Made in Korea: Studies in Popular Music 2016006172, 2016009489, 9781138793033, 9781315761626

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Made in Korea

Made in Korea: Studies in Popular Music serves as a comprehensive and thorough introduction to the history, sociology, and musicology of contemporary Korean popular music. The essays in this volume cover the major figures, styles, and social contexts of popular music in Korea. The book first presents a general description of the history and background of popular music in Korea, followed by essays, written by leading scholars of Korean music, that are organized into thematic sections: Histories, Genres, Artists, and Issues. Hyunjoon Shin is a research professor in the Institute for East Asian Studies (IEAS) at Sungkonghoe University, Seoul. Seung-Ah Lee is a lecturer in the Department of Asian Languages and Cultures at the University of California, Los Angeles, where she teaches Korean Studies.

Routledge Global Popular Music Series Series Editors: Franco Fabbri, University of Turin, Italy, and Goffredo Plastino, Newcastle University, UK

The Routledge Global Popular Music Series provides popular music scholars, teachers, students, and musicologists with a well-informed and up-to-date introduction to different world popular music scenes. The series of volumes can be used for academic teaching in popular music studies, or as a collection of reference works. Written by those living and working in the countries about which they write, this series is devoted to popular music largely unknown to Anglo-American readers.

Made in Spain: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Sílvia Martínez and Héctor Fouce Made in Italy: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Franco Fabbri and Goffredo Plastino Made in Japan: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Tōru Mitsui Made in Brazil: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Martha Tupinambá de Ulhôa, Cláudia Azevedo, and Felipe Trotta Made in Latin America: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Julio Mendívil and Christian Spencer Espinosa Made in Korea: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee

Made in Korea Studies in Popular Music

Edited by

Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee

First published 2017 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2017 Taylor & Francis The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted 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 identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Names: Sin, Hyæon-jun, 1962– editor. | Yi, Sæung-a, editor. Title: Made in Korea : studies in popular music / edited by Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee. Other titles: Routledge global popular music series. Description: New York, NY ; Abingdon, Oxon : Routledge, 2017. | 2017 | Series: Routledge global popular music series Identifiers: LCCN 2016006172 (print) | LCCN 2016009489 (ebook) | ISBN 9781138793033 (hardback) | ISBN 9781315761626 (E–book) Subjects: LCSH: Popular music—Korea—History and criticism. Classification: LCC ML3502.K7 M33 2017 (print) | LCC ML3502.K7 (ebook) | DDC 781.6309519—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016006172 ISBN: 978-1-138-79303-3 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-76162-6 (ebk) Typeset in Minion Pro by Florence Production Ltd, Stoodleigh, Devon, UK

Contents

List of Illustrations Preface Introduction: The Road to Popular Music: Regulation, Resistance, and Negotiations

vii xi

1

HYUNJOON SHIN AND SEUNG-AH LEE

Part I: Histories 1

The Stage Show and the Dance Floor: A History of “Live Music” in Korea

11 15

HYUNJOON SHIN

2

Assembling Pop Records in Twentieth-Century Korea: A Double is Twice as Good as a Single

23

KEEWOONG LEE

3

Broadcasting Media and Popular Music: Institution, Technologies, and Power

35

JUNG-YUP LEE

4

Emerging Social Distribution: The Case of K-pop Circulation in the Global Pop Market

47

SUN JUNG

Part II: Genres 5

Trot and Ballad: Popular Genres of Korean Pop

59 63

YU-JEONG CHANG

6

Korean Rock’s Journey from Group Sound to Indie Punk

71

PIL HO KIM

7

Modern Folksong and People’s Song (Minjung Kayo)

83

AEKYUNG PARK

8

Korean Black Music and its Culture: Soul, Funk, and Hip-Hop JAEYOUNG YANG

95

vi • Contents

Part III: Artists 9

Kim Hae-song, an Incomplete Dream of Korean Jazz

107 111

JUNHEE LEE

10

Shin Joong Hyun’s Rock Sonority and Korean Pentatonicism in “Miin”

123

DOHEE KWON

11

Kim Min-ki and the Making of a Legend

133

OKON HWANG

12

Seo Taiji Syndrome: Rise of Korean Youth and Cultural Transformation through Global Pop Music Styles in the Early 1990s

143

EUN-YOUNG JUNG

Part IV: Issues 13

Korean Pop Music and Korean Identities: A Political-Cultural History of Korean Pop Music and Its Use of Traditional Korean Musical Elements

155 157

HYUNSEOK KWON

14

Who’s Afraid of Korean Idols?: Five Keywords for Understanding Korean Idol Pop

169

DONG-YEUN LEE

15

Controlling or Supporting?: A History of Cultural Policies on Popular Music

181

SOOJIN KIM

16

The Voice of Popular Korea: Styles, Genres, and Contexts

191

HAEKYUNG UM

Coda 17

Asia and Beyond: The Circulation and Reception of Korean Popular Music outside of Korea

201 203

SUNHEE KOO AND SANG-YEON LOISE SUNG

Afterword—“We Tried to Catch up, Now We Should Evolve”: A Conversation with Shin Hae-chul

215

HYUNJOON SHIN AND CH’OE CHI-SŎN

Bibliography About the Authors Index

227 235 241

Illustrations

Figures 1.1 1.2 2.1 2.2 2.3 3.1 3.2 4.1 4.2 4.3 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5

7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 8.1 8.2

Records by Border-crossing Korean Pop Acts Posters of Theater Shows in the 1960s–1970s Record Sleeve of “Mokp’o ŭi nunmul” (Tears from Mokpo) by Yi Nan-yŏng Record Sleeve of “Tongbaek Agassi” by Yi Mi-cha Record Sleeves of Kim Chŏng-mi and Yi Chang-hŭi A 10-inch Record Produced by Son Sŏk-u, a Prolific Songwriter in the 1950s–1960s ’77 MBC Taehak kayoje (’77 College Kayo Contest) and Haebyŏn kayoje (Seaside Kayo Contest) MAMA 2013 Held in Hong Kong Psy’s 6th Album and “Gangnam Style” “Gangnam Style” Global Distribution Model Yi Yong chigu chŏnsok che 1chip by Yi Yong and Chŏn Yŏng-nok by Chŏn Yŏng-nok Yi Mun-se by Yi Mun-se and Sin Sŭng-hun by Sin Sŭng-hun The Add4 and the Key Boys, the Pioneers of Korean Rock Who Made Their Record Debut in 1964 Sanullim and Song’golmae, Two Popular Rock Bands in the Late 1970s and the Early 1980s The Debut Albums by Sinawe and Baekdoosan The First Indie Record, Our Nation A Genuine DIY Record Made From Blank CD-r that Became an Unexpected Hit. Ssaguryŏ k’ŏp’i (Cheap Coffee) by Chang Kiha Before He Formed His Band A Recent Movie, C’est Si Bon, Which Depicted the Experiences of Folk Singers and Youth Culture in the Late 1960s and the Early 1970s The Protest Branch of Korean Folk. Han Tae-su and Yang Pyŏng-chip Canonical Records by Underground Veterans in the 1980s. Cho Tong-jin, Tŭlgukhwa, and Sinch’on Blues The Second Album by Nocha’ssa, Whose Roots Lie in minjung kayo The Movie GoGo 70 (2008) The Debut Album by Funk Band Sarang kwa P’yŏnghwa

18 19 26 27 29 37 39 50 53 55 66 68 72 73 74 78

81 85 87 89 91 97 99

viii • Illustrations

8.3 8.4 9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4 9.5 10.1 11.1 11.2 12.1 12.2 12.3 13.1 13.2 13.3 14.1 14.2 15.1 15.2

16.1 16.2 16.3 17.1

17.2 17.3 18.1 18.2

The Debut Album by Hyŏn Chin-yŏng (a.k.a. Hyun Jin-young) The Beginning of Korean Underground Hip-Hop: 1999 Taehanmin’guk A Portrait of Kim Hae-song Circa 1940 Kim Hae-song and Colleagues of the Chosŏn Musical Troupe (1940) Kim Hae-song, Conductor of the K.P.K. Musical Troupe (1945) Record Label of “Tabang ŭi p’urŭn kkum” (A Blue Dream in a Café, 1939) The Record in Which “Kanda Kanda” is Included (1956) The First Album and the Second One by Shin Joong Hyun and Yŏpchŏn tŭl Two Records by Yang Hŭi-ŭn, Where “Ach’imisŭl” (1971) and “Sangnoksu” (1979), Both Penned by Kim Min-ki, are Included Respectively Different Versions of the Debut Album by Kim Min-ki (1971) The Eponymous Debut Album by Seo Taiji and Boys The Third Album by Seo Taiji and Boys, Where “Kyosil Idea” (Classroom Ideology) is Included The Fourth Album by Seo Taiji and Boys, Where “Come Back Home” is Included Kim Young-tong chakkokchip [Kim Young Dong Works Collection] Guitar sanjo by Kim Su-ch’ŏl Différance by Jambinai Tri-angle by Dong Bang Shin Ki in Their Heyday SM Town Live in Paris on 10–11 June Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band Album—Censored Cover with Obscured Karl Marx and Original Yearbook on Cultural and Content Industry Published by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism in 2006 and Published by the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism in 2009 Cover of Pi naerinŭn yŏngdonggyo (Rain on Yŏngdong Bridge). The First Album by Chu Hyŏn-mi Cho Yong-p’il, the King of Korean Pop Images of Some of the Singers who Competed in the Popular TV Programme Nanŭn Kasuda (I Am a Singer), Munhwa Broadcasting Corporation Kye Ŭn-suk and BoA. Different Korean Female Singers in Japan in Different Periods Show Differences Between Han’guk kayo (Korean popular song) and K-pop Korean Male Pop Star Sensation in Asia During the Mid-2000s. Rain in China, Se7en (Seven) in Japan The Compilation Album K-pop 100% Signals the Arrival of K-pop in Taiwan The Only Album by Muhangwuedo (Caterpillar) The 1991 Shin Hae Chul Myself Tour

101 103 112 114 115 118 120

208 210 218 222

Mnet’s Social Media Platforms Linked to Its YouTube Channel The Lyrics of “Kyosil Idea” (Classroom Ideology) The Lyrics of “Come Back Home”

52 148 151

127 135 137 145 147 150 160 163 165 170 176 184

186 193 195 197

206

Tables 4.1 12.1 12.2

Illustrations • ix

14.1 14.2

A Comparison of Major K-pop Entertainment Production Companies The Appearances of Idol Groups (and Entertainers) on the Weekly Show, SBS The Music Trend (Ingi Kayo), for Four Consecutive Weeks

174 174

Musical Examples 10.1 10.2 10.3

The Verse Section of “Miin” The Verse and Chorus Section of “Miin” The Coda and the Response Section of “Miin”

129 129 130

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Preface

The memory of the craze for Psy’s “Gangnam Style” will not have been entirely forgotten among readers at the time of this book’s publication. Anyone who is interested in the background of this phenomenon would have heard the term K-pop or the Korean Wave (Hallyu). Yet no one expected that songs in Korean-language lyrics would enjoy popularity on a global scale, and this is also true for Koreans. It is easy to speculate that the letter “K” in “K-pop” is an abbreviation of “Korean.” But it is not easy to explain its connotations. The home country of Psy and other K-pop artists is designated as “Han’guk” according to that country’s language and script. “Han’guk” is limited to the southern half of the Korean Peninsula, located between the continent of China and the archipelago of Japan. The northern half of the peninsula has persisted on the designation “Chosŏn.” However, both of these divided countries use “Korea” in their international designations, the former using “the Republic of Korea” and the latter using “the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.” The same place is called “Korea” in German, “Корея (Koreya)” in Russian, “Corée” in French, “Corea” in Italian and Spanish, and “Coreia” in Portuguese. The question of why other countries use words that start with a “K” or a “C” to refer to the same word, which starts with an “H” or “C” in the native country is not much different from the question of why Deutschland is called “Allemagne” in France and “Germany” in the UK. But questions do not stop there. The Korean peninsula is a geopolitically sensitive location, surrounded by two powerful countries, China and Japan. Thus, as soon as modernization took off through foreign powers’ forcible opening of Korea in the late nineteenth century, it became embroiled in the giant vortexes of colonialism and the Cold War. The entire peninsula was ruled by the Japanese empire (1910–1945), and after World War II it was subject to American influence in the South and Soviet influence in the North despite national liberation. In 1948 it became divided into two nations that did not recognize each other; and the three-year-long civil war (1950–1953) effectively consolidated this division. However, people living in this peninsula have developed their own culture, including language and letters, despite the difficulties experienced in the course of its history. Nevertheless, it is difficult not to limit “Korea” to the southern part of the peninsula in this book—in other words, the nation called “Han’guk” and known internationally as “South Korea.” This is not because popular music of North Korea, which continues to cling to a Stalinist system, is different from what is conventionally thought of as “popular music,” but because the conditions for studying it are not mature. Only a limited number of researchers are based in North Korea, and researchers outside this territory do not have sufficient information and data. Unfortunately, this book is concerned with South Korea’s popular music except for the period before the mid

xii • Preface

to late 1940s, when the North and the South were not separated. Only later shall we have a more complete study of what is “made in Korea.” There are not many published studies written in English that examine Korean popular music. Except for individual articles and dissertations, the British Koreanist Keith Howard’s Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave (Global Oriental, 2006) would be the most comprehensive. However, since most of his book has been written by scholars, who studied in the West and who, subsequently, have been based there, it is difficult to know the views of the scholars based in Korea. When we consider that the Korean Association for the Study of Popular Music (KASPM) became a branch of the International Association for the Study of Popular Music (IASPM) in 2005, we can conjecture that the history of popular music scholarship in Korea has not been very long. About half of this book’s contributors are based in Korea and the other half in the West. Regardless of their place, nationality and specialization, all of them are “ethnic Korean” scholars who have had experiences of building active networks through international exchanges in the last ten years. The fact that the age group of the contributors is between 30 to 50 demonstrates how this process has been carried out. Organization This book is organized into four parts. The first part, entitled “Histories,” is concerned with the histories of Korean popular music. This part avoids a chronological approach, and instead the chapters focus on distinct media and systems: the Stage (Chapter 1), Record (Chapter 2), and Broadcasting (Chapter 3). Through this method the chapters attempt to demonstrate that the popular music of a country (or a region) has plural narratives. The last chapter of Part I (Chapter 4) uses the case study of “Gangnam Style” to analyze the digital internet media, a media too recent to have become “history.” The second part (“Genres”) investigates major genres of popular music. After looking at the mainstream genres of trot and ballad (Chapter 5), it moves to cases that have adopted the names of genres and styles of “Western” popular music: rock (Chapter 6), folk (Chapter 7), and soul and hip-hop (Chapter 8). What is emphasized in these chapters is that despite their “Western” names, meaning-making in this music is achieved through particular contexts. This point extends to Part III (Artists), which examines four figures who have had exceptional status in the history of Korean popular music, but this part also has a new perspective. The authors of these chapters offer in-depth analyses of these artists’ musical texts through musicological methods. Part IV may seem less organized, but its chapters are structured by points of debate that have been raised in Korean popular music scholarship. These include the construction of “Koreanness” in popular music (Chapter 13), the so-called idol system in the music industry (Chapter 14), the effect of government policy on the restriction and the promotion of popular music (Chapter 15), and the role of the voice and the singing style in musical communication (Chapter 16). The final chapter, the Coda, considers the question of how Korean popular music or K-pop is adopted and makes meanings in a different place—after it enters the circuit of cultural globalization. The Afterword features an interview with the late Shin Hae-chul and through this demonstrates one pop-rock artist’s fight to catch up with and go beyond “advanced” popular music before and during globalization. “Selected Bibliography on Korean Popular Music” organizes literature on Korean popular music in Korean and English languages.

Preface • xiii

Transcription and Translation Unlike Western personal names, Korean personal names begin with the family name (usually, one syllable), followed by the given name (usually, two syllables). This book respects this order in transcribing Korean names. However, it adds a hyphen (-) between the two syllables of the given name in order to avoid the prolonged sound, although this is not used in Korean writing. This method of transcription also corresponds with the McCune-Reischauer Romanization System, which has been standard in international Korean Studies. It is also applied consistently to Korean words other than personal names. Exceptions to the McCune-Reischauer Romanization System are those Korean authors who have published in English using a different spelling in their publications and internationallyknown names. For instance, “Park Chung Hee” would be rendered Pak Chŏng-hŭi according to the McCune-Reischauer Romanization System, but the former will be used. The first time this personal name comes up it will appear as: Park Chung Hee (a.k.a. Pak Chŏng-hŭi). In all subsequent cases only the former will be used. The same principle will apply to geographical designations. For instance, “Seoul” will be used instead of “Sŏul.” I recommend http://roman.cs. pusan.ac.kr/input_eng.aspx as a reliable converter between Korean and Roman scripts. If words originating from the West are sufficiently used in communication in Korea, they will take their native forms. For instance, it would be strange for both international and Korean readers to transcribe “jazz,” “ballad,” “folk,” and “hip-hop” as “chaejŭ,” “palladŭ,” “p’ok’ŭ,” and “hip’ap” according to double transliteration. For the same reason, Western personal names and geographical designations that appear embedded in Korean texts will take their native forms. This means, for example, that the Beatles will not be transcribed as Tŏ Pit’ŭlsŭ. Finally, I also mention that the authors or the editor have added English translations for cited literature in the back. Hyunjoon Shin Seoul, Korea

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Introduction The Road to Popular Music: Regulation, Resistance, and Negotiations Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee

Defining Korean Popular Music After spending two weeks explaining songs from different genres within Korean popular music, one American student piped up and asked, “So, what is Korean pop music? It sounds like Western music.” Perhaps it all sounded like Western pop music to them. It was a perplexing yet accurate observation. Korean pop music had the familiar twinges of R&B, rock, hip-hop, and soul that is so heavily used in contemporary Western pop music. However, though Western and Korean music share similar sounds, Korean listeners love the distinct sound of Korean popular music which cannot be explained in simple terms. That is why this volume has been put together to delineate some of distinctive features of “Korean popular music” including its development and characteristics. How, then, do we define “Korean popular music”? The answer to this question is an ongoing issue and it is widely debated in both Korean academic circles and the general pop music listeners. Defining the term “popular music” has been a delicate and complicated issue in Western scholarship as well. In his textbook, Roy Shuker points out that popular music “must encompass both musical and socio-economic characteristics” and that “all popular music consists of a hybrid of musical traditions, styles, and influences, and is also an economic product which is invested with ideological significance by many of its consumers” (Shuker 2005, 205). As Shuker points out, defining Korean popular music is also a complicated issue. At its simplest, we can say that it is music well liked by many Korean people. However, in this sense, we probably need to trace back to the ancient period, as far as the period when Koreans first appeared in history. Hence, considering the argument that popular music is a product of the modern era, popular music that has been produced since the modern era in Korea will be our focus here. In questioning production, distribution, and consumption of popular music, we need to examine all the elements that are associated with the development of popular music. The musical characteristics, in terms of genres, singers, industry, consumption, distribution, and cultural policy, are discussed in each chapter of this volume. In this Introduction, I will go over briefly the issues in the development of Korean popular music. The main argument regarding the development of Korean popular music is how to locate the origin of Korean popular music. It actually has to do with issues on “Korean modernity.” Korea was colonized by Japan from 1910–1945. After the liberation, in the process of decolonization, Korean scholars had to determine how one could define “Korean modernity” due to

2 • Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee

its association with colonization. In doing so, Korean popular music was not exceptional. The question is whether Korean popular music is a naturally grown or transplanted culture. According to Lee Young Mee’s studies, we can find three different stances on this issue. First, the origin of Korean popular music should begin with minyo (lit. traditional folk song) and chapka (lit. traditional miscellaneous song), music from the late eighteenth century when performance became commercialized. Second, it began with yuhaengga (lit. fashionable song) and sinminyo (lit. new folk song), music that was introduced via recordings and performing stages in the early twentieth century. Third, it should include all music that had an external influence and had been transmitted through mass media during the colonial period (1910–1945) (Lee 2009, 135–162). The first argument is based on popular music being a naturally grown culture while the second and third arguments support popular music as a combination of naturally grown and transplanted culture. Even though these three positions represent different criteria in defining the origin of Korean popular music of the modern era, they all have an underlying agreement: they all share the idea that Korean popular music is a hybridization of musical traditions and styles from minyo and chapka. However, the external influences, especially from the U.S., the UK, and Japan, were stronger than local traditions. Furthermore, we should consider the socioeconomic characteristics in discussing popular music since it is an economic product that also exhibits the ideological significance of its consumers. Here we might add one more aspect. Korean popular music has been controlled under tightened regulations enforced by the government throughout the twentieth century. Though this is the case, this does not mean the Korean populace passively accepted what was given to them. They resisted complying with the regulations by exhibiting their ideologies, and the institutions had to re-negotiate with the populace and reinstate legislature to continue their legacy smoothly. Korean popular music has been developed through these unique socio-political circumstances: of restricted regulation by the government, of resilient resistance from the populace, and of cooperative negotiation between both sides. The general consensus of the beginnings of popular music is that it is rooted in the colonial period. Although there is a dispute as to what the musical style was as I discussed above, it is clear that popular music is the product of a new, modern era. The distinct characteristics of the Korean modern era are in its roots of colonization, division, and war. One cannot simply define “Korean modernity” if they disregard these circumstances. In relation to Korean modernity, we can find two distinctive characteristics: colonial modernity and militarized modernity. The former is a modernity that ties with colonialism during the colonial period while the latter is a modernity that is related to the military regime from 1961–1987. Furthermore, we have found that there was more rigid regulation on popular culture during these two periods. For that reason, it is essential to examine these periods more closely. Then we might have a better understanding of the modernity of Korea and its relation to popular music. Colonial Modernity (1910–1945) Japan colonized Korea in 1910 through 1945. The colonial regime established the Government General of Korea (GGK) to directly control Korea. The GGK did not just control the political and economic sector of Korea—they attempted to overtake Korea’s cultural hegemony. One cannot simply categorize history of this period as a linear relation between colonial repression and a reactive national resistance. Rather, the circumstances are more complex in that colonialism, modernity, and nationalism are intertwined with one another. Shin and Robinson argue that

Introduction • 3

colonial evolution was dynamic: “it had to adapt to the responses of Korean society and, in doing so, reflected this experience back into the construction of Japanese identity and modernity” (Shin and Robinson 1999, 5). Not every Korean resisted and not every Korean co-operated with the colonial government. In the everyday life of colonial regulation, it might be more convenient to adapt to circumstance than resist. Furthermore, the colonial government also needed to reconcile with reactions, whether resisting to the system or adapting the system, from Korean society in order to reshape the regulation for the “construction of Japanese identity and modernity” (Shin and Robinson 1999, 5). For Korea, these changes occurred in the context of “colonial modernity” (Shin and Robinson 1999, 9). According to Shin and Robinson, “the modern nationstate mobilizes not only police and state apparatus but also the ‘culture industry’ to obtain dominance over its subjects” (1999, 7). In relation to popular music, we can take a look at Michael Robinson’s work. According to Robinson, Korean language only radio was a facet of the culture industry that served as a “productive force in the creation of a modern, popular culture in colonial Korea” (Robinson 1999, 53). So it is no surprise that GGK established the radio station, Kyŏngsŏng Broadcast Corporation (KBC),1 to reach out to its constituents. KBC went under the call sign JODK, which first aired in 1927 as a program that featured both the Korean and Japanese language. Due to its dual language program, it can be inferred that the GGK wanted to simultaneously appeal to Korean citizens and the Japanese colonial government with its ‘assimilation policy’ and propaganda. However, seemingly due to the dual-language program, few Koreans purchased the radio. It was necessary, then, to implement change in branding, marketing, and policy in order to get more Korean consumers. At the beginning, in an effort to bridge the gap of the language barrier and gain more capital, KBC hired interpreters to translate Japanese into Korean. They saw no big gain in sales, hence deducing that the language barrier might not be the sole problem. For that reason, a Korean language only station channel was installed, and sales soared. The Korean language radio served as “a vehicle for standardizing the Korean vernacular” through show hosts and voice actors (Robinson 1999, 53). The KBC was able to revive traditional music genres such as sinminyo and create new forms of dramatic arts called akkŭk (see Chapter 1 and Chapter 9 of this volume). Western classical music and jazz were also introduced through the radio, and modern popular songs, yuhaegga (see Chapter 5 of this volume), were played. By the time the Pacific War broke out in 1941, the GGK had a tight grip on the radio, and by 1944, all-Korean radio stations had ceased. As we see in this case study, Korean radio stations can be seen as “a space that contradicted the cultural/political logic (if there was one) of assimilation” that Robinson pointed out (Robinson 1999, 53). The GGK implemented its assimilation policy through the radio to assimilate Korean people and their culture. However, Korean people resisted the idea of cultural hegemony of Japan by not purchasing the radio. The GGK had to establish new channels for Korean language only programs to combat resistance. Only after the Korean language only channel was aired did the popularity of radio go up so high that by the end of the colonial period around 305,000 radios were owned by Koreans (Robinson 1999, 52). Moreover, the radio was actively used in shaping Korean modernity during the colonial period, and without question it played a significant role in the development of popular music as well. As Robinson put it, “even though this culture was a product of Japanese colonial political, cultural, and economic ascendancy, it also played a role in subverting Japanese cultural hegemony” (1999, 53). Why, then, did Korean people reject the mixed languages program and Japanese popular music of that time? Of course, it can be understood as an act of nationalism since most Koreans

4 • Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee

were discontented with Japan/Japanese. They suffered from the harsh rule of the colonial government at that time. One more possible reason could be the sense of foreignness that they felt from Japanese popular music. In order to be recognized as popular music by listeners, it is essential to express the familiarity. To the untrained listener, it is necessary to have in place a certain formula that can be easily detected by listeners to give them familiarity. Moreover, the importance of the native music/language is, again, “familiarity.” This native music/language for the Korean listener stems from a lullaby that one’s mother sang, a song that farmers sang together while they worked on the field, and a song one’s grandmother hummed when she sewed. The Korean listeners found familiarity in native music from Korean language radio programs. It aired Korean popular music of that time, which was characteristic of Korean traditional music (familiarity). The radio station actually played a role in reviving Korean traditional music such as sinminyo and yuhaengga, but it did not just play Korean traditional music. It also broadcasted music that could stimulate audiences with new sounds, such as jazz. All of these different musical elements blended together to create popular music of that time. Here, we can witness that Korean popular music experienced colonial regulation, listener’s resistance, and the subsequent negotiations between them in its own development. Militarized Modernity (1961–1987) The liberation happened suddenly in August 1945. Although some intellectuals who closely followed international news predicted it would come, no one expected it would happen so suddenly. However, Korea was soon reoccupied again by the United States and the Soviet Union. In discussions of managing the aftermath of WWII, the United States and the Soviet Union agreed to jointly occupy Korea. The United States occupied South Korea by establishing the United States Military Government in Korea (USAMGIK), while the Soviet Union occupied North Korea by establishing its own communist country. Eventually the two states were divided in 1948, and it led to the Korean War that lasted from 1950 to 1953. However, in comparison to life in the Korean Peninsula before and after the war, nothing had really changed. Korea was still divided into North and South and there has been no peaceful integration between them. The war only deepened their anti-sentiment towards each other. Instead of co-operation, North Korea and South Korea both put effort into nation building. In this process, the U.S. army heavily influenced South Korean popular culture. In a country that was blown with war and poverty and deployed on front line during the Cold War period, “Americanization” was not simply an external influence, but also an internalized value. Popular culture was no exception. Popular music, especially, was carried by the unique system called the Eighth U.S. Army Show.2 However, this “Americanization” did not proceed smoothly without any contradiction. In order to understand it, we need to understand the political history of Korea from the 1960s to 1980s. This period is marked by “military dictatorship” or “authoritarianism,” and is the backdrop of “militarized modernity” as indicated in the sub-title of this section. In South Korea (hereafter Korea),3 Syngman Rhee was re-elected as president in 1960. However, it was soon discovered that the presidential election was a fraud and Rhee resigned due to the outbreak of the Student Revolution of April 1960. The government restructured itself by electing its first premier, Chang Myŏn, thus diminishing the power of the president. However, Chang Myŏn’s cabinet did not even last a year. The Military Coup of May 16, 1961, led by Major General Park Chung Hee, was the beginning of the long lasting military regime. Park

Introduction • 5

eventually became a president and installed the rousing slogan: “Wealthy Nation and Strong Army” (puguk kangbyŏng). In doing so, Seungsook Moon states that the military rule adopted “the notion of modernity associated with a strong military and high productivity based on advanced technology,” (Moon 2007, 2) and categorizes this notion as a “militarized modernity (1963–1987),” which “illuminated the three related processes of sociopolitical and economic formation: the construction of the modern nation as an anticommunist polity, the making of its members as duty-bound ‘nationals,’ and the integration of the institution of male conscription into the organization of industrializing economy” (Moon 2007, 2). In the process of militarized modernization, “violent coercion and Foucauldian discipline” were conducted as well (Moon 2007, 2). The ideologies of anti-communism, nationalism, and economic development priority right4 were tightly enforced and popular culture suffered. The situation worsened when the Yushin constitution was promulgated in 1972. After completing two terms of presidency, Park changed the constitution to legalize his permanent presidency. The constitution change allowed for Park’s legal dictatorship. In 1962, the Korean Broadcasting Ethics Committee was established, and it was the first institution to enforce censorship in popular music. The government then promoted “healthy songs” (kŏnjŏn kayo) that centered on ethics, health, and nationalism towards the country. To the government, popular music was an object to regulate and a tool to educate its people. In 1967, the Recording Law was enacted to enable pre-production censorship. The government began examining the lyrics of songs from different genres that went against its central message. Because of these harsh laws, freedom of speech was suppressed. Freedom of speech in Korea was dealt a heavy blow in 1975 when Emergency Measure Number 9, the new anti-Communist Law and National Security Law (NSL), was passed. Emergency Measure Number 9 allowed the government to arrest anyone who behaved against the state. The Purification of Popular Music Measures (kayo chŏnghwa taech’aek) was part of this policy. Broadcasting was censored as well to control information and people. The laws constructed a blockage against decadent and immoral lifestyles, going so far as to prohibit men from wearing long hair and women from wearing miniskirts. During this time the government banned around 500 songs and stigmatized them as “unhealthy songs.” Every released record had to contain a “healthy song” that promoted the government. “New Village Song” by Park Chung Hee, dubbed a “healthy song,” was heard in every corner of the country. The Emergency Measure Number 9 and its related policies were strictly enforced until Park was assassinated by KCIA Director Kim Chae-kyu in 1979. After Park’s assassination, there was a hope of democracy, but another military figure, Chun Doo Hwan (r. 1981–1987) seized power and became the new president. During Chun’s regime, a series of democratization movements arose, starting from the Kwangju Uprising in May 1980. In order to avert people’s eyes, Chun loosened his grip on popular culture regulation, but made it clear that any anti-government activity like composing a song criticizing the government was still harshly suppressed. The censorship policies varied depending on the characteristics of the presidency, implying that popular music was strictly subject to the whims of political activity throughout modern history. Detailed discussions on the development of Korean popular music during this period will be examined in each chapter of this volume. Here we will just focus on how popular music, or popular culture in general, was conceptualized under the era of “militarized modernity.” In proceeding, it might be helpful to understand a quotation from John Storey’s monumental work in cultural studies. Storey defines popular culture in five different ways. First, that “popular

6 • Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee

culture is simply culture that is widely favored or well-liked by many people.” Second, that “it is the culture that is left over after we have decided what is high culture.” Third, that popular culture is “a mass culture,” and, in this case, focused on commercial culture. Fourth, “popular culture is the culture that originates from the people.” Lastly, it is “a site of struggle between the ‘resistance’ of subordinate groups and forces of ‘incorporation’ operating in the interests of dominant groups” (Storey 2012, 1–15). Borrowing Storey’s last definition of popular culture, in the case of Korean popular music, which is part of popular culture, it developed into today’s stage via “resistance” and “incorporation” within the dominant ideology that was reinforced by the government. Korea is obviously not the only country that fits into that definition. However, we find extreme examples of “resistance” and “incorporation” in Korean popular music from the 1960s to 1980s. In this period, popular music was, on one hand, mobilized for the government to control events to promote authoritarian government policy and to praise the achievements. On the other hand, it was devoted to revolutionary politics to overthrow the government, dreaming of a new society. What is more important is that there was a wider “gray zone” in between both poles. The term “negotiations” in cultural studies seems to explain these complicated practices that arise. The Western music genres, especially rock, folk, and soul, uniquely operated in negotiation with “militarized modernity” in this “gray zone.” Paul Simon once sang, “Negotiations and love songs are often mistaken for one and the same” (“Train in the Distance” in Hearts and Bones 1983). Would it be possible to say, borrowing Simon’s words, Korean popular songs that are mostly trivial love songs are not necessarily one and the same as negotiations, but are instead deeply related to it? “We Have Never Been Postmodern” Let us go on talking about popular music and politics. Some songs are overtly political and some songs are not as political but still carry considerable political weight. Some songs engage in politics in the narrow sense of the term, i.e. something about state power, whilst some songs touch on a diverse variety of politics such as identity, sexuality, body image and so on at the micro level. Frankly speaking, the latter were not familiar topics in Korean popular music up until the late 1980s. It is not that the cases were non-existent, but discourse and practices on those topics were rare. It was actualized when the new era in the 1990s arrived. Korea was finally able to obtain democracy after a series of democratic movements in 1987. It is a similar accomplishment and process to that which occurred in Spain and Portugal in the mid-1970s, and many other countries in East Europe in the late 1980s. Thus, in Korea this political democratization and cultural liberalization were accomplished and established in the 1990s. It might be an overstatement if we concluded that decolonization and demilitarization were accomplished immediately after the era of colonial modernity and militarized modernity. However, it is clear that there was at least a social agreement that society would not regress. For that reason, conventional phrases such as “turbulent” that always appeared in discussions of Korean modern history gradually faded away. The significance of heavy discourse regarding politics and history gradually diminished as well. Cultural discourses such as postmodernism, consumerism, and globalization dominated Korea in the first half of the 1990s. There were many scholars who pointed out that this kind of culture was also “political” in academia, but it is questionable whether any general populace agreed with this point.

Introduction • 7

In short, “depoliticized” and “dehistoricized” popular culture exploded in democratized Korea in the 1990s. The effects of heavy discourse such as “country” and “nation” propelled a light, disposable, and commercialized popular culture, which was unprecedented. This new form of popular culture tied with the new subjectivity called the “new generation” set off the firecrackers as if no politics and history existed previously. Popular music played a leading role among others. “New generation dance music” promptly imported international trends such as rap, reggae, house, techno, jungle, and bhangra, and modified and processed them to fit into the new generation’s taste and dominated the mainstream. We believe people who trace the origin of K-pop (idol music pop in this sense) probably went back in time to around the early 1990s. There might be differences in terms of sentiment and aesthetics, but “trendy drama” in TV and “new wave Korean film” were born around that time as well. It was also in the 1990s that Korean popular music began to export to neighboring countries crossing the national border. The cause of these phenomena is very complicated, however, we can draw a bigger picture of how the situational changes of cultural production operated in the East Asian region at that time. Japan stepped into a long-term depression after the bubble economy burst, and Hong Kong was facing great social anxiety when the city returned to China in 1997. The two countries that were at the top of the Asian cultural production hegemony gradually fell. In the case of China and Vietnam, “socialist market economy” did not go into orbit yet, hence, it was difficult to expect they could export their cultural production (and even now, it is difficult to have such expectations). Along with Taiwan, Korea accomplished political democratization and cultural liberation around the same time and was a most vibrant country in terms of cultural production. As time passed on, K-pop has become “dominant particular” (Negus 1996, 180, 185–186) in East and Southeast Asia. Nobody expected it, and Koreans were probably the ones who were surprised the most. If Korea has an impression that export is the most vital interest area compared to Taiwan, then it is necessary to mention one more condition other than the geolinguistic condition. Korea was dealt the most damaging blow during the IMF crisis in Northeast Asia, which swept both Northeast and Southeast Asia in 1997. It was the worst economy crisis to strike Korea in the 10 years since the accomplishments of political democratization. Furthermore, it was recognized as a “national disaster” that Koreans should overcome. Can we, then, conclude it was a transition period from the era, which leisurely discussed “global postmodernity” to the era, which eagerly craves “Asian (or regional) modernity”? Regardless of the answer to this question, the period that people imagined as postmodern also became part of history as if it never existed. Right after the economy crisis, President Kim Dae-jung, former leader of the democratization movement, carried out “neoliberal restructuring.” As the plan was carried on, the ethos “the winner takes it all” and self-improvement subjectivity were gradually established. In this process, the government acknowledged that cultural industry (or creative industry) was a highly profitable industry and began to promote it full-scale beyond the loosening up of cultural industry regulation. K-pop as we know it is a product of such government driven policy. It is not wrong to say that the government supports the Korean popular culture. However, the government has supported K-pop for a little over 10 years now. With a decade of support, can this kind of K-pop fever happen? Rather, can we say the internalization of neoliberal subjectivity played a bigger role in K-pop’s success rather than the subsequent government support? In order to answer this question, confirming facts and making decisions are in the process and are being seriously contested. If one is Foucauldian, one might suggest an answer through

8 • Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee

neoliberal governmentality. Lee Dong-Yeun (in Chapter 14) also criticizes K-pop. It is rather simple to connect neoliberal governmentality or ethical issues directly to K-pop’s cultural constructs. However, neoliberal governmentality and ethical issues are relevant. Korean American scholar, John Lie also states that K-pop is “naked commercialism” (Lie 2012, 362) and “merely a brand, part of Brand Korea that has been the export-oriented South Korean government” (Lie 2012, 361–362). This kind of view is probably against some Korean scholars’ point (for instance, Oh and Park), which praises transnational consumption of K-pop unconditionally. Even though K-pop has distinct negative sides such as militarized training, slave contract, and emotional labor, would popular music scholars in Korea have communicated on the international level if K-pop had not gone viral? Since 2010 Korean scholars do not need to waste many hours and emotions “introducing” Korean popular music because other scholars are at least acquainted with it now. Now we can say the additional effects of K-pop are that it made other popular music genres besides K-pop recognizeable (Lie 2013). Moreover, it is now possible to fully focus on Korean popular music history. Although we say neoliberalism and globalization aggravate rabid life, it is also true that they provide a new imagined space where people from every corner of this world can connect with each other. In other words, can we say K-pop provides an entrance that leads to new, imagined worlds beyond K-pop, not only for Koreans, but also for people outside of Korea? Here, let us reinterpret “Gangnam Style.” This song makes people dance with its addictive beat and catchy melody. If one does not understand Korean, s/he probably does not understand the message of the lyrics. The lyrics and music video describe the Gangnam area in Korea and the people who live there in detail with wit, humor, laughter, and satire. Gangnam is a southeastern region of Seoul. It used to be a wasteland in the outskirts of the Seoul boundary, but is now a newly developed area for the nouveau riche in the late 1970s. This place has a lack of significant history in the macro-sense and absence of politics in the micro-sense before the current development. It was utopia and dystopia at the same time, a heteropia, and a place for aforementioned postmodernism. For that reason, “Gangnam Style” is far from the stereotypical sounds of K-pop but fits into Korean text best. Now, would it be possible to communicate and share thoughts about Gangnam, Seoul, and Korea via this song other than just by finding physical pleasure through dancing to the tune? This might be a starting point to finding transnational communication. Conclusion: Korean Scholarship on Popular Music Hyunjoon Shin first participated in the International Association for the Study of Popular Music (IASPM) in Rome in 2005. Though it is not clear whether any Korean scholar participated in the conference prior to Shin, Shin was the first Korean scholar to continue to attend IASPM meetings. Shin’s participation marks the emergence of Korean scholarship on Korean popular music on a global scale. If, in any case, the project Made In Korea would have been suggested at that time, it was probably reluctant to engage in the project immediately. The difference between Korean popular music in the year of 2005 and 2015 is that presently the genre is popular in foreign countries. As we said, Korean popular music has gained international recognition as a staple in the global pop culture at large, whether it be Psy’s “Gangnam Style” or the collective wave of K-pop artists. In 2005, Rain, a K-pop star, successfully finished his Asian tour and went on to tour in America. But when Shin presented a paper on Rain at the conference, very few people recognized him. Not only is Korean musicology foreign

Introduction • 9

to music scholars, but it is also clear that even Korean popular music is neither heard nor widely discussed. Musicology in Korea has progressed, but it has not come to fruition quite yet. The conference on Korean popular music in Korea (Han’guk taejung ŭmak hakhhoe) is held biannually, but it is still a small conference that only boasts about fifty in attendance per meeting. Even then, most of the researchers in attendance typically specialize in other subjects and do not have musicology as their primary focus. Furthermore, many of them do not realize the importance of participation in the international discourse on popular music. Because of this, most research and work on Korean musicology that is published in English is written either by non-Korean researchers or researchers who have studied abroad in Korea. Another interesting feature in Korean musicology scholarship is that many researchers have an ambivalent opinion about the international success of K-pop. It is encouraging that K-pop has transcended into the transnational circulation of culture because that suggests the inherent communicative value of K-pop. However, at the same time, it is shameful to witness such naked commercialism of K-pop and the collective ethos that bonds K-pop with a one-dimensional national brand. They believe that the study on popular music is in part critical culture studies as well. Disputes over recognition in the international lens and emblemizing it on the domestic field are related yet not conducive to each other on the same level. If you interpret this book as a sign that there are so many great artists and musicians other than the ones associated with K-pop that you know, then that will be totally against what the musicologists in this book expected. Rather, they would like you to realize that the “diversity of music in Korea shows each and every music has different meaning and competes each other.” They want to communicate on the international level that the value of popular music lies within intricate social and affective communication rather than abstract aesthetical qualities, and its inherent value has the power to cross and blur the borders of nation, ethnicity, gender, and religion. It would be of great importance to us if, while reading this, you develop an interest and fascination in the lives and feelings of Korean people who enjoy popular music, and to connect your interest to Korean society and history, which embraces all. Notes 1 2 3 4

Kyŏngsŏng is today’s Seoul. It will be discussed in detail in Chapter 1 and other chapters as well. Korean popular music after the liberation is about South Korea only, due to the lack of information about North Korean popular music. For the sake of economic development, anything can be sacrificed.

Bibliography Lee, Young Mee. 2009. “Sigminji sidae taejung kayo ŭi changjŏm kwa kŭ ŭimi.” [Strength and the meaning of popular songs in the Colonial period]. In Kŭndae ŭi norae wa arirang, edited by Kim Si-ŏp, 135–162. Seoul: Somyŏng ch’ulp’an. 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. Moon, Seungsook. 2007. Militarized Modernity and Gendered Citizenship in South Korea. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Negus, Keith. 1996. “Globalization and the Music of the Public Spheres.” In Globalization, communication, and transnational civil society, edited by Sandra Braman and Annabelle Sreberny-Mohammadi, 179–195. Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press. Robinson, Michael. 1999. “Broadcasting, Cultural Hegemony, and Colonial Modernity in Korea, 1924–1945.” In Colonial Modernity in Korea, edited by Gi-Wook Shin and Michael Robinson, 52–69. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Asia Center.

10 • Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee Shin, Gi-Wook and Robinson, Michael. 1999. “Rethinking Colonial Korea.” In Colonial Modernity in Korea, edited by Gi-Wook Shin and Michael Robinson. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Asia Center. Shuker, Roy. 2005. Popular Music: The Key Concepts. New York: Routledge. Storey, John. 2012. Cultural Theory and Popular Music, 6th edition. Harlow: Pearson.

PART

I

Histories

Part I considers the “histories” of Korean popular music, but the chapters in this part are not organized chronologically. The method taken here is to multiply the history of popular music’s production and circulation by focusing on the systems of stage, record, broadcasting, and communication, in consideration of the complex nature of popular music’s mediation. In other words, this part places equal emphasis on the questions of “what” and “how.” The first three chapters treat a time period, which spans the birth of popular music to the late twentieth century, but the period in focus varies from chapter to chapter. This is because the three media— the stage, the record, and broadcasting—dominated different time periods. The subject covered in this part is not only Korean popular music but also, more broadly, popular music in Korea. This means that it encompasses not only popular music created and produced by Koreans but also, to some extent, popular music adopted and consumed in Korea. As in other countries, popular music adopted and consumed in Korea includes Korean popular music as well as a significant quantity of imported and transmitted popular music, particularly music produced in the West, including the U.S. and the UK. What is important is that such adoption and consumption make different meanings in a different location through different contexts and environments. Thus, while each chapter narrates multiple histories by considering each of the distinct media, a rough narration of a comprehensive history is needed. There has been much controversy over the beginning of popular music in Korea in national and international scholarships. But there is an implicit agreement that this music began in earnest in the late 1920s. The first golden age of Korean popular music often refers to the period immediately following this up to the 1930s. That the Japanese colonial rule of Korea (1910–1945) covers this range of time suggests that the birth and development of Korean popular music was influenced by Japan’s hegemonic influence in politics, culture, and economy. Because of this, theorists of the leftist or progressive “song movement” of the 1980s argued that Korean popular music was transplanted by the Japanese Empire. However, more recent theorists have criticized this argument, developing more complex and nuanced interpretations. Indeed, a simple theoretical frame does not easily explain the fact that a lot of Korean-texted music was produced and circulated under Japanese colonial rule and that this greatly appealed to many common people in Korea during and after the colonial period. What is important here is that Korean popular music during the colonial period took “musical drama” (akkŭk), a distinctive type of stage performance, as the ideal media. Popular music developed in relation to stage art involving theater performances as the commercial potentials of record and broadcasting were not yet harnessed. Musical dramas morphed into a peculiar form of entertainment called “theater show” as they declined from the 1950s to the 1970s due

12 • Histories

to the popular rise of motion pictures; subsequently, they were transmuted into dinner theater shows in night entertainment establishments. Korean musical drama and show may be considered local varieties of the revue, but particular attention needs to be paid to their relatively long existence, especially in comparison to counterparts in other countries, as well as their distinctive structures and communication styles. With the outbreak of the Korean War, which followed the national liberation in 1945 and the division in 1948, a massive U.S. military base was stationed in South Korea. This base declined in size as time passed, but still to this day it is stationed in South Korea and its headquarters are located in Yongsan, which lies at the heart of Seoul, the national capital and an international metropolis. I emphasize this because the presence of the U.S. military base provided a condition for the development of popular music in Korea. The influence of the U.S. Armed Forces in Korea was not only politico-military but also socio-cultural in character, and it established a distinctive form of entertainment called “the Eighth U.S. Army show.” This form did not stay within the boundaries of the military base but spread beyond the base, exerting a tremendous influence on Korea’s entertainment industry. The base’s influences also include the music programs of the AFKN broadcasting, which were produced within and transmitted from the U.S. military base in Korea, as well as illegally copied records (the so-called “bootlegs” or ppaekp’an), which were initially produced for American GIs. Popular music broke out of the stages of the theater shows and entered the age of broadcasting beginning in the mid-1960s, as the cultural influence of the U.S. army base waned due to its quantitative decline—a development that was also aided by the introduction of commercial broadcasting and the growth of the recording industry. Music show programs directly produced by the broadcasting industry enjoyed popularity with the public and the recording industry built an infrastructure for mass production as it began the production of LPs. The intimate intermediation between record publishing and broadcast media exposure—in other words, the formulae of creating hit songs through the recording media and of popular singers reaching star or celebrity status and selling records in large quantities through the transmission of these songs via the airwaves—became consolidated from the 1960s to the 1990s, despite some differences in forms throughout this period. Considering this, it is understandable that journalistic literature in Korea treats the 1960s and the 1990s as the commercial golden ages of popular music. The 1960s saw the emergence of new media and the attendant development of popular music and the music industry; and in the 1990s these components matured and flourished. And it is for the same reason that the middle period, the 1970s and the 1980s, is remembered as a time during which the youth (typically university or college students)—a generation living under an authoritarian, oppressive rule and deeply influenced by rock, folk, soul, and other music intimately related to the West’s counter-hegemonic culture or subculture—negotiated and rebelled against the established power and the official society as they developed their identities through national or international popular music. It should be remembered that in this process there existed a musical practice that categorically rejected any influence from foreign powers in the name of people’s music (minjung kayo) or song movement. What is clear is that in any case popular music deeply pervaded the everyday lives of Koreans and that it established itself as a factor that deals in the cultural politics of distinct groups (class, generation, gender, and region). This has not changed even in the twenty-first century, but there has also been a fundamental break. For some time Korea had the world’s highest rate in high-speed internet network penetration thanks to a quickly developed digital economy, obtained as part of the effort to

Histories • 13

overcome the sweeping economic crisis in late 1997. With this infrastructural change, the physical distribution of “record” collapsed and was replaced by digital distribution. As a result, after the early 2000s Korea became the first country in which digital music sales exceeded physical record sales. With this, broadcasting—to be precise, terrestrial TV—which had wielded absolute power on popular music media for decades—swiftly handed over its power to new media including the internet. The practice has changed so much that the local vernacular term ŭmwŏn (“sound source”) has taken root as an official term beyond an industry jargon. The young generation of Korea is no longer familiar with vinyl LPs and CDs and does not use hardware to play music. The predominant method for listening to music is to subscribe to a sound source site with a cellphone and then to listen to music or watch music videos through “streaming.” Korea’s music industry has adapted to this consumption practice whether it wanted this or not, and as a result telecommunication has emerged as the most powerful media of popular music. It has had an impact on international circulation, reaching far beyond the confines of nationwide circulation. For instance, it has provided the industrial and institutional conditions for an artist to cross borders: this artist’s music video, which originally targeted the domestic market, was uploaded to the YouTube channel of his company and then went viral across the world. This is the story of “Gangnam Style.” It may be somewhat inappropriate that such a story is considered in the last chapter of a section that is concerned with “history.” Yet, if we see history as the task of reflecting on the past to take a view of the future from today’s perspective, this is not only appropriate but also timely.

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1 The Stage Show and the Dance Floor A History of “Live Music” in Korea Hyunjoon Shin

Introduction Simon Frith stated that “Twentieth-century popular music means the twentieth-century popular record” (Frith 1988, 12). It is difficult to disagree with his view and it is easy to confirm that Korean popular music is no exception to his statement. But I argue that the process by which the record became the hegemonic mediator of popular music is never simple and straightforward. I began to take an interest in popular music during my academic research in the 1990s. While reading the texts and articles on popular music, I sensed that up until the 1960s, the discourse on Korean popular music was more focused on live, onstage performances rather than on “records” (i.e. Yi 1973; Hwang 1983) in contrast with recent academic studies (i.e. Chang 2006; Lee 2007). The 1980s superstar Cho Yong-p’il stated, “recording singers (rek’odŭ kasu) and stage singers (mudae kasu) are two different things” (Cho 1982, 162).1 In other words, “stage music” was just as important as “record music” even in the 1980s in mediating popular music in Korea. Popular recordings (and their broadcasting) eventually became the dominant forms of media in Korea in the last two decades of the twentieth century. We can define “record music” as music that primarily features recording artists, and “stage music” as music that is featured in live onstage performances. However, notice the gap in the process of translation here—since there have been many different institutions, practices, and customs of popular music in different parts of Korea, “stage” (mudae) is defined not only as the physical setting for musical performances and the like, but also as a symbolic space for musical mediation. This chapter will examine the different stages of the history of Korean popular music—how it came to be and how it was popularized. The main focus of this chapter will be on Korean popular music from the 1940s to the 1970s. The Periodization of Popular Music in Terms of Musical Mediation Since mass media was firmly consolidated in Korea after the 1980s, there is the problem of periodization before the 1980s.2 I will briefly examine the cases of Korea and Japan from an inter-Asian perspective on this topic. According to the Japanese scholar Touya Mamoru, there have been four different types of media, which were at some point in the twentieth century the dominant form of mediating popular music in Japan and East Asia: “staff notation,” “US military base,” “mass media,” and

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“multimedia” (Touya 2008, 118). Among these forms, Touya states that the “US military base,” which was seldom considered “mediator,” was the most powerful form of mediation during the period. Touya even suggests that “US military base” constituted a global or transnational media network during the Cold War and exerted great influence throughout the period (Yoshimi 2003; Touya 2005). Mass media culminated in the 1970s due to the fact that the “system of music industry of the U.S. military during the occupation period was transmitted into TV culture since the 1960s” (Touya 2008, 126). In Japan, Anglo-American pop music was the dominant form of music prior to this period, while Japanese pop (kayōkyoku) blossomed in the later periods. Can Touya’s argument be applied to the case of Korea and East Asia at large? Yes and no, considering cultural differences between Japan and Korea. To begin with, color television was introduced much later in Korea than in most other countries. There was also a merger and abolition of the media which reduced the number of national broadcasting stations to only two public stations in 1980. Thus, it was not until the 1980s that color television was popularized on a national scale. Considering that color television had been introduced in 1960 in Japan, Korea was comparably late in the popularization and enculturation of mass media. Furthermore, the power of “US military base” was still strong in Korea in the 1960s, while it was simultaneously in decline in Japan. While “American military facilities became more and more invisible in the urban areas of the Japanese mainland after the 1960s” (Yoshimi 2003, 443), they were practically ubiquitous in Korea. We therefore sense that the influence of American popular culture had become more indirect in Japan after the 1960s, while simultaneously becoming more direct and immediate in Korea. By this time, “U.S. military base show” reached its height in popularity in Korea; different genres of 1960s pop-rock (e.g. soul, folk, psychedelic) were thereby introduced. “US military base” and “mass media,” which Touya suggested were different mediations of popular music culture, have coexisted during the early Cold War period. At this point, multiple forms of mediation were interconnected. Moreover, “US military base” cannot be defined by concepts like “staff notation” and “mass media.” According to Antoine Hennion, “music has nothing but mediations to show: instruments, musicians, scores, stages” (Hennion 2003, 83). He compares different types of music and genres from the basis of media and modes of performance—between classical and jazz, between jazz, rock and rap (Hennion 2003, 87–89). In addition, I will discuss how the stage in Korea has not only mediated producers and consumers, but has also mediated social relations through popular music.3 The Age of Akkŭk and the “U.S. Military Base Show” “Stage music” (mudae) is a “Western” invention in Korean and East Asian contexts. Its origins can be traced back to the early twentieth century, but it became popular particularly in the 1920s when several theaters were built in Seoul and other urban areas in colonial Korea. Although record industries and radio industries were introduced during this period, the most prominent mediator of popular music was the “stage.” The dominant mode of performance on stage was called akkŭk (“musical drama”), in which music, dance, comedy, and other forms of performing entertainment were combined. The organization was the akkŭktan (“music and drama troupe”). Within akkŭk, popular songs were performed like narratives in theater plays. Also, some of the lyrics of trot and siminyo, popular genres during colonial time, depict epic descriptions of events during the period rather than simply expressions of personal feelings.

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Akkŭk was popular until the 1950s, even during and after the semi-permanent division between the southern and northern regions of the Korean peninsula in 1953. Since then, akkŭk and other stage performances only became restricted to Korea. Due to the harsh conditions during the 1940s–1950s, popular musicians could not make a living by recording and broadcasting their music. Production facilities and distribution networks were completely disrupted after Japanese staff and engineers retreated to Japan after 1945. Even famous singers and musicians, who had already acquired the title of “recording artists” since the colonial period, became dependent on live onstage performances. Although akkŭk is not specifically a Korean production but rather a variant of revue, it is a highly localized form of entertainment. Stages for akkŭk performances were then called ilbanmudae (“general stage” or “ordinary stage”). The term itself indicates the existence of a contrasting “special” or “extraordinary” stage mode of performance, the “U.S. military base show”—a variety show performed inside U.S.based camps in Korea. Although these shows shared similar formats with those of akkŭk, staging various forms of entertainment cumulatively, these two stages differed greatly in their repertoires, audiences, and performance narratives. While in akkŭk, artists would perform Korean popular songs in front of Korean audiences, in “U.S. military base shows” artists would perform Western popular music for American military personnel. Since the end of the Korean War, Korea had become a popular base for large numbers of American soldiers (GIs). By 1953 there were 325,000 American troops stationed in Korea. It decreased to 85,500 in 1955, but still outnumbered 50,000 in the 1970s. Also, alongside more than 150 military camps all over the country during the period were so-called “camp towns” (kijich’on), which became hotbeds for mass dissemination of American pop culture. In U.S. military bases, a specific show format for American military personnel was developed. In its first staging, the United Service Organizations (USOs) organized show troupes to invite entertainers from the U.S.A. as demand increased for the show entertainment, U.S. military authorities began to hire Korean musicians who were able to play American pop music. In clubs inside the military base, the influence of these shows were so great that eventually there emerged a specific show format which was similar to that of USO shows but performed by Korean musicians. For these “U.S. military base shows,” the U.S. military authorities enforced strict auditions among all its performers periodically in their process of hiring musicians and other entertainers. Musicians had to be registered by the authorities after passing these auditions every three or six months. Also, local agencies who specialized in supplying musicians for these shows increased in numbers. They did not only recruit and train the musicians, but they also organized several ssyodan (show troupes) in order to prepare them for the periodic auditions. Overall, there developed a labor market of Korean musicians based on the military budget of the U.S. government. The market was highly unstable and competitive on the one hand, but well-paid and under good working conditions on the other. The music genres, styles of performances, and even modes of operations for these shows were regarded as “modern.” Thus, musicians who played in “U.S. military clubs” enjoyed unrivaled prestige while other musicians who played on “general stages” were often disregarded.4 However, we must note that during this time, the “U.S. military base shows” and associated businesses were not connected with everyday Korean life. The music played for Americans was therefore not genuinely popular until the early 1960s. Until then, the two “stages” belonged to completely different systems and had little influence on or connection to each other. Also, after the 1960s when “U.S. military base shows” had their “heyday,” the shows were in decline since the expansion of the Vietnam War forced the relocation of U.S. military forces from Korea.

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Figure 1.1 The Records by Border-crossing Korean Pop Acts. From the left, The Kim Sisters (LKL, LK-1005, 1968), the Happy Dolls (Solar, SAR-2012, 1978), the Arirang Singers (Polydor/So˘ngu˘m, SEL-200359, 1979). All of them started their careers in the U.S. military base show in Korea and ended up settling in North America and Western Europe. (Koreana, who played “Hand in Hand,” written by Giorgio Moroder, a theme song of Seoul Olympic Games in 1988, is an offshoot of the Arirang Singers.)

Some Korean musicians decided to follow the U.S. military forces’ route and became “show bands” in Western Europe and North America. However, most Korean musicians remained in their homeland, adjusting themselves to local music businesses. Some elderly musicians in the 1960s adjusted themselves as singers, bandmasters, composers, arrangers in the rejuvenated recording industries and burgeoning broadcasting industries. Other pop singers made their way to stardom and soon more beat-oriented music followed, including the recent edgy genres such as rhythm and blues, rock ’n’ roll, folk, and soul, which catered to the tastes of the younger generation in the 1960s–1970s. Kŭkchangssyo (“Theatre Shows”) and Pammudae (“Night Club Stages”) We should note that the influence of “U.S. military base show” was not confined to inside the camps. It accompanied the transformation of akkŭktan into ssyodan (“show troupe”) or yŏnyedan (“entertainment troupe”). The association with drama became less obvious and stage performances became kŭkchangssyo (“theatre shows”), which flourished until the emergence of color television in Korea in 1980. In the 1960s, the format of these shows went through a complex process of hybridization and became transformed into heavily indigenized “variety shows.” Most notably, these shows started to become named after famous singers and become oriented around those particular singers. “Theatre shows” had been lucrative businesses. Large-scale theaters in downtown Seoul regularly scheduled these shows as their main attractions during national holidays such as sŏl (New Year’s Day in the lunar calendar) and ch’usŏk (Thanksgiving Days). These shows were normally staged four times a day for several days at one venue, and their performers often went on tour to different parts of the country. Up until the 1970s, “theatre show” played a pivotal role in organizing diverse forms of entertainment and in defining what “entertainment” was. Also notable is that some of the impresarios ran “theatre pubs” (kŭkchang sulchip) or “theatre restaurants” (kŭkchang siktang), where acts performed on a daily basis in the format of “variety shows.” The yŏnyebujang (“entertainment director”) in this kind of spot was an important intermediary in the music business. Sometimes producers of TV programs worked for these night entertainment spots as side jobs. Pammudae is the jargon for the stage in night entertainment

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spot (yagan yuhŭngŏpso). Performing at pammudae was indispensable for the professional musicians who wanted to survive only by playing music. We should also note that theater shows did not produce a single music genre. Music genres and styles performed in theater shows varied from trot to pop. Significantly, there was a specific mode of performance all musicians had to follow regardless of their own music genres. The musicians had to transform themselves into showmen to please particularly drunk/wild audience members. “Theatre pubs/restaurants” especially had affluent male adults among their audiences. For these reasons, trot, which had become unfashionable to younger generations in the 1960s, still maintained its wide popularity for a long time. Meanwhile, younger musicians who started their professional careers from the “U.S. military base shows” struggled to search for audiences in various entertainment spots for the local public in Korea. In this sense, Korean rock (or “group sound”) in its early stages was an interesting case. As the “U.S. military base shows” were waning, large-scale “floor shows” were replaced with small-scale “package shows.” The music genres and styles also changed from swing and mambo, which needed big-band orchestras, to rhythm and blues, rock ’n’ roll, and soul, which

Figure 1.2 The Posters of Theater Shows in the 1960s-1970s: “Joint Grand Entertainment Festival” co-organized by three show troupes (Three Seven Show, Prince Show, and Playboy Show) in the left (1968), “Vocal Group Competition” organized by Playboy Show Troupe (1966), “Kim Ch’u-ja Recital” organized by Sinsegye Promotion (1974). They show the influence of the U.S. military base on the theater show as well as the continuities and changes from variety show to singer’s recital.

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only needed four-rhythm bands. Thus, the bands who played music in package shows became similar to performers of rock ’n’ roll. Other groups, which failed to pass auditions played music in clubs as “house band(s)” in camp towns. These bands had debuted in front of domestic audiences through a series of “theatre shows” since the mid-1960s. Falsely-named as “vocal group competitions” or “group sound festivals,” these shows were organized by show troupes who were scouting for potential artists of rock music. From the 1960s onward, the shows gained immense popularity at least among the younger generations in Seoul and in other urban areas. Go-go Clubs and Night Stages for Early Korean Rock Most music played by early Korean rock bands (“group sounds”) were “covers” of American and British pop-rock music. From the early 1970s, these rock bands settled down to their own versions of night stage (pammudae). During the 1960s, diverse entertainment spots like cafés, pubs, bars, and clubs set their own stages for live musicians of diverse genres of music. Among them were “music cafés” (ŭmak kamsangsil) and “live music salons” (saengŭmak ssarong). “Music cafés” were small-sized venues in which young people went to listen to records while enjoying coffee or tea. They also staged small live shows on Sundays. “Live music salons” on the other hand are middle-sized venues which hosted live music on a daily basis. Having mushroomed at Myŏngdong and other downtown areas in Seoul, these salons sprawled out to suburban centers and other major cities in Korea. The most important institutions for rock bands to perform were “go-go clubs” (kogojang). Although they can be regarded as nightclubs, the new term “go-go” implies that they tried to differentiate themselves from ordinary nightclubs where adult entertainment such as social dance prevailed. After “go-go clubs” popularized as hotel operations, other ordinary nightclubs also transformed themselves into “go-go clubs” as well. In addition, it had become a custom for two bands to play “dance music,” one after the other, for dancing crowds in these clubs. To recap what I have covered so far, the “U.S. military base show” was the stage in which Korean musicians played American music for American audiences, the “theatre show” was the stage in which Korean musicians played Korean music for (adult) Korean audiences, and the “go-go club” was the stage in which Korean musicians played American music for Korean audiences. Entangled and interconnected with one another, these three forms of “stage shows” constituted the specific conditions from which Korean rock and Korean pop were born. Most Koreans know about the severe crackdown on entertainment spots in the early 1970s, or the “crackdown on decadent culture” (Kim and Shin 2010, 216–219), by the authoritarian Park Chung Hee (a.k.a. Pak Chŏng-hŭi)’s regime. It culminated in 1975 when a series of Laws and Regulations were enacted, specifically the “Food Sanitation Act” and “Public Performance Act.” These Acts prohibited any kind of public performance of music except in designated “entertainment establishments,” and stipulated that all performances must get legal permission in advance after submitting their scripts to the authorities. Due to these Acts and other dictatorial policies, many live music venues in urban areas were shut down, and “go-go clubs” were restructured into discotheques. Since then, after the 1980s, thriving nightclubs run by luxurious hotels became practically the only sources of income for popular musicians, particularly rock musicians. Due to the relative underdevelopment of the recording and the broadcasting industries, even celebrity singers/musicians were unable to make their living without performing in night shows. These chaotic conditions often exhausted rock musicians who had to play every night as members of “show bands.”

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Some “campus sound groups” (or “college rock”) who became famous in the late 1970s due to televised “campus song festival(s)” had to play in night shows after becoming “professional musicians” despite their heavy exposure on television and the good sales of their records. However, other bands that were hailed as “emperors of night stage” were virtually unknown to the public due to their minimal exposure to mass media and their lack of songwriting ability. As far as my research goes, there is only one Korean rock band, Sanullim, which had not played on night stage. The Acts of Park Chung Hee’s regime, which designated that musicians must play in certain entertainment spots as “entertainment workers” survived until 1999. The derogatory term ttanrtara refers to those who played on stage, the artist being the stage entertainer. “Decadent entertainment spot” had been a familiar expression in mainstream journalism. It explains why the pursuit of alternative spaces for live music in the mid-1980s by “underground” artists led them to perform in clean and relaxed “small theatres,” and in the 1990s by “indie” musicians, to autonomous and communal “live clubs.” These are different stories, which will be covered in some of the upcoming chapters. Conclusion The history of the first generations of Korean rock is unfamiliar to younger generations of rock critics and fans. Even if these younger generations know the history of Anglo-American rock bands in the 1960s–1970s, early Korean rock bands were simply dismissed as “cover bands.” Only Shin Joong Hyun (and his ever-changing bands) and Sanullim (led by Kim Ch’ang-wan) were considered the “original roots” of Korean rock. The youths often disregarded many significant bands and musicians who played on night stages. For those who are only interested in recorded music or music played on the radio, the bands that played on “stage shows” and nightclubs were not even considered “proper” rock bands or artists. They are regarded only as showmen for crowds who were not interested in the music they played. It was not until recently when modern connoisseurs had rediscovered some “hidden values” in these records, and when the Korean version of “rock ideology” had re-popularized. These records show how some early rock bands struggled to create a unique version of rock music from the hostile conditions of stages. However, even in these cases, records do not show all of their activities. There is a significant gap between those who experienced live music on stage and those who experienced recorded music through mass media. In other words, the mediation of music by stage(s) is considered important, but is currently not well remembered. The history of music stages in Korea show how music genres such as rock have acquired different meanings and developed different practices and customs in Korea. Rather than simply saying that those practices deviate from established norms and that they lack authenticity, I argue that the specific conditions of musical mediation situated in a specific place should be narrated from multiple points of view. Notes 1

Terms such as “record song” (rek’odŭ kayo), “stage song” (mudae kayo), and “broadcast song” (pangsong kayo) would be unfamiliar even to local Koreans who were born after the 1960s. However, these terms have been used in books and articles published before the 1960s. They are also found in recent publications of works, which focus on these periods. See for example, Pak (2009, 31, 55).

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3 4

Frith explains three different historical periods and/or stages in terms of storage-revival. The first is storage-revival in the mind and body of a person, the second is that in the form of note and score, and the last is that in the sound carrier (Frith 2000, 2004). His explanation is flawless in its own sense. My periodization in this chapter is a sub-division of a modern period in the Korean and East Asian context. The idea of mediation as 1) intermediary action, 2) transmission, and 3) mediation of social relations is borrowed from Negus (1996, 67–69). For the perspectives of the ex-musicians, refer to their individual interviews in Shin et al. (2005a) and Shin et al. (2005b).

Bibliography Chang, Yu-jeong. 2006. Oppa nŭn p’unggakchaengiya: taejunggayo ro pon kŭndae ŭi p’unggyŏng [Brother is a Street Musician: The Modern Era in Popular Songs]. Seoul: Minumin. Cho, Yong-p’il. 1982. Ch’ohon ŭi Norae [Songs from Dusk]. Seoul: Usŏk. Frith, Simon. 1988. “The Industrialization of Music.” In Music for Pleasure: Essays in the Sociology of Pop, 11–23. London: Polity Press. ——. 2000. “Entertainment.” Mass Media and Society (3rd edition), edited by James Curran and Michael Gurevitch, 201–216. New York: Arnold. Hennion, Antoine. 2003. “Music and Mediation: Towards a New Sociology of Music.” In The Cultural Study of Music: A Critical Introduction, edited by Martin Clayton, Trevor Herbert, and Richard Middleton, 80–91. London: Routledge. Hwang, Mun-p’yŏng. 1983. Kayo 60nyŏnsa: Ch’angga esŏ P’apsong kkaji [60 years-history of Korean Pop Music: from Ch’angga to Pop Song]. Seoul: Chŏn’goksa. Kim, Pil ho and Shin Hyunjoon. 2010. “The Birth of ‘Rok’: Cultural Imperialism, Nationalism, and the Glocalization of Rock Music in South Korea, 1964–1975.” Positions: East Asia Cultures Critique 18(1): 199–230. Negus, Keith. 1996. Popular Music in Theory: An Introduction. London: Polity Press. Pak, Ch’an-ho. 2009. Han’gukkayosa 2: Haebang esŏ Kunsajŏnggwŏn kkaji Sidae ŭi Hŭimang gwa Chŏlmang ŭl Norae hada [A History of Korean Popular Music 2: Singing Hopes and Despairs of the Age from The Liberation to Military Regime]. Seoul: Mizibooks. Shin, Hyunjoon, Yi Yong-u, and Ch’oe Chi-sŏn. 2005a. Han’guk P’ab ŭi Kogohak 1960 [Archeology of Korean Popular Music 1960s]. Seoul: Hangil Art. —— . 2005b. Han’guk P’ab ŭ i Kogohak 1970 [Archeology of Korean Popular Music 1970s]. Seoul: Hangil Art. Touya, Mamoru. 2005. Shinchūgun kurabu kara kayōkyoku e: Sengo nippon popyura ongaku no reimeiki [From Occupying Forces to Japanese Pop: The Dawning Age of Postwar Popular Music in Japan]. Tokyo: Misuzu Shobō. —— . 2008. “Gurobaruka ni miru popyura ongaku [Popular Music Seen from the Globalization].” In Kakusan suru ongaku bunka o dō toraeruka [How to understand the spreading music culture], edited by Mamoru Touya, 109–130, Tokyo: Keiso Shobō. Yi, Chun-hŭi. 2007. “1950 Nyŏndae Han’guk Taejunggayo ŭi Tu Mosŭp, Chisok kwa Pyŏnhwa [Continuance and Change of Korean Popular Song in 1950s].” Taejungsŏsayŏn’gu [Popular Narrative Studies] 13(1): 73–104. Yi, Kil-pŏm. 1973. “Yŏnyesuch’ŏp pansegi kayogye [Entertainment Notebook: Half a Century of Korean Popular Music Scene] (1)–(49)” The Dong-A Ilbo: 6 Feb–13 Apr. Yoshimi, Shunya. 2003. “ ‘America’ as Desire and Violence: Americanization in the Postwar Japan and Asia during the Cold War.” Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 4(3): 433–450.

