian commentators and viewers moralise and politicise these parodies by bringing their religious and racial ideologies to bear on the music videos. Here, the parodies are sometimes read as being too political for those who desire pure entertainment. It also raises the question of whether using pop culture to discuss politics shows that ordinary Malaysians are getting more politically conscious; or whether it was the context of the then looming thirteenth general election that seeped into the apolitical pleasures of pop culture. Elections aside, judging by the long and persistent exchange of racist stereotypes, obscenities, and insults on “Orang Sabah Style” by a few trolls, I would venture that even pop culture is not separate from the politics of race and racialisation that permeate the everyday lives of Malaysians. The supposed “anonymity” and abstract nature of the Internet emboldens racist expression and facilitates confrontation with strangers that are less likely to happen in face-to-face situations.

Conclusion Ultimately the discourse of Malaysian unity transcending racialisation takes priority over regional identities as most Malaysians value multiculturalism. The timing with National Day and the election mode must have also given them some cause for reection as to what kind of nation and government (change) they would like. Finally, the discourse of anti-racist national unity is reected in the outcome of the thirteenth general election, which saw the opposition win the popular vote by 51 per cent in urban areas (The Malaysian Insider 2013). In fact, in Penang, where Najib had shared the stage with Psy, the opposition even won an additional seat, showing how the extravagant “Gangnam Style” election ploy backred. Despite the nodes of contestation pointed out above with regard to ethnicity, religion, and national image, the number of “likes” for most of the popular music

160

Gaik Cheng Khoo

parodies far exceeds the number of “dislikes”. At the same time, even as each day brings a new Malaysian parody of “Gangnam Style”, the earlier popular ones have set a standard for newer ones, by which they will be judged by fans who are increasingly saturated and fatigued by the trend. Fans insist on high production values and prefer parodies with altered lyrics to provide more originality and localised identity.32 The videos become creative sites for the expression of a multicultural vision of national identity; asserting regional pride while sharing the nation; expressing political satire; and, lastly, demonstrating one’s global identity as participatory in consuming the original product and perpetuating or viralizing the trend. These expressions or views may in turn be contested by the (self-appointed) defenders of morality, race, and nation as Malaysians exercise democracy on the relatively still uncensored Internet, treating the comments section as a form of public sphere.

Notes 1 See www.ukmix.org/forums/viewtopic.php?f=24&t=92906&start=25, uploaded 7 September 2012. 2 See https://twitter.com/NajibRazak, 28 August 2012. 3 Malaysian news and entertainment is disseminated through Malay, Mandarin, English, and Tamil media. Most ethnic Chinese and Indians do not consume Malay media, preferring English or Mandarin/Tamil channels. 4 The most successful Raya one is “Suasana Gangnam Raya”, a mash-up of “Gangnam Style” and a festive Malay song “Suasana Hari Raya” spontaneously conceived by Tok Haroon’s young relatives during a large family reunion. It starts with the Malay song at someone’s house as everyone is cooking and preparing for the rst day after the fasting month. Then half of the video is of the family dancing to Psy’s “Gangnam Style” in their traditional Raya dress. It ends with the wishes “Selamat Hari Raya, maaf zahir batin”. More a home video than a genuine parody, this video went viral and reached 200,000 views in two days. See www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGq35nHO95s. 5 See the 2004 independent documentary Sex Education in Malaysia: Are We Doing Enough? (Lydia Lubon and Ahmad Yazid). 6 See www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tZSVLBLlng, uploaded 19 August 2012. 7 According to the International Telecommunication Union, 31 December 2011. www. internetworldstats.com/asia.htm. 8 See www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9d1qKaOlH0, uploaded 20 August 2012. 9 See the English version with an explanation of the campaign here: www.youtube.com/ watch?v=BMGfsWgIujk, uploaded 1 January 2013. The Mandarin version: www. youtube.com/watch?v=-3v108GhjBc, uploaded 2 January 2013; in Malay: www. youtube.com/watch?v=8LTnau9rPSA, uploaded 3 January 2013; in Tamil: www. youtube.com/watch?v=fgQ3w8rV4mg, uploaded 3 January 2013. 10 A video showing the audience reaction can be seen here: www.youtube.com/ watch?v=sOPjfqPPbbg, uploaded 11 February 2013. 11 See www.youtube.com/watch?v=77TpN2wWBtE, uploaded 21 September 2012. 12 This video parody also enacts reverse gender roles, with the male dancers on all fours arching their backs in the outdoor gym scene where the women are fetishising their derrieres.

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 161 13 An Indonesian parody, “Psy – Gangnam Style Indonesia Versi Transtv Digital” shows a Psy look-alike whose girlfriend complains that his nose is at and his eyes slanted. She wants him to get surgery but he feels she should accept his natural looks. See www. youtube.com/watch?v=KUk-_rcpFPE, uploaded 5 November 2012. 14 In comparison, Indonesian “Gangnam Style” parodies are less about pride in promoting local or regional tourism, even if the name of the town may be in the title to function as an identication like an address: “Minang Style” is in the Minangkabau dialect but is shot using four locations only: a swimming pool, a golf course, on the cement steps, and inside a ballroom (all looked like they could be within the same hotel or country club). “Gangnam Style Versi Anak Medan 1” has a couple of ofce workers dancing to the music video playing on television in their ofce in Medan. There are exceptions: two from Jogjakarta but only because Jogjakartans are very proud of their city as the centre of Javanese culture. This pride is manifested in the way Javanese rap and an original melody takes centre stage while the “Gangnam Style” rhythm enters only later as a backbeat (see “Awan Gunawan – Jowo Style” and “Ora Masalah Har”). 15 I am less condent that Psy’s follow up video “Gentleman”, which uses similar settings, dance moves, and even sounds like “Gangnam Style”, will be quite as popular to parody as the novelty effect would have worn off. 16 See www.youtube.com/watch?v=kidnYHpQqFA&feature=BFa&list=PLD342DFED 67079454 , uploaded 24 August 2012. 17 “Orang Sabah Style”, “Api Hakka Style”, and “Sabah Hakka Style – Tian Long”. 18 The 2010 ethnic composition of the state of Sabah in East Malaysia is different from in Peninsula Malaysia. The majority consists of non-Malaysian citizens (Filipino and Indonesians 27.81 per cent), indigenous peoples such as the Kadazan-Dusun (17.82 per cent), Bajau (14 per cent), other Bumiputra groups (20.56 per cent), Chinese (9.11 per cent). Ethnic relations in East Malaysia (Sabah and Sarawak) are less fraught with tension as Muslims do not make up the majority. However, there is now increasing politicisation of ethnicity and religion with the inux of illegal Muslim migrants under Project IC to increase Muslim voters in Sabah since the 1980s (Lee 2013). 19 See www.youtube.com/watch?v=eT9Cdejgomc, uploaded 26 August 2012. 20 See www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ETi12I3Lbk, uploaded 4 September 2012. 21 See www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOFkFHKVzyg, uploaded 4 September 2012. 22 See www.tradingeconomics.com/malaysia/urban-population-percent-of-total-wb-data. html. 23 According to “izz jahari” on “Raya Gangnam Style”, “seandainya non-muslim tgok vid nie pasti terdetik d hati mereka … adakah ini org Islam … adkh ini yg dididik dlm agamanya … ” [“If non-Muslims were to watch this video, surely they will think in their hearts, are these Muslims? Is that what their religion teaches them?”] 24 From “Open Condom Style (animation)”: “please be matured. as a malaysian, i’m really disappointed with this situation” [i rasa Pas dngan Bn kene bersatu. thats the only way. i rase pmbuatan video ni adalah satu kesilapan besar. jangan malukan m’sia . takmalu ke buat mcm ni? lepastu negara luar berpeluanglah campurtangan sebab rakyat m’sia tak sefahaman. korang nak peristiwa dulu berulang kembli?] (myibhu syg [English translation]). 25 The original text: “kahkahkah pakai kurung, baju melayu, tp tiru gaya org luar… inilah pepatah takkan melayu hilang didunia tp mudah hilang sekelip mata… habis identiti melayu rosak dikerjakan diorg ni… dimata dunia, inilah imej gadis dan orang melayu kini yg terloncat-loncat mcm beruk.” www.youtube.com/watch?v=eT9Cdejgomc, uploaded 26 August 2012.

162

Gaik Cheng Khoo

26 www.youtube.com/all_comments?v=eT9Cdejgomc. 27 Posted on “Orang Sabah Style” by Animeloverxxxfan: “hey shut up ppl stop talking about races and enjoy the music !!!!” on 27 November 2012. 28 “Saya orang Cina and I like this video too! Jangan bagi extremists/fanatik/gila kuasa hentikan kalian! Soal agama tak harus orang lain pertikaikan, macamlah perfect orang2 begitu. Malaysia Boleh” – TheLolism. 29 “con chó trung quӕc! Dog china fuck china!” (HuǤnh Tҩn Trѭӡng, 22 November 2012). 30 www.youtube.com/all_comments?threaded=1&v=xUNb4yBz9Ck. 31 www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDGLevboeRg, uploaded 30 August 2012. 32 “OPPA GANGNAM ‘RICHAPATHY’ STYLE (Original Upload)”, which had 123,525 hits on 4 February 2014, consists of a small group of Tamilan musicians dancing to the Psy original in the same indoor space. The comment thread is full of upset viewers who criticise them for not being original and who want them to use Tamil lyrics. www. youtube.com/watch?v=T6X8doBACQk&feature=related, uploaded 25 August 2012.

References Bird, S. Elizabeth. 2011. “Are We All Producers Now?” Cultural Studies Special Issue: Rethinking Convergence/Culture 25(4–5): 502–516. Boyd, Danah. 2007. “Why Youth (Heart) Social Network Sites: The Role of Networked Publics in Teenage Social Life”. In MacArthur Foundation Series on Digital Learning: Youth, Identity, and Digital Media Volume, edited by David Buckingham. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 119–142. Bruns, Axel. 2008, Blogs, Wikipedia, Second Life, and Beyond: From Production to Produsage. New York: Peter Lang. Chitransh, A. 2012. “‘Korean Wave’ Takes Indian Kids in its Sway”, The Times of India. http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2012-06-03/india/32005319_1_koreandrama-korean-wave-korean-tv, uploaded 3 June 2012. George, Cherian. 2010. Contentious Journalism and the Internet: Towards Democratic Discourse in Malaysia and Singapore. Singapore: Singapore University Press; Seattle: University of Washington Press. Jenkins, Henry. 2006. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New media Collide. New York: New York University Press. Jung, Sun. 2011. “K-pop, Indonesian Fandom, and Social Media”. In Race and Ethnicity in Fandom, edited by Robin Anne Reid and Sarah Gatson, special issue of Transformative Works and Cultures 8. http://dx.doi.org/10.3983/twc.2011.0289. Khoo, Gaik Cheng. 2014. “Lawak Educated or Lawak Pakai Tie, the Political Satirist”. In Figures of Southeast Asian Modernity, edited by Joshua Barker, Erik Harms, and Johan Lindquist. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, pp. 185–187. Lee, Shi-Ian. 2013. “Dr M, Megat Junid Were Architects of Project IC, Witness Tells Sabah Inquiry”, The Malaysian Insider. www.themalaysianinsider.com/malaysia/ article/project-ic-backred-when-the-bumiputra-were-sidelined-said-former-sandakan, uploaded 16 August 2013. Leung, Lisa Yuk Ming. 2012. “Participatory Hybridism: Structures of Appropriation in the Case of ‘Gangnam Style’”, Paper presented at Situations: Cultural Studies in the Asian Context International Conference, Yonsei University, Seoul, 7–8 December. Lim, Joanne B.Y. 2013. “Video Blogging and Youth Activism in Malaysia”, International Communication Gazette 75(3): 300–321.

Malaysianising “Gangnam Style” 163 Loone, Susan. 2013. “PM Asks: Are You Ready for BN? Crowd Says ‘No!’”, Malaysiakini. http://beta.malaysiakini.com/news/221185, uploaded 11 February 2013. Malaysiakini. 2013. “Psy, Please Don’t Attend BN’s Party, Plead Malaysian Fans”. www. malaysiakini.com/news/220627, uploaded 4 February 2013. Malaysian Insider, The. 2013. “Barisan Would Have Lost Without Postal, Advance Votes, Says Merdeka Centre”. www.themalaysianinsider.com/malaysia/article/bn-keptmalaysia-thanks-to-postal-and-advance-votes1, uploaded 12 August 2013. Paek, Wǂndam. 2005. Tongashia-ǎi munhwa sǂnt’aek: ‘Hallyu’ [The Cultural Choice of East Asia: “Hallyu”]. Seoul: Pentagram. Quek, Kim. 2013. “Exorcising the Ghost of Altantuya?”, Harakah Daily, http://en. harakahdaily.net/index.php/articles/analysis-a-opinion/7660-exorcising-the-ghost-ofaltantuya.html, uploaded 31 July. Siriyuvasak, Ubonrat and Shin Hyunjoon. 2007. “Asianizing K-Pop: Production, Consumption and Identication Patterns among Thai Youth”, Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 8(1): 109–136. Tofer, Alvin. 1980. The Third Wave: The Classic Study of Tomorrow. New York: Bantam Book. Wagner, David. 2012. “‘Open Condom Style’ and Other Misheard K-Pop Lyrics”, Yahoo News. http://news.yahoo.com/open-condom-style-other-misheard-k-pop-lyrics-204129 493.html, uploaded 24 August 2012.