2 Assembling Pop Records in Twentieth-Century Korea A Double is Twice as Good as a Single Keewoong Lee

Introduction Arguably, the word that best sums up twentieth-century music is “recording.” Despite its seemingly terminal decline, it has not been long since “recording” was the dominant musical mediator. It is said that the spread of electric recording and playback technology during the twentieth century is responsible for several profound changes in music that we now take for granted, the transformation of music into a mass product (Wall 2003, 41); the emergence of new sounds, aesthetics, and styles such as rock, house music, and hip-hop (Frith 1986; Harley 1993; Zak 2001); and the production of new ways to listen to and consume music (Dibben 2003, 201). However, to some extent this statement only applies to certain wealthy countries in which the practices of collecting records and listening to music at home were fully established everyday practices. “Recording” had different uses and impacts in other parts of the world in which the record markets were not as well-developed and record-buying less common. Focusing on pop records, this chapter will attempt to chart how “recording,” as a socio-technical object, was produced via mediation and translation in the peripheral context of twentieth-century Korea; examine how it differs from the ideal-typical “recording” in the dominant discourse of popular music; and how this object ordered the assemblage of Korean pop music in a particular way. Recording as a Musical Mediator and Ordering Device Ostensibly, the function of “recording” is to store music and reproduce it to consumers. However, as Albertsen and Diken (2004) argue, music is allographic by nature; it “must be executed, that is, mediated” (Albertsen and Diken 2004, 48) in order to have any semblance of durable existence. Hennion (1993) even claims that “the music itself is a mediation” (cited in ibid). There is no such thing as “pure” music outside the materiality of mediators. Latour (2005) puts it that mediators do not just transfer but always transform (Latour 2005, 39). Musical mediators do not simply “pass” music from one actor to another and disappear. Their materiality remains and produces certain effects in a specific socio-technical arrangement. As a musical mediator, “recording” has generated a new regime constitutive of various practices and institutions. Since the mid-twentieth century, recording did not only replace live performance as the dominant way of listening to popular music, but it also took over from it the position of its musical “truth” relegating the latter to the position of its “imitation.” Thanks

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to the invention of reusable magnetic tapes and the introduction of the technique of multiple takes in recording sessions (Fairchild 2008, 43), “recording” quickly evolved into the embodiment of musical “perfection” which live music should aspire to emulate (Hennion 1993, 416–417). From this point on, recording became the focal point of a musician’s career both commercially and artistically. The record album was regarded as a work of art, and the recording contract the “Holy Grail” for many musicians (Webb 2007, 202). The symptomatic case of this recordingcentered musical order is the emergence of non-performing, studio-bound musicians such as the later period Beatles, Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, and Andy Partridge of XTC, as well as celebrity producers and engineers such as Phil Spector, Joe Meek, and Alan Parsons. These musicians eschewed live performances but were still able to build successful careers solely from making records. “Recording” did not only transform the production side of the business. There were als profound changes in the circulation and consumption of music. It produced the first global music industries and their surrounding institutions. It spawned hit charts based on record sales; music journalism centered on record reviews; radio programs devoted to playing records; and annual award events celebrating “best” records of the year. Moreover, the proliferation of “recording” facilitated ongoing innovations in sound technologies and media formats—one of the prominent features in the twentieth-century technological landscape. On the consumption side, perhaps the most significant development was the practice of collecting records. It created new categories of music fans, notably record collectors and audiophiles who symbolized new relationships between the human subject and music as fixed and repeatable sound. The use of “recording” was also diversified and socialized. It was fetishized for collective identity building, mobilized for cultural distinction, and re-commodified for monetary gain. It also produced new ways of listening to music; as a decontextualized sound from its source, “recording” has rendered listening to music a private, homogeneous and ubiquitous practice. In these respects, we argue that “recording” had served throughout its history not only as a musical mediator, but also as an ordering device of twentieth-century popular music. This recording-centered musical order was, however, a product of particular economic, cultural, technological, and institutional arrangements, specific to North America, Western Europe, and Japan. Due to various factors including poverty, poor media infrastructure, the smallness of the market and the lack of technology, the rest of the world had to devise different ways of integrating “recording” into their music cultures. In Korea, studio-bound artists, record sales-based hit charts, and even 45rpm seven-inch discs were virtually unheard of. Celebration of “classic” records and music journalism focused on record reviews began in only around the end of the twentieth century. In this sense, we could argue that, although “recording” was not necessarily unimportant in Korean music life, its importance was differently constructed from those countries mentioned above. To look at how it has been assembled in Korea, we need first to trace its historical trajectory. Historical Trajectory of the “Pop Record” in Korea The Colonial Beginning: 1910–1945 Legend has it that Korea’s encounter with recording technology took place in 1866 when a German trader brought to the country a gramophone and played it to local government officials (Hwang 1989, 155). However, the recording business started in all earnest after the country fell

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to Japanese colonial rule in 1910. Royal Record Nipponophone, the Japanese gramophone company established in the same year, produced a large number of Korean music recordings with a view to exploiting the new market. Early releases were predominantly of Korean traditional music such as P’ansori, Chapka, and Tan’ga,1 performed by well-known master singers or kisaeng, the female entertainers (Kwon 2004, 120–123). However, listening to records during this period remained only an aristocratic hobby as the price of the gramophone was prohibitively expensive (Yi 2001, 62). The recording industry hit its stride after the release of “Sa ŭi ch’anmi” (In Praise of Death), an adaptation of “Waves of the Danube” by Romanian composer Ion Ivanovici, in 1926. It was a posthumous release by female singer Yun Sim-tŏk who jumped into the Korea Strait with her illicit lover on the way back from Japan where she had just recorded the song (Lee 2006, 3). With this powerful story in the backdrop, the record became a smash hit and kick-started a series of changes in the musical landscape and the nature of the music business in the country. First, the dominance of traditional music was challenged by increasingly popular modern music characterized by the Western-style heptatonic scale. Second, the recording industry had become a booming business. It was symptomatic that the song became a hit purely on the strength of the recording. Gramophone sales had gone up to 300,000 units by the mid-1930s when Korea’s population was slightly above 20 million (Yi 2001, 65–68), and hit records, such as “Hwangsŏng ŭi chŏk” (The Trace of Deserted Town) by Lee Aerisu in 1932, sold more than 50,000 copies (Pak 2009, 192). In this development, recording became an integral part of the country’s music life. Although there were still very few who could afford a record player, the penetration of recorded music into everyday life was gathering pace as growing numbers of public places such as tearooms, department stores, musical instrument shops, and the new medium of radio filled urban spaces with the sound of recordings. Nonetheless, the country was still unable to develop its own recording industry. Even though an ostensibly Korean-owned record label Okeh Records was created in 1933, it was in practice the Seoul office of the Japanese company Teichiku, which was responsible for the financial and technical sides of the company including recording and pressing. Throughout the colonial period, the Korean market was completely dominated by Japanese-based companies including Victor, Columbia, Polydor, Taihei, and Okeh. Postwar Development and Marginalization: 1945–1970 Korea was able to establish a full-blown recording industry after the colonial masters fled the country in 1945. However, the prospect for the burgeoning industry was initially dismal, as it had started in extremely harsh conditions. The newly developing industry was essentially a cottage industry with primitive technology, as opposed to the previous decade’s thriving big businesses. There were three recording studios built in the early 1940s in Seoul, but the country had no press equipment. Korean engineers and entrepreneurs had to build production facilities from scratch using their experiences and imaginations. Legend has it that they used the sesame seed oil extractor for a record press, and recycled old shellac records to make new records. The devastating Korean War (1950–1953) was another blow to the already poverty-stricken industry (Lee 2007, 86). Although record business continued during wartime, it was increasingly marginalized, relinquishing its once-hegemonic status to the flourishing live industry. It was a crucial shift in the balance of power, which would determine the shape of Korean popular music forever. During the colonial period, the recording industry was central to every facet of popular music. Singers, songwriters, lyricists, and instrumentalists were all hired by record companies,

26 • Keewoong Lee

Figure 2.1 Record Sleeve of “Mokp’o u˘i nunmul” (Tears from Mokpo) by Yi Nan-yo˘ng (Okeh, 1935).

Pop Records in Korea • 27

and were paid salaries, enabling them to effectively control the artists (Lee 2007, 88–90). In contrast, the postwar Korean recording industry was so financially deprived that nobody was able to receive even what amounted to a “regular” income. The industry paid performers small one-off payments for each recording; and freelancing songwriters and lyricists received nominal fees for each song. The recording industry at this stage was a highly exploitative business, which musicians no longer considered a viable source of livelihood; they were able to get paid in booming live industries instead. Live performances became increasingly central to careers in popular music. However, “recording” was not completely dismissed by the musicians, as it still remained a useful promotional vehicle and an effective means of dissemination of music to the wider public. Nonetheless, recording industries were quickly losing their grip on artists.

Figure 2.2 Record Sleeve of “Tongbaek Agassi” (Miss Camelia, 1964) by Yi Mi-cha. Actually it is the soundtrack album of the movie film with the same name.

28 • Keewoong Lee

Despite debilitating poverty, postwar Korean recording industries made crucial technical breakthroughs in their early years. They replaced the old 78rpm recording with the new Long Play (hereafter LP) format. LP recording was first introduced in 1956 in the shape of the teninch disc (Shin et al. 2005a, 55). Twelve-inch records were later introduced in 1962 and became the industry standard by the mid-1960s, although strangely the seven-inch single never caught on, which had a significant implication for future development of Korean pop music. In this period, the dearth of recording studios and high rate of studio time made most recordings essentially slapdash jobs. The majority of albums released in the 1960s–1970s were finished in only a day or two, which prevented artists from experimenting with fresh new ideas or original concepts—a major reason why most recordings from this period sound rather tame and indifferent. Independent Producers and Authoritarian State: 1970–1980 Since the 1950s, the diminished record businesses attracted a great number of petty entrepreneurs, hucksters, and fly-by-night operators. By the mid-1960s, there were more than fifty record companies. The chaotic state of the industry invited governmental intervention in the form of the Record Law in 1967. The law stipulated that all record companies are required to have a recording studio and storage facilities to be eligible for license. This measure effectively reduced the number of record companies to around ten. In 1968, there were eleven companies that had a license, Jigu, Shinsegi, Sung Eum, Daedo, Samhwa, Universal, Grand, Shinhyang, Shinjin, Domido, and Oscar (Park et al. 2010, 61). However, interestingly, those who were made ineligible by the law did not simply disappear, but persisted as unlicensed independent record producers. Dubbed PD makers in the local industry, these businesspeople became key agents of musical and cultural innovation and were responsible for unearthing some of the most groundbreaking and exciting music the country has ever produced.2 Due to their illegal status, however, they had to tiptoe around the legal boundaries producing records with names borrowed from licensed majors. This practice of name-borrowing was crucial for development of Korean pop since it enabled the adventurous and fiercely competitive small entrepreneurs to stay in the game after the enforcement of the draconian Record Law. The practice continued until the 1990s when the law finally became a dead letter. Some of the most influential PD makers who emerged in the 1960s–1970s were King Production (hereafter King) and Orient Production (hereafter Orient). King, led by Pak Sŏngbae, was home to the music of Shin Joong Hyun, arguably the most distinguished rock artist in the 1960s and 1970s. Meanwhile, Orient, founded by engineer and recording producer Na Hyŏn-ku, was instrumental in the explosion of what had been called the early “seventies youth culture”—Korea’s first youth-oriented pop culture led by young educated “folk music” artists. Orient’s country-tinged “folk rock” provided the de facto soundtrack to the blossoming youth culture. Despite their great successes, however, these companies continued as PD makers throughout the 1970s–1980s rather than establishing themselves as full-fledged record labels.3 One of the main reasons why King and Orient were unable to develop into proper record companies was the repressive measures the authoritarian state adopted to control popular music best demonstrated in the notorious “Marijuana Incident” of 1975. Previously, the Korean government’s regulations on cannabis were rather lenient. However, as Park Chung Hee’s dictatorial regime (1961–1979) became increasingly paranoid, it had concluded that smoking

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Figure 2.3 Record Sleeves of Kim Cho˘ng-mi (King, KLS-76, 1973) (left) and Yi Chang-hu˘i (Orient, SEL 20–0015, 1973). Both records are regarded as one of canons of 1970s’ Korean pop-rock.

marijuana was a corrupting foreign influence and launched a brutal crackdown. Most of the biggest names that represented youth culture were arrested for marijuana use and subsequently forbidden from public performances for life. All their records were banned, withdrawn from circulation, and even physically destroyed. It inflicted irrecoverable damages on Orient, the hotbed of youth culture, as well as King, the epicenter of rock revolution, as they lost their hottest properties overnight. The thriving youth culture had therefore ceased in just a matter of days. Furthermore, in June that year, the government announced the enforcement of “Measures for Purification of Public Performance and Popular Music,” which introduced stringent application of censorship. It worked on two fronts, the government re-censored all the records in circulation and banned 223 of them, and it strengthened pre-censorship and prevented records that failed to meet the criteria from release (Shin et al. 2005b, 191–192). In addition, it obligated the inclusion of one government-recommended “healthy and edifying song”—normally a military marching song—as the final track of every album release. In both cases, “recording” was the main target in the state’s control of popular music and artists. The Brief Heyday: 1980–2000 The assassination of Park Chung Hee in 1979 brought the totalitarian regime to an end. Initially, the subsequent military coup marked the beginning of another authoritarian government, which continued with the previous regime’s rigorous pre-censorship to pop music. However, the 1980s was not a carbon copy of the preceding decade, as there were some significant changes. The decade saw Korea in a rapid transition to a full-blown consumer society. Electronic goods including hi-fi and portable cassette players became readily available to the growing middle class population (The Kyunghyang Shinmun, 20 April 1984, 1; 31 August 1985, 2). It transformed the pattern of music consumption from collective listening in public places, such as music listening rooms and music tearooms, to privatized listening accompanied by the increasingly

30 • Keewoong Lee

popular practices of collecting and/or taping records. In this development, musical tastes were greatly diversified. Pop columnists, the Korean lingo for popular music critics and journalists, became salient public figures as a source of information and judgment of esoteric Western pop and rock music. These tastemakers were instrumental in the multiplication of musical currencies and produced new desires to listen to and play not only the latest musical trends, but also the long established yet overlooked musical genres such as blues, jazz, and progressive rock. In addition, this change coincided with improvements in recording technology, playing skills, and overall quality of recorded music on the production side. It enabled the transfer of the diversified tastes into records, as musicians and technicians were increasingly eager to and capable of handling various styles of music. In this process, “recording” re-emerged as a key mediator of pop music. Thanks to the introduction of color television in 1980, the 1980s is commonly portrayed as the decade when pop music became “visual.” However, it was also the decade when serious album-oriented pop music emerged and gained wide popularity. Particularly in new genres such as heavy metal, blues, and sophisticated pop rock called “underground music,” both musicians and fans embodied the Western-originated rock discourse, which romanticized the album as the locus of artistic authenticity. In these genres, pop music was refigured as art and album as an artwork. This change in conception transformed the way in which recordings were made. While artists of the previous generations were by and large indifferent to recording, it was at this time considered to have central importance for any self-respecting artist. Driven by an aspiration for creating a “masterpiece,” many “quality” albums appeared during the 1980s as artists began to put considerable efforts and utmost care into their making. Unlike the albums produced in the 1960s–1970s, these albums are heavily featured in various “best ever” lists.4 “Recording” rose as a major mediator not only musically but also commercially. For the first time since Korea’s independence from Japanese colonialism, it had been recognized as a dependable source of income even though few artists actually financially benefited from it. The market grew large enough to churn out occasional million sellers, beginning from “Ch’angbakk ŭi yŏja” (Woman Outside the Window) by Cho Yong-p’il in 1980. It became more frequent by the end of the decade. There are statistics circulating on the internet that show that over thirty albums sold more than a million copies from 1990 to 2001.5 However, the recording industry remained small, secretive, and opaque about its finances. The statistics of the million-sellers were in effect estimates, as exact sales figures were never made public. Thus, the reordering of popular music around recording did not take place in Korea despite the apparently substantial growth of the market. The Korean recording industry never grew large and strong enough to establish itself as what Bijker and Law (1994) called the “obligatory passage point,” or a “single locus that could shape and mobilize the local network” (Bijker and Law 1994, 31), as it failed to produce and hold together webs of associated practices and institutions. Assembling “Pop Records” in Korea Based on the historical discussions so far, we would examine how “recording” was produced as a musical mediator, and how it ordered Korean popular music in a particular fashion. We would discuss these issues focusing on four aspects, the centrality of live performance and broadcasting, the proliferation of “doubles,” the practice of collective listening, and the question of recorded versions.

Pop Records in Korea • 31

The Centrality of Live Performance and Broadcasting In looking at twentieth-century popular music in Korea, the absence of three institutions is particularly conspicuous, music charts, music reviews, and music awards. However, these absences do not signify that they had not existed in Korea, but rather that they had existed in different forms. With the exception of music reviews, the other two have evolved around broadcasting since the advent of commercial broadcasting in the 1960s. Unsurprisingly, these had nothing to do with record sales or “quality” of recording. Hit charts were apparently based on public votes or requests; music awards were given to singers who were considered most popular that year. It necessitated popular music to be radio- and/or television-friendly as broadcasting could make or break a song or a singer. Like any other mediator, broadcasting is not a neutral carrier, but it operates on certain rules, values, and assumptions. Artists were required to be “presentable” in their appearances and attitudes. It implied exclusion of long-haired and/or rebellious artists, and certain musical genres such as rock, protest folk, and experimental music. The broadcasting media, particularly television, preferred popular entertainers with a visual appeal over serious musicians with interesting ideas; and insisted on playing hit songs only excluding less well-known album tracks. In this way, broadcasting, as the dominant musical mediator, produced Korean popular music essentially as a popular entertainment rather than as serious music. This particular way of musical mediation had its origin in stage shows. Since the late-1930s, the record industry went into a long decline and live shows became the dominant musical mediator. During the 1950s–1960s, the biggest source of income for aspiring young musicians was Eighth United States Army (hereafter EUSA) shows in which musicians were produced as live performers through and through as they were disciplined to play the role of human juke boxes for U.S. soldiers and officers stationed in Korea. Here, they became live performers through and through, indifferent to creating original songs as the latter was inconsequential to their success. In fact, a lot of EUSA bands considered making records an unnecessary distraction. From the late 1960s, EUSA artists began to cross over to domestic stages. However, their main source of income remained live shows, nightclubs, and music salons. Even popular singers with scores of hits were unable to make a living from record sales alone. Hit records were useful only for their negotiations with club owners, but they did not generate income by themselves. The Proliferation of “Doubles” As mentioned earlier, seven-inch single records were never in wide circulation in Korea. It was the twelve-inch LP that was the only format the Korean public was familiar with. However, it does not mean that Korean popular music was necessarily album-oriented. Rather, the industry invented the “double”—two singles in one record. It means that the LP was not used as the album but the single. Normally first tracks on each side were considered potential hits, which constituted the “double.” The rest were all “fillers.” The framing of LPs as “doubles” made it difficult for artists to see the full potential of the format. They rarely wrote long songs that cover an entire side or a short interlude that links third and fourth tracks on side B. Popular music stubbornly remained self-contained three-minute songs. Although there have emerged some elite artists who self-consciously created “albums” out of the LP format, the term “double” has survived until today and determined the nature of LP recording.

32 • Keewoong Lee

The Practice of Collective Listening Collective listening at music listening rooms or music tearooms was the dominant way of listening to music during the 1960s–1970s. Places such as C’est Si Bon, Die Schöne, New World, Academy were the magnets for young urban trend-followers who hung out there and listened to the latest pop songs from the United States and Europe. The practice of collective listening was basically an outcome of poverty as few people could afford hi-fi equipment at home. However, it was also a positive practice that constructed a new world and experience for the people involved. Unlike private listening, collective listening rarely allows listening to a record in its entirety or the same songs repeatedly. A multitude of listeners enjoyed the songs a deejay selected and played. It produces collective emotional responses and comments, which convert the music into a shared cultural property and create a sense of community, particularly when the song is not well known outside. The Question of Authenticity of Recorded Versions One of the outcomes of recording’s marginal status as a musical mediator is a lack of the authority of recorded music as the truth of music. It is expressed most strikingly in the virtual silence in Korea regarding the question of authenticity of recorded versions. Rather than appreciating the music itself, Korean audiences tend to put music into more social uses (singing and/or dancing). As long as the audience member hears the song he/she wants to hear, the question of which version of the song was playing carried little importance. Thus, there were many re-recorded versions of old songs with barely any information regarding whether it is original or re-recorded circulating in Korea’s music market. This is mainly because Korean audiences experience popular music primarily on television and live shows rather than on records. As they did not form a relationship with records close enough to consider the versions on it as definitive versions, they are exposed to various versions on television and/or at live shows. Unlike the one on the record, these versions are changeable and vibrate within a certain “range.” In these circumstances, the listener forms a utilitarian relationship with recording in which they consider it as a container of his/her favorite songs rather than the authentic version of the music. Conclusion Korea has a tumultuous history with regards to recording. Although to some extent it tried to follow the ideal typical path of advanced markets in the socio-technical production of recording as a musical mediator, it was unable to emulate these ideals in full due to financial and cultural reasons. In Korea, recording remained a marginal mediator of music throughout the twentieth century. It lacked institutional arrangements that produced the recording-centered musical orders of North America, Western Europe, and Japan. Recording was produced as a pure commodity by record companies with indifference from musicians who were often pressured to record commercially inclined music. This strong commercial motivation is sharply captured in the neologism “double,” which frames the LP record as two singles. Once released, recordings were typically consumed collectively or communally in places like music listening rooms and music tearooms. It made consumers listen to the same songs and develop homogenized tastes.

Pop Records in Korea • 33

The main mediators of popular music in Korea were broadcasting and live shows, for which “recording” played a supplementary role. The fact that “recording” was never central to popular music in Korea explains in part the nature of Korean pop music. Rock and jazz, arguably the most album-oriented forms of popular music, never became mainstream, whereas the visuallypleasing pop in K-pop popularized exponentially. The marginality of recording produced a practical attitude towards “recording” and a casual attitude towards popular music. As we observe in the end of the “recording” era, the case of Korean music culture might be used as a prognosis for other music cultures. Notes 1

2 3 4 5

Sometimes dubbed Korean opera, P’ansori is a traditional musical form in which a singer engages in musical storytelling that runs for three to six hours accompanied by a drum. Chapka denotes a form of folk songs specially created for public performance by professional musicians. Tan’ga means short songs singers sang before performing P’ansori in order to loosen up their vocal cords. Some of these songs became popular in their own right. The nomenclature is probably an abbreviation of “producer-makers,” implying the individualistic nature of the business. King’s releases usually bore the name Universal, whereas Orient used various names including Sung Eum, Daedo, and Shinsegye. This is one of the major difficulties in studying post-Record Law Korean pop since the real producer of the record is often not the one on the record cover (Shin et al., 2005a, 192–197; 2005b, 150). See, for example, The 100 Greatest Albums complied by newspaper The Kyunghyang Shinmun and the music webzine Gaseum in 2007. It includes ten albums from the 1980s in the top twenty (http://news.khan.co.kr/kh_ news/khan_serial_list.html?s_code=at031) See http://pgr21.com/pb/pb.php?id=freedom&no=7319

Bibliography Albertsen, Niels, and Bülent Diken. 2004. “Artwork’s Networks: Field, System or Mediators?” In Theory, Culture & Society 21(3): 35–58. Dibben, Nicola. 2003. “Musical materials, perception, and listening.” In Martin Clayton et al. eds. Cultural Study of Music: A Critical Introduction. New York and London: Routledge. Fairchild, Charles. 2008. Pop Idols and Pirates: Mechanisms of Consumption and the Global Circulation of Popular Music. Aldershot: Ashgate. Frith, Simon. 1986. “Art versus Technology: the Strange Case of Popular music.” In Media, Culture and Society 8(3): 263–279. “Han’guk Ŭmban Milliŏnsellŏ Top 50” http://pgr21.com/pb/pb.php?id=freedom&no=7319 (accessed: 17 March 2015) Harley, Ross. 1993. “Beat in the System” Tony Bennett et al. (eds.). Rock and Popular Music: Politics, Policies, Institutions. New York and London: Routledge. Hennion, Antoine. 1993. La Passion Musicale: Une Sociologie de la Médiation. Paris: Éditions Métailié. Hwang, Mun-p’yŏng. 1989. Han’guk taejungyŏnyesa: Hwang Munp’yŏng kohŭi kinyŏmmunjip 2 (P’yŏngnon Yŏnyesa) [A History of Korean Popular Entertainment: An Anthology for Celebration of Seventieth Birthday 2 (Reviewing Entertainment History)]. Seoul: Burukanmoro. Kwon, Dohee. 2004. Han’gug kŭndae ŭmaksahoesa [Social History of Korean Music in the Modern Era]. Seoul: Minsokwŏn. Latour, Bruno. 2005. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Law, John and Wiebe E. Bijker. 1994. “General introduction.” In John Law and Wiebe Bijker (eds.) Shaping Technology/ Building Society: Studies in Sociotechnical Change. Cambridge: MIT. Lee, Junhee. 2007. “1950 Nyŏndae Han’guk Taejunggayo ŭi Tu Mosŭp, Chisok kwa Pyŏnhwa [Continuance and Change of Korean Popular Song in 1950s].” Taejungsŏsayŏn’gu [Popular Narrative Studies] 13(1): 73–104. Lee, Young Mee. 2006. “The Beginnings of Korean Pop: Popular Music during the Japanese Occupation era (1910–1945).” In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard, 1–9. Folkestone, Kent: Global Oriental. Pak, Ch’an-ho. 2009. Han’gukkayosa 2: Haebang esŏ Kunsajŏnggwŏn kkaji Sidae ŭi Hŭimang gwa Chŏlmang ŭl Norae hada [A History of Korean Popular Music 2: Singing Hopes and Despairs of the Age from The Liberation to Military Regime]. Seoul: Mizibooks. Park, Aekyung, Kim Ch’ang-nam, Shin Hyunjoon, Lee Junhee, Chang Yu-jeong and Ch’oe Chi-sŏn. 2010. Han’guk Taejungŭmaksa Yŏn’gu [A Study on the History of Korean Popular Music]. Seoul: Korea Creative Content Agency. Shin, Hyunjoon, Yi Yong-u and Ch’oe Chi-sŏn. 2005a. Han’guk P’ab ŭi Kogohak 1960 [Archeology of Korean Popular Music 1960s]. Seoul: Hangil Art.

34 • Keewoong Lee —— . 2005b. Han’guk P’ab ŭ i Kogohak 1970 [Archeology of Korean Popular Music 1970s]. Seoul: Hangil Art. Wall, Tim. 2003. Studying Popular Music Culture: Studying the Media. London: Arnold. Webb, Peter. 2007. Exploring the Networked World of Popular Music: Milieu Cultures. New York and London: Routledge. Yi, Sang-kil. 2001. “Yusŏnggiŭi hwallyonggwa sajŏk yŏngyŏgŭi hyŏngsŏng [Social Usage of Phonograph and Formation of the Private Sphere in Korea under Japanese occupation].” Ŏnnon’gwasahoe [Media and Society] 9(4): 49–95. Zak III, Albin J. 2001. The Poetics of Rock: Cutting Tracks, Making Records. Berkeley: University of California Press.

3 Broadcasting Media and Popular Music Institution, Technologies, and Power Jung-yup Lee

Introduction Broadcasting media is an essential condition of the creation, distribution, and consumption of modern popular music. Today, we can hardly imagine modern popular music without the role of broadcasting media, since our experiences of popular music in everyday life is largely defined by it (Frith 2004). In contemporary history, broadcasting media has greatly influenced the formation and transformation of popular music in Korea. Broadcasting media had mediated ways in which popular music circulated, and in this way it had influenced the production and consumption of popular music in various ways. However, we cannot regard the role of the media as a simple “delivery” of the finished product to the listener. The mediation of broadcasting has effectively formed and transformed the nature and identity of popular music. In this chapter, I consider broadcasting as a multifaceted institutional space whose role has changed throughout its history (Negus 1996). First of all, broadcasting can be understood as changing technological forms of media. The nature and “bias” of the media affects the ways in which sounds and images of popular music are sensed and experienced. I will focus on two primary forms of electronic media, radio and television, when discussing the topic of broadcasting in Korean popular music. Therefore, we can consider broadcasting media as intermediary activities between the production and consumption of popular music. Rather than conceiving broadcasting media as a monolithic “system,” this perspective highlights the ways in which various players are engaged in the mediation of popular music. From the beginning, broadcasters of popular music actively engaged in the process of making music. Finally, broadcasting media is also mediated by larger social relations. This aspect highlights the hegemonic nature of broadcasting media. In the case of popular music in Korea, the state greatly influenced music broadcasting through instrumentalizing media and imposing dominant norms. I will focus particularly on how music broadcasters actively mediated and negotiated the state’s regulation and control of broadcasting. Taking this framework as a loose guide, this chapter aims to provide a historical overview of the role of broadcasting media on popular music in Korea, after briefly covering colonial Korea under Japanese imperialism in the first half of the twentieth century.

36 • Jung-yup Lee

The Birth of Broadcasting Media and Popular Music 1930s–1950s Broadcasting did not provide much room for popular music in the Japanese colonial period. Radio broadcasting began in 1927 in colonial Korea with the launch of Kyŏngsŏng broadcasting station (Paek 2007). Music programming was an important component of radio entertainment, but the airwave was filled mostly with traditional Korean music and Western classical music. In 1934–1936, when popular music was at its height in colonial Korea, popular music broadcasting was limited to sixty–eighty times a year (Shin 2007, 397). It greatly contrasted with the commercial advance of popular music recording. The absence of Korean popular music from radio programming is ascribed to the colonial and elitist nature of the radio. The radio functioned as a form of publicity media for Japanese imperialism rather than as one of commercial popular media (Pak 2010, 136). Under these conditions, cultural elites such as Kim Yŏng-p’al, Yi Ha-yun, Hong Nan-p’a, and Yi Hae-ku, tried to represent and reinvent “the Koreanness” through radio music programming. As public intellectuals, they embraced traditional Korean music while eschewing yuhaengga (literally, fashionable music) (Pak 2010, 149–154). Additionally, as the distribution of radio receivers was extremely limited, mostly to Japanese residents and upper-class Koreans, the demand for entertainment and popular music was not very much materialized among radio listeners, and thus not taken seriously in radio programming (Pak 2010; Shin 2007). After the country’s liberation in 1945, the U.S. military government in Korea took the Kyŏngsŏng broadcasting station under control. After the establishment of the Korean government in 1948, it was renamed KBS (Korea Broadcasting System) and became a government-run broadcasting system. During this period, broadcasting was continually considered the publicity and propaganda of government policies (Paek 2007, 338–345). In this political context, media elites considered broadcasting as integral to post-war recovery and nation rebuilding. They thus regarded taejung kayo (popular songs) as unsuitable for broadcasting. Instead of featuring popular songs, KBS promoted what were considered kŏnjŏn kayo (healthy songs), also known as kungmin kayo (national songs) or pangsong kayo (broadcast songs). The “healthy song campaign,” originating from the Japanese wartime mobilization of music in the late 1930s and early 1940s (Mun 2004), resurged in 1957 as kungming kaech’ang undong (national singing campaign). When the government ordered popular music composers to compose “healthy national songs,” the media elites resorted to popular song formats to promote national mobilization (Shin 2007, 398). The radio provided another space for popular music, when pangsongkŭk chujega (drama theme songs) gained popularity along with radio serial dramas in the late 1950s. The most wellknown example was “Ch’ŏngsil Hongsil” (literally, blue and red threads 1957), composed by Son Sŏk-u, a prominent popular music and drama music composer (Lee 2007). Having built his musical career in U.S. military camp shows, he represented a new trend of Korean popular music, influenced by American pop and deviant from Japanese-influenced sentimental kayo. The theme song symbolized the advent of American pop-style kayo, which was favored as more “bright and healthy” songs by Korean cultural and broadcasting elites in the 1960s. This music style, usually called “standard pop,” was consciously promoted by broadcasting elites and constituted the radio mainstream by the 1960s. Cultural and broadcasting elites who regarded the purpose of music broadcasting as encouraging the population to participate in the national goal of Westernized modernization (Lee 2012), promoted standard pop records. These were created by composers such as Son Sŏk-u, Yi Pong-cho, and Kim In-bae, and performed

Broadcasting Media and Popular Music • 37

Figure 3.1 A 10-inch Record Produced by Son So˘k-u, a Prolific Songwriter in the 1950s–1960s (Venus, VL-1, 1961).

by singers such as Kim Sang-hŭi, Ch’oe Hŭi-jun, Han Myŏng-suk, Ch’oe Yang-suk, and Hyŏn Mi, most of whom have built their careers on U.S. military club stages. Broadcasting as State Media and Popular Music: 1960s–1970s Radio The space of broadcasting media was greatly expanded in the 1960s. Commercial radio broadcasts launched during this period (MBC in 1961, DBS in 1963, and TBS in 1964) and radio receivers were propagated widely into rural areas. The commercialization and the nationalization of radio had thus enabled the airing of a variety of popular music genres and styles. Standard pop gained

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its popularity among the urban middle class through radio. This brand of Americanized Korean popular music symbolized Western modernization, urbanization, and progress. In addition, commercial radio also featured trot for rural tastes. The most remarkable radio music phenomenon, however, was not about Korean popular music. Commercial radios eagerly catered for and actively fostered younger generations’ tastes for popular music. In 1963, DBS’s radio request show, “Top Tune Show,” became an instant success upon its launch. Upon its success, commercial radio broadcasters began to recruit music hall DJs to set up radio shows, commonly called “record shows” or “disc shows.” These shows introduced brand-new Anglo-American pop records upon request. This personality radio format soon dominated midnight programming and gained enormous popularity among middle school and high school students. The success of midnight request radio signified that music radio was starting to depend for its programming on pop records (especially Anglo-American records). This format retained its dominance among younger audiences throughout the 1970s and 1980s, when the radio came to cater to diverse audiences’ tastes and when television replaced the radio as the dominant form of family entertainment. Television In the 1970s, television emerged as the most influential form of media. Television broadcasting started prematurely in 1961 by KBS as “a gift from the revolutionary government” (Im 2007, 447). Subsequently, commercial television broadcasts began to disseminate airwave signals, such as DTV in 1964 (later renamed to TBC) and MBC in 1969. The television penetration rate was merely 3.9 percent in 1969, but rose to 78.5 percent by 1979 due to its great propagation in rural areas in the late 1970s. Popular music was a crucial component of early television entertainment. Although KBS featured Kŭraendŭ sho (Grand Show) in 1961, DTV’s 1964 Sho sho sho (Show Show Show) represented the early music-oriented variety show. Sho Sho Sho modeled after the U.S. military base shows in its format and featured standard pop singers who mostly came from those shows (an important exception was Yi Mi-cha, a popular trot singer) (Pak 2007). Broadcasters assumed that standard pop “fitted” in television because its performers showed more dynamic visual style than that of trot singers. They also considered that most television audiences were of the urban upper middle class who sought a more sophisticated taste in music (Pak 2007). Broadcasting elites across the media shared the idea that broadcasted music should be “classier” and “healthier” than popular music. Standard pop was thought to be suitable to this conception due to its Americanized and modern images. Additionally, the fact that some standard pop singers attended colleges (often called haksa kasu, college degree singers) reinforced the classy images of standard pop. Broadcasting elites, who preferred Anglo-American pop, actively constructed exemplary pop music for middle-class family-oriented entertainment broadcasting. With growing numbers of viewers, television attempted to accommodate youths’ tastes in music by the end of the decade. In 1969, television music show producers, who were involved in the emerging music scene, launched youth-oriented television music shows. These shows promoted emerging music trends of group sounds, resorting to urban youths who had cultivated

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their tastes for Western pop in the 1960s at downtown music halls and through midnight radio requests. However, these experiments with youth-oriented shows were short-lived due to moral and political interventions. These shows, featuring long-haired rock bands called kŭrup saundŭ (group sounds) (Shin, Yi, and Ch’oe 2005) and club dancers, were rarely accepted into the media space for middle-class family entertainment. The authorities stigmatized the shows as overly “decadent.” During this period, television played a significant role in establishing standard pop and introducing folk and rock to wider audiences. However, as television viewership remained low until the mid-1970s, the impact of music-oriented television shows was limited. In fact, the dominant influence of television was not realized until the late 1970s. Since the wholescale crackdown in 1975, popular music remained under tight political control throughout the late 1970s and the 1980s. The pre- and post-censorship on popular music was continually imposed on records and exercised within broadcasting institutions respectively. Within this limited cultural space, new trends of popular music emerged to fill in the gap such as trot go-go, disco, and taehak kayo (college kayo). What these new trends had in common was that they were assembled for television entertainment and mostly dependent on television media. The so-called college song or campus group sounds illustrates the emerging power of television to formulate new musical trends and tastes. In 1977, MBC television started to host the annual Taehak kayoje (College Kayo Contest) and recruit college amateurs. Then in 1978, followed Haebyŏn kayoje (Seaside Kayo Contest), hosted by TBC. These broadcasting-organized events filled the void of popular music on television. The themes and subjects of college kayo included young “pure” romance, or the love of nature, and they often appropriated traditional and modern poems. Thus, college kayo was deemed a politically “safe” choice for broadcasters, who aimed to emphasize the “healthy” quality of music composed and performed by college students.

Figure 3.2 ’77 MBC Taehak kayoje (’77 College Kayo Contest) (Hit, HLM-23, 1978) (left) and Haebyo˘n kayoje (Seaside Kayo Contest) (Universal, K-APPLE, 865).

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Popular Music as a Television Event: 1980s Major technological and institutional transformations in the broadcasting environment in the early 1980s reinforced the power of broadcasting over popular music. The first change in broadcasting was structural; in 1980, the new military regime forced a merger and abolition of the broadcasting sector into basically two corporations, KBS and MBC. The second change was technological; the military regime introduced color television broadcasting in 1980 and facilitated a commercial development of broadcasting. In these conditions, the two public broadcasting corporations were gaining greater influence over Korea, driving the nation into a consumerismoriented society by the 1980s. For popular music, the institutional changes in broadcasting resulted in the concentration of media platforms to few, which was called “Yŏŭido power”1 (Shin 2013, 611–615). The institutional and technological power of television broadcasting drove the commercial recovery and growth of popular music business in the 1980s. The mainstream practice of popular music was settled around the power of television in this period: the breaking of/receiving profits from performing popular music had become completely dependent on television. Television became the site in which all popular music performers must appear for breakthrough and success. Popular musicians had to be featured in television shows to promote their records and to earn spots in burgeoning commercial stages that were known as pammudae (nightclub stage) or ŏpso mudae (restaurant/bar stage). The dominant influence of television on popular music signified that the latter got defined as part of television entertainment and television events. The strands of popular music, which were regarded as suitable for television entertainment emerged as the mainstream while others were excluded from it. The big stars of the 1980s emerged as television stars through national television networks. These stars, usually solo singers, developed musical styles of kayo influenced by various forms of American pop and rock music. These singers, such as Cho Yong-p’il, Yi Yong, Chŏn Yŏngnok, Ku Ch’ang-mo, Yi Ŭn-ha, Hye-ŭni, Chŏng Su-ra, and Yi Sŏn-hŭi, dominated television media during the first half of the 1980s, drawing wide audiences of diverse generations. Cho Yong-p’il, the “people’s singer” of the 1980s, considerably owed his success to television. He gained his popularity and solidified his reputation among diverse generations of audience members through his appearances on television, which at this point had been established as the media source of family entertainment. The key factor for mainstreaming was the visualization of popular music that color television particularly facilitated. For instance, the teenage-oriented music shows from 1980—Yŏng illebŭn (Young 11) (MBC) and Chŏlmŭm ŭi haengjin (Youth’s Parade) (KBS)—contributed to the visualization of popular music by featuring resident dance teams. Further, in the mid-1980s, television promoted the rise of dance-oriented music. Inspired by disco and synth pop, Korean dance pop acts such as Na Mi, Kim Wan-sŏn, Pak Nam-jŏng, and Sobangch’a enjoyed popularity through dancing styles and the visual images displayed on television. Furthermore, the power of television in establishing the mainstream of Korean popular music was supported and reinforced by specific television formats, such as weekly chart shows and end-of-the-year music awards. The most influential countdown show was Kayo Top Ten by KBS, launched in 1980 (Kang and Yun 2002, 198). Without any official chart equivalent to the Billboard, Kayo Top Ten reigned as the most influential pop music chart throughout the 1980s and 1990s. It presented ten songs of the week, determined by the votes of nationally-

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selected voters and broadcasting insiders. By presenting in practice what broadcasting regarded as good and new, the countdown show defined the cycle and rhythm and sustained the commercial viability of pop music. The two broadcasters also hosted end-of-the-year music awards. These award shows, KBS Kayo Taesang (Kayo Awards), and MBC’s Shipdae Kasu Kayoje (Top Ten Singers Festival), reached their heights in the 1980s with the growing power of television media. The awards were usually given to major singers with wide generational appeal who were active and prominent on television. Arguably, these year-end festivals actually celebrated the authority of television media itself rather than the appraised musicians. While fostering and supporting specific styles and genres that were deemed to fit in with television media, television ignored and excluded other styles and genres. Radio broadcasting (especially late and midnight FM) continued to develop as youth-oriented media, while mainly featuring American pop introduced by character DJs. In sum, in the 1980s, television media contributed to the commercialization of popular music despite political regulation. Television had the upper hand over the music (record) business; at this point it practically defined what constituted mainstream popular music hits and further defined the identity of popular music itself. Popular music existed primarily as a television event, not necessarily as “hit records.” Television and the Commercial Explosion of Korean Pop: 1990s Built upon the progress in quality and quantity, Korean popular music exploded in the early 1990s. The debut of Seo Taiji and Boys (a.k.a. Sŏ T’ae-ji wa Aidŭl) in 1992 led the explosion, signaling the advent of new dance music genres such as rap, hip-hop, reggae, and techno. The industrialization of the Korean music business since the late 1980s provided the material conditions for the explosion in the early 1990s. Between 1987 and 1997, record sales increased more than five times while the market share of domestic kayo exceeded more than double that of international pop (Lee 2009). Broadcasting media, especially television, drove this explosion of Korean popular music. The increased number of television music shows featured teen-oriented, dance-based popular music with strong visual appeal. Music-based shows, especially countdown chart shows, became more popular and influential; many of them recorded two digit ratings and were among the most watched television shows. The FM radio had also contributed to the transformation; by the late 1980s, the FM music programming, previously dominated by international pop, dramatically moved toward domestic kayo. The accelerating rise of Korean popular music and the accompanying boom of popular music broadcasting should be explained within the context of larger social changes in Korea. The democratization and liberation of Korean society since the Great People’s Struggle in the summer of 1987 stimulated the explosion of cultural expression, especially among youths, or the so-called “sinsedae (new generations)” (Jung 2006, 111). With the ripening of consumer society, the youths’ demands leaned more towards cultural consumption. The deregulation of broadcasting and the launching of private commercial television station SBS, in 1991, facilitated catering to the youths’ demand by bringing in new trends of popular music on television screen. The beginning of cable television service in 1995, with the launching of two music cable televisions—Mnet and KMTV—expanded the channels of popular music broadcasting. These cable channels actively introduced music video formats as well as

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established stage show formats, and reinforced the visual orientation of Korean popular music (Lee 2005, 80). Television greatly influenced the commercial explosion of popular music by breaking new genres and styles and new acts. While popular music was subordinated to television in the 1980s, recording businesses became as powerful as television in the 1990s. Popular music sales by this time depended on exposure on television more than ever, but popular music “hits” now meant hit records (defined in terms of record sales). In other words, in the 1990s the centrality of the record in popular music was established. Popular musicians focused their activities on the record itself (and increasingly concerts) as well as on television appearances. Seo Taiji (a.k.a. Sŏ T’ae-ji) began the trend of hiatus-comeback cycles around the time of the release of new records. Since then, television music shows increasingly became the promotional and marketing platform for music acts and productions to break new record releases. The music making and producing business grew from a cottage business subordinated to the television media to a financially viable cultural industry somewhat independent from and symbiotic with the media. These transitions were signified by multinational major record companies’ and chaebols’ (large conglomerates’) attempts to enter the music business in the mid-1990s. In a sense, the influence of the broadcasting media as an institutional agency in popular music diminished vis-à-vis music productions. The institutional agency of broadcasting did not monopolize the space of broadcasting media. However, the significance of television media as the space of tele-visualization became more prominent than ever. Television music shows put great emphasis on visual spectacles of dance performances. Television greatly contributed to the domination of teen-oriented, visually-centered, dancebased popular music. It was this strand of popular music—the so-called idol pop—which led the skyrocketing of popular music in the 1990s. Pop ballad performers were also sensitive to how they were to be presented on the television screen. In representing popular music, most television shows featured pre-recorded music for singing and dancing performances, the so called “MR”.2 The “MR” mostly replaced in-house backing bands, which accompanied much of television music performances till the mid-1980s. The prevalence of “MR” sometimes went extreme. In 1994, a vocal group called Maronie became exposed to scandal when the female singer lip-synced to an actual hidden singer’s pre-recorded voice in television performances. In response to rising controversies on MR and lip-syncing, KBS Kayo Top Ten decided to display an “in lip-sync” notification on screen in 1997. The controversy over lip-syncing highlights the dominance of visual imageries in televised presentations of popular music. Moreover, the chart shows were often criticized for not actually “reflecting” record sales due to their arbitrary criteria as well as the use of lip-syncing and “MR.” The abolition of the countdown show Kayo Top Ten in 1998 reflected the declining influence of television defining popular music hits. The dominance of television media was dramatically undermined in 2004 when four performers out of ten decided not to show up on the end-of-the-year broadcasting awards hosted by MBC. MBC had no choice but to cancel the awards show, replacing it with plain music shows without awards ceremonies. Meanwhile, political and moral control of popular music persisted. While the pre-censorship of records by the state was eliminated in 1996, the post-censorship by broadcasters continued.

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Moreover, broadcasters held out moral control over teen-oriented popular music; for instance, KBS imposed strict regulations on dress, hairstyles, and dance performances (Howard 2006, 95). However, broadcasters were less able to impose moral standards, as the commercial advance of popular music dominated. Moreover, the attitude of the state towards popular music leaned more towards celebrations and promotions as it was deemed crucial to the overall national economic growth. Changing Popular Music and the Readjustment of Broadcasting Media: 2000s The defining power of the broadcasting media was dramatically undermined in the 2000s. Two significant changes underlay the de-centering of the broadcasting media in Korean popular music: the digitalization of music distribution and the globalization of Korean popular music (K-pop). The advance of digital technologies of music distribution had diversified music mediation. The existing mediation of popular music was disrupted by free internet music services in the early 2000s (i.e. Soribada and Bugs Music), as well as online subscription services (i.e. Mellon and Olleh Music) and free social video service (i.e. YouTube) in the late 2000s. The tight link between broadcasting and record sales broke as the experience of music fragmented and dispersed across different broadcasting and communications media (Lee 2009). In addition, the domination and popularity of Korean idol pop across East and Southeast Asia rendered top-tier idol pop productions (i.e. SM, JYP, and YG) to be less constrained by the domestic broadcasting media. We can identify a few related ways in which broadcasting media attempted to adapt itself to this changing technological and geographic context. One instance shows that the broadcasting media worked tightly with idol pop productions and served as a media platform for idol pop groups. Idol pop productions utilized a variety of broadcasting shows to promote idol groups, including not only regular music shows, but also talk shows and reality shows. Many idol groups are strategically launched through reality television shows on cable. In this case, both idol productions and broadcasting media work within a broader terrain of television entertainment rather than simply focusing solely on the music. Another instance is the way in which broadcasting media rides the wave of K-pop. Television often includes programs such as large-scale K-pop concerts and “K-pop cover dance festivals.” Broadcasting media also maintains its own YouTube channel, providing wide varieties of Korean popular music content based on current music shows as well as vast television archives. Some point out that the chart shows are significant not as shows themselves, but as performancebased segments, which are distributed on the YouTube platform. In this way, K-pop, established as a national export industry, offers a strong justification for the broadcasting media to have a stake in the mediation of popular music. Yet another instance is the reclaiming of the active mediation by television through television audition shows. These shows such as K-pop Star, Super Star K, as well as contest-type shows featuring professional singers such as Puru ŭi myŏnggok (Immortal Masterpiece), and Na nŭn kasuda (I Am a Singer) appear to focus on the sheer “quality” of the performances and the performers’ singing abilities rather than on their appearances and dance moves as commercialized in popular music. While some of these shows work as talent recruiting platforms for idol pop productions, they primarily enable television to reinstate itself as the space for music production.

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The songs performed by auditioning participants are usually distributed in digital form and often dominate the digital music charts. In other words, these shows illustrate how broadcasting media can adapt itself to the fragmented terrain of musical experiences. Conclusion As we have examined, broadcasting media has constantly changed its role over time. In the conditions mediated by larger social relations of power, especially state power, broadcasting media had actively established and negotiated dominant social norms through popular music. At the same time, the broadcasters appropriated technological potentials of the media, establishing particular sensory and cultural experiences of sound and image as dominant modes of appreciating popular music. The broadcasting media’s relationship to music productions has also changed over time, continuing to assume an active role in the production of popular music. Notes 1 2

The term originated from the place, Yŏŭido, where the two broadcasting stations were located. “MR” is a particular term used in the Korean music industry, representing “music recording” or “music recorded.”

Bibliography Frith, Simon. 2004. “Music and the Media.” In Music and Copyright edited by Simon Frith and Lee Marshall, 171–189. New York: Routledge. Howard, Keith. 2006. “Coming of Age: Korean Pop in the 1990s.” In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave edited by Keith Howard, 82–98. Folkestone: Global Oriental. Im, Chŏng-su. 2007. “T’elebijŏn ŭi sahoemunhwasa [A Socio-cultural History of Television].” In Hanguk ŭi midiŏ sahoemunhwasa [A Socio-cultural History of Korean Media] edited by Yu Sŏn-yŏng, Pak Yong-gyu, and Yi Sanggil, 439–488. Seoul: Korea Press Foundation. 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 Howar, 109–122. Folkestone, Kent: Global Oriental. Kang, Tae-yŏng, and Yun T’ae-chin. 2002. Han’guk t’ibi yenŭng orak pŭrogŭraem ŭi pyŏnch’ŏn kwa palchŏn: p’yŏnsŏng mit sahoemunhwa chŏk ŭimi wa p’yŏngka [Changes and Development of Korean Performance Entertainment TV Program: Scheduling and Socio-cultural Meaning with Evaluation]. Seoul: Hanul. Lee, Hee-Eun. 2005. “Othering Ourselves: Identity and Globalization in Korean Popular Music, 1992–2002” (PhD diss., University of Iowa). Lee, Jung-yup. 2009. “Contesting the Digital Economy and Culture: Digital Technologies and the Transformation of Popular Music in Korea.” Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 10(4): 489–506. Lee, Young Mee. 2007. “Pangsonggŭk chujega ŭi Inki Kyŏnghyang kwa Hŭrŭm [Popularity and Trends of Broadcasted Dramas’ Theme Songs].” Minjok munhwa nonch’ong [The Journal of National Culture] 35: 3–26. —— . 2012. “Hanguksik p’ab ŭi hyŏngsŏng kwa pyŏnhwa: sŭt’aendŏdŭ p’ab kwa palladŭ [The Formation and Change of Korean Pop Music: Standard Pop and Ballad].” In Taejung ŭmak ŭiiIhae [Understanding Popular Music] edited by Kim Ch’ang-nam, 262–283. P’aju: Hanul. Mun, Ok-pae. 2004. Hanguk Kŭmjigok ŭi Sahoesa [A Social History of Censored Music in Korea]. Seoul: Yesol. Negus, Keith. 1996. Popular Music in Theory: An Introduction. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press. Paek, Mi-suk. 2007. “Radio ŭi munhwsa [A Cultural History of Radio].” In Hanguk ŭi midiŏ sahoemunhwasa [A Sociocultural History of Korean Media] edited by Yu Sŏn-yŏng, Pak Yong-gyu, and Yi Sang-gil, 305–380. Seoul: Korea Press Foundation. Pak, Yong-kyu. 2007. “1970 Nyŏndae ŭi T’ellebijŏn kwa Taejung ŭmak [Television and Popular Music in the 1970s].” Hanguk ŏllon hakpo [Korean Press Review] 51(2): 5–29. —— . 2010. “Ilcheha Radio Pangsong ŭi ŭmak Pŭrogŭraem e kwanhan Yŏn’gu: 1930 nyŏndae rŭl chungsim ŭro [A Study of Music Program on Radio during the Japanese Occupation Period: Focusing on the 1930s].” Ŏllon chŏngbo yŏn’gu [Communication Research] 47(2): 134–172. Shin, Hyunjoon. 2007. “Sori midiŏ ŭi Sahoemunhwsa [A Socio-cultural History of Sound Media].” In Hanguk ŭi midiŏ sahoemunhwasa [A Socio-cultural History of Korean Media] edited by Yu Sŏn-yŏng, Pak Yong-gyu, and Yi Sanggil, 381–436. Seoul: Korea Press Foundation.

Broadcasting Media and Popular Music • 45 —— . 2013. “Han’guk p’ab ŭi kŏnch’ukhak ŭl wihayŏ: idonghanŭn sŏul ŭi ŭmak chŏk changso tŭl 1976–1992 [A Contribution to the Construction of Korean Pop – Popular Music and Places in Mobile Seoul 1976–1992].” Sai 14: 602–634. Shin, Hyunjoon, Yi Yong-u, and Ch’oe Chi-sŏn. 2005. Han’guk p’ab ŭi kogohak 1970 [Archeology of Korean Popular Music 1970s]. Seoul: Hangil Art.

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4 Emerging Social Distribution The Case of K-pop Circulation in the Global Pop Market Sun Jung

Music industry revenues from digital music sales in 2012 were estimated at $5.6 billion, up from an estimated 9 percent in 2011, and accounting for 34 percent of total industry revenues (IFPI 2013). Digital music consumption has become an integral part of the global music industry since the birth of MP3 players and computer programs like iTunes in the early 2000s, and has been accelerated by the rise of social network services such as Myspace (2003), Facebook (2004), and the video-sharing website YouTube (2005). According to a Nielsen study of consumer interaction with music in the U.S., more teens listen to music through YouTube (64%) than any other source, followed by the radio (56%), iTunes (53%), and CDs (50%) (Nielsen 2012). Social media channels such as YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook now play a central role in this changing music industry landscape and the new mode of global cultural flows. These flows form the basis of a new cultural distribution model that I call “social distribution” (Jung 2014), a model that is becoming central to the cultural economy in the global pop culture marketplace. Most recently, East and Southeast Asia have become the fastest growing region for social distribution with tech-savvy youth consumer groups as a key driving force, and one of the most dynamically social-distributed forms of pop content in the region is Korean popular music (K-pop). Some K-pop albums have achieved high rankings on iTunes sales charts solely through social networking-empowered grassroots media promotion. At the same time, as observed from the ways in which media conglomerates such as YouTube and iTunes are at the center of the phenomenon, it is also significant that this new mode of cultural flow is still facilitated and maintained within a predominantly corporate-controlled media environment. Pop consumers and fans across the world have utilized social media not only for pushing for social justice online or helping business promotion, but also for consuming and distributing foreign popular products. Nevertheless, attention is concentrated on the emerging phenomenon of social media-driven transcultural distribution that is yet to be realized. This chapter explores how this new mode of cultural distribution is conceptualized through a mixture of bottom-up grassroots-led approaches and pre-existing corporate-controlled top-down approaches, typified by Henry Jenkins’s notion of media convergence (2006a). Transnational Cultural Circulation Media industries research has typically focused on the analysis of consolidated and established cultural distribution sectors such as international film festival circuits and worldwide pop music

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distribution by major record companies. It is now evident that cultural studies and the related disciplines that examine media and communications must turn their attention to the grassroots networks that operate on the fringes of what is commonly understood as the media culture “industry.” In the Web 2.0 environment, online grassroots media networks (particularly youth groups on social media) have become the main driving force behind the transcultural flows of global popular content. Despite their importance, these grassroots media networks and their social distribution practices have fallen outside academic examination. Yet such dynamics and practices empowered by Web 2.0-driven user participation on SNS are still under significant influence from dominant corporate media chains. In the following pages I will evaluate the recently emerging cultural circulation that arises from grassroots participation in online social networking practices, which combines both conventional and alternative ways of cultural circulation. The conceptual framework draws on an important paradigm shift that recognizes how contemporary cultural flows are formed by the combination of globalization dynamics and technological innovations. In terms of the former, recent research into culture industries has attempted to map the links between circulation of cultural goods, cultural practices, and economic production, and the framework of the changed global culture industry and market environments (Lash and Lury 2007; Pratt and Jeffcutt 2009; Hartley et al. 2005). In particular, many studies have explored how cultural products increasingly circulate across national borders, a phenomenon that reflects Arjun Appadurai’s five dimensions of global cultural flows: ethnoscapes, mediascapes, technoscapes, finanscapes, and ideoscapes (1990; 1996). The global cultural economy has to be understood as a complex, overlapping, disjunctive order, which can no longer be understood through existing center-periphery models (Appadurai 1990). However, there is relatively little work that undertakes sustained scholarly analysis of this phenomenon beyond the conventional center-periphery cultural distribution models. The existing scholarship demands an expanded understanding of how various nonEuro-American global cultural industries have emerged as a new center of creative production and circulation. In terms of technological innovation, media studies scholars like Henry Jenkins have studied how new tools and technologies enable consumers to appropriate and recirculate media content, and how they blur the distinctions between producers and consumers within the conceptual paradigm of “participatory culture” and “media convergence” (Jenkins 2006a; Jenkins 2006b). Such a phenomenon reflects the era of democratization of cultural production (Fetveit 2007; Karaganis et al. 2007), where bottom-up platforms like YouTube have become an absolute core business in cultural industries (Burgess and Green 2009; Dwyer 2010). Using the notion of “pop cosmopolitanism,” scholars such as Jenkins (2006b) discuss how digital media has enhanced transcultural flows of popular products and has accelerated Western reception and distribution of Asian popular cultures such as Japanese animation and Hong Kong action films. Since social media has become a key platform for transcultural distribution in the global cultural market, a range of scholarly works explore the role of social media in the market, and the most notable is Spreadable Media by Jenkins, Ford, and Green (2013). The authors describe how the process of cultural circulation on social media should be understood as a hybrid of commercial and grassroots mechanisms, during which cultural content acquires value and meaning. Using the case of Susan Boyle, Jenkins et al. explains how this online cultural phenomenon is the embodiment of “viral media,” a term whose popularity has been “fueled by the rapid rise of social network sites alongside declining advertising rates and an extremely fragmented audience for broadcast media” (Jenkins, Ford, and Green 2013, 17). This notion of viral media demonstrates

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how the top-down hierarchies of the broadcast era now co-exist and are integrated with social media’s system of participatory culture that eventually diversify the cultural distribution channels and methods. In addition, the notion of “spreadable media” does not imply “infection” or “contamination,” which, according to Jenkins et al., “overestimate the power of media companies and underestimate the agency of audiences” (Jenkins, Ford, and Green 2013, 21). In this emerging model, therefore, audiences play an active role in “spreading” content, by wilfully choosing and determining what gets valued, rather than serving as passive carriers of viral media (Jenkins, Ford, and Green 2013). As such, “social distribution” of K-pop also describes the spread of popular content through a combination of formal and informal networks, where active participations of audiences/fans/web users are essential. This chapter seeks to open up a new direction for cultural distribution discourses by focusing on the currently emerging social distribution through the lens of global K-pop circulation. Desire for Global Market Expansion: Mnet, MAMA and the Use of Social Media Beginning with Mnet’s first Music Video Awards ceremony in 1999, Mnet Asian Music Awards (MAMA) now has become one of the most important K-pop music awards in the country. MAMA is organized and held by CJ E&M (formerly Mnet Media), an entertainment company under the label CJ Group, one of the family-owned conglomerates or chaebeol.1 Held at the Singapore Indoor Stadium, MAMA 2011 lasted four hours and showcased seventeen K-pop acts, one Singaporean, two Chinese acts, Koda Kumi from Japan, and four U.S. artists including will.i.am. Singapore is the second country outside Seoul after Macau (in Cotai Arena at The Venetian Macao-Resort-Hotel) to host MAMA.2 CJ E&M owns fifteen cable channels including Mnet and has broadcast MAMA through four of its channels in the local market. For overseas audiences, the event was live-streamed through their YouTube channel and Facebook page and was broadcast live to approximately nineteen countries worldwide, including Channel U in Singapore. Park Gwang-Won, then CEO of Mnet Media, stated that it is “not through monodirectional Hallyu, but through ‘Asian Wave’ in which every Asian culture interacts and intergrows, we must expand Asian market” (quoted in W. Y. Cho 2010). He then added that “like the way West-centric American Grammy has hugely influenced the entire global music market, Asian music power, enhanced by MAMA, will herald the world pop market in the future, and Korea should be at the center [of this new Wave]” (Cho 2010). It is evident that Mnet, using the notion of “Asian music power” or the “Asian Wave,” has attempted to reinforce the regionalization of K-pop. The manner in which MAMA framed this K-pop centered event within the transnationalization paradigm of an “Asian” music festival is worthy of note. As mentioned earlier, there were only four non-Korean Asian artists despite MAMA promoting the event as the “Best Asian Music Festival.” Although it was K-pop centered with only a few appearances by other Asian artists, MAMA claims they represent the fast-growing influence of Asian popular culture in the global pop market and seeks to promote “Asian music and artists.” Again, they use the term “Asia” instead of what is specifically Korean popular music. Elsewhere, I have argued how Korean artists like Rain and BoA promote themselves as “Asia’s star” and “Asia’s diva” based on the regionalization strategies (Jung 2011a). Such an attempt signifies the four key aspects of Mnet’s global market expansion. First, as mentioned above, is the regionalization of K-pop. Second, often the primary motivation propelling such strategies is to maximize capitalist profits

50 • Sun Jung

Figure 4.1 MAMA 2013 Held in Hong Kong.

by expanding the consumer market in the Asian region. Third, it is the de-Westernization of the global music market that MAMA aims to achieve; Park Gwang-Won’s notion of “Asian music power” or the “Asian Wave” propagates the de-Westernization of the global music market, and such ideas resonate with the construction of an Asian cultural block or a culture community, as has been suggested by key Hallyu scholars (e.g., Won Yong-Jin, Kim Hyun-Mi, and Cho Han Hye-Jeong). Last, it also reveals the intrinsically complex nature of the K-pop industry—a contradictory hybrid of transnationalism and nationalism. This aspect is aptly demonstrated in the schizophrenic way Park described MAMA. According to him, MAMA should be held in other Asian cities outside Korea (and possibly other non-Asian global cities in the future), which signifies a de- and re-territorialization of K-pop and possibly de-Korea-centered culture community building in the region. At the same time, Park declares that Korea (and/or MAMA, CJ E&M) has to be at the center of this new Asian Wave. His contradictory view typifies the paradoxical current status of K-pop. Co-organized by CJ E&M and Singapore’s Mediacorp, the event costed over US$5million and took almost 1,200 people to put together. There was some criticism by Korean local media of the way MAMA sold tickets (prices ranged from SG$80 to SG$160) as it was an awards ceremony and not a concert. These exorbitant prices reflect just how viable a market CJ E&M (and the K-pop industry at large) sees the potential market in Singapore after its success in Japan. Singapore, along with Thailand, is considered an advance base for its market expansion in Southeast Asia. It is also important to highlight how Mediacorp’s desire to dominate the regional Southeast Asian pop markets was another driving force behind MAMA 2011 from the outset. Envisaged as a “Global Media City,” Singapore has been attempting to be Asia’s leading media hub where quality content is produced and cutting-edge digital media is developed.3 With relatively meagre local creative infrastructure, hosting well-known foreign cultural events

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like MAMA is one of the ways that Mediacorp meets the goal of this government-led campaign. This attempt demonstrates how the K-pop industry’s desires to expand its market have resonated with Singapore’s desire to amplify its industry influence in the regional media marketplace. Another example of meeting desires is evident in the ways Mediacorp’s portal website xinmsn holds the separate “Hallyu” pages, with a commercial advertisement banner for Galaxy Note, a smartphone released by Samsung in late 2011.4 CJ Group (CJ E&M’s mother company) is part of the Samsung family (CJ was a branch of Samsung before its independence during the 1990s), and both Samsung and CJ have been the major sponsors for many K-pop related events such as Girls’ Generation (a.k.a. SNSD) 2011 Tour Singapore, Super Show 3: Super Junior the 3rd Asia Tour and MAMA. CJ E&M is one of the most influential media entertainment companies in Korea (if not the sole one). In March 2011, through the M&A of CJ’s six subsidiaries—CJ E&M, CJ Entertainment, CJ Media, On Media, CJ Internet, Mnet Media—CJ E&M was officially launched. Their business includes four divisions—music, media (broadcasting), games, and pictures (cinema). According to the company’s IR resource, the broadcasting sector (55%) consists of the highest portion of the total revenue (US$1.25 billion) followed by cinema (16%), games (15%), and music (14%) (CJ E&M 2013). The music division mainly deals with organizing live music events such as concerts, musicals, and music festivals (e.g., Jisan Valley Rock Festival) as well as online music downloading/subscription services and album distribution. The company’s “mnet.com” is the second largest online sound source provider in Korea only after Melon, while the company occupies 30 percent of the local album distribution market. According to the division director Ahn Seok-Joon, by collaborating with 86 entertainment companies they have released 400 albums and have organized 170–200 concerts every year (quoted in O. R. Han 2013). CJ E&M’s broadcasting division holds fifteen cable television channels including Mnet. In the K-pop realm in particular, its economic as well as cultural impact is unbeatable as its music cable channel Mnet leads the current K-pop boom outside Korea along with three big K-pop companies SM, YG, and JYP. It is also crucial to point out that CJ E&M is one of the major shareholders of YG Entertainment. In early 2013, Mnet refurbished its website and the major change is dominated by two strategic keywords: globalization and social media. By firstly targeting global pop consumers, it offers five different language services—English, Japanese, Chinese (both Traditional and Simplified), and Korean—and all the song titles appear in English from the beginning; that means even the Korean language service still appears in English, not in Korean. Second, almost every single Kpop act (as well as some popular actors) are listed on the first page of the website, where users can check all the stars’ social media activities at a glance (e.g., comments on their Twitter and Facebook pages and the related YouTube videos). Their ardent use of social media is most visible on their official YouTube channel. Their YouTube channel has over 2.6 million subscribers, with over 1.2 billion channel views (accessed 10 October 2015). One can easily find most Mnet programs through well-categorized play lists on the channel such as their signature music ranking program M! Countdown, and the audition programs Superstar K and Voice Korea. The channel is linked to YouTube’s CJ E&M Music channel as well as Mnet’s other social media platforms (see Figure 4.1). Mnet’s recent website refurbishment and related strategies such as its assertive use of social media and the multilingual service demonstrate how CJ E&M aims to build a globally-wellconnected user/fan network by breaking language barriers and linking social media platforms to each other. This global fan network is expected to be the backbone of the global expansion

52 • Sun Jung Table 4.1 Mnet’s Social Media Platforms Linked to its YouTube Channel Korean Platforms

Global Platforms

Mnet official website (five-language function), Mnet interest.me (six-language function), Mnet tvpot (Daum), SuperstarK4 tvcast (Naver), Mcountdown tvcast (Naver), Showmethemoney tvcast (Naver)

Mnet Google+, Mnet Twitter, Mcountdown Twitter, MAMA Twitter, SuperstarK4 Twitter, Mnet Facebook (Eng), Mnet Facebook (Kor), MusicTriangle Twitter, SuperstarK4 Facebook, Mcountdown/MAMA Facebook, CJ E&M MUSIC.LIVE Facebook

of CJ E&M and Mnet, as well as K-pop itself. The biggest beneficiary of this kind of global fan network support is Psy’s “Gangnam Style.” “Gangnam Style,” YouTube, and Social Distribution Considering K-pop as transnational pop products that are multilaterally hybridized, culturally contradictory, and are epitomized by the notion “similar yet different,” Psy and his global megahit “Gangnam Style” is the exact embodiment of this vision of K-pop. There are five aspects to this observation. First, since his debut in 2001, Psy’s music and dance (including “Gangnam Style”) have always been influenced by African American hip-hop. “Gangnam Style” therefore sounds familiar to many young global pop consumers who are immersed in hip-hop cultures: this is despite the fact that his image as a fat, effeminate East Asian guy stands in sharp contrast to the usually overly sexualized or gangster-style macho imagery of American hip-hop artists. Second, the music video that features various parts of Seoul, which may seem exotic to nonKorean audiences, yet to a certain degree they are also universal features easily detected in many cosmopolitan cities (skyscrapers, subway, playing tennis, yoga, and riverside walks). Third, the “horse dance” was crucial to the global penetration of the video and deserves consideration. Psy’s soft Asian male body deliberately renders the movement comical (even absurd), even though it is a modification of pre-existing hip-hop dance routines that were considered less wacky (and “cool”) such as in the video of Bobby Brown’s “Every Little Step” (1989). Fourth, the satirical lyrics could be incomprehensible to those who are not familiar with Korea’s cultural practices and social settings, but they still resonate with global audiences who appreciate its sarcastic observations as they apply to many contemporary societies across the globe.5 Last, Psy was an unknown singer from Korea and therefore a stranger to global pop fans. However, the inclusion of Hyun-Ah from famous K-pop girl group 4 Minute as a dancing girl on a train with Psy meant the music video was embraced by existing K-pop fans in social media networks when it was first released. “Similar yet different” K-pop productions like “Gangnam Style” are largely based on the employment of globalization strategies in the domestic media entertainment industry (e.g., adopting and appropriating globally popular musical forms from its Western and Japanese counterparts), advanced media entertainment production technologies and emerging youth consumer networks on social media. The bigger picture of the global paradigm indicates that the digitization of music distribution where newly emerging distribution bodies such as YouTube and iTunes need to discover yet-unknown media content to fill their increasing number of digital channels and sales catalogues. Globalization also leads Western media entertainment industries to look for fresh new pop content from non-Western regions, as they identify the

K-pop in the Global Pop Market • 53

Figure 4.2 Psy’s 6th Album and “Gangnam Style” (YG Entertainment, YGK-0190, 8809314511903, 2012).

growing potential of non-Western markets and consumers. What is shared here are similaryet-different desires for globalization by multi-level and multi-regional media industry sectors, intermingled around the “Gangnam Style” phenomenon. However, Psy himself has admitted that the success of “Gangnam Style” was initially an accident, as he noted at a speech at Harvard University (Associated Press 2013). After its release on YouTube on 15 July 2012, “Gangnam Style” went viral. It became the most “liked” video ever on YouTube and has broken a Guinness world record to become the first ever video to reach a billion views (Kosner 2012; Halverson 2012; Arthur 2012). The Collins Dictionary even added “Gangnam style” as one of the phrases of the year (Halverson 2012). Without any local promotion, the song has achieved the number-one position on many Euro-American countries’ iTunes charts. In the UK, “Gangnam Style” became the number one British single, marking the first time that a Korean singer has topped that chart; in the U.S., the song remained at number two in the Billboard 100 for seven consecutive weeks.. The rapid, phenomenal global success of “Gangnam Style” demonstrates how social distribution operates within the new creative industry paradigm. In the newly emerging user-led knowledge sharing environment, content producers and users are both “simply nodes in a neutral network and communicate with one another on an equal level” empowering the users to broadly participate in collaborative content creation while networking and building peer communities away from the top-down mediated spaces of the traditional mediaspheres (Bruns 2008, 14). This relationship between social distribution and the traditional modes of the entertainment industry renders it crucial to explore how the new paradigm operates within the Web 2.0-empowered media convergence environment, where social distribution is constructed through interactions and collaborations between mainstream-distribution bodies and grassroots networks. At the center of this is YouTube. When YouTube began to be recognized as an important platform for creative content consumption and distribution, media companies were eager to forge strategic alliances with it.

54 • Sun Jung

In the K-pop sector, all major record companies run their own YouTube channels to create synergies in production and distribution. For example, LOEN Entertainment’s three main business divisions include: music content production and distribution; artist management; finally it is the biggest shareholder of Melon, the number one online sound source provider. To promote their artists and the albums they distribute, LOEN assertively employs their official YouTube channel “1theK” and the number of subscribers reached 3.2 million with over 2.3 billion channel views (accessed 10 October 2015). YouTube is not only a global distribution platform, but it has become a new revenue model for these major entertainment companies. These K-pop companies have signed a “content partnership” agreement with YouTube and provide YouTube with K-pop content, and share the subsequent revenue (i.e., multinational enterprises’ advertising fees), which enables the dynamic online distribution of K-pop music (J. H. Jeong 2012). According to Jeong Jae-Hoon of Google Korea, advertisement options on YouTube for K-pop music videos mainly include in-stream, banner, and in-video (or video overlay), and each contract consists of different types of ad arrangements and profit sharing ratio (Jeong 2012). As a result of this content partnership, the K-pop industry has obtained a new revenue model; YouTube has reaffirmed its role as a new content distribution platform (on top of the newly created revenues); and more YouTube users are acquired to enjoy K-pop content online. For example, in October 2011, Google (the parent company of YouTube) and Korea’s MBC television network signed up with MOU on the content distribution partnership in which the latter provides its broadcasting content to the former through its YouTube channel (S. J. Kim 2011). On 21 May 2012, the “Korean Music Wave in Google” concert was held at Shoreline Amphitheatre, which was co-organized by MBC and Google. Featuring leading K-pop stars including Super Junior, Wonder Girls, SNSD, KARA, and MBLAQ, the concert sold out, with 22,000 tickets being sold within an hour after going on sale online. To mark the day (which was also the seventh anniversary of YouTube), Alex Carlos, head of YouTube Entertainment, went on stage and said: “K-pop became a phenomenon. It symbolizes the meaning of YouTube as a new entertainment platform” (G. M. Lee 2012). In an interview with Donga Ilbo, he also mentioned how “the phenomenon demonstrates the possibility of globalization of media as to see cultural content from a small country in East Asia has been spread throughout the world [through YouTube]” (H. J. Park 2012). The event has become an important opportunity for both parties, where it reconfirmed the global circulation of K-pop as well as YouTube’s role as an emerging content distribution platform. The concert was broadcast live through YouTube Presents, a YouTube channel specializing in live music and exclusive performances as well as MBC’s K-pop channel. It is, however, not only mainstream media enterprises such as YouTube and MBC, but also grassroots participation that empower online K-pop circulation on YouTube. In my previous work, I have examined how grassroots participation on YouTube (through keen fan networks in particular) has helped many K-pop songs penetrate the global market (Jung 2011b; Jung 2013; Jung and Shim 2014), most notably Psy’s “Gangnam Style.” The way “Gangnam Style” achieved global fame embodies social distribution where both grassroots participation and corporate intervention are organically intertwined and interact. When it was first released on YG’s official YouTube channel, “Gangnam Style” was immediately exposed to the existing fan groups of K-pop idols, particularly those of YG Entertainment labels. It was then soon recognized by wider audiences on YouTube and spread to other social media platforms. Fan-made parody videos on YouTube and celebrities’ admiring comments on Twitter initially drove the viral circulation of the music video. In addition to YouTube, there are multilayered fan and consumer,

Figure 4.3 “Gangnam Style” Global Distribution Model.

56 • Sun Jung

as well as industry forces, that enabled the global circulation of “Gangnam Style” such as Kpop entertainment companies, multinational enterprises, mainstream-distribution bodies such as iTunes, major record companies, grassroots networks on social media, and (sometimes) local entertainment management companies. As shown in Figure 4.3, there are eight visible forces that have enabled the global circulation of “Gangnam Style.” Roughly speaking, the events happened chronologically (clockwise from left to right) although some overlap with others and some function throughout the entire distribution process. In fact, the first four boxes indicate events that happened almost simultaneously on YouTube and online K-pop consumer networks. Social media users’ consumption and distribution activities (described in the fourth box) occurred throughout the process. The music video was initially released through Psy’s management company, YG Entertainment’s official YouTube Channel; from there it was circulated among existing K-pop fan networks on YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter. As an extremely successful internet meme, it leaked from these areas into the mainstream through the rise of so-called “reaction,” parody and remix videos on YouTube (some of which have become YouTube sensations in their own right), coverage on popular U.S. celebrity websites like Gawker.com, and then onto Twitter, where it has been promoted by celebrities including Katy Perry, Tom Cruise, T-Pain, and Britney Spears. It is crucial to observe how not only the legitimate content (i.e. original music video), but also all the parodies, cover versions, and reaction videos featured advertisements for multinational enterprises’ products. As mentioned, some of the parody videos drew huge attention. Consequently, YouTube also earned revenues from advertisements on the parody video pages, a certain percentage of which went to Psy’s record company as “that is one of the options YouTube offers to copyright owners in cases where infringement generates significant traffic” (Kosner 2012). Advertisement clips for which multinational enterprises pay fees are attached to most K-pop music videos, in various marketing tools such as banner ads, in-stream ads, and in-video ads. The role of Psy’s management must also not be underestimated. Thanks to his signing with the influential U.S. talent agent Scooter Braun (manager of teen sensation Justin Bieber) in August 2012, Psy gained exposure to a vast American audience (e.g., MTV Video Music Awards, The Ellen Degeneres Show, The Today Show, Saturday Night Live). These appearances helped propel the phenomenon to even greater success, with “Gangnam Style” ranking at the top of the iTunes charts in thirty-one countries as of September 30, 2012. Revealing the cyclic nature of these driving forces, these rankings continued to see Psy and “Gangnam Style” rise in their positive coverage on social media. YouTube’s close links to other major social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter allowed this accelerated transmission of pop content. These three major social media platforms are reciprocally and organically associated in their enhancement of the transnational flows of pop content through the global marketplace—flows that, in turn, signify the emerging grassroots power of fans and audiences. Nevertheless, as is also evident from Figure 4.3, these flows continue to operate within the existing media environment, which consists of major entertainment bodies (YouTube, Scooter Braun, NBC, and iTunes). Conclusion In an age of volatile changes in global cultural industries epitomized by technological innovation and globalization dynamics, social distribution has become a key aspect in transnational music consumption and distribution. By employing the specific case studies of Mnet’s globalization

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strategies and the global circulation of “Gangnam Style,” this chapter has examined such dynamics and provides the conceptual tools to prompt a greater understanding of how K-pop is responding to the changing pop music industry environment. In the case of “Gangnam Style” it was largely the creation, posting, and sharing of usergenerated parody and cover videos that helped the song attain its wide distribution. These fan videos added meanings to the original video by recreating (stories and characters), reinterpreting (the socio-cultural meanings and narratives), appropriating (experiences and contexts), and subverting (social norms and satire). The making, posting, and sharing of parody videos is a process of adding cultural meanings, which make the original product more interesting to consume. This mode of cultural meaning making is typified by John Hartley’s notion of “redaction,” which is “the production of new material by the process of editing existing content” (Hartley 2008, 112). For Hartley, redaction is “a form of production not reduction of text (which is why the more familiar term ‘editing’ is not quite adequate)” (2008, 112). He argues the origin of meaning has migrated along the “value chain” of the cultural industries, from the “author,” the “producer,” and the “text” to the “citizen-consumer,” so that consumption is a source of value creating and not only its destination (2008). According to Jenkins, Ford, and Green, it is also closely related to the changing paradigm of media consumption, television viewing in particular. In this engagement-based paradigm, the new model sees “the audience as a collective of active agents whose labour may generate alternative forms of market value” (Jenkins et al. 2013, 116). Considering audience participation in the global distribution of “Gangnam Style” within this new paradigm, it is the “work” of fans and audiences that shape and frame the circulation of content (Jenkins et al., 2013, 124–129). Within this newly emerging engagement model in the Web 2.0 environment, fans and other active audiences develop an expertise for the content and a mastery of distribution technologies during which economic and cultural values are generated through audience activities (such as media sharing) that is central to the spreadable media paradigm (Jenkins et al., 2013). As such, by practicing redaction and media sharing activities, users have added a range of meanings and values, rendering the cultural content more consumable. This eventually accelerates circulation. “Gangnam Style” and its myriad fan-made parody and cover videos demonstrate how it works in assisting the transnational spread of cultural content. Newly emerging digital music distribution paradigms cannot be explained through binary distinctions between corporate-led and grassroots-led distribution. Joint relationships between many different new and old media agents including YouTube, Mnet as well as fans who create parody videos and circulate cultural material through Twitter and Facebook allow K-pop to rapidly migrate across many national borders. Social distribution must be understood within the conceptual paradigm of an intrinsic mixture of two different models—the newly emerging, alternative, grassroots-driven, bottom-up model, and the existing, corporate-led, top-down model—in which multilayered regional, global, industry, and audience desires intermingle in the building and acquisition of cultural capital. Notes 1

2 3

CJ Group was originally a branch of Samsung until the mid-1990s. Five subsidiaries of Samsung including Cheil Jedang (sugar and flour company) gained independent management in 1993, and CJ Group (formerly Cheil Jedang Group) was officially launched in 1996. The CEO of CJ Group, Lee Je-Hyeon is the eldest grandson of Samsung’s founder Lee Byeong-Cheol. MAMA 2012 was held in Hong Kong, at the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre. See the Singapore Media Fusion website (smf.sg) or Media Development Authority of Singapore website (mda.gov.sg)

58 • Sun Jung 4

5

It is not only the Hallyu web page, but also a K-pop themed television drama series produced by Mediacorp, which reflect local K-pop popularity among the consumers as well as the local media industry’s attention to it in Singapore. In 2011, two television drama series were broadcast through Suria, Mediacorp’s Malay language channel, Makcik Kaypop (Aunty K-pop), and Remy and Jin Hee. As its title indicates, Makcik Kaypop in particular is explicitly concerned with K-pop. It is a story of three Malay Singaporean women from different age groups. Together, these three characters seek to achieve their respective goals via the Hallyu Wave Festival Facebook challenge. The lyrics were quickly translated into various languages, and different versions with multi-lingual translation were widespread online thanks to individual as well as group fan-translators across the globe.

Bibliography Appadurai, Arjun. 1990. “Disjuncture and Difference in the Global Cultural Economy.” Theory, Culture & Society, 7: 295–310. —— . 1996. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press. Arthur, Charles. 2012. “Gangnam style Passes 1bn Views on YouTube.” Guardian. 21 December. http://guardian.co.uk/ technology/2012/dec/21/gangnam-style-1bn-youtube-psy Associated Press. 2013. “ ‘Gangnam Style’ Was ‘An Accident’, PSY Tells Harvard University Students.” Billboard. 10 May. http://billboard.com/articles/columns/k-town/1561264/gangnam-style-was-an-accident-psy-tells-harvarduniversity-students Bruns, A. 2008. Blogs, Wikipedia, Second Life, and Beyond: From Production to Produsage. New York: Peter Lang. Burgess, Jean and Joshua Green. 2009. YouTube: Online Video and Participatory Culture. Cambridge, UK; Malden, MA: Polity. Cho, Woo-young. 2010. “Pop Music Festival, Two Different Gazes Towards ‘MAMA’.” TV Report. 25 October. http:// tvreport.co.kr/?c=news&m=newsview&idx=71893 Chua, Beng Huat and Koichi Iwabuchi (eds). 2008. East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing The Korean Wave. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Dwyer, Tim. 2010. Media Convergence. Berkshire: Open University Press. Fetveit, Arild. 2007. “Convergence by Means of Globalized Remediation.” Northern Lights 5: 57–74. Halverson, Nic. 2012. “Gangnam style Shatters Guinness World Record.” Discovery. 21 December. http://news.discovery. com/tech/gangnam-style-shatters-guinness-world-record-121221.htm Hartley, John. 2008. Television Truths: Forms of Knowledge in Popular Culture. London: Blackwell. Hartley, John (ed) 2005. Creative Industries. Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. IFPI. 2013. “Digital Music Report” http://ifpi.org/content/library/dmr2013.pd Jenkins, Henry. 2006a. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: New York University Press. —— . 2006b. Fans, Bloggers, and Gamers: Exploring Participatory Culture. New York and London: New York University Press. Jenkins, Henry, Sam Ford, and Joshua Green. 2013. Spreadable Media. New York: New York University Press. Jeong, Jae-Hoon. 2012. Phone Interview. Google Korea. 19 June. Jung, Sun. 2011a. Korean Masculinities and Transcultural Consumption. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. —— . 2011b. “K-pop, Indonesian Fandom, and Social Media.” Transformative Works and Cultures. Vol. 8. http://journal. transformativeworks.org/index.php/twc/article/view/289 —— . 2014. “Youth, Social Media and Transcultural Micro-Distribution.” In Mediated Youth Cultures: The Internet, Belonging and New Cultural Configurations (eds) Andy Bennett and Brady Robards. New York and London: Palgrave. Jung, Sun and Doo-Bo Shim. 2014. “Social Distribution: K-pop Fan Practices in Indonesia and the ‘Gangnam Style’ Phenomenon.” International Journal of Cultural Studies Special Edition, (eds) Chua Beng Huat and Jung Sun. Karaganis, Joe et al. 2007. Structures of Participation in Digital Culture. New York: Social Science Research Council. Kim, Soo-Jin. 2011. “Google and MBC, Signed the Content Distribution Partnership.” Asia Gyungje. 21 October. http:// view.asiae.co.kr/news/view.htm?idxno=2011102113391758915&nvr=Y Kosner, Anthony Wing. 2012. “Psy Should Continue To Sing Verses In Korean, English Hooks Are Enough For Pop Hits.” Forbes. 5 October. http://forbes.com/sites/anthonykosner/2012/10/05/psy-should-continue-to-sing-versesin-korean-english-hooks-are-enough-for-pop-hits/print/ Lash, Scott and Celia Lury. 2007. Global Culture Industry. Cambridge: Polity Press. Lee, Gyeong-Min. 2012. “K-pop Concert at Google Campus.” JoongAng Ilbo. 23 May. http://article.joinsmsn.com/news/ article/article.asp?total_id=8260245&cloc=olink|article|default Nielsen. 2012. “Music Discovery Still Dominated by Radio, Says Nielsen Music 360 Report.” Nielsen. 14 August. http://nielsen.com/us/en/press-room/2012/music-discovery-still-dominated-by-radio—says-nielsen-music-360.html Park, Hyeon-Jin. “2.5 Hr Live Broadcast . . . 190K YouTube Comments . . . K-pop Festival” Donga Ilbo. 23 May 2012. http://news.donga.com/3/all/20120523/46447176/1 Pratt, Andy C. and Paul Jeffcutt (eds). 2009. Creativity, Innovation and the Cultural Economy. New York: Routledge.

PART

II

Genres

I once asked a Japanese person about the difference between American rock and Japanese rock. His witty, joking response was that whereas the American version is “rock,” the Japanese one is “rokku.” The sign “rokku” is the Romanized transliteration of the Japanese-language transliteration of “rock,” which is ‘ロック.’ An original language is reborn as a different language through double transliteration. It is for a similar reason that my colleague and I entitled our article on 1960s and 1970s Korean rock as “The Birth of Rok.” Those readers who knew that the official designation of South Korea in English was ROK (Republic of Korea) would have found some humor in this article title. On the other hand, “rock” in China and Taiwan is translated loosely and transliterated unfaithfully as “yaogun.” Yao (摇) means “rock” and gun (滚) means “roll”! If we can, for a moment, take seriously something as seemingly trivial as Romanized transcription, we can gather that there is something excessive about the Japanese transcription (while the “c” is missing, an additional “k” and a “u” are added) and something lacking about the Korean case (the “c” is missing). As for the Chinese one, it is indigenized altogether. To make more out of such differences, we can further consider that Japanese rock is devoted to the aesthetics of rock (i.e., authenticity), even more so than Anglo-American rock is, and that Korean rock is irreverent to rock aesthetics and is thus marked by a deficient, slipshod character. Meanwhile, China and Taiwan seem to claim rock as part of their culture regardless of this music’s origin. All of this, of course, is closer to an amusing episode. I do not mean to stereotype a nation’s culture, including its popular music, whether it involves the U.S., Japan, Korea, or China/Taiwan. Popular music has a variety of genres and styles in any location and even within a genre there are irreducible differences due to the individuality and creativity of the artists and the fans. This is true of Korea as well. What I was hoping to convey is only how translation involving languages and texts emerges when a cultural form is disseminated. Discussing genres and styles is no simple task. We cannot resolve various issues just by transcribing rock, folk, and hip-hop produced and circulated in Korea as rok, p’ok’ŭ, and hip’ap, following the Romanization principle taken in this book. As mentioned in the preface, using such esoteric transcriptions would trap us in a very narrow circuit of communication, both internationally and domestically. Rather, what needs to be asked is why it is that among the many genres of international popular music some have developed as recognizable genres in Korea while others have not. In other words, we may ask why there is no “Korean country” or “Korean tango” while there exist Korean rock, Korean folk, and Korean hip-hop. Another important point is that although Korean rock, folk, and hip-hop exist, their formal attributes

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and meaning-making are different from those in their “original” locations. The modifier “Korean” means that most of the songs in such genres have Korean-language lyrics, but the difference is not limited to the language of the lyrics. Chapters 6, 7, and 8 of Part I explain the processes of dissemination, reception, refraction, (re)creation, and (re)definition of particular genre-specific music. I have not yet introduced this part’s first chapter, Chapter 5. The “genres” of trot and ballad are not genres in the strict sense of the word. These two styles refer to highly localized forms of the dominant particulars that have enjoyed mainstream status within twentieth-century Korean popular music before the rise of dance music—a music that would evolve into K-pop. Here it is necessary to suggest an untranslatable term: “kayo.” “Kayo”—which could conceivably be translated into common nouns such as “song” and “tune,” but nothing more specific than these—has commanded definitions of the Korean public’s popular music in the twentieth century. Just as “chanson” and “canzone” have represented French and Italian popular music respectively, “kayo” is a term that has dominated the generic attributes of popular music in Korea as well as everyday terminology. Trot and ballad were kayo’s representative genres or its non-genres: the former was dominant from the 1920s to the 1960s, and the latter, from the 1960s to the 1990s. The reason I use the term “non-genre” is that these two popular styles are not genre-specific by any means. It is not impossible to discuss their origins and patterns, but they have evolved as they went through numerous variations by blending with other genres. Subgenre designations such as “trot go-go” and “R&B ballad” are no more than small cases that emerged in such processes. I am convinced that what was called trot in the 1930s and what is called trot in the 2000s would give completely different impressions to non-Korean listeners with no prior knowledge of this music. Among those who have some knowledge and experience of the world’s popular music, including those of Asia, more than half of them would regard 1930s’ trot as “old Asian ballad” and would comment that it is similar to popular songs in Japan and China during the same period. This is indeed a confusing story: the definition of musical genres involves confusion and, by extension, contention! However, as previously mentioned, the non-genres called trot and ballad have had different heydays. To speak roughly and simply, the cultural sign of “prewar Japan” has attended trot, and the cultural sign of “postwar America” has attended ballad. In part this may be evident from the historical development of Korean popular music discussed in Part I. Yet, from today’s point of view, these signs are vague, and the two non-genres have been established as cultural constructs that express “Korean sentiment.” It is a truly challenging task to comment on Korean sentiment theoretically and critically. One explanation has involved the slang term ‘ppong,’ another untranslatable concept. A term originating from “ppongtchak,” which is based on the vocalization of trot’s two-beat rhythm, “ppong” connotes a range of meanings of scorn and contempt toward popular music. “Ppong” also implicates the vocalist’s specific singing style called “kkŏkki” (or, “bending”), as well as instrumentation, sound structure, and performance practice among other complex elements. “Ppong” symbolizes vulgarity, commercialism, hillbilly, and cheapness, and in elite cultural discourse that attacked popular music from the 1960s to the 1980s it was dismissed as “inferior” and “decadent.” To use today’s terms, “ppong” embodied all cultural codes that are unfashionable, uncool, and unhip. Despite the negative connotations, “ppong” or “ppong-tinged” music was the music industry’s most gainful and safest means of making money. For instance, the songwriters, producers, and singers of “trot go-go,” a hybrid genre that enjoyed enormous popularity from the late 1970s

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to the early 1980s, were rock musicians until they took on such roles. Many in the young generation criticized them for “selling-out,” but it is undeniable that this music sold a very large quantity of records in the course of its nationwide popularity. It is a very familiar narrative that Cho Yong-p’il, the top singer of the 1980s Korean popular music, achieved his status by singing kayo in the style of trot go-go, despite his original training as a rock and pop instrumentalist in the U.S. Eighth Army show in Korea. The mid-1980s, during which the word “ballad” became established, was the point in time when Korean popular music equipped itself with urban sophistication, discarding the tendencies of “ppong.” Nevertheless, many hit songs after this point continued to contain “ppong” elements, thus earning the music industry-specific designation “ppong ballad.” While not an officially established term, “ppong ballad” is distinguished from pop ballad and rock ballad, which are marked by a certain refined character. The fact that to many musicians “ppong” is an object that they would rather avoid while “kayo” is the object of unavoidable negotiation tells us about the usage of the term “ppong.” Certainly it is foolish to essentialize “ppong” as a Korean national character, but arguments of this kind are unavoidable. In conclusion, the mystifying affect or (popular) aesthetics called “ppong” and the umbrella genre called Korean kayo represented by trot and ballad stand opposed to genre-specific music, which pursues Western-style authenticity and which insists on using the original genre names. However, there is no clear boundary between the two sides. Rather, they engage in mutual interaction, constituting a field of complexity. An example of this mutual interaction is that while rock, folk, and hip-hop have not enjoyed absolute mainstream status in the history of Korean popular music, they could not prevent the release of star artists, hit songs, and canons. In this regard, what is noticeable is that the young generation has adopted a more generous attitude toward “ppong” and “kayo.” For an example, Wonder Girls, a K-pop idol group, which has expanded into the U.S. market and even made it to the Billboard Singles Chart for some time, performs their song “Nobody” in English and with reference to the girl groups of the 1960s U.S., but the “ppong” sensibility is evident from the songs’ melody and rhythm, as well as from their singing style. Was this a conscious effort to pursue distinctiveness in a global market, or an unconscious manifestation of a longstanding embodied sentiment? Evidently, there is continuity between “kayo” and “K-pop” although it appears that the replacement of the old term “kayo” with the new term “K-pop” is a radical break. Here I also offer a counterexample. If you go to a live venue in Seoul to see an indie band that performs with their backs to the audience and ask them whether their music is kayo or K-pop, they would say, “Never. Our music is shoegazing.” And the chances that some of them would be “kayo” producers in a few years are good. Questions about such phenomena will be discussed throughout this part’s chapters, as well as the chapters in other parts of the book (with regard to a recent form of K-pop, see Chapter 14).

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5 Trot and Ballad Popular Genres of Korean Pop Yu-jeong Chang (a.k.a. Eujeong Zhang)

Introduction Trot and ballad are two of the most popular genres of Korean mainstream music. These two are markedly different from one another, but were both formed and shaped by the influence of foreign music. Even so, both of these genres have now successfully become indigenized in Korean popular culture. Even though trot and ballad have undergone several changes in musical style since the early days, they are still widely enjoyed by the public. However, there have been little serious studies on them until now. What are the underlying reasons for the popularity of trot and ballad? This chapter will investigate the characteristics of the two genres. I will discuss the origins of both genres and their distinct features in their music and lyrics. I will also analyze the traits of consumers and producers of both genres of music, and the characteristics of contemporary trot and ballad as well as their future prospect. The Origin of the Terms, Trot and Ballad The terms, trot and ballad, originated from English, but in Korea they have been classified as conventional popular genres. In other words, even though there were marked differences in music on the surface, certain songs were easily identifiable as trot or ballad. Because the word “trot” came from the term “foxtrot,” it was not always perceived as a genre. During the colonial period (1910–1945), advertisements in newspapers printed the word “trot” above song titles on rare occasions, but it had not yet been classified as a category of music. Some argue that trot originated from Japanese enka, but enka was not considered a genre at that time either. The term “enka” was far from today’s definition of the genre. In fact, we presently define enka as a hybrid music of Japanese traditional music and Western music, which bears little resemblance to Japanese “traditional” music. In the 1960s, the Japanese reclaimed enka as traditional Japanese music while reconstructing their national identity (Wajima 2010). However, because enka had not been classified as a genre earlier, trot music was seen as a separate entity. Trot music therefore developed independently from enka. At the time, the word yuhaengga (fashionable song) was used both in Japan and in Korea to refer to trot or enka. However, the term yuhaengga was used loosely and not exclusively to describe the two types of music. Songs in a minor scale, excluding the 4th and 7th note, in duple time, were widely categorized as fashionable songs.

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In reality, the term “trot” began to circulate more widely in the 1950s during and after the Korean War (1950–1953). A tremendous influx of Western cultural components, including Western music, entered Korea at this period. This was not the first instance these rhythms were introduced in Korea, but these terms were used more extensively. The names of the rhythms were written next to the titles of popular songs while the term “trot” began to take shape as a genre unlike other dance rhythms. Before the term “trot” took a permanent place in the popular music scene, the music was considered traditional music, adult songs, or ppongtchak. On the other hand, the term “ballad” originated from Medieval French dance music known as ballares (the verb ballare means to dance, derived from “ballet”). The word was also used to define popular poems or songs in the British Isles, while the terminology spread to Europe, and later to America, Australia, and other countries. Since the nineteenth century, ballad has been referred to as slow love songs whose definition has persisted to this day (Apel 1944, 70). In Korea, ballad refers to four different categories: Western classical music, a type of poem, dance, and a genre of popular music. This chapter will focus on ballad as a genre of popular music, contemporaneously defined as slow love songs built on a Western seven-note scale (Howard 2002, 80–95; Jung 2011, 71–92; Metzer 2012, 437–459). The term “ballad” became more prevalent in Korea in the 1960s and was used to describe songs that contrasted with faster-paced songs. Especially the songwriter Son Sŏk-u wrote lots of Western styles of popular song that were differentiated from trot and produced the records of his songs through the voices of crooners who built careers in U.S. military base shows. Other prolific songwriters such as Pak Ch’un-sŏk, Yi Pong-cho, and Kil Ok-yun followed Son. However, it was in the 1980s that terms such as “ballad type” or “ballad kind” were widely used. Since then ballad has solidly become a popular music genre. Subgenres like “pop ballad,” “rock ballad,” “folk ballad,” and “R&B ballad” were generated when fused with other genres. Musical Characteristics of Trot and Ballad There are differences between the way trot and ballad are composed. For example, while trot was built on a five-note scale, ballad was based on a seven-note scale. In the beginning, trot was composed in duple time in a minor key that excluded the fourth and seventh note of the scale in a somewhat faster tempo. The fourth note (re) and the seventh note (sol) in the minor scale were omitted or used sparingly. Tempo-wise, one beat received between seventy to 100 ticks per minute (Kim 2012). Unlike “sinminyo” (new folk song), a popular music genre that emerged around the same time, trot comprised mostly of verses while excluding subject phrases or choruses. However, after the liberation (1945), trot underwent some musical changes. More songs were written in a major key in the seven-note scale as opposed to the five-note scale. A new branch of trot music called “trot go-go”—a hybrid of trot and gogo—appeared in the 1970s, demonstrating musically exciting and entertaining rhythms. Furthermore, as trot medleys of Chu Hyŏn-mi became popular in the 1980s, repeated sections or chorus began to appear. Different rhythmic patterns were implemented into trot music, thus straying further away from the semblance of its nascent form. During the colonial period (1910–1945), negative emotions such as grief often colored the tone of songs written in a minor key. However, after the liberation, more songs were composed in a major key, and by this time trot was seen as a genre of fun and exciting music. Ballad on the other hand usually took the following form: intro-A (verse)-A-B-chorusinterlude-A (B)-chorus-bridge-chorus-outro. Each song had a different structure, but the songs

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usually begin slowly and quietly and then build up to a climax that highlights emotions, and finally come to a quiet closing. The introduction sometimes borrowed the song’s melody or the chorus, or was composed independently from other parts. Some songs started with a verse and no intro. The verse, or section A, was usually composed of eight bars, and its repetition was labeled as A. Section A usually began quietly and transitioned to section B, or the chorus. The bridge before the last chorus helped to escalate the emotions by modulating to a different key or through a grander arrangement. Lastly, in the outro, the accompaniment would come to a full stop or fade out. The Lyrics of Trot and Ballad One of the common denominators of trot and ballad was the theme of love and heartache. Lyrics often portrayed feelings of loss, sorrow or grief—sentiments of “tragic romanticism.” This “tragic romanticism” is not unrelated to Korean traditional songs, even though expressions of tragedy have changed over time. According to Kim Tae-haeng, Korean folk songs express “emotions for a lover who existed in the past but no longer” (Kim 1980, 159–164). These types of expressions can be seen in both early trot and modern-day ballad. Before the liberation, the main themes of trot included yearning for one’s sweetheart or for one’s hometown (Pak 1992; Chang 2006; Chang 2012a; Chang 2012b). But after Korea was liberated, trot reflected social changes by accelerating the tempo and adopting various rhythmic patterns. The lyrics were not just limited to themes of pain and sorrow of loss; they also expressed more upbeat emotions (Son 2009). Modern trot, such as Chang Yun-jŏng’s “Ŏmŏna” (Oh My! 2004) or Pak Hyŏn-bin’s “Shabangshabang” (Dazzling and glaring, 2008), were enthusiastically received by public audiences of all generations. Ballad on the other hand was synonymous with “love song,” as the theme of love has always been the centerpiece of the genre since its inception. Normally, ballad has a slower tempo and they usually express heartache, as can be observed in “Kobyŏl” (Farewell, 1974), sung by Hong Min whose voice was described as “lower voice suited for a ballad” (The Dong-A Ilbo 21 January, 1974). Since 1980, ballad was taken more seriously as a popular music genre. Popular songs in the early 1980s included Yi Yong’s “Ichyŏ jin kyejŏl” (Forgotten Season 1982), Im Su-jŏng’s “Yŏnindŭl ŭi iyagi” (A Story of Lovers 1982), Min Hae-gyŏng’s “Ŏnŭ sonyŏ ŭi sarang iyagi” (A Love Story of a Girl 1981), and Chŏn Yŏng-nok’s “Chongihak” (A Paper Crane 1982), which all share the common theme of love. Themes that depict the artist’s emotions for a lover from the past who no longer exists were seen in folk songs and early trot. The modes of expressing these emotions have changed throughout time, but the emotions that the lyrics express are nonetheless of similar nature. Productions of Trot and Ballad Trot and ballad strongly affected the music industry of the modern day Korea. As media developed, mass productions of music became possible, which enabled music to exist as both a commercial product and a form of art. After the liberation, Japanese recording companies such as Columbia, Victor, Okeh, and Sieron Records established branches in Korea and began to engender a stronger Korean popular music industry. When “Hwangsŏng ŭi chŏk” (Trace of the Imperial City) caused a huge sensation upon its release in 1932, a greater number of Koreans began to participate in popular song writing and many more singers surfaced. Since trot was

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Figure 5.1 Yi Yong chigu cho˘nsok che 1chip by Yi Yong (Jigu, JLS-1201701, 1982) (left) and Cho˘n Yo˘ng-nok by Cho˘n Yo˘ng-nok (Jigu, JLS-1201711, 1982).

not considered a genre at the time, no singer considered himself/herself a trot singer. Some of the male singers who were active during this period included Ch’ae Kyu-yŏp, Nam In-su, Ko Pok-su, Kang Hong-sik, Paek Yŏn-sŏl, and Chin Pang-nam. Female singers included Yi Nanyŏng, Chŏn Ok, Wang Su-bok, Hwang Kŭm-sim, and Chang Se-jŏng. Because early popular music lyricists and songwriters did not categorize their work according to the genres, none of the artists considered himself/herself exclusively writers of trot music. Son Mog-in, who wrote “Mokp’o ŭi nunmul” (Tears from Mokpo 1935) and Pak Si-ch’un, who composed “Aesu ŭi soyagok” (A Serenade of Sorrow 1937), were two of the most prominent songwriters before the liberation. Some of the well-known lyricists of the time included Cho Yŏng-ch’ul (a.k.a. Cho Myŏng-am) and Pak Yŏng-ho, many of whom were poets or playwrights. However, after the liberation, professional lyricists—separate from poets and playwrights— began to emerge. Lyricist Han San-do and composer Paek Yŏng-ho collaborated on the song “Tongbaek agassi” (Miss Camelia 1964) as well as countless other trot songs in the 1960s. Composer Pak Ch’un-sŏk also worked with Yi Mi-cha, producing a copious amount of trot tunes in the same decade. While trot appeared during the Japanese colonial period as a new type of song and were endorsed by “modern” girls and boys, trot began to be seen as traditional songs, as its music fans were aging at this time from the 1950s to 1970s. Around the same time, performance of trot was prohibited due to the accusation that trot originated from Japan. However, Yi Mi-cha’s “Tongbaek Agassi” was received with great enthusiasm and became one of the most recognizable trot songs even though it was considered controversial due to its alleged Japanese origin. Some of the popular male rivals of Yi included Na Hun-a and Nam Chin. In the 1970s, trot was refined and gentrified, as they mirrored the rapid industrialization that was taking place. Pae Ho (1942–1971), who was active briefly around the late 1960s before his untimely death, became the pioneer of this change. In 1967, he sang “Toraga nŭn samgakchi” (Leaving Samgakchi), demonstrating an urban sensitivity in a low, baritone voice—a markedly

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different feature unseen in previous trot, which mainly dealt with themes of a rustic nature. Sim Su-pong’s “Kŭ ttae kŭ saram” (The Man of the Past) was first introduced at MBC Campus Song Festival in 1978 and came to be known as a quintessential trot of refined urbanity. Sim, a singer-songwriter, sang these new trot songs in a nasal tone with intermittent snaps—newly developed elements of pop music. However, she was banned from performing for a period of time due to the fact that she had been present at the scene of the assassination of President Park Chung Hee on October 26, 1979. Chu Hyŏn-mi in the 1980s introduced trot medleys. She was a pharmacist when she recorded an album titled, Ssangssag p’at’i (Couples-only Party 1984) in which existing trot songs are compiled into a medley. She became wildly popular when her fast-paced, rhythmic trot songs hit highway service stations all over the country. Her career was catapulted when she released “Pi naeri nŭn Yŏngdonggyo” (Rain on Yŏngdong Bridge) in 1985. Trot in the 1980s was seen as a song of entertainment usually favored by adults, since they were played frequently in cabarets and nightclubs. Hyŏn Ch’ŏl, T’ae Chin-a, and Sŏl Un-do were popular male trot singers of the time. However, when Chang Yun-jŏng released her song, “Ŏmŏna” (Oh My!) in 2004, she challenged the previous notion of trot as entertainment only for adults and turned it into a genre that could be embraced by the entire nation. Even though the existing trot songs were already cheerful and rhythmic, Chang Yun-jŏng’s “Ŏmŏna” raised the level of fun and excitement in her music. Many comedic moments were in her music video, which influenced other trot singers to follow suit. For example, Pak Hyŏn-bin, who made his debut in 2006, mostly sang trot songs that were rife with fun elements as can be gleaned from their titles: “Pparappappa” (2006), “Kondŭre Mandŭre” (Dead Drunk 2006), and “Shabangshabang.” Today’s trot songs are mostly cheerful and lively. Thanks to singers such as Orange Caramel— a group that was organized by select members of After School, and Tae-sŏng of Big Bang, trot began to appeal to younger generations. Let’s turn to ballad. Western ballad on the other hand was increasingly exposed in Korea, such as songs sung by Barbara Streisand and Lionel Richie. These songs were categorized as ballad when they began to take place as a genre in the popular music scene in the 1980s. Collaborations between songwriter Yi Yŏng-hun (1960–2008) and singer Yi Mun-se raised Korean ballad to a higher artistic level. “Nan ajik morŭjanayo” (I Don’t Know Yet 1985), written by Yi Yŏng-hun and sung by Yi Mun-se, caused a great sensation in 1985, contributing to the popularization of ballad. When Yu Chae-ha (1962–1987)—a singer-songwriter who released only one album in 1987 and died the same year—gained public favor, ballad came to be seen as highbrow pop and his songs influenced many younger singers. Pyŏn Chin-sŏp, who sang “Hollo toenda nŭn kŏt” (Being on My Own 1988) written by prolific songwriter Ha Kwanghun and Yi Sŭng-hwan, who sang “T’ŏngbin maŭm” (Empty Heart 1989) written by O Taeho, another prolific songwriter, also became celebrated ballad singers. In the 1990s, Sin Sŭng-hun, also known as “the king of ballad,” made a splash in the popular music scene with his songs, “Miso sog e pich’in kŭdae” (You Reflected in a Smile 1991) and “Poiji an nŭn sarang” (Invisible Love 1991), which included a sampling of Beethoven’s “Ich Liebe Dich.” According to an official record, he sold more than 14 million albums and was awarded a Golden Disk—an accolade for musical excellence given by Music Industry Association of Korea—ten times. His title song of the second album, “Poiji an nŭn sarang” kept the first place position for fourteen consecutive weeks in a chart in a broadcasted music program. He was popular for his crooning voice, as well as for some of his followers, namely Cho Sŏng-mo,

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who made his debut in 1998 with “To Heaven,” and Sŏng Si-gyŏng, who appeared in the popular music scene in the 2000s. In contrast with the soft crooning voice, some singers demonstrated rough vocal timbre. For example, Shin Hae-chul (a.k.a. Sin Hae-ch’ŏl), Kim Chong-sŏ, Sin Sŏngu, Kim Chŏng-min, Kim Kyŏng-ho, and Pak Wan-kyu became well known for their rock ballad or power ballad. Furthermore, with their music based in soul, Im Chae-bŏm and Pak Hyo-sin made a name for themselves with their husky voices. Some of the female ballad singers during this time were Yi So-ra, Lyn, Yi Su-yŏng, Pak Hwayobi, Yi Ŭn-mi, Paek Chi-yŏng, Chang Hye-jin, and Pak Chŏng-hyŏn. They each evoked their own pathos through music and established themselves as successful ballad singers. However, their singing styles differed from one another. While Yi So-ra, Lyn, and Yi Su-yŏng utilized a bel canto style or a nasal sound, Pak Chŏng-hyŏn represented R&B, and BMK sang in a soul singing style. By combining their love for ballad with other genres, they naturally created hybridized music. While there have been a countless number of ballad singers in Korea, most “one hit wonders” have disappeared from the music scene. Instead of exclusively singing ballad, however, some singers tried their hand in various genres while retaining ballad in their repertoire. For instance, even though the music of K-pop idol groups consists mainly of dance music, a few ballad songs are always included in their albums. Even self-proclaimed ballad singers do not commit to solely singing ballad songs. Nevertheless, each era has been defined by a handful of ballad singers who tugged at the heartstrings of the public with slow love songs. Lyricist, Pak Kŏn-ho and songwriter, Yi Pŏm-hŭi are important figures in the music industry. Yi Yŏng-hun wrote both the music and words to most of Yi Mun-se’s songs. Sin Sŭng-hun was also a songwriter who wrote most of his own music. Sin Chae-hong, Pang Si-hyŏk, Kim Hyŏng-sŏk, Yi Kyŏng-sŏp, and Yun Ilsang are some of the most prolific ballad songwriters who produced many hits. While there is a great gender disparity among ballad composers in favor of males, there are many more female lyricists who wrote beautiful lyrics that gave meaning to the music. Chiye, Pak Chu-yŏn, Ch’ae Chŏng-ŭn, Kang Ŭn-gyŏng, and Yun Sa-ra are well-known lyricists in Korea.

Figure 5.2 Yi Mun-se by Yi Mun-se (SRB, SBK-0049, 1985) (left) and Sin Su˘ng-hun by Sin Su˘ng-hun (PAN, DYL-1004, 1991).

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Consumers of Trot and Ballad In the current Korean popular music market, there is a distinction between consumers of trot and ballad. While trot is considered the exclusive property of the middle- or older-aged generations, younger generations gravitated toward ballad, which appealed more to their sensibilities. Yet, it is difficult to argue that there is an absolute division between these market segments since consumers may have their own unique listening preferences. In general, however, we can argue that people tend to prefer music that was popular when they were adolescents. Therefore, it would not be too far off the mark to assume that people who spent their youth in the 1980s or 1990s would prefer ballad over trot. On the other hand, however, older generations who had their prime time before the 1980s tend to prefer trot. Interestingly, however, as the music of trot evolved with the times, the demographics of its audience changed as well. Before the liberation, when trot first appeared, it was considered a new style of music favored by young people. In the 1950s and 1960s, trot was considered indigenous music. In 1964, “Tongbaeg agassi” received considerable attention. It even became a work song for factory workers. In the 1960s and 1970s, however, trot was no longer seen as music of sophistication but as lower-brow, countrified music. As the genre became more entrenched in the nightclub culture in the 1980s, it became a staple entertainment for adults. The stigma, however, attached to the genre disappeared when Chang Yun-jŏng’s “Ŏmŏna” gathered huge popularity in 2004, bridging gaps between all generations. Inspired by this trend, some idol groups sang trot songs to expand their fan base. Nevertheless, to some people of older generations, the genre still evokes nostalgia that takes them back to their younger days. Today’s trot songs are written in a faster tempo, and its lyrics are centered on aspects of fun and excitement. Trot songs are usually played during events to build energy and to keep audiences uplifted. For example, “Nal pwa Kwisun” (Look at Me, Kwisun 2008), and “Taebag iya” (It’s a Big Hit 2009) by Tae-sŏng of Big Bang or “Rokkugŏ” (2007) by Super Junior T are rife with entertaining and comedic elements. Ballad is beloved by audiences of younger generations as well as middle-aged generations who used to listen to ballad in their youth. Ballad lyrics appeal to the listeners especially when they are in love or after a breakup. The words parallel their own romantic experiences. The music and lyrics of ballad echo their inner turmoil, providing a cathartic outlet for their pains. Ballad contains all the attendant emotions of love and pain. Unlike trot, ballad is more popular among younger people who are more likely to have experienced modern types of love. Modern Trot, Ballad, and Their Future Prospects In this chapter I examined various aspects of trot and ballad, including their part in the history of the Korean popular music industry. Along with dance music, trot and ballad make up the three main genres of Korean popular music. No one can foretell how these genres will evolve, but based on the fact that both trot and ballad have taken strong cultural roots in Korean popular music history, we can argue for their future survival. Currently, trot songs are defined as fun, upbeat music that evokes nostalgia in middle-aged people. Even though the genre is still tainted with preconceived notions of pro-Japanese ideology (due to its alleged Japanese origins) and is considered lowbrow, many people continue to enjoy the music. However, most people relate to the music only in an external, superficial level since the music focused largely on building energy and entertaining the audience. Trot has continually

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adapted to the ever-changing zeitgeist of the times and as such, it will continue to exist in a slightly altered form. Ballad will also prevail as long as love continues to be the perennial subject discussed among humans. Love often takes place in the most mysterious part of the human psyche, tangled in the tapestry of complicated emotions. Just as ballad music fused with rock and R&B in the past, it will continue to merge with other genres in the future in a new form. The creation or elimination of any popular music is heavily dependent on public taste and opinion. Popular music cannot exist without consumers, as they play a vital role in creating or obsoleting a genre. Nonetheless, to my belief, trot and ballad will remain in the Korean popular music scene for many more years to come. Bibliography Apel, Willi. 1944. Harvard Dictionary of Music. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Chang,Yu-jeong. 2006. Oppa nŭn p’unggakchaengiya: taejunggayo ro pon kŭndae ŭi p’unggyŏng [Brother is a Street Musician: The Modern Era in Popular Songs]. Seoul: Minumin. —— . 2012a. Kŭndae taejunggayo ŭi chisok kwa pyŏnmo [The Continuation and Alteration of Korean Modern Popular Songs]. Seoul: Somyŏng. —— . 2012b. Kŭndae taejunggayo ŭi maech’e wa munhwa [The Media and Culture of Korean Modern Popular Songs]. Seoul: Somyŏng. Howard, Keith. 2002. “Exploding Ballads: The Transformation of Korean Pop Music.” In Global Goes Local: Popular Culture in Asia, edited by T. Craig and R. King, 80–95. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Jung, Eun-young. 2011. “The Place of Sentimental Song in Contemporary Musical Life.” Korean Studies 35. Kim, Ch’ang-nam ed. 2012. Taejungŭmag ŭi ihae [Understanding Popular Music]. P’aju: Hanul. Kim, Tae-haeng. 1980. Han’guk si ŭi chŏnt’ong yŏn’gu [The Study of Korean Poem’s Tradition]. Seoul: Gaemusa. Metzer, David. 2012. “The Power Ballad.” Popular Music 31. Pak, Ch’an-ho. 1992. Han’gukkayosa [A History of Korean Popular Songs]. Seoul: Hyŏnamsa. Son, Min-chŏng. 2009. T’ŭrot’ŭ ŭi chŏngch’ihak [The Politics of Trot]. Seoul: Ŭmak Segye. Wajima, Yusuke. 2010. Tsukurare a “nippon no kokoro” shinwa – “enka” o meguru sengo taishu-ongaku shi [The Created Myth of ‘Heart of Japan’: Postwar History of Popular Music around enka]. Tokyo: Kōbunshi.

6 Korean Rock’s Journey from Group Sound to Indie Punk Pil Ho Kim

Introduction Since its birth in 1964, Korean rock has kept the delicate balance between the global (or international) and the local (or domestic) dynamics surrounding this particular popular musical genre. Korean rock has long been part of “a global ‘mediascape’, transmitting diverse meanings” in the form of “either as an imitation of imported styles or as a stimulus to the creation of hybrid styles, in which musicians blend elements from local musical traditions and add native language lyrics” (Ferreira and Mendoza 2002, 106). There is sizeable literature on the ethnic, national, and local varieties of rock music, including the recent discussion of “aesthetic cosmopolitanism” of ethno-national pop-rock (Regev 2013). Korean rock may not be a special case among many ethnic variants, but the recent global ascendance of Korean pop music warrants close attention to this particular genre, which has widely influenced other music genres and even non-musical forms of popular culture. Given Korean rock’s long history, let us begin our survey of Korean rock with periodization. The first two decades may be dubbed the group sound era, following the convention of referring to the rock band format as “group sound” (GS) that lasted until the late 1980s. As this early phase has been relatively well-documented in Chapter 1 and elsewhere (Kim and Shin 2010; Shin and Kim 2014), here I will briefly mention its musical styles before moving on to the postGS era Korean rock. The Group Sound Era In terms of musical variety, Korean rock had it all from the early GS era. The professional musicians of old-school GS emerged from the U.S. military base show scene, where versatility was the name of the game. Singers sang blues, soul, doo-wop, tin-pan-alley, ballad, or country, while guitarists played surf, rockabilly, funk, or bluegrass. It took years for both musicians and Korean audiences to adjust themselves to the confluence of many new foreign sounds, but they were able to find a formula that has persevered thus far—that is, to follow the latest AngloAmerican trend, with a subtle yet perceptible trace of national heritage. It made guitarist Shin Joong Hyun a household name by the early 1970s: his psychedelic hard rock pieces, such as “Arŭmdaun kangsan” (The Beautiful Land 1975) and “Miin” (The Belle 1974) with the familiar traditional Korean melody became the genre-defining songs of the GS era.

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Figure 6.1 The Add4 and the Key Boys, the Pioneers of Korean Rock Who Made Their Record Debut in 1964.

Many others began to use this musical formula as well: Shin’s fellow old-school professional GS musicians, and new-school musicians who rose in the mid-1970s from amateur college band backgrounds, commonly known as “campus” GS. The college musicians were heavily promoted by major broadcasting companies through Campus Song Contests (Taehak Kayoje), which were immensely popular until the late 1980s. In fact, the mass media did not only endorse the campus group sounds, but had also actively engaged in manufacturing their polished image. Despite the authoritarian state persecution that embroiled many prominent GS musicians, in the GS era Korean rock continually expanded its popularity. Cho Yong-p’il, for instance, while enjoying immense popularity as a kayo ballad/trot singer throughout the 1980s, continued playing with his band Widaehan T’ansaeng (Great Birth), which enabled him to move seamlessly across a range of styles from new wave and synth-pop to arena rock. Ch’oe I-ch’ŏl, another guitar maestro from the old-school GS scene, built a long and successful career with his funk rock band Sarang kwa P’yŏnghwa (Love and Peace), playing funk-based rock music from the late 1970s. San’ullim (Mountain Echo; spelled Sanullim by the band themselves) and Song’golmae (Peregrine Falcon; spelled Songolmae), two of the most successful bands from the campus GS scene, incorporated traditional Korean cultural themes in their experimental psychedelic (San’ullim) and hard rock (Song’golmae) styles. Kim Su-ch’ŏl, another well-known campus GS veteran and talented guitarist, later transformed himself into a dedicated composer/performer of fusion between traditional Korean music and modern Western pop. In the mid-1980s, soft rock bands such as Pŏnnimdŭl (Friends) and Tasŏt Son’garak (Five Fingers) emerged as new torch-bearers for campus GS, and sustained their popularity until the late 1980s despite frequent line up changes. Thus rock music settled in the Korean popular musical lexicon. In some ways, the mainstream success of GS rock dulled the edginess of sound and tilted the balance towards the locallyflavored sounds. Not everybody celebrated these shifts; younger, up-and-coming rock musicians and fans who were looking outwards for global sounds, began to flock to the new “underground” music scenes in the mid-1980s.

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Figure 6.2 Sanullim (SRB, SR-0090, 1977) and Song’golmae (Jigu, JLS-1201684), Two Popular Rock Bands in the Late 1970s and the Early 1980s.

The Heavy Metal Subculture Korean rock music culture has always closely corresponded to Korea’s political and economic changes. Three decades of spectacular economic growth gave rise to a burgeoning consumer culture that allowed for greater access to the latest global music trends through mass media and records. These changes set in motion a swing-back in the global-local balance of musical taste, which became most visible among the youngest in the ranks—teenagers exposed to heavy metal, progressive rock, new wave, Eurodisco, and later, hip-hop. Heavy metal in particular was very influential to aspiring post-GS rock musicians who started their careers in high school covering bands like Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, Scorpions, and Judas Priest. The heavy metal fever spread quickly among young male audiences. Finally, the metal scene caught fire when the so-called “Gang of Four” in Korean heavy metal, Sinawi (spelled Sinawe by the band themselves), Paektusan (spelled Baekdoosan), Puhwal (Resurrection; spelled Boohwal), and H2O debuted in the same year of 1986. Each band featured a virtuoso lead guitar, a charismatic lead vocal, and a thumping rhythm section that created loud, powerful sonic attacks typical of the subgenre. Sinawi’s rock anthem, “K’ŭge radio rŭl k’yŏgo” (Turn Up the Radio Loud 1986), was a breakout hit among rock fans, though it did not register as such on mainstream pop charts. Puhwal’s power ballad “Hŭiya” (1986) showcased Yi Sŭng-ch’ŏl’s unconventionally “pretty” voice for a heavy metal vocalist, which helped launch his solo career soon afterwards. An interesting digression is that Sinawi’s leader Shin Dae Chul (a.k.a. Sin Tae-ch’ŏl) is the eldest son of the GS era legend Shin Joong Hyun. Like father like son, the younger Shin was also an electric guitar maestro who played a key role in infusing Korean rock with the cuttingedge global sound of their respective times. Furthermore, both musicians were keenly aware of the importance of keeping the global-local balance. In the case of the younger Shin, the hint of nationalism was clear in naming his band after the term (sinawi) which refers to the traditional

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Figure 6.3 The Debut Albums by Sinawe (SRB, SBK-0056, 1986) and Baekdoosan (SRB, SRB-0193). Heavy Metal Sensations in the Mid- and Late 1980s.

Korean shamanistic ensemble music. The members of Paektusan had old-school GS roots just like the elder Shin before refashioning themselves in the heavy metal band named after Mt. Paektu, the birthplace of the mythical founding father of the Korean nation. Therefore, even as heavy metal helped swing the pendulum back to the global soundscape, it did not go too far off balance. The breakthrough year of heavy metal brought some well-deserved media attention to the “Gang of Four,” but it turned out to be short-lived. There were also many lesser-known outfits active in the underground metal scene that first emerged in the Chongno district of downtown Seoul and later in other big cities, such as Busan and Incheon. Unfortunately, the convention of media entertainment industry worked against their style in general. The loud volume and the tough-guy look of the metal bands were deemed unfit for broadcasting; record producers and studio engineers were ill prepared for properly capturing the power and volume of heavilydistorted metal sounds. Media and music business executives were mainly interested in plucking marketable talent out of certain bands—usually the lead vocalist who can cross over to conventional kayo ballad. Still, heavy metal as a strong subculture had a lasting impact—not only on rock music but other pop genres as well. By the mid-1990s, heavy metal found some foothold in the mainstream market as the progressive metal band N.EX.T (fronted by the former pop singer Shin Hae-chul a.k.a. Sin Hae-ch’ŏl), and the thrash-metal band Crash (featuring the “death growl” of the bassist/vocalist An Hŭng-ch’an) began to attract audiences beyond the confines of die-hard metal fandom. The Blooming Underground: Folk Rock, Blues, and Jazz Fusion Heavy metal was not the sole representative of underground rock music of the 1980s. As a matter of fact, heavy metal’s banner year came in the wake of an even bigger storm stirred by a ragtag group of musicians called Tŭlgukhwa (Wild Chrysanthemum). Its eponymous debut

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album (1985), often voted as the best work in Korean rock history, came out of the blue to capture the hearts and minds of the Korean youths, male and female, all ages from middle school to college. The record’s success was in part due to Tŭlgukhwa’s relentless live concert tours across the country, in small theaters, high school and college auditoria, municipal civic centers, and concert halls. Overall, Tŭlgukhwa stayed on the road for six months before coming back to the recording studio. The Tŭlgukhwa phenomenon highlights some of the key aspects of the 1980s underground rock. First, it showed how one can gain significant popularity without relying heavily on mass media exposure—TV shows in particular. In fact, the definition of “underground” in the Korean context was not being shown on TV. Second, the band was a sort of loose “bohemian” collective of musicians with different backgrounds and orientations, much like the underground scene itself—some were from the modern folk movement, which had started in the late 1960s (see Chapter 7 of this volume), while others were from professional GS and campus GS. Third, as a result of this diversity of origins, underground rock produced an eclectic and sprawling mix of various genres and styles. The best example of such diversity and eclecticism would be the Tŭlgukhwa album of 1985. The primal energy of Chŏn In-gwŏn’s roaring vocals, fully expended in two of the signature songs, “Haengjin” (Marching) and “Kŭgŏnmani nae sesang” (That’s My Whole World), is contrasted and complemented by Ch’oe Sŏng-wŏn’s romantic sensibility and sweet vocal harmony all members occasionally put together to a perfection. The professional GS veteran Chu Ch’angwŏn’s drums are not overpowering, but packing just enough punch to make the sound roll. With the album cover mimicking the Beatles’ Let It Be (1970), Tŭlgukhwa seems to have taken a page or two from the English band’s playbook, taking turns to show off the versatility and individuality of each member. Unfortunately, like the Beatles during their Let It Be album period, Tŭlgukhwa suffered internal rifts, which led to the band’s eventual break-up only two years after its brilliant debut. Short as it was, the full bloom of Tŭlgukhwa displayed the depth and breadth of the bohemian underground of the 1980s. One of the major figures of this scene was Cho Tong-jin, a taciturn troubadour whose long, exceptional career path spans across GS rock and modern folk. After a stint as GS guitarist playing at the U.S. military base shows, Cho began his solo singersongwriter work at the legendary Orient Studio. There he also joined the studio’s house band, experimenting with progressive rock and jazz fusion along with some of the best session players during the 1970s. As Cho’s solo work started to gain long overdue recognition at the turn of the decade, a veritable community of underground musicians, including those who would later form Tŭlgukhwa, was built under his auspices. This community became the home base for the 1980s underground scene, with the record company Tong’a Kihoek serving as a front. Another major figure of the underground scene was also a folk music veteran, Yi Chŏngsŏn. While Yi spent his early years in college- and church-based acoustic folk music circles, his upbringing in the family of early Korean jazz musicians was slowly nudging him towards electric blues. Together with Ŏm In-ho, he eventually committed himself in 1985 to Yi’s blues rock project, Sinch’on Blues, greatly benefited from talented guest singers such as Kim Hyŏn-sik and Han Yŏng-ae. But Kim’s untimely death at age thirty-three dealt a blow to the burgeoning Korean blues rock and the rising popularity of the underground scene. Despite the setbacks of Tŭlgukhwa and Kim Hyŏn-sik, the underground music scene continued to branch out and thrive musically: folk and blues evolved into fusion jazz and electronic music, some musicians went abroad to study jazz and classical music in depth. Many of the veterans

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of the 1980s underground scene are currently active and/or holding key positions as composers, arrangers, producers, session players, and professors at college popular music programs. Like their heavy metal brethren, these underground musicians were enthusiastic followers of global trends. Still, their sounds did not come off as foreign, partly due to their folk roots. For example, the music by Yi Pyŏng-u, the former underground guitarist of Ŏttŏnnal (One Day), in Korean “New Wave” films, such as A Tale of Two Sisters (2003), The Host (2006), and Mother (2009), is a testament to his virtuosity in classical and jazz as well as his visceral understanding of Korean sentiments. Refashioned as a jazz-rock fusion duo, Pom Yŏrŭm Kaŭl Kyŏul (Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter), Kim Hyŏn-sik’s former backup band, has been a steady force in Korean pop music since 1988. Kang San-e and Yun To-hyŏn two “rock stars” since the 1990s would be the last heirs in this folk rock lineage . Johnny (Rotten) Come Lately: Punk Rock in Korea As we have observed in the case of psychedelic rock, heavy metal, or fusion, it did not take long for new styles of Anglo-American rock to reach Korea. Even in the era of pre-globalization and pre-internet, at most three or four years would have been enough for Korean musicians to catch up with new tunes they heard from the AFKN or imported records (Kim and Shin 2010). However, one prominent exception to this rule was punk rock, which took more than a decade to be properly introduced to the Korean youth. Why the delay? An obvious reason was censorship. The military dictatorship that ruled Korea for three decades until the early 1990s was notoriously intolerant of political dissidence or sexual “explicitness” in foreign and domestic popular music (Kim and Shin 2010; Mun 2004; Maliangkay 2006). In this respect, punk was a double whammy—band names like “The Sex Pistols” and a photo of Queen Elizabeth’s mouth shut with a safety pin never stood a chance in this atmosphere, not even in the seedy netherworld of the pirate record market. Furthermore, the underground rock communities at the time highly valued sophistication, technical proficiency, and musicianship as apparent in subgenres of choice such as heavy metal, progressive rock, and fusion jazz. The “Do It Yourself” (DIY) amateurism of punk did not fit the bill, and therefore drew little interest from the Korean underground until the music resurfaced as part of the 1990s “alternative rock.” There is little doubt that Seattle grunge—Nirvana, in particular—provided the initial inspiration for Korean punk. The seminal punk club Drug, located at the Hongik University neighborhood (Hongdae-ap) of Seoul, hosted a Nirvana tribute concert featuring ten local bands in 1995. The club opened in July 1994, shortly after Kurt Cobain’s death, not as a live music club but as a “punk/alternative music bar.” But in less than a year Drug began to fill with aspiring punk rockers and their young fans for their nightly ritual of live performances (Moon 2005; Shin 2011). As it turned out, grunge was an ideal medium for punk rock to find its way into the Korean underground scene. Stephen Epstein, an American academic who became a witness and documentarian of the early years of Korean punk, explains that “punk’s thematic center evolved from expressing English urban working-class frustration to American suburban alienation, boredom and depression and offered Korean punk a growing variety of generic themes to draw upon.” As he points out, Korean punk’s middle-class background seems to have resonated more with America in the early 1990s than England in the late 1970s (Epstein 2000, 9; Epstein and Dunbar 2007).

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In terms of sound, grunge’s affinity with heavy metal made it easy for some of the former “head-banging” crowds to make a transition to alternative rock. Noizegarden was a pioneering Korean alternative metal band that bridged the chasm between metal and punk, just as the Seattle band with a very similar name—Soundgarden had done. Rainy Sun was another notable alternative metal band that shared the bill with punk bands during the formative period of the Hongdae-ap club scene. It was not just these up-and-comers who found the metal-punk connection irresistible. Once the premier band of Korean heavy metal, Sinawi had been in decline for years before experiencing career rejuvenation as an alternative rock band in the mid-1990s. Seo Taiji, who left his brief heavy metal career as Sinawi’s bassist and went on to become the biggest Korean pop star of the 1990s, also tapped into thrash metal, alternative, and punk rock (Jung 2006; Maliangkay 2014). Blending heavy metal and abrasive rap, Seo protested against Korea’s notoriously oppressive high school culture in “Kyosil idea” (Classroom Ideology 1994), and even took a highly-publicized stand against government censorship in 1994. Instead of revising the censored words, he removed the entire lyrics from the song “Sidae yugam” (Regret of the Times 1995) and released it as a rock instrumental track (Chung 2003; Maliangkay 2014). For all the impact of grunge, it was only one of many music styles Korean punk was based on. One can easily detect influence from the Sex Pistols, Green Day, and even the Two-Tone ska sound in the works of Crying Nut and No Brain, the two leading bands of the Korean punk movement known as Chosŏn Punk. Using the old name for Korea (Chosŏn) prior to the national division, these punk bands were deliberately sending the message that they were employing the same, decades-old formula of balancing the global and the national in their music: Although the Korean punk musicians I interviewed expressed anxiety about their ability to make a truly indigenous musical and performance style, they agreed unanimously that Korean punk had its own flavor and believed they were engaged in a collective project to create a punk rock of their own. They felt that in assimilating new musical forms they were participating in an international youth culture, but remaining uniquely Korean at the same time (Epstein 2000, 30). Having built their “DIY” street cred at the club Drug and the Hongdae-ap scene, both Crying Nut and No Brain went on to achieve moderate commercial success, popularizing punk rock among mainstream audiences. Much less self-destructive and more “wholesome”—even patriotic—than their British or American predecessors, bands of Chosŏn Punk gained a firm foothold between mainstream and underground with catchy, anthemic songs such as Crying Nut’s “Mal talija” (Let’s Horse Ride 1996) and No Brain’s fight song for the Korean national football team at the 2002 World Cup. On- and Off-line Network of Indie Rock Media coverage and substantial popularity notwithstanding, punk as a style and subculture is probably no more important than the DIY ethos it symbolizes in the larger context of Korean popular music culture. As punk was about to break out, there were already many post-punk “modern rock” followers who had been reaching out for one another years before Drug and other live music clubs appeared at Hongdae-ap. They created online communities—through

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Figure 6.4 The First Indie Record, Our Nation (Drug, FRONT-10, 1996). A Split Album by Punk Bands Crying Nut and Yellow Kitchen.

text-based, dial-up modem network of the pre-internet era commonly referred to as PC t’ongsin (literally, Personal Computer communications). These online “hobby clubs” (tonghohoe) were the “midwife” in the birth of Korean independent (indie) rock. The aforementioned alt-metal band Noizegarden was formed through an online heavy metal community, which was run by the band’s lead guitarist Yun Pyŏng-ju. Among some subgroups in Yun’s metal community was the “modern rock” gathering, from which two influential indie rock bands sprang out—Deli Spice and Ŏnnine Ibalgwan (Sister’s Barbershop). In contrast to the heavy, dark sounds of Noizegarden, these two bands went for lighter, less muscular guitarpop music influenced by contemporary Britpop and other postpunk/alternative acts, including R.E.M., Pet Shop Boys, etc. This diversity of styles, however, did not hinder solidarity among the three bands as they took turns to participate in each other’s recordings and performances

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as guest performers or staff members. The layered guitar sound and hauntingly beautiful refrain of Deli Spice’s hit song “Ch’au ch’au” from their 1997 debut album, proved that indie rock has more to offer than grunge and punk rock’s heavy, harsh aggressiveness. The flourishing online music communities and the mushrooming of offline live music clubs at the Hongdae-ap created a synergy effect that helped establish the Korean indie rock scene from the mid-1990s onward. In other words, these communities were put together to create a broad communicative network of solidarity among musicians and fans that made the DIY spirit into reality. The following is an eyewitness account of the thriving indie rock culture at its full strength: The year 1997 was when the indie music scene started raising a collective voice that developed into a movement. In February, a festival entitled “Ttangmit taligi” (Underground race) featured thirteen indie bands playing at local clubs. The significance of this festival was that the club owners coordinated it in a DIY style, and soon it became a monthly event. The club owners organized themselves into “Kaek’ŭllyŏn” (Open Club Association) to host the event, followed by “Abaennyŏn” (Association of the beautiful bands), an organization of participating indie musicians. In May, more than fifty bands participated in a local cultural festival in Sinch’on [a college district neighboring the Hongdae-ap scene] . . . It was the year of building solidarity across the indie scene—indie rock joint concerts and festivals extended the bands’ reach outside the Hongdae-ap club scene. Mainstream media started paying attention as indie music earned the symbolic power of “subcultural resistance.” (Shin 2013, 226–227) Since the club Drug released Korean punk’s monumental album, Our Nation (1996) under its own name, various on- and off-line connections within the indie network have materialized into “indie labels,” putting the DIY idea of making and selling records independent of mainstream music industry into practice. By the end of the 1990s, independent record production and distribution became the norm for Chosŏn Punk and other musicians who identified themselves with indie music. The Twenty-First-Century Schizoid Rock: Changing Dynamic of Mainstream-Indie, Global-Local Rock music has always had a rocky relationship with the mainstream media, network TV broadcasting in particular. It is one of the reasons for rock’s continued allegiance with the underground and the indie scene over the past several decades. Rock sound was a key component to the major stardom of Shin Joong Hyun in the 1970s, Cho Yong-p’il in the 1980s, and Seo Taiji in the 1990s. Even so, Korean rock was hardly respected as a genre by the mainstream media. Recently, the Korean media landscape has turned somewhat more favorable to rock. The surging popularity of the reality TV genre—singing competition variants in particular—provide opportunities for rock musicians, young and old. Some programs “canonize” classic Korean rock songs as “timeless masterpieces;” other programs bring in old-time rockers as judges to select the “top band” among the young contestants. The increasing exposure of underground/indie rock musicians of the past and present to television gradually blurs the major line of demarcation between mainstream and independent music. The emergence of guitar-playing boy bands and

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dancing girl groups backed by live rock performance indicates that even the K-pop “idol” industry is keen on co-opting rock sound. On the other hand, the indie music scene in the new millennium is no longer as heavily populated by rock as it used to be. Female singer-songwriters with mellow, acoustic sounds are steadily appealing to audiences inside and outside the indie scene (Tsai and Shin 2013). The gentrification of Hongdae-ap has replaced many live music clubs with DJ dance clubs (Cho 2010; Lee 2010; Shin 2014). As metal and punk’s aggressive energy is slowly absorbed into the mainstream, the musical identity of the indie scene is in flux. The new millennium saw an acceleration of the social changes often conveniently subsumed under the rubric of globalization. What it meant for Korean rock was a shifting line between global and local, which rendered the old formula of maintaining the balance outdated, if not untenable. While unabashed nationalism is still easily found in places like football stadiums where rock anthems are often used as fight songs during international competitions (Son 2012), today’s young rock musicians do not seem too self-conscious about how to infuse “Koreanness” into their work. It is not uncommon for them to switch between Korean and English lyrics or to write all-English lyrics. A broad acceptance of local sounds that do not necessarily involve national language reflects a significant shift in popular attitudes away from the rigid cultural nationalism of the past. Many Korean musicians in the past had to face the accusation of being copycats of foreign music. This was especially true for the old-school GS with the U.S. military base show background. As we have seen, even the punk movement in the 1990s had similar concerns, and one clear response was the unapologetically nationalistic Chosŏn Punk. However, much less encumbered by nationalist baggage than in the past, Korean rock is facing a new challenge as well as opportunity to explore distinct local sounds and to make its mark in the global popular music marketplace. Not surprisingly, the new vanguard of globalizing Korean rock largely hails from the indie scene. The most visible efforts thus far have been made at the South by Southwest Festival (SXSW) in the U.S. The “garage” rock band Galaxy Express has appeared at SXSW three times since 2012 to wide acclaim. A New York Times article stated, “Galaxy Express, from South Korea, harked back to the crashing, roiling protopunk psychedelia of the MC5, slamming away with conviction” (Paralles 2012). The two rising indie bands, Gukkasten and Goonamguayeoridingstella, were also included along with such Hongdae-ap veterans as No Brain and 3rd Line Butterfly. Except for the Chosŏn Punk pioneer No Brain, all these bands defy easy characterizations of their music style as they glide through a wide variety of styles ranging from psychedelic to experimental noise. Interestingly, some indie rockers in the new millennium managed to bring back the old formula of global-local balance with a new twist. Instead of resorting to pre-modern traditional Korean music, they find new “traditions” in the recent past—modern Korean popular music of the bygone era. For example, 3rd Line Butterfly resurrects Kim Hae-song, the jazz genius during the 1930s–1940s, by sampling his music in “Kimp’o ssangnap’al” (Double Horn of Kimp’o, 2004). Chang Ki-ha Wa Ŏlgul Tŭl (Chang Kiha and the Faces), an indie rock phenomenon that channeled the frustration of current youth facing high unemployment and dim job prospects, makes clever references to GS rock and modern folk of the 1970s. As it turns out, Korean popular music has been around long enough to establish a tradition of its own and to help create a new local sound that may well be added to the global repertoire of rock music.

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Figure 6.5 A Genuine DIY Record Made From Blank CD-r that Became an Unexpected Hit. Ssaguryo˘ k’o˘p’i (Cheap Coffee) (Boongaboonga, 09, 2008) by Chang Kiha Before He Formed His Band.

A Brief Outro Almost half a century after the beginning of its long journey, Korean rock has started to gain global recognition for its innovative sounds and performances. The diversity of meanings and creative hybridity in Korean rock today are a result of accumulated past experiences of both young and old generations of rock musicians. As I wrote elsewhere: Korean rock was neither a mimesis of the Anglo-American music genre nor was it fully embraced as national popular music by the public at large. It was born in the alien territory of the U.S. military bases, faced death at the jailhouse of the police state, and then resurrected in college campuses and high school playground. This kind of complicated history/geography of Korean rock still continues today, to the delight of some and to the dismay of others. (Shin and Kim 2014, 294)

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We should also add the on- and off-line communities of indie/punk rock to the ever-expanding itinerary of Korean rock’s journey. Now an established genre with retained edginess, Korean rock is entering a stage of maturity and self-confidence that may lead to a new, unforeseen development. Bibliography Cho, Mihye. 2010. “Envisioning Seoul as a World City: The Cultural Politics of the Hong-dae Cultural District.” Asian Studies Review 34(3): 329–347. Chung, Heejun. 2003. “Sport Star vs. Rock Star in Globalizing Popular Cultures: Similarities, Difference and Paradox in Discussion of Celebrities.” International Review for the Sociology of Sport 38(1): 99–108. Epstein, Stephen. 2000. “Anarchy in the UK, Solidarity in ROK: Punk Rock Comes to Korea.” Acta Koreana 3: 1–34. Epstein, Stephen and Jon Dunbar. 2007. “Skinheads of Korea, tigers of the East.” In Cosmopatriots: On Distant Belongings and Close Encounters Amsterdam/New York, edited by Edwin Jurriëns and Jeroen de Kloen, 157–176. New York: Rodopi. Ferreira, Luciana and Moura Mendoza. 2002. “The Local and the Global in Popular Music: The Brazilian Music Industry, Local Culture, and Public Policies,” In Global Culture: Media, Arts, Policy, and Globalization. Edited by Diana Crane et al., 105–117. London: Routledge. Jung, Eun-Young. 2006. “Articulating Korean Youth Culture through Global Popular Music Styles.” In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard, 109–122. Kent, U.K.: Global Oriental. Kim, Pil Ho and Hyunjoon Shin. 2010. “The Birth of Rok: Cultural Imperialism, Nationalism and the Glocalization of Rock Music in South Korea, 1964–1975.” Positions: East Asia Cultures Critique 18(1): 199–230. Lee, Jung-yup. 2010. “Hongdae-ap indissin’ŭi munhwagyŏngje” [The cultural economy of the Hongdae-ap indie scene]. Taejung Ŭm’ak [Korean Journal of Popular Music] 6: 69–96. Maliangkay, Roald. 2006. “Pop for Progress: Censorship and South Korea’s Propaganda Songs.” In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave. Edited by Keith Howard, 48–61. Kent, U.K.: Global Oriental —— . 2014. “The Popularity of Individualism: The Seo Taiji Phenomenon in the 1990s.” In Korean Popular Culture Reader, edited by Kyung Hyun Kim and Youngmin Choe, 296–313. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Moon, Shinwon. 2005. “ ‘A marginalized music?’: Underground Rock Music Culture in Seoul since the Mid-1990s.” M.A. Thesis, University of Hawaii at Manoa. Mun, Ok-pae. 2004. Hanguk Kŭmjigok ŭi Sahoesa [A Social History of Censored Music in Korea]. Seoul: Yesol. Paralles, John. 2012. “A Fan Base without Borders.” The New York Times, March 18 http://nytimes.com/2012/03/19/arts/ music/springsteen-gives-keynote-at-sxsw-festival.html. Regev, Motti. 2013. Pop-Rock Music: Aesthetic Cosmopolitanism in Late Modernity. Cambridge, U.K.: Polity. Shin, Hyunjoon. 2011. “The Success of Hopelessness: the Evolution of Korean Indie Music.” Perfect Beat 12(2): 147–165. —— . 2013. Kayo k’eip’ap kŭrigo kŭnŏmŏ [Kayo, K-Pop and beyond]. Seoul: Tolbegae. Shin, Hyunjoon 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, 275–295. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Son, Min-Jung. 2012. “An Odyssey for Korean Rock: From Subversive to Patriotic.” Asian Music 43(2): 47–70. Tsai, Eva and Hyunjoon Shin. 2013. “Strumming a Place of One’s Own: Gender, Independence and the East Asian Pop-Rock Screen.” Popular Music 32(1): 7–22.