10 A sound wave of effeminacy K-pop and the male beauty ideal in China Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song

In Korea, the ideal image of male beauty has changed radically over the past few decades. Whereas until the early 1990s Western models and celebrities held considerable sway as icons of beauty, they have since been eclipsed by Korean idols. The contemporary ideal male is either slim or athletic, always well groomed and dressed, modest and courteous in demeanour, and cosmopolitan. Among Westerners, it is often pointed out that the double eyelid and elevated nose bridge surgeries that so many Korean celebrities have shows that the Korean ideal is ultimately a Western one. But regardless of what racial stereotype the physical traits may correspond to, based on the great attention that is paid to their appearance, Korean idols have been setting a standard of their own that is increasingly admired and emulated across Asia. Apart from the broad physical characteristics mentioned above, many of the images that feature Korean stars generally considered particularly attractive show them wearing lip gloss and eyeliner, and a range of jewellery and accessories. To Westerners, this may appear effeminate or androgynous (Maliangkay 2013, 58–59). Although we reject this notion overall, there are occasions, including the ad campaign featuring actor Bae Yong-joon for The Face Shop cosmetics chain from 2008 to 2009, where an idol is intentionally made to appear effeminate in order to catch people’s attention.1 Because we consider the look to be a very stylised one, we use the term “beauty” to refer to it here. Although in English the term connotes a certain softness, unlike “handsome”, many of the celebrities have chiselled arms and chests, and are considered by their fans to represent a “beastlike” masculinity (Jung 2011, 164). In making decisions, people are commonly led by the culture or subculture with which they choose to associate themselves, consciously or subconsciously, and the generation to which they belong. Those cultures and subcultures do not, however, represent singular or constant sets of codes. Over time, factors such as economic change and developments in popular culture will usher in changes to the ideal for men and women of different generations. New notions are often adopted and adapted from overseas; the reputation of the culture with which they are associated will determine who adopts them and how. A foreign culture’s overall reputation does not improve or deteriorate quickly, but, in popular culture, new notions are sometimes adopted rapidly, usually by the younger generations who

A sound wave of effeminacy 165 use them to positively distinguish themselves within their sociopolitical environment. In China, the full range of Hallyu (Korean Wave) products is consumed, including games, dramas, and comic books (manhwa). Young teenagers are among the most noticeable endorsers of pop culture, and since K-pop caters, rst and foremost, to relatively younger audiences, they have been playing a primary role in the adoption and adaptation of associated Korean standards into China. Although female singers have also found some success in China, since the late 1990s, male acts such as H.O.T., Rain, and TVXQ, and more recently Jang Keun Suk, Exo-M, and Super Junior M, have been particularly successful, both as music performers and models. Their good looks (rather than their musical talent) are the object of considerable scrutiny, and they decorate bedrooms, fashion accessories, and smartphones. When on 9 June 2012 the boy band Exo-M appeared on the popular entertainment show Happy Camp (Kuaile dabenying), the great attention fans had been paying to the look of the group led the show’s hosts to apply a special smartphone app that measured facial perfection to the group’s members. Whenever the app gave a low score, the hosts and the audience appeared astonished.2

Figure 10.1 EXO-M appearing on Happy Camp on 9 June 2012.

166

Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song

When scrutinising the consumption of popular entertainment in China, two major issues present themselves. One is that the large consumption of counterfeit products and illegally downloaded media makes it impossible to rely on ofcial statistics. Another is that China’s vast regional differences are not considered, and that it is too often treated as a cultural monolith. In this chapter we examine the adoption of Korea’s ideal of male beauty in China. We explore the various factors that drive it, and analyse the considerable practical and ideological differences between Yanji – in China’s northern Jilin province – the capital of the Korean autonomous region – and Hong Kong.

Beauty through Chinese-Korean eyes Yanji is the capital of Yanbian – the Korean autonomous prefecture in the northeast of China. The city is home to a little over half a million people, some two-thirds of whom are ethnically Korean.3 While the majority population’s ethnic background is always duly noted, most locals speak Chinese as their rst language, and as their second a Korean that somewhat resembles that of North Korea in sound, grammar, and written form. The city centre is fairly busy and congested, and at night it is lit up by the largely bilingual light signage of restaurants and KTV (karaoke) establishments, but advertising for fashion and entertainment is not prominent. Virtually all posters and billboards try to attract consumers with their text; those with large images can be found most at the small number of department stores, and the central shopping area around the streets of Hailan lu, Xinxing jie, and Renmin lu. Despite Yanji’s economy developing well, it does not offer much lure for young high-school or university graduates (Lankov 2007), and many move to other Chinese cities to take up a job where they can benet from being bilingual, or go to South Korea to work or further their studies. Liu Feng’s 2007 documentary YB Box, on Yanji’s local beatbox scene, suggests there is more to the city than meets the eye, but even so, it lacks noticeably popular culture-driven public commerce. Apart from the Yanbian Workers Cultural Centre (Yanbian gongren wenhua gong), there are no major cinemas in the city. Most people rely on their TV and PC for their daily dose of news and entertainment. Some local residents have purchased satellite antennas to watch South and possibly North Korean TV, but in the late 1990s it was reported that the Chinese government jammed TV and radio broadcasts from the North (Platt 1997). Considering the political situation has not signicantly changed since, those signals may still be jammed today.4 Most people are able to stay informed and entertained via the Internet.5 Yanji’s popular culture, which occupies a major share of online activities, is dominated by Chinese, Western, and increasingly South Korean images. Although due to the sizeable trade that takes place across the nearby border, North Korean images are fairly common, they have little lure beyond the nostalgic. What is more, reports suggest that the image of South Korean male idols is also impacting on the more afuent North Koreans (Jun Hyeong Park 2011; Eun Kyoung Kwon 2011).6 Moving images have more impact than still ones. Although glossies carry a signicant measure of prestige (Song and Lee 2010), the general impact of

A sound wave of effeminacy 167 magazines on young consumers’ notions of style and beauty is negligible in comparison to live entertainment viewed and downloaded via the Internet. But in China, men’s fashion magazines have shown an annual sales growth of 30 per cent since 2006 (Xu 2011), which may be partly due to the growing number of bachelors. In Yanji, Chinese-language specials on specic Korean idols are available, as well as regional magazines dedicated to Hallyu, such as Tornado of the Korean Wave (Hanliu xuanfeng) and Korean Wave Gifts (Hallyu sǂnmul).7 Fashion magazines dedicated to young men comprise both those in Chinese distributed widely across the region as a whole, and those in Korean intended for locals. While the rst category includes cosmopolitan glossies such as Bazaar Men’s Style, GQ, Men’s Health, and Elle Men, regional publications include the largely black-and-white pulp Private Stories (Min’gan iyagi) and Law and Life (Pǂmnyul-gwa saengwhal).8 Andrei Lankov (2007) writes: Some of these publications hardly need sponsorship, since they deal with the ever popular topics of sex, crime and violence. The sheer abundance of this pulp ction serves as another proof that the Korean language is quite alive in the area: who would buy these magazines otherwise? Among those targeting young Korean-speaking women are the fashion and lifestyle bulletins Youth Life (Ch’ǂngnyǂn saenghwal) and Yanbian Woman (Yǂnbyǂn nyǂsǂng).9 Like most local publications, they contain mostly text with black-and-white photos with the only few colour pages constituting ads for beauty and cosmetic surgery clinics.

Figure 10.2 A kiosk booth in Yanji, 27 January 2012.