7 Modern Folksong and People’s Song (Minjung Kayo) Aekyung Park

The Inflow of “Folk Music” and the Birth of “Korean Folksong” Folk music literally refers to an early form of popular music whose origins are from a certain community’s orally-transmitted culture. At the same time, the folk music is known as a subgenre of the pop music that shares the genre tradition of orally-transmitted songs. However, we can also define “folk music” as a subgenre of pop music, based on acoustic instruments, which embodies that community’s experiences, interests, and folklore. We can summarize folk music by its three features: its traditional manners in oral song, its simplistic acoustic sounds, and its lyrics that reflect life experiences and introspections (Middleton 1990; Rice and Kim 2007). Acoustic instruments in particular have been considered the apparatuses that carried out the ideology of modern folk music. In the context of the U.S., folk music was used as a form of cultural movement in the 1940s–1950s by figures such as Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger, and represented the culture of younger generations once it began to use contemporary sounds and started to carry underlying messages with modern times. In Korea, it is well known that the artists who had stayed abroad and returned to Korea, like Han Tae-su from the U.S. and Yi P’il-wŏn from Japan, introduced Western (mostly American) modern folk music. Thus, it is taken for granted that Korean folk songs had developed under the influence of Western popular music. It is even argued that Korean folk music started as a form of “pop” music, which had been enculturated in urban space after the Korean War.1 It was introduced in the early 1960s and took its roots in downtown music halls and live music salons. For instance, many young musicians began to perform acoustic pop songs at the music halls throughout the 1960s. When emerging artists with acoustic guitars came in the late 1960s and early 1970s, such as Twin Folio (Song Ch’ang-sik and Yun Hyŏng-chu), Kim Min-ki, Yang Hŭi-ŭn, Han Tae-su, Yi Chang-hŭi, Sŏ Yu-sŏk, Yang Pyŏng-chip, Yi Chŏng-sŏn, and Sawŏl gwa owŏl (April and May), this new genre of music became dubbed p’ok’ŭsong (Korean transliteration of “folksong”) and most of the repertoire were covers or adaptations of Western folk songs. This clearly proves that the records representing the early folk music scene such as Twin Folio, Toi et Moi, Yang Pyŏng-chip were filled with adaptation.2 On the other hand, the musical origin of the adaptation spanned from American or British modern folk tunes as well as European tunes such as canzone and chanson. Since the late 1960s, the p’ok’ŭsong became an essential contribution to the daily lives and values of those of the younger generations, as some pioneers began to write the songs in the Korean language.

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Considering the above facts, p’ok’ŭsong is defined as modern folk music imported, adapted, and appropriated to Korea, performed primarily with the accompaniment of the acoustic guitar (Park 2012, 287). By its definition, I argue that it was established as a subgenre of Korean pop (kayo) and a local variant of modern folk in the West. Thus, it should be noted that the term “folksong,” widely used in this chapter, is different from “Korean folk song (minyo).” Rather than using the esoteric spelling of p’ok’ŭsong, “folksong” (without space between folk and song) in this chapter denotes the Korean equivalent of modern folk in the West, though on a different trajectory. A genre called Korean folksong is the case when the adaptation applies not only to the music itself, but also to the terminology. The aim of this chapter is to look into how folksong ties (or not) into the mainstream of Korean popular music. In doing so, we will look into the history of folksong—from the time when modern “folk music” took its roots in Korea to the time when it was associated with youth culture, especially in the 1970s and the 1980s. Folksong and Youth Culture in the 1970s As discussed above, although the Korean folksong was greatly influenced by modern Western music, its musical styles and its “status” within Korean music culture were developed completely differently from other genres, which were also influenced by modern Western music. From the beginning, folksong took shape in Korea as a modern folkloristic element, led by younger generations who were deeply influenced by Western cultures. Let’s look at how the tastes and interests of the younger generations became popularized. The popularization partially has to do with the influences of the postwar baby-boom generation and the increase in consumption culture at this point. We can also argue that it has to do with the naturally rebellious nature of adolescents. We therefore can visualize an increasing value of counterculture, which deviates from the currently established cultural and societal norms. In this way, the discourse on youth culture divides cultural consumption based on age and generation, focusing particularly on the countercultural trends in youth culture. Thus, the term “youth” is more often than not considered a self-renewing force rather than the physical concept of age. We therefore consider a certain cultural hegemony when we discuss songs or other factors that define the younger generations’ culture. We can argue that folksong greatly influenced the new norms of prioritizing the tastes of younger generations. Of course, there are certain counter-arguments to these statements: that the influences of Anglo-American culture were brought into Korea subconsciously, or that there were multiple complex characteristics of folksong and only its “rebellious,” countercultural characteristics were highlighted. Nonetheless, we cannot deny that folksong largely contributed to the value of the youth generation’s musical expression and the discourse on youth culture highlighted in the 1970s. Folksong gained its musical value in youth culture through its history, though at the time it was still often regarded as an “imported” component of pop culture. Folksong is arguably the first “implanted” component of communal culture by music fans in Korea. As it grew in popularity, “music halls” and “live music salons” began to open in urban areas such as Chongno and Myŏng-dong. C’est Si Bon, OB’s Cabin, and Cherbourg are just some examples of these popular music halls and salons in which young people came to listen to acoustic pop music. In addition, folksong concerts were also held in churches and cultural religious centers such as the Kyŏngdong Presbyterian Church, the Sing Along Y of YMCA, Ch’ŏnggaegurijip (A Green Frog’s House) of YWCA, and the Catholic Girls Hall in Myŏng-dong.

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Figure 7.1 A Recent Movie, C’est Si Bon, Which Depicted the Experiences of Folk Singers and Youth Culture in the Late 1960s and the Early 1970s. The Singers’ Real Names Such as Song Ch’ang-sik, Yun Hyo˘ng-chu, and Yi Chang-hu˘i Appear.

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Folksong then smoothly transited into colleges and other “intermediate” communities. The most communal features of folksong that helped it smoothly adapt into these new communities are: it is easy to sing along to, it is made up of a simplistic instrumental composition, and it is characterized by repetition. Folksong became one important symbol of youth culture in the early 1970s. It became acclimatized into pop culture along with new fads such as blue jeans and long hair—fashions that were considered symbols of the “freedom of the youths.” Folksong music was thus not only a genre of music, but also a crucial component of culture that embraced modern youths’ lifestyles. The coming-of-age post-war baby-boom generation also played a critical role in making up the conditions from which youth culture came into being. The baby-boom generation came into being in the 1970s, when younger generations became exposed to Western-influenced lifestyles and Korea’s overall expanding industrialization and urbanization. Obviously these forms of cultural modernization in Korea are distinct from those of already-established generations prior to this period. Folksong therefore functioned as a benchmark, which divided these two types of generations and as a major upset in music culture for the “elites” who aimed to strictly maintain the Korean society’s rigid social structures according to region, class, gender, and education. Also, consider how folksong was accumulated in churches and other Christian centers. We notice a kind of affinity between the Christian cultural movement of the era and “folk” culture. For instance, the Kyŏngdong Presbyterian Church, in which “folk music” concerts were held, worked as the mecca of Christian academies and thus played a pivotal role in the youth movement of the 1970s. In this way, churches in Korea were not only religious sanctuaries, but also popular spaces in which the public could experience certain forms of Western-influenced modernity. We can also argue that these churches largely contributed to the newly established modernization of Korean culture, as they had set the stage for folksong performances as it became more popular. The Ups and Downs of Folksong in the 1970s Folksong had opened up a new “creative” era for Korea in the 1970s, having started as adaptations of Western music and popularized mostly among youths. In those days the appearance of singer-songwriters and the trend of re-interpreting orally-transmitted folksongs were noteworthy. By this time, folksong singer-songwriters began to accumulate their personal and individual experiences from colleges, music listening rooms, live music salons, and religious cultural centers into their music. At the time, the folksong of the singer-songwriters could be divided into three categories: “protest folk,” “folk rock,” and “folk pop.” Singer-songwriters who represented “protest folk” included Han Tae-su and Kim Min-ki, who expressed the youth generation’s internal afflictions in their songs. For instance, some of Kim Min-ki’s 1971 debut album singles “Ach’imisŭl” (Morning Dew), “Ch’in’gu” (Friends), “Aha nuga kŭrŏk’e” (Aha, Who Made That), which were considered “classics” of Korean modern folk, symbolized an overall sense of youthful “resistance and defiance” to societal norms. Kim had also furthered these senses of rebellion when he performed these singles in his freshman orientation in Seoul National University. Singer-songwriters Yi Chang-hŭi and Yi Chŏng-sŏn represent the “folk rock” subgenre. Yi Chang-hŭi became popular through songs characterized by rock sounds that represent everyday

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Figure 7.2 The Protest Branch of Korean Folk. Han Tae-su (Sinsegye, SIS-81115, 1974) and Yang Pyo˘ng-chip (Orient, SEL 20–0028, 1974).

life, such as “Kŭgŏn nŏ” (That’s You 1973) and “Hanjan ŭi ch’uŏk” (A Glass of Memories 1974). Yi Chŏng-sŏn on the other hand is a well-renowned singer-songwriter and guitarist. He displayed folk rock with connotations of the blues in his second album released in 1974. The most popular repertoires among folksong in the 1970s belonged to the “folk pop” category. There was Twin Folio, the acoustic duo between Song Ch’ang-sik and Yun Hyŏng-chu, Onions, another acoustic duo, and Kim Se-hwan, a solo singer, who can be dubbed as “idols” in the 1970s. Among these artists, Song Ch’ang-sik was the most versatile and creative. He won various awards in 1974–1975, who then became a symbolic actor of youth culture and eventually moved on up into mainstream. By accepting the sounds of trot, orally-transmitted folksong and rock, he expanded the folksong’s boundary and brought out the support both from the youth generation as well as the adult generation. The reinterpretation of “folkloric” orally-transmitted songs can be seen as a symbol of the 1970s “traditional culture rediscovery campaign,” which was led by Korean college students. Also, it can be regarded as an indicator that modern youth culture, which was once critiqued simply as an imitation of Western culture, had at this point combined with the traditional vernacular music culture and had therefore become a new form of culture. We notice these trends when we look at artists such as Yang Pyŏng-chip, who re-interpreted an orally-transmitted song into “T’abangneya” (1974), as well as Sŏ Yu-sŏk, and Yi Yŏn-sil. It took shape as a significant trend of the folksong, as Kim Min-ki combined the reinterpretation with the folksong’s social criticism. One should also note the 1975 incident when Korea’s state authorities had instigated the Performance and Popular Music Purification Campaign (Kongyŏnmul mit kayo chŏnghwa chŏngch’aek), which censored and banned lots of folksong. Although the campaign censored all types of music, it mainly targeted folksong and rock music. At this time the Korean state had old-fashioned worldly views that these genres impeded with its ultimate authority, as they were seemingly promoting a sense of rebellion among the youth. Hence, the Campaign had stipulated

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imposing policies such as a pot-smoker round up for musicians. The authoritarian regime regarded the romantic and liberal worldview that the folksong pursued as impediments against its perfect governance. From then on, as a response, folksong was divided into two categories: “protest folk,” which showed that social criticisms were later reborn into “people’s songs,” and folksong, which had a more “uncool” basis and combined with trot. The youth generation’s music, though it briefly moved up into mainstream industry, was suppressed so that “adult” music can maintain its prominence in the music industry. Between the two, there emerged some amateur college singers who were exposed to the public through Campus Song Contests (Taehak Kayoje) who became hugely popular in the late 1970s and the early 1980s. Although the songs from the Contests sounded refreshing and hinted at the influence from folksong before 1975, most of them were only one hit wonders and disappeared after the heavy exploitation of major broadcasting companies. The Underground Folksong of the 1980s The Evolution of Singer-Songwriters and “Underground Music” Folksong had been kept underground, in a literal sense, since the harsh government regulations from 1975. The year 1985 was crucial in the evolution of folksong. That year the folk rock band Tŭlgukhwa (Wild Chrysanthemum) released its debut album, which included “Haengjin” (Marching) and “Kŭgŏnmani nae sesang” (That’s My Whole World), and an omnibus album Urinorae chŏnsihoe (Our Song Exhibition 1985). Tong’a kihoek who produced the record also produced albums for artists Haebaragi (Sunflower), Han Yŏng-ae, Kim Hyŏn-sik, and Siin kwa ch’onjang (The City Man and The Village Head), and rose to a mecca for “underground music.” Underground music was exposed to the public through live concert and radio broadcasting so that music fans from the younger generations who had turned away from Korean mainstream popular music since 1975 can finally return. Though less interested in political issues, underground music was culturally non-conformist and, at times, rebellious. Although “underground music” began to gain attention in the mid-1980s, we can trace its origins back to the 1970s when musicians of bohemianism began gathering and performing in the cafés in Sinch’on and Taehangno. This group of musicians who were baptized by folk, rock, and blues, such as Yu Ji-yŏn, Ŏm In-ho, Kim Hyŏn-sik, Han Yŏng-ae, and Chŏn In-kwŏn, was named Sinch’on Underground. Veterans who were already active as singer-songwriters in the 1970s joined in with this group as well. These veteran singer-songwriters included Cho Tongchin, Yi Chŏng-sŏn, Ha Tŏk-kyu (a member of Siin kwa ch’onjang), Yi Chu-wŏn, Kang In-wŏn, and Na Tong-min.3 During this time these artists kept their distance from folksong’s critical tendencies against “modern reality” and put a premium on introspection and musical perfection. Among them, singer-songwriters Cho Tong-chin and Yi Chŏng-sŏn were considered the “big brothers” of the “underground music.” Cho Tong-chin, who began his singer career onstage for the U.S. military clubs and playing in a recording session band Tongbang ŭi pit (The Light of the East), made his belated debut with his 1979 album, which included his singles “Haengbokhan saram” (A Happy Person) and “Kyŏulbi” (Winter Rain). After the 1990s, Cho and his younger fellow musicians kept their musical community called the Cho Tong-chin Association, with Hana Music as their main record label. Among them, Cho Tong-ik, a brother of Cho Tong-chin and an ex-member of an

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Figure 7.3 Canonical Records by Underground Veterans in the 1980s. Cho Tong-jin (Daedo, DSAP-79001, 1979), Tu˘lgukhwa (SRB, VIP-20017, 1985), and Sinch’on Blues (Jigu, JLS-1202159, 1988).

underground duo Ŏttŏnnal (One Day), and a female singer Chang P’ilsun have produced critically acclaimed records until these days. Yi Chŏng-sŏn, on the other hand, came forward as a guitarist in the 1970s, releasing his own album and led a mixed vocal quartet called Haebaragi. A dedicated musician to the blues and rock as well as folksong, Yi organized the project music group Sinch’on Blues in the 1970s with his fellow musicians Ŏm In-ho, Kim Hyŏn-sik, Han Yŏng-ae et al. Sinch’on Blues greatly contributed to driving the blues into the center of “underground music,” while retaining the roots of folksong. Underground musicians performed live concerts at music cafés and small theaters in Sinch’on and Taehangno, experimenting with various subgenres of pop music such as blues, jazz, new age music, folksong music, and rock into Korean pop songs. They performed only for albums and concerts, and they generalized the trend in which musicians, without any support from broadcasting industries and media, exposed themselves to the public only through their albums and concerts. The arguably greatest instance of the “underground music” industry was the rock band Tŭlgukhwa’s debut album in the 1980s. The four long-haired men in this band exemplified both the lyricism of folksong and the explosive power of rock music. The “underground” culture, which had inherited the tradition of singer-songwriters and had popularized in the mid-1980s, was based on the voluntary community of veteran musicians. It was believed that only high-quality albums and concerts could make musicians continue their music careers successfully without relying on television. A most noteworthy quality in “underground” culture in the 1980s is that its music was not limited only to the “underground”; it had built communication with mainstream music culture as well. The musical experiment led by underground musicians had popularized the pop ballad by the late 1980s, and had inspired musicians of the new incoming generations in the 1990s. In other words, underground music during that time had provided the conditions from which Korean pop music was able to expand and be diversified both in quality and in quantity. Political Practices of Peoples’ Song (“Minjung Kayo”) Another offshoot of folksong, rechristened as “people’s song” or “protest song,” took the form of “song movement” (norae undong). It was 1977–1978 when “college song clubs” were created,

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starting with Meari (Echo) in Seoul National University and Hansori (One Sound) in Ehwa Womans University. These clubs played songs that represented youthful/modern reality while condemning kayo as “false songs,” which were “blind” to this reality and encouraged the public to conform to its current authoritarian political system. These clubs led the song movement, arguing that art and culture should become involved in political protest during the late 1970s when Park Chung Hee’s dictatorship was coming to its end. In 1980, college song clubs kept leading cultural movements as a response to the extreme conflicts between the dictatorial regime of Chun Doo Hwan and the people’s struggles against it. They demonstrated their rebellion with a protest song “Im ŭl wihan haengjin’gok” (Marching for Our Beloved), which became the anthem for commemorating those who were killed during the Kwangju Uprising in 1980. Here we see an example of how folksong was mobilized in conjunction with political protest when it was accumulated into the cultural movement for overall transformation of the Korean society. What particularly paved the way for this transformation was the song club Saebyŏk (Dawn), organized in 1984 under the umbrella of the People’s Culture Movement Association. This club, led by former student movement activists, represented the ideology behind the “protest song” and performed it as political practice. Obviously, protest songs had different modes of production and distribution from those of the ruling culture. Therefore, political practices that involved people’s song were performed thoroughly on the fringe of the dominant cultures. They could be seen as alternatives for both commercial pop music and lofty elite music. It can be argued that the people’s song had innovated the customs of accepting and enjoying music for what it is, since people’s song had no bases from the established forms of media such as broadcasting and record. Thus they were spread through the score books and cassette tapes that were perceived as “illegal” until 1987, but enthusiastically supported by the voluntary will and support from those who were directly or indirectly involved in the democratic movement. In addition, the June Democratic Uprising and the Great Workers’ Struggle in 1987 brings up two possible arguments on the topic of people’s song: that the uprising created wider space for them to make ways into the public beyond “illegal” activities, and that people’s song created another subgenre of workers’ songs (Nodong Kayo) when it combined with labor movements. Notice here that the people’s song made inroads to a legitimate province. Nocha’ssa (People Searching for Songs) and Noraemaŭl (Song Village), which played an evangelical role for the people’s song, were publicly spread and shared the outcomes of a pro-democratic movement. The song movement groups of Korea had thus popularized and acculturated people’s song through public performances and record releases. Since the 1990s, the division between underground music (less political and more artistic) and people’s song (less artistic and more political) began to be blurred. Among them, the late Kim Kwang-sŏk (1963–1996) has enjoyed enduring popularity. Having committed both into minjung kayo, as a member of Noch’assa and into underground music as a member of Tongmurwŏn (Zoo), he enjoyed wider appeal in the late 1980s and the early 1990s as a solo singer. Despite his untimely death in 1996, the songs recorded and performed by him, both penned by himself and outside writers, have been delivering the communal feeling to those who experienced a politically turbulent time running from the 1970s to 1980s. An Ch’i-hwan, one of his closest friends who pursued rock-oriented sound without forgetting the roots of people’s song, survived Kim. The democratization, however, did not prevent veteran artists from becoming involved in politics. In 1990, an underground veteran Chŏng T’aech’un refused to comply with government

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Figure 7.4 The Second Album by Nocha’ssa (SPDR-173, 1989), Whose Roots Lie in minjung kayo.

censorship and released his seventh album A taehanmin’guk (Ah! Korea) “illegally” on cassette only. Since then, he has sincerely struggled against the state control of popular culture and made his reputation as people’s singer (minjung kasu) rather than pop singer (taechung kasu). His activities after the 1990s deserve the high status, as he made connections with former activistcum-artist minjung kayo. Another important figure is Kim Wŏn-chung who became a pop singer through “Pawisŏm” (Rock Island 1984), which became an unpredicted pop hit in 1984. Actually, the song, which metaphorically depicts the isolated situation of Kwangju during the uprising in 1980, is one of the most prolific products of protest musicians and artists based in the city. Since then, Kwangju has been established as one of the centers of the production and circulation of people’s song, associating it with the local cultural-cum-political movement in the local and regional level.

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As in the case of Kwangju, it is common that the heirs of people’s song have been involved in local grassroots social movements outside Seoul. The Two Faces of Folksong in the Twenty-First Century: Indie Pop and Nostalgia Folksong has been extremely polarized since the 1990s; new trends of indie music and nostalgic music were set in memory of the baby-boom generation born between the post-Korean War and the early 1960s. The 1990s were a period in which pop culture completely seized hegemonic control with the growth of consumer capitalism. In addition, when we consider the new generations that benefit from consumer capitalism rising to the center of cultural consumption, we also perceive that the 1990s was the period in which “teenager hegemony” was affirmed in Korean pop culture. While trot wielded its influence as mainstream adult music, dance music by idol groups became a huge highlight in teenage culture. Folksong, which initially went on the offensive against the newly popularized dance music, was reinvigorated when it combined with indie music, which was born in the 1990s around the Hongdae area. Indie music is considered “autonomous music,” free from big capital or a large distribution structure in production and distribution systems. Also, with these changes in folksong, there were changes in music production, circulation and consumption, and comprehensive cultural practices. Early indie music, represented by punk rock, continually divided itself into several genres such as modern rock, techno, underground hip-hop, electronic, and indie pop. In addition, as indie music secured underground venues, large-scale festivals, music webzines, and internet music services, it became increasingly exposed to the public from multiple different settings. One notable factor of indie music in the 2000s is the reintroduction and recycling of retro style and sound. Folk-style indiepop artists reinterpret everyday life with introverted music that is reminiscent of the music styles of past singer-songwriters. Another notable phenomenon in folksong is its sense of strong nostalgia to the 1960s and 1970s, as seen in the “C’est si bon craze.” As mentioned earlier, “C’est si bon craze” was one of the music halls in the 1960s. A special show aired by a broadcasting company during a festive season in 2010 turned out to be an opportunity to call out these bygone places in memory of elderly folksingers. Since then, the trend of romantically reinterpreting youth culture and folksong from the past has been materialized into organizing diverse events from going on national tours to making movies. Although folksong appears by definition to be the antithesis of mainstream pop, we cannot deny that folksong is closely related to pop mainstream. Folksong has primarily been situated in the margins of mainstream pop as its alternative. However, as it has always produced differences in music culture from these positions, folksong allows us to connect better with the present and with mainstream pop music. Thus, folksong still maintains an essential role today as it continues to diversify tastes, draw out new aspects of music culture, and mediate a variety of cultural practices. Notes 1 2

“Folksong” in Korea is considered a developed form of pop music imported from America and Europe (Shin, Yi, and Ch’oe 2005, 328). See also Lee (1998), and Kim (2012). European influence in early folksong is reflected not only in the repertoire, but also in the group names such as Toi et Moi (You and Me) and Rana and Rospo (Frog and Toad).

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Yi, Kang, and Na have formed a loose collective Ttaro Ttogach’i (Apart and Together also) since the late 1970s, while each member continued the career of solo singer-songwriter. Chŏn In-kwŏn, the lead vocal of Tŭlgukhwa, was one of founding member or Ttaro Ttogach’i.

Bibliography Kim, Ch’ang-nam. 2012. K-pop: Roots and Blossoming of Korean Popular Music. Seoul: Hollym International Corporation. Lee, Young Mee. 1998. Han’guk taejung kayosa [A History of Korean Popular Song]. Seoul: Sigongsa. Middleton, Richard. 1990. Studying Popular Music. Philadelphia: Open University Press. Park, Aekyung. 2012. “Han’guk p’ok’ŭ wa rok ŭi yŏndaegi [The chronicle of Korean folk and rock].” In Taejungŭmak ŭi ihae [Understanding popular music]. Edited by Kim Ch’ang-nam. P’aju: Hanul. Rice, F. Phillip and Kim Gale Dolgin. 2007. The Adolescent: Development, Relationships and Culture (12th Edition). Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Shin, Hyunjoon, Yi Yong-u, and Ch’oe Chi-sŏn. 2005. Han’guk P’ab ŭi Kogohak 1960 [Archeology of Korean Popular Music 1960s]. Seoul: Hangil Art.

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8 Korean Black Music and its Culture Soul, Funk, and Hip-Hop Jaeyoung Yang

Soul: Real “Korean” Black Music It is no simple task to define and understand what “Korean black music” is. Popular music in Korea is deeply influenced by traditional Anglo-American pop-rock, making it problematic because of the tradition’s roots in traditionally African-American genres such as gospel, soul, jazz, and hip-hop. “Black” music could be too broad a subject to discuss simply in the context of Korean popular music history alone. Moreover, the term “Korean black music” is contradictory as it implies socio-geographic and racial incongruity. Exploring Korean black music may be nuanced culturally as well as musically. Instead of delving into complex matters, this chapter begins by defining Korean black music. Korean black music is directly impacted by various styles and genres of African-American music, or, if possible, is adoptive and reappropriative of its style. After defining it, we could then figure out how Korean black music has progressed and where it is now focusing on soul and hip-hop. Some of its cultural significance will also be examined later in this chapter. However, it should be mentioned that the question of what defines the more Afro-centric Korean pop music kayo, and its cultural implications may remain unanswered in this chapter. Jazz: the Black Music Before Soul The history of the importation of black music to Korea dates further back than the late 1960s when soul music first surfaced. The first time Western pop music was played and recognized in Korea was during the Japanese occupation. Anglo-American popular music was labeled jazz, so that type of music was called chasŭ, which translated to jazz in Korean (Shin et al. 2005). In order to grasp the initial phase of Korean black music, it is important to discuss jazz or “chasŭ” before the liberation. Yet this discussion would be too big a task. It is sufficient, then, to simply note that famous musicians like Kim Hae-song, musical orchestras, and big bands of the time were playing their renditions of Americanized “real” jazz music. After Korea was liberated from Japan, the U.S. Army took residence in Korea during the late 1940s. As American popular culture rapidly spread in Korea, Western popular music became more accepted. Among the types of music spread were swing, boogie-woogie, and bop. Korean jazz singers like Hyŏn In and Pak Tan-ma became popular in and around the U.S. Army bases and Korean dance halls during this period.

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As the U.S. military base shows began and the number of clubs increased after the Korean War, domestic supply and demand of jazz was quickly boosted. From the late 1950s to early 1960s for instance, the famous pop orchestras and bands led by Song Min-yŏng or Yi Pongcho, played American big band sounds or standard jazz as their main repertoire. It is also notable that, since the emergence of “Korean pop auteurs” such as Son Sŏk-u who appropriated the jazz formula into their own style, some jazz-influenced pop songs were safely net in the domestic music market even though not as popular as Japanese enka-styled kayo had been. However, at the start of the 1960s, there was a big change in black music that floated around the U.S. military bases. The arrival of rock ’n’ roll, which is grounded in African-American dance music, initiated a fresh, new development. Due to the success of musicians such as the Kim Sisters, the Add4, and the Key Boys, rock ’n’ roll was settled as the latest Western popular music trend until the mid 1960s. Although rooted in African-American music, rock music was spread in Korea as a form of Anglo-American music. This shows that there was no strong link between African-American music and Korean pop music back then. Meanwhile, the domestic music market was still dominated by Japanese enka-influenced songs. Even then, there were still a few jazz-influenced songs on rotation while the musical works of Chŏng Min-sŏp, Hwang U-ru, and others who adopted the R&B style were comparable to black music then. Soul-Psyche or Soul Kayo? It was only in the late 1960s that black music as a musical genre exploded in the Korean domestic music scene for the first time. Soul, which represented African-American music then, became popular in Korea. Topping the charts in 1969 with poppy songs like “K’ŏp’i hanjan” (A Cup of Coffee) and “Nima” (You Please), the Pearl Sisters led a “pop revolution” in both aesthetic and music. Kim Ch’u-cha, Yi Chŏng-hwa, and Kim Sang-hŭi on the other hand fanned the flames of “soul fever” around 1969. With hit songs like “Nim ŭn mŏn kot e” (You So Far Away 1970) and “Nŭtki chŏn e” (Before It’s Too Late 1969), then superstar Kim Ch’u-cha boosted soul music to the forefront of the mainstream music market. The man behind the successes of female soul stars was Shin Joong Hyun, leader of the band Donkeys. Although he desired to make and play rock music with his own band, Shin preferred to infuse the essence of soul when he worked with divas such as Kim Ch’u-cha. Such Janus-like aspiration was echoed in Kim Ch’u-cha’s funk-styled songs, while his other works in collaboration with Pak In-su were definitely influenced by Southern Soul. Besides Shin’s protégé, singers such as Yang Miran and Im Hŭi-suk, and the singer-songwriters including Kim Huŭi-gab and Chŏng Min-sŏp also joined the new trend. It is no overstatement to say that from the late 1960s to early 1970s was truly the time of soul in Korea. Shin Joong Hyun and the King Record spearheaded this soul revolution. However, as much as Korean soul music reflected American soul music, there was a clear distinction between the two. For example, in Korea the music was referred to as “soul-psyche.” While the Korean soul was still filled with the essential funky beats, electric sounds, and sensually rough vocal styles that make up soul, it borrowed a lot from the rumblings of rock ’n’ roll. In fact, since Shin Joong Hyun and other soul musicians learned and performed a variety of musical genres and styles through their bands or pop orchestras at the U.S. military bases, their music merged soul and the popular sound of psychedelic. The two radically different music genres emerged to create a new musical style in Korea: soul-psyche. Soul-psyche is the hybridization of “white” and “black” music, of soul and psychedelic rock.

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Figure 8.1 The Movie GoGo 70 (2008). The Narrative of the Movie is Based on the Real Story of the Devils, Who Played Soul Music as a Group.

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The context in which soul-psyche as a hybrid style was produced and consumed did not always come smooth. During its inception, soul was embraced while psyche was received coldly. The only scene that appreciated psychedelic music was a scene labeled “group sounds.” In the midst of the fierce competition between psychedelic group sound acts the Key Boys and He5 (and later, He6), soul did not come to the foreground on the music scene. It was in the music of Last Chance and the Devils that the sound of soul grew. It was in these bands that a link between the group sound scenes and the mainstream market was created. Whether impacted by black music or combined with rock, soul-psyche, which first exploded in 1969, reached a commercial high in 1970. With the huge commercial success of Kim Ch’ucha, the true meaning of soul or soul-psyche was obscured and the soul fever was cooled. Yet Shin Joong Hyun continued to bring out female soul stars like Kim Chŏng-mi, and former group sound artists Pak In-su, Yun Hyang-gi, Ch’oe Hŏn, and Chang Hyŏn, who were responsible for songs like “Pombi” (Spring Rain 1970), “Pyŏl i pinna nŭn pam e” (Starry Night 1976), “Tangsin ŭn mola” (You Don’t Know 1974) and “Marŭn ip” (Dry Leaves 1972). Even when folk music was at its prime, soul-psyche survived and prolonged its lifespan. The existence of both soul and funk came to a tragic end in the mid-1970s. Driven by the dictatorial government, the “Presidential Emergency Decree No.1” in 1974 and the consecutive hemp scandal that occurred the next year, not only ousted the folk stars, but also eschewed group sound bands and the soul-psyche musicians including Pak Kwang-su, Kim Ch’u-cha, Kwŏn Yŏng-nam, and Chang Hyŏn. Shin Joong Hyun and Yi Chang-hŭi, leader of the folk rock movement, were the scapegoats of the hemp scandal. The hemp scandal revealed the government’s true intentions to eradicate soul and folk altogether because of their sociocultural impacts and attractiveness to the younger generations. The End of Soul, and Then . . . As Western-influenced musical styles and genres disappeared in Korea’s domestic popular music scene during the 1970s, soul disappeared as well. It was in their absence that trot began to dominate the mainstream market. While the folk-acoustic guitar generations were split and squandered, Cho Yong-p’il and Ch’oe Hŏn conquered the kayo scene with so-called “trot gogo.” New bands coming from the college pop/rock festival scene diverged away from Western influences. Exactly ten years after soul-psyche shook the country, funk music led a new trend. Divas of the disco era such as Yi Ŭn-ha, Hye-ŭni, and Yun Si-nae ascended to the top with help from Kil Ok-yun, Sin Pyŏng-ha, Ch’oe Chong-hyŏk, and other influential songwriters, though their musical influences and marketing power were less than their predecessors. Their music featured unique rhythm and funk-soul sound. Classic examples of Korean funk music are Yi Ŭn-ha’s “Pamch’a” (Night Train 1978) and “Arisonghae” (Confusing 1979), Hye-ŭni’s “Chesam Hanganggyo” (The Third Han River Bridge 1979), and Yun Si-nae’s “Nan morŭgetne” (I Don’t Know 1978). Yi Ŭn-ha’s “Arisonghae” is a brilliant funk song featuring dazzling rhythm and brass sound produced by Kim Myŏng-kil, the former member of the Devils. Yi Ŭn-ha, who was adept at both funk and soul-ballad type sounds, is considered the true successor of the soul diva lineage. Looking back at the time from 1978 to 1979 when these female singers dominated, we might see the last gasp of soul music. Though there was a revival through these divas, it did not last long.

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Besides the divas, there was a unique “funk rock fusion” band called Sarang kwa P’yŏnghwa who prolonged their musical career into the 1980s. “Changmi” (Rose 1979) and “Handongan ttŭm haetsŏtchi” (It’s been awhile 1978), the band’s two biggest hit songs, both featured their trademark sound of combining Ch’oe I-ch’ŏl’s funky guitar and Yi Nam-i’s elastic “chopper” bass guitar. Although somewhat “Koreanized,” the band’s funk rock sounds gained a lot of attention. While their popularity did not escalate into fame, the band was influential to Korean black music. Kim Kwang-min, Chŏng Wŏn-yŏng, Han Sang-wŏn, Pom yŏrŭm kaŭl kyŏul, and Pit kwa Sogŭm, who collaborated with Sarang kwa P’yŏnghwa became the backbone of “jazz-fusion,” a genre that garnered a lot of attention in the late 1980s as one of the important black musical styles then. It may be fair to argue that the early to mid-1980s was the Dark Age as far as black music in Korea is concerned. It took a long time for new breeds of Korean black music to evolve after

Figure 8.2 The Debut Album by Funk Band Sarang kwa P’yo˘nghwa (SRB, SRB-0009, 1978).

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the demise of soul and funk. Despite the fact that black megastars such as Michael Jackson and Prince were in their prime in America, there were no clear leaders for more conventional black music, thus both the market and the fans were starved of new black music genres and stars. It was only in the mid- to late 1980s that hip-hop and rap emerged and began to dominate the American mainstream music market (Yang 2001). Consequently, the new age of black music was imported to Korea, and its scale and impacts were beyond imagination both musically and culturally. Hip-Hop/Rap: Black Music or Black Musical Culture Before examining hip-hop and rap in Korea, it is necessary to mention the several small but notable streams of black music that emerged during the 1980s to early 1990s. Before hip-hop, fusion jazz and blues were popular in Korea. Fusion jazz was very popular: in fact, the popularity of foreign music bled into the growth of Korean fusion jazz bands such as Pom yŏrŭm kaŭl kyŏul and Pit kwa Sogŭm. Korean blues music was guided by Shinch’onp’a centering on Yi Chŏng-sŏn and Ŏm In-ho. Yi Chŏng-sŏn and his protégés, who already exhibited an interest in jazz chords, were fascinated by the blues. They stirred up the Shinch’on Blues fever in the mid-1980s with their live performances and albums containing the rich blues feel and groove. If one dwells too much on the specific types of black music that dominated a certain era, like soul from the early to mid-1970s and hip-hop since the 1990s, it would seem that the history of Korean black music is disjunctive. Yet, there was jazz (chasŭ) before soul, while funk emerged after soul. Fusion jazz and blues also took a similar role before the hip-hop era. Of course, since the influence of black music becomes bigger, R&B and jazz coexist with hip-hop as of now. Due to such a few small but critical links, Korean black music maintains its own continuity from the beginning under the big picture of “black music.” “Rap-Dance” Era: the “Big Three” and the Beginning of Korean Hip-Hop In Korea, the way hip-hop and rap exploded in the early 1990s is comparable to how soul came into popularity in the past. As soul shook Korea with soul-psyche, hip-hop/rap swallowed the Korean music scene at once with its eclectic musical style called “rap-dance.” Of course, the scale and the extent to which hip-hop’s musical influence were much bigger than soul. It can be argued that rap-dance was not real hip-hop music, because not all dance music produced with rap has the musical stylings of hip-hop. However, some important rap-dance works utilized rapping with a clear intention of musical arrangements and production similar to American hip-hop. By dominating the Korean kayo market in the early to mid-1990s, this hybrid music opened the door for later Korean hip-hop. There were three musicians who were successful by aggressively pursuing and adopting hiphop music. Named the Big Three, they were Hyŏn Chin-yŏng, Seo Taiji and Boys, and Deux. While each had their own styles, the Big Three of the rap-dance era tried to accomplish the musical techniques, attitudes, and fashion of original American hip-hop. They established the musical foundation for upcoming Korean hip-hop. Depending on which perspective was chosen, Hyŏn Chin-yŏng could be either the progenitor or the pioneer of Korean hip-hop. In a few songs in his early albums, Hyŏn and the producers cleverly arranged rapping to the fore instead of singing vocals while utilizing sampling techniques, a trait important to his identity as a hip-hop musician. The song “Sŭlp’ŭn manek’ing” (Sad

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Figure 8.3 The Debut Album by Hyo˘n Chin-yo˘ng (a.k.a. Hyun Jin-young) (SM Entertainment, SSM-001, 1990).

Mannequin, 1990) should be recognized as the first Korean hip-hop song since it features rapping with complete flows as well as Americanized breakdance when he performs. Seo Taiji and Boys, who released a regular album per year from 1992 to 1995, presented a variety of hip-hop styled music including rap metal; Jamaican rap; a hybrid of rap and Korean traditional music (kugak); and gangsta rap. Since most of these songs were super-hits, Seo Taiji and Boys became the biggest hip-hop musicians and played a major role in popularizing hiphop/rap in Korea. Not confined to the circle of rap-dance musicians, the trio was the most successful artist in the kayo market during the 1990s. Seo Taiji and Boys played an important role of diminishing the influences of both Anglo-American pop and Korean kayo in the domestic record market, thus paving the way for dance music to monopolize it in the near future. To Seo Taiji and Boys, despite their musical brilliance and talent, rap and hip-hop seemed to be only a small part of their diverse repertoire.

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Meanwhile the duo Deux dug into hip-hop and black music. The duo not only became the leader of a rap-dance circle, but also had a huge success as idols. Their third release, Force Deux (1995) is considered one of the best among all the Korean hip-hop albums that came out in the 1990s. In this album, Yi Hyŏn-do, the musical director and a member of the duo, successfully blended jazz, funk, and techno into hip-hop. Meanwhile, Deux practiced rhyming and exhibited their rap skills every time they released a new album. They not only helped a lot of people recognize hip-hop as a new musical genre, but also built a foundation for spreading hip-hop as an entire culture that encapsulates dance, fashion, and music. In that regard, Deux is one of the most important musicians in the earlier years of Korean hip-hop/rap history. Indeed, younger generations who grew up listening to their music joined Korean hip-hop mania during the mid1990s and emerged as musical and cultural leaders of Korean hip-hop in the 2000s. Of course, despite the efforts and the influences of the Big Three, it is hard to deny the fact that rap-dance is not hip-hop music but just dance music decorated with rapping. Indeed, most of rap-dance musicians have not had any kind of impact on the Korean hip-hop/rap scene because their music was just a blend of mainstream genres and styles. Musically, rap-dance heavily relied upon vocals and “sweet” melodies rather than rapping. It is no surprise that since the mid-1990s, the mainstream market overflowed with music of idol dance groups, which tend to use rap as a seasoning. Eventually, music combining dance beats, melancholy melodies, and singing vocals coupled with rapping did more harm than good to the progress of hip-hop. The mainstream market was dominated by the highly localized dance music, which ousted both Anglo-American pop and the existing kayo. The mid- to late 1990s was a dark age for Korean hip-hop/rap as far as the mainstream music scene was concerned. Since Seo Taiji and Boys and Deux ceased to exist, Yi Hyŏn-do or Hyŏn Chin-yŏng’s effort was ineffective in the mainstream market while the music industry and its producers continued to ignore more “authentic” hiphop. Although having prevailed in the mainstream market, it became harder to regard rapdance that used rap as a simple condiment on the same level as hip-hop music. Underground Hip-Hop: From Telnet in the Basement to Crews of Indie Hip-Hop The mid-1990s was a dark era for Korean hip-hop since rap-dance lost its potential as hip-hop music. However, it is clear that an important scaffold for Korean hip-hop had already been provided in the days of rap-dance. Younger generations who had grown up listening to the Big Three’s music recognized what rap and hip-hop was then. Their interests in hip-hop and black music became the foundation for self-motivated growth of the Korean underground hip-hop since the late 1990s. Thus, a new wave of Korean hip-hop sprouted during the mid-1990s to early 2000s when hip-hop music actually disappeared from the mainstream music market. The pivotal place for Korean hip-hop was online (Kim et al. 2008). In Korea, even before the highspeed world wide web became common, there were a lot of virtual communities online because of telnet-based PC communication technology. Among them were several black music communities composed of younger generations of people in their twenties and teen years. In particular, for example, the members of Blex, Dope Soundz, and its successor Show & Prove shared their interests in American hip-hop related information, and eventually started making their own hip-hop music together. As they shared the process of musical production ranging from new ideas on Koreanized rhyming to beats creation, they could finally release their own compilation albums independently. Moreover, some core members of these on-line communities

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later turned into very influential musicians like Garion, Joosuc, P-Type, Verbal Jint, and Defconn, to name a few, who have led the Korean underground hip-hop scene. The development of the Korean underground hip-hop scene during the late 1990s to mid2000s on the internet is very important from two aspects. First, it is through a variety of compilation albums, which came out of these communities, that the potential of newly born Korean underground hip-hop was particuarly well shown off. They were able to build a platform on which various crews could be formed, various hidden talents could be brought to light. For example, 2000 Taehanminguk (Ch’ŏllian) and MP Hip-Hop Project 2000 Cho in 2000 were prominent works as both albums contained original Korean indie hip-hop styles. Second, as is often the case for American hip-hop culture, they not only assembled themselves as crews or

Figure 8.4 The Beginning of Korean Underground Hip-Hop: 1999 Taehanmin’guk (1999 Republic of Korea) (Sinnara, MSC-004 8591130000128, 1999).

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“families,” but also formed into indie hip-hop labels. They worked hard in order to develop their own indie-styled production system and musical contents, and, further, establish hip-hop as an independent genre. Indeed, such efforts were crucial for the hip-hop scene to grow and energize. With such progress, collectives such as Masterplan and Soul Company were able to bring up several Korean hip-hop icons on their roster, such as DJ Soulscape and the Quiett. Mainstream Hip-Hop and R&B: the Return of Black Music in the Major Kayo Market Apparently Korean hip-hop has continued to evolve based on the underground since the late 1990s. But just how well is Korean hip-hop doing commercially? As far as commercial success matters, Epik High, Dyamic Duo, and Defconn from the underground, and Drunk Tiger and T, veteran returnees from the U.S., have thrived since entering the mainstream market. Moreover, indie black music albums consist of 35 percent of all the indie releases annually. On the other hand, where musical content is concerned, domestic hip-hop musicians now perform and produce a variety of hip-hop sub-genres and styles, which range from American mainstream and indie hip-hop to variations of Jamaican or British hip-hop. Obviously, star producers such as the Quiett and the Loptimist have led this musical development and the evolution of MCing, the essence of hip-hop, is noticeable. Not only have flows become more flexible and increasingly sharp, as seen when Verbal Jint emerged in the underground scene, but there has also been a steady development in the “real” Korean rapping skills beyond “robotic” rhyming. Yet behind such musical evolution and diversity, there still remain some musical issues. First, despite the steady progress of flows and rhyming, the lyrics are not as diverse. Some exceptions of brilliant storytelling are Garion, Defconn, and a few others, but it is very rare to find lyrics which symbolize everyday struggles or madness, let alone harsh socio-political critiques. Most are trivial stories of their own lives, or excretions and insults without any specific target. Second, assuming that rap-only songs would not succeed in the market, both underground and mainstream hip-hop artists usually stick to a song formula overemphasizing melodies and singing vocals. And lastly, there exists no DJ-as-producer-based music and working conditions for musical production are usually very poor. DJs are only engaged in club activities whereas club culture and its circumstances are separate from the actual music production. Of course we cannot criticize overall Korean black music just because of issues regarding hiphop. In fact, as far as the mainstream popular music market is concerned, black music is divided into R&B and hip-hop by genre. More specifically, the former is more popular and influential than the latter even if they do intersect with one another. As mentioned above, although some hip-hop oriented black music stars who came from the underground are still active and popular, the black music scene in the mainstream market is mostly R&B or an R&B/hip-hop hybrid. This comes as no surprise considering that R&B/hip-hop hybrid and R&B dominates the American mainstream music market, which directly influences the Korean market. The only difference is that the Korean hybrid adds other elements such as typical kayo melodies and chords lacking in rhythmic diversity and beat variations. The examples are the songs combining robotic hip-hop beats or danceable electronic rhythm and typical “twisted” singing vocals with some add-ons of rapping. This is apparent in the case of the YG Entertainment musicians such as Big Bang and 2NE1 who are the leaders of black music in the mainstream market. More or less, other big music/entertainment companies and producers also use such musical techniques and approaches.

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Cultural Authenticity of Korean Black Music Whether it is the real black music or the black-music-influenced kayo, the influence of AfricanAmerican music has been enormous in the history of Korean popular music. From clubs and underground scenes to military base towns, Korean popular music has been connected to black music. As is often the case for imported popular music, it is no surprise that black music has attracted a lot of Korean youth because of its culturally expressive form beyond popular music. That said, black music such as soul or hip-hop, which represents American black music during its heyday, should be discussed or evaluated as a whole package of culture. It has been imported to Korea not just as music, but also as a culturally expressive form. Soul and hip-hop have had their own cultural significances while being popular and settling in Korea as much as both genres have dominated the popular music market respectively. Unfortunately, the soul-psyche fever during the late 1960s to early 1970s would not evolve into a cultural phenomenon. Since it was introduced by the U.S. military bases, it was unlikely that Korean soul would be able to carry the culture of African-American music in a more direct way. Moreover, musically, American soul was transformed into so-called soul-psyche in Korea, which resulted in the hybridization of Anglo-American rock and African-American soul. Hence Korean soul was problematic from the beginning because it was not only a black music tradition, but also part of an Anglo-American pop-rock importation. As a result, Korean soul had a less consistent character as a black music genre, thus containing a more “kayo flavor,” blending various musical tastes and interests in numerous musicians. Furthermore, considering an overall unstable social atmosphere and poor media technologies in Korea at the time, it would be improbable that soul could evolve on its own as a form of youth culture. From the beginning, hip-hop was different from soul. First, Korean hip-hop/rap was led by the musicians who were careful and self-conscious of black music. Despite various sub-genre styles and attitudes across time, from the Big Three in the rap-dance era to current musicians, most have echoed or represented original American hip-hop/rap in their music. But these hiphop/rap musicians try hard to look for their musical identity by sometimes adoring but oftentimes debating or challenging the idea of black musical authenticity. Such obsession and struggle with the notion of authentic American hip-hop/rap music may be a rite of passage for local hip-hop musicians to find an identity of their own in the global age. Above all, hip-hop is the first black music that is constructed and appropriated both culturally and musically. From the beginning, hip-hop was a complete cultural package that combined music equally with other art fields such as fashion, graffiti, and breakdance (Yang 2001). It has been articulated and reproduced locally as a cultural commodity outside the U.S.A. Hip-hop melted into youth culture as an important part in Korea as well, thus being acknowledged as one of the most acceptable and important cultural forms of expression now (Kim 2014). Already in the early 1990s when rap-dance stars dominated, American hip-hop was introduced as a complete cultural package due to its street fashion and breakdance. Since then various elements of hip-hop culture, including fashion, dance, and graffiti have been continuously imported, reappropriated, and transformed. As of now, hip-hop is accepted as an essential part of youth culture in Korea. Meanwhile, the Korean underground black music scene, which has risen from the bottom through online communities and clubs since the mid- to late 1990s, helped establish the very lively, “Koreanized,” black culture. Although Korean hip-hop is different from the American one in terms of its attitude and essence, it is certainly connected to a large number of domestic

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youth as a self-sustainable cultural expressive form. Some bigger black music portal sites/online communities such as Rhythmer and Hip-hop Playa have an important role of connecting the fans to the musicians and business in the black music scene. Such a huge network is a prime example of achieving a cultural entity based on hip-hop. For such reasons, hip-hop has been settled in the net of youth culture as a complete cultural expressive form beyond music and found its place in Korea for the last twenty years. Bibliography Hip-Hop Playa. www.hiphopplaya.com Kim, Pong-hyŏn. 2014. Hiphap Pŭllaegŭn Segyerŭl ŏttŏk’e Chŏmnyŏngaennŭn’ga [Hip-hop: how black has conquered the world]. Seoul: kŭrhangari. Kim, Yŏng-dae et al. 2008. Han’gukhiphap Yŏlchŏngŭi Palchach’wi [Tracing the Korean hip-hop fever]. Seoul: Hanul. Rhythmer. www.rhythmer.net Shin, Hyunjoon, Yi Yong-u, and Ch’oe Chi-sŏn. 2005. Han’guk P’ab ŭ i Kogohak 1970 [Archeology of Korean Popular Music 1970s]. Seoul: Hangil Art. Yang, Chae-yŏng. 2001. Hiphapk’ŏneksŏn Pit’ŭ Naim Kŭrigo Munhwa [Hip-hop Connection: Beat, Rhyme & Culture]. Seoul: Hannarae.

Discography Deux. Force Deux. World Music/Yedang ŭmhyang, 1995, compact disc. Hyŏn Chin-yŏng. New Dance. SM Entertainment, 1990, compact disc. Kim Ch’u-ja. Nŭtki chŏn e / Wŏllamesŏ Toraon Kimsangsa [Before it’s too late/Sgt. Kim who got back from Vietnam]. Sŏngŭm, 1969, 331⁄3 rpm. Pearl Sisters, the. Pearl Sisters Selection (Vol.1 of Shin Joong hyun’s works). Taeji rek’odŭ, 1968, 331⁄3 rpm. Quiett, the. Q-Train. Tile Music, 2006, compact disc. Sarang kwa P’yŏnghwa. Handongan ttŭm haesŏtchi [It’s been awhile]. SRB, 1978, 331⁄3 rpm. V. A. 2000 Taehanminguk (Ch’ŏllian) [2000 Korea (Chollian)]. 2000, compact disc. Verbal Jint. Modern Rhymes EP. Ales Music, 2001, compact disc. Yi Ŭn-ha. Pombi / Chŏngŭl Chunŭn Maŭm [Spring rain/Giving my heart]. SRB, 1979, 331⁄3 rpm.

PART

III

Artists

In any nation or region there are heroes of popular music and among them one can also find national heroes. This part considers such heroes in Korea, focusing on four figures from distinct periods that have been noted for artistic creativity and cultural influence: Kim Hae-song (1910–1950?), Shin Joong Hyun (1938–), Kim Min-ki (1951–), and Seo Taiji (1972–). Each figure’s birth year provides clues as to what kind of time each lived in. Generally speaking, Kim Hae-song is related to jazz, Shin Joong Hyun with rock, Kim Min-ki with folk, and Seo Taiji with rap. However, such an explanation is so simplistic that it masks more than it reveals. Indeed, what is common among these four artists is that they departed significantly from the criteria and the conventions of the genres that are associated with them. Put differently, each of them operated as a kind of genre, rather than being “one of the many.” This is why a separate section on artists is necessary, in addition to a section on genres (Part II). Kim Hae-song began his career as a guitarist, songwriter, and singer when popular music was undergoing its first golden age (the 1930s, generally speaking) after being established in Korea (known as “Chosŏn” during the colonial period). As his nickname “the pioneer of Chosŏn jazz” suggests, Kim is a unique figure who adopted jazz (Dixieland and swing) and experimented with it in creating Korean popular music. While the works of his contemporaries (for example, Pak Si-ch’un and Song Mok-in) specialize in trot, Kim created songs, which belonged to a local genre called “jazz song” in addition to those in trot, and he was also the vocalist in a number of songs. But his real worth was revealed as the music director and producer of musical drama (akkŭk) or operettas, rather than as the songwriter and vocalist of popular music. While only scant material has survived to tell us about this aspect of Kim’s career, he clearly left a significant mark as the pioneer of musicals during the 1940s, a decade full of hardships. Chosun Musical Drama Troupe (Chosŏn akkŭk tan), in which he took part before 1945, and KPK Musical Drama Troupe (KPK akkŭk tan), in which he took the lead after 1945, are two renowned theater organizations that have left their names in history. The record that some of his popular music work contained pro-Japanese messages (that is, messages collaborating with the Japanese Empire) has remained as a blemish on his career. Meanwhile, his wife Yi Nan-yŏng left marvelous singing to posterity through legendary songs, reflecting her nickname “the voice of Chosŏn.” Unfortunately, Kim Hae-song became a forgotten figure in South Korea. His whereabouts were unknown at the outbreak of the Korean War in June of 1950, and this started the rumor that he had voluntarily moved to North Korea, subsequently making him a taboo figure. The truth is too complex to be discussed here (for reference, his hometown is Kaech’ŏn, located in what is now North Korea, and part of his schooling took place in Pyongyang). For some time, Kim’s works were officially banned while some of them circulated as works attributed to an

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altered name. As time passed and the ban on his works was lifted, there have been efforts to re-examine his life and works, especially after the 1990s. In particular, Kim Hae-song enjoys a posthumous cultish status among a number of intellectual indie musicians and music critics. For example, the indie band The 3rd Line Butterfly (a.k.a. 3 Hosŏn Butterfly) sampled “Ch’ŏngch’un kyegŭp” (1938), which Kim composed and sang, in their song “Kimp’o ssangnap’al” (2004), and when they later worked as the music directors of the film Radio Days, they organized a one-time big band called JODK to cover this song. Kim is thus re-interpreted as a figure that embodies the complex conditions that emerge when young people grow enthusiastic about the hip culture from the West in a (post)colonial context. Kim Hae-song was a highly gifted artist who lived through a rough time and who, as a result, became victim to political stigmatization, first as pro-Japanese (collaborating with the Japanese Empire) and then as pro-communist (collaborating with North Korean communism); and the case of Shin Joong Hyun, who navigated the subsequent decades, was not much different. Shin was born during the late colonial period to a Korean father and a Japanese mother in Manchuria (present-day northeast region of China), what was then under Japanese occupation. He came to Seoul after the liberation and during the Korean War he lost his parents, but even in the midst of abject poverty he self-learned guitar on his own, beginning his musical career as the guitarist of the Eighth U.S. Army shows in the late 1950s. He achieved the status of a star guitarist of the Eighth U.S. Army shows with his creative guitar performance, but he did not settle for this. He showed off his own music and lyrics with his band, The Add 4, the first rock band formed in Korea. While Shin’s mainstream success came only after 1968, when he had a number of pop hits by singers and groups trained by himself, he is also known for his original music: he successfully grafted international musical innovation represented by soul and psychedelic music to Korean popular music in addition to combining “Korean sensibility” to this music. In other words, he was Elvis Presley, John Lennon, and Jimi Hendrix, all compressed and accumulated into one. Preposterously, Shin’s fall came when he refused the request that he compose an anthem praising the president. A number of his songs became forbidden, and in February 1975 Shin and many of his colleagues were arrested and imprisoned on the charge of smoking marijuana. When he was released after several months, he was forbidden from having official activities. He was made an example and criminalized as a representative of “(foreign) decadent culture” and, to borrow from slang, a “druggie.” He was a cultural rebel, not a political one, yet he became a representative victim of Park Chung Hee’s dictatorship. The ban placed on his career was lifted after the assassination of Park in 1979, but it was difficult to expect him, an artist who had had no choice but to waste his heyday, to create works as edgy as his past ones. Since the early 1990s, various projects have shed new light on this semi-retired figure, as a number of books on him were published, a tribute album was released in 1997, and the tribute concert was organized. The nickname of “the God Father of Korean Rock” became a household name, and Shin archives his past accomplishments while also occasionally releasing records and performing in his old age. In 2011 Beautiful Rivers and Mountains: the Psychedelic Rock Sound of South Korea’s Shin Joong Hyun 1958–74, the first-ever international anthology devoted to Shin, was released on the American label Light in the Attic. While this is good news, it is also a belated project. While Shin was labeled “decadent” and a “druggie,” Kim Min-ki was stamped “subversive” and “commie.” Unlike Shin, Kim was a prospective elite member of society who graduated from a prestigious high school (Kyŏnggi High School) and studied fine arts at a prestigious university

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(Seoul National University). However, a piece of recording that he released as a university junior changed his fate completely. The impact of this solo album was comparable to that brought on by The Freewheeling Bob Dylan; it was hard to believe that the ten songs contained in this album were written by a 20-year-old. Yet it is unfair to say that Kim was simply a local variant of the global Bob Dylan, and this is because he subsequently achieved a new practice of cultural movement called “people’s songs” (minjung kayo), which surpassed folksongs. The accompanying rhetoric of “ethnic people” (minjok) and “the people” (minjung) placed his works and practice within the broader context of the social movement that resisted foreign powers and local dictatorship in the 1970s and 1980s. Even when his songs and recordings were not released, they worked as hymns, acting as secretive codes disseminated through oral tradition and music score. Kim Min-ki’s works were issued in a number of recordings through the voices of his colleagues, including Yang Hŭi-ŭn, but he did not release records beyond his debut album for twenty years. His second recorded work is a four-disc set released in 1990, after the Korean society achieved partial democratization; this is also his latest work as a vocalist. He has also never had a performance that could be called a concert. Kim subsequently led Hakchŏn, a play troupe and theater based in Taehangno, living as a man of theater rather a musician. Interestingly, his songs, such as “Sangnoksu” (Evergreen Tree), were adopted for public purposes including public service campaigns in the course of South Korea’s democratic rule comprising of Kim Dae-jung and Roh Moo-Hyun’ presidencies. Although Kim studied fine art, he influenced the society through music and then regarded the theater as a calling; his life forms an important element of the cultural history of contemporary Korea, which is much broader than the history of popular music. Seo Taiji, the last and latest artist examined in this part, was not persecuted like the other figures discussed here. Seo Taiji and Boy’s sensational career took place in 1992, after the Korean society accomplished complete democracy, and the group stopped their activities in 1996, just before the economic crisis of 1997. Seo Taiji and Boys were a “rap dance group,” but actually Seo Taiji started his career as a rock musician: he was previously the bassist of Sinawi, a heavy metal band led by Shin Dae Chul (a.k.a. Sin Tae-ch’ŏl: Shin Joong Hyun’s son), and participated in the making of a record. He played a wide range of instruments in addition to being skilled at sound producing. Seo’s heyday coincided with the height of the so-called “new generation,” which suggests that he was a cultural icon of his time and a hero of his generation. While he never came into direct conflict with the political authorities, he sometimes bumped against the establishment, including the broadcasting media and journalism. At last, when he released the song called “Sidae yugam” (Regret of the Times), he clashed fiercely with the existing censorship system, leading him to the practice of releasing the song without the lyrics. Seo Taiji demonstrated that dance music can be rebellious and that rebellious music could be financially profitable, and after ending official activities, he has been known for not appearing in public and for making his private life completely secret. Nevertheless, he has released albums once every several years, and whenever he has a concert his loyal fans have responded with loud cries. After his solo period he has acted on the identity of rock and metal rather than dance and rap and has organized the Eerie Taiji People Festival (ETPFEST), inviting international acts such as Marilyn Manson, Limp Bizkit, and Nine Inch Nails et al. It is inconceivable that anyone other than Seo Taiji could successfully host concerts in his or her name. Evidently, Seo Taiji is a rare figure who enjoyed both authenticity and commercial viability in the history of Korean

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popular music. His status has not changed despite some people’s doubt that his performances on the glamorous stage since his debut were not entirely live. Meanwhile, Yang Hyŏn-sŏk (nicknamed Yanggun, or Mr. Yang), one of the ‘boys’ of the Seo Taiji and Boys, has worked as a hip-hop producer since the group’s break-up, becoming among the most successful businessmen in the mid-2000s as the promoter of numerous idol groups such as the five-piece male group Big Bang, the four-piece female group 2NE1, and a solo singer-rapper Psy (!). That YG Entertainment pursues a kind of authenticity based in hip-hop unlike its rivals is not unrelated to Yang’s career as a musician. The foci of the following four chapters are slightly different, but all of them engage in a detailed analysis of the life and works of the four artists. Unfortunately, all four of the featured artists are men, and I acknowledge that this had something to do with the editor’s inattention. But it should be noted that there are female vocalists who have sung the works of these four male artists. In the case of Kim Hae-song, the female vocalist was Yi Nan-yŏng; for Shin Joong Hyun there were Kim Ch’u-ja and Kim Chŏng-mi; and for Kim Min-ki it was Yang Hŭi-ŭn. The timbre of these female vocalists would be more memorable for many, except for those who are particularly interested in the backgrounds of music’s production and circulation. Finally, the case of Seo Taiji is different as he has rarely made songs for other singers, but I mention here that IU, one of today’s iconic female singers, sang “Sogyŏktong,” which Seo released in 2014. In conclusion, the heroes of Korean popular music happened to express not only their own creativity but also the collective identity of their times, and for this very reason they found themselves falling victim to political power. Not all popular music needs to sing for a hope amidst despair, and Korean popular music is no exception to this. Yet it is difficult to say that Korean popular music’s continuous vitality is unrelated to the eventful history of the Korean society, one that has been full of turns and twists. The sentiment of “sorrow-choked joy”—to borrow a phrase from Kim Min-ki’s song “Kamum” (Drought)—is not the universal state of Korean popular music’s conventional affect but an expression of the most desperate and condensed state. Whether this is liked or not, it is something marked in the body.

9 Kim Hae-song, an Incomplete Dream of Korean Jazz Junhee Lee

As popular music became a cultural phenomenon in Korea in the 1930s, many composers, singers, and producers emerged and some are now regarded as pioneers of Korean popular music. Thus, a considerable number of musicians represent the early twentieth-century popular music of Korea. However, popular musicians who not only possessed talent but individual creativity are rare. Kim Hae-song (1910–1950), the subject of this chapter, led a fascinating career, together with fans who enjoyed the wide range of his style. Kim’s life was brief, but his influence still astonishes contemporary researchers. Success and Tragedy Kim Hae-song was born in South P’yŏng’an Province, the northwest regime of the Korean Peninsula in 1910. Korea became a Japanese colony in 1910, so he grew up and was educated in the colonial environment. Korea was liberated in 1945, and ten years of his fifteen-year career were during the colonial period. Like all Koreans who lived during the period, Kim’s personal life and public activity were affected by colonialism. Although it has been more than sixty years since his death, the discussion of Kim’s life and music cannot be extricated from Japanese colonialism, because he composed several military campaign songs for Japan in the early 1940s. The majority of Koreans during the colonial period were discontent with Japanese oppression and imagined passive resistance. Kim Hae-song was no exception, and he could not escape colonial rule. Kim Hae-song graduated from Kwangsŏng Normal High School (Kwangsŏng kodŭng pot’ong hakkyo) in his hometown. The school was the hub of modern European and American culture. The presence of Christianity was relatively greater in his hometown compared to other regions in Korea around that time. How Kim Hae-song learned music is unclear—the account of his training is unavailable despite the fact that he was passionate and serious about modern music such as Western classics, jazz, and the popular music of America and Europe of that time. He could have been introduced to modern American/European music/jazz while in a band in school and also from Christian hymns at church. His history is vague before his debut in popular music in 1935. Kim’s whereabouts and activities for two years after his graduation in 1933 remain a mystery. The assumption is that he had either studied at a university in Japan or he had already begun performing in public (Pak 2009). An advertisement for the Okeh Records Band National Tour in February 1935 is the earliest official document that dates Kim Hae-song’s official public appearance. Okeh Records was established in 1932. Unlike other major Korean record companies, which were branches of

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Figure 9.1 A Portrait of Kim Hae-song Circa 1940.

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Japanese companies operated by Japanese or American managers from the head offices, Okeh Records was managed by Yi Ch’ŏl (1903–1944), who was Korean. Okeh Records overwhelmed its competitors by distinguishing itself in the field of popular music record production by its thorough planning, even though it was a latecomer in the industry. A vital factor in the successful growth of the company was the live performances where the musicians could perfect their skills (Pak 2009). Okeh Records Band began in 1933 and it became the most popular music performance group in Korea around 1935 when Kim Hae-song joined the act. Kim Hae-song’s early roles in the Okeh Records Band included guitarist, Hawaiian guitarist, and singer. Kim Hae-song made his debut on stage in 1935, and released his first SP (standard playing) record as a singer by the end of the year. He demonstrated that he could compose as well as sing as he performed his own songs. Kim Hae-song became reputable as both a composer and a singer, and his marriage in 1936 also sparked public sensation. His wife was Yi Nan-yŏng (1916–1965), the most popular singer at the time and also a member in the Okeh Records Band. She sang many hits including “Mokp’o ŭi nunmul” (Tears from Mokpo 1935). Kim achieved further success with the song “Yŏllakssŏn ŭn ttŏnanda” (The Ferry Departs 1937) sung by Chang Se-jŏng, a new artist strongly promoted by Yi Ch’ŏl, the manager of the Okeh Records Band. Kim added yet another dimension to his career as the conductor of the Okeh Records Band. The steady development of Kim Hae-song’s music history started slowing down toward the end of 1937 for about two years. He left Okeh Records due to unknown reasons and worked with its competitors, Victor Records and Columbia Records. Kim had no problem releasing records as a singer and composer. However, his live performances suffered. The Okeh Records Band was known for its stage spectacles and in demand, but the shows sponsored by Victor Records and Columbia Records, for which now Kim worked, were far less exciting and frequent. Only three performances of Kim were detected from the fall of 1937 to 1939 (Lee 2012). This was troubling for Kim Hae-song who first started music on stage and most most phenomenal on stage. His decision to return to Okeh Records in 1939 was inevitable and compelling. Kim Hae-song composed “Tabang ŭi p’urŭn kkum” (A Blue Dream in a Café 1939) sung by Yi Nan-yŏng. It was an impressive blues song, which officially announced Kim Hae-song’s return to Okeh Records. Kim released many hit songs thereafter, including “Yŏngmach’a” (Stagecoach 1941) and “Sŏnch’ang” (Quay 1941). During the same period he gave his best live performances on stage and established his musical identity as a composer or band master, rather than a singer. Okeh Records Band underwent major changes during Kim’s long absence. First, the official name was changed to Chosŏn Musical Troupe. The Okeh Records Band, which was also called the Okeh Grand Show, was ordered to use the name Chosŏn Musical Troupe for its performance in Japan in spring of 1939. The Japanese promotor requested to use the name Chosŏn Musical Troupe to emphasize Korea (then colonial Chosŏn) as exotic identity. The Chosŏn Musical Troupe drastically expanded and its magnified performance was possible through the planning of Yi Ch’ŏl. The Chosŏn Musical Troupe successfully finished a concert tour of major cities in Japan just before Kim Hae-song rejoined the group. As soon as he returned to the troupe more performances were scheduled in Japan and China. Kim Hae-song received the most enthusiastic ovation from the East Asian audience by forming the musical performance group, Arirang Boys, with other members of the Chosŏn Musical Troupe and released a compilation of hit songs. Kim Hae-song, who composed and arranged many performances of the Chosŏn Musical Troupe, started to produce musicals in 1941. His early musicals including “Hongjangmi ŭi kkum” (Dream of Red Roses 1941) about the music, institutions, and customs of Southern

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Figure 9.2 Kim Hae-song (Second from Left) and Colleagues of the Choso˘n Musical Troupe (1940).

Europe, and “Nak’hwa samch’ŏn” (Fallen Three Thousand Flowers 1941) about the fall of Paekche, the Korean ancient kingdom (18 BC–660 AD), received favorable comments. Seoul, the capital of Korea, was utilized as the colonial capital and the Japanese renamed it Keijo (Kyŏngsŏng). When the theaters in Seoul were segregated into Japanese and Korean, the Chosŏn Musical Troupe, though a Korean performance group, had a long run in the Japanese theaters in Seoul. Kim Hae-song who was the driving force of Okeh Records and the Chosŏn Musical Troupe moved on to a new venture in late 1943. Then, Korean popular music was almost all focused on stage performance since all record production was ceased due to World War II. As the economy shifted to warfare mobilization after war broke out, the production of Korean records halted in 1944. Kim Hae-song left the Chosŏn Musical Troupe and started to work with Yakch’o Musical Troupe. It was a small, obscure performance group, which was not long-established. Unlike the Chosŏn Musical Troupe, which was operated by a Korean, it was operated by a Japanese. The Yakch’o Musical Troupe scouted Kim Hae-song and other key members of the Chosŏn Musical Troupe to compete with other troupes, and the strategy worked. Kim Haesong left Okeh Records by himself in 1937. However, he did not leave alone in 1943. Many singers and musicians of Chosŏn Musical Troupe accompanied Kim when he moved to Yakch’o Musical Troupe, including his wife, Yi Nan-yŏng. The Chosŏn Musical Troupe suffered a heavy

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blow. Furthermore, Yi Ch’ŏl, the leader of Chosŏn Musical Troupe suddenly died in June 1944. The prestige of Kim Hae-song and the Yakch’o Musical Troupe increased (Lee 2012). However, Kim Hae-song left theYakch’o Musical Troupe in the spring of 1945. He established Mant’a Musical Troupe, in which he controlled all musical aspects. This was in August 1945 just before Japan surrendered and the Mant’a Musical Troupe flopped. Most Koreans did not expect the sudden surrender of Japan, and what followed was the division of the Korean Peninsula and political chaos. Nonetheless, Kim Hae-song’s dream of mastering the entire stage was finally fulfilled in December 1945 when he formed the K.P.K. Musical Troupe. In the history of Korean popular music, the K.P.K. Musical Troupe is considered as having the most splendid stage along with the Chosŏn Musical Troupe. Kim Hae-song had complete control of all the details of the performance from start to finish. “K” in the troupe’s name is the initial of his family name. The early performances of the K.P.K. Musical Troupe were in the format of the variety show. However, full-scale musicals were staged after it was recognized by the public. Kim Hae-song was now an acclaimed musician who composed his own individual style by mixing jazz, classical, and Korean traditional music. The characteristic can be clearly found in his musicals. For example, in the musical K’arŭmen hwansanggok (Carmen Fantasy, 1950), he added his own compositions of arias and rearranged the opera Carmen by Georges Bizet in his own style. Many testify that Kim Hae-song’s innovative music reached wide appeal. During the early post-liberation period, Kim Hae-song was at the height of his career and his musical vision was actualized through the K.P.K. Musical Troupe, despite his financial trouble.

Figure 9.3 Kim Hae-song, Conductor of the K.P.K. Musical Troupe (1945).

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Although the Chosŏn Musical Troupe was active all over East Asia, including Korea, Japan, and even China before 1945, the K.P.K. Musical Troupe’s situations were entirely different after 1945. It could not perform in North Korea any more due to the division of the Korean Peninsula. China was also excluded from the K.P.K. Musical Troupe’s market because the free travel between Korea and China was forbidden, and the civil war between the Kuomintang and the Communist Party broke out, and the communist government took over in 1949. The diplomatic relationship between Korea and Japan had long ways to recover from the colonial past. So the K.P.K. Musical Troupe’s activity was limited to Korea. Establishing a virtual cycle of profit in which a steady stream of money from the performance ensures the quality of the program as well as generate investment for future projects was essential to the troupe’s future. Staging long-running shows only in Korea was just enough to make ends meet. Lowering the standard of the show to just survive financially was unacceptable to Kim Hae-song. Therefore it is said that Kim finally used private loans with high interest rates to continue to stage the show at the quality he desired. He was able to concentrate only on music without paying attention to money matters in Chosŏn Musical Troupe because Yi Ch’ŏl took full charge of operation matters. However, Kim Haesong had to take care of “all the problems in the K.P.K. Musical Troupe” (Lee 2012). Financial problems worsened even though the performance itself was not bad. Kim Haesong made a new breakthrough in his exhaustion with harsh, inescapable reality. No one had imagined a Korean show in Hawaii until he planned one. However, it did not come true despite his efforts. The Korean War unexpectedly broke out in June 1950 and there was no chance for many people to flee from Seoul. It is said that Kim Hae-song did not try to run away from the North Korean army because he was confident that he had clout as a famous musician. He believed that the North Korean army would not hurt him due to his popularity. However, he was soon arrested and jailed by the North Korean army. He was taken to North Korea when the North Korean army retreated from Seoul in September 1950. After that, his whereabouts are not clearly recorded, but it is known that he died while he was taken to North Korea in a U.S. air strike not long after he left Seoul. Once, a rumor spread that Kim Hae-song voluntarily went to North Korea. It is obvious that he was forcibly taken to North Korea according to his family’s testimony and observing the circumstances. The Korean War was devastating to Korean popular music and Kim Hae-song’s death is the most tragic loss. Genius of Jazz The impact of jazz emerged in Korea in the second half of the 1920s. The year 1928 can be pointed out as when jazz became a full-blown phenomenon in Korea. The advertisements for imported jazz records appeared in newspapers and Korean musicians started forming their own jazz bands. Hong Nan-p’a (1898–1941), the pioneer of Western style Korean music and Yi Ch’ŏl, the manager of Okeh Records were the members of Korean Jazz Band (Pak 2009). In the 1930s, the influence of jazz pervaded further in Korean popular music. Koreans had no direct access to authentic jazz music from the U.S. What Koreans had heard was jazz music imported from Japan. For example, when the Japanese were first exposed to American hit songs like “My Blue Heaven” (1927), “Dinah” (1925), and “Sing, Sing, Sing” (1936), they adapted them into Japanese songs, and the modified songs were introduced as jazz music in Korea. Supposedly, Kim Hae-song who officially debuted in the music world in 1935 had played and adapted American jazz. The type of American music which reached Korea through Japan, and the popular music of Europe and Latin America “were all collectively referred to as jazz” in Korea

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(Lee 2006, 141). Kim released in his records the adapted versions of “My Blue Heaven,” “La Cucaracha,” “Carioca,” and “Isle of Capri.” It would be difficult to consider that he represented Korean jazz, if he only imitated and adapted jazz. However, Kim Hae-song also released works reflecting the vibe of jazz. “Myŏngnanghan chŏlmŭn nal” (The Days of Cheerful Youth) and “Kamgyŏk ŭi kŭ nal” (The Day that I was Deeply Moved) were both written and sung by Kim in 1936. They represent his early jazz works. The two songs were also sung by Yi Nan-yŏng. The “quick tempo, cheerful melody, and lyric dedicated to youth and love” in both songs seem to reflect the sentiment of lovers (Yi 2012, 66–70). Then, jazz was considered the newest form of popular music. There also existed music styles called trot and sinminyo (new folk songs), which were regarded as major genres in Korean popular music. Several elements of the two genres were different from jazz. Sinminyo borrowed from Korean traditional music and comparatively expressed the emotion of old-fashioned pleasures and entertainment. Trot followed the Japanese popular music style and expressed modern emotion, especially sadness, which begins with the conflict between the individual and society. Unlike them, jazz followed Western style popular music and usually expressed brightness and contentment among modern emotions. Jazz lyrics were usually about the passion and freedom of love and the fans who enjoyed jazz were the young generation who lived in the cities and the music targeted urban culture (Lee 2006). Kim Hae-song’s wholehearted acceptance of jazz went beyond adaptation of American jazz for Korean songs and producing works imitating the style. This kind of appreciation for jazz would be enough for other popular musicians in Korea at the time. However, Kim Hae-song went further by experimenting with jazz and sinminyo, creating his own unique mood. Thus, he deserves the title “a genius of Jazz.” “Ch’ŏlli ch’unsaek” (It’s Spring Everywhere 1937) can be considered the first work that expresses his unique Korean jazz. The rhythm of Korean traditional music and Korean traditional musical instruments harmonizes with jazz rhythm and Western musical instruments (Yi 2012). Kim Hae-song’s jazz was fully matured during the two years after he left Okeh Records in 1937. The harmonization of jazz and Korean traditional music flowed smoother in Kim Hae-song’s jazz, which was released during this period, “Namuamit’abul” (Save Us, Merciful Buddha 1939) or “P’aldo changt’aryŏng” (Market Song of the Eight Provinces of Korea 1939) reinterpreted Korean traditional music with swing’s rhythm and jazz. “Ssangssang t’aryŏng” (The Couple Song 1939) released around the same period was a rare work, which integrated the folk song melody of the southern region of Korea. After he returned to Okeh Records in 1939, Kim Hae-song exhibited a high degree of completion of jazz whether it was on records or stages. “Tabang ŭi p’urŭn kkum,” mentioned earlier in this chapter, represents the maturity of his jazz. “Sin Nodŭl kangbyŏn” (The New Nodŭl Riverside, circa 1940) is an impressive piece that was performed only through live stages but never recorded until 1970. “Tabang ŭi p’urŭn kkum” is regarded as a work, which represented completion of the blues, lesser known than swing jazz in Korea at that time. Most of Korean popular songs, which were claimed as blues before the release of “Tabang ŭi p’urŭn kkum,” only followed the Japanese style of blues (purŭsŭ), which is significantly altered from authentic blues. We must give attention to the fact that Kim Hae-song had the musical ability to grasp the origin of blues in his own way during the 1930s (Yi 2012). “Sin Nodŭl kangbyŏn” is Kim Hae-song’s jazzy reinterpretation of “Nodŭl kangbyŏn,” a popular sinminyo song released in 1934. He performed the original melody without change in the first half and incorporated a swing jazz melody he had composed in the second half. There is an interesting transition, which connects the first half to the second half by crossing Korean traditional percussion instruments and Western

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Figure 9.4 Record Label of “Tabang u˘i p’uru˘n kkum” (A Blue Dream in a Café, 1939).

drums. This method has been applied to various styles of work since. Such repertoires in the K.P.K. Musical Troupe received an “enthusiastic response from American audiences (soldiers)” in Korea during the second half of the 1940s (Lee 2012). The Pioneer of Musicals The performances, which combined popular music with theater plays, already began appearing during the end of the 1920s. In the mid-1930s, the shows became more refined, and the acts were known as akkŭk (musical drama). Pae Ku-cha, who was the pioneer of Korean modern dance, organized a musical troupe in 1935, and various other musical troupes were organized. They were the foundation of the Korean musical. It is conjectured that the Okeh Records Band

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that Kim Hae-song belonged to had similar repertoires. The music drama performances of the time were mostly complex variety shows including various songs, dance, and dramas along with short musical plays. The format changed drastically after the Okeh Records Band was renamed as Chosŏn Musical Troupe in 1939. The Okeh Records Band, which started to use the name Chosŏn Musical Troupe in a Japanese tour of 1939 began using the name of performances explicitly then. The composition of the variety show did not completely disappear, but the performance was organized with consistency. The music dramas, which strengthened the narrative characteristics of the show gradually took over the entire performances after Kim Hae-song returned to Okeh Records, and participated in the Chosŏn Musical Troupe starting in the Fall of 1939. The work of Ch’unhyang chŏn (The Tale of Ch’unhyang), the Korean classical novel, and p’ansori (Korean traditional solo opera), was made into a music drama and performed on stage in September 1940. The music drama of Changhanmong (A Long and Sad Dream), a play, which was very popular among Koreans since 1910, went on stage in January 1941. Nak’hwa samch’ŏn (Fallen Three Thousand Flowers) for which Kim Hae-song created the music went on the stage in March 1941. This is allegedly the first musical work of Kim Hae-song. Nak’hwa samch’ŏn on the tragic legend set during the fall of Paekche, is considered to contain mostly Korean traditional music elements. If we listened to the theme song, which is the only one that’s recorded, we would be able to tell the difference between this and other songs in the musical. On the contrary, “Hongjangmi ŭi kkum,” which premiered in June 1941, showed an entirely different aspect of Kim’s musicals utilizing flamenco, and the works of Lalo and Schubert. The music drama works for which Kim Hae-song recorded for the Chosŏn Musical Troupe and the Yakch’o Musical Troupe reach dozens of pieces. The true nature of his music cannot exactly be grasped because there are only a few records on music (Lee 2012). Kim Hae-song’s most splendid musicals appeared while he was with the K.P.K. Musical Troupe from 1945 to 1950. The K.P.K. Musical Troupe focused on the variety shows more than musicals in the beginning. After the organization stabilized, it concentrated on musicals. Mullebanga (A Waterwheel), the operetta, which premiered in 1946, was his first musical work since 1945. Various types of musicals were on the stage of the K.P.K. Musical Troupe by Kim Hae-song. Namp’yŭn ŭi kot’ong (A Husband’s Pain 1947) adapted the comedy of Molière, Turandot (1948) was the remake of Puccini’s opera, K’arŭmaen hwansanggok (Carmen Fantasy 1949) was a tribute to Bizet, Romeo and Juliet (1950) was the adaptation of Shakespeare, and Chamae wa subyŏng (Two Sisters and a Sailor 1950) reorganized a Hollywood movie into a musical. These performance activities of the K.P.K. Musical Troupe were entirely different from other contemporary musical troupes. As for the Korean popular music situation from 1945 to 1950, it was the heyday of musical dramas and countless musical troupes put on productions, competing with each other. However, they could not put on a show of wide-range repertoire like the K.P.K. Musical Troupe did. A considerable number of musical dramas of Kim’s time combined popular melodramas with popular old songs. The musicals that utilized operas or Western classical plays have never been attempted except by Kim Hae-song in the K.P.K. Musical Troupe (Lee 2012). To America Across the Sea Japanese popular music was considered a model to adapt in the Korean popular music scene before the liberation in 1945. It was an unavoidable situation because Korea was under Japanese

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rule. However, American popular music such as jazz significantly affected Korean popular music. American popular music officially disappeared for a little while when the U.S. and Japan were at war. As American soldiers started to be stationed in Korea after the liberation, the exemplar of Korean popular has changed rapidly from Japan to America. Yi Ch’ŏl of the Chosŏn Musical Troupe planned his musical activity by expanding all over East Asia beyond the Korean Peninsula. Kim Hae-song who had the opportunity to lead Korean popular music after Yi Ch’ŏl passed away tried to further the enterprise by going to the U.S. He was trying to promote a performance in Hawaii but it failed because the Korean War broke out. It was supposed to be the solution to his financial problems due to the reduced market and also to fulfill his musical ambition. If the performance in Hawaii had happened, it is obvious how his career could have changed. Maybe, he could have entered the U.S. music market with

Figure 9.5 The Record in which “Kanda Kanda” is Included (1956).

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the K.P.K. Musical Troupe. Kim Hae-song’s aspiration was to perform in the U.S. He was confident of performing in the U.S., and the Korean popular music industry had hoped that he could overcome the postcolonial situation. However, he became disillusioned because the Korean War broke out and he passed away tragically. Kim Hae-song’s dream of performing in the U.S. did not perish completely after his death. He is survived by his family and his work. The songs, which were first introduced in the U.S. as recording Korean popular music were “The East of Make Believe” and “Kanda Kanda” by Victor Records in 1956. And “Kanda Kanda” was Kim Hae-song’s “Yŏkmach’a” with English lyrics. Kim Sisters, the trio, which consists of Kim Hae-song’s two daughters and his niece, was the first Korean popular group that was successful in making their career in the U.S. Yi Nanyŏng who led the K.P.K. Musical Troupe instead of her husband after Kim Hae-song died devoted her life to train the young Kim Sisters. The Kim Sisters were able to flourish as all around entertainers. They could play diverse musical instruments as well as demonstrate singing of excellent harmony. They became more popular than Kim Hae-song who was their father and achieved fame beyond his wildest dreams, catering as its audience, the large scale U.S. armed forces stationed in Korea in the mid-1950s. The Kim Sisters’ debut in the U.S. in 1959 was a significant and hopeful event for the Koreans who tried to escape from the devastation of war and to remind people of the accomplishments of Kim Hae-song. Bibliography Lee, Junhee. 2012. “Kim Hae-song mudaeŭmak hwaltong ch’ot’am [Research on the Stage Music of Kim Hae-song].” Taejungŭmak [Korean Journal of Popular Music] 9, 84–138. Lee, Young Mee. 2006. Han’guk taejung kayosa [A History of Korean Popular Song]. Seoul: Minsokwŏn. Pak, Ch’an-ho. 2009. Han’gukkayosa 1 [A History of Korean Popular Songs 1]. Seoul: Mizibooks. Yi, So-yŏng. 2012. “Kim hae-songŭi taejunggayo e nat’ananŭn jazz yangsik [Jazz Style in the Popular Songs of Kim Hae-song]”. Taejungŭmak [Korean Journal of Popular Music] 9, 53–83.

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10 Shin Joong Hyun’s Rock Sonority and Korean Pentatonicism in “Miin” Dohee Kwon

No one in Korean popular music history has crossed over the barrier between mainstream and subculture as much as Shin Joong Hyun has done. He has played various musical genres and his contribution goes beyond the rock scene. Nevertheless, he is acclaimed as a rock musician and recognized specifically as a “Korean” rock artist among Korean musicians. If “Koreanness” is not limited to a particular geographical location or to the nationality of a particular musician, what does it mean? To answer this question, I will examine Shin’s music from the point of view of a particular sociocultural condition. There were many political, social, and cultural changes that influenced popular music after the Korean War. These are articulated in Shin Joong Hyun’s works. His “Miin” (The Beauty 1974) epitomizes the early days of his musical activities from the late 1950s to 1975. “Miin” is regarded as a controversial work in which social and cultural conflicts among social groups are articulated and resolved. Thus, it is necessary to describe the social and cultural environment in Korea from the mid-1950s to the early 1970s in order to explain the sociocultural background of Shin’s works and the success of “Miin.” Additionally, one of the most important musical elements that made his music original, which is folksong, will be emphasized. He had reinterpreted Korean folksong since his first album was released in 1959. I will trace what he absorbed from Korean folk music, and how he utilized it with a rock sonority. Unbalance Between Genres in the Music Industry Immediately After the Korean War When the modern entertainment business began during the Greater Korean Empire (1897–1910), the early hit songs were related to chapga (vulgar songs) including folksong, urban song, and songs from the music-drama, which were sung by Korean traditional musicians (Kwon 2004). From the early 1930s the music market expanded rapidly with more Japanese recording companies coming into Korea, and new genres were added. Among them sinminyo (neo-folksong) and yuhaengga (fashionable song) are most popular. The latter was Westernized-Japanized Korean song with Korean lyrics produced by new musicians and new writers. While neo-folksong was a new style related to Korean traditional folksongs sung by Korean traditional musicians, it has some similarities to yuhaengga in terms of the running pentatonic mode underpinned by functional harmony (Kwon 2014b). Nevertheless, it was regarded as one of the folksong genres in the music market.

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Compared to the industrial folksongs (chapga and sinminyo), yuhaengga could not be accepted as indigenous to the audiences at the time, because of its musical language. The sonic difference articulated distinct features. For example, folksong embodied Chosŏn, nationalism and subordination while yuhaengga reflected Japan, imperialism, Westernization, and dominance. Korean folksong and yuhaengga coexisted in balance from the 1930s to the mid-1940s in the music market.1 Folksong musicians had their own organizations and held their own musical educational programs.2 They participated in recordings at the beginning of the Korean recording history and maintained relatively independent relationships with recording companies. On the contrary, most of musicians singing yuhaengga worked individually. They just received musical training under producers in the recording companies. After Korea was emancipated from Japanese rule in 1945, and the Korean War broke out in 1950, Korean society could not help changing. Every system, which had originated in the Japanese colonial period (1910–1945) had to be abolished, and Koreans tried to establish the new nationstate. As Japanese capital invested in the Korean recording industry had to withdraw, the music market shrank. Although the Korean recording industry resurged in 1947 some small recording companies cut the number of hits even in the middle of the Korean War (Pak 2009, 159–160). Then the scale of the recording industry did not really become substantial until 1968. Recording companies were too small to support the business from the musicians’ organizations and had to scout for new folk repertoires traveling all over the country. In contrast, no matter how small they were, they could get new songs from songwriters, lyricists, and yuhaengga-singers. While music directors of the big Japanese recording companies in the Japanese colonial period had been interested in various musical styles, the new directors of small Korean companies had to choose the yuhaengga style. Although the first LP records appeared in 1958, SP records were still circulated in the mid-1960s. In this condition, musical genres could not greatly change around the mid-1960s. In contrast to the decline of folksong genres, yuhaengga developed into a polished style and still gained popularity even though it was criticized. Unavoidable Pentatonicism and American-styled Music The only radio broadcasting station permitted by the Japanese Governor General of Korea during the Japanese colonial period was JODK. Although it had broadcasted many entertainment programs (Sŏn 2006) and introduced many songs and musicians, radio could not enlarge the music market. From the late 1950s, several commercial radio and TV stations emerged and got involved in popular music. Among the various genres on air waesaekgayo, Japanese colored songs, namely yuhaengga, was criticized. Most of Japanese colored songs (JCS) were composed in the Westernized-Japanese pentatonic scale, lacking the fourth and the seventh notes of the diatonic scale, while it is necessary to include an augmented fourth and diminished fifth in the descending melodic line in minor tonality. These features allowed audiences to distinguish them from other musical styles. In 1956 the chief of the national broadcasting station, HLKA, criticized JCS and jazz-style music, and supported art music and propaganda songs suitable for constructing a modern nation-state (Pak 2009, 368–375). Although the musicians resisted, the criticism was not friendly to it. The nationalists chanted slogans against the 1965 Normalization Treaty between the Republic of Korea and Japan. The representatives of the five broadcasting stations and critics denounced JCS once again on nationalistic grounds (Pak 2009, 467–469). Whereas they insisted that JCS made Koreans feel haunted by Japanese imperialism, the musicians and audiences did

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not agree that it was unpatriotic to enjoy it and fiercely resisted against the elite nationalists. Despite their insistence, JCS continued under the name of ppongtchak or trot, and held the mainstream until the 1970s. The debate on JCS was not a matter of nationalism but conflict between social groups. Criticizing JCS and the staff in broadcasting stations was the political act of the elites struggling for hegemony through music. After the government of the Republic of Korea was established in 1948, the ministries presented many policies to promote nationalism and modernism. Most of these policies were formulated by elite modernists who were neither interested in popular culture nor accepted Japanese influences officially. They sought popular music that could not connotate the new social, political, and cultural ideology proposed by the dominant elite groups and the government. They advocated high culture. In addition, on the situation of a divided nation in the midst of the Cold War, and under the control of the military dictatorship of Park Chung Hee (1961–1979), the broadcasting stations were obliged to comply with them (Kang et al. 2007). At this point, the broadcasters had to deliberate about what they criticized and discriminated. Following the Korean War, Korea was influenced by the U.S. both politically and culturally. There were many U.S. corps all across Korea after 1955; among them the headquarters of the Eighth United States Army in Yongsan, Seoul (EUSA) was most important station for Korean pop music. Approximately 50,000 to 80,000 U.S. soldiers were in Korea during the late 1950s to the 1960s, and, while only a small number of entertainers performed for the U.S. military personnel, Korean entertainers were employed to solve this problem. Korean performers participated in the big clubs in the Yongsan camp (EUSA), and in small clubs all over the nation until 1960 (Ro 1994: 26). Musicians who performed in the EUSA show were acknowledged as more competent and experienced than average. Korean musicians played various genres of American popular music, such as conventional pop for the officers, country songs of southern Texas for the sergeants, and rock ’n’ roll and twist for ordinary soldiers (Im 2006). Even jazz, rhythm and blues, and soul music were played in the clubs. Between the end of the Korean War and the Vietnam War the U.S. withdrew soldiers from Korea in several stages and the entertainment market also shrank. In the 1960s Korean musicians wanted to perform at other places, rather than American soldiers’ clubs. It was in the early 1960s that American-styled Korean popular music (AKPM) began to influence everyday life. In 1961 the first hit number of AKPM by Han Myŏng-suk (singer) and Son Sŏk-u (composer), who had performed in the U.S. military base show, appeared. In 1964 the Korean government started sending troops to the Vietnam War (1954–1975), and in the following year many musicians of the U.S. military base show went out to put on a show for Korean military bases in Vietnam until 1973 (No 1994: 42). Since the first commercial TV station opened in 1964, there were some important changes. For example, the leading commercial TV station, TBC, favored AKPM over JCS. The government control over commercial stations was less strict than that over the national station. Although TBC was able to broadcast relatively as it pleased, it could not accept all kinds of Americanstyled popular music. They merely preferred American white music. The most representative TBCTV show in 1966 was “The Patti Kim Show,” whose main repertoire was AKPM. Patti Kim was the most famous popular singer of AKPM at the time, and she had once been active in the EUSA. AKPM continued to grow in popularity and held the music market together with JCS until the early 1970s. On the other hand, radio DJs emerged in 1964 (Sŏn 1993, 46–55) and they charged the music programs to introduce the latest American mainstream popular songs. Many Korean audiences experienced American popular music, some of them enjoyed AKPM.

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The Attack of Rock Sound From the late 1950s to the mid-1960s there were many music listening-chambers where audiences enjoyed records under the guidance of DJs who played a leading role in introducing popular music (Sŏn 2005, 17–19). The more listening-chambers emerged, the more fiercely DJs had to compete. Before and after the mid-1960s some of them added live performances or short dancing time called “twist-time” accompanied by bands during intermissions. The listening-chambers evolved and became music halls with individual seats facing the stage. On the other hand, in the late 1950s there were dance halls called “cabarets” playing jazz combo. In the 1960s some of them changed to clubs called “salons” in which singers, jazz bands, and even electric guitar bands played music. As listening-chambers and salons increased, musicians performing AKPM had more chances to play outside of the U.S. military base. They went on the radio and TV stations then, and music bands were less active than vocal soloists because it costs more to run bands than soloists, and most audiences prefer voice to musical instruments. It was the “Calf Comets,” a group playing music together with “comedy,” that was the most popular band at that time (Sŏn 2005, 89). Since the late 1960s many popular publications and LP recording companies engaged in the music industry. Publications led the discourse about music, helped expand the music industry, and contributed to the development of rock music as a result. For example, from 1968 to 1973, publishers sponsored contests for bands in the name of “group-sounds contest.” Winners and participants from all over the nation later became the leaders of Korean rock music. Shin Joong Hyun’s groups, Key Boys and Tempest were among the winners. Some of the members in the first two bands used to play in the U.S. military base. Although the bands’ concerts sold out and gained a great reputation, their commercial success could not match that of musicians on the air (Shin 2006, 92). The fact that concert agencies offered contracts that were disadvantageous for them, and that members often changed, made it difficult to maintain bands at the time. Even Shin Joong Hyun organized bands many times (Shin 2006, 95). He formed Add4 (1964), Blooz Tet (1966), Donkeys (1968), Questions (1970), The Men (1971), and Yŏpchŏn tŭl (1974) going in and out of the EUSA (No 1994: 97–144). So did other bands. For example, Kim Hongt’ak’s band was reorganized as “Key Boys,” “He5,” and “He6.” Another problem for their success was their music. Shin Joong Hyun and Kim Hong-t’ak used to make music with psychedelic or hard rock sounds, which was too experimental or radical for the common audiences even in the late 1960s (Shin et al. 2005, 281). Shin found another way to use rock music materials. Disappointed with the entertainment business, he decided to go to Europe passing through Vietnam (Ro 1994, 43). However, he met with unexpected success in the mainstream as a composer and producer of the Pearl Sisters’ first hit number “Nima” (My Beloved). This success made him stay in Korea and produce records continuously. His productions were different from his band music and from the existing mainstream. Although he used rock material, it was less experimental than his band music at concerts. It was closer to dance music at the time. Before the mid-1960s commercial broadcasting stations favored AKPM; although most of AKPM was ballad-styled, there were some dance music (mambo-styled music in the late 1950s and boogie-style in the 1960s). It used to be made of fast tempo or even blue scale with lyrics expressing delight, and hedonistic or decadent sentiments. It is interesting that the first big hit number in AKPM style, Han Myŏng-suk’s “Noran sŏch’ŭŭi sanai” (The Boy in the Yellow Shirt) was made of quick tempo and syncopated rhythm that encouraged dancing, with lyrics about the delight of love. Shin Joong Hyun’s first hit number, “Nima” resembled it.

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It is true that the syncopated rhythm of “Nima” encouraged dancing. However, the lyrics of “Nima” are about loneliness sung in slow tempo as in a ballad, and accompanied by strings. It’s musical form is AABA (only the third of its four sections is different). These features had already been in the mainstream. Then, Shin made use of rock sound-electric timbre, psychedelic sound, and Aeolian mode underpinned by functional harmony. In addition, he tried to carry on his own musical idea—melodic progressions of the vocal part were a little bit similar to pentatonic music by omitting the sixth note of the diatonic scale, and the vocal timbre was not irrelevant to Korean folksongs. As a result, his song was regarded as not just good for dancing, but also listening and singing for common audiences. The assemblage of the different elements—modal harmony with strings, romantic lyricism with syncopated rhythm in slow tempo, merging the sound of strings and electric timbre, and accepting the singing convention of Korean pentatonic music in part made its success possible. At this point, it was the first song to merge rock music material with the established mainstream style. So, it could be considered an assimilation of romantic lyricism with rock sounds. To use Toynbee’s expression, it is the process of mainstreaming by “affiliation” (Toynbee 2002: 150). Success of Authentic Rock of Yŏpchŏn tŭl While Shin Joong Hyun succeeded as a producer in the mainstream, his bands were not similarly successful at the time. He organized “Shin Joong Hyun and Yŏpchŏn tŭl” in 1974. It consisted of only three members (electric guitarist, bassist, and drummer). He completed his earlier experimentation and exploration of his own musical idea in the first album of Yŏpchŏn tŭl in 1974. As he regarded psychedelic rock as progressive at the time, he produced psychedelic sound in his album on purpose. “Miin” and “Ttŏorŭnŭn t’aeyang” (Rising Sun) are the outstanding numbers on this album, and the former became a smash hit. Before forming Yŏpchŏn tŭl, he played a wide range of genres including blues, rock ’n’ roll, rock, and Korean folksong in guitar. Folksong was very important in his music. Before the

Figure 10.1 The First Album (Left) and the Second One by Shin Joong Hyun and Yo˘pcho˘n tu˘l.

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Korean War there were two main genres related to Korean folksong. One was the traditional “chapga (vulgar song)” with traditional pitch syntax. The other was the eclectic style called “sinminyo (neo-folksong),” which was composed on the Korean pentatonic mode together with functional harmony. In the case of traditional folksong, there were five distinct modes that originated from five provinces in Korea (Kim 2015, 42–47). The notes of the modes had their own function. In neo-folksongs, traditional modes used to be adjusted to coordinate with functional harmony. However, it could not always coincide with functional harmony in terms of cadence, tonal function, and melodic movement. Also, it is different from modernized-Japanese pentatonic music. In the case of neo-folksong, there were various ways for Korean pentatonic modes and functional harmony to coexist. After the Korean War, folksong became marginalized. However, there were many audiences who experienced it in everyday life. From the 1960s to the 1970s urban population rapidly increased. Seoul, in particular, had 2.24 million people in 1960 and 5.53 million in 1970 (Son 2005). Most of the population of Seoul came from country villages where people experienced traditional folksongs, and they wished to listen to those songs in the city. As American culture overwhelmed Korean society, AKPM started entering the music market from the early 1960s. There had been many audiences who loved Korean pentatonic music, so there would be tension between audiences and the music industry. Shin Joong Hyun used folksong materials to express his musical ideas on his first album Hicky Shin Guitar Melodies (1959) in which he arranged two Korean folksongs in blue tonality and form (12-bar blues form) of early rock style. From this time he realized that musical genre with completely different cultural background could not easily be harmonized. As Tallmadge pointed out, blue tonality would be more appropriate to bluesmen, black folk musicians, and jazz musicians in the European harmonic system (Tallmadge 1984, 161). Although blues was recognized as the pretext of rock music (Moore 2007, 73), blues pentatonic could not satisfy the common Korean audiences who preferred Korean pentatonic; since, Korean folk music was largely marginalized in the music market, they could not have many chances to listen to it. From the mid- or late 1960s folk rock and psychedelic rock had a decisive influence on him. Folk rock revived his interest in Korean folksong, which enabled him to put his idea as a Korean musician into practice. He knew that melodic progression was very important in Korean folksong and that folk rock emphasized the line rather than the chord (Moore 2007, 108). At the same time, psychedelic or progressive rock encouraged him to explore his imagination and self-expression. In the early days of Yŏpchŏn tŭl, Shin tried to show the band’s social and cultural identity, articulating the social and cultural conflicts of the time. As Middleton said, particular musical elements are put together in particular ways, and acquire particular connotation (Middleton 1990, 10). Musical genres bring with them connotations about music, which may encode a variety of social and cultural messages. “Miin” is distinguished by its musical material and its connotation. As people from rural areas have been rushing to the cities to find work since the 1960s, manufacturing industry has developed, and the rate of economic growth has increased rapidly, the younger generation from the working class gained confidence in their urban life. They wanted to be different from their elders. Shin Joong Hyun gave them a voice in his creative music and lyrics. In “Miin,” “Chŏ yŏin” (That Woman 1974), and “Nan molla” (I Don’t Know 1974), he sang about love without the responsibility of marriage or family, and about life irrelevant to the institutions that are the basis of the old patriarchal society. This was perceived as a rebellion against the conservative older generation, but adolescents were cheering enthusiastically at him.

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Koreanness with Rock Sound in “Miin” Yŏpchŏn tŭl, a word, which connotes Korean common people as opposed to the Westernized in the process of modernization, was chosen as the band’s name to show Shin’s intention for the music to be different from Anglo-American rock. In “Miin” he used two pentatonics from distinct cultural backgrounds. One is the E-minor pentatonic scale (Musical Example 10.1 first two bars, E-G-A-B-D) and the other is the Korean traditional pentatonic mode of Kyŏnggi Province (Musical Example 10.1, last two bars, D-E-G-A-B). There is no clash between the notes (Musical Example 10.1). However, the function of the notes is different. The vocal part (call) is in minor pentatonic and the guitar riff (response) is in the Korean pentatonic mode called Chin-kyŏng-t’ori3 in which D is the important note (weighted note or nuclear tone), which traditionally functioned as a tonal center and as the closing note. When Chin-kyŏng-t’ori coordinates with functional harmony, it usually coincides with the major tonality. In spite of the discrepancy between the Korean traditional mode (Chin-gyŏng-t’ori) and the major tonality, it comes naturally to audiences because he solved issues on the harmonization of two types of music as explained below. “Miin” is constituted with intro-call, response-refrain, and coda. Shin used three chords (E-minor, C7, and G-major), which were not played in the intro and coda. That is, he weakened the E-minor chord by softening the third from the root, and it functioned as a power chord in the call section. Also, Shin sang it as if shouting in a high register (Musical Example 10.1, first two bars). It makes our attention turn to another point from the chords. In the response section the riff is repeated melodically without any chords. C7 and G-major chords are used in the refrain (Musical Example 10.2, second line), E is underpinned by the C7 chord, and D by the G-major chord. D looks like the dominant in G-major or the closing note in the plagal cadence.

Musical Example 10.1 The Verse Section of “Miin,” Transcribed by the Author.

Musical Example 10.2 The Verse and Chorus Section of “Miin,” Transcribed by the Author.

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Musical Example 10.3 The Coda and the Response Section of “Miin,” Transcribed by the Author.

In the coda, D is not closed, but open-ended in terms of functional harmony (Moore 2007, 58). However, D is the nuclear tone and ending note in the authentic cadence of the Chin-gyŏngt’ori-mode. It is closed in the traditional tonal system. The other way to articulate Koreanness is by reinforcing the melodic line. It is clear in the coda and in the response sections that Shin focuses more on melodic development than on chords (Musical Example 10.3). In the coda, as the bass guitar plays the riff, the lead-guitar develops the melody with virtuosity. Although the melodic line of the riff sounds like the intro of Jimi Hendrix “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” (1970), it is significantly different in pitch syntax, because “Voodoo Child” closes with an E Aeolian chord progression (Biamonte 2010, 103). It was true that Shin always used Aeolian chord progression—for example “K’ŏp’i hanjan” (A Cup of Coffee 1975)—but in “Miin” he strictly stuck to Korean pentatonic mode and emphasized the melodic line to articulate Koreanness. So, this results in tonal ambiguity. He reconciled the different musical materials of Korean folksong and Anglo-American rock by means of a weakened triad, ambiguity of major-minor tonality, and reinforcement of the melodic line. The young audience wanted to listen to new music, which positioned them against the old conservatives. The young people believed it could differentiate their taste from the old with their patriarchal views. Some of the young audiences waited for a more innovative or progressive sound. The new music had to be a new musical style, which had not been experienced in ordinary culture ever. It was “Miin” that satisfied them; this song was a completely different style, which combined rock and Korean folksong. “Miin” seems to be not only progressive, but also rebellious. As Korean traditional culture had been in crisis on the process of modernization, Shin resisted against it making use of Korean musical materials. His musical competence brought Korean folksong alive and balanced indigenous and foreign musical materials. In 1971, he refused the dictator Park Chung Hee’s request to compose a song for the military government, and in 1972 he was selected as the chair of the “group sound” department of the musicians’ association (Ro 1994, 117). He became a leader of rock musicians to resist against

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the established society and the Yushin Constitution,4 which regarded “group sound” musicians as unemployed vagrants. In 1974 his experimental album Yŏpchŏntŭl was released. However, his songs, including “Miin,” were banned in August 1975, and he was arrested by the military regime for marijuana smoking in December. His resistance to the dictatorial regime chimed with the progressive character of his music. It endowed him with a subversive image, and he symbolized the rebellious musician. On this point he is best remembered as a rock musician with the spirit of resistance, though he was a prominent producer of mainstream music too. In 1975, some other rock musicians were also arrested, but most of them gave up music later. As a result, the first stage of Korean rock music went into decline following that. This is the reason why there was no other authentic rock music following “Miin” in mainstream music. Conclusion From 1959 Shin Joong Hyun explored diverse musical materials and new sounds to address his originality and the sociocultural identity of his times. In 1968 he succeeded in articulating the new social groups or generation by assimilating established music with marginalized rock music, and became the first producer to use rock sounds in eclectic style. In the 1960s and the 1970s there were audiences who were familiar with the pitch syntax of Korean folk music, many of them wished to listen to more indigenous and innovative music, which could articulate their own identity. At this time, the first album of Yŏpchŏn tŭl appeared, and satisfied them. In “Miin,” Shin resolved the musical problems of the clash between Korean folksong and authentic rock sounds; this was a release of the social, cultural, and political tension. It symbolized reconciling indigenous culture and foreign culture, and the young and old generations. He carried his musical idea despite the established musical environment and resisted against the oppression of military dictatorship with his activities as a musician. At this point, he is acclaimed as the godfather of Korean rock music. Notes 1 2

3 4

As they were served simultaneously to the audiences through the media after the 1930s, it is difficult to say whether each represent the past and the present. Before the recording industry flourished, popular music was developed in theaters. The performers who sang vulgar songs on stage had to organize their own associations. The Japanese colonial government forced female performers called kisaeng to organize their own associations for controlling and exacting taxes on their activities. (Kwon, 2014a) In the 1910s kisaeng achieved great success in theaters, male performers could not help but construct their organizations. Associations used to perform, plan for various projects, educate music and dance, and mediate between musicians and recording or broadcasting staffs. ‘Tori’ means mode in Korean. Yushin System is the constitution of Korea from 1972 to 1979. It allowed military dictator Park Jung Hee to remain in power for life.

Bibliography Biamonte, Nicole. 2010. “Triadic Modal and Pentatonic Patterns in Rock Music.” Music Theory Spectrum 32(2): 95–110. Im, Chin-mo. 2006. “Int’ŏbyu Shin Joong Hyun” [Interview Shin Joong Hyun]. Last modified July. http://izm.co.kr/ contentRead.asp?idx=1859&bigcateidx=11 Kang, Myŏng-ku et al. 2007. “Munhwajŏk naengjŏn’gwa Han’guk ch’ŏech’oŭi t’ellebijŏn HLKZ [American Cultural Cold War and the First Korean Television Station, HLKZ].” Han’guk ŏllonhakpo [Korean Journal of Journalism & Communication Studies] 51(5): 5–33. Kim Yŏng-un. 2015. Kugak kaeron [Introduction to Korean Traditional Music]. Seoul: Ǔmaksegye. Kwon, Do-Hee. 2004. Han’guk kŭndae ŭmaksahoesa [Social History of Korean Music in the Modern Era]. Seoul: Minsokwŏn.

132 • Dohee Kwon —— . 2014a. “Kŭndae gisaeng, mijŏngŭi sosuja” [Kisaeng in the Modern Era, an Unidentifiable Minority]. Han’guksa yŏn’gu [Journal of Korean History] 164, 91–124. —— . 2014b. “Kŭndaegi sangŏpminyowa taejungŭmak” [Industrial Folksong and the Popular Music in Modern Era]. Tongyang ŭmak [Journal of the Asian Music Research Institute] 36, 157–223. Middleton, Richard. 1990. Studying Popular Music. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Moore, Allan F. 2007. Rock: The Primary Text. Burlington: Ashgate Publishing. Pak, Ch’an-ho. 2009. Han’gukkayosa 2: Haebang esŏ Kunsajŏnggwŏn kkaji Sidae ŭi Hŭimang gwa Chŏlmang ŭl Norae hada [A History of Korean Popular Music 2: Singing Hopes and Despairs of the Age from The Liberation to Military Regime]. Seoul: Mizibooks. Ro, Chae-myŏng. 1994. Sin, Chung-hyŏn gwa arŭmdaun kangsan [Sin, Chung-hyŏn and the Beautiful Land]. Seoul: Segil. Shin, Hyunjoon, Yi Yong-u, and Ch’oe Chi-sŏn. 2005. Han’guk P’ab ŭi Kogohak 1960 [Archeology of Korean Popular Music 1960s]. Seoul: Hangil Art. Shin, Joong Hyun. 2006. Nae kit’anŭn chamdŭlchi annŭnda [My Guitar Could Not Go to Sleep]. Seoul: Haeto. Sŏn, Chae-kil. 2006. “JODK kyŏngsŏngbangsonggugŭi sŏllipkwa ch’ogiŭi yŏnye bangsong JODK” [Establishment of Gyeongseong Broadcast Station and Its Entertainment Program in the Early Period]. Sŏurhagyŏn’gu [The Journal of Seoul Studies] 27:147–173. Sŏn, Chŏng-mok. 2005. Han’guk tosi 60 yŏnŭi iyagi [Sixty Years Story of Cities in Korea] 2. Seoul: Hanul. Sŏn, Sŏng-wŏn. 1993. 8kun shoesŏ raepkkaji [From the Show in the Eighth United States Army to Rap]. Seoul: Arŭm. —— . 2005. Han’guk taejung munhwa 101changmyŏn [101 Scenes of Korean Popular Culture]. Seoul: Mediajip. Tallmadge, William. 1984. “Blue Notes and Blue Tonality.” The Black Perspective in Music 12(2, Autumn), 155–165. Toynbee, Jason. 2002. “Mainstreaming, from Hegemonic Centre to Global Networks.” In Popular Music Studies, edited by David Hesmondhalgh. London: Oxford University Press.

Discography Pearl Sisters. “Nima” (My beloved). In P’ŏl ssisŭdŏ t’ŭksŏnjip (Shin Joong Hyun chakp’yŏn’gok) [Pearl Sister’s Special Collection (Shin Joong Hyun composed and arranged) Vol. 1. Seoul: Shinhyang/ Taechi Record, DG Ka-02, 1968, 331⁄3 rpm. Shin Joong Hyun. “Miin” (The Beauty). In Shin Joong Hyun’gwa Yŏpchŏndŭl [Shin Joong Hyun and Yŏpchŏndŭl] Vol.1, Seoul: Jigu Records JLS-120891, 1974. 8. 25, 331⁄3 rpm.

11 Kim Min-ki and the Making of a Legend Okon Hwang

Most urban youths in the second half of 1970s Korea would be familiar with the acronym “t’ongpul-saeng” referring to the three identifiers of youth culture at the time: t’ong (guitar), pul-luchin (blue jeans), and saeng-maek-ju (draft beer) (Kim 2013). T’ong-guitar, the first identifier, is a portmanteau of the Korean word “t’ong,” meaning “a container,” and the English loan word “guitar.” Koreans called an acoustic guitar a “t’ong-guitar” because the resonating body of the acoustic guitar resembled a hollow box. This term was then used to designate a particular period in Korean cultural history known as the t’ong-guitar boom. As t’ong-guitar singers enjoyed great popularity, the young Koreans, clad in blue jeans and exhibiting long hairdos, would emulate these singers by learning to play acoustic guitar while listening to their favorite t’ong-guitar singers and drinking draft beer at music halls in Myŏngdong, a downtown area in Seoul (Chŏng 2006, 83). One of the towering presences during the era of the t’ong-guitar boom was Kim Min-ki. The purpose of this chapter is to introduce him to those who are not yet familiar with his significance in contemporary Korean cultural history. By discussing two landmark songs Kim Min-ki created in the 1970s and highlighting relevant events in his life, this chapter will expound on how his life story has played a defining role in establishing him as a legendary figure in Korea. “Sangnoksu” and “Ach’im isŭl” Korea was one of the countries severely impacted by an economic catastrophe known as the Asian Financial Crisis.1 The crisis started in 1997 and went on to cripple much of East Asian nations and threatened the worldwide economy to a meltdown. Big and small businesses collapsed, including the seemingly indestructible Korean conglomerates like Daewoo, and a countless number of people lost their life-time savings overnight. In an effort to rescue the country from the brink of a total economic collapse, even a nationwide campaign was organized to encourage Koreans to donate gold from their private possessions to contribute toward paying off the national debt (Yi 1998). In the midst of such an economic hardship, an unusual TV public service announcement was aired in 1998. That year marked the fiftieth anniversary after the establishment of the Korean government, and a series of projects was launched by the government to commemorate the occasion. One such project was the announcement.2 This sixty-second spot featuring scenes from the U.S. Women’s Open that year documented the Korean golfer Park Se Ri’s (a.k.a. Pak Se-ri) resolute determination when her ball missed the fairway and settled into the rough right next to a pond. After taking her socks off, revealing the contrast between her darkly tanned

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legs and pale-colored feet, she stood in the pond to execute a swing. (This is widely known in Korea as Park Se Ri’s “bare foot fighting spirit.”) As soon as her club hit the ball, the first word “attack” (kkaech’igo) appears next to Park’s image on the screen. As the golf ball smoothly glides toward the hole and drops inside, the second word “advance” (naaga) appears. The third word “eventually” (kkŭnnae) appears as Park pumps her fists with joy. The last word “win” (igigira) is superimposed over the image of Park kissing the championship trophy. This triumphant scene is then replaced by an image of the Korean national flag. The whole announcement ends with a still frame stating that Koreans are back in the race on the fiftieth year of the Republic of Korea to establish the second founding of the country. The message was clear; Park’s resolute determination, which led her to victory echoed Korea’s hope for a speedy recovery from economic hardship (Hong 2006, 274–275). The sound track for this sixty-second announcement was a truncated version of Kim Minki’s song “Sangnoksu” (Evergreen Tree 1979) sung by Yang Hŭi-ŭn. In fact, those words in the announcement “[we will] attack [and] advance eventually [to] win (kkaech’igo naaga kkŭnnae iggira)” are the last four words of the last verse of the song. Four years later, the song once more made an appearance on TV. One of the most memorable images from the 2002 Korean presidential election was a TV advertisement featuring the then candidate Roh Moo Hyun of the ruling Millennium Democratic Party (Yŏ 2011).3 In this advertisement, again sixty seconds in length, Roh is playing a guitar while singing the first verse of “Sangnoksu.” “Sangnoksu” became the musical identifier for Roh. When Roh won the election to be the sixteenth President of the Republic of Korea, the song was a part of the official program for his inaugural day celebration. After finishing his term in 2008, he became embroiled in a political scandal. He committed suicide in the following year, and this song was prominently sung at his funeral. Five days after his death, Korea’s award-winning TV news program Tolbal yŏngsang (Pop-up Images) aired “21 nyŏnjŏn No Mu-hyŏn” (Roh Moo-Hyun 21 Years Ago). Throughout the whole length of the program, the song was used as a soundtrack. It begins with an archival footage of Roh in which he was practicing the song with his wife. As his voice fades out, Yang Hŭi-ŭn’s voice enters to continue the song while words—an excerpt of a speech he made as a first-term member of the National Assembly in 1988—appear on the screen. Another well-known Kim Min-ki song is “Ach’imisŭl” (Morning Dew 1971). According to cultural critic Lee Young Mee (a.k.a. Yi Yŏng-mi), this song was the favorite among university students until the end of the 1980s (Lee 1993, 100). Meari, a singing club at Seoul National University and the birthplace of the Korean “Song Movement” (Hwang 2006), always opened their concerts with the song. It was heard repeatedly during the June Democracy Movement (June Uprising) of 1987. The song’s enduring legacy is testified by the fact that it, along with “Sangnoksu,” appears in the list of the 100 most legendary Korean popular songs compiled by the Korean music channel Mnet in 2013.4 Although commonly regarded as political songs, the impetus behind the creation of both songs had no deliberate political intention. Yang Hŭi-ŭn who sang “Ach’imisŭl” in her 1971 debut album states that Kim Min-ki and Yang never considered the song to be a political protest song (“Yang Hŭi-ŭn” 2007). In fact, it was initially identified as a kŏnjŏngayo (wholesome popular song) (Sŏ 2005, 299) due to its compositional style and lyrical content, which clearly distinguished itself from ppongtchak (trot) songs prevalent at that time (Hwang 2000); the song even received an award for its “wholesome” merit. As for “Sangnoksu,” Kim composed it as a nuptial song to celebrate a joint wedding ceremony of garment factory workers in 1978.

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Despite no direct inference to a political struggle in their conceptions, the words of the songs could be interpreted as activists’ yearning for a democratic society. Soon the songs took on a life of their own as protest songs and, as soon as they became considered as protest songs, both were banned by the dictatorial regime of President Park Chung Hee. This unexpected turn of events fueled the songs’ popularity even further among dissidents, eventually becoming two of the most well-known protest songs of the 1970s and the 1980s. But the songs’ journey did not stop there. When the government lifted the restriction on the most banned songs of 1987 at the height of the democratization movement (Mun 2004, 152), the ban on these two songs was also lifted. As they started to make much more frequent appearances in the public airwaves, they went through yet another reincarnation, this time as the “people’s songs” (kungmin norae), also known as the “people’s popular songs” (kungmin kayo). Considering that the term the “people” (kungmin) is employed as an attributive noun in front of another noun to denote any entity supposedly loved by all the people of Korea (such as “people’s actor,” “people’s singer,” “people’s little sister,” and even “people’s snack food”), the revered status of the songs as the “people’s songs” testifies their universal appeal in the contemporary Korea, and this is the context in which Kim’s songs were being employed in the afore-mentioned 1998 public service announcement and the 2002 Roh’s political ad. Then how did these two songs, non-political at the time of their conceptions in the 1970s, become the symbols of political dissent in the 1980s, but then later make yet another turn as national go-to songs to express the collective yearning and volition in the twenty-first century? When discussing the songs’ enduring popularity, many offer explanations by focusing on the metaphorical significance in their lyrics (Yi 2013, 85–87; Yu 2010; Hong 2006, 274; Ko 2006, 406; Lee 2006, 261; Yi 2003, 151; An 1993, 30; Yi 1993). Yet I posit the words as the projected symbols with their myriad possibilities might not be the only reason that propelled the songs’ ascent to their popularity and Kim as the legend. The power of the songs—as a matter of fact,

Figure 11.1 Two Records by Yang Hu˘i-u˘n, Where “Ach’imisu˘l” (1971) and “Sangnoksu” (1979), Both Penned by Kim Min-ki, are Included Respectively.

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the reverence that Kim Min-ki’s complete oeuvres collectively garner—may also come from Kim Min-ki’s biography. Kim Min-ki To this date, seven noteworthy sources have gone beyond pieced portrayals of Kim Min-ki by providing a holistic narrative of his life: chronological accounts in two of his namesake books (Kim 1986 and 2004); a bibliographical entry in Grove Music Online; newspaper entries appearing in the May 23, 1993 edition of The Dong-A Ilbo and April 3 and 10, 2015 editions of Hankyoreh; a chronological account of his life in a booklet included in the 1995 CD collection of Kim Minki’s complete works; and a Korean Wikipedia entry. The following compilation of the events in his life is based on these sources. Kim Min-ki was born on March 31, 1951 as the youngest of ten children in Iri, North Chŏlla Province, a southwestern part of the Korean peninsula. His mother was a midwife and his father a doctor, although Kim had no memory of his father who was killed by the North Korean army before he was born. From the tender age of three or four, he had to stay home alone all day while his mother and siblings were at work or school. A vivid memory of loneliness and the fear he felt at the sound of siren alerting air-defense drills or during nightly blackout practices was permanently etched in his psyche. Some of the most noteworthy sound encounters during his early years influencing the formation of his musical sensitivity were the occasional barking of dogs, the ticking sounds of a pendulum clock, and the pattering of raindrops during those blackouts. When he had to endure long hours of solitude at home, he learned to entertain himself by drawing pictures on the bare ground with sticks. In 1963, he moved on from Chaedong Elementary School to Kyŏnggi Middle School, the most difficult middle school to gain acceptance in Korea academically at that time. Here Kim’s interest in art continued. He also started to develop his ear for music under the influence of his third older sister who was pursuing a degree in piano performance at Seoul National University. The only musical instrument he was able to play until the end of his middle school years was a ukulele. When he entered Kyŏnggi High School in 1966—again, the most difficult high school at which to gain acceptance at that time—he became an owner of his very first musical instrument: a guitar, a present from the third older sister. He was self-taught to play the instrument and soon became known in his high school for his masterful skills. In 1969 he entered Seoul National University—the most prestigious institution in Korea— as an art major. In order to earn money, he formed a singing duo with his high school classmate and started performing at a tea house. In the following year Yang Hŭi-ŭn, then an aspiring singer, asked Kim to be her accompanist. Yang ended up including Kim Min-ki’s two original compositions—“Ach’imisŭl” and “Kŭ nal” (That Day)—in her 1971 debut solo album as well.5 Like many other t’ong-guitar singers of the time, Kim frequented Ch’ŏnggaeguri Hall (Blue Frog Hall), a music hall in Myŏngdong considered to have started the t’ong-guitar boom. One of the supporters of the hall, music critic Ch’oe Kyŏng-sik, recognized Kim’s talent as a singersongwriter and arranged a recording deal for him. The result was his first album, which includes “Ach’imisŭl” in Side B Track 2, released in 1971 with Ch’oe’s introduction in the back of the cover.6 Based on the fact that he was accepted by the most competitive middle school, high school, and university in the country, he must have been academically gifted. Although college-educated

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Figure 11.2 Different Versions of the Debut Album by Kim Min-ki (1971).

singers were rare at that time, his life’s story up to this point still would not necessarily yield any clue as to how he went on to become a legend. But a legendary figure Kim did become, and one may find significance in a series of events that started in the winter of 1971. As Kim was becoming known as a singer-songwriter that winter, he met Kim Chi-ha (b. 1941), a dissident poet and playwright who was imprisoned due to the publication of his 1970 poem “Ojŏk” (Five Bandits) that satirized those in power. Kim Min-ki joined the gatherings of likeminded intellectuals that Kim Chi-ha assembled to discuss the future of Korea. He gained a new awareness of history and the reality of the world surrounding him, and this fueled him to even open a night school to offer classes for the underprivileged. In the spring of 1972, he was invited to lead a sing-along during a freshman orientation session for the College of Liberal Arts and Science of the Seoul National University. He sang three songs for the occasion: “We Shall Overcome,” the well-known anthem of the U.S. civil rights movement; “Haebangga” (Song of Liberation 1946); and his own composition “Kkot p’iunŭn ai” (A Child Blooming a Flower 1971). The rose of Sharon—the Korean national flower— in the lyric of the last song could be construed as a metaphor for democracy (Hwang 2006). The very next day after the performance, he was taken to a police station and held in custody while those records remaining in the market were all confiscated. He stated that he had not been much interested in student activism up until that point, but this incident inadvertently placed him at its forefront as a political dissident (Kim 1993). One of his namesake books (Kim 1986) describes a particular episode that left an indelible impression on him. During the summer of 1972, Kim went to a picnic with factory workers. As he was watching fishing vessels in the glow of the sunset, he muttered “Ah, that’s splendid!” A female factory worker who heard his mutter retorted by saying “That’s what they have to do to make living. What is so splendid about it?” Kim felt he had been struck by an iron fist. He started to question his sensitivity and “intellectual” ways of looking at things. He withdrew from the world of art and gave away his cherished guitar.

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Meanwhile, as all ablebodied Korean men must do, he did compulsory military service from 1974 to 1977. While he was away in the military service, his songs took on a life of their own as noted above; they were sung repeatedly during protest rallies as the anti-government sentiment continued to escalate. In 1975 his song “Ach’imisŭl” was officially banned by the government as they censored organization (ban number 912). According to the National Archives of Korea documentation and Hanguk kŭmjigkok ŭi sahoesa (Social History of Censored Songs in Korea) by Mun Ok-pae, the reasons for banning songs from February 1968 to 1983 were: lyricists’ defection to North Korea (seventy-eight songs), vulgarity and decadence (seventy-seven songs), Japanese style (seventy-five songs), plagiarism (sixty-one songs), lyrical vulgarity (thirty-seven songs), lyrical decadence (thirty-two songs), nihilism/grief/sorrow/instigating distrust (thirtyfour songs), lowbrow singing style (fifteen songs), indecency (eleven songs), crudity (four songs), undignified (four songs), and other (twenty-four songs) (2004, 147). The officially stated reason for the banning of Kim Min-ki’s “Ach’imisŭl” was very vague: “unfit for broadcasting.” Yang Hŭi-ŭn, appearing on the TV celebrity interview program Hwanggŭmŏjang murŭp’aktosa (The Guru Show) on October 24, 2007, also indicated that nobody was able to pinpoint an exact reason why the song had to be banned. The speculation was that this song, chosen as a recipient of a wholesome song award at an earlier time, was now banned just because the song, which was sung frequently at student protest rallies, was composed by Kim Min-ki, now an objectionable figure to the eyes of the government due to his participation at the SNU’s freshmen orientation session. Kim was no longer able to release any of his songs under his own name because they could not be approved by the censorship governing body. He had to employ an unorthodox method, and the result was Yang Hŭi-ŭn’s 1978 album, which contained Kim Min-ki’s songs under the pretense that others wrote his songs. Out of nine songs in Yang’s album, seven, including “Sangnoksu,” were by Kim Min-ki. But his name did not appear anywhere in the album. According to the credit in the back of the record jacket, for example, Kim A-yŏng, not Kim Min-ki, was noted as the composer/lyricist of “Sangnoksu.” Regardless, this album was soon banned as well. Apparently the censoring body knew the true authorship of the songs. Realizing that any song he wished to release through official channels, with or without his name attached, would be banned, and because he no longer wanted to be “dragged on and on by the twisted reality of his song making endeavor” (Kim 1993), Kim started to explore other vehicles for his creativity, such as Korean exorcism rituals, plays, and musicals. Meanwhile, he took jobs as a manual laborer at a sewing factory, a farmhand, a tenant farmer, a coal miner, and a construction worker. Kim “worked with countless beautiful people who live on this land while laughing and crying together, and those were happy days” (Kim 1993). When a fire destroyed everything he owned in 1983, he decided to move back to Seoul to return to intellectual projects. Yet his efforts to produce a children’s musical and a record failed again because any cultural project involving him could not pass the government censorship. In 1985 he got married. In 1987 the June Democracy Movement (a.k.a. the June Uprising) overthrew the autocratic Fifth Republic of Korea ushering in the Sixth Republic, the present day government of Korea. Finally, after twenty-two years of forced internal exile, Kim Min-ki was able to publicly release a four-volume album of his collective works under his own name in 1993. Since then, he has reinvented himself again, this time as an administrator. From the end of the twentieth century he has been the president of a performance venue, Hakchŏn, to explore ways to create original rock musicals and children’s theater Korean style. Hakchŏn became a

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cradle for many actors and singers who later became household names in Korea. He also produced a musical Chihach’ŏl Il hosŏn (Subway Line One), which, with 4,000 performances in 15 years until 2008, it still stands as the longest running musical in the history of Korea (Kim 2015). The Making of a Legend Korean Wikipedia entry defines Kim Min-ki as a “singer, lyricist, composer, arranger, playwright, theater director, musical impresario, musical director, and musical producer.” Yet, examining various writings and media sources would reveal that only selective facets of his life tend to have been highlighted over and over again in conjunction with the songs that he composed during his youthful years; they focus on his hardship as a political dissident during the 1970s, thus fostering an enigmatic and eccentric image. In fact, the title of The Dong-A Ilbo’s article in 1993 underscores his enigma: “Kim Min-ki: Eccentric Singer of Our Time.” Without a doubt, he is singularly eccentric if you consider the nature of the business he was engaged in as a singer-songwriter. In 2013 when Kim Min-ki was chosen as one of the 100 legendary musicians in the history of Korean popular music, music critic Im Chin-mo wrote: The general pattern of a popular singer is to garner people’s attention by singing. If so, it is hard to identify Kim Min-ki as a popular singer or star. He released only one album during his heyday and only few songs in the album, such as “Paramgwa na” (Wind and I 1971), were ever broadcast. “Ach’imisŭl,” another song appearing in the album, came to be known by the public as the song Yang Hŭi-ŭn sang, not the song Kim Min-ki composed. He had no stage or broadcasting career. Publicity and marketing endeavors are essential to singers. But Kim did not participate in any of those activities through which people could get to know him. Yet, in the history of Korean popular music, his name and status are absolute and massive. Even though he rejects his identity as a singer by stating that “I am by no means a singer!,” he continues to demonstrate his influence as a legendary figure in music: Although his active participation as a popular singer was limited, he has been constantly referred to and documented as a legendary musician because he introduced a new paradigm for singer-songwriters to the youth culture. Because of him, the purity of soul that faces the world and the intelligence that accompanies deep contemplation have places in the world of popular music. It is rare to find a musician who has left such an indelible mark without achieving any commercial success. (Im 2013, translated by Okon Hwang). As Yang Hŭi-ŭn speculated in The Guru Show interview in 2007, if the government did not ban “Ach’imisŭl,” it might have run its course like many other mayflies and disappeared from public awareness afterwards. If Kim was able to release “Sangnoksu” under his own name, the mystique surrounding the song, which impelled its popularity among anti-government activists, would not have been that palpable. Yet, the government’s heavy-handed manner, which induced forced silence, propelled the mysterious aura about him during the days when mysticism had yet to be utilized as a marketing ploy by celebrities. I postulate that this mysticism, which created

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an enigmatic aura around Kim, is an impetus that pushed his songs to take a firm foothold in the ephemeral world of popular music and established the basis for their ensuing longevity. If so, the defining factor, which established “Ach’imisŭl” and “Sangnoksu” as people’s songs and Kim Min-ki as the legend was, ironically, the autocratic regime of Park Chung Hee. Notes 1 2 3 4 5

6

The crisis is now commonly referred to by Koreans as simply “the IMF” due to the major role played by the International Monetary Fund in handling the crisis. Available for viewing at http://youtube.com/watch?v=tMkjyQM-WN4. Available for viewing at http://youtube.com/watch?v=UWSKDZVCkGg. The list of the 100 most legendary Korean popular songs covers from 1964 to 2012. By prominently featuring blue jeans and guitar, the photo image on the album cover emphasizes Yang Hŭi-ŭn’s identity as a t’ong-guitar singer. The photo image is available at http://maniadb.com/album/100439. “Ach’imisŭl” is in Side A Track 1. Among ten songs, seven are cover versions of foreign songs and three are newly composed, out of which two—“Ach’imisŭl” and “Kŭ nal”—are by Kim Min-ki. The record contains ten entries. Most of them are by Kim Min-ki: words and melodies of seven songs, an instrumental music entry, and the lyric of a foreign cover song. The record also includes one song for which lyrics and melody are by Han Tae-su. “Sangnoksu,” with its original title “Kŏch’irŭn tŭlp’an e p’urŭrŭn sollip ch’ŏrŏm” (Like Green Pine Needles in the Harsh Field), appears in Side A Track 1.

Bibliography “21 nyŏnjŏn No Mu-hyŏn” [21 Years Ago Roh Moo-Hyun]. May 28, 2009. Tolbal yŏngsang [Pop-up Images]. Seoul: YTN news channel. Television. “Ach’imisŭl” [Morning Dew]. Tusan paekkwa [Doosan Encyclopedia]. Retrieved March 30, 2014, from http://terms. naver.com/entry.nhn?docId=1216691&cid=40942&categoryId=33046. An, Sŏk-hŭi. 1993. “Nodong Kayo ŭi Chŏn’gae wa Chŏnmang” [The Development and the Future of Labor Popular Songs]. Norae 4 [Song 4] by Kim Ch’ang-nam et al. Seoul: Silch’ŏn munhaksa. Chŏng, Sŏng-ho. 2006. Chungnyŏn ŭi sahoehak [Middle Age Sociology]. Seoul: Sallim. Hong, Sŏng-t’ae. 2006. Hyŏndae han’guk saghoe ŭi Munhwajŏk hyŏngsŏng [The Cultural Formation in Contemporary Korean Society]. Seoul: Hyŏnsil munhwa yŏn’gu [Study of Realistic Culture]. Hwang, Okon. 2000. “Korean Pop.” In World Music the Rough Guide, Volume 2: Latin and North America, Caribbean, India, Asia and Pacific, edited by Simon Broughton and Mark Ellingham, 164–166. London: Rough Guides. —— . 2006. “The Ascent and Politicization of Pop Music in Korea: From the 1960s to the 1980s.” In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard, 34–47. Kent, United Kingdom: Global Oriental. Im, Chin-mo. Feb. 13, 2013. “Rejŏndŭ 100 in: Kim Min-ki, ch’ŏngnyŏn munhwa rŭl noraehan p’ok’ŭ myujisyŏn” [Legend 100 Artists: Kim Min-ki, Folk Musician Who Sang Youth Culture]. Mnet. Retrieved April 8, from http://mnet. interest.me/special/5384. Kim, Ch’ang-nam, ed. 1986. Kim Min-ki. Seoul: Hanul. —— , ed. 2004. Kim Min-ki. Seoul: Hanul. —— . “Kim Min-ki.” Grove Music Online. Retrieved March 30, 2014, from http://oxfordmusiconline.com.www.consuls. org/subscriber/article/grove/music/49815?q=Kim+Min-gi&search=quick&pos=1&_start=1#firsthit. “Kim Min-ki (Singer)”. Korean Wikipedia. Retrieved April 10, 2013, from http://ko.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title= %EA%B9%80%EB%AF%BC%EA%B8%B0_(%EA%B0%80%EC%88%98)&oldid=11536765. Kim Min-ki, transcribed by Yi To-sŏng. (May 23, 1993). “Kim Min-ki: Sidae ka naŭn kiin kasu” [Kim Min-ki: Eccentric Singer of Our Time].” The Dong-A Ilbo, 15. Retrieved from http://newslibrary.naver.com/viewer/index.nhn? articleId=1993052300209115001&edtNo=40&printCount=1&publishDate=1993-05-23&officeId=00020&pageNo= 15&printNo=22179&publishType=00010. —— , interviewed by Yi Chin-sun and transcribed by Ham Kyu-wŏn. (2015, April 3 and 10). “Ach’imisŭl, kŭsaram” [Morning Dew, That Person]. Han’gyŏrae. Retrieved from http://www.hani.co.kr/arti/culture/culture_general/ 685444.html and http://www.hani.co.kr/arti/society/society_general/686352.html. Kim, Wŏn. 2013. “ ‘Pak Ch’ŏnghŭi yusin ŭi kŭmgi rŭl nŏmŏsŏryŏnŭn yongmang’—1970 nyŏndae ch’ŏngnyŏn, taejungmunhwa” [Desire to overcome the “Taboos of Park Chung-Hee’s Yushin”—The 1970s’ Youth, Popular Culture]. The Kyunghyang Sinmun. Retrieved October 25, 2013 from http://news.khan.co.kr/kh_news/khan_art_ view.html?artid=201310251725001&code=960100. Ko, Chong-sŏk. 2006. Mogugŏ ŭi soksal [Bare Skin of Mother Tongue]. Seoul: Maŭmsanch’aek. Lee, Young Mee. 1993. Norae iyagi chumŏni [Song Story Pocket]. Seoul: Noktu. —— . 2006. Han’guk Taejung Kayosa [A History of Korean Popular Song]. Seoul: Minsokwŏn.

The Kim Min-ki Legend • 141 Mnet rejŏndŭ 100 at’isŭtŭ chejakt’im [Legend 100 Artist Production Team]. 2013. Rejŏndŭ 100 at’isŭtŭ: Taehanmin’guk ŭmak ŭi palgyŏn [Legend 100 Artist: Discovery of Korean Music]. Seoul: Han’gwŏn ŭi ch’aek. Mun, Ok-pae. 2004. Hanguk kŭmjigok ŭi sahoesa [A Social History of Censored Songs in Korea]. Seoul: Yesol. National Archives of Korea. “Kŭmjikok mit haejegok mongnok” [List of Banned Songs and Unbanned Songs]. Retrieved April 8, 2014, from http://theme.archives.go.kr/next/tabooAutonomy/forbidenSongList.do. Seoul National University Meari. 1989. Meari. Seoul: Saekil. Sŏ, Chung-sŏk. 2005. Han’guk hyŏndaesa [Modern Korean History]. Seoul: Ungjin chisik hausŭ. “Yang Hee-eun.” October 24, 2007. Hwanggŭmŏjang murŭp’aktosa [The Guru Show]. Seoul: MBC. Television.Yi, Haesuk and Son U-sŏk. 2003. Han’guk taechung ŭmaksa [History of Popular Music in Korea]. Seoul: Rijŭ aen puk [Ries & Book]. Yi, Sang-ch’an. May 1998. “Kukch’ae posang undong gwa IMF ‘kŭmmoŭgi undong ŭi hŏgusŏng” [National Debt Redemption Movement and Unrealistic Gold Gathering Campaign]. Yŏksapip’yŏng [History Criticism] 43: 15–23. Yi, Su-jŏng(a). 2013. “70 nyŏndae han’guk p’ok’ŭ ŭmag e kwanhan yŏn’gu: Yang Hi-ŭn gwa Kim Min-ki rŭl chungsim ŭro” [A study on the Korean Folk Music in the 70s: Focusing on Yang Heeun and Kim Minki]. Master’s thesis, Chungwoon University. Yi, Su-jŏng(b). 1993. Norae iyaki chumŏni [A Pocket for Song Stories]. Seoul: Noktu. Yŏ, Yŏng-hae. 2011. “TV chŏngch’i kwanggo yangsang e kwanhan yŏn’gu” [A Study on the Aspects of TV Political Advertising]. Master’s thesis, Inje University. Yu, Kwŏng-jong and Yu Yŏng-kŏn. 2010. “Kim Min-ki p’ok’ŭ ŭmak ŭi miŭisik e kwanhan yŏn’gu [Study of Aesthetic Consciousness in Kim Min-ki’s Folk Music]. Ŭmak kwa minjok [Music and People] 40: 181–204.

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12 Seo Taiji Syndrome Rise of Korean Youth and Cultural Transformation through Global Pop Music Styles in the Early 1990s Eun-Young Jung

As in many other countries, Korea has borrowed a great deal from popular culture of the United States and has been heavily influenced by its global images and values. However, while some forms of global culture are directly imitated by local people, most undergo a degree of transformation in adapting to local issues and values.1 In the case of Korea’s adaptation of global pop music styles during the early 1990s, local youth drew on these styles to serve local social and aesthetic needs, challenging the older generation’s overpowering control, particularly the authority of the educational system. This chapter examines the revolutionary shift in Korean pop music during the early 1990s, articulated with the rise of the so-called sinsedae (new generation). This generation comprised those born during the early and mid-1970s and found its representative voice in Seo Taiji, who introduced dance-oriented rap music via hip-hop culture through his mainstream debut song “Nan arayo” (I Know) in 1992.2 We can argue that Seo Taiji’s syntheses of American pop music styles are not just simple, wholesale adoptions, but constitute instead an efficient localization of global lexicons selectively redefined for the needs and sensibilities of Korean youth. Seo Taiji’s music has been understood by Korean audiences as an important cultural icon with direct relevance to Korea, rather than an exercise in derivative stylistic imitation. To understand the impact of Seo Taiji’s music, it is important to review it in the context of its time and its audience first. The Political and Social Environment Fully implemented by President Park Chung Hee (in office: 1963–1979) and enhanced by President Chun Doo Hwan (a.k.a. Chŏn Du-hwan, in office: 1980–1987), the Korean economy grew rapidly, but under a cloud of political repression. As conflicts between the government and the public increased during the mid- and late 1980s, Chun’s solution to growing public protest involved using military actions and police suppression under which many civilians were imprisoned and killed (Kim, Yŏng-myŏng 1999, 243–330). In 1987, Chun finally bowed to domestic unrest and international pressure as Korea prepared to host the 1988 Summer Olympics, and announced a change in the constitution to allow free elections. Nevertheless, a former general and Chun’s close colleague, Roh Tae Woo (a.k.a. No T’ae-u) assumed power. During

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the Roh administration (1988–1993), public protest decreased and Korea entered a transitional period toward a more democratic society, but the oppressive educational system developed in previous decades continued. Korea had evolved its own unique national identity, but one that redefined and sharpened class distinctions based on educational background and achievement (Adams and Gottlieb 1993, 3). Among college graduates, the prestige gained by attending a university was an important mark of social status.3 The educational system historically played a crucial role in influencing political behavior and maintaining power in Korea, imposing militaristic rules and conditions (Korean Educational Development Institute 1985, 13). Entrance exams at each level created an enormously competitive environment.4 Parents believed that the education of their children was their foremost responsibility. Thus, students were placed under tremendous pressure. Teachers employed a “spying system,” where students reported on each other and where misconduct or belowaverage marks brought punishment, creating an atmosphere of paranoia and anxiety. To enhance performance, different classrooms were created such as the “winner’s classroom” (udŭngban) and “loser’s classroom” (yŏldŭngban). Communal punishment, established as a method of control during the Japanese colonial period, remained the norm (Seth 2002, 18–32). In 1993, under the subsequent administration of Kim Young Sam (a.k.a. Kim Yŏng-sam), Korea began to democratize and the educational system also began to change. Violent physical punishment was reduced and students were permitted to apply to more than one university. However, the pressure for students to perform remained pervasive, and a number of students still committed suicide or ran away from home. The Rise of Korean Youth: Sinsedae In the early 1990s, Korea witnessed the rise of a new generation (sinsedae), whose values, lifestyles and mind-set were fundamentally different from the older generation (kisŏngsedae), because of growing economic prosperity. Sinsedae in a narrow sense refers to those born during the early and mid-1970s who grew up in urban areas watching American TV shows, listening to American popular music, eating American fast food, and consuming American fashion. The aegis of the new generation had spread throughout the middle class affluent youth by the early 1990s, and valued individuality over the old Confucian ideology of family and community. The youth had not shared the political conflicts and economic difficulties experienced by the older generation; most had grown up in nuclear families, where busy urban lifestyles displaced traditional Confucian values. The older repressive educational system was not suited for them, and conflict arose as individualism rejected the demands for academic achievement. By the beginning of the 1990s, Korea’s rapidly globalizing marketplace led Korean youth towards the adaptation and imitation of emerging global culture in their own popular culture, filtered through foreign, and especially American, media (Buzo 2002, 165–169). Local singers’ imitations of older American pop styles and the sentimental “ballad” style songs were losing their appeal. Since most of the youth were not allowed time for recreation such as sports, listening to music on personal cassette players and watching television served as relief from their daily pressures. As Hosokawa (1984, 166) and Bennett (2000, 34) point out, technology and music became common aspects of many young people’s day-to-day existence. This was Korea’s first generation with disposable income, and industries began to target them as significant consumers. Pop music, fashion, foods, cosmetics, electronics, and computer games became symbols of the new generation’s identity.