168

Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song

Since many Chinese consider Korean surgeons to be both superior and more trustworthy than their Chinese counterparts, the city has become a regional haven for those seeking cosmetic surgery. Clinics can be found throughout the capital’s downtown area, and there is much advertising for them in publications and on façades. But local men are not seeking cosmetic procedures en masse quite yet. Korean celebrities may have helped shape the local image of male beauty and make cosmetic surgery more acceptable, but in and around Yanji, men remain relatively conservative in comparison to, for example, Shanghai. Fashion and beauty ideals are strongly tied to people’s sociocultural position and practical living conditions. The latter include such elementary circumstances as median temperatures, which affect daily wear and skin tone, and, consequently, the look that distinguishes people of a particular social class. Beauty is not merely a natural and absolute quality; it is that which we see and get used to. While many studies prove that there is an ideal waist and jawline, others point out that we seek partners who share a number of physical traits with our parents or previous partners. For the majority of men in Yanji, male beauty therefore retains a Chinese quality, regardless of the many Korean male idol images they are subjected to. A small survey conducted in February 2012 among 21 male students of the Yanbian University of Science and Technology in Yanji, a relatively conservative environment, suggested that for young men growing up in this region, attractiveness was still tied very much to nancial power and physical strength. The type of popular entertainment programmes consumed differed considerably among the respondents, with some indicating they spent virtually all their time on either Chinese or Korean entertainment. On a weekly basis, however, Korean entertainment and Chinese entertainment made up 31.9 and 30.5 per cent, respectively, of the group’s weekly consumption. Japanese and American entertainment, meanwhile, made up 15 and 12.5 per cent, respectively. The respondents generally expressed their appreciation for South Korean fashion and design. Kim Chinnyong (b. 1991) said that he felt that “Korean-Chinese locals dressed like Koreans did ve years ago” (Chungguk Hanjoktǎr-ǎi p’aesyǂn-ǎn Han’guk saramdǎr-ǎi tasǂnnyǂnjǂn-gwa pisǎthamnida). Pak Kangmin (b. 1991) and Pak Asǂng (b. 1990) both felt that the styling of men had become a little “more effeminate” (yǂsǂngsǎrǂwǂjyǂttago). Among the men they felt were the most appealing were the Koreans Jang Dong-gun, Hyun Bin, and Rain, as well as Hong Kong’s Andy Lau, and the Taiwanese pop singer Lihong Wang. Five respondents named Jackie Chan (b. 1954) because of his character and his manliness. Although it is impossible to draw any major conclusion on the basis of this small survey, it is surprising that the men selected Jackie Chan considering the star’s age and relatively stocky appearance. The survey could suggest that there is a different ideal masculinity among male students in Yanji – one that favours reliability in the form of wealth and a strong physical complexion over ne features. The technology students’ choice of Jackie Chan may not reect so much a disregard of the value of idol-like beauty, but, rather, a desire to meet a more compound range of values that combines reliability, and possibly fame, with good looks. None of the respondents said they were

A sound wave of effeminacy 169 interested in having anything changed about their appearance if given the opportunity, although a positive answer would probably have been considered inappropriate among their peers. In Yanji, the many ads for beauty and cosmetic surgery clinics do not target men, and at the large Yonsei cosmetic surgery clinic10 on Renmin Lu, the head of the department of orthopaedic reconstructions (chǂnghyǂng oegwa), who asked not to be named, noted that men still only made up 1 per cent of the total number of customers, and that this number was not showing any increase yet (pers. comm., 2 December 2012). A few young women from the region we spoke to during our research conrmed what remains, of course, a mere hypothesis. They told us that they disliked the look of contemporary Chinese and Korean stars that they believed was avidly emulated by people from Hong Kong, favouring a more masculine one instead. Cosmetic surgery itself does not represent a Korean masculinity. Nor do the procedures commonly carried out. It appears that among the growing number of men who have cosmetic surgery in China, the procedures pursued are similar, regardless of ethnic background. Because of the considerable nancial cost, however, only few men are able to have cosmetic surgery, whatever ideal they pursue with it. Most men express their masculinity in other ways, such as through fashion, demeanour, and the values they uphold. When economic change and popular culture usher in changes, the empowerment that new notions promise determines who adopts them, and how. The challenge that those notions pose to an existing masculinity depends on the degree to which they are adopted. The Chinese and Korean-Chinese male residents of Yanji will weigh the sociopolitical signicance of a Chinese masculinity against a South Korean one. And it appears that unless their personal lives and career paths cross over into South Korea, they will ultimately prioritise the former.

Male beauty as a commodity: Korean pop culture in Hong Kong Unlike on the mainland, where Koreaphilia is sometimes paradoxically mixed with nationalist Koreaphobia among the youth,11 in Hong Kong the Korean Wave is free of political disturbance and has been overwhelmingly successful. There are many avid fans of K-pop and K-dramas among the Hong Kong youth and Korea has long been regarded as a fashion setter in Hong Kong. Korean fashion, cosmetics, and food are zealously embraced in the city. Korea is also a popular tourist destination for many Hong Kongers, especially the younger generations, and its image has been stereotypically associated with romance and fashion. The interest in Korean pop culture has also led to a surge in the number of students learning Korean language and culture at the eight local universities (Kim 2010). In a sense, the Korean Wave, also known as “Korean wind” in Hong Kong,12 is the successor of the “Hong Kong noir” of the 1980s, and Japanese anime and manga of the 1990s, as the frontier of the global consumption of East Asian popular culture. The rst wave of Korean pop culture hit Hong Kong around the mid 1990s, when Korean romantic lms such as The Ginko Bed and Christmas in August were warmly received in local cinemas. Korean lms came into prominence

170

Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song

Figure 10.3 Boy band 2PM feature in a Korean tourism advert on a Hong Kong bus, 15 March 2013.

in 2001 with the smash hit My Sassy Girl – a lm that has had a profound impact on young people’s perceptions of masculinity and romance in Hong Kong. At the same time, Korean TV dramas successfully entered the Hong Kong market, with the sensational airing of Cantonese versions of such drama series as Autumn in My Heart, Winter Sonata, Full House and Stairway to Heaven, by the two local TV stations, TVB and Asia TV, between 2002 and 2004. The most successful K-drama in the Chinese-speaking market so far, however, is, without question, Jewel in the Palace (Taejanggǎm) (Chua and Iwabuchi 2008, 5–6). It scored record ratings when shown in Hong Kong in 2005, generating not only massive admiration of the actress Lee Young-ae as an idol, but also unprecedented interest in Korean food and tourism among Hong Kong people. In 2009, the TV drama series Boys Over Flowers (Kkot-poda namja) gained popularity among young audiences with the images of a feminised type of male beauty, embodied by the male stars in the drama, such as Lee Min-ho, Kim Hyun-joong, Kim Bum, and Kim Joon. Fans in Hong Kong have idolised and emulated the male stars because of their long hair, delicate skin, and effeminate smile in particular. This trend was continued by You’re Beautiful (Minamishineyo), shown in the same year, starring the male idol Jang Keun Suk. The “ower boy” image is also represented by Korean boy bands, which have a great impact on local youth. K-pop idols, ranging from H.O.T. in earlier years to Super Junior and, most recently, CNBlue, have attracted a large number of devoted

A sound wave of effeminacy 171 fans in Hong Kong. For instance, on 11 March 2013, not long after it was announced that CNBlue would come to Hong Kong on 11 May 2013 as part of their “Blue Moon World Tour”, 7,000 tickets were made available for purchase, but they sold out within ve minutes. Due to the overwhelming response, an additional show was added on 10 May.13 CNBlue – the rst Korean idol band to go on a world tour – exemplies a trend across East Asia in recent years that some scholars have termed a “Pan-East Asian soft masculinity” (Jung 2011; Louie 2012). It demonstrates the challenges to established gender norms brought forth by global circulation of popular culture. The effeminacy of men, and even gender bending in popular culture, indicate new possibilities of gender and sexuality as a result of the empowerment of women in a consumerist society (Song and Lee 2010, 2012). In her study of the consumption of Korean popular culture in other countries, Sun Jung argues that the mugukchǂk (country-neutral) traits of South Korean masculinity have to “be explained through the notion of the transformation and reconstruction of South Koreanness that are driven by the ‘transcultural’ hybridization processes between Korean traditional masculinities and global masculinities” (Jung 2011, 4). She resorts to theoretical interpretations of postcolonialism (Japan), trans-pop-consumerism (Singapore), and neo-Orientalism (the West) to explain the “different ways in which the ambivalent desire of each set of regional viewers embrace hybrid South Korean masculinities, which include soft masculinity, global masculinity, and postmodern masculinity” (Jung 2011, 4). The situation of Hong Kong bears some similarities with that of Singapore. As an internationalised city, fans in Hong Kong exemplify the three characteristics of “trans-pop-consumers” summarised by Sun Jung: cultural hybridity, pursuit of a global lifestyle oriented towards the procurement of leisure and entertainment, and technological savvy (Jung 2011, 76). Young consumers in Hong Kong aspire to a cosmopolitan identity and are anxious to follow the “global trends” in terms of gender. At the same time, however, as a Chinese city, the reception of the effeminate type of male beauty can be attributed to the shared cultural heritage between China and Korea. The image of the “ower boys”, which is reminiscent of the Confucian sǂnbi (scholar-ofcial) masculinity in Korean history, is viewed by Chinese fans as a revival of the wen (ᩥ) masculinity and the “fragile scholar” images in traditional Chinese society (Louie 2002; Song 2004). This cultural afnity explains why Korean pop stars, who may appear too effeminate for Western girls, are idolised by female fans in Hong Kong. It is a good example of the interaction between local and global forces in the construction of masculinity. Unlike in Japan, where middle-aged women constitute the majority of Bae Yong-joon’s fans (Chua and Iwabuchi 2008, 9), in Hong Kong, K-pop fans are mostly teenage girls. Korean idol stars exert great inuence on the perception of an ideal manhood, giving rise to a consumerist model of masculinity that is characterised by cosmetic surgery and fashionable outts. The so-called “Pan-East Asian soft masculinity” is fundamentally a result of commodication of the male body, and a fantasy promoted by consumerism instead of masculinity in real life.

172

Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song

To a certain degree, it demonstrates how “capitalism works through feminization of mass culture” (Lin and Tong 2007, 220). As we found out during our interviews with local university students in Hong Kong, most young female consumers fetishised the spectacular and idealised male body, and there is a strong sense that images of Korean masculinity presented in popular cultural texts are not representative of “real” Korean men as encountered in person or as imagined.14 In other words, the “ower boys” remain in an intangible fantasyland. We interviewed 19 university students (14 female and 5 male) in a university in Hong Kong, who all claimed to be fans of Korean pop culture.15 They proved to be quite engaged with Korean pop culture in general and were very up-to-date with the latest Korean TV shows and recording artists, as well as with the latest trends in fashion to come out of Korea. Although they live in Hong Kong, they maintained a high level of awareness and consumption of Korean cultural products. This was maintained largely through information and communication technologies allowing for digital versions of music and television shows to be streamed to the students in Hong Kong, sometimes only hours after they were rst broadcast in their home market. Although many respondents had quite favourable responses to Korean popular culture, they did not report the Korean Wave to be a signicant inuence on their behaviour or their self-image. In other words, the masculinity constructed by Korean popular culture was not relevant enough to their daily life. More than one respondent mentioned Korean aesthetic cosmetic surgery. One claimed that it was very hard to know what Korean artists “truly” look like because she believed that almost all of them had had signicant facial cosmetic surgery. She also attributed the different views on cosmetic surgery to cultural difference: It is hard to say which one is most handsome […]. I don’t know which one had plastic surgery before. I think they may not look handsome without their surgery […]. Yes I think most Korean guys want to have plastic surgery because that is accepted there [in Korea] and it is denitely considered to be masculine. Also their clothes are very stylish and I think that is quite masculine in Korea to be a stylish man – sometimes they are more stylish than the girls. I think not all Chinese girls can accept a boyfriend who has undergone plastic surgery because traditionally we think a real man should not pay too much attention to his appearance. Hong Kong girls can’t accept it if a guy spends more attention and time on his appearance than they do themselves. (Susan [20, female]) The female respondents were divided over whether Korean men make good boyfriends. One student said she aspired to having a Korean boyfriend because Korean men were known for being handsome, romantic, caring, and gentle (wenrou), showing obvious inuence of the “good man” characters in K-dramas (see Lin and Tong 2007, 225):

A sound wave of effeminacy 173 Yes, I think Koreans make better boyfriends because in Korean TV series they always give their girlfriends surprises and they are very romantic …. Guys in Hong Kong are not like that. (Stephanie [20, female]) But another girl immediately questioned the realism of the Korean men shown on TV: [But] those guys in the TV shows are not real, and probably have [aesthetic] plastic surgery to look like that. (Alice [21, female]) Despite these different views, most respondents agreed that Korean masculinities and Chinese masculinities are more similar to each other than to Western masculinities. For instance, one of the strongest sentiments echoed by respondents in the focus groups was the observation that many contemporary dramas and boy bands in Hong Kong and mainland China were attempting to emulate the style and “feel” of Korean dramas and boy bands: Korean male stars look very handsome. I think they are very popular in Hong Kong because we can understand their fashion. I think Western people will not understand their [the Korean male celebrities’] styles and they will probably think it is not masculine. I think Korean and Chinese fashion can be quite similar and that’s why Korean men’s fashion and skincare are more popular in Hong Kong than in the West. (Kathy [19, Female]) Yes, actors in Hong Kong and China are copying Koreans. They want to be as popular as the Korean stars so they learn their [the Koreans’] style. I think some of them even have plastic surgery to look more like Koreans. They even dance like the Korean [boy bands]! (Jack [19, male]) However, although Hong Kong stars were viewed as imitating their Korean counterparts, there were key differences identied between the two groups. Hong Kong men are still different from the Koreans. No matter how similar they are in the TV shows they still have many differences […]. Hong Kong guys will also not have those haircuts and clothes as the Korean stars because I don’t think that is compatible with them. (Fion [21, Female]) Our male respondents also saw key differences between themselves and Korean male celebrities. Although some expressed that they liked Korean male celebrities’ fashion style, they also saw Korean males as stylish but in their own context. For instance:

174

Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song I think this guy [pointing at a picture of a CNBlue singer] is very handsome. I like his hair and his clothes. He looks very cool but I can never copy him because I would look too sissy. That style doesn’t suit Chinese guys and I think here in Hong Kong people would think I am strange if I look like him. (Steve [20, Male])

It seems that for most of the consumers of Korean pop culture we interviewed in Hong Kong, male images in Korean pop culture represent the fantasy and desire about a ctional and idealised masculinity. However, the responses to, and understandings of, masculinity in the Korean Wave are highly nuanced. For instance, our research found that Hong Kong students interpreted the Korean Wave on many levels: rst, in the context of (an imagined) Korean culture; second, in the context of consumption and entertainment; and third, in the context of their own aesthetic desires. This led to their holding stratied beliefs as although many of our respondents liked the images of masculinity presented through the Korean Wave, they also felt that the fashion and styles of some Korean male celebrities were too effeminate to suit their own personal lives, and incompatible with the local culture and its gender imagery. This nding spurs further investigation on cultural ltering and hybridisation in the process of the transformation of popular culture across national boundaries.