How 1990s Pop Music Transformed Youth • 145

The news media sounded an alarm about the negative impact of American pop music after a female junior high school student was trampled by the crowd at an American boy band (New Kids on the Block) concert in Seoul in February 1992. A month later, Seo Taiji formed Seo Taiji and Boys with two backup dancers (Yi Chu-no and Yang Hyŏn-Sŏk) and released the first rap song, “Nan arayo,” wearing baggy pants, oversized t-shirts, sunglasses, and baseball hats on backwards. The conservative media immediately criticized the band for their foreign music style and ill-mannered stage performance. Seo Taiji’s first album is primarily dance-oriented music often supported by light rap sections. Despite bitter remarks from music critics and older pop singers following their first television appearance, the album sold more than 1,500,000 copies and the trio became an instant cultural sensation. Within a few weeks of its release, it challenged mainstream Korean pop, and within four weeks the title song “Nan arayo” topped major music charts (Sin 1997, 32). “Nan arayo” is considered by many to be the first Korean rap song.

Figure 12.1 The Eponymous Debut Album by Seo Taiji and Boys (Bando, BDL-0023, 1992).

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Although a few local singers and comedians had earlier attempted to adopt rap to their repertoire, they had failed to gain substantial audience support because they had solely focused on dancing and tended to use many English words.5 Unlike the earlier singers, Seo Taiji’s careful enunciation of lyrics in Korean was understandable and engaging. His young audience rapidly absorbed the lyrics and imitated the group’s break dancing and fashion style, while their elders saw rap as representing a vulgar and dangerous dimension of American Black culture.6 But Seo’s initial adaptation was not strongly reminiscent of the American genre: his childlike face, youthful fashion, playful dancing, and the song’s love theme were far from the images and lyrics of African American rap singers. His adaptation of rap was articulated through other musical sounds, images, and messages, and did not directly index African American culture to his Korean listeners, even though analysts would find considerable musical and visual similarities. Seo’s direct relevance to youth, particularly through the two songs released in subsequent albums and discussed below, resulted in masses of teenage fans who worship him as their hero and representative voice. As the new generation became widely associated by the media with Seo Taiji and his socio-cultural impact (the “Seo Taiji Syndrome”) the new generation was often described as the “Seo Taiji Generation.” His impact on the pop music industry was immense, and mainstream Korean pop literally shifted from slow, sentimental ballad songs toward faster, dance-oriented songs with increased visual focus, allowing a clear distinction to be made between the music of youth and adult audiences. From this point the youth became dominant in the broadcast and marketing of Korean pop (Kang 1995, 64–87). Kyosil Idea In 1994, Seo Taiji and Boys released the song “Kyosil Idea” (Classroom Ideology).7 Along with its heavy metal sounds and shouting/rapping, influenced by the Beastie Boys and others,8 its provocative message, denouncing the dehumanizing educational system, surprised the entire nation. A number of movies had covered similar ground, including Haengbogŭn sŏngjŏksuni anijanayo (Happiness is Not Based on Grade Ranking 1989), among others,9 but had little social impact. Seo Taiji wanted to bring social change and targeted the educational system: Although I left high school to concentrate on music, I hadn’t really liked school. I thought it nonsensical that teachers hit students and I would often run away from the classroom when a teacher tried to hit me. Since I could not handle the overload of homework, and since my school did not approve of my interest in music, I decided to leave . . . When I wrote “Kyosil Idea,” I wanted to express myself as strongly as possible, because I had been so deeply hurt and unsatisfied about school. I particularly hated the way that so many people wasted their lives just in order to enter university (quoted in Lee 1999, 158–160 and 175, translated by the author). Prior to this song, no singer had dared to criticize such basic social institutions so powerfully, and it became a matter of instant concern for the authorities. Violent visual images in the music video and provocative lyrics led to the song being banned from television and radio. Conservative religious figures, educators, and parent groups criticized Seo Taiji and his music as a bad influence. But the government had let the lyrics pass censorship prior to its release (Lee 1999, 102), and many students took its message as a truthful representation.

How 1990s Pop Music Transformed Youth • 147

Figure 12.2 The Third Album by Seo Taiji and Boys (Bando, BDL-0039, 1994), Where “Kyosil Idea” (Classroom Ideology) is Included.

The song can be categorized as metal rap, inspired by the hardcore rap and heavy metal of groups such as the Beastie Boys, Rage Against the Machine, and Cypress Hill, groups favored by Seo Taiji.10 Efforts to fuse the two genres together tended to focus not on rap’s linguistic and rhythmic complexity, but on the intensity achieved by shouting the lyrics with powerful emotion. Seo Taiji commented: “I think rap and metal have a lot in common and ultimately aim at the same thing, expressing strong messages” (quoted in Lee 1999, 169–170, translated by the author). His earlier musical experience as a member of heavy metal group Sinawi was influential, and he had also collaborated with artists on the American and Canadian west coast who exposed him to many different American styles. “Kyosil Idea” was recorded at the Conway Recording Studio in Los Angeles and mixed at the Green House Recording Studio in Vancouver by local engineers.11

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The text is translated below.12 Part B describes the uniform classroom atmosphere; students feel that their youth is being wasted. Their school experience is like being in prison; they feel like criminals in the eyes of the system. After a short guitar interlude, part C describes the parental stance: concern that their offspring succeed and be competitive. Part D insists that students change their attitudes to free themselves from misery and urges them to assert themselves, rather than expect the system to change. In the second half, B1 criticizes parents and describes Table 12.1 The Lyrics of “Kyosil Idea” (Classroom Ideology) Section

Part

Line

Text

Intro

1'01"

Section I A

1

Enough. Enough. Enough. Enough.

2

Enough of that kind of teaching. Enough.

B

3

Already enough. Enough. Already enough. Enough.

4

Every morning by 7:30, you put us into a small classroom.

5

And force the same things into all nine million children’s heads.

6

These dark closed classroom walls are swallowing us up.

7

My life is too precious to be wasted here.

Guitar Solo

Time

1'12"

1'35" 1'46"

C

8

I will make you more expensive than the kid next to you.

9

Step on their heads one by one! You can be more successful.

D

10

Why don’t you change instead of wasting your life?

11

Why don’t you change instead of wishing that others would change?

Bridge

1'57" 2'09" 2'40"

Section II A

B’

12

Enough. Enough. Enough. Enough.

13

Enough of that kind of teaching. Enough.

14

Already enough. Enough. Already enough. Enough.

15

From elementary school to middle school, then to high school,

16

To present us in nice wrapping paper,

17

They send us to the gift wrapping store,

18

They wrap us in wrapping paper called ‘college.’

19

Think now!

20

Hiding behind a college degree, try to act cool.

21

These times have passed.

22

Be honest! You will know it.

Guitar Solo C D

2'51"

3'15" 3'25"

23

I will make you more expensive than the kid next to you.

24

Step on their heads one by one! You can be more successful.

25

Why don’t you change instead of wasting your life?

26

Why don’t you change instead of wishing that others would change?

D

27

Why don’t you change instead of wasting your life?

28

Why don’t you change instead of wishing that others would change? Ah!

A

29

Enough. Enough. Enough. Enough.

30

Enough of that kind of teaching. Enough.

3'37"

4'06" 4'18"

How 1990s Pop Music Transformed Youth • 149

the unfortunate truth that success is based on receiving a degree from a top college. There is no need to pretend that they share their parents’ goals. Seo attacks the system and urges students to stand up for themselves. Although the formal and musical styles in “Kyosil Idea” are close to conventional metal rap, musical elements are used to amplify specific messages. Different vocal timbres are used to represent a dialogue between students and parents, coinciding with the song’s sectional divisions. In A, Seo Taiji uses regular rapping to express the students’ voices, and the chorus echoes, “Enough.” In C, he adopts a sarcastic tone, using regular rapping to express parents’ voices. The chorus remains silent, suggesting that the parents’ wishes are to be ignored. In D, guest vocal An Hŭng-ch’an’s extremely low and rough shouting rap augments the powerful message, and he gives the concluding statement, louder and more aggressively than any other part of the song, marking a symbolic triumph for the students. The song’s music video was not distributed commercially, but live concert footage was included in Seo Taiji and Boys’ “Goodbye Music Video: [The &],” produced as the group’s final presentation in 1996 as they announced they were to disband.13 This presented a slightly different version of the song. Accompanied by the “Air” from Handel’s “Water Music,” large TV screens onstage show a clip containing images of textbooks in disarray, desks, and students with drooping heads facing an exam. A silhouette of a teacher shakes a student’s shoulders as the word kongbu (study) flashes up. The teacher distributes exams; then, in silhouette, he chokes a student’s neck and hits him with a stick. Finally, a large iron padlock fastens the school gate, as if it is a jail. Accompanied by a disturbing synthesizer sound, Seo appears on stage dressed in a militarystyle school uniform, inherited from the Japanese colonial period but remaining standard attire until 1982 and still common since. Behind a pedestal he gives a short speech: Every morning by 7:30, you put us into a small classroom and force the same things into all nine million children’s heads. Do you realize that you cannot do anything in this dark closed classroom? You are different from me and I am different from you. Why do we have to be the same? Why do you want so much? You have the right to learn what you want. School forces us to follow the same way and to pursue the same goal. In this dark closed classroom, your future is becoming more and more narrow.14 The song begins with the guest singer An Hŭng-ch’an, accompanied by his metal band, Crash. Unlike the original version of the song, this live video emphasizes and extends the metal sound and shouting vocals, amplifying the rhythmic and sound intensity. Come Back Home In 1995, Seo Taiji introduced Korea to a gangsta rap with his release of “Come Back Home.”15 This sequel to “Kyosil Idea” encourages runaway kids to return home. It is addressed to those who suffered most under the oppressive educational system and parental pressure, but beseeches them through the tough, in-your-face style of gangsta rap not to give up on society. The song follows the conventions of American West Coast gangsta rap, an edgy sound produced by synthesizer and rhythmic stressed bass, with guitars and drums densely layered. Gangsta rap (a.k.a. hardcore rap, reality rap)16 developed in the late 1980s, led by NWA, IceT, The Geto Boys, 2Pac and Dr. Dre (George 1998, 45–48; Krims 2000, 70–79). “Come Back Home” sounds similar to “I Ain’t Goin’ Out Like That” on Cypress Hill’s 1993 album, Black

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Figure 12.3 The Fourth Album by Seo Taiji and Boys (Bando, BDCD-028), Where “Come Back Home” is Included.

Sunday,17 and some Korean music critics claimed Seo Taiji copied it, but there are clear differences. The Cypress Hill song, for example, is largely based on regular rap and only includes subtle timbral change, but “Come Back Home” uses exaggerated “clenching sounds,” especially in the solo rap, amplifying different sound/vocal effects between Seo’s solos and his band. “I Ain’t Goin’ Out Like That” has two layers of fundamental metered and equally loud backing sounds— a high-pitched synthesizer and a low bass—and short rhythmic motives stay unchanged throughout. “Come Back Home” alternates the two basic layers with additional layers, manipulating the volume and length of the synthesizer sound, and using it only in parts of the song, while the bass has a less rhythmic and softer short motive, functioning as background while strong drumbeats provide rhythmic continuity. The song divides into parts based on different vocal styles coupled to distinct instrumental textures. There are five features forming

How 1990s Pop Music Transformed Youth • 151

individual sections, A, B, C, D, and E but, unlike “Kyosil Idea,” this song is through-composed, with the mix of vocal and instrumental textures creating complexity, except in D. The lyrics of American gangsta rap often invoke the ghetto realities of violence, misogyny, drugs, rape, and gun culture (George 1998, 23–27). No such extremes can be found in Korean inner-city communities. In “Come Back Home,” then, Seo’s focus remains on the marginalized youth living through hardships placed upon them by education and by the older generation’s Table 12.2 The Lyrics of “Come Back Home” Part

Line

Intro

0'15"

A

1

B

C D

C1

Text

What am I trying to find?

2

Where am I restlessly wandering?

3

I see the end of my life, feeling heavy in my heart.

4

My life is blocked by my fear for tomorrow.

5

After I see myself abandoned day after day.

6

I am not there. And, tomorrow is not there, either.

7

My rage toward this society is getting greater and greater.

8

Finally, it turned into disgust. Truths disappear at the tip of the tongue.

9

You must come back home.

10

To warm up the coldness of your heart,

11

You must come back home.

12

In this harsh life,

13

You must come back home.

14

To warm up the coldness of your heart,

15

You must come back home.

16

I will keep trying.

17

One more life is born and parents take charge.

18

No love for me. My painful tears have dried up.

19

The world is like an empty bubble. Hmm. Look around. Waiting for you.

20

Yes, that’s enough now. I wish I could fly in the sky.

21

Because we are still young and our future is good enough,

22

Here! Now wipe the cold tears out and come back home.

D

23–30

E

31

In the place to be! One, Two, Three.

32

In the place to be! In the place to be! In the place to be!

33

Although my exploding heart is driving me crazy,

34

Now, I know, (they) loved me.

1

B

0'35"

0'56" 1'06"

1'26"

1'57" 2'18"

D

35–42

A1

43

You must come back home. What am I (You must come back home.) trying to fine? (You must come back home.)

44

Where am I (You must come back home.) restlessly wandering?

45

What am I trying to find?

46

Where am I restlessly wandering?

A11

Duration

2'43" 2'53" 3'15"

3'37" 3'55"

152 • Eun-Young Jung

overshadowing control. The main voice in “Kyosil Idea” is that of students, and, similarly, “Come Back Home” is voiced by a student speaking about the oppressive nature of the system. The text is given above in translation.18 Part A portrays the runaway who finds himself completely lost in the world. Part B describes his desperate fear of the future; C expresses his despair. Part D transfers the speaker from the teenager to Seo, and by repeating “you” four times Seo emphasizes his plea to come home, encouraging the teenager to persevere. He moves from the pain that society and parents ignore to expressing hope and encouragement. E appears as a kind of interlude, repeating an English phrase three times—“The place” referring to home. B1 describes teenage emotions after wandering the streets and realizing there is no place like home out there in the real world. Part A returns but is musically slightly changed. In A1, the lyrics “You must come back home” are inserted four times, interrupting the text to communicate Seo’s message. By alternating the voices of the teenager and himself, Seo expresses support and understanding for runaways, a message more effectively conveyed than in the third person. An example of this dual representation appears as “I” becomes “We” in line 21. Seo was convincing; some runaways were reported who actually returned home. The music video of “Come Back Home” draws on American gangsta rap conventions, especially with respect to the shooting location. Gangsta rap videos often show the ghetto or are filmed in decaying buildings (Rose 1994, 9–10), and Seo’s video is set in an abandoned building and on inner city street corners. It begins as a male teenager runs out of a house after arguing with his father. The teenager wanders the woods, a large backyard, and street corners of the inner city, all juxtaposed with Seo Taiji and Boys along with dancers performing in the abandoned building dressed in typical hip-hop attire. The teenager’s distorted face and body gestures express his desperation as he recalls the argument. Suddenly, he is chased by a group of teenagers, thrown to the ground and beaten up. Between these scenes, Seo Taiji and Boys appear in the window of the teenager’s house singing. The teenager finally returns home, first looking in from outside on a sunny afternoon. The last scene turns into a ball of light that disappears into Seo’s palm, and ends with a close-up of Seo sitting in the abandoned building, smiling. The video faithfully serves the primary theme of the song, contrasting dark and scary street images with the bright and welcoming house. Rather than running away and suffering hardships on the streets, Seo asks runaways to come back and get a future. The message markedly contrasts with the images and texts we would expect in typical African American gangsta rap. Conclusion In this chapter, we have seen Seo Taiji’s rap music in relation to 1990s youth culture in Korea, showing how global cultural forms have been localized. Seo Taiji’s music is not a simple imitation of American pop but an efficient adaptation of styles that are selectively redefined and reproduced to meet the needs of Korean youth. While rap and metal were usually associated with confrontation in America, Seo Taiji’s use of these genres ranged from confrontation to supplication. He was not interested in maintaining full musical authenticity by embracing the totality of the ideology behind the idioms, but he took rap and metal as kinds of language that could be used to articulate what he wanted to express. His successful representation of his audience’s sensibilities made him a central figure of Korean pop and a highly influential cultural icon for the new generation. He is, then, considered a pioneer.

How 1990s Pop Music Transformed Youth • 153

Since Seo’s initial retirement in 1996, there have been changes in Korean hip-hop. Initially, many singers followed his style, extending the market for rap music and hip-hop culture. By the middle of the 1990s, a number of similar boy groups had appeared, dancing with rap music and hip-hop fashion. By the mid-2000s, Korean youth seemed to enjoy hip-hop on a daily basis as local hip-hop scenes, both mainstream and underground, had fully developed and various local hip-hop styles were beginning to gain international fans (presaging Psy’s “Gangnam Style” phenomenon of 2012). As Korean society becomes more global, cultural flows to Korea will continue to be adapted to convey important local meanings and values within Korean society and, as they are re-exported, around the globe. Acknowledgment An earlier version of this chapter has been published as “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, England: Global Oriental, 2006, pp. 109–122. This version is published with the permission of Koninklijke Brill NV, the copyright holders. Notes 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Birch, Schirato, and Srivastava (2001: 61–62) point out that many Asian countries have borrowed American popular culture but use it “as cultural vehicles for representing and working through local issues and values.” On Seo Taiji and Boys (Bando Records BDCD-014, 1992). The additional recordings by Seo I have consulted for this chapter are Seo Taiji and Boys II (Bando Records BDCD-017, 1993), Seo Taiji and Boys III (Bando Records BDCD-023, 1994), Seo Taiji and Boys IV (Bando Records BDCD-028, 1995) and Shidae yugam (Bando Records BDCD-051, 1996). Kim Kyŏng-il (1999: 256–257) criticizes this social environment in relation to Korea’s long historical philosophy of Confucianism, in which power was kept by the elite. Don Adams and Esther E. Gottlieb (1993: 4–31) examine how educational patterns were molded by China during the pre-modern era, Japan during the colonial period, and the United States since World War II. For example, a duet called Ch’ŏriwa Miae used rap, but their audience was much more interested in their lively dancing techniques, and the comedy duo Shik’ŏmŭnssŭ (Blackish) had adopted rap to their minstrel routines (Sŏn 1996: 220–225). For introductory material on Seo Taiji, see http://seotaiji.com. This common perception affected music critics (see Sŏn 1996: 80–84; Lee 1998: 289; Park 2000: 61). Recorded on Seo Taiji and Boys III (Bando Records BDCD-023, 1994). For which, see Rubin (1999: 126–127). See further Hŏ 2000: 261 and 269. See Lee (1999: 170). One of the members of Cypress Hill, Bobo, was a percussionist for the Beastie Boys, so it is understandable that Seo’s song connects to both groups. The song was produced by Seo Taiji except the drum (Josh Freese) and Scratch (DJ Q-BERT) parts. Translation by the author. We Production V000707, 1996. Translation by the author. Recorded on Seo Taiji and Boys IV (Bando Records BDCD-028, 1995). Krims considers reality rap to define a broader category (2000: 70). Ruffhouse/Columbia 53931, 1993. Translation by the author.

Bibliography Adams, Don and Esther E. Gottlieb. 1993. Education and Social Change in Korea. New York and London: Garland. Bennett, Andy. 2000. Popular Music and Youth Culture: Music, Identity and Place. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Birch, David, Tony Schirato, and Sanjay Srivastava, eds. 2001. Asia: Cultural Politics in the Global Age. New York: Palgrave. Buzo, Adrian. 2002. The Making of Modern Korea. London and New York: Routledge. George, Nelson. 1998. Hip Hop America. New York: Viking Penguin.

154 • Eun-Young Jung Hŏ, Hyŏn-ch’an. 2000. Han’guk yŏnghwa 100 nyŏn [A Century of Korean Films]. Seoul: Munhak Sasangsa. Hosokawa, Shuhei. 1984. “The Walkman effect.” Popular Music 4(1): 165–182. Kang, Myŏng-sŏk. 1995. Seo Taiji rŭl ilgŭmyŏn munhwa ka poinda [Analyzing Seo Taiji Allows (us) to Understand the Culture]. Seoul: Hansol. Kim, Kyŏng-il. 1999. Kongja ka chugŏya nara ka sanda [Confucius Should Be Dead to Save the Country]. Seoul: Pada Ch’ulp’ansa. Kim, Yŏng-myŏng. 1999. Kochyŏssŭn han’guk hyŏndae chŏngch’isa [Revised Korea’s Modern Political History]. Seoul: Ŭllyu Munhwasa. Korean Educational Development Institute. 1985. Korean Education 2000. Seoul: Korean Educational Development Institute. Krims, Adam. 2000. Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lee, Dong-Yeun. 1999. Seo Taiji nŭn uri ege muŏssiŏnna [Who was Seo Taiji to Us]. Seoul: Munhwa Kwahaksa. Lee, Young Mee. 1998. Han’guk taejung kayosa [A History of Korean Popular Song]. Seoul: Hanguk yesul yŏn’guso chongsŏ. Park, Aekyung. 2000. Kayo, ŏttŏkhe ilgŭl kŏsin’ga? [Korean Pop music, how should we interpret it?]. Seoul: Ch’aek sesang. Rose, Tricia. 1994. Black Noise. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press. Rubin, Mike. 1999. “The Beastie Boys.” In Vibe History of Hip Hop, edited by Alan Light, 126–127. New York: Three Rivers Press. Seth, Michael J. 2002. Education Fever: Society, Politics, and the Pursuit of Schooling in South Korea. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Sin, Hyŏn-am. 1997. “Seo Taiji wa Aidŭl” kwa Kiŏp Kyŏngyŏng [“Seo Taiji and Boys” and Company Management]. CEO Information 104. Seoul: Samsung Economic Research Institute. Sŏn, Sŏng-wŏn. 1996. Taejung ŭmak ŭi ppuri [The Roots of Korean Pop]. Seoul: Tosŏ ch’ulp’an Kkun.

PART

IV

Issues

The title of this book’s last section is, simply, “issues.” Although various issues have informed all chapters of this book, the last part addresses an issue that directly engages this book’s objective, i.e. to consider the meaning of “Made In Korea.” The four chapters of this part take different perspectives and offer different answers to the following question: what are the distinct characteristics of popular music made in Korea? Chapter 13 considers how traditional music generalized under the umbrella term “kugak” has blended with popular music. Those who have read the preambles to Parts I and II may mistakenly think that Korean popular music had been wholly subject to external influences, for example, influences from the U.S. and Japan. Nevertheless, it is impossible for even strong cultural influences to be grafted in their original forms. Certain artists have actively used what is “national” for their creativity as seen from the examples of Sin Joong Hyun and Kim Minki in Part III, but examples of cultural blending need not be confined to those that involve the isolated efforts of the individual artists’ works. Chapter 13 will extract a genealogy of cultural blending based on particular examples, including the previously mentioned ones, and evaluate such efforts. It is difficult to say that in Korea kugak has been popularized as artificially preserved traditional music, and to some extent it is true that kugak has been simplistically understood as a culture opposite to modernization in the course of the all-encompassing socio-cultural pursuit of modernization. However, it is not unreasonable to expect profound changes in the future: a number of indie bands have borrowed from kugak, strengthening the practice of blending traditional music with forms of popular music. Chapter 14 considers a very different cultural form: the seemingly hyper-globalized popular music exemplified by the so-called K-pop idol groups. The author of this chapter pays attention to the process of making K-pop, rather than extracting a Korean character from K-pop texts. The production model of K-pop, generally centered on the “trainee system,” is so specific that it is difficult to find comparable systems in other countries. Technically, its origins could be connected to the U.S.’s Motown and Japan’s Johnny’s, but the so-called “Big Three” of K-pop’s production agents—SM Entertainment, YG Entertainment, and JYP Entertainment—have created a unique mode of production that cannot be reduced to origins. Some critical voices point to this system’s commercial character through metaphors such as “factory” and “machine,” but these voices do not negate the necessity of serious research. To find the “Korean” in K-pop, shouldn’t we pay more attention to the mode of production of music than to the texts of the musical works? While this is only a hypothesis, it is interesting to consider that what is distinctively Korean is the system in which the artists undergo intensive multi-year training in areas of singing, dance, acting, foreign languages, and even “personality.” This chapter explores the intrinsic contradictions of this system, going beyond futile arguments for and against this system.

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When the SM Town Live World Tour was organized in Le Zenith de Paris on June 10 and 11, 2011, Le Monde published an article that contained the following: “It seems the boys and girls trained according to the plans of production companies that have made music into an export product have reached us thanks to massive support from the Korean government, which is attempting to market a positive, dynamic national image” (Le Monde, 11 June 2011). According to this article, the agents of K-pop are “trained beings” who received “government support” in order for the government to produce “exports” for the sake of “national branding.” Some strong voices have criticized this perspective in Korea’s public sphere, and among these voices could be found some nationalist rhetoric. I myself do not sympathize with such voices, but personally I am convinced that the article’s argument speaks to the still-lingering orientalist view of the West toward Asia. Indeed, national (governmental) support of popular music and, more broadly, popular culture is a practice adopted in many countries, and the only difference is the form and method of such support. In considering how and why the Korean government supports K-pop in terms of institutional service and moral support as well as material and financial support, we should go beyond shallow assumptions based on little evidence. Chapter 15, which addresses the relationship between nation and popular music, is crucial for discussing issues raised by controversies such as one involving Le Monde. It develops a detailed analysis of the quickly changing nature of this relationship. As it demonstrates, the restrictive role of the government vis-à-vis popular culture, which lasted until the 1980s and which was represented by the pre-censorship system, changed into a wholly supportive one after the 2000s. The author situates this dramatic change—one involving the changing conception of popular culture from a political tool rationalizing the government’s rule to a vehicle for strengthening the nation’s brand based on an economic understanding—within broad political, social, and cultural contexts. Chapter 16, this book’s last chapter, sheds new light on Korean popular music from the perspective of different vocal styles in different genres. By considering a variety of cases, it demonstrates how the actors of Korean popular music have sought to communicate with the audience through complex engagement with certain basic elements of singing, such as timbre, dynamics, vocal range, rhythm, phrasing, and ornamentation. It is difficult to think of a better way to end the book (save for the coda) than this re-examination of Korean popular music through a musicological prism.

13 Korean Pop Music and Korean Identities A Political-Cultural History of Korean Pop Music and Its Use of Traditional Korean Musical Elements Hyunseok Kwon

As with other Asian pop music, it is not difficult to grasp the impact of Westernization on the musical structure of Korean pop music. However, when we extend the category of Korean pop music to include music created or re-arranged for purposes beyond capitalist logic, we can easily observe movements within the Korean popular music scene that oppose Westernization. Namely, musicians generate new works for the public by using traditional Korean musical elements. Consequently, Korean pop music uses a mix of Western (or non-Korean) elements and traditional Korean elements. This fact naturally turns our attention to the artists’ motivation, thereby raising a central research question. How is Korean pop music specifically associated with Korean identities? This chapter aims to understand the relationship between Korean pop music and Korean identity by studying the political-cultural history of Korean pop music that uses elements of traditional music. The 1930s–1960s: Sinminyo and its Thread of Life The historical origin of traditionally influenced popular music can be traced back to the 1930s, a period during the latter part of Japan’s occupation of Korea (1910–1945). As Korea moved into the 1930s, Japanese political control became stricter; Japan’s imperialistic political power even appeared within its education system through said system’s music culture. This culture was maintained in elementary schools in Korea through the Japanese shōka—Japanese-style Western music for children. This type of music was mainly taught so that it could act as a medium for transmitting Japanese imperialism to Korea, as the Japanese music education policy came directly from Japanese authorities. In other words, Korean-language music was not allowed, and thus, Korean traditional music and Korean composers’ pieces could not help but become culturally irrelevant (Song 2007, 647). In this situation of outlawing Korean music, it is not surprising that patriotic popular music culture developed outside of the education system. This culture developed as follows: first, it was formed nationwide, particularly amongst young leading intellectuals in literature and arts, starting from the 1920s to 1945 (which is the year of liberation). Second, it adopted two sub-

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genres of Korean pop music that were established by these patriotic sentiments: trot and sinminyo (new folk songs). Third, these two genres recreated the identity of the (Korean) people by arousing nationalistic sentiments, mainly through their lyrics. Fourth, patriotic popular music culture sustained itself amongst the people. Given this context, what happened in the 1930s musically? Trot emerged in the 1920s under the great effects of a colonizing Japan; it was created with respect to certain Japanese styles. Partly against the emergence of this genre, another pop genre—with the addition of traditional Korean musical elements—appeared in the 1930s named sinminyo. Unlike existing folk songs formed in oral tradition, “new folk songs” were created by composers, whose skill allowed them to make songs using a mix of Western and traditional elements; meanwhile, musicians made their own rearrangement of existing folk songs. Interestingly, the legacy of “new folk songs” has left much room for discussion. A majority opinion finds it to be a backward step in folk music (as for postcolonial musical hybridity, see Yi So-yŏng 2007). However, if we consider that the political-cultural context of that time period called for the exclusion of traditional Korean music, we may need to excuse the musical inadequacies of “new folk songs” and attach significance to the fact that the genre contains traditional musical elements. To some extent, many pieces of “new folk songs” contributed, along with trot, to the reproduction of the identity of the Korean people; such sentiment was created mainly through the quality of these songs’ lyrics. The themes of “new folk songs” can be, at their simplest, divided into categories of sorrowful or romantic. Yet, as in trot, the purpose of their lyrics was to provide their audience with ways to either forget reality or to feel consolation. At the same time—as exhibited in the song “Pommaji” (Greeting Spring 1934) and the poems written in that period—the terms “winter” and “spring” were used very symbolically; “winter” indicates occupation while “spring” means liberation (Kim Chi-p’yŏng 2000, 91). Unlike trot, the melodies of new folk songs, however, use pentatonic scales and often include a compound rhythm such as 9/8 or 12/8 (Maliangkay 2002, 1478), which are traits that are easily found in Korean traditional music. In this sense, even if the term minyo appears earlier in Japan, we can say the genre of “new folk songs” is “the first native popular music” of Korea (Finchum-sung 2002, 11). However, over the span of two decades after 1945, there was little space for “new folk songs” to continue prospering. American pop culture diffused through several channels and came to Korea. Its appearance in Korea impacted the country, and American-style popular music prevailed in Korea. During these decades, it is difficult to say that a Korean popular music culture existed with the purpose of informing the identity of the Korean people. In that kind of environment, “new folk songs” could only be found as a commercial pop genre sung by certain professional singers, despite the support of the media.1 The 1970s–1980s: Kugak Kayo and Ch’ŏngnyŏn Munhwa The 1970s witnessed again that young intellectuals utilize tradition in new works, if those works are created in consideration of the people. These young intellectuals’ musical attempts were closely associated with the political-cultural condition of the 1970s, and partly that of the 1980s. Politically, the authoritarian Park Chung Hee regime (1961–1979) served as a stimulus to the formation of the two cultures in different camps (that sometimes overlapped). The first is ch’ŏngnyŏn munhwa (youth culture), or a Western-style “youth culture.” The authoritarian regime led young intellectuals to hold a skeptical view of the older generation. Thus, in some ways it required them to produce a “youth culture” that would differentiate them from this

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older generation. The 1960s American-style popular music culture especially stimulated this emergence of a Korean “youth culture.” Young people needed a new musical medium as an outlet for their expression, which was the identity of youth that could not be found in the previous culture of the older generation. As a consequence, these young intellectuals produced their own culture by creating an identity through Western pop culture in a way that starkly distinguished them from the older generation. In addition to pop culture, this younger generation used a musical outlet called p’ok’ŭsong (folk song), a style of singing with acoustic guitar. This genre played such a pivotal role in developing youth culture that it has a wide range of repertories, including some pieces with traditional elements. These works are divided into two: songs created based on folk music’s elements; and songs for which existing folk songs were rearranged. As for the former, an example is Kim Minki’s “Kohyang kanŭn kil” (Road to Hometown 1993) based on a pentatonic scale. In addition to this song, we can also take Yang Pyŏng-chip’s “T’abongne” (A Blessed Woman 1974), based on a folk song of the same title from the eastern Kangwŏn Province; Yi Yŏn-sil’s “Kohyang kkum” (Dream of Hometown 1982), which is said to derive from a song of the Independence Army; and Sŏ Yu-sŏk’s “Chinju nanggun” (Chinju Hubby 1972), a narrative folk song from Chinju city, as examples. A question arises as to how these songs emerged within youth culture. These intellectuals’ youth culture developed along with them as they created this new identity, but it did so based upon influences from Western popular culture, namely, through the genre of p’ok’ŭsong. Accordingly, youth culture offered some musicians the opportunity to re-consider what the identity of the youth should look like under the authoritarian regime. Such a creative cycle strengthened the identity of these people who aspired for a grassroots democracy, and thereby left them to develop tangible expressions as to what such an identity entailed; as a result, they came to make music pieces, using folk music’s elements of cultural roots, in order to sing to self-accompaniments on the acoustic guitar. Minjung Munhwa (The People’s Culture) In the meantime, minjung munhwa (the people’s culture) emerged as a protest-culture against Park Chung Hee’s regime amongst college students in a different camp (and also included intellectuals and laborers). Park’s regime was followed by that of Chun Doo Hwan (1980–1988), which he established in December 1979 through a military coup. During the regime of Chun, the people’s culture was especially strengthened when people participated in the democratic movement, which led to the June 29th proclamation for democratic reform in 1987. Culturally, the people’s culture unfolded as an alternative to Western-style “youth culture” and Westernstyle pop culture from the 1970s to the 1980s, seeking Korean values instead. The people’s culture arose primarily amongst college students, college clubs, and student associations in the 1970s. It spread all over the country in three subcultural movements based on university campuses. The main representative was the madang kŭk theatrical movement. Madang kŭk refers to a genre of (outdoor) dramas based on traditional folk arts such as t’al ch’um (masked dances), p’ungmul (music of traditional local percussion bands), minyo (folk songs), and p’ansori (epic storytelling through song). It appeared as a new way of protestculture, and later developed as an alternative movement for the popularization of traditional folk arts.

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Within this alternative theatrical movement, new attempts to use tradition were made. That outcome is clear in the music accompanying the drama Hanne ŭi sŭngch’ŏn (The Life of Hanne 1976), including “Sarangga” (Love Song) composed by Kim Yŏng-tong. This is a slow popular song that uses traditional elements such as the kutkŏri rhythmic cycle (12/8), the taegŭm (traverse bamboo flute), and the changgo (hourglass-shaped drum). This song’s style grew to become what is called kugak kayo in the 1980s. Kugak refers to Korean traditional music, and kayo refers to popular song. Hence, the genre means a contemporary genre of pop that uses a mix of Western and traditional Korean elements. Kugak kayo occupies a significant role in the contemporary history of popular music using traditional elements, especially because of its status as the first sub-genre. Kim Yŏng-tong’s songs within the theatrical movement helped kugak kayo develop alongside the songs of the “youth culture.” From the mid-1980s, the ensemble Sŭlgidung began building the foundation of the genre of kugak kayo through their performances and recordings (see Howard 2006, 185–187).

Figure 13.1 Kim Young-tong chakkokchip [Kim Young Dong Works Collection] (SRB, SRB-0079, 1982).

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The 1990s to the Present: The Music Culture of Citizens and Various Experiments During the final period of the military regime of Chun Doo Hwan, popular music (that used traditional elements) entered a new political phase. The period began with the June 29 proclamation for democratization in 1987, marking a turning point for the Korean people. In 1987, a new political culture unfolded throughout the nation for two purposes: the first was to realize democratization; the second purpose was to promote the popularization of traditional folk arts. The ultimate aim of these two objectives was to reclaim a new and more relevant identity as a Korean citizen, and to also establish a new culture for these developing citizens by incorporating folk traditions into that process. Yet, when the historical proclamation was made in 1987, the Korean people had the opportunity to achieve the ultimate goal: to redefine their citizenry and their nationalism. Accordingly, the people’s music culture started to be substituted by the music culture of the citizens who sought out that goal. Within this collective culture for citizens, prominent cultural producers motivated the identity of the citizens that underpinned it. Here, we can reach a fuller understanding of the identity of the citizens, by comparison with that of the people. While both identities share similar values, the identity of the citizens has newly-found individuality alongside its populist sentiments. Relevant producers shared these sentiments in their cultural environment, in which—while populist feeling was inherited—freedom of expression was extended. With this new identity, they were able to produce various sub-genres of popular music using traditional elements, which formed a striking contrast to the mainstream of so-called K-pop music culture. To be more specific, the period from the 1990s to the early years of the new century witnessed two changes. First, the motive for music ranged between new individuality and the collective people’s identity. Second, while there were experienced musicians who worked mainly on commercial music, there were also rising young kugak musicians who attempted to fuse traditional and non-traditional elements. Following from these changes, sub-genres of traditionallyinfluenced popular music were formed, in which rising young kugak musicians were supported by the media (Hyŏn 2011, 1073–1075), arts management companies, and governments.2 Amongst the many groups and musicians whose works became popular from the 1990s onward, I will look at six cases in detail. These groups not only attempted to create new styles, but they also put in much effort to arouse people’s interest in kugak. They realized this goal through the use of their own creative or re-arranged styles. These styles can be divided into vocal and instrumental music, according to whether the artist’s main style of expression is voice or instruments. Furthermore, instrumental music can be divided into four categories (according to the instrumental focus): percussion music; string music; orchestral style; and music with an emphasis on instrumental timbres. Using these categories, I will analyze musicians or ensembles under their respective categories in chronological order. Kim Yong-u Kim Yong-u (b. 1969) is a well-known singer of updated folk songs. He has contributed greatly to the diffusion of folk song into the public music scene, by way of numerous concerts and multiple albums (1996, 1999, 2001, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2009, 2011). His music keeps a balance between thematically incorporating populist sentiments and maintaining his stylistic preferences as a singer. To appeal to the public, Kim rearranges folk songs and sings in a folk song style,

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and uses an accompaniment of Western instruments and the changgo drum. However, Kim does not create new music based on folk songs. In his album, Ani noji nŭn mot’arira (You Can’t Stop Having Fun 2009), “Ch’angbu t’aryŏng,” a well-known folk song from the central Kyŏnggi Province, and the first track, “Arirang yŏn’gok” (Arirang Suite), reflect his fundamental ideas in how to approach music. Arirang refers to the numerous folk songs that include the word arirang (which is ubiquitous in Korea). Kim selected five arirang from three regions: central, eastern, and southwestern Korea. He sings these songs with a rearrangement, and is accompanied by piano, double bass, drum, the changgo drum, the haegŭm fiddle, and backing vocalists.3 Kim Su-ch’ŏl Kim Su-ch’ŏl (b. 1957) is an electric guitarist and rock musician who was popular for about two decades, starting from the beginning of the 1980s. Having composed traditionally-influenced music for international sports events, such as the 1986 Asian Games in Seoul and the 1988 Seoul Olympics, Kim is one of the most important contemporary Korean composers in popular music who use traditional elements (see Chang 2010; Howard 2006, 177–179; as for Kim’s “Guitar sanjo” Eun-Young Jung 2010, 98–101). His musical works can be divided into vocal and instrumental categories, and his most representative work is “Guitar sanjo” (2002). Sanjo is a prominent folk-art genre for solo melodic instruments, including the kayagum zither and the taegŭm flute, and accompanied by the changgo drum; its structure is based on constantly developing movement. Thus, “Guitar sanjo” is a version of sanjo for electric guitar.4 “Guitar sanjo” was pioneered by Kim Su-ch’ŏl. This genre reflects two concepts: the first concept is the co-existing identities of a rock musician and “Korean” pop musician. In Kim’s music, we find both elements of sanjo and rock moments in his “Guitar sanjo.” This is mostly because melody develops gradually to a climax, following a rhythmic cycle akin to that of conventional sanjo. However, while at the climax, the music is played in the manner of rock, with fast strumming techniques for the electric guitar. The second concept of this genre is his consideration of generating mass appeal. Guitar sanjo differs from traditional sanjo, especially in terms of length. Kim deliberately shortened sanjo from pieces that usually take between ten minutes to an hour into pieces lasting only two to four minutes. Sagye The kayagŭm ensemble Sagye (Four Seasons) consists of graduates from Seoul National University. They play modernized versions of the traditional twelve-stringed kayagŭm zither, with instruments that have an expanded number of strings (some with as large a string count as 17, 21, 22, and 25). These new versions of the zither add lower tones to a twentytwo-string version, along with the traditional instrument. Their work focuses heavily on uniqueness and individuality, in that their style has supposedly been unprecedented. Their repertoire consists mainly of rearrangements of well-known European classic or Western popular music—for instance, Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” or Astor Piazolla’s “Oblivion.” Sagye performs their repertoire wearing stylish and fashionable dress rather than traditional Korean costumes. When making a debut, they were promoted as popular stars by a label (Howard 2002, 972). Sagye has gained much popularity, and their repertoire has come to form a name for itself called kugak fusion.5

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Figure 13.2 Guitar sanjo by Kim Su-ch’o˘l (LSP, LSP 8809049245234, 2002).

Kongmyŏng The percussion group, Kongmyŏng (Echo), is composed of four graduates from Ch’ugye University for the Arts. Because this group uses a variety of percussion instruments rather than just the four percussion instruments used by bands of the past—kkwaenggwari and ching gongs, changgo and puk drums, respectively—they have been able to produce new pieces in collaboration with indie bands, while also expanding their stage act to incorporate dance, music, and drama. This group has contributed to the formation of fusion batteries of percussion, along with the first contemporary percussion quartet, SamulNori, and many second-generation samullori groups.

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Wŏn Il Wŏn Il (b. 1967) is currently a professor of composition at the Korean National University of Arts. From 2012 onward, he has been a director of the National Orchestra of Korea, which resides in the National Theatre. He has composed many pieces that utilize a variety of traditional rhythms, and often works in orchestral arrangements for his groups—the now-disbanded P’uri and his main ensemble Baramgot—as well as for films: Kkonnip (A Petal 1996), Asura (1997), Arŭmdaun sijŏl (Spring in My Hometown 1998) and Yi Chaesu ŭi nan (The Insurgence 1999). His most representative piece is “Sin paennorae” (New Fishing Songs 1996), an orchestral piece that was composed based on a fishing song from the central Kyŏnggi Province. This piece shows his extended musical creativity as well as his surviving populist sentiments. Thus, this piece has been well received, not only because it adopted a melody familiar to citizens, but because it also used percussion in impressive ways (Howard 2006, 187). Overall, this piece— set within the rhythmic cycle kutkŏri (12/8)—includes an evolution of a cadenza based on the samullori piece “Samdo sŏl changgo” (which was originally for four changgo drums) before the last refrain is played. Through “Sin paennorae”, he has contributed to the subsequent establishment of orchestral repertoires becoming a subgenre of popular music using traditional elements. The subgenre has since been used by Yang Pang-ŏn, a composer and second-generation Korean resident of Japan, and Yi Chi-su, a promising young composer who has actively produced pieces of music for Korean film, drama, and musical. Jambinai Within the genre of popular music using traditional elements, Jambinai is one of the younger groups that have been attracting attention. The ensemble consists of three graduates from the Korean National University of Arts. It includes one performer on one Western (rock) instrument and three traditional instruments—electric guitar, the p’iri oboe, the t’aepyŏngso shawm, and the saenghwang mouth organ, respectively; one performer on one traditional string instrument— the haegŭm fiddle; and one performer on traditional string and percussion instruments—the kŏmun’go zither and the chŏngju hand-held metal bell. Jambinai was organized and established in 2010, and—through the Indie Kugak Festival, which is a project supported by the Ministry of Culture—they have obtained important exposure and opportunities to introduce their music to the public. Since then, Jambinai has extended the scope of their musical activities to Europe and Australia. They have received a favorable response internationally: they have been selected for showcase in WOMEX 2013 in Cardiff, UK, and the International Day Stage by SXSW 2014 in Texas, U.S.A. The musical style Jambinai has created for themselves reminds their audience of a post-rock sound. Post-rock uses rock instrumentation without vocals, and it features a unique sound quality made through an electric guitar using unconventional rhythms. With their experimental spirit, Jambinai has produced creative works with an air of post-rock that do not use functional chords. By doing so, they have extended the range of kugak rock, a sub-genre using a combination of rock and traditional elements, in a pioneering fashion. For instance, in the first track “Time of Extinction” from their first regular album, Différance (2012), they generate a unique sound effect on the electric guitar through the use of the haegŭm fiddle, which shows the potential of using traditional instruments for post-rock fusion. Additionally, Jambinai has occasionally expressed populist solidarity: for example, they performed a creative elegy for the Sewol victims in the 2014 Seoul Jazz Festival.6

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Figure 13.3 Différance by Jambinai (GMC/Sony Music, S90411C, 2012).

Conclusion This chapter has so far explored the political-cultural historical context of Korean pop music utilizing the traditional elements, to elucidate the association between Korean pop music and Korean identities. The construction of a recreated Korean identity was developed amongst young intellectuals in response to their political-cultural conditions. Between 1920 and 1945, the identity of these people was formed in opposition to Japanese authority; in between the 1970s and the 1980s, the identity of the people was formed against the authoritarian regime; and from around 1987, the identity of citizens was formed in support of the democratic system. Based on these identities, young intellectuals have produced sub-genres of “Korean” pop music as an alternative to the Western-style popular music cultures existing within Korea. In the 1930s, sinminyo, “new folk songs” appeared as a genre that was distinct—in terms of musical components—from trot.

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From the mid-1970s, kugak kayo, a contemporary song genre, was conceived and established, mainly as an alternative to Western-style “youth culture.” From 1987 around to the present, a variety of sub-genres or general musical experimentation has appeared, making an obvious contrast to the style of today’s popular music consumed within the Korean Wave. Popular music using traditional elements is currently located outside the mainstream of Korean pop music. However, this type of music is noteworthy, in that it may provide an “ontological value of existence” (relating to globalization, after Kim Ki-jung 2002, 247) for Koreans in a globalized world. Thus, many musicians have actively worked on “Korean” pop music, often with the support of the media and government, and it is this search for a Korean identity that has driven these artists in their work. Notes 1

2

3 4 5

6

We can take the case of the private radio station DBS (Donga Broadcasting Station) as an example. DBS played an active role in promoting music related to Korean tradition through a campaign that was called “Nillili” along with the government-run KBS (Korean Broadcasting System). In order to arrange existing folksongs in a new way, the campaign was run mainly through a radio program, “Nillilido hhllilido,” for 18 months from October 1965. The program led to arrangements of approximately 1,000 songs. In recent years, opportunities have in particular been made available through a plan, the Chŏnt’ong yesul hwalsŏnghwa pang’an—pijyŏn 2010 (Activation Plan for Traditional Arts—Vision 2010). This program was administered by the Ministry of Culture between 2006 and 2010. For details about the historical context of Korean contemporary music’s cultural background relating to the enforcement of the Activation plan, see Kwon Hyun Seok’s thesis (2014). For more information about Kim Yong-u, see Keith Howard’s book (2006: 71–79). There are sanjo pieces for rock guitar by Sin Chung-hyŏn (1994), Kim To-kyun (2002), and Kim Yŏng-chin (2004). Hesselink’s article (2011) is the first contribution to discuss the attempts of Sin Chung-hyŏn. Kugak fusion literally refers to fusion music using traditional elements. Although for their purposes scholars define the term differently (see Finchum-Sung 2002: 81; Sutton 2009: 28–29; Hee-Sun Kim, 2012; Howard 2010: 195; Howard 1999: 151; Kwon 2014: 18–25), it is generally accepted that in the 1990s the term was used for easy listening creative or re-arranged pieces using a simple mix of Western and traditional elements. The Sewol victims refer to those of Korea’s Sewol ferry disaster. In April, 2014, the Sewol ferry sank on a routine voyage from Incheon city, west of Seoul, to Jeju Island south of the Korean Peninsula, killing nearly 300 passengers.

Bibliography Chang, Yu-jŏng. 2010. “R’ok k’idŭ (Rock Kid), kugak ŭi pada e ppajida: Kim Su-ch’ŏl ŭi ŭmakkwan ŭl chungsim ŭro” [Rock Kid, Absorbed in Kugak, with Emphasis on Kim Su-ch’ŏl’s View on Music]. Taejung ŭmak [Korean Journal of Popular Music] 5, 99–124. Finchum-Sung, Hirary. 2002. Uri Saenghwal Ǔmak: Music, Discourse, and Identity in South Korea. PhD dissertation. Bloomington: Indiana University. Hesselink, Nathan. 2011. “Korean Rock, Sanjo, and National Identity.” Perspectives on Korean Music 2, 87–102. Howard, Keith. 1999. Korean Music: A Listening Guide. Seoul: National Center for Korean Traditional Performing Arts. —— . 2006. Creating Korean Music: Tradition, Innovation and the Discourse of Identity. Aldershot: Ashgate. —— . 2009. “Sanjo Evolution and Transmission: The Formation of ‘Schools’.” In Music of Korea: Korean Musicology Series 3, edited by Yi Yongsik, 45–71. Seoul: National Center for Korean Traditional Performing Art. —— . 2010. “Rebranding Korea: Creating a New Old Music.” In Consuming Korean Tradition in Early and Late Modernity, edited by Laurel Kendall, 195–215. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Hyŏn, Kyŏng-ch’ae. 2011. “Kugak” [Traditional Music]. In Seoul kongyŏn yesul sa [A History of Seoul Performing Arts], edited by Sŏulsi sa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, 1068–1088. Seoul: Sŏulsh sa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe. Jung, Eun-Young. 2010. “From the Margins: Sanjo for Western Instruments.” Perspectives on Korean Music 1, 97–111. Kim, Chi-p’yŏng. 2000. Han’guk kayo chŏngshin sa [A Nationalistic History of Korean Popular Music]. Seoul: Arŭm ch’ulp’ansa. Kim, Hee-Sun. 2012. “Between Global and Local: 21st Century Korean-Music-Making.” Asian Musicology 20, 5–37. Kim, Ki-Jung. 2002. “Teaching International Studies from a Regional Perspective: An ISP Symposium on Power, Wealth and Global Order: An International Textbook for Africa.” International Studies Perspectives 3, 235–257. Kwon, Hyun Seok. 2014. Cultural Globalization and the Korean Promotion Policy for Music Based on Tradition: A Study of the Activation Plan and Its Background. PhD dissertation. London: SOAS, University of London.

Pop Music and Identities • 167 Maliangkay, Roald. 2002. “Reconstructing Icons: The Recording Industry and the Representation of Folk Music in Korea.” In Embracing the Other: The Interaction of Korean and Foreign Cultures, 1476–1483. Sŏngnam: Han’guk chŏngsin munhwa yŏn’guwŏn. Song, Pang-song. 2007. Chŭngbo han’guk ŭmak t’ongsa [An Expanded Broad History of Korean Music]. Seoul: Ilchogak. Sutton, Anderson. 2009. “Korean Fusion Music on the World Stage: Perspectives on the Aesthetics of Hybridity.” Acta Koreana 12(1): 27–52. Yi, Kŏn-yong. 1990. “80 nyŏndae ŭmak non ŭi chŏn’gae kwajŏng—han’guk ŭmak non, norae undong non, minjok ŭmak non” [The Development of Discourse about Korean Music in the 1980s: Discourses of Korean Musicology, Song Movement and National Music]. Ŭmakak [Musicology] 2: 87–129. Yi, So-yŏng. 2007. Ilche kangjŏm ki sinminyo ŭi honjongsŏng yŏn’gu [The Hybridity of Korean New-Folk Song (Sinminyo) during the Japanese Colonial Period], PhD dissertation. Seongnam: The Academy of Korean Studies.

Discography Benjamin, Walter. 2005. The Arcades Project. Seoul: Saemulgyŏl. Translated by Cho Hyŏng-jun. Jambinai. Différance. GMC Records GMCD-46, 2012, compact disc. Kim Min-ki. Past Life of Kim Min-ki. Loen Entertainment SRCD-3774, 2004, compact disc. Kim Su-ch’ŏl. Guitar Sanjo. Living Sound Z-LSP-13, 2002, compact disc. Kim Yŏng-tong. Kim Yŏng-tong chakkokchip [Kim Yŏng-dong Works Collection]. Loen Entertainment SRCD-3011, 1992, compact disc. Kim Yong-u. Ani noji nŭn mot’arira [You Can’t Stop Having Fun]. Synnara NSC-212, 2009, compact disc. Sŭlgidung. From the Evening Tide till the Coming Dawn. Samsung Music SCO-127TAC, 1996, compact disc. Sŏ Yu-sŏk. "Chinju nanggun" [Chinju Hubby], On Mattol: Palgŭn norae moŭm [The Milestone: Collection of Slow Popular Songs]. Riverman Music RMCD005R., 2004, compact disc. Sagye. Sagye [Four Seasons]. Polymedia DU-5722, 2001, compact disc. Yang Pyŏng-chip. Nŏkturi [Complaints]. Bihaengsun GLBL-SC04, 2005, compact disc. Yi Yŏn-sil. Yi Yŏn-sil: Panji, mongno chujŏm [A Ring, Mongno Pub]. Oasis ORC-1123, 1992, compact disc.

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14 Who’s Afraid of Korean Idols? Five Keywords for Understanding Korean Idol Pop Dong-Yeun Lee

Introduction Think of the work required to make just one Justin Bieber. The production, the management, the vocal training, the choreography, the swagger coaching—all that effort to create one teenpop star in a country that’s still starving for them. South Korea has no such drought, thanks to several companies that specialize in manufacturing a steady stream of teenage idols, in groups of various configurations. One of the longest-running of these companies is SM Entertainment, which on Sunday night hosted SM Town Live, a sold-out showcase at Madison Square Garden for several of its acts, any one of which any American reality-TV talent show or major-label A&R department worth its salt would be thrilled to have discovered. American teen-pop at its peak has never been this productive. K-pop—short for Korean pop—is an environment of relentless newness, both in participants and in style; even its veteran acts are still relatively young, and they make young music. “Korean Pop Machine, Running on Innocence and Hair Gel” (New York Times, October 24, 2011). Korea is excited by what this new musical export could do for its image—and its economy. But some of K-Pop’s biggest success stories were built on the back of so-called slave contracts, which tied its trainee-stars into long exclusive deals, with little control or financial reward. Dong Bang Shin Ki took their contract fight to court two years ago, one of its most successful groups, Dong Bang Shin Ki, took its management company to court, on the grounds that their thirteen-year-contract was too long, too restrictive, and gave them almost none of the profits from their success. “The dark side of South Korean pop music” (BBC, June 14, 2011). The Ambivalence of K-pop Idols’ Global Position During my sabbatical year in 2011, I had the opportunity to teach a course on K-pop at the University of California, Irvine for the length of the fall quarter. The first course of its kind to be offered at UC Irvine, the course on K-pop closed just several hours after it became available for enrollment. There were so many students who wanted to register for the course that the

170 • Dong-Yeun Lee

Figure 14.1 Tri-angle (SWI-1489, 2005) by Dong Bang Shin Ki in Their Heyday.

Understanding Idol Pop • 171

class was expanded and moved to a larger classroom. Thirty percent of the students taking the course were Korean-Americans or Korean international students; 40 percent were AsianAmericans or international students from Asia; and the other 30 percent were Hispanic and white American students. The students were serious about and fascinated by the topic of the course, and some students of Southeast Asian backgrounds seemed to be moved by the fact that they were presenting on the male idol group 2PM. It was evident that some students knew more than me about the details of various K-pop idol groups. When I occasionally misidentified the names of group members or presented information in ways that they had not considered before, some students promptly requested that I made revisions. I had already known about the large number of Asian and Asian American students at UC Irvine, but it was quite something else to confirm K-pop idol groups’ global fandom through the overwhelming enthusiasm of these students. Even beyond this classroom experience, it has been easy for me to witness the global fandom’s craze for K-pop. Media and journalistic reportage has captured this craze, at times excessively. It has covered, for instance, European and Latin American fans mobilizing flash mobs to express their desire for K-pop groups’ concerts in their countries, and spectators in K-pop concerts in Paris and London, the hearts of contemporary European culture, crying tears of joy. Witnessing such scenes through the Korean media, I have felt as if I am looking at the passionate responses of the older Korean generations—people in their fifties and older—once directed at international entertainers’ concert performances in Korea; it is as if I’m looking at such responses reflected back through the others’ mirrors. Existing entertainment groups in Latin America and Southeast Asia have reportedly been singing copies of songs by TVXQ (Dong Bang Shin Ki), Super Junior, and Shinee without copyright permission, a phenomenon that can be confirmed through YouTube videos. A dance group in Cambodia even named itself “Ring Ding Dong,” after the Shinee’s hit song, and has been leading an active career there with a song and music video of the same name, “Ring Ding Dong” (2009). They made no request to use Shinee’s copyrighted materials. Evidently, Korean popular culture has become the copied provider of source contents for groups of different nationalities and continents, no longer a copier of Western popular music for a local scene. Nevertheless, it would be an exaggeration to say that K-pop has had a presence substantial enough to create an upheaval in the international pop music market notwithstanding the fact it is easy to confirm the global wave of K-pop led by the so-called idol groups. Equating the global phenomenon of K-pop with K-pop itself is a kind of optical illusion. The popularity of K-pop is tangible not just in East Asia but also in North and South America, Europe, Africa, and Oceania, but it would be a gross overstatement to say that its popularity has the universal and conventional weight of, say, Anglo-American popular music. From the point of view of global culture, the craze for K-pop is exceptional but not conventional. K-pop’s popularity has much to do with the particular responses of teenage fandoms, but it has not made an impact on the music of the older generation, i.e. people in their thirties and older. At the very least, this is the case of K-pop led by idol groups. In this sense, the international craze for Psy’s “Gangnam Style” in 2012 is fundamentally different from the sensations that the idol groups have created, often directed at teenage girl fans in various countries. Why have idol stars become the dominant icons in Korean popular music or, rather, the scene of Korean popular music? Why have idols become such a protracted cultural phenomenon, and why have they wielded such an absolute influence on the production and consumption of culture? What is the total amount of time, materials, and labor invested in the idols’ success?

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Is it possible to realize the cut-throat schedules of the idols? What are the processes of reproducing the capital that produces the idols and the capital earned by them? Are idols happy or unhappy individuals? These questions enable us to reflect on the idols as a barometer with which to read our society’s cultural situation and characteristics. Idols are “objects that are exchanged within various political, economic social, and cultural contexts of Korean society” (Mun-Kang 2011, 65). Today, let’s focus on drawing a cognitive map of the idols’ positions, production, acts, and identity. Great Oedipus K-pop is shorthand for Korean popular music, but it cannot be considered a symbol that captures the substance of Korean popular music in its full dimensions. This dissonance stems from the fact that K-pop has essentially meant idol groups’ dance music in the global topography. Until Psy’s “Gangnam Style” gained international success, most of the groups representing K-pop were idol groups. However, dance music associated with idol groups is not the only component of Korean popular music. There is a range of popular music genres in Korea, including rock, folk, hip-hop, soul, jazz, and cross-over. Ironically, the term “K-pop” is represented as idol pop, serving to eclipse these other various musical genres. Thus, although idol pop is considered a symbol of K-pop, it has actually emerged as an Oedipal mechanism that serves to repress the immanent potentialities of Korean popular music. I will briefly explain here how idol stars operate as an Oedipus mechanism. Idols are a signifier that represents K-pop. This signifier does not just represent Korean popular music in name but has emerged as a powerful symbol that actually dominates Korean popular music. In the history of popular music in the West, music produced by idol groups once enjoyed a hegemonic position, but it has tended to belong to low-brow cultures of popular genres. In the case of Korea, the latter part of the year 2000 may be considered the point at which idol group music constructed an absolutely exclusive system. Typically, idol-style music is a trendy form and produces a transient but powerful effect; however, within Korean popular music, idol pop has strengthened its position as a dominant genre and a core production method, rather than being a temporary trendy development. Thus idol group music is no longer a temporary business but a mainstream pattern that shapes the production of Korean popular music itself. What was a form of lowbrow entertainment has become an enormous Oedipus that represents Korean popular music. According to French philosopher Gilles Deleuze, the Oedipal triangle is a mechanism that represses the free desires of the individuals (Deleuze, 1994). Freud, based on clinical trials, asserted that the patients’ mental illnesses derived from their failure to overcome the Oedipus complex properly. In Freud’s view, Oedipus complex—a complex based on incestuous desires— is a self-psychological mechanism that regulates and controls one’s libido; it is the object that must be overcome in order for humans to break free of the principle of pleasure and subsequently observe the principle of reality and form a civilized society. Deleuze critiqued Freud for confining the individuals’ free flow of desires in a symbolic system of representation and a familial relationship. He called for schizoanalysis in the place of psychoanalytic analysis, which sought to substitute metaphors and symbols for individuals’ free desires. A psychoanalysis dominated by the gargantuan Oedipal triangle exists as a classical theater instead of a factory, as representation instead of unconscious, and metaphor instead of production. “A classical theater was substituted for the unconscious as a factory: representation was substituted for the units of production of the unconscious; and an unconscious that was

Understanding Idol Pop • 173

capable of nothing but expressing itself—in myth, tragedy, dreams—was substituted for the productive unconscious” (Deleuze 1994, 77). Oedipus that exists as a powerful system of representation is marked by an exclusive, negative character rather than an inclusive, positive one. Deleuze warned that the Oedipal triangulation is not limited simply to the individual selves and familial relationships but that it extends to social domains as well. He warned: “By failing from the beginning to see what the precise nature of this desiring-production is, and how, under what conditions, and in response to what pressures, the Oedipal triangulation plays a role in the production the process, we find ourselves trapped in the net of a diffuse, generalized oedipalism” (Deleuze 1994, 79). Idols in Korean society constitute a huge Oedipal symbol. Idols wield a monopolistic strength on the Korean popular music market. The number of teenagers who aspire to audition for the position of idol stars reaches several hundred thousand annually. JYP Entertainment, one of the representative entertainment agencies, tests approximately 50,000 idol aspirants each year. Unsurprisingly, competition is extremely high, and approximately one in 5,000 ends up becoming a member of an idol group. Even for those who pass the initial test, complete four-to-five years of training, and make a debut after fierce competition, there is less than a 10 percent chance that they will successfully build a solid profile through broadcasting media. According to information on Wikipedia, 175 idol teams made their debut from 2010 to 2012 (thirty teams in 2010, sixty-one in 2011, and eighty-four teams in 2012). This number is larger than the number of idol groups who made a debut between 1996—the year that H.O.T., arguably Korea’s first idol group, made their debut—and 2009. During this timeframe, 110 idol groups made their debut. As this suggests, idol groups had an overwhelming monopolistic effect during the last three years in terms of number. As a large Oedipus, the idol stars’ exclusive presence does not stop at the number of idol aspirants and trainees. The four large-scale idol entertainment agencies—SM Entertainment (which produced the first idol stars of Korea), YG Entertainment, JYP Entertainment, and DSP Entertainment—have monopolized the Korean popular music market. In addition, the four emerging entertainment agencies—Core Contents, Starship Entertainment, CUBE Entertainment, and LOEN Entertainment—are also contributing to the monopoly of idol groups’ music production. Although precise statistics have not been released, idol groups’ appearances in chart-based music programs on public and cable television channels are overwhelmingly high vis-à-vis the total number of entertainers. In particular, groups associated with the four established entertainment corporations and the four emerging ones have had a monopolistic presence in TV music programs and entertainment shows. For instance, out of the seventy-four teams, which were featured on SBS The Music Trend (Ingi Kayo) from September 30, 2012 to October 21, 2012—a period of four weeks—sixty-four were idol group members or idol entertainers. Members of the idol groups are featured not only in music programs, but also increasingly in various entertainment shows, and their presence is becoming more visible in terms of frequency and ratio. Large-scale variety shows for terrestrial broadcast feature idol group members as indispensable components of the shows, and cable TV programs are also actively creating idol group-based reality shows that advertise themselves by featuring the groups’ names in the shows’ titles. It is difficult to deny that idols have become a representative index of Korean popular culture’s monopolistic condition. They stand for an index of K-pop’s globality, success story, trend, unfair

174 • Dong-Yeun Lee Table 14.1 A Comparison of Major K-pop Entertainment Production Companies Company name

Year of Characteristics establishment

Idol-style entertainers on the roster

Sales (2013, Subsidiary in U.S. Dollar) companies

SM

1995

Record production focusing on idol pop, management, music contents projects

TVXQ, Super Junior, Shinee, SNSD, f(x), EXO, Red Velvet

263 million dollars

SM Japan SM Asia SM USA

YG

1996

Record production focusing on hip-hop, management, acting management

Big Bang, 2NE1, Tablo, Psy, Yi Ha-i Yi, AKMU, Winner

110 million dollars

YG Japan

JYP

1997

A globally-minded record planning and production focusing on African-American music, distribution, management

2PM, 2AM, Wonder Girls, Miss A, GOT 7, Pak Chi-min

19.69 million dollars

JYP USA JYP China JYP Japan

Table 14.2 The Appearances of Idol Groups (and Entertainers) on the Weekly Show, SBS The Music Trend (Ingi Kayo) for Four Consecutive Weeks (September 30—October 21, 2012) Episode number

Total number of featured teams

Total number Featured idol groups (or entertainers) of idol groups (or one-person idol entertainer)

692

16

14

Miss-A, FT Island, Secret, Epic High, G-DRAGON, TVXQ, EXID, 100%, Wonder Boyz, Mr.Mr, BtoB, Jewelry, Ailee, Sŏ In-yŏng

693

19

16

TVXQ, G-DRAGON, Secret, T-ara, Orange Caramel, Jewelry, 15&, U-Kiss, 100%, FIESTAR, Big Star, AOA, Paek A-yŏn, RaNia, EXID, Mr.Mr

694

18

15

TVXQ, G-DRAGON, T-ara, Secret, FT Island, Orange Caramel, 15&, BtoB, 100%, Big Star, Paek A-yŏn, RaNia, SPICA, Mr.Mr, Crazyno

695

21

19

G-DRAGON, Kara, Secret, T-ara, FT Island, Orange Caramel, ZE:A, B.A.P, BtoB, 100%, U-Kiss, RaNia, SPICA, FIESTAR, Paek A-yŏn, VIXX, 84LY, Two X, Offroad

labor-management relations, and monopoly of cultural capital. As the gigantic Oedipus of Korean popular culture, idols are enjoying an exclusive status, and this will continue for some time. Yet, this won’t last forever. This is because the idols themselves did not create the idol myths. What made a giant Oedipus out of the idols is not the idols themselves but the system that produces idols, or the logic of cultural capital that operates this system. The Reproduction of Cultural Capital How is idol pop’s cultural capital reproduced? In my view, the circulation structure of cultural capital within idol pop has three important mechanisms. The first is idol pop’s exclusive system

Understanding Idol Pop • 175

of entertainment production. Idol pop has many reference systems in terms of music styles, but it has its own thorough manual when it comes to the system through which idol groups are produced and managed. As is widely known, idol stars who are active in major entertainment corporations go through extensive training beginning in their early teenage years. Given that more than 50,000 trainee aspirants audition for a single entertainment corporation, idol entertainers under formal training are, without a doubt, individuals who were extraordinarily talented even before the training stage. It takes from three to five years for these selected individuals to make a debut as part of an idol group; during these years, the trainees practice dance, vocal performance, rap, stage manners, and foreign language skills. Even after the debut, the idols are managed strictly according to the company’s manual. Since major companies create separate teams wholly devoted to managing the idol groups, their success is as good as guaranteed barring extenuating circumstances. The exclusive management of idol groups is not conducted simply at a mutually beneficial level, with an eye toward success. Strict management also means strict regulation. As long as they are active, idol groups do not have the prerogative of private life. Every part of their everyday life is controlled and limited. Additionally, the unfair contract conventions surrounding the idol stars—already a well-recognized social problem—have been a chronic problem plaguing the exclusive entertainment production system in Korea. Many of the scandalous issues surrounding groups like H.O.T., TVXQ, and Kara are related to problems of unfair contract. Even when contract issues lead to the groups’ break-up, core matters such as the contract term, open profit reports, distribution structure, and members’ right to decision are not resolved. Unfair contract practices have even been rationalized as a burden that must be tolerated for the enhancement of Korea’s national prestige through K-pop. This recalls the mission of the modern enlightenment project, which has urged the citizens to bear pain for the sake of national economic progress. The first mechanism of circulation in the reproduction of K-pop’s cultural capital thus derives from an exclusive entertainment production system. The second mechanism is the collusion of certain media with idol pop’s entertainment production system. Korean media typically play the role of promoting and encouraging the corporations’ entertainment production, rather than reporting their structural problems in an in-depth way. For example, a thirty-person team composed of broadcasting and media corporation personnel accompanied the idol groups to the “SM Town Live in LA” event held at the Los Angeles’s Staple Center in 2010 in order to cover this event on-site. All of them flew to Los Angeles via chartered planes arranged by SM Entertainment, which also paid for their travel expenses. The members of the media who attended the concert this way released celebratory articles about the concert when it ended; their congratulatory texts filled internet portal sites all day. Even though the media do not make a habit of colluding with entertainment producers through prejudiced reportage, it is a fact that reporters who receive coverage-related accommodation are predisposed to write favorable reports. The problem, however, is that these favorable articles do not end there. Almost immediately, these articles serve as important materials that reproduce the cultural capital of the entertainment production companies. For instance, media’s intensive focus on “SM Town Live in LA, 2010” and “SM Town Live in Paris, 2011” after the conclusion of the concerts played a vital role in raising the stock value of SM Entertainment. Idol pop’s entertainment production does not simply yield the management’s sales capital. Idol pop not only leads to financial gain, but it is also effective in creating symbolic capital, generating many opportunities for obtaining intangible

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Figure 14.2 SM Town Live in Paris on 10–11 June.

assets. Among these assets, the most symbolic is capital stock related to idol pop. The finish line of the entertainment companies’ profit structure is going public on the KOSDAQ after gaining recognition as a stable company based on sales through entertainment production. In this regard, the recognition of the idol stars provides opportunities for companies to be listed on the KOSDAQ. The companies raise their stock value by finding investors based on the recognition of their idol stars, and this strategy is a typical form through which idol pop entertainment production meets capital stock. In 2008, Lee Sooman, the CEO of SM Entertainment and the frontrunner of idol pop management, became the leading stockholder in the entertainment market, beating Bae Yong-jun, a pan-Asian hallyu (Korean wave) star. The stock price of Yi Su-man’s SM Entertainment was 1.91 billion won, which made him the wealthiest man in the entertainment industry, surpassing Bae Yong-jun and Rain. In 2010, Yi’s stock value rose to an enormous 10 billion won, having boosted various SM idol groups’ popularity through SNSD. Since the two “SM Town Live” concerts in Los Angeles and Paris, the total amount of shares in Yi Su-man’s possession has risen to 16 billion won. Essentially, the stock value of 1.91 billion won multiplied by eight times in just three years. As we have seen, idol pop’s cultural capital is reproduced through three mechanisms: exclusive entertainment production system, reproduction of the media’s discourse, and extension into capital stock. Every activity of the idol groups and each report of the media boil down to capital stock. In this regard, the reproduction of cultural capital in K-pop faithfully follows the neoliberal economic logic.