Conclusion Although there are signicant differences between Korean, Chinese, and KoreanChinese cultures, the way in which popular culture drives consumption in each is similar. Consumers decide what the value is of the commodities they can acquire, and they use them to distinguish themselves. As Baudrillard puts it (1981, 38): “Through objects each individual and each group searches out his-her place in an order, all the while trying to jostle this order according to a personal trajectory.” This personal trajectory can generate a different outcome even when a foreign standard becomes the new norm. There is no set hierarchy among the commodities, and priorities are often shaped by practical conditions, such as media and Internet penetration, the availability of fashion-related retail outlets, prevailing ideologies, and the consumer economy. Since these factors are likely to vary between regions located at vast distances from each other, notions of beauty may differ even at a single point in time among cultures commonly regarded as homogenous. Beauty is, we contend, a commodity. In contrast to Immanuel Kant’s view that beauty is an absolute form of “pleasure without interest” and thus unrelated to concerns over an object’s positive qualities, we believe that people’s notion of beauty is shaped also by its practical application, which may correspond with what Kant recognises as driving people’s notion of that which is “good” (Kant 1987, 49; 52). In critiquing Kant’s ideas, Nietzsche (1989, 104) points out that you cannot ignore people’s desires when studying beauty. Bourdieu (1984, 247) has shown that those desires, or concerns, are determined by people’s sociopolitical conditions. People of more or less the same class in two regions with different

A sound wave of effeminacy 175 sociopolitical and economic conditions are likely to have different expectations in regards to beauty and expressions of gender. Familiarity, born largely out of practicalities, customs, and traditions, plays a signicant role in this. What might be easily perceived as a subjective perception of beauty, may often be the product of the images a person has grown up with (Kant 1987, 82). Keeping up with the ever-changing symbolic meaning of material goods and immaterial commodities allows people to maintain and raise their social status. Marketing, meanwhile, will help consumers to stay informed. As such, it drives changes in popular culture and often is the sole reason for them. It persuades consumers to believe that their purchase of a service or product will render one or more particular values. The majority of fashion and cosmetics ads claim that the product will highlight consumers’ sense of fashion, or their expertise at optimising and maintaining their looks. The end result makes them more than just t in; it makes them stand out. Social networking services (SNS) play a major role in this. In 1989, before the emergence of the Internet, Fiske (1989, 138) wrote that consumption in everyday life was “essentially a private affair”, arguing that its skills would “go largely unrecognized and unapplauded”, but SNS now allow users to instantly advertise their position on matters of material and immaterial nature, and reap the benets thereof.16 Masculinity is dened by much more than a man’s look, and it may be dened by negative traits as much as positive ones. The characteristics that determine a man’s attractiveness are ultimately dened by the observer’s sociopolitical conditions, which will never change as fast as fashion gurus and marketeers would have it. Popular culture is, however, a compelling force that constantly ushers in new notions of style with considerable persuasion. While some men will resist the new standards for personal or nancial reasons, there is a certain hierarchy. Men may resist buying at a particular type of outlet, or wearing a particular type of clothing, but when, due to the arguably fanciful, hot images of K-pop idols, the risk of being considered unattractive increases, it is hard to imagine them not feeling the pressure.

Notes 1 The campaign contrasted with the image of sweaty Western models dressed in tight black jeans that Calvin Klein had been using for years, as well as the possibly Calvin Klein-inspired commercial for Giordano from 2004 featuring actors Jung Woo-sung and Jun Ji-hyun irting on a dance oor looking all sweaty. The contrast between these ads and those of other fashion brands featuring Korean celebrities is still a marked one at the time of writing; while the rst demonstrate the attraction of the brand’s clothing to the opposite sex, the latter tend to avoid showing the object of the celebrity’s sexual interest, perhaps in order to allow fans to ll in the void with an image of themselves. 2 A thread entitled “Korean male beauty” (Hanguo meinan) on China’s main search engine, Baidu, had solicited well over 60,000 responses in the seven days since it was started by a fan on 15 December 2013. Among the images posted most during this time were again those of the members of Exo-M. See http://tieba.baidu.com/p/2761113936. 3 See www.ybnews.cn/news/zwxx/200902/75583.html, uploaded 11 February 2009.

176

Roald Maliangkay and Geng Song

4 In 2012 the large downtown Yanbian International Hotel offered 54 TV channels, all of which were Chinese, except the regional Yǂnbyǂn CYS ch’aenǂl (Yanbian CYS channel), Yǂnbyǂn TV 1 and TV 2, and South Korea’s KBS 1 and KBS 2. 5 The city ranked fourth among cities with the fastest connection speed in 2011 (ChinaCache 2013, 24, 35). 6 As in the case of other forms of digital entertainment media, the Chinese and Korean online market for music has steadily grown over the last ten years and shown an almost identical decrease in sales of physical copies (Han’guk k’ont’ench’ǎ chinhǎngwǂn 2011, 196–197). 7 A 64-page special issue featuring stories and photos of Korean actor/singer Jang Keun Suk was sold in shops in and around Jilin province around the end of 2011, some months after he launched his rst Chinese album, The Lounge H Vol. 1. 8 Since all publications are censored, Bazaar Men’s Style avoids sexual images and reports on health or politics (Au 2013). 9 Both magazines are published by the Yǂnbyǂn inmin ch’ulp’ansa (Yanbian People’s Publishers). 10 The fact that the name of the clinic is identical to that of the top-ranked private university of South Korea, where many Korean medical specialists are trained, must be intentional. 11 For a discussion of anti-Korean sentiments in Chinese cyberspace, see www.chinahush. com/2010/06/25/national-sentiment-controlled-by-rumors, uploaded 25 June 2010; see also Song and Hird (2014, 115–118) about the ultranationalist Chinese “angry youth”. 12 The name originates from the radio programme “The Korean Wind” hosted by Benny Lau, known as “the rst person promoting Korean Wave in Hong Kong”, in which he introduces Korean pop music and other forms of popular culture. 13 See http://mwave.interest.me/enewsworld/en/article/31231/7000-tickets-for-cn-bluesconcert-in-hong-kong-sell-out, uploaded 12 March 2013. 14 In one focus group, during a discussion of Korean TV shows, one respondent kept asking for clarication on whether the discussion was about images of masculinity in Korean TV shows or of actual performances of masculinity among “real” Korean men: “Are we talking about My Sassy Girl, or are we talking about in real life? I don’t think that [behaviour] would happen in real life.” – Kathy [19, female]. 15 The authors thank Frederick Lee for his contribution to the survey. 16 Theodor Adorno would oppose the idea of people using SNS to express non-conformity based on his theory of “pseudo-individualism” (Adorno 1998, 203–204).