Understanding Idol Pop • 177

Masked Emotional Labor The four members featured in cable TV Mnet’s reality program “2NE1 TV” live in front of the camera 24 hours a day. When they are back at the training residence after the day’s schedule, they yawn as though they are tired, go to the bathroom to cleanse off make-up and change into comfortable clothes, and—after all of these—smile at the camera. This free, casual gesture is actually in a state of emotional labor. The cameras inserted into the group’s everyday life are not installed for surveillance, but they transform the idol stars’ private time into a spectacle to be watched by the anonymous viewers. This does not, however, mean that the idols’ secrets are unveiled or that the phantom is dissolved; rather, another mask appears in the name of “reality.” The cameras’ vivid tracking, which indicates “the very real,” and the idols’ real daily life captured through the cameras constitute a real set-up, a real camouflage. As the members walk into the training residence, they say greetings to the CCTV at the entrance. It becomes evident that the cameras are installed not just at the entrance but also in the living room, the kitchen, as well as each room of the residence. When the day’s tasks are done and the members lie down on the bed, there awaits at the bedside a small camcorder. Speaking into the camcorder, the members go over their day and bid goodnight to the viewers. Even when they are sleeping the camera is running, and as soon as the members wake up, they say greetings looking at the camera. “Everyone, did you sleep well?” (Kim 2011, 203). The idol-star couples who appear on MBC’s Saturday variety show Uri kyŏrhon haessŏyo (We Are Married) are ordained to break the first item in the idols’ commandment, “Thou shall not date,” and to use this breaking of a major taboo as the topic of the reality program. This, more than anything, demonstrates how reality programs so overtly camouflage the idols’ daily life. Although the idols are strictly prohibited from dating in reality, they have to demonstrate overt acts of dating in a realistic manner. They are situated in a state of inconvenient truth and uncomfortable emotional labor. The idols may think that they can now date to their heart’s content through a camouflage of reality authorized by everyone, but this is nothing more than representing the replaced desire of “wish fulfillment,” as Freud described. The idols’ real behaviors, regardless of what they are, are in a state of energy-consuming emotional labor. The chorus line “Naega unnŭnge unnŭnge aniya” (My laughing is not a laughter) of Leessang’s title song of the same phrase in his third album Library of Soul (2005) skillfully expresses this emotional labor of the idols. The idols’ emotional labor—initially taken up for pleasure as well as a means of living a fantastic life—is piled upon real labor. Such emotional labor is, ironically, at the frontline of Marx’s alienated labor. A passage in Marx’s Economic and Philosophic Manuscript illuminates the idols’ emotional labor as labor that belongs to those who actually produce this labor rather than to the idols themselves. Marx stated: “It is true that labor produces for the rich wonderful things—but for the worker it produces privation. It produces palaces—but for the worker, hovels. It produces beauty—for the worker, deformity. It replaces labor by machines, but it throws one section of the workers back into barbarous types of labor and it turns the other section in a machine. It produce intelligence—but for the worker, stupidity, cretinism” (Marx 1987, 58). However, idols do not feel that they are alienated from the execution of emotions. In some ways, this alienation is too obvious to them. They have been trained in particular ways; they know the manual through which to control their emotions; and they even begin to enjoy—not resist—when emotional management reaches a critical point. Idols thus tend to embrace behaviors that are expected of them without questioning. The idols’ self-consciousness as idols (“because

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we are idols”) is strikingly effective in regulating and rationalizing their own behaviors. For the idol stars, emotions are not actions in the full sense of the word but rather an internal energy that prompts us to certain actions; and emotion may be described not as the “before” of the social and the cultural but as severely compressed cultural meanings and social relationships (Illouz 2010, 14–15). For the idol stars, emotion itself cannot be the energy that fuels autonomous actions; rather, it is easily used as a means to rationalize overt behaviors. A Melancholic Allegory Idols are spectacular. They overwhelm their surroundings visually through their well-trained manners, sexy bodies, tightly choreographed dance, and refreshing fashion styles. When we consider the striking appearances of the idol stars, we can begin to understand why many people have commented about haloes or aura surrounding the idols. The music and styles of idol groups such as SNSD, Super Junior, Big Bang, 2NE1, 2PM, and Beast are at the frontline of popular culture’s trend patterns. The unrealistic bodily figures of SNSD, the six pack abs of 2PM members (nicknamed chimsŭngdol, or, “beast idol”), and the post-pop art fashion sense of Big Bang’s G-Dragon and TOP form the stuff of contemporary cultural trend. In Yi Chaeyong’s film Yŏbaeudŭl (Actresses 2009) there is a scene in which Korea’s leading actresses talk about how they are averse to events in which idol groups participate. Even the A-list actresses are overshadowed when idol groups like SNSD, Super Junior, and Big Bang emerge into the scene. Spy fans occupy the event space before the idol groups come, waiting for “oppa” [a Korean term for male stars used by teenage female fans]. In such situations, actresses are nothing more than the red carpet decorating the idols’ entrances. Essentially, the culprits behind these actresses’ “humiliating” scandals are idol stars. Powerful enough to unarm actresses, the visual effect of the idol bears comparison to the ultra-modern skyscrapers of a global metropolis, Seoul’s Rodeo Street in Apkujŏng, Seoul’s designer-store street in Ch’ŏngdam, or the nineteenth-century Parisian arcades that emerged in its spectacular grandeur. As Walter Benjamin mentioned, nineteenth-century Parisian arcades were “a city, or, a compressed world.” Arcades exhibited trendy new objects to the extent that “art serviced merchants” (Benjamin 2005, 146) and constituted a space for “promoting commodity capital” (Benjamin 2005, 147). Idols are a microcosm of the “big hit” myth and the success discourse, as figures who exhibit the compressed growth of Korean popular music, internationally recognized contributors to the public and the field of culture industry, and the target of commercial advertisement market. Nevertheless, the idols’ spectacle is gloomy just as it is fantastic. It is so extremely spectacular that it is gloomy, paradoxically. The idols’ destiny is like that of the fancy flowers that may fall off before others; no one knows when they may not be there anymore. Their destiny is not much different from the way that the Parisian arcades, which had seized upon the spectacle of a nineteenth-century capitalist city, became the city’s eyesore, giving way to other spectacles as time passed. The idols’ spectacles extend the spectacles of the nineteenth-century Parisian Arcades. Walter Benjamin defined this cultural development as allegory. He understood allegory as “insight into the object’s transience.” Idols, as allegory, convert the spatial splendor of spectacle into temporal transience; the more spectacular an object is, the faster the speed of its destruction.

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Bibliography Deleuze, Gilles. 1994. Anti-Oedipus. Seoul: Minŭnsa. Translated by Choi Myŏng-gwan. —— . 1999. Logic of Sense. Seoul: Minŭmsa. Illouz, Eva. 2010. The Making of Emotional Capitalism. Seoul: Tolbaege. Kim, Po-nyŏn. 2011. “Riŏl iranŭn irŭm ŭi nodong- aidol riŏlit’i p’ŭrogŭraem chinjja kajja riŏl ilsang” [Labor in the name of real: the true and false real daily life of idol reality program.] In Aidol: H.O.T. esŏ sonyŏ sidae kkaji [Idol: from H.O.T. to SNSD], edited by Lee Dong-Yeun. Seoul: Imaejin. Lee, Dong-Yeun. 2010. “Munhwa chabon iran muŏt inga” [What is cultural capital]. In Munhwa chabon ŭi sidae [The Age of Cultural Capital]. Seoul: Munhwa kwahaksa. Marx, Karl. 1987. Economic and Philosophic Manuscript. Seoul: Iron kwa silchŏn. Mun-Kang, Hyŏng-chun. 2011. “Usang ŭi hwanghon—han’guk sahoe esŏ aidol ŭn ŏttŏk’e sobidoenŭn’ga?” [The twilight of idols: how are idols consumed in Korean society?], In Aidol: H.O.T. esŏ sonyŏ sidae kkaji [Idol: from H.O.T. to SNSD], edited by Lee Dong-Yeun. Seoul: Imaejin.

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15 Controlling or Supporting? A History of Cultural Policies on Popular Music Soojin Kim

This chapter examines how Korean cultural policies have shaped and constructed Korean popular music cultures. While the Korean government currently works to endorse and support Korean popular music as part of K-pop and hallyu (the Korean Wave), censorship of popular music has been enacted pervasively since the first Korean government was established in 1948. Particularly, President Park Chung Hee (in office: 1963–1979) enacted a pre-censorship of popular music as early as the mid-1960s. This lasted until 1996 when such censorship of the media was abolished under the presidency of Kim Young Sam (a.k.a. Kim Yŏng Sam 1993–1998). Although pre-censorship of music videos, lyrics, and performances still exists, it is not as strict as it was in previous time periods. In this chapter, I demonstrate that the government controlled and regulated popular music through censorship before 1996, and then strategically changed the policies to exert less control and offer far more support after 1996. I claim that the supervision and censorship of popular music before 1996 were political strategies that propagandized attitudes toward anti-communism and upheld the military government, emphasizing support for Park’s regime; government priorities also included the rehabilitation of the lost cultural identity of post-colonial subjects. However, the cultural industry policies that evolved after 1996 were pioneering vehicles to forge a national brand and to enhance economic expansion. The first part of the chapter outlines the policies on censorship between 1948 and 1995, including the regimes of President Rhee Syng Man (a.k.a. Yi Sŭng-man. in office: 1948–1960), Yun Bo Seon (a.k.a. Yun Po-sŏn. 1960–1961), Park Chung Hee (in office 1963–1979), Chun Doo Hwan (1980–1988), and Rho Tae Woo (a.k.a No T’ae-u. 1988–1993). Although Kim Young Sam took the presidency in 1993 and censorship would only be in effect for three more years, I exclude his regime here because his government challenged his predecessors in many aspects. Most of the previous studies exploring censorship focus on President Park Chung Hee’s regime. However, this chapter also examines the regimes of the other four presidents. In this section, I investigate the socio-political context in which the government executed censorship of media and the changes in popular music making that resulted from the censorship. The second section, which includes the regimes of President Kim Young-Sam, Kim Dae Jung (a.k.a. Kim Tae-chung 1998–2003), Roh Moo Hyun (a.k.a. No Mu-hyŏn 2003–2008), and Lee Myung Bak (a.k.a Yi Myŏng-pak 2008–2013), examines the policies concerned with cultural industries or cultural goods that focused on the notion of a national brand. While President Park Chung Hee considered culture and education a second economy and succeeding governments accepted that concept, their policies did not recognize popular culture

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as a vital component of Korea’s cultural industry. In this regard, Kim Young Sam’s administration represents a transition where the government pushed forward progressive policies regarding cultural commodities. The notion of popular culture as goods or commodities became widely pervasive as governments started to expand government support for cultural industries. In particular, the extensive popularity of hallyu and K-pop beyond Asian countries has prompted the government to create related laws and institutions in response. In contemporary Korea, cultural industry and economic development are inseparable. In addition, Lee Myung Bak’s government created the idea of a national brand as a way to generate income by promoting Korean popular culture outside the country. This is an indication of how Korea utilizes its popular culture as a strategic industry in economic development. It is rare to find studies about Korean cultural policies in English that are not about Park’s regime and his Cultural Property Protection Law. Yang Chong-sŏng [Yang, Jongsung] (1994) paved the way to explore cultural policies in relation to the Cultural Property Protection Law, which was promulgated during Park’s presidency, Pak Sang-mi [Park, Sang Mi] (2010) investigates how the cultural policies of Park Chung Hee adapted to Japanese cultural projects. Other scholarly works pay special attention to the Cultural Property Protection Law (Saeji 2012; Howard 2012). Since the 1980s, Korean scholars have delved into multiple aspects of cultural policies. A fair amount of scholarly works, many of which come from the public administration field, examine cultural policies historically. The works of Oh Yang-nyŏl (1995) and Pak Kwang-guk (2008) are in a similar vein, demonstrating that historical analyses of cultural policies divide each era into governments and chronologies in order to organize governments in chronologies. Oh looks at the cultural policies over the past fifty years while Pak studies policies over sixty years. Oh and Pak examine the ways in which each government conceptualized the notion of culture, which I will discuss later on in this chapter. Im Hak-sun (2009) takes on a different approach and classifies all previous studies on the cultural policies of Korea into different subjects, including budget, bureaucracy systems, and cultural economy. As seen in Oh and Pak, Im points out that a majority of the previous studies examine different aims and goals of cultural policies historically. A number of scholarly works look at the cultural policies during a particular period (see Lee 2004; Yi and Hwang 2012; Im 2012; Pak 2009). While most studies focus on cultural policies in general, little attention has been given to the influences of cultural policies on popular music cultures. Kwŏn Sŏk-chŏng (2012) and Hong Chŏng-t’aek (2012) examine cultural policies for popular music in a chronological way. As seen in other studies, both Hong and Kwŏn point out that cultural policies on popular music between the 1960s and the mid-1990s are more controlling and less supportive of popular music than governments after the mid-1990s. Despite all the detailed information on popular music cultures, Hong and Kwŏn did not go further to demonstrate the rationale of how governments conceptualized culture and how this influenced the growth of popular music cultures. This chapter argues that cultural policies reflect the ways in which governments view popular music cultures and the idea of culture as a whole. Policies of censorship show that the government considers popular music as an object to be controlled, whereas policies of national branding demonstrate that the government considers popular music to be a cultural commodity. Rather than analyzing each cultural policy in detail, the research reported here aims to shed light on the effects and influences of government policies on popular music.

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Policies before 1996 Five years after independence from Japan, Korea suffered from the Korean War (1950–1953). This unstable socio-political situation shaped the way in which each regime legitimatized their respective governments by exploiting certain aspects of culture, including popular music. The intervention and control of the government came to be prevalent and the purposes of monitoring popular music were connected to the socio-political conditions of the times. Post-colonial conditions forced Koreans to search for their own cultural identities, ones that were not touched by Japanese influences. Due to the ceasefire of the Korean War, the Korean government put much effort into building and increasing its military force, which means little attention or financial support was given to social welfare or cultural institutions and policies. Most importantly, the military force enabled servicemen and officers to lead the government and to uphold anticommunist politics and policies. In this section, I explore the cultural policies that banned hundreds of songs due to their Japanese musical flavor and that supported anti-communism ideologies. In addition, I argue that controlling popular music was a political instrument to legitimate the political ideologies of the government. During the regimes of President Rhee Syng Man and Yun Bo Seon, playing any Japanese music recording in public spaces, including bars, was not permitted. The prohibition against playing Japanese music lasted for several decades. Because the regimes between 1945 and 1963, when Rhee Syng Man and Yun Bo Seon seized power, were right after the Japanese colonial period, these two presidents attempted to eradicate Japanese traces in the music cultures as a way to recover the cultural identity of postcolonial subjects. The government created Kungmin kayo pogŭp undong (the Movement for Disseminating People’s Songs) in 1949 and founded Kungmin kaech’ang ch’ujin wiwŏnhoe (the Committee for Changing People’s Songs) during the 1950s to remove Japanese-flavored songs, to distribute healthy songs, and to form patriotic morale. However, due to the Korean War, most government works went into reviving the ruined country, and thus, cultural politics and policies were minimal during these two regimes. While Park Chung Hee continued the prohibition of Japanese music, the regime codified the previous policies and promulgated a few more important policies. During Park’s regime, the most pressing issue involved reviving cultural artifacts that were almost destroyed completely due to the Japanese annexation and the Korean War. President Park first promulgated the Cultural Properties Protection Act in 1963, whose aims were to protect and preserve cultural practices and artifacts from the past. The law has been maintained with only a few amendments since then. Hundreds of Important Tangible/Intangible Cultural Properties have been designated and many traditional music and performance practices have been included in those lists. The government sent performers of a few musical genres abroad—designated as Intangible Cultural Property—in an effort to introduce the cultural practices of Korea to other countries. Musical genres including p’ungmul, a Korean percussion music and dance, were exploited as a means of publicity. Similarly, cultural politics was also pursued by other presidents. President Rho Tae Woo established the Ten-Year Master Plan for Cultural Development, which involved promoting local culture and international cultural exchanges. One of the major objectives of the cultural politics during president Kim Young Sam’s regime was to introduce traditional Korean cultural practices to various parts of the world. As these cultural politics included cultural exchanges with other countries and promoted traditional Korean culture, a growing number of performance troupes and masters were sent to countries such as China, Japan, and the United States with

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the government’s support. While traditional music and performance genres were strategically promoted as a way to both introduce Korea to other countries and to establish Korean cultural identity, the regime of President Park viewed popular music from a very different perspective. President Park attempted to maneuver popular music through founding the Korea Broadcasting Ethics Committee during the 1960s. The first banned song was “Kiro ŭi hwanghon” (Twilight of Crossroads 1965) because the lyricist of this song defected to North Korea. Hundreds of songs were similarly banned during Park’s regime. If songs had composers or lyricists who defected to North Korea; were stylized with Japanese musical flavor; depicted decadent, miserable, or tragic moods or copied pre-existing tunes, then the songs were banned. For example—despite the great success of the music genre t’ŭrot’ŭ—a great number of t’ŭrot’ŭ songs were prohibited during Park’s regime because of its influence from the Japanese music genre, enka. Both enka and t’ŭrot’ŭ are in duple meter and use lots of dotted rhythms, strong nasal sounds, ornamentations, and much vibrato. Whether the music gained great success or not, any music embodying a Japanese musical flavor or related to the music genre of t’ŭrot’ŭ was banned. When the government was about to enact prohibitions of a few popular songs, including t’ŭrot’ŭ, newspapers’ editorial columns in the mid-1960s argued that t’ŭrot’ŭ was an aesthetically undeveloped music genre and that all Japanese cultural influences should be erased. However, the criteria to prohibit songs due to the Japanese musical influence remained unclear, since not all t’ŭrot’ŭ songs were banned. In 1975, the government announced, “Measures for Purification of Public Performance and Popular Music.” This re-executed and forcefully enacted censorship on all the popular music released until 1975. As seen in the songs prohibited due to their negative and/or tragic moods, the government also attempted to remove unhealthy attitudes and instead inject wholesome and healthy moods. The government not only encouraged musicians to compose kŏnjŏn kayo (Healthy Songs) but also created a few specific songs, such as “Salgi choŭn nae kohyang” (Salubrious and Attractive Hometown) and “Chal sarabose” (Let’s Live Well) to create a positive atmosphere.

Figure 15.1 Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band Album—Censored Cover with Obscured Karl Marx (left) and Original (right).

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The government ruled by President Park even hosted choral competitions for the genre of the healthy song. The policies surrounding healthy songs were to manipulate not only music, but also to manipulate the emotions of the people (Chŏng 2012). The positive attitude and enlightenment were effective tools to quickly fortify the government-led economic development projects. While achieving swift economic development, Park Chung Hee’s government also supported anti-communist political ideology. Popular music was exploited as a means of propaganda. The president sent celebrities of that time to the U.S. Armed Forces stationed in Korea and Vietnam to encourage American and Korean servicemen. On the surface level, the government ruled by President Chun Doo Hwan seemed to alleviate regulation of popular music. He allowed most of the songs banned during the previous governments. During Chun’s regime, Kukp’ung (The National Event for Korean Performance) was held. The purpose of this event was to promote Korean cultural identity through performances. However, considering that President Chun Doo Hwan’s government had severe political upheaval and turmoil, his cultural policies involved heavy control and censorship of media. For example, various songs that were circulated and sung by the social activists and college students were banned under his regime. A few of them, including “Ach’imisŭl” (Morning Dew), were banned to be sung, played, and performed, as it was believed to express anti-government sentiments. President Rho Tae Woo’s regime maintained censorship and regulation of popular music and enacted Laws for Recordings and Videos, while establishing the Ministry of Culture. Founding the Ministry of Culture formed a platform to make changes in the ideas of how culture connected to industry, and would later influence the succeeding governments. As the Olympics were held in Seoul in 1988 while Rho was in power, the government created programs and institutions that people could enjoy in their everyday lives (Pak 2009). Government-Led-Promotion Project The earlier decades put much effort into founding facilities and promulgating cultural policies to protect and preserve fading traditional cultural practices, while monitoring popular music. Compared to previous governments, governments since Kim Young Sam accomplished relative political stability through democracy. Thus, the succeeding governments since President Kim Young Sam did not set cultural policies out of political necessity. Rather, they were interested in promoting and supporting popular music, as governments acknowledged the notion of culture as connected to industry (Yŏm 2009; Pak 2008). As hallyu drew worldwide attention and popularity, governments have eased sanctions and promoted popular music. In this section, I demonstrate cultural polices since Kim Young Sam’s government and the ways in which the succeeding governments fostered popular music as part of boosting the cultural industry and hallyu. Because Kim Young Sam was not from the military clique, his government tried to emulate previous governments by carrying out rigorous shifts in cultural policies. President Kim Young Sam abolished the pre-censorship of media, which had lasted for more than thirty years. This allowed musicians more freedom, and the process of music circulation was shortened (Hong 2012, 25). In addition, the regime included the creation of the Division of Cultural Industry (Yŏm 2009), as Kim’s regime facilitated the notion of culture as industry. President Park Chung Hee considered culture and education as “the second economy” and, since then, cultural politics

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have become an indispensable part of economic politics (Im 2002, 43). During Park’s regime, culture embodied being good and healthy—as reflected by that time’s popular music—in order to accelerate economic development. However, governments since Kim Young Sam’s regime have instead embraced culture as a commodity that provides monetary income and resources. The next government, led by Kim Dae Jung, restructured the administration and renamed the Ministry of Culture and Sports as the Ministry of Culture and Tourism. The change in the name of the ministry shows just how much Kim Dae Jung’s presidency put emphasis on culture; connecting culture and tourism would become an economic resource. As a way to promote culture as an industry, Kim declared more supportive policies and fewer regulations. The budget allotted to the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism was more than 1 percent of the whole budget during Kim’s regime (Pak 2008, 99; Kwŏn 2012, 53), which was a huge increase compared to the budgets given by previous governments. This shows that Kim Dae Jung’s government extended support for activities executed by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism. In addition to an increased budget, Kim also founded the Korea Culture Content Agency in 2001. This agency’s definition of content indicates that culturally significant objects could be produced and consumed anywhere, regardless of physical time and space—especially because of technological advancements (Chŏng 2008). Movie film, popular music, and broadcasting program are included in such content, as they can be distributed in various file formats and accessed anytime. Establishing the Korea Culture Content Agency reflected the developing changes in technology; the Agency acknowledged that these new media would help create and spread cultural

Figure 15.2 Yearbook on Cultural and Content Industry Published by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism in 2006 (left) and Published by the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism in 2009 (right).

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commodities. While the Agency acknowledged music as one area of potential cultural content, Kim’s government focused more on dramas and films including animation. As soon as the agency was founded, branches in Japan and China were established in 2001 that manifest strategies, so they could export and promote music to the countries with large groups of established hallyu fans. With Korean dramas and popular music’s worldwide success particularly since the 2000s, the Korean governments have included policies relating to hallyu (Lee 2004). Roh Moo Hyun’s presidency first acknowledged hallyu’s economic potential and made a plan to introduce hallyu to reach wider audiences in different parts of the world. As Hong points out, the government declared a Five-Year Plan for Promoting Music Industry, and accordingly, Roh’s presidency fostered the dissemination of popular music abroad (2012, 28). The government encouraged and endorsed music that promoted Korea, but that music was ultimately marketed and targeted for audiences outside Korea; such endorsements showcased various types of music around the world, and so on. Despite the recognition and popularity of Korean popular music outside Korea, the boom of hallyu was first created around films and dramas; Roh’s government formed cultural policies in relation to this section of hallyu, and so, those policies mostly supported films and dramas. Accordingly, Roh’s government encouraged the opening of Korean dramathemed cafés in the core tourist districts (such as Myŏng-dong and Insa-dong) in order to attract even more tourists to those areas. Also, the Korea Contents Agency—founded in 2001— opened a U.S. branch in 2003, which played a role in introducing and strategically promoting Korean popular culture in the United States. As seen in the pro-hallyu government policies, the Korean content agency in the U.S. also gave more attention to drama and film than popular music. More importantly, Roh’s government publicly declared the Strategies for Boosting National Brand through Culture in 2003. The concept of a national brand was introduced during Roh’s regime, although the concept of a national brand was reified and became a core part of the cultural polices during the successive Lee Myung Bak’s presidency. President Lee Myung Bak’s government had a similar goal to Roh’s regime; Lee actively fostered and endorsed popular cultures, as they were considered an economically beneficial industry. During Lee Myung Bak’s presidency, a yearbook for 2009 published by the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism elaborates on just how significant the Korean cultural politics’ use of culture is as a means to develop the economy and provide a source of national income. The yearbook states: Between the year that the Ministry of Culture was established and the year 1997, the government considered culture and arts as crucial means to develop economic growth of the nation-state and made efforts to improve cultural industries. Also, the government contributed in making well-balanced developments in tourism, domestic sports and professional sports through making links between culture and tourism. (. . .) Between 1998 and 2002, the government considered cultural industries as crucial means of enhancement of the nationstate’s competitiveness and strategically developed cultural industries. The government also expanded tourism industries, which are connected to culture in an attempt to overcome hardship of IMF.1 The yearbook outlined the characteristics of the cultural policies of previous governments. Based upon previous cultural politics, the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism of Lee Myung Bak’s government states that its aim is to “improve quality of Korean’s lives and enhance nation-

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state’s competitiveness by promoting culture and arts, protecting, transmitting and developing cultural tradition as well as developing culture-tourism industries, the ministry serves to create related policies and execute them.” In other words, cultural policies that are related to Korean cultural artifacts, commodities, tourism, and industries are inseparable parts of the economic growth in Korea. When the concept of the national brand was first proposed during Roh’s regime, the brand was supposed to be a vital vehicle to enhance the cultural industry. In 2008, President Lee delivered a special speech about the national brand on behalf of the ceremony for Independence Day. Soon after that speech, the National Brand Committee was born. The committee asserted a master plan to put culture and tourism together, so foreign visitors and tourists would visit Korea due to its outstanding cultural artifacts and commodities. Unlike previous governments, Lee’s government extended its support to include popular music as part of popular culture experience and exports (Pak 2009; Pak 2008). Particularly, his presidency intensively focused on sponsoring and promoting Korean popular music, including indie genres inside and outside Korea, while maintaining the earlier support for dramas and films. For example, during his regime, the tennis arena in the Korean Olympic Park was remodeled into a concert hall for popular music. At the end of Lee’s presidency, the explosive popularity of Psy’s “Gangnam Style” became a turning point for the Korean government to promote Korean popular music even more rigorously. As Psy became a worldwide celebrity, Korean media released a research report stating that Psy promoted the national brand. Right after Psy’s huge success in the world market in 2012, the Hi Seoul Festival—an annual festival hosted by the city of Seoul—invited Psy. Millions of people gathered in front of the Seoul City Hall to see his performance. However, this publicity move explicitly shows the ways in which the government exploits popular music in order to boost the national brand. Korean media highlighted the non-Korean attendees in the audience, as well as the reporters from various countries; while doing so, Korean media affirmed Psy as the national brand. Psy’s performance for this festival demonstrates a strategic tool in showing the ongoing efforts of Lee’s regime to foster and maintain popular music cultures. After the festival and Psy’s return to Korea, the government attempted to demonstrate how Psy could promote the national brand of Korea. Despite facing criticism for focusing on trending celebrities, Lee’s cultural policies are remarkable, as his regime continued to explicitly cultivate popular music as cultural commodities. Conclusion Park Geun Hye (a.k.a. Pak Kŭn-hye)— daughter of the previous president Park Chung Hee— was elected in 2013. It will take time to figure out how her regime conceptualizes the notion of the Korean culture and executes cultural policies on popular music. Nevertheless, it seems obvious that strategic plans for distributing hallyu, including Korean popular music, are being sustained under her rule. The website of the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism (www.mcst.go.kr) includes separate menus for hallyu itself and hallyu strategies. Psy’s performance at the new president’s inauguration ceremony also implies that Park is interested in sustaining and supporting the popular and trendy cultures of the times. Cultural policies are not a wholesome effort to intentionally illustrate the cultures surrounding popular music. There should be other determining factors when showing off the popular music of the times. However, cultural policies are useful instruments to look at the ways in which

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each government has defined culture, and how different notions of culture and cultural policies affected popular music cultures. In this chapter, I examined two contrasting aspects of popular music policies—controlling policies and promoting policies. Popular music was under the governments’ supervision for several decades. During Kim Young Sam’s presidency, the long-lasting pre-censorship was obliterated and the Division of Cultural Industry was changed to the Ministry of Culture and Sports. This transition circulated a particular statement about culture—it is now a resource for economic development. Successive governments after Kim have also considered culture’s link to industry and tourism. Despite the differences in the details of these different governments’ cultural policies, the mentioned governments promoted popular music as a way to boost a specific image of Korea and create a national brand upon this image. Thus, the purpose of popular music shifted from being used as a political instrument to legitimate the government, to becoming a vehicle to boost the national brand in order to serve economic interests. Note 1

Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism. Cultural Politics of 2009 www.mcst.go.kr/web/dataCourt/research/ researchView.jsp (accessed March 1–10, 2014).

Bibliography Chŏng, Sang-chŏl. 2012. “Muhwa sanŏp chŏngch’aek kwa kukka chŏllyak: Hanjungil FTA rŭl chungsim ŭro [Cultural Industry Policy and National Strategy: focusing on FTA among South Korea, China, and Japan].” In Hanguk haengjŏng hakhoe hagye haksuldaehoe [Korean Association for Public Administration—Summer Symposium], 1–23. Chŏng, Sŭng-hwa. 2012. “Governing Emotion in the Developmental State of South Korea: Focused on Public Information Activities and Cultural Policies in the 1960s-70s.” Presented at Korea Workshop, the Korea Family Center, University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. Hong, Chŏng-t’aek. 2012. “Yŏktae chŏngkwŏnpyŏl taejung ŭmak kwallyŏn chŏngch’aek pyŏnhwa [The Shifts in Policy related to Popular Music of each regime].” Sound, 17–21. Seoul: P’ono. Howard, Keith. 2012. “Authenticity and Authority: Conflicting Agendas in the Preservation of Music and Dance at Korea’s State Sacrificial Rituals.” In Music as Intangible Cultural Heritage: Policy, Ideology, and Practice in the Preservation of East Asian Traditions, edited by Keith Howard, 113–140. London: Ashgate. Im, Hak-sun. 2002. “Cultural Identity and Cultural Policy in South Korea.” International Journal of Cultural Policy 8(1): 37–48. —— . 2009. “Munhwajŏngch’aek ŭi yŏngu yŏngyŏk kwa yŏngu kyŏnghyang punsŏk: 1998–2007 [An Analysis on Research Area and Trend of Cultural Policy: 1998–2007].” Munhwajŏngch’aek nonch’ong [The Journal of Cultural Policy] 21: 25–48. —— . 2012. “Pak Chŏng-hŭi taet’ongnyŏng ŭi munhwa chŏngch’aek insik yŏngu: Pak Chŏng-hŭi taet’ongnyŏng ŭi yŏnsŏlmun ŭl chungsim ŭro [Ex-president Park Chung Hee’s Awareness of the Cultural Policy: focusing on his Speeches].” Yesul kyŏngyŏng yŏngu [Arts Management Studies] 21: 159–182. Kim, Yun-hŭi. 1990. “Munhwabu ŭi saŏpgyehoek ŭl chŏmgŏmhanda [Checking Business Plans of Ministry of Culture].” Minjok Ŭmak [National Music] 1: 236–247. Kukga Kirokwŏn (National Archive) http://theme.archives.go.kr/next/tabooAutonomy/kindOfTaboo04.do Kwŏn, Sŏk-chŏng. 2012. “Hanguk ŭi taejung ŭmak chŏngch’aek sarye yŏngu [A Case Study on Popular Music Policy of Korea].” Sound, 50–59. Seoul: P’ono. Lee, Dong-Yeun. 2004. “Munhwa sahoe rŭl chunbihanŭn munhwa chŏngch’aek ŭi chŏnmang: Ch’amyŏ chŏngbu ŭi munhwa chŏngch’aek p’yŏngkka rŭl chungsim ŭro [Future of Cultural Policy for Cultural Society: focusing on Roh Moo Hyun Administraion’s Cultural Policy Evaluation].” Minju sahoe wa chŏngch’aek’yŏngu [Democratic Society and Policy Research] 6: 184–209. Munhwa Ch’eyuk Kwangwangbu (Ministry of Culture, Tourism, and Sport) http://mcst.go.kr/main.jsp Oh, Yang-nyŏl. 1995. “Hanguk ŭi munhwahaengjŏng ch’egye osip nyŏn: Kujo mit kinŭng ŭi pyŏnchŏn kwajŏng kwa kŭ kwaje [Cultural Administration System of Korea over Last Fifty Years: Changes of Structure and Function and their Challenges].” Munhwa chŏngch’aek nonch’ong [The Journal of Cultural Policy] 7: 29–74. Pak, Kwang-guk. 2008. “Munhwahaengjŏng yuksip nyŏn ŭi punsŏk kwa kwaje [Analyzing the Cultural Administration of Korea over Last Sixty Years and Its Challenges].” Hanguk sahoe wa haengjŏng yŏngu [Korean Society and Administration Research] 19(3): 77–101.

190 • Soojin Kim Pak, Kwang-mu. 2009. “Yi Myŏng-bak chŏngbu ŭi munhwa chŏngch’aek: Chŏngch’aek kijo wa ch’ogi sŏngkwa rŭl chungsim ŭro [Lee Myung Bak Administration’s Cultural Policy: focusing on Policy Stance and Initial Result].” Sahoe kwahak [Social Science] 42(2): 161–190. Pak, Yang-u. 2008. “Sae chŏngbu ŭi chŏngch’aek kijo: Yi Myŏng-bak chŏngbu ŭi munhwa chŏnch’aek panghyange kwanhan koch’al [New Administration’s Policy Stance: A Study of Lee Myung Bak Administration’s Cultural Policy Direction].” In Hanguk haengjŏng hakhoe haksuldaehoe [Korean Association for Public Administration Symposium], 631–660. Park, Sang Mi. 2010. “The Paradox of Postcolonial Korean Nationalism: State-Sponsored Cultural Policy in South Korea, 1965-Present.” Journal of Korean Studies 15(1): 67–93. Saeji, Cedarbogh T. 2012. Transmission and Performance: Memory, Heritage, and Authenticity in Korean Mask Dance Dramas, Ph.D. Diss., University of California, Los Angeles. Yang, Chong-sŏng [Yang Jongsung]. 1994. “Folklore and Cultural Politics in Korea: Intangible and Cultural Properties and Living National Treasures.” Ph.D. Diss., Indiana University. Yi, Pyŏng-nyang and Hwang Sŏrhwa. 2012. “Munhwa chŏngch’aek ŭn pyŏnhayŏnnŭnga?: No Mu-hyŏn chŏngbu wa Yi Myŏng-bak chŏngbu esŏ ŭi Munhwa chŏngch’aek [Has Cultural Policy been Changed?: Cultural Policies of Roh Moo Hyun Administration and Lee Myung Bak Administration].” In Hanguk haengjŏng hakhoe ch’ungye haksuldaehoe [Korean Association for Public Administration—Autumn Symposium], 177–192. Yŏm, Ch’an-hŭi. 2009. “1990 nyŏndae ihu hanguk munhwa chŏngch’aek ŭi ‘munhwa’ ihae pyŏnhwa kwajŏng [Korean Cultural Policy and Cultural Regulation Effect: Focus on the changing ‘Culture’ Meaning Since 1990s].” Minjusahoe wa chŏngch’aek yŏngu [Democratic Society and Policy Research] 16: 212–242.

16 The Voice of Popular Korea Styles, Genres, and Contexts Haekyung Um

This chapter explores the relationships between the vocal styles, genres, and social contexts of Korean popular music. Regarding the vocal styles, I will consider a variety of technical elements of singing including timbre, dynamics, gamut, rhythm, phrasing, vocalization, ornamentation, diction, and any other means of distinctive vocal effects employed in a song to shape its performance outcome and its genre designation. These technical parameters will also include the visual aspects of vocal performance. Frith argues that genre is not determined by the form or styles of a text, but by the audience’s perception of its style and meaning (Frith 1996, 94). Similarly, the concept and definition of Korean popular music genres are flexible and ever evolving; with the place of a particular musical genre, its aesthetic significance and relationships with other genres are subject to change. In this context, it would be useful to consider Fabbri’s theory of five genre rules (Fabbri 1982) in order to better understand the nature of Korean popular genre flexibility, adaptability, and context, as represented through the dynamics of vocal styles. For example, the technical consideration of vocal styles, as outlined above, gravitates toward what Fabbri defines as the “formal and technical rules” in the first instance. Then the delivery of a song allows for the mutually compatible “semiotic rules” and “behavioural rules” to operate in relation to the audience and consumers. The two remaining categories of “social and ideological rules” and “commercial and juridical rules” will also be very useful to analyse both the politics and economics of Korean popular songs. In addition, I will also explore the ways in which vocal performance and reception are inextricably linked to the issue of identity within and across genres and historical contexts. Case studies and examples for my description and analysis will include some of the key vocalists of different genres. Vocal Techniques and Hybridization By the early 1980s, according to Lee Young Mee (1998, 279), trot, pop ballad, and dance music established themselves as the three main genres of Korean popular music. Among them, trot is an older form of sentimental song, performed with an abundance of vocal inflections. Its origins date back to the 1920s during the Japanese colonial period. While trot peaked in the 1970s, it has remained popular amongst older adults and working class to the present day. Trot is a grassroots popular music that can be heard on buses, taxis, marketplaces, as well as karaoke rooms (Son 2006, 51). Yi Mi-ja (b. 1941), a famous female trot singer who was dubbed “the queen of elegy,” was featured in the KBS2 music programme Purhu ŭi Myŏnggok: Chŏnsŏrŭl Noraehada (Eternal

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Classics: Singing Out the Legend). Broadcast over two days on 15 and 22 March 2014, this programme presented a cover competition of the songs by Yi Mi-ja. During her 55-year-long singing career Yi Mi-ja released 569 albums totalling 2,069 songs. The competition participants of this double episode were young singers from a wide range of Korean pop genres, including rock, pop, dance, and R&B. Gummy, an R&B singer from C-JeS Entertainment sang one of the signature songs of Yi Mi-ja, “Tongbaek agassi” (Miss Camelia, 1964). A short prelude by the twelve-stringed traditional zither kayagŭm provided a serene monodic backdrop to the song. The sound of this traditional instrument is also associated with a sense of history and the maturity of the original song, which was 50 years old. The first verse, accompanied by the kayagŭm solo, was sung in the trot style, embellished with breaking notes, whispers, sighs, and a wide vibrato at the end of phrase, reflecting the sentimentality and pathos of the song. This calm mood was then drastically changed in the orchestral interlude, played on the strings and brass, to a dramatic mood in the second verse, which was intensified by a tango rhythm. Gummy’s singing was now mixed with R&B and rock styles. The semi-improvisatory coda, in particular, displayed the singer’s vocal ability to the fullest after which the song returned to a tranquil duet of the voice and kayagŭm. The contrast between the first and second verses and the coda was designed to showcase a variety of musical arrangements and the range of vocal techniques of the artist—this being an established formula for the cover song competitions. This song, originally released in 1964, topped the charts for thirty-five consecutive weeks, but it was banned for being in the “Japanese style” in 1965 until its censorship was lifted in 1987.1 What makes Yi Mi-ja a legend of trot singing is multifaceted. Firstly, it is her perfect pitch and clear voice with a slightly nasal quality. She has a wide vocal range with an emphasis on the high pitches. She rarely uses falsetto, a technique often used by other trot singers such as Chu Hyŏn-mi and Na Hun-a (see below). Her diction is also clear so that every single word can be clearly heard. She employs small and controlled vibratos throughout the song, while the end of each phrase receives a wider vibrato. Her singing is also characterized by upwardly moving slurs at the beginning of each phrase; and this draws attention to the phrasing of both the lyrics and melody. Yi Mi-ja’s discrete application of various techniques of trot singing, such as breaking note, whisper, sigh, sobbing pitch, and gasp, makes her singing expressive, yet emotionally restrained and subtle. Her calm and measured gestures mirror her dignified and controlled singing style although the song itself may be full of pathos. Regarding the rhythm and tempo, she maintains perfect time keeping in a medium-scale but flexible micro scale so that the rubato, or rhythmic playing of melody, and the syncopated rhythms create an interplay between the singing and the orchestral accompaniment. This makes each performance unique, when it is live, and also makes the orchestra conductor’s role to maintain the steady beat and tempo important. Her signature song “Tongbaek agassi” illustrates all of these features. Another famed female trot singer is Chu Hyŏn-mi (b. 1961), who debuted in the mid-1980s. Chu Hyŏn-mi has a wide-ranging voice with a high-pitched nasal quality. Like Yi Mi-ja, she employs phrasing strategies to combine a stable overall structure with flexible details. But her vocalization is far more complex as she frequently employs downwardly sliding slurs, breakingtones, grace notes, and vibrato as well as voice shifts. Her use of different vocal techniques and timbres is very extensive so that almost every note is embellished differently. Her university educated background and impeccable manner gave her stage presence, respectability, and elegance. She also contributed to the development of a new style of trot, which has up-tempo disco rhythms and light-hearted playful lyrics. For example, since her song “Pi naerinŭn yŏngdonggyo” (Rain on Yŏngdong Bridge 1985), which was in A major, trot songs in major

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modes became more popular. Trot was no longer sorrowful, but cheerful and playful with wider audience appeal (Son 2006, 61–62; Lee 1998, 276–278). More recently, Chu Hyŏn-mi has collaborated with musicians from other genres. She worked with a rapper, Cho PD, for “Saranghanda” (I Love You 2008) to mix trot with hip-hop. She also sang with Sŏhyŏn, a member of the female idol group Girls Generation, in a semi-trot piece “Tcharajatcha” (2009), in which Chu Hyŏnmi elaborates trot vocal techniques in contrast to Sŏhyŏn’s simpler pop ballad style. Nam Chin (b. 1946) and Na Hun-a (b. 1947) are two representative male trot singers who were hugely popular in the 1970s and early 1980s. Nam Chin’s singing combines pop and rock elements and many of his songs are in fast tempo. With a wide vocal range and deep rich voice colour, he often emulated Elvis Presley’s style both in singing and performance. In addition to his singing career, he also starred in a number of films. In contrast, Na Hun-a focuses on slow

Figure 16.1 Cover of Pi naerinu˘n yo˘ngdonggyo (Rain on Yo˘ngdong Bridge) (Oasis, OL-2628, 1985). The First Album by Chu Hyo˘n-mi.

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tempo ballad style trot. His singing emphasizes vocal embellishments including breaking notes, grace notes, sighs, and upwardly moving slurs, as well as a frequent voice shift with a nasal falsetto. The majority of Na Hun-a’s songs are sentimental and associated with longing for home, tearful separation, or a broken heart. The two singers were in competition with each other, but at the same time their contrasting vocal styles, namely, Nam Chin’s flamboyant singing with Western popular music influences and Na Hun-a’s expressive emotional rendition of the Korean sensibility of pathos, complement each other to represent a wide spectrum of the aesthetics of male trot signing of the period. Trot underwent stages of transformation under the influence of other popular music genres, especially dance music in the 1990s, so that trot music is no longer as sorrowful and pessimistic as it was in the past. In addition, its appeal as “music for the masses” is enduring, as trot songs have been adapted as the logo songs for various election campaigns by various political parties and individual politicians. Indeed many of the trot songs are catchy and easy to sing along with. These cheerful and upbeat trot songs with dance rhythms can also be reformulated for nationalistic and upbeat political campaigns. For example, during the 2007 general elections, “Pparappappa” (2006) by Pak Hyŏn-bin (b. 1982) was chosen by a record number of 685 candidates. In 2008, trot was chosen again for the presidential election campaign. For example, Lee Myung Bak of the Grand National Party (Hannaradang)2 took Pak Hyŏn-bin’s “Oppa man midŏ” (Just Trust Big Brother 2007) and retitled it as “Myŏng-bak man midŏ” (Just Trust Myung Bak) to advocate his electoral mandate, while the Democratic Labour Party candidate Kwŏn Yŏng-kil adapted Pak Hyŏn-bin’s “Kondŭre mandŭre” (Dead Drunk 2006) into his campaign song entitled “Sesang ŭl pakkunŭn Kwŏn Yŏng-gil” (Kwŏn Yŏng-gil Will Change the World) (Son 2009, 218). Cho Yong-p’il (b. 1950), who performed a wide range of musical styles including rock, trot, and pop ballad, was dubbed kungmin kasu (singer of the nation) by his fans, who came from all age groups and social classes. His long successful musical career began in 1968 as a member of a country and western band; and from 1971 onward, he performed rock. His 1975 trot song “Torawayo pusanhang e” (Come Back to Pusan Habour) launched his solo career, and in 1980, his first full-length album sold over a million copies, setting a new record for Korea. Throughout the 1980s Cho Yong-p’il topped the charts and he also launched his international career in Japan as an enka singer.3 Cho Yong-p’il also learnt traditional Korean folk songs and musical drama p’ansori to further develop his vocal techniques and to expand his vocal range. Through this training of his voice, which originally was clear, nasal, and high pitched, he acquired a husky quality with depth. This vocal timbre helped him to express a wider range of emotions and pathos. He adapted regional folksongs and fused them with rock and pop elements. For example, “Han obaengnyŏn” (Five Hundred Years 1980) and “Kangwŏndo arirang” (Arirang from Kangwŏn Province 1981). Cho’s singing transcends the stylistic boundaries of trot, rock, and pop ballad; coupled with his methods of blending modern pop with older musical elements, he has maintained his broad appeal and popularity, which he continues to enjoy to this date. For example, his 2013 album Hello, which adopted dance music and hip-hop, topped various music charts that year. In addition to Cho Yong-p’il, pop balladeers dominated the charts for multiple decades, including Yi Kwang-cho (b. 1952) and Yi Sŏn-hŭi (b. 1964) during the mid-1980s, and Yi Munse (b. 1959) and Pyŏn Chin-sŏp (b. 1966) in the second half of the 1980s, as well as Sin Sŭnghun (b. 1968) into the early 1990s. The majority of these pop balladeers were male with a smooth voice and a wide vocal range of about two octaves or more. Their singing style is primarily comprised of an open chest voice while falsetto may be employed when reaching a high register.

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Figure 16.2 Cho Yong-p’il, the King of Korean Pop. His First Album (Jigu, JLS-1201546, 1980).

The vocal part builds up to reach a climax toward the end of the piece to display the artist’s vocality. Accompanied by a full orchestra and piano, the music has a rich sound and a complex harmonic progression, emulating a Western classical music style. While the majority of these pop songs were written in a major mode, the lyrics are melancholic and romantic, focusing on love, nature, and separation, set in prose and everyday language. According to Lee Young Mee (1998, 271–272), pop ballad of the 1980s has its roots in 1960s easy listening ballad (for its sensibility), 1970s folksongs (for its rich harmony), and 1980s rock (for its dynamic vocal style), suggesting a process of hybridization in its style. Significantly the growing popularity of the acoustic guitar in the 1970s and a keen interest in piano tuition amongst Korean youngsters also contributed to this trend. Additionally, many of the 1980s pop ballad songs were written by composers who were trained in Western classical music (Lee 1998, 274). Pop Nostalgia and Cover Competitions Ch’a U-jin suggests that youth culture in Korea embraced different musical genres in different decades: for example, folk and rock in the 1970s, pop ballad and dance music in the 1980s, and dance music in the 1990s. The consumers of popular music used to be in their late teens and 20s, but by the 1990s, a younger audience in their early teens also established themselves as a distinctive fan group of Korean popular music (Ch’a 2012, 161–165). It is notable that, since the 2000s, nostalgia for Korea’s musical past prompted a revival of folksongs from the 1970s– 1980s and pop ballads from the 1990s. For example, TV music reality shows, such as Nanŭn Kasuda (I Am a Singer) and Purhu ŭi Myŏnggok: Chŏnsŏrŭl Noraehada,4 became hugely popular. These programmes combine three components—music, entertainment, and “survival”—to maximize audience interest, targeting viewers over 40 years old. The rating of the competition is done by a panel of several hundred judges comprised of different age groups as part of a larger audience. These programmes also show how individual artists strive to create the best

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possible cover version. In the case of Nanŭn Kasuda, a comedian was paired with each participating artist as their “manager” to produce a comical and personable behind-the-scenes episode that was edited into the programme for the TV audience. MP3 files of all competing performances were also made available for sale immediately after the programme was televised so that viewers can purchase their own favourite cover rendition. Post competition sales were closely related to various music charts. In this way, the resurgence of old popular music and its reinterpretation by contemporary singers are mutually beneficial for the original artists whose work gets “rediscovered” and the interpreting artists whose career gets a boost. Online discussions by fans and audience members contribute to the marketing of these reality programmes and music sales. For example, contention over the judges’ scores and the “odd” behaviors of individual artists of Nanŭn Kasuda created much controversy and attention, which helped the show’s publicity and also boosted viewer ratings.5 Additionally, composers who rearrange the music and session musicians who accompany live performances also receive attention and recognition as creators and performers of the event. An example of relatively obscure artists gaining popularity is the Korean indie rock band, Guckkasten, who performed Yi Chang-hŭi’s “Hanjan ŭi ch’uŏk” (A Glass of Memories 1974). When Guckkasten won first place in the Nanŭn Kasuda competition, the band topped various online charts for several weeks. The artists’ instant success on the show after twelve years of struggle as an “unknown” indie band also drew considerable attention from the media. In the original version by Yi Chang-hŭi, the song was sung in a straight chest voice with a pareddown instrumental accompaniment, while some tenuto was used to accentuate the key words in the song lyrics—these being common stylistic features of folksongs, which employ “natural” voice.6 This type of vocalization and phrasing are suitable for expressing the idea of a pure natural world and the pursuit of freedom, both of which are the ethos and aesthetics of the Korean folksong genre (Kim 2012, 40). Yi Chang-hŭi’s voice has a medium range and is slightly husky, but when Yi sang this song in the 1970s vocal timbre was not emphasized and little vibrato or embellishment was used. In contrast Guckkasten’s performance was an elaborate rock rendition that showcased the lead singer Ha Hyŏn-u’s eloquent vocal techniques. Through the use of the song’s improvisatory coda, Ha displayed high-pitched and elaborate melismatic melodic phrases of shouting and exhibited his expansive vocal range, reaching three octaves. From Vocality to Visuality By the end of the 1990s, Korean popular music seemed to have moved from being dominantly aural to visual. So dance music topped the charts, although the importance of the ballad did not wane all together. The music video also transformed music production in which visuality become crucial for all music across genres.7 In the case of dance music, vocality became less important at the expense of elaborate visual presentation and dance routines. More specifically, the emergence of idol groups since the late 1990s and the predominance of K-pop have made this trend even more prominent. In fact, it is difficult to distinguish dance music groups from idol groups. The key difference is that the term idol groups refers to groups that are formed and operated through planning and management by major talent agencies (Kim 2012, 85). Their apprenticeship system for training includes several years of singing, dancing, rapping, stage manners, acting, and foreign languages (Japanese, English, and Chinese) before debuting (see Lee Dong-Yeun’s chapter on K-pop idol in this volume). Each member of an idol group is usually assigned a persona and specialization, for example, projecting a tough guy image or

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Figure 16.3 Images of Some of the Singers who Competed in the Popular TV Programme Nanu˘n Kasuda (I Am a Singer), Munhwa Broadcasting Corporation.

being a cute member and singing or leading dancing or rapping. While individual members are specialized, K-pop bands perform a wide range of styles, including dance music, pop ballad, R&B, hip-hop, electronica, and occasionally trot. This range is exercised liberally, so that single albums of K-pop acts are often eclectic compilations of different genres and styles. In the case of hip-hop, the rapper of the group is often American born to provide the “appropriate” accent (Um 2013). Voicing Differences? Ethnicity and Race While producing and exporting K-pop for overseas audiences, compared to other Asian countries, Korea is not a big importer of foreign popular music other than Anglo-American pop. More recently, an increasing number of K-pop artists are multicultural, such as Fei of Miss A, Amber of f(x), Nikhun of 2PM, and Lay of EXO M (the Chinese language sub-unit of EXO). These K-pop artists were strategically recruited to target specific markets in Asia, including China, Taiwan, and Thailand. If K-pop can be seen as a cultural product with “East Asian characteristics” (Shin 2009, 517) and its “Asianness” is a marketing category (2009, 515), then the multiculturalism of K-pop artists also operates within the geographical and racial proximity of Asia.

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However, black music in Korea presents a different case. Yang Jaeyoung notes that because black music is a racially fabricated musical expressive form, its cultural and ideological consequences could be more complicated or nuanced than other popular musical styles (see Yang’s chapter in this volume). Producers of black music in Korea are mostly ethnically Korean with some exceptions; for example, the two female singers Insuni and Yun Mi-rae (a.k.a. Tasha) have mixed African American and Korean parentage. Black music is indispensible and essential in the contemporary Korean popular music scene. Following the success of Seo Taiji in the early 1990s, hip-hop has become an important part of Korean youth culture while R&B is a staple of Korean popular music. A number of major music entertainment agencies create and manage acts that specialize in black music genres. For example, Big Bang (YG), 2NE1 (YG), Bangtan Boys (Big Hit), B.A.P. (TS), and Block B (Seven Seasons) perform hip-hop while Gummy (C-JeS), Se7en (YG), Ailee (YMC), Lena Park (Blueprint Music), and Ali (Juice) are R&B singers. It seems that the interpretation of black music in Korea is different from, for example, Japan where rappers attempt to emulate “blackness” by tanning their skin and wearing dreadlocks as a sign of “respect” and also to “stand out” (Condry 2006, 24–26). Condry suggests that hip-hop came to Japan as black music rather than American music with hip-hop’s racial connotation emphasized more than its origins (2006, 25). In the case of Korea, it seems that hip-hop is interpreted more as American music so that the practice of black aesthetics is not very prominent. For example, Korean hip-hop artists may wear chains and baggy trousers, but will dye their hair blond. Korean interpretation and appropriation of black music and its aesthetics, especially by mainstream K-pop, leaves little room for race. Discussion and Conclusion These case studies and examples illustrate how different vocal techniques are employed in a variety of Korean popular musical genres on the one hand and how genre boundaries are blurred by stylistic crossover and hybridization of genres on the other hand. What Fabbri termed as the “formal and technical rules” for trot include a range of vocal techniques that produce emotional and expressive signing, which, in turn, are used to convey and communicate the sentiments of the song lyrics through its “semantic rules.” As trot became more cheerful and playful combining dance rhythms since the 1980s, its “formal and technical rules” as well as its “semantic rules” have also changed accordingly. The dignified manner of trot singers, as exemplified by Yi Mi-cha and Chu Hyŏn-mi, signifies the “behavioural rules” of female trot singers. In the case of Nam Chin, his trot performance was shaped by pop and rock influences and Elvis Presley’s style, all of which determined his “formal and technical rules,” “semiotic rules,” and “behavioural rules.” Trot’s adoption as election campaign songs was based on its appeal as “music for the masses.” Through this application of the “social and ideological rules” in a new context, trot music acquired political meanings and nationalist characteristics. It is notable that folksong lyrics contain words associated with nature, such as white, clear, flower, star, wind, sky, morning, dew, etc. (Kim 2012, 40) while the vocalization for folksongs employs natural open chest voice, minimal vocal inflection and tenuto. Consequently, the “semantic rules” of the lyrics and the “formal and technical rules” of the voice complement each other aesthetically and musically. It should also be noted that both the “social and ideological rules” and “behavioural rules” for folksongs were equally important in several ways. Folksongs were an emblem of the emerging youth culture of the 1970s—symbolised by long hair, acoustic

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guitars, blue jeans, and draft beer. Led by university students, folksongs were also a vehicle for the young generation’s personal and social commentaries, as well as for political protest during the mid-1970s and 1980s. With regard to the “commercial and juridical rules,” the underground folksongs of the late 1970s remained outside the conventions of mainstream music production (Kim 2012, 40–43). Fabbri has shown “how genre rules integrate musical and ideological factors and why performance must be treated as central to the aesthetics of popular music” (Frith 1996, 94). This is clearly the case with artists like Cho Yong-p’il, whose performance style crosses genre boundaries between rock, trot, and pop ballad, as well as his most recent experimentation with dance music. On the Japanese stage, Cho was a singer of enka, which shared some of its genre rules with Korean trot, such as its expressive vocal inflections (formal and technical rules) and sentimental song lyrics (semantic rules). This compatibility in genre rules helped Cho Yongp’il and other Korean trot singers enter the world of Japanese enka in the 1980s. Among all Korean popular music genres, K-pop circulates most widely across the globe via various online platforms, including YouTube. What Straw said about our consumption of music being “almost always technologically mediated” (2001, 60) is particularly true with K-pop, which has been influenced greatly by digital technology for its production and consumption. The emphasis on visuality over vocality is not just a stylistic and aesthetic feature of K-pop, but it has now established itself as K-pop’s “formal and technical rules” and “semantic rules.” The idol system and Asian multiculturalism of K-pop artists can be seen as the “social and ideological rules” and “commercial and juridical rules,” which set K-pop pop apart from other music genres in terms of its management and business practice. The development of the 1980s–1990s pop ballad and its stylistic characteristics illustrate how voice itself has evolved through the process of hybridization, by way of selecting and reconfiguring different styles of music from the 1960s easy listening, 1970s folksongs, and 1980s rock. A similar process of selection, appropriation, and reinterpretation is found in cover song competitions, although its social contexts of consumption and reception are different. What I termed “pop nostalgia” in cover competitions is not limited to just older audiences. For younger audiences, original songs are historical musical texts from which new interpretations and appropriations can be made. There is a sense of reverence for the original songs, which are called “eternal classics,” and a feeling of inter-generational solidarity is created through their popular musical heritage. In this way, a creative interpretation of the original songs becomes an elaboration and transformation of Korean pop heritage and its associated musical identity. In conclusion, the creation of these various popular musical genres is an outcome of the range of interacting musical conventions and rules that give shape to its form and style. Influenced by changing social contexts, audience expectations, industries and technologies, the concept and boundaries of genre for Korean popular music have also undergone major transformations. It is this dynamic force that will continue to shape the voice of popular Korea, its aesthetics and its meanings. Notes 1

The ban came in 1965 when Korea signed a diplomatic treaty with Japan. The treaty was met with strong public protests and opposition because the anti-Japanese sentiment in Korea was still strong after the Japanese colonial occupation from 1910 to 1945. According to Mun Ok-pae, the Korean authorities chose to ban “Tongbaek agassi,” not necessarily because it was deemed to be in the Japanese style but because this song was very popular at that time. In this way the Korean government attempted to draw public attention to the policy that the state employed

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2 3

4 5

6 7

stringent measures to prevent any Japanese influences on Korean culture even when diplomatic relationships between the two states were normalized (Mun 2004: 111–112). Renamed the New Frontier Party (Saenuridang) in 2012. In the 1980s several non-Japanese artists from other Asian countries entered the Japanese enka market. In addition to Cho Yong-p’il, female singers Kye Ŭn-suk and Kim Yŏn-ja debuted in 1985 and 1988 respectively. Teresa Deng from Taiwan was also popular in Japan as an enka singer. Given the status of enka as a national culture of Japan, it is interesting to note non-Japanese artists’ appearance on the enka stage (Yano 2002: 9). Initially, the Purhu ŭi Myŏnggok programme featured only idol groups. But later it included non-idol artists. For example, in March 2011 Kim Kŏn-mo (b. 1968), a dance music star from the 1990s, was eliminated at his first entry to the Nanŭn Kasuda competition. Yi So-ra (b. 1969), a singer and the presenter of the programme, stormed out in protest at the judges’ decision. Kim Kŏn-mo was then allowed to re-enter the competition, which was unprecedented. For example, Yang Hŭi-ŭn (b. 1952) sings with an open chest voice with little word painting and clear diction, and she often uses tenuto to stress each syllable with a vibrato at the end of the phrase, as exemplified in her famous song “Ach’imisŭl” (Morning Dew). For example, Mimi Sisters, the backing vocalists for indie rock group Chang Ki-ha and Faces, made their name with their dark sunglasses, stern facial expression and minimalist dance routines. Their performance complemented the lead vocalist Chang Ki-ha’s singing, which has little vibrato and a half-sung and half-spoken style.

Bibliography Ch’a, U-jin. 2012. “Taejung Ŭmak kwa Sedae” [Popular Music and Generations]. In Taejung Ŭmak ŭi Ihae [Understanding Popular Music], edited by Kim Ch’ang-nam, 152–176. Seoul: Hanul. Condry, Ian. 2006. Hip-hop Japan: Rap and the Path of Cultural Globalization. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Fabbri, Franco. 1982. “A Theory of Musical Genres: Two Applications.” In Popular Music Perspectives, edited by David Horn and Phillip Tagg, 52–81. Göteborg and Exeter: International Association for the Study of Popular Music. Frith, Simon. 1996. Performing Rites: Evaluating Popular Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kim, Ch’ang-nam. 2012. K-Pop: Roots and Blossoming of Korean Popular Music. Seoul: Hollym. Lee, Young Mee. 1998. Hanguk Taejung Kayosa [A History of Korean Popular Music]. Seoul: Sigongsa. Mun, Ok-pae. 2004. Hanguk Kŭmjigok ŭi Sahoesa [A Social History of Censored Music in Korea]. Seoul: Yesol. Shin, Hyunjoon. 2009. “Have you ever seen the Rain? And who’ll stop the Rain?: the globalizing project of Korean pop (K-pop).” Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 10(4): 507–523. Son, Min-chŏng. 2006. “Regulating and Negotiating in T’ûrot’û, a Korean Popular Song Style.” Asian Music 37(1): 51–74. —— . 2009. T’ŭrot’ŭ ŭi Chŏngch’ihak [The Politics of Trot]. Seoul: Ŭmak Segye. Straw, Will. 2001. “Consumption.” In The Cambridge Companion to Pop and Rock, edited by Simon Frith, Will Straw, and John Street, 53–73. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Um, Haekyung. 2013. “ ‘The Poetics of Resistance and the Politics of Border Crossing’ ” Korean hip-hop and ‘cultural reterritorialisation.’ ” Popular Music 32(1): 51–64. Yano, Christine, R. 2002. Tears of Longing: Nostalgia and the Nation in Japanese Popular Song. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Asia Centre.

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17 Asia and Beyond The Circulation and Reception of Korean Popular Music outside of Korea Sunhee Koo and Sang-Yeon Loise Sung

For the last two decades, K-pop—and in particular, its success along its Asian trajectory—has been portrayed as a national triumph for Korea and a blockbuster case of commoditizing its soft culture. However, the transnational flow of Korean popular music should not be thought of as just a recent or contemporary phenomenon, nor confined to the regions in Asia. From the perspective of music and historical studies, the circulation and consumption of Korean popular music outside its own geo-political and cultural boundaries is long-established, tracing as far back as the turn of the twentieth century, although its reach, meaning, and modes of production and consumption were divergent at different times and contexts. With the presumption that music crosses borders for one or more reasons, even in times when border crossing is restricted and inconvenient, this chapter traces the transnational flow of K-pop from the early twentieth century, and discusses what enabled the circulation and reception of K-pop in different contexts and epochs of world history. Diverging from K-pop as a label of contemporary music, in this chapter K-pop encompasses various sounds of popular music made in Korea from the early twentieth century to today. The two authors call attention to “musical transnationality,” the particular elements and ability of which fulfill the needs of audiences residing, in this case, outside Korea. By exploring the power of musical transnationality in history and in contemporary global soundscape, this chapter argues the need of investigating K-pop as to what the music offers to its audiences and the reasons why particular groups of people become adherents and fans of certain types of music. Despite differences in style, ideology, and the relevant industries and technologies of K-pop, the range of distinct cases discussed in this chapter will complement the existing knowledge of contemporary K-pop studies. The first part of this chapter is a discussion of the early twentieth-century circulation of K-pop in China and Japan, followed by a brief sketch of its connection to local popular music scenes in each different place in a later time period. Then, the second part focuses on two distinctive case studies on the reception of K-pop, in Taipei, Taiwan, and Vienna, Austria. Although Taiwan and Austria are geographically far apart, both places have played an important role in instigating K-Pop popularity and consumption in Asia and Europe, respectively. By combining ethnographic data with archival research on Korean music in various regions in Asia and Europe, this chapter illustrates how local contingencies such as internal desires of and attractions to Korean popular music have much affected the types of both circulation and reception of K-pop in transnational spaces.

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K-pop at the Turn of the Twentieth Century From the beginning of the twentieth century, music for mass circulation and consumption emerged in Korea, first with the introduction of the gramophone in 1907, and then expedited with the establishment of Kyŏngsŏng Radio Broadcasting Station in 1927. However, the concept and usage of “popular music” in Korea was still at its inception, and the lack of semantic rigidity distinguishing between being popular and popular music in those early days requires this study to straddle two musical categories—sinminyo (popular folksongs) and yuhaengga (popular music, literally “fashionable song”)—in its discussion of the dawning of K-pop music. Even yuhaengga itself had very contestable boundaries at the time, since it comprised a variety of tunes with foreign or indigenous origins combined with vernacular texts. Both music categories were similar in terms of their production, circulation, and consumption. While sinminyo was seen as “traditional” in sound but “new” in its means of production and circulation, yuhaengga represented the “new,” “western,” and “modern” in both style of music and its production modes. Considering the ambiguous and contested terrain of popular music at its early stages in Korea, sinminyo may be viewed as exhibiting the ideological and practical characteristics of popular music as much as yuhaengga, even if it stands for very different sounds from those that today’s audiences may imagine as the sounds of popular music. K-pop in China Between the latter half of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century, sizable groups of Koreans emigrated to China, Russia, Japan, and different parts of the Americas. Of all the overseas Korean communities in the early twentieth century, the largest was in northeast China, bordering Korea and Russia (Koo 2015). The Korean emigrants brought with them cultural knowledge, practices, customs, and a number of commodities that they valued in their home country; Korean indigenous popular music was certainly one of the distinctive ethnic cultures that they relocated. Beginning in the 1920s, many performing arts troupes visited northeast China from Korea and presented music, dance, and theatrical works for diasporic Korean audiences. The troupes presented a range of vocal music, including sinminyo and yuhaengga. While performance tours by popular singers were one of the primary mediums for the spread of Korean popular songs, the rise of the recording industry back home also contributed greatly to the transnational dissemination of K-pop. In the middle of the 1930s, Shenyang (Simyang) City in northeast China developed into a trading center for Koreans in China. Its Xita (Sŏtap) Street was not only decorated with numerous colorful posters of Korean singers from Columbia, Victor, and OK recording companies, but the air was also filled with Korean popular songs playing in music stores (Koo 2010, 15–16). Some of the representative Korean hit songs, which were popular in northeast China at the time were “T’ahyangsari” (Living Oversea), “Hwangsŏng yett’ŏ” (Trace of the Imperial City 1932), “Hongdo ya ujimara” (Don’t Cry, Hongdo), “Purhyoja nŭn umnida” (Undutiful Son’s Cry), “Tchillekkot” (Baby Brier), and “Nunmul chŏjŭn Tumangang” (River Tuman Drenched with Tears).1 Among these, “Nunmul chŏjŭn Tumangang” is known with its special relationship to the region, since the lyrics speak of a couple’s separation at the Tuman (Tumen in Chinese) River, which forms the border between China and Korea. The song was composed by Yi Si-u, who was inspired by the true story of a couple separated when the husband left his family to participate in the Korean independence movement in Northeast China and died after being arrested by the Japanese imperial army.

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Yi heard the story when his troupe visited Longjing (Yongjŏng), where many diasporic Koreans lived at the time. After his return to Korea, this song was released with singer Kim Chŏng-ku (1916–1998); it was well-received both at home and in China (Kim 2010, 435–436). Due to their diasporic situation, Koreans in China consumed popular songs from their homeland, particularly songs set to melancholy melodies bearing lyrics of nostalgia and longing for home and family. Although dark and sentimental songs seemed to predominate throughout East Asia in the second and third decades of the twentieth century, Korean popular songs that depicted homesickness, family separation, and displacement appealed to diasporic Korean communities in particular, since the music was especially resonant with their life experiences. The songs evoking nostalgia and separation continued to be popular, even when Chinese Koreans began to compose their own locally-produced popular music. With the economic reforms following the end of the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), China began to consume popular music imported from other parts of Asia, and then produced its own local pop songs as competition against the domination of the Mandarin and Cantonese pop music coming out of Hong Kong and Taiwan. Subsequently, Chinese national minorities began to produce their own commercial songs. In the Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture, Chinese Korean popular songs were produced and broadcast widely by state owned recording and broadcasting stations, such as, the Jilin Nationality Audio-Visual Publishing Company and Yanbian TV and Radio Broadcasting Station. Among many Korean minority nationality singers representing their community, Kim Sŏng-sam (1971–2006) was considered to be one of the most prominent Chinese Korean singers in Yanbian from the 1990s until his death in a motorcycle accident in 2006. He sang songs that reminded his listeners of early twentieth-century Korean popular songs in terms of melody and lyrics. One of his 1990s hits was “T’ahyang ŭi pom” (Foreign Land Spring), which speaks of a man’s inability to return home, even though his wife is waiting for him to come back (Koo 2010, 27–28). Such a text certainly appeals to both older and younger Koreans who either had the memory of migration as Korean expatriates, or who had “nostalgia without memory” as descendants of the expatriates (Appadurai 1996, 30). The idea of a distant homeland, as well as memories of living in rural hometowns, has continued to be among the major themes of younger-generation Chinese Korean singers into the 2000s (Koo 2010, 30). The local inclination toward nostalgic songs clearly reflects the particular experiences of those Koreans in their migration to China, thereby demonstrating how the local reception of transnational K-pop is closely tied with the semiotics of sound, and especially of content that resonates emotionally with the particular local audience. K-Pop in Early Twentieth-Century Japan If the early circulation of K-pop in China was linked to Koreans’ overseas migration and the formation of diasporic Korean communities, the flow and reception of K-pop in Japan presents quite a different picture. Japan’s colonial rule over Korea and its execution of power led its colony to perceive Japan as an ideal and a window on modernity, despite persistent resistance throughout the colonial period. From a macro-level view of the trajectory of popular music between Japan and Korea, Japan seems to be the winner in terms of industrial, commercial, and cultural impact, especially during its colonial period. However, Japan could not entirely evade the influence of and cultural flow from its colony, since Japanese musicians and singers who experienced Korean songs, adapted and commercialized them for Japanese consumption.

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E. Taylor Atkins illustrates how “Arirang,” a traditional yet popular Korean folksong, has been remade multiple times in Japan, and had been embraced into the J-pop scene as the sound of the other (2007). As previously mentioned, the ambiguous boundaries of popular music invited the intersection of traditional and modern musical ideas in early twentieth-century Korea; “Arirang” is a clear example in which traditional sound was refurbished with new idioms of technology and style, and made a commercial hit in its own native and transnational contexts, especially during the second half of the colonial period. The fact that fifty-plus versions of “Arirang” were issued by Japanese recording companies illustrates the market demand for, and ready supply of this music. So popular was “Arirang” that, in the 1930s, several famous Japanese singers recorded their own versions of the song, using both Korean and Japanese language (Atkins 2007, 658). While the flexibility of the melody and rhythm of “Arirang” enabled Japanese musicians to exploit the song and re-create it multiple times for the pleasure of Japanese audiences, it was perhaps chiefly the lyrics and portraying emotion in the song that fascinated those audiences. Love, broken hearts, betrayal, tears, and separation were common sentiments in Japanese kayokyōku (popular songs) of the time, and the major sentiment of “Arirang” resonated with the prevailing mood of early twentieth-century Japanese popular songs. If, to greater or lesser extents, some sonic components of “Arirang” were remade for Japanese singers and audiences, what remained unchanged, however, was the sentiment that sang of love, abandonment, and heartbroken separation.2 Interestingly, postwar Japan again embraced and lent space in its popular music to Korean musicians who specialized in the sentimental Japanese songs known as enka. While the presence and commercial success of Korean singers in Japan was otherwise of little note until the late 1990s, Korean enka singers such as Yi Sŏng-ae, Kye Ŭn-suk, Kim Yŏn-cha, and Cho Yong-p’il enjoyed fame and popularity beginning in the 1970s (Shin 2009, 109). There is no doubt that K-pop circulated in postwar Japan—if not prominently, then at least on a minor scale. A number

Figure 17.1 Kye U˘n-suk (left) and BoA (right). Different Korean Female Singers in Japan in Different Periods Show Differences Between Han’guk kayo (Korean popular song) and K-pop.