References Adorno, Theodor W. 1998. “On Popular Music”, chapter reprinted in Cultural Theory and Popular Culture: A Reader, edited by John Storey. Dorchester: Prentice Hall, pp. 197–209. Au, Desiree. 2013. “Glossy Men’s Magazines Piggyback on Change”, New York Times. www.nytimes.com/2013/11/22/fashion/Glossy-Mens-Magazines-Seize-on-Change-inAsia.html, uploaded 21 November 2013. Baudrillard, Jean. 1981. For a Critique of the Political Economy of the Sign. St Louis, MO: Telos Press Ltd. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1984. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste, translated by Richard Nice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

A sound wave of effeminacy 177 ChinaCache. 2013. “China Internet Report: The Second Quarter of 2013”. ChinaCache International Holdings Ltd. (CCIH). www1.chinacache.com/ueditor/php/upload/ 20130808/13759259482880.pdf. Chua, Beng Huat and Koichi Iwabuchi, eds. 2008. East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Fiske, John. 1989. Reading the Popular. London: Routledge. Geng, Song and Tracy K. Lee. 2012. “‘New Man’ and ‘New Lad’ with Chinese Characteristics? Cosmopolitanism, Cultural Hybridity and Men’s Lifestyle Magazines in China,” Asian Studies Review 36(3): 345–367. Han’guk k’ont’ench’ǎ chinhǎngwǂn [Korea Creative Contents Agency, KOCCA]. 2011. “Music Industry White Paper 2011”. KOCCA. www.kocca.kr/knowledge/publication/ indu/__icsFiles/aeldle/2012/12/17/PsN0791kL3fB.pdf, uploaded 31 December 2011. Jung, Sun. 2011. Korean Masculinities and Transcultural Consumption: Yonsama, Rain, Oldboy, K-pop Idols. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Kant, Immanuel. 1987. Critique of Judgment. Translated by Werner S. Pluhar. Indianapolis, IN and Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Co. Kim, Hyewon Kang. 2010. “Korean Language and Korean Studies in Hong Kong (1998– 2009)”, Electronic Journal of Foreign Language Teaching 7: 141–153. http://e-t.nus. edu.sg/v7sp12010/kim.pdf. Kwon, Eun Kyoung. 2011. “Public Trial Footage Backs Fear Claims”, The Daily NK. www.dailynk.com/english/read_print.php?cataId=nk00100&num=769, uploaded 19 April 2011. Lankov, Andrei. 2007. “China’s Korean Autonomous Prefecture and China-Korea Border Politics”, The Asia-Pacic Journal: Japan Focus 2509. www.japanfocus.org/-AndreiLankov/2509, uploaded 29 August 2007. Lin, Angel M.Y. and Avin Tong. 2007. “Crossing Boundaries: Male Consumption of Korean TV Dramas and Negotiation of Gender Relations in Modern Day Hong Kong,” Journal of Gender Studies 16(3): 217–232. Louie, Kam. 2002. Theorising Chinese Masculinity: Society and Gender in China. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 2012. “Popular Culture and Masculinity Ideals in East Asia, With Special Reference to China”, The Journal of Asian Studies 71(4): 929–943. Maliangkay, Roald. 2013. “Catering to the Female Gaze: The Semiotics of Masculinity in Korean Advertising”, Situations: Cultural Studies in the Asian Context 7: 56–79. Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1989. On the Genealogy of Morals; Ecce Homo. Translated by Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale. New York: Vintage Books. Park, Jun Hyeong. 2011. “Looking Like Hyun Bin or Kim Nam Joo”, The Daily NK. www. dailynk.com/english/read_print.php?cataId=nk01500&num=750, uploaded 25 March 2011. Platt, Kevin. 1997. “For Millions of Korean-Chinese, a Pied Piper Beckons: S. Korea”, Christian Science Monitor 89 (221): 7. Song, Geng. 2004. The Fragile Scholar: Power and Masculinity in Chinese Culture. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Song, Geng and Derek Hird. 2014. Men and Masculinities in Contemporary China. Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill. Song, Geng and Tracy K. Lee. 2010. “Consumption, Class Formation, and Sexuality: Reading Men’s Lifestyle Magazines in China”, The China Journal 64: 159–177. Xu, Junqian. 2011. “Men’s Magazines Make their Mark”, China Daily. www.chinadaily. com.cn/cndy/2011-06/20/content_12731901.htm, uploaded 20 June 2011.

Index

2AM 44 2NE1 28, 35, 58, 123 2PM 3, 103, 112, 123, 134, 170 4Minute 37, 58, 108 880,000 won Generation 60–1, 63 ak-pǎl 139–40 AKB48 124 All About Eve 99 anti-Chinese 153, 158–9 anti-Hallyu 7, 16, 75, 116, 124–6 anti-Korea sentiments 7, 124, 126, 128–9, 176n11 Apkujong 38–9 Arirang Sisters 22–3 Asia Dream 103 Asian nancial crisis 51, 53, 55–6, 60–2 Asian Pop Show 84 attitude in performance 19, 25, 28–9, 35 augmented entertainment 4–6 AVEX Group 66, 70–1, 74, 118–19, 121, 129n7, 130n15

chaebol 52, 54 “Chocolate Love” 43 Chǂgori Sisters 21, 29–30 CJ E&M (formerly CJ Entertainment) 53–4, 58, 62 CNBlue 170–1, 174 “Come Back Home” 28 commodity 8–9, 18n7, 51–2, 55, 60, 68, 74, 135–7; hypercommodication 56–7; of beauty 169, 174–5 community 86–7, 135, 139–40, 142, 147; of Asian-Australians 89; of Chinese-Australians 84; of fans 7, 74–5, 89–90, 92–3, 108, 136; of Koreans 83, 111 Cool Japan 127–8, 130n23 cosmetic surgery 39, 47, 167–9, 171–2 cover dance 10, 35, 46, 99, 103, 109, 111–14, 146, 149 Crayon Pop 30, 58 cultural glide 103–8 Cultural South 10–14

Beast (B2ST) 108, 112 “B.U.T” 72 Baby V.O.X. 3, 17n1, 25, 56 Bae Yong-joon 69, 120, 164, 171 “Bar Bar Bar” 30 Beautiful Days 120 Big Bang 9, 110, 123 BoA 6, 66, 73, 103–4, 119–21, 123 Boys Over Flowers 102, 105, 170

de-individualisation 57–8, 60 diaspora 2, 12, 14, 43–4, 83 digintimacy 106–8 DJ DOC 27 Dokdo 75, 124, 126 DreamWorks SKG 52–4

Cassiopeia 74, 130n15 CGV 54

f(x) 3–4, 28, 32n21, 58, 112

enka 117–18, 129n2/n3 Exo-M 3, 29, 32n23, 165, 175n2

Index fandom 1–4, 6–9, 12–14, 47, 68, 74–6, 89, 92–4, 99, 110–12, 123, 128, 134 femininity 36, 42, 45, 47, 55–6, 121, 170, 172; hyper-feminine 152 Fin.K.L. 3, 17n1, 25, 56 ower boy 170–2 Flower Power 45, 124 Full House 5, 170 G.O.D. 3, 17n1, 104 Galaxy Superstar 4 Gangnam 39–40, 88, 153, 155 “Gangnam Style” 7–8, 28, 35, 39, 56, 88–9, 91, 146, 148–51, 153, 155–6, 158–60, 160n4, 161n14 “Gee” 49n25, 124 “Gentleman” 29, 161n15 girl group 3, 19, 22, 24–5, 28–31, 31n11, 32n14/n16/n20, 36–7, 41–3, 46–7, 56, 58, 59, 85, 110, 118, 122–3, 134 Girls’ Generation 4–5, 30, 35–49, 56, 58, 62, 110, 117, 123, 135 go-go dance 24 “Growl” 29, 70 H.O.T. 3, 10, 17n1, 26, 59, 67, 69–70, 104, 165, 170 Hallyu 1–5, 9–10, 14, 36, 67–9, 81, 83–4, 86–7, 89–90, 93–4, 98–9, 102–6, 108, 112–13, 116–17, 119–22, 124–9, 137, 143n11, 146, 165, 167 Hallyu 2.0 2, 37, 86, 92–3 Happy Camp 165 homogeneity 1, 19–20, 82, 174 “Huh” 37 hyperrationalisation 56, 58, 62 “I Got a Boy” 4 Intimate Note 103 “Into the New World” 35, 44 J-pop 84, 106, 118–24, 127-8, 130n10 Jaebum 134–5 Jang Dong-gun 99–100, 168 Jang Keun Suk 130n21, 165, 170, 176n7 Jewel in the Palace 170 Jurassic Park 51–2 JYJ 10 JYP Entertainment 10, 59, 106

179

“Kim Sakkat” 27 K-Pop Star 84 kampong 154–5 Kara 56, 110, 112, 117, 123–4, 126, 128, 130n20 Kim Sisters 22–3, 30, 31n9 Kin-pop 4 “KL Style” 154–5, 158 Korean Wave see Hallyu Kouhaku 117, 119, 126, 129n4 Kukpo chamae 22 labor exibility 58, 63 Lee, Kun-Hee 52 Lee, Soo Man 58, 62–3, 69, 71, 85 legs (body/body image) 30, 45–8, 124 LG 9, 18n7, 38, 43, 103, 105, 114n2 “Like This” 26, 30 lip-syncing 20, 30, 58–9, 62–3, 69 Listen to My Heart 66 “Mama” 29 Marx, Karl 60, 63–4 masculinity 55, 67–8, 72–4, 76, 121, 152, 164, 168–75, 176n14 McDonaldization 58, 62 mimicry 14, 109 mirrored dance 26 Miss A 3, 58, 112 Mnet 26, 46, 48n4, 54, 74 Mr. Taxi 45, 123 MTV 3, 26, 35, 58, 69 mugukchǂk 38, 73, 85, 171 multicultural 7, 83, 87–8, 91, 93–4, 147, 153–5, 159–60 Muslim 148–9, 156–8, 161n18 My Lovely Sam-Soon 99 My Sassy Girl 54, 170, 176n14 network 1, 75, 103, 106, 133, 137: fan network 102; media network 72, 81, 111–12, 142; television network 11, 48n4, 59, 99, 116, 126 N.EX.T. 27, 32n19 N.R.G. 3, 17n1 neoliberalism 47, 55–6, 58, 61–3 Nine Muses 31n1, 58 “Nobody” 30 noraebang 19, 26, 32n16, 38

180

Index

NU’EST 84 “Oh” 44 Okeh Band 21, 29 “Open Condom Style” 150–1, 159, 161n24 Oricon chart 66, 70, 72, 74–5, 121, 123, 130n13/n14 “Paparazzi” 4, 123 parents 19, 42, 60, 103, 108, 141, 158, 168 Pearl Sisters 22, 24 Pink Tape 4 political economy 55 PopAsia 101 87–9, 92 post-Cold War politics 6 post-colonial 9, 105, 116, 124–5, 127 Presidential Advisory Council on Science and Technology (PACST) 51 producive-ness 113–14 Psy 6–8, 16, 28–9, 36, 39, 56, 84, 88–90, 94n4, 146–7, 150–3, 155–6, 158–9, 160n4, 161n13/n15 “Purple Line” 70, 121, 130n13 racism 13–14, 127, 153, 158–9 Rain 5, 17n2, 119–20, 123, 135, 165, 168 “Ring Ding Dong” 107 Rising Sun 70 Ritzer, George 58, 62 rock café 26, 32n17 “Saranghae nuna” 26 S.E.S. 3, 17n1, 25, 32n20, 56, 59, 118–19, 129n6/n7 S.O.S. 4 S4 4 Samsung 5, 9, 18n7, 38, 43, 51–3, 61, 105, 114n2 Sangchinse 133, 136, 138 Sanullim 24 SBS PopAsia 81–94 Se7en 120, 130n12 Sechs Kies 3, 10, 26 Seo Taiji and Boys 25–9, 32n15/n16, 67, 118 Seoul 4, 21, 24, 38–41, 45, 74, 85, 88, 120, 155 “Sherlock” 70 SHINee 4, 69–70, 72, 84, 107, 112, 123

Shinhwa 3, 10, 32n20, 59, 69, 104 Shiri 53–4 Shoujo Jidai (see also Girls’ Generation) 48n1, 123, 124, 126, 128 Show Show Show 25, 32n13 SM Entertainment 10, 38, 40, 44, 46, 58–9, 62–3, 66–7, 69–72, 74–6, 85, 118–19, 121–4, 129n7 Social Networking Services (social media) 1–2, 8, 26, 37, 81, 92, 98, 122, 126, 127, 138, 142, 146, 148, 150, 175, 176n16 soft power 12, 42, 48 soft racism 13–14 Sonyǂ Shidae (see also Girls’ Generation) 48 Soompi 8, 44 “Sorry Sorry” 70, 102 SS501 102, 110 Stairway to Heaven 99, 170 Super Junior 3, 5, 32n23, 40–1, 58, 69–70, 72, 102, 165, 170 “Super Kampung Style” 154–6 Superstar K4 84 synchronised dance 3, 19–21, 26–7, 36, 72, 76, 123 T-ara 58, 112, 134–5 Tablo 133–6, 138–42, 143n6 Tachinyo 133, 136, 138, 140 tarento 118, 126 techno-cultural contagion 98 Tohoshinki (see also TVXQ) 66, 117, 121–4, 126, 128, 130n13 Tongbangshin’gi (see also TVXQ) 66 trainee 57, 59, 61–3 transnational valence 2–4, 103 TVXQ 10, 66–77, 104, 110, 117, 119, 121, 165 “Visual Dreams” 43 Why So Serious? The Misconceptions of Me 4 Winter Sonata 66, 68–9, 75, 119–20, 170 Wonder Girls 26, 30, 38, 56 World Cup 2, 66, 74, 119, 125 yenǎng 137–8 YG Entertainment 10, 20, 84, 106,

Index Younha 120, 130n10 YouTube 8, 30, 35–6, 40, 42, 48, 56, 75, 81, 87, 92–3, 106–7, 111, 114n1, 122, 126–7, 147–8, 154, 156, 158

Yu Sǎngjun 26 zainichi 118, 126–7 Zaitokukai 126–8

181