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of non-enka Korean singers released albums in Japan or worked as underground musicians in the 1980s and 1990s (Shin 2009), but the public recognition or reception of those musicians was far less than that received by Korean enka singers in Japan. If the proliferation of pre-1990 K-pop was confined to, and closely related with enka scenes in Japan, then why? Christine R. Yano explains that the major attraction of enka is neither its sound nor its image, but instead the music’s ability to evoke sentiment and thus bring tears to Japanese audiences who imagine themselves as part of the nation with a communally-broken heart (Yano 2002, 3). Ironically, Korean singers whose rusty voices are often attributed with han (unresolved suffering or pain), the psychological myth that Korean discourse as a national ethos emerged out of colonial suppression, have been embraced in a very essentialized Japanese pop, in which tearshedding is consumed and practiced as what it means to be “Japanese.” If today’s K-pop appeals to transnational audiences as a package of visuals, sounds, and various other elements, the transnational circulation and reception of K-pop from the early twentieth century to the 1990s was thanks instead to its sound and lyrical evocation of sentiment that both transnational and international audiences sought, helping them to construct who they are as diasporic and modern individuals. Global Reach of K-pop and its Reception among Transnational Fandoms The study of K-pop, as part of the study of hallyu (the Korean Wave), has expanded for the past several years. Earlier studies dealt especially with the mechanisms and factors by which the Korean government used K-pop as soft power to conquer new markets, as well as its successful marketing strategy and high quality of music production and recently expanding its research focusing on the reception and localizing process of K-pop in the global platform. From this section on, the discussion on the transnationality of K-Pop focuses on the reception and localizing process, according to the local environments of Taiwan and Austria. The transnational recognition of K-pop in East Asia started with the unexpected popularity of Korean popular culture, known as hallyu. When hallyu began to be recognized by Asian fans for its trendy TV dramas, K-pop started to become more appealing to these Asian consumers through the form of soft ballad songs and OST albums as reminders of the sentimental scenes in the dramas. Because of strategic promotion, the growth of social media, activities of fan culture, and other factors, K-pop has become a prominent part of East Asian popular culture reaching global audiences, including the U.S. and Europe. Its rise can be traced back to the late 1990s, when H.O.T. and CLON gave successful concerts in Taiwan and China, but a few other Korean musicians also had success performing outside Korea. Around 1995, just before CLON’s debut, Korean singer Kim Wan-sŏn had presented herself in the local media, and during the 1970s and 1980s, Cho Yong-p’il, Kim Yŏn-cha, and other Korean singers had worked in Japan as enka singers. Even before that, many experienced Korean singers who had previously performed on the U.S. military club stages had gone to Europe or the United States (Shin 2013, 34). Its significant popularity outside Korea, however, started in Taiwan with the debut album of Korean dance duo CLON and spread to other Chinese-speaking areas, together with Korean soap opera, attracting fans in Southeast Asia, the Middle East, the United States, and Europe. Its fast and sudden transnational spread attracts scholars’ attention because it reverses the earlier cultural flow, which had been from West to East, and it raises new questions about subjects such as transnationalism, globalization, glocalism, de-Westernization, hybridity, and so on. Comparative fieldwork in these locations will permit the exploration of factors that are

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Figure 17.2 Korean Male Pop Star Sensation in Asia During the Mid-2000s. Rain in China (left), Se7en (Seven) in Japan.

contributing, more generally, to the success of non-Western cultural products in Asia and Europe. The local media has played an important role in distributing and selecting the products in Taiwan. Therefore, this research considers the role of media in the reception of K-pop, such as interviews with music companies, TV producers, and people in the entertainment business. In contrast, there is no media contact or direct communication with Korean entertainment companies in Austria. Therefore, it naturally focuses and explores on local fan activities. Taiwan: Springboard of K-pop around East Asia The global rise of K-pop is easily traceable to origins in Taiwan, from which it spread to other Chinese-speaking areas. Taiwan was then acting as the springboard of popular music in the Mandarin-speaking region, influencing the musical taste of Chinese audiences (Moskowitz 2011). Beginning with cover music3 and OST albums of popular Korean television dramas in the late 1990s, K-pop has had a consistent presence in Taiwan. Eventually, music companies began bringing Korean artists to Taiwan. ROCK Music Taiwan took a chance on promoting the Korean duo CLON with great success: CLON set a record for the highest sales rate in Taiwan, selling more than 40,000 CDs (Sung 2006). The Taiwanese music companies ROCK, Avex Taiwan, Sony Music, and Alpha started to compete in the market of importing K-pop. According to Li, who was working at ROCK Music Taiwan and had made the decision to release CLON’s album, CLON’s success in Taiwan was due to two main reasons: First, CLON’s masculine image and advanced choreography were well received by many Taiwanese music fans. When we first thought of introducing CLON to Taiwan, we did not want to let the people know that CLON is from Korea. We just wanted the audience to see

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them dance and sing, because there was no one like them in Taiwan at that time. . . . So I just made the stage and let them sing at Ximenting, the most crowded place in Taipei. At that time, there was nobody who knew them. But after they performed, we introduced them as Korean singers, and they started to buy the CDs. The CDs we brought on that day were sold immediately. So we knew they had potential. Second, Korean artists had a different strategy from Japanese artists. CLON came to Taiwan every two months and stayed pretty long in Taiwan. So people started to feel very comfortable having more contact with them. The way they promote artists is different from in Japan. They are promoted like local artists as though they were living here. (Interview with Li, Taipei) After the success of CLON, many music companies competed to import Korean pop artists to Taiwan. Alpha released OST albums, and around 1998, Avex Taiwan worked together with SM Entertainment and promoted many K-pop stars, such as H.O.T., Shinhwa and S.E.S. According to Liang, who used to work for Alpha Taiwan, “after having success from Korean idol stars in Taiwan and Hong Kong, Avex Taiwan and Avex Hong Kong together proposed that Avex Japan should work with SM Entertainment” (interview with Liang, Taipei). Since then, Avex Japan has had a relationship with SM Entertainment; they both created singer BoA with a special contract, which asked that she work half her time in Japan and the other half in Korea, though later on she spent most of the time in Japan and acted as though she was a Japanese local artist. The popularity of K-pop not only spread fast among Chinese-speaking audiences, but paved the way for K-pop to enter the Japanese market. In 2002, BoA topped the Oricon Music Chart in Japan, and since then, Korean pop musicians have been pursuing music careers in Japan. In the early 2000s, K-pop’s popularity decreased for being less novel and too predictable; however, it reached another peak around 2008, with the emergence of a unique new style. In 2009, the Korean male idol group Super Junior’s song “Sorry, Sorry” became tremendously popular in the Mandarin-speaking region, remaining at number one for a record-breaking thirtyseven weeks on Taiwan’s K-pop singles chart. Later that year, it achieved internet fame in a YouTube video showing inmates in a Philippine prison dancing to it; that video soon garnered more than 4.6 million hits (Jung 2011). In the second week of October 2010, Super Junior was ranked as the number one worldwide trending topic on the Twitter weekly chart. Another noticeable result of K-pop’s rise was the popularity of the Korean girl group Wonder Girls’ song “Nobody” (2008), which entered the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 music chart as a single; Wonder Girls’ music and choreography soon gained enormous attention among Asians all over the world, surpassing 50 million views on YouTube. In the spotlight of a rising pop trend, K-pop gained even more popularity in Taiwan. More music companies focused on signing contracts with Korean artists, searching for more chances for those artists to tour in Taiwan for concerts and fan-meeting events. Many music companies, such as Avex Taiwan and ROCK Music Taiwan, place K-pop in their foreign music branch, alongside J-pop. As it has increased in popularity in Taiwan, these companies have competed to import more K-pop musicians into the local music industry. Its sales in Taiwan now exceed those of J-pop, making up more than 60 percent of all foreign music sold. The popularity of boy/girl K-pop groups such as Super Junior and SNSD, beginning around 2009, has increased Korean influence on the Taiwanese music scene. Many local artists now imitate Korean music, dance, fashion, and music videos, as a Korean-styled appearance

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has become one of the most important factors in being competitive locally. The local Taiwanese music industry, struggling to survive, has developed a love-hate relationship with K-pop: on the one hand, it often imitates K-pop, but on the other hand, it uses K-pop as a standard for cultural rejection. Many Taiwanese young people enjoy K-pop, but a growing number prefer Taiwanese musicians who promote a local style that they call “natural.” Without a doubt, K-pop has become the most successful and visible player in the region since the late 1990s, creating many new phenomena, such as “trans-Asia cultural traffic” (Iwabuchi et al. 2004) and “East Asian pop culture” (Chua 2004). K-pop’s transnational growth, however, has not been limited to the regional context, but has spread globally, attracting fans all around the world, leading to complicated and multidirectional cultural flows.

Figure 17.3 The Compilation Album K-pop 100% (Avex Taiwan, VKCD-80036, 2001) Signals the Arrival of K-pop in Taiwan.

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K-pop Reception in Austria K-pop fandom and its participatory culture—such as auditions, dance festivals, and cover dance competitions—have spread fast in Europe, boosted by social media and Korean pop singer Psy’s video “Gangnam Style” (2012). K-pop fans in Europe, including Austria, had already been increasing in number for several years, but the sudden popularity of “Gangnam Style” sharply increased their participatory culture and increased their familiarity with Korea and its popular music. K-pop fans in Austria are not as significant as those in France or the UK in size and Austria is a small country, with roughly 8.47 million people, surrounded by eight different countries: the Czech Republic, Germany, Hungary, Slovakia, Slovenia, Italy, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. This geographic situation, according to many fans, makes Vienna an international center, easy for K-pop fans in neighboring countries to reach (Interview with Schleining, Vienna). Many K-pop fans not only travel to participate in fan events, but have strong connections with each other. Therefore, though this study focuses on Austria specifically, because many different Europeans live there and European K-pop fans share similar K-pop fan sites, such as Kpopeurope.com and eatyourkimchi.com, it naturally branches out to a broader examination of K-pop reception among Europeans. Also, fans in Austria are not necessarily Austrian in origin: many attendees at shows are from Germany, Hungary, the Czech Republic, and Poland, with a high number of second-generation East and Southeast Asians. So the study of K-pop fandom in Austria is not limited to Austrian K-pop fans. After the video topped the Austrian chart in October 2012, K-pop events sharply increased and began to be eagerly supported by fans and private institutions such as the Korean embassy, the Korea House of Culture, the Korean Association of Austria, and private businessmen (Sung 2013a), all of which continue to cooperate to create a more dynamic K-pop scene by providing venues or finance. Before “Gangnam Style,” most Viennese K-pop fans were East Asians, and their cultural consumption was mostly through the use of social media (Sung 2013b) so they were not so much visible. K-pop remains something that East Asians have in common. Most recently, the trend has changed to attract more local European fans to participate in K-pop. Those who have been long-time K-pop fans have evolved from being consumers to being providers for the next generation; together with the Korean private sector (for example, Korean businessmen and Korean professional singers), they are now acting as cultural intermediaries between Korean institutions and the K-pop fan community. Without their constant efforts, K-pop events would fade away; however, because of their interest in spreading K-pop and communicating with K-pop fans, they have helped create a special K-pop scene in Vienna. It remains small, but it is growing fast and enthusiastically. Its fans are intimately intertwined with the global reaches of the internet. They seek to serve as cultural intermediaries for K-pop in their homeland and—more broadly—in Europe as well. The circulation of early K-pop was primarily limited to Asian countries and overseas Asians (Chua and Iwabuchi 2008; Sung 2013b). Korean mass media emphasized the global influence of hallyu, but most of its audience consisted of East Asians or East Asian immigrants in Western countries. Now that K-pop fandom has increased in Austria, there are comparatively few Asian K-pop fans, and most of them are second-generation Asians born in Austria. If East Asian Kpop fans were strongly connected to their home culture and attached to trends in their home culture through social media (Sung 2012, 2013b), Austrian K-pop fans are closely linked to each other through community and local events.

212 • Sunhee Koo and Sang-Yeon Loise Sung

Conclusion Music crosses borders for many different reasons, including the increasing mobility of people and cultural goods, the expansion of markets, shifts in cultural policy, change in modes of production and circulation, and the evolution of consumer tastes and behaviors, as well as technological advances, as seen in the recent impact of social media. Tracing the musical transnationality of Korean popular music from the early twentieth century to contemporary K-pop scenes illustrates that older instances of transnational music flow were dependent on the movement of people who physically crossed geo-political borders and displaced musical commodities for the consumption of diasporic Koreans and international audiences, whereas contemporary K-pop reflects transnational dialectics of the global popular music industry from the beginnings of its production, and this resulted from various social and cultural shifts that emerged particularly over the last two decades. Musically speaking, the salience of early Korean popular music was in some way confined to its musical ability to evoke and convey a range of sentiments, to which both Korean and foreign audiences could relate, reflecting their own experience and memory. Post-hallyu K-pop demonstrates how Korean popular music has reshaped itself as a form of cultural bricolage filled with various sonic and visual signifiers, inviting the active participation of much broader audiences to engender its global consumption. Notes 1 2 3

It is often the case that the release year of each song is not clear. But it is certain that they are produced during the 1930s. See the transcriptions and lyrics included in Atkins (2007). Many Taiwanese local singers, such as Yuki Hsu (徐懷鈺), sang Korean pop translated into Mandarin without letting the audience know it was originally from Korea. Music companies were recognizing the quality of K-pop already in the early 1990s, but they did not import it directly from Korea because of the negative image of Korea at that time.

Bibliography Appadurai, Arjun. 1996. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press. Atkins, E. Taylor. 2007. “The Dual Career of ‘Arirang’: The Korean Resistance Anthem that Became a Japanese Pop Hit.” Journal of Asian Studies 66(3): 645–687. Chua, Beng Huat. 2004. “Conceptualizing an East Asian Popular Culture.” Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 5(2): 200–221. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 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 Beng Huat Chua and Koichi Iwabuchi, 243–278. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Iwabuchi, Koichi, Stephen Muecke, and Mandy Thomas. 2004. “Introduction: Siting Asian Cultural Flows.” In Rogue Flows: Trans-Asian Cultural Traffic, edited by Koichi Iwabuchi, Stephen Muecke, and Mandy Thomas, 1–10. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Jung, Sun. 2011. “K-pop, Indonesian Fandom, and Social Media.” Transformative Works and Cultures 8. http://journal. transformativeworks.org/index.php/twc/article/view/289 Kim, Nam-ho. 2010. Chungguk chosŏnjok chŏnt’ongŭmak, taejungŭmangnon [Survey of Korean Traditional and Popular Music in China]. Seoul: Minsokwon. Koo, Sunhee. 2010. “Inventing Ethnic Music: Vocal Music of the Korean Ethnic Minority in the People’s Republic of China.” Asian Musicology 16: 5–42. —— . 2015. “Instrumentalizing Tradition?: Three Kayagŭm Musicians in the People’s Republic of China and the Construction of Diasporic Korean Music.” Asian Music 46(1): 78–109. Moskowitz, Marc L. 2011. “Introduction: The Power of the Popular.” In Popular Culture in Taiwan: Charismatic Modernity, 1–22. New York: Routledge. Shin, Hyunjoon. 2009. “Reconsidering Transnational Cultural Flows of Popular Music in East Asia: Transbordering Musicians in Japan and Korea Searching for ‘Asia.’ ” Korean Studies 33: 101–123.

Asia and Beyond • 213 Sung, Sang-Yeon. 2006. “The Hanliu Phenomenon in Taiwan: TV Dramas and Teenage Pop.” In Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, edited by Keith Howard, 168–175. Global Oriental. —— . 2012. “The Role of Hallyu in the Construction of East Asian Regional Identity.” European Journal of East Asian Studies 9(1): 25–45. —— . 2013a. “K-pop Reception and Participatory Fan Culture in Austria.” Cross-Currents: East Asian History and Culture Review E-Journal No. 9 (December 2013). http://cross-currents.berkeley.edu/e-journal/issue-9. —— . 2013b. “Digitization and Online Cultures of the Korean Wave: ‘East Asian’ Virtual Community in Europe.” In The Korean Wave: Korean Media Go Global, edited by Youna Kim, 245–266: New York: Routledge. Yano, Christine R. 2002. Tears of Longing. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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Afterword “We Tried to Catch up, Now We Should Evolve” A Conversation with Shin Hae-chul Hyunjoon Shin with Ch’oe Chi-sŏn

The late Shin Hae-chul (a.k.a. Sin Hae-ch’ŏl: 1968–2014) was not a worldwide known figure. Even this book does not begin to completely cover his life and his achievements in entirety, though they are partly covered in Chapter 5 (as ballad singer) and Chapter 6 (as rock band leader). If you feel like his name is familiar, then you probably have listened to his music when Shin was at the peak of his fame in Korea and collaborated with producer Chris Tsangarides in London from the late 1990s to early 2000s. Or perhaps you heard one of his songs, which would be later partly copied by Judas Priest. But the probability is not so high. Regardless of this, Shin Hae-chul was an artist who left distinctive footsteps in Korean popular music since his debut in the 1980s. More than anything, his contribution to Korean music was that he elevated rock music, which was then underground, to the level of mainstream music when he was leader of the progressive metal four-member band, N.EX.T (New Experimental Team). Throughout his career, Shin held roots in rock and roll and adapted different Western genres including rap, techno, and ballad in a blend to create local pop music. Without a doubt, Shin Hae-chul was a leading musician in the 1990s—the heyday of Korean popular music— along with musicians Chŏng Sŏg-wŏn, Yun Sang, and Seo Taiji (covered in Chapter 12). It seems that the Korean public currently listens only to Korean repertoire, marginalizing Western or any other international repertoire. But it is only since the late 1980s that domestic popular music began to be “listenable.” Before then, international repertoire had dominated the taste of a young audience, and had a huge influence on their identity. In other words, there exists a long and complex process of the reception of Western (mostly Anglo-American) poprock music before the local artists and musicians created their own blending. The reception side of popular music in Korea is not dealt with anywhere in this volume. But I hope it is not a great surprise to hear that international pop-rock canons were covered (or copied) not only by professional musicians but also by amateur students in a massive scale in the 1970s–1980s when Korea was in the remote periphery in the world of pop music. So I hope that the conversation between him and me about those days would read not as communication between connoisseurs, but as sharing the experiences of ordinary youngsters. Shin Hae-chul is one of those who did not end up listening to music. He tried to catch up to the sound quality and artistic creativity of the music dominating the radiowaves—American and British pop music—and evolved toward new music styles. We can witness his mentality as a Korean popular music producer through his accomplishments. We also can get a glimpse of how an artist struggled against, adapted to and negotiated with the music industry system

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through the process of involvement. I will reveal how the Korean popular music industry operates through Shin Hae-chul’s relationships between mainstream pop to indie music and among “frivolous” idols and serious musicians. Furthermore, he is a rare figure who follows the music influenced by the previous generation. While one may not have exclusive knowledge or history on Korean pop culture, Shin’s story is essentially how one teenage boy living on the periphery operated within his desires and fantasies to make rock music, starting as a member of an amateur cover band in the mid-1980s. If you have partial knowledge of Korean culture, you probably can follow the contradiction between Gangbuk (a.k.a. Kangbuk, north of Han River in Seoul) and Gangnam (a.k.a. Kangnam, south of Han River), or between the northeast and northwest zone in Gangbuk area. These contradictions show us the importance of how location influences subculture related to popular music. Lastly, Shin was a unique figure who spoke explicitly regarding social issues unlike other Korean artists who were relatively cautious around these issues. Social and political issues were included in his speeches and he had no hesitation in speaking of delicate issues publicly, including: presidential elections, same sex marriage, marijuana, and adultery. For that reason, he was considered a progressive or liberal debater, known for his spiteful tongue. Shin died in November 2014 due to a medical accident shortly after the release of his new album, which concluded a long break. This five-hour interview was conducted in March 2013 during a break period at his studio in Pundang, Kyŏnggi Province. For English readers it is shortened and spoken form has been embellished:

You entered junior high school and high school in 1981 and 1984, respectively. There were many school bands in Seoul. What was it like in the neighborhoods where you lived? I grew up in northeast part of Seoul. Let me call it Tobong-gu [a district of northeast Seoul] line. There were only narrow alleys that lead to the center of Seoul. In the neighborhood I was living in when I was in junior high, there was only one performance place called A1, which was in Miari (today’s Kirŭm-dong) nearby the red-light district called “Texas Village” (teksasŭ ch’on). More bands emerged in other parts of Gangbuk and Gangnam.1 Puhwal represents the former, while Sinawi the latter. I also heard that you were a music DJ. Most of the music cafés were weeded out at that time. I think it was called All Season that was like one of the snack stands (laugh). A high schooler could not work, so I pretended to be a college student and worked as a part-timer. DJs were like rock stars in that area, but I was a newbie, so I turned on the volume high and played songs like “Highway Star” and pretended as if I was talking on the phone (laugh). I played the popular music of that time like “Paloma Blanca” from George Baker Selection, and “Knife” by Rockwell, or recorded bootleg recordings that they had onto cassette tapes. I knew the music, but I thought I would never listen to that kind of music. What was your first encounter with music? My grades fell down drastically when I was in 11th grade because I didn’t care for studying. My mother promised to get me a turntable amplifier from Samsung stereo audio if I raised my

Conversation with Shin Hae-chul • 217

grades, so I studied for the next exam. And I got them. The class president of the next classroom, Cho Hyŏn-mun [who is to become a former vice president of Hyosung Group]2 was the only guy who would show me the original recordings when I was in the 10th grade. We’re just high school kids, but we talked about Arnold Schoenberg, Karlheinz Stockhausen, and John Cage in classical music, and we loved Renaissance, Ezra Winston, and Klaus Schulze. But I laughed at him because he said things like “My mom will allow me to join a band if I get into college” (laugh). Weren’t you a member of a school band in high school days? There was an amateur school band called Kaksit’al that continued with annually selected members of Kyŏngbok High School. At that time, neither Kyŏngbok nor Posŏng (Shin’s high school) High School had enough power to compete with other school bands. So they collaborated with other schools. We usually played at Pagoda Theater in Chongno, and there was a festival at RCY Hall. About ten or so teams played at the festival. And there were many school festivals as well. What was the repertoire of songs you played? We covered Uriah Heep several times. “July Morning,” “Easy Livin,’ ” and “Magician’s Birthday” was our specialty, because guitar solo was easier. And all we had to do was play the keyboard well. So we played Emerson, Lake and Powell more than Emerson, Lake and Palmer. We couldn’t beat the drum like Carl Palmer, but we could try Powell’s drum. At first, we mainly played Deep Purple as well. The reason why we formed a band was to cover “Smoke on the Water.” In the late 1980s, many young rock bands performed at Pagoda Theater in Chongno. Do you remember the bands and their repertoires? Let’s say, if eight teams played, then all of their opening songs were same. Black Sabbath’s “Heaven and Hell.” Iron Maiden was also in the repertoire of Gangbuk school band. The common denominator for Gangbuk and Gangnam was Michael Schenker. We pretended as if Van Halen and Yngwie Malmsteen didn’t exist. And we kind of had a tacit agreement that if we happened to play their music, we would sing an octave lower and exclude solo parts. But I saw a band’s performance began with Van Halen’s “Panama” at the festival of one of Gangnam schools. It was Self Service led by Son Mu-hyŏn who later became a famous songwriter and producer. He was about my age but played guitar so well. I found out later when I was a freshman in college that they bought tablatures at the imported book store and played it. But my mentor, Puhwal’s Kim T’aewŏn doesn’t need such things. He can get the score by just listening to the music. (laugh). You formed bands including the keyboard starting from the high school band, Kaksit’al, and the college band, Muhangwuedo (Caterpillar). It continues to N.EX.T, and I believe it wasn’t considered as “orthodoxy” in Korean heavy metal scenes of that time. Right. Heavy metal bands with long hair treated me like a bat. Rock legitimists later criticized me when I played heavy metal, art rock, ballad, and dance/techno.

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How did you continue music after you entered Sŏgang University studying Philosophy in 1987?3 Didn’t you join the college rock band, Kinsechs? I auditioned for the band but didn’t pass the audition. I exhibited right-handed playing technique, played fast and posed like Van Halen putting a cigarette on his guitar head. And they said I’m arrogant and didn’t pass me. I heard it became an anecdote, so every year, they threatened participants when they auditioned new members by saying, “Kinsechs is the band didn’t pass Shin Hae-chul.” The members of Muhangwuedo were from prestigious universities such as Seoul National University, Yosei University, and Sogang University, so it became an issue. The first members were you, Shin

Figure 18.1 The Only Album by Muhangwuedo (Caterpillar) (HKR, HC-200434).

Conversation with Shin Hae-chul • 219

Hae-chul, Yang Tu-hyŏn (bass), Kim Chae-hong (Keyboard), Cho Hyŏn-mun (Keyboard), and Cho Hyŏn-ch’an (drum). Can you tell us briefly about them? Kim Chae-hong played keyboard in Kaksit’al and we played together in Muhangwuedo as well. Yang Tu-hyŏn was from Gangnam school band, Self Service. So he was like the upper class player in our band. We both studied Philosophy, but he went to study abroad after he finished 1st year, so Cho Hyŏng-gon joined us as a keyboard player. I met Cho Hyŏn-ch’an and Cho Hyŏng-gon later. Cho Hyŏng-gon later formed a band, 015B along with Chŏng Sŏg-wŏn who participated in Muhangwuedo’s album in 1989. Your first concert was held in Sukmyŏng Girls’ High School’s auditorium. When was it? And who organized it? You played five creative songs and cover songs. What were those songs? I think it was around spring in 1988, a few months after we formed Muhangwuedo and a few months before we participated in College Music Festival (Taehak kayoje). We played Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall,” and “Goodbye Blue Sky.” And we probably did Emerson, Lake and Palmer/Powell’s songs as well. Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” Uriah Heep, Sky, and Strawbs songs were also included. And yes, also Asia! N.EX.T’s “Forever” (Yŏngwŏnhŭi) sounded like “Don’t Cry” in everyone’s ears (laugh). At that time, few bands played those kinds of music, so hack players like us copied those songs. We organized the concert. I personally directed with glue stick in hand. If anyone I know passed by when I glued (concert) posters on the wall, I was busy covering my face. Seriously! (laugh). In summer of 1988, you participated in MBC Riverside Song Festivals (Kangbyŏn kayoje) with a band called Baby Angel by writing lyrics for a song composed by your friend, Wŏn-gyŏng— and this song was included in your first solo album—but it didn’t win any prize. But in the same year, you won the grand prize in MBC Campus Song Festivals as Muhangwuedo. In that song festival, there were Cho Yong-pil and members from his band, Widaehan t’ansaeng (Great birth) among the judges. I heard they selected us saying, “We’re bands. We should choose a band.” Actually, a year before, the song festival was downscaled because of the June Uprising, but in 1988, for the first time, it was held in the stadium.4 They installed stage lighting that was never used after the Olympics (1988). But at that time, Korea was in the era of ballad. There were sixteen participants, and fifteen teams played ballad. We were the last entry, and only team with over 100 bpm, so all the lighting was for us (laugh). Muhanguwedo contracted with Daeyoung AV (Taeyŏng AV) label. It was run by Yu Chae-hak in the early 1990s. What was it like? Was the Yeouido office a hideout for a new generation of pop-rock musicians like 015B, Yun Chong-sin, and Sŏng Chi-hun besides you? The company did not want to do band music at first. And the manager of Cho Yong-pil, Yu Chae-hak started Daeyoung AV, so I joined it. There was only one singer at that time. And President Yu Chae-hak and one female secretary. It was like a one man office (laugh). It is ambiguous to say that Daeyoung AV represented rock because the main musicians of the company were far from the concept of orthodox rock.

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Chŏng Sŏg-wŏn who participated in Muhangwuedo’s first album (1989), played music blending kayo and jazz together through his band Sirhŏmsil (Laboratory). Chŏng liked very bright pop music or jazz at that time. He taught me things that I couldn’t do like tension chords and chord progression. We never fought like everyone talked about. When I worked on my solo album after Muhangwuedo disbanded, he helped me actively. And I led N.EX.T and participated in 015B’s first concert as a guest. We continuously helped each other. Was Muhangwuedo’s album successful? When we first released an album, there was no response. The College Song Festival program producer tried to cast us, but President Yu killed “Kŭdae ege” (To You) purposely. Because the publication right of that song was in another company’s hand. Many people think we became big stars when we debuted, but “Kŭdae ege” wasn’t successful at all although we seemed to give off the impression as stars. And the next song was “Uri ap’e saeng i kkŭnna kal ttae” (When the life before us ends). The song was very different from the image of rock that people had. So it took a while until people accepted the album. It included a long instrumental only track, and the lyrics were seriously saying, “life is. . . .” At some point 150,000 copies were sold, and it reached 200,000 copies. But at that moment, I was arrested because of a drug use. After Muhangwuedo, you released your first solo album in 1990. Did the company give you a certain degree of autonomy? When I released the first solo album, I thought the company would find new songs and discuss them with me in detail. I never expected that I would release the album with my own works as a singer-songwriter. The standard procedure of a solo album was like your own plus others’ songs, such as Cho Yong-pil who pacified the Korean music industry. But when I released the album, the company disintegrated in mid-air due to the [TV music program] producer payola, but we were forced to proceed. You added English rap in “Annyŏng” (Goodbye) in the first album. What kind of rap did you listen to? What made you include the rap? It was the Pet Shop Boys. It wasn’t really rap. I saw white people deliver [words] without deconstructing the melody in a form in-between narration and rap with shortened rhyme unlike black rappers. So I thought there might be a way to rap in cohesion with the Korean language. I never had the slightest idea that “Annyŏng” would be a hit. One of the reasons I wrote “Annyŏng” was because of hunger for the cyclic chord progression. At that time, kayo was to follow the melody continuously, but in the case of rock or blues, the melody gets on top of the cyclic chord. We didn’t have that kind of music at that time in Korea, so I just tried to compose that. And I was going to stop English rap after that, but [in any case] I was teased about that for the rest of my life (laugh). How many ballad songs were included in your first or second solo album, Myself (1991)? Did you try to adjust to the company’s request?

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I also wanted to write a couple of pretty ballad songs, but I told them I couldn’t accept the request to fill the album with just ballad songs. At that time it was standard to fill the album with nine ballad songs. Some said my solo albums were like a department store’s display, but that was the most aggressive approach I could do at that time. When the company asked to fill the album with all ballad songs, I said I would arrange with all different genres. Where was the actual place of the new style song, “Jazz Café” in the second album? Was it in the hottest spot in the 1990s, Apkujŏng-dong in Gangnam? It was a jazz café in London. No, it’s a lie (laugh). The place was not something that really existed. It was a place like a night club or bar where people gathered aimlessly after work. It was borrowed to portray the space that is filled with jazz and had nothing to do with Apkujŏng culture of that time. It is like the jazz scale sequence was embedded in the song but it is not jazz in terms of music genre. The purpose of the song was to make a danceable music with twenty-four beats. But no drummer could play that at the time. [So] Engineers at Seoul Studio cut, squeezed, and flattened the song although it first used many low-pitched tones. I guess it was better in that way to be popular, but I didn’t like the sound. Isn’t the song, “Komerican Blues” in the movie On A Windy Day, We Should Go To Apkujeong Dong (Param punŭn nal imyŏn Apkujŏng e kaya handa, 1993) directed by Yu Ha a description of Apkujŏng-dong? Right. Poet Hŏ Su-gyŏng was like my teacher. When I hosted the MBC radio program, Pam ŭi tisŭkŭ shyo (Disc show of night), Poet Hŏ Su-gyŏng was the writer of the program. Her identity as a poet and her ideology was detected by me (laugh). I once again hosted the program because of her. I talked about this and that on father motif lyrics, and she told me to write it down without bounding to the melody. So I wrote it in the corridor of MBC broadcasting and showed it to her. That was “Father and I.” She used to stimulate me like that when she was beside me, but she was going to Germany for further study. As I felt the loss, so she introduced director Yu Ha to me. She said we would fit together and get along well. It was just after [release of] N.EX.T’s first album. It seemed the sound quality of the N.EX.T’s first album, Home (1992) wasn’t good. It totally collapsed. The musical contrast of the first and second solo albums was too deep. I told the studio engineer that “Tosi in” (urbanite) was danceable music with a house beat. But there were no experts among the engineers, and the term “house” was something new. So for him [engineer], I was asking him to mix the music like music he has never heard before. So it became a problem. N.EX.T’s attempts reached its peak in the second and third albums, The Return of N.EX.T Part 1: The Being (1994, Daeyoung AV) and The Return of N.EX.T Part 2: The World (1996, Daeyoung AV). But the comments on those were that they were over qualified for the domestic market and insufficient for the international market.

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Figure 18.2 The 1991 Shin Hae Chul Myself Tour (Daeyoung AV, HDDY-1016).

That’s the dilemma. But I have different opinions about the insufficient part to be exported. I once thought like that. So I tried to upgrade the quality [of music] studying the engineering part like crazy while I’m singing at the same time. I don’t know about whether N.EX.T was overqualified for the domestic market, but if it was insufficient for the international market, it was due to its lack of vision rather than quality. I actually liked the fourth album, Lazenca: A Space Rock Opera (OST) (1997, Revolution no.9) more than the second and third albums that were made with a straight face and serious look. I agree. All the best songs N.EX.T fans select are in that album. We input unlimited time in recording of the third album, but it looked like a cracked edge, not because it didn’t have a hit.

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It rambled on in musical insistence, but not a song to penetrate into [people’s heart]. But in the fourth album, members’ participation—though there was not much before either—was completely absent. I did everything, from guitar riffs, to string and chorus arrangement, by myself. Little help from members. And it became the cause of disbanding. Where was your “place” when you were in N.EX.T? If I have to name a specific place, it was not a physical one. The hometown of N.EX.T was HiTEL. I think we’re the first generation who took online as hometown. HiTEL provided all the base [we needed] like opinions and feedback, and suggested vision as well. In terms of the company’s request, I had all the power, but we couldn’t discard requests from HiTEL. In the 1990s, digital was introduced, and people acknowledged the importance of technology. Musicians were also headed to technology. You were recognized as one of them as well. It is difficult to talk about the history of my music excluding technology. When was the decisive moment of technical changes in your music? When I debuted, 24-track analogue recording was standard. So I always felt thirsty for track. I envied Asia’s album a lot after I saw the cover, which says it was recorded in 48-track digital recording [I found out the digital was disrespected later!]. I used sequence partially in the first album of Muhangwedo, and midi sequence overall in the solo second album, Myself. It was actually after the disbanding of N.EX.T that the industry began to use the digital recording widely. I struggled hard [with recording issues] when I was in Daeyoung AV, and English engineer, Chris Tsangarides came in and solved the problem so easily. And I decided to study [that skill] during my study abroad. I could feel the dashing off with one stroke of the brush in the OST of Jungle Story that was composed in two weeks with fighting spirit. The cover of Sanullim’s song “Nae maŭm ŭn hwangmuji” (My mind is wasteland) [in the OST album], that claimed to stand for “industrial,” reminds me of Nine Inch Nails. Right. Drum approach was like Nine Inch Nails or Ministry. But flute and scaling were close to Hawkwind. I didn’t acknowledge Hawkwind first and wrote the song, but rather, I realized, after the recording, ah, it is Hawkwind! I often trace back the motif [of the music] after I finish the work. It probably took two weeks from recording to mixing. It was really hard at that time, like Lazenca. Jungle Story was written in a very short period of time. And people said it was much better than the N.EX.T’s third album. So I thought about why. [That’s why] I gave up democracy of the band (laugh), and decided to concentrate again on things that I can do. The NoDance project with Yun Sang, who was a singer-songwriter leading new music trends in the 1990s, shared your great interests in techno/electronic music. Jungle Story style music, for instance “Chilchu” (dash) were included. What kind of music did you listen to at that time? Is the influence of Goldie or Roni Size who came on the scene at that time?

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I didn’t use many trendy sources in the case of electronic music. My source of inspiration came from classical works by Kraftwerk or Depeche Mode. Yun Sang was crazy about a Japanese techno group YMO (Yellow Magic Orchestra), but I never listened to that music. I liked to be slightly off the point of compromise with commercialism. And I really hated Eurodance [music]. You said, “First duty of N.EX.T is to prove that a band that can’t survive in Korea can survive,” but you disbanded saying, “We’re exhausted, and there are too many obstacles . . . we can’t climb up any further.” So I wanted to do what I wanted since 1997. I used to include two ballad songs and arrange other songs in between. But since that [1997], I decided to do whatever came out whether it’s successful or not. So if it was like publishing a book with a light and heavy essay together before, then from the Monocrom and Wittgenstein, albums recorded in England, they were like heavy dissertations or research papers. As you said, you went to study abroad in England after the disbanding of N.EX.T in 1998. What did you learn there? Me and N.EX.T, we tried to catch up with Western pop when our popular music was behind, especially in technology, and we converted their hit patterns into local pop patterns to open fire quickly, so that the domestic market could accept it. We could say it was like copying advanced music well rather than being creative. Of course I had a desire to add my own creativity onto that music, since I’m a musician as well. But the era that welcomed foreign music has gone. I studied abroad to learn advanced technology, but at the same time, I wanted to observe the natural movements that they had. No matter who the person, people move their bodies naturally at the pub or record shops. So what frustrated me the most while I was in England was neither Gary Moore nor Paul Young whom I met at the studio and those whom I worked with every day, but rather, the foot movement of a beggar on the street of London who collected aluminum cans with a Walkman on. My rhythmic sense was even worse than a beggar on this country’s street! How can I throw a punch instinctively as if I practiced in a street fight at the back alley instead of a properly learned one? I agree that N.EX.T was bragging, stiffed, and manipulated. Some people go like that for the rest of their lives. I don’t think that is necessarily bad, but as a musician, we should evolve. You worked with Chris Tsangarides in N.EX.T’s fourth album (Lazenca), your third solo album (Crom’s Techno Works), and 1999s Monocrom. How was it? It seems like music then headed into too clumsy and heavy [sound] when it comes to Monocrom. Chris and me clashed a lot when we did mixing. Our direction was totally different in mixing. Chris tried to interpret my electronic sources into rock, but I felt we needed to wrap it with twinkle twinkle neon color cover to satisfy the new generation’s taste. Judas Priest’s copying Monocrom’s songs also became an issue. I heard that Judas Priest’s “Metal Messiah” (2001) cut and pasted “Machine Messiah” and “Demo.69.”

Conversation with Shin Hae-chul • 225

I don’t want to talk about it in detail. If you have an interest in it, please take a reference of my former radio program, Ghost Station. I briefly talked about this issue when we had a special program on Judas Priest. You directly managed Big Bang Creative, and you also established Siren Entertainment. What is the purpose? I accepted investment from SBSi regarding the broadcasting company. Hongdae area accepted not only indie music, but also many other types of music. For example, music that can be seen as major music in any other country came down to being underground in Korea. So from that we see diversity in the Hongdae indie scene,5 but if there is no ladder that connects to the major scene, then all that diversity won’t matter. So I established a company, Siren Entertainment. My intention was to toss good bands to major, but could the indie band production company survive? You also tried to graft kugak (Korean traditional music) onto your music as well. If I look at your attempt to disentangle kugak in-depth via techno like you did in Monocrom, I wonder whether it was possible to use traditional music freely since you accepted techno. Kugak is the “closest, but furthest” music to me, just like to any modern Korean. So I tried to look at kugak from an outsider’s view. I didn’t have deeper knowledge about kugak either. It is someone else’s job to make kugak sound naturally. But I really don’t like the hegemonic attitude of commercializing kugak to control the world. At that time I was focused on techno, so I was able to approach kugak in terms of sound as an experimental source. I always find a breakthrough via technology, so I was able to accept kugak in that way. For a while, your music had a rest period. As we get into the era of MP3s, all record companies disinvested from the artists who were active in the 1990s. That is why Korean artists plunged. As record companies collected money, there was no financial circulation in the industry. Before then, I invested everything I earned from record sales into the production of the new record, and DJ’ed [in a radio station] for a living. The new situation came with lots of problems to people like me. I could feel Korean emotion in your recently released song, “Goodbye Mr. Trouble,” which was dedicated to the late president Roh Mu-hyun. Did it become a guideline for your future music? I’d like to know your future music plans. No, that’s not the case. I recorded that song for the first time in four years. If I listened to it now, I think it is too stiff. When I was young, arrogantly, I had a plan to become a great crafty artist by the age of 70. Then I’d better start now. Last year, I had my second surgery and lay in a hospital bed for three months. I thought about it at that time. I was recently studying the second revolution of MIDI technology. The advancement of MIDI technology was seriously in gridlock for a while, and standardized downward. In the past, the level of MIDI technology was to make music for karaoke. Now there exists MIDI music even in the symphony sounds

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of Hollywood blockbuster movies. Last year, for the first time in the world, I was recommended to complete a symphony using MIDI, and for people to re-orchestrate the symphony that MIDI produced. I’m continuously thinking about it now.

Following the year after our interview, Shin released a new EP album, Reboot Myself 6th Part 1 (2014), and it became the last album he released before his death. Notes 1 2 3 4 5

Gangbuk and Gangnam is the north and south of Han River, respectively. Roughly put, the former is old town including old center (e.g. Chongno), while the latter is boomtown developed after the 1970s. Apkujŏng, which appears during the interview, is a neighborhood of Gangnam. Hyosung Group is one of the chaebol (Korean form of business conglomerate). Sŏgang University is located in Shinchon (Sinch’on), a western part of Gangbuk. In the area, there are campuses of prestigious universities like Yonsei University, Ehwa Womans University, and Hongik University. It is one of the university towns (taehakch’on) and also the place for underground music in the 1970s–1980s. It is the Olympic Gymnastic Stadium, which became a mecca of music concerts later. Hongdae used to be on the fringe of Sinch’on, but became renowned itself as the place for independent and alternative music culture since the mid-1990s. About more in detail, see Kim Pil Ho’s chapter in this volume.

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234 • Bibliography Webb, Peter. 2007. Exploring the Networked World of Popular Music: Milieu Cultures. New York and London: Routledge. Woo, Soo-Yeon. 2012. “Email Interview.” YouTube Korea. 20 May. Yang, Chae-yŏng. 2001. Hiphapk’ŏneksŏn Pit’ŭ Naim Kŭrigo Munhwa [Hip-hop Connection: Beat, Rhyme & Culture]. Seoul: Hannarae. Yang, Chong-sŏng [Yang Jongsung]. 1994. “Folklore and Cultural Politics in Korea: Intangible and Cultural Properties and Living National Treasures.” Ph.D. Diss., Indiana University. “Yang Hee-eun.” October 24, 2007. Hwanggŭmŏjang murŭp’aktosa [The Guru Show]. Seoul: MBC. Television. Yano, Christine R. 2002. Tears of Longing. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. —— . 2002. Tears of Longing: Nostalgia and the Nation in Japanese Popular Song. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Asia Centre. Yi, Hae-suk and Son U-sŏk. 2003. Han’guk taechung ŭmaksa [History of Popular Music in Korea]. Seoul: Rijŭ aen puk [Ries & Book]. Yi, Kil-pŏm. 1973. “Yŏnyesuch’ŏp pansegi kayogye” [Entertainment Notebook: Half a Century of Korean Popular Music Scene] (1)–(49) The Dong-A Ilbo: Feb 6–13 Apr. Yi, Kŏn-yong. 1990. “80 nyŏndae ŭmak non ŭi chŏn’gae kwajŏng—han’guk ŭmak non, norae undong non, minjok ŭmak non” [The Development of Discourse about Korean Music in the 1980s: Discourses of Korean Musicology, Song Movement and National Music]. Ŭmakak [Musicology] 2: 87–129. Yi, Pyŏng-nyang and Hwang Sŏrhwa. 2012. “Munhwa chŏngch’aek ŭn pyŏnhayŏnnŭnga?: No Mu-hyŏn chŏngbu wa Yi Myŏng-bak chŏngbu esŏ ŭi Munhwa chŏngch’aek” [Has Cultural Policy been Changed?: Cultural Policies of Roh Moo Hyun Administration and Lee Myung Bak Administration]. In Hanguk haengjŏng hakhoe ch’ungye haksuldaehoe [Korean Association for Public Administration—Autumn Symposium], 177–192. Yi, Sang-ch’an. May 1998. “Kukch’ae posang undong gwa IMF ‘kŭmmoŭgi undong ŭi hŏgusŏng” [National Debt Redemption Movement and Unrealistic Gold Gathering Campaign]. Yŏksapip’yŏng [History Criticism] 43: 15–23. Yi, Sang-kil. 2001. “Yusŏnggiŭi hwallyonggwa sajŏk yŏngyŏgŭi hyŏngsŏng” [Social Usage of Phonograph and Formation of the Private Sphere in Korea under Japanese occupation]. Ŏnnon’gwasahoe [Media and Society] 9(4): 49–95. Yi, So-yŏng, 2007. “Ilche kangjŏm ki sinminyo ŭi honjongsŏng yŏn’gu” [The Hybridity of Korean New-Folk Song (Sinminyo) during the Japanese Colonial Period] PhD dissertation. Seongnam: The Academy of Korean Studies. —— . 2012. “Kim hae-songŭi taejunggayo e nat’ananŭn jazz yangsik” [Jazz Style in the Popular Songs of Kim Haesong]. Taejungŭmak [Korean Journal of Popular Music] 9: 53–83. Yi, Su-jŏng(a). 2013. “70 nyŏndae han’guk p’ok’ŭ ŭmag e kwanhan yŏn’gu: Yang Hi-ŭn gwa Kim Min-ki rŭl chungsim ŭro” [A study on the Korean Folk Music in the 70s: Focusing on Yang Heeun and Kim Min-ki]. Master’s thesis, Chungwoon University. Yi, Su-jŏng(b). 1993. Norae iyaki chumŏni [A Pocket for Song Stories]. Seoul: Noktu. Yŏ, Yŏng-hae. 2011. “TV chŏngch’i kwanggo yangsang e kwanhan yŏn’gu” [A Study on the Aspects of TV Political Advertising]. Master’s thesis, Inje University. Yŏm, Ch’an-hŭi. 2009. “1990 nyŏndae ihu hanguk munhwa chŏngch’aek ŭi ‘munhwa’ ihae pyŏnhwa kwajŏng” [Korean Cultural Policy and Cultural Regulation Effect: Focus on the changing ‘Culture’ Meaning Since the 1990s]. Minjusahoe wa chŏngch’aek yŏngu [Democratic Society and Policy Research] 16: 212–242. Yoon, L. N. 2010. “Korean Pop, with Online Help, Goes Global.” Time. 26 August. http://time.com/time/world/article/ 0,8599,2013227,00.html Yoshimi, Shunya. 2003. “ ‘America’ as Desire and Violence: Americanization in the Postwar Japan and Asia during the Cold War.” Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 4(3): 433–450. Yu, Kwŏng-jong and Yu Yŏng-kŏn. 2010. “Kim Min-ki p’ok’ŭ ŭmak ŭi miŭisik e kwanhan yŏn’gu” [Study of Aesthetic Consciousness in Kim Min-ki’s Folk Music]. Ŭmak kwa minjok [Music and People] 40: 181–204. Zak III, Albin J. 2001. The Poetics of Rock: Cutting Tracks, Making Records. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

About the Authors

Hyunjoon Shin is a research professor in the Institute for East Asian Studies (IEAS) at Sungkonghoe University. Having received his PhD from the Economics Department of Seoul National University with a thesis on the transformation of the Korean music industry in the age of globalization, he has carried out research into popular music, popular culture, cultural industries, and cultural policy. He was also research fellow at ARI (Asia Research Institute) at the National University of Singapore in 2007 and taught at Leiden University in the Netherlands as visiting professor in 2008. His papers in English are: “Strumming a place of one’s own: Gender, independence, and East Asian pop-rock screen” (with Eva Tsai 2013). “The success of hopelessness: The evolution of Korean indie music” (2011), “The Birth of ‘Rok’: Cultural imperialism, nationalism, and the glocalization of Rock Music in South Korea, 1964–1975” (with Pil Ho Kim 2010), “Reconsidering transnational cultural flows of popular music in East Asia: Transbordering musicians in Japan and Korea searching for ‘Asia’ ” (2009), “Have you ever seen the Rain? And who’ll stop the Rain?: Globalizing project of Korean pop (K-pop)” (2009), “Translation of ‘America’ during the early Cold War period: a comparative study on the history of popular music in South Korea and Taiwan” (with Tunghung Ho 2009), “Asianizing K-pop: production, consumption and identification patterns among Thai youth” (with Ubonrat Siriyuvasak, et al. 2007). Seung-Ah Lee (University of California, Los Angeles) is a lecturer at UCLA teaching Korean Studies. She earned her Ph.D. in the department of Asian Languages and Cultures at UCLA. Her scholarly interests include pre-modern popular culture and the most cutting-edge and border-crossing aspects of contemporary popular culture in Asia as well. Her recent studies are devoted to resurrections, reinventions, and reinterpretations of several historical heroes in popular cultural products and adaptation practices in Asia. She has also developed recognized expertise on these topics in both public and academic contexts, with multiple media interviews, a book published in Korea titled JYJ Republic (2013) and published articles in Korean. An English article based on this book, “JYJ Republic: By the Fans, for the Fans, of the Fans,” has also been selected for inclusion in Hallyu 2.0: The Korean Wave in the Age of Social Media from Michigan University Press. Keewoong Lee is a senior research fellow in the Institute for Social Development Studies at Yonsei University. He received his Ph.D. in Sociology at the London School of Economics and Political Science with the thesis, “Practicing Globalization: Mediation of the Creative in Korean Advertising.” His academic interests include advertising, popular music, globalization, and

236 • About the Authors

cultural industries. He is currently preparing a few papers about popular music: “Going Underground: Making music in the 1980s Sinchon and Gwanghwamun,” “Protests, negotiations and ‘apolitical’ love songs: the differentiation of P’ok’ŭ music in 1980s Korea” (with Hyunjoon Shin), “Local music/transcultural cooperation: The construction of Korean rock as a translocal project” (with Hyunjoon Shin). Jung-yup Lee is a PhD candidate in the Department of Communication at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. His dissertation project is on the re-imagination of the South Korean state through the discourse of nation branding. His recent publications in English include “Contesting the digital economy and culture: Digital technologies and the transformation of popular music in Korea” (2009) and “Managing the Transnational, Governing the National: Cultural Policy and the Politics of the ‘Culture Archetype Project’ in South Korea” (2011). Sun Jung is Research Fellow at the Asia Research Institute of National University of Singapore. She has published broadly on Korean popular cultures, lifestyles, and transnational media flows, including the monograph Korean Masculinities and Transcultural Consumption (HKUP 2011) and the forthcoming monograph tentatively titled K-pop and Korean Popular Culture (Ashgate). Her current projects include social media and cross-border cultural transmissions; K-pop: art of cultural capital; neoliberal capitalism, sustainable lifestyles, and media representations; participatory public space: a right to the networked city; and women in neoliberal Asian cultural industries. Yu-jeong Chang is Associate Professor in the Center of General Education at Dankook University. She received her Ph.D. in Korean Literature from Seoul National University, with a focus on Korean popular music during the Japanese colonial period, and specializes in oral literature, popular music, and popular culture. Her books Oppa nŭn p’unggakchaengiya-taejunggayo ro pon kŭndae ŭi p’unggyŏng [Brother is a Street Musician-The Modern Era in Popular Songs], (Seoul: Minumin 2006), Kŭndae taejunggayo ŭi chisok kwa pyŏnmo [The Continuation and Alteration of Korean Modern Popular Songs], (Seoul: Somyong 2012), Kŭndae taejunggayo ŭi maech’e wa munhwa [The Media and Culture of Korean Modern Popular Songs], (Seoul: Somyong 2012) and so on. Dr. Chang received the Platform Cultural Review Awards for her review of Yu Jae-ha (Korean singer) from Incheon Foundation for Arts & Culture in 2009 and in November 2013 produced the album, ZHANG Eujeong Sings Modern Jo-Sun: Korean Jazz Songs in the 1930s. Pil Ho Kim is Scholar-in-Residence at the East Asian Studies Program, Lewis & Clark College in Portland, Oregon. Previously, he taught at Ewha Womans University in Korea and the Ohio State University. His latest publications on Korean popular culture include “Birth, Death, and Resurrection of Korean Group Sound Rock” (with Hyunjoon Shin) in Korean Popular Culture Reader (Duke University Press 2014) and “Three Periods of Korean Queer Cinema: Invisible, Camouflage, and Blockbuster,” Acta Koreana 14, no. 1. Aekyung Park is Associate Professor in Korean literature in the department of Korean Language and Literature at Yonsei University. She has received her Ph.D. from the Department of Korean Language and Literature of Yonsei University with a thesis on the popularization of Korean traditional culture. Her academic interests include the modern transformation

About the Authors • 237

of traditional culture, women’s culture, and the history of Korean pop and rock. She has published books and papers on the Korean traditional culture and Korean popular song including “How to read Gayo” (Korean Popular Song) (2000), “The Modern Transformation of Korean Classical Poetry” (2008), “Pleasure and Disillusion: Strange Urban Figures shown in Comic Songs and Jazz Songs of the 1930s” (2009), and “Gender Image and Gender Politics shown in the Military Songs of the 1940s” (2007). Jaeyoung Yang is a lecturer in the program of mass communication at Sungkonghoe University. He completed the Ph.D. program of the department of anthropology in City University of New York Graduate Center with a thesis titled “Cultural Practice of Hip-Hop and Identity Formations of Asian Americans in the San Francisco Bay Area.” His interest widely covers identity politics regarding popular culture and music, especially hip-hop culture and dance music at both sides of the Pacific. His articles in Korean include “Itaewon: at the Reimagined crossroads between subcultural capital and mainstream industries of Korean dance music” (2013), “The glocal strategies of K-pop and its hybrid identity” (2011), “Hip-hop and Identity formations of Asian American youth” (2010) et al. Junhee Lee is a lecturer of Sungkonghoe University and Ph.D. student in the Academy of Korean Studies. He has studied history and culture in East Asia at Seoul National University and Academy of Korean Studies, majored on Korean popular music. His recent papers (in Korean) are “Research on the stage music of Kim Haesong,” “Korean musician on the records of Japanese popular songs before 1945,” “Japanese lyrics of popular songs in colonial Korea” and so on. He is also a record producer and radio presenter on old Korean pop. Dohee Kwon is a senior research fellow in Asian Music Institute (AMI) at Seoul National University. She received her Ph.D. in the Interdisciplinary Program in Musicology at Seoul National University. She is currently a board member of the Korean Musicological Society. She has delivered a number of papers on the various musical subjects related to the music history of Korea including the modern era, gender issues, socio-musical themes, musical analysis, popular music and so on. Her recent book in Korean is the social history of Korean music in the modern era, published in 2012. Okon Hwang is Professor of Music at Eastern Connecticut State University. A native of Seoul, Korea, she received her Bachelor’s degree in music from Seoul National University and two doctorates while studying in the U.S., her D.M.A. in piano from Eastman School of Music, and her Ph.D. in ethnomusicology from Wesleyan University. Her academic interests led her to explore the intersection between Western art music and Korean cultural identity as well as various aspects of popular music and the culture of Korea. Eun-Young Jung is Assistant Professor of Integrative Studies in the Music Department, University of California, San Diego. She received her Ph.D. in ethnomusicology along with an Advanced Certificate in Asian Studies in 2007, followed by a Postdoctoral fellowship in Japanese-Korean Studies, all at the University of Pittsburgh. Prior to her appointment at UCSD, Dr. Jung served as the Assistant Director at the Center for East Asian Studies, University of Wisconsin-Madison. Her research largely focuses on pop music and transnational dynamics in and from East Asia and music, media, race, and ethnicity in Asian American communities in the U.S. Her recent

238 • About the Authors

publications include “Transnational migrations and YouTube sensations: Situating Korean Americans in recent popular music history, 1990s to 2011” (2014), “K-pop female idols in the West: Racial imaginations and erotic fantasies” (2013), and “The place of sentimental song in Contemporary Korean musical life” (2012). She is also an editor of a special collection of essays on Korean music “Rethinking Cultural Identity in Korean Music” for Korean Studies (University of Hawai’i, vol. 35, 2012). Hyunseok Kwon is a researcher at the Music Research Center at Hanyang University and lecturer at Yonsei University in Korea. He obtained his Ph.D. in Music from SOAS, University of London in 2014. His Ph.D. thesis was entitled ‘Cultural Globalization and the Korean Promotion Policy for Music Based on Tradition: A Study of the Activation Plan and Its Background’. His previous case study of Korean preservation policy was published in Acta Koreana (2009). His research interests center on the process of cultural globalization, the association between Korean Wave culture and Asian identity, and popular culture as a phenomenon and as a policy. He has to date presented papers in a number of international conferences of Korean studies and ethnomusicology. He is preparing a few papers on Korean popular music using traditional elements. Dong-Yeun Lee received his Ph.D. at Chung-Ang University with Studies on Meta Critic-The Postmodern Practice of Literary Criticism. He is currently an associate professor at the Department of Korea Traditional Theory, School of Korea Traditional Arts, Korea National University of Arts. At the university, he is teaching fields such as “culture theory,” “arts policy,” and “performance planning.” He is one of the representative scholars on the cultural studies of Korea, and also an editor of Quarterly Culture/Science from 1994 as well as a director of the “Center of Culture Policy” in Citizen’s Network for Cultural Action, which is a highly influential culture NGO in Korea, and was a chief director of the Center for Culture and Society. He has published many books (in Korean) including Idol (chief editor, 2011), The Logic of Cultural Capital (2010), Beyond Arts Education (2008), Imaging the Asian Cultural Studies (2007), The Society of Cultural Tribe (2005), Popular Culture Studies and Cultural Criticism (2002), New Topics of Cultural Studies (1997), and translated books such as Cool Rules (2002), Delightful Murder (2001), and Subculture: The Meaning of Style (1998) into Korean. Soojin Kim received her Ph.D. in ethnomusicology from the Ohio State University in 2011. Drawing on her dissertation, she delivered papers at various conferences including the Society for Ethnomusicology, British Forum for Ethnomusicology, and Association for Asian American Studies. Upon completing her Ph.D., she taught at the University of Cincinnati and served as Korea Foundation Postdoctoral Fellow at the Center for East Asian and Pacific Studies at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. Her academic interests include music of Korean diaspora, folk/popular music, cultural policy, identity politics, cultural tourism, and globalization. She is currently preparing a few papers on Korean popular music and solicited book/dissertation reviews. Haekyung Um is a lecturer and Director of Postgraduate Studies in the School of Music and a member of the Institute of Popular Music at the University of Liverpool. Upon completing her Ph.D. in Anthropology and Ethnomusicology at Queen’s University Belfast she has held grants from the Leverhulme Trust and ESRC in the UK and the International Institute of Asian

About the Authors • 239

Studies in Holland to undertake research in Central Asia, Russia, and China. She specializes in contemporary Asian performing arts with an emphasis on the politics of performance, cultural identity and policy, transnationalism, and cosmopolitanism. She has published numerous journal articles, reviews, and book chapters in the U.S., UK, and Korea as well as two edited volumes, Diasporas and Interculturalism in Asian Performing Arts (RoutledgeCurzon 2005) and Rediscovering Traditional Korean Performing Arts (KAMS 2012) and a monograph, Korean Musical Drama (Ashgate 2013). Currently she is directing a collaborative research project “KPop on the Global Platform: European Audience Reception and Contexts” funded by KOFICE. Sunhee Koo is a lecturer in Ethnomusicology in the Anthropology Department, University of Auckland, and the deputy director of the Overseas Leading University Korean Studies Program. She received her Ph.D. in Music from the University of Hawai’i in 2007. Since then, she taught World Music and Asian Music courses and Chinese and Korean Music ensembles in her alma mater, and Contemporary Issues of Ethnomusicology, Music and Identity, and Music of East Asia in the University of Auckland. Her doctoral research focused on the relationship between music and the construction of identity among the Korean ethnic minority in the People’s Republic of China. Based on her ethnographic research conducted between 2004 and 2006, she published articles, “Why art music in a socialist state?: Status and adaptation of Sanjo in Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture in the People’s Republic of China” (2011), “Inventing ethnic music: The vocal music of Korean ethnic minority musicians in the People’s Republic of China” (2010), and “Selective identity: Korean minority composers and the performance of ethnicity in the People’s Republic of China” (2008). Currently, her two journal manuscripts are under review as outcomes of her field research sponsored by the Association of Asian Studies’ Northeast Asia Council (NEAC) Travel Grant, and the Academy of Korean Studies’ Overseas Leading University Korean Studies Program Grant that she received in 2010 and 2012, respectively. Sang-Yeon Loise Sung is an affiliated researcher and lecturer at the department of East Asian Studies at the University of Vienna. She received her Ph.D. in ethnomusicology at Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana with her dissertation titled “Globalization and the regional flow of popular music: The role of the Korean Wave (Hanliu) in the construction of Taiwanese identities and Asian values.” She has carried out her research into the popular music and culture of Korea and Taiwan, Hallyu reception and consumption in Taiwan and Austria, and the cultural policy of Korea. Her current research focuses on ethnographical research on K-pop reception and participatory fan culture in Europe, focusing on Austria. Her recent articles include “Digitization and online cultures of the Korean Wave: ‘East Asian’ Virtual community in Europe” (2013), “The role of popular culture in marketing tourism in East Asia” (2013), “The role of Hallyu in the construction of East Asian regional identity” (2012) et al. Ch’oe Chisŏn is a popular music critic. She studied Korean literature at Sungkyunkwan University and aesthetics as a graduate course at Seoul National University. She is interested in various issues surrounding popular music, including K-pop, indie scene, film music, gender etc. She has written some books and has contributed articles to a magazine, a journal or other for years. She is also the co-author of a book series on Korean popular music history (with Hyunjoon Shin).

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Index

Locators in italics indicate figures. Please note figures are only indexed individually where pages are not already included in the normal locator range. ‘Ach’imisŭl’ (Kim Min-ki) 134–136, 138, 139–140 acoustic sounds: folk music 83–84 African-American music 95, 96, 105; see also hip-hop; Korean black music age: see generational differences akkŭk: see musical drama albums, history of 24, 30, 31 alternative rock 76–77, 78 America: see U.S. military base show; Western music influences Americanization 4 ‘Arirang’ 206 armed forces: America 12; see also U.S. military base show artists: career development 27, 40, 42; idol trainee system 155–156, 173–174, 175, 177–178, 196–197; salaries 25–27; significant individuals 107–110 arts and culture industry 3, 7–8, 181–182, 185–189 Asia: culture industry 7–8; K-pop circulation 207–210; Mnet Asian Music Awards 49–52 Asian financial crisis (1997) 7, 13, 133–134 Asian Wave: Mnet Asian Music Awards 49–52; see also Korean Wave assets: idol pop 175–176 audition television shows 43–44 Austria: reception of K-pop 211 authenticity: recorded versions 32 authoritarian period 4; entertainment venues 20–21; folk music 87–88; record music 28–29; youth culture 158–159; see also censorship award shows 41, 42, 49

ballads 61, 69–70; characteristics 64–65; consumers 69; lyrics 65, 68; origins 63–64; productions 67–68; Shin Hae-chul 68, 221, 224; vocal styles 194–195, 199 Bieber, Justin 169 Big Bang 178, 225 Big Three: Korean hip-hop 100–102 Big Three: K-pop 155–156 black music: see African-American music; hiphop; Korean black music blue jeans, as cultural icon 133 body image: idols 178 bohemian music 75 broadcast songs (pangsong kayo) 36 broadcasting: censorship 5, 39, 42–43, 124–125; Gangnam Style 56; history 12, 31, 35–44; idol industry 173, 175, 177; radio 3–4, 36, 37–38, 124–125; rock music 79–80; see also television cable television 41–42 cadences: ‘Miin’ 129–130 campus sound groups 21, 39 capital stock: idol industry 175–176 career development 27, 40, 42; see also trainee system censorship 5; broadcasting 5, 39, 42–43, 124–125; controlling vs supporting K-pop 156, 181–189; end of 156, 181; folk music 91; Kim Min-ki 138, 139–140; punk rock 76; record music 29; Seo Taiji and Boys 109, 146; Shin Joong Hyun 108, 130–131; Yi Mi-ja 192 C’est Si Bon 84–85 chapga (vulgar songs) 123, 124, 128 chapka (traditional miscellaneous song) 2

242 • Index chart shows 40–41, 42, 43 chasŭ: see jazz music China 59, 204–205 Cho Tong-chin 88–89 Cho Yong-p’il 194, 195 Chŏng T’aech’un 90–91 ch’ŏngnyŏn munhwa 158–159; see also youth culture chord types: ‘Miin’ 129–130 Chosun Musical Drama Troupe 107, 113–116, 119, 120–121 Chosŏn punk 77, 79, 80 Christianity: folk music 86 Chu Hyŏn-mi 192–193 Chun Doo Hwan’s government 5, 159, 161, 185 circulation: see distribution of music classical music 3, 75–76, 162, 195 CLON 207, 208–209 coda, ‘Miin’ 129–130 collections: record music 24 collective listening 32 college rock 21, 39 college song clubs 89–90 colonial modernity 2–4 colonial period 1–2, 11–12, 24–25, 36 color television 16, 30, 40 ‘Come Back Home’ (Seo Taiji and Boys) 149–152 commercialization of music 40–43, 155–156 communal culture: folk music 84–86 communicative qualities of music 9 competitions 195–196; see also award shows consumption of music: broadcasting 41–42; Kpop outside Korea 199, 203–212; privatized listening 29–30; record music 24; trot and ballads 69 contest television shows 43–44 contracts: recording 24, 111–113; trainee-stars 169 countercultural trends: folk music 84 cover bands 21 cover competitions 195–196 Cultural Asset Protection Law 182 cultural capital: idols 174–176 cultural circulation 47–49 culture: definition of 5–6; government influence 181–189 culture industry 3, 7–8, 181–182, 185–189 dance music: hip-hop 102; idol industry 172; Shin Joong Hyun 126–127; visualization 196 Deleuze, Gilles 172–173

democratization 6–8; broadcasting 41; folk music 90–91; Kim Min-ki 109, 134–135; participatory culture 48–49; political culture 161 demographics: see generational differences Deux 100, 102 digital economy 12–13 digital music distribution 13, 47–57, 77–79, 199 digitalization 43–44 disc shows, radio 38 disco 98 distribution of music: digital music distribution 13, 47–57, 77–79, 199; idol industry 174–175; outside Korea 203; social distribution 47, 48–49, 52–56 divas 98–99 diversity: genres 30, 81 DJs 38, 41, 104, 126, 216 Dong Bang Shin Ki 169 doubles (albums) 31 draft beer, as cultural icon 133 drama theme songs (pangsongkŭk chujega) 36 dramas 186–187 early Korean rock 20, 21 East Asia: culture industry 7–8; K-pop circulation 207–210; Mnet Asian Music Awards 49–52 education system 144, 146, 148–149 Eighth U.S. Army show: see U.S. military base show emotional labor: idol industry 177–178 engagement 56–57; see also social distribution England: punk rock 76 enka 63, 206–207 entertainment venues 20–21 ethics: K-pop 8 ethnicity 197–198 Europe: reception of K-pop 211 EUSA: see U.S. military base show export-orientation: music industry 7–8, 156, 169, 188 Fabbri, Franco 191, 198, 199 falsetto 192 familiarity: music 4 fandom 171–172, 207–208 fashionable song (yuhaengga) 2, 36, 63, 123, 204 female vocalists 110, 191–193, 198 festivals 79, 80, 219 films 186–187, 225–226 financial crisis (1997) 7, 13, 133–134

Index • 243 five-note (pentatonic) scales 64, 124–125, 129–130, 158 folk music: 1970s 84–88; 1980s 88–92; 1990s–2000s 92–93, 161–166; folk pop 86, 87; folk rock 75–76, 86–87; folksong 83–88, 123–124, 127–128, 159; new folk song 2, 117–118, 123, 124, 128, 157–158, 204; protest folk 86, 87–88, 89–92; record music 28; theatrical movement 159–160; youth culture 28, 84–86, 87, 92, 198–199 folklore 83, 84, 87 folksong (p’ok’ŭsong) 83–88, 123–124, 127–128, 159; see also new/neo folk song (sinminyo) Food Sanitation Act 20–21 form: trot and ballads 64–65 foxtrot 63 freedom of speech 5 Freud, Sigmund 172–173, 177 funk music 98–100 fusion jazz 75–76, 100 fusion music: black music 96–98, 99, 100; kugak fusion 162; rock music 75–76; traditional and Western influences 157–166; vocal styles 191–195 Gangnam Style 8, 13, 52–57, 188 gangsta rap 101, 149–152 generational differences: new generation 109, 143, 144; older generation 133, 144, 158–159; trot and ballads 69; youth culture 144–146, 158–159, 195–196, 199 genres 1, 59–61; broadcasting 36; diversity 30, 81; night club stages 19–20; Shin Joong Hyun 123–124; traditional music influences 157–166; vocal styles 156, 191, 198–199 globalization: digital music distribution 51–53; K-pop 166, 199, 207–208; rock music 80; television 43–44; youth culture 144; see also international scale; transnational scale go-go clubs 20 government: broadcasting 36, 37–38; colonial modernity 2–3; controlling vs supporting Kpop 156, 181–189; militarized modernity 4–5; neoliberal restructuring 7–8; see also authoritarian period; censorship; regulations Government General of Korea (GGK) 2–3 gramophones 24–25, 204 grassroots networks 48, 54, 159 group sound (GS) 71–72, 98, 126, 130–131 grunge 76–77 guitar, as cultural icon 133, 136 Guitar sanjo 162, 163

hallyu (Korean Wave) 166, 182, 185, 188, 207–208, 211, 212; see also Asian Wave healthy songs (kŏnjŏn kayo) 5, 29, 36, 184–185 heavy metal 73–74, 77, 78, 147, 217; see also progressive metal; thrash metal heroes: see artists hip-hop 52, 100–106, 143, 152, 153, 197 history: broadcasting 35–44; digital music distribution 47–57; jazz music 95–96; live music 15–21, 31; pop music 1–9, 11–13, 157–166; record music 15, 23–33; trot and ballads 63–64 house bands 20 hybrid music: see fusion music Hyŏn Chin-yŏng 100, 101, 102 identity 12, 157–166; see also youth culture idol industry 169, 174; allegory 178; ambivalence of stars 169–172; cultural capital 174–176; emotional labor 177–178; folk music 87; Oedipus mechanism 172–174; rock music 79–80; trainee system 155–156, 173–174, 175, 177–178, 196–197 ilbanmudae 17 incorporation: popular music 6 independent producers 28 indie music: hip-hop 102; Kim Hae-song 108; live clubs 21; Nanŭn Kasuda competition 196; rock music 77–80 industrialization 66–67 intellectuals 36, 137, 157, 158–159, 165 International Association for the Study of Popular Music (IASPM) 8 international scale 9, 47–48, 215; see also globalization; transnational scale internet 12–13, 47–57, 77–79, 102, 199 iTunes 47 Jambinai 164, 165 Japan 63, 205–207 Japanese colonization of Korea: broadcasting 36, 124–125; history 1–4; policies 183; pop music 119–120, 157–158; record music 25 jazz music: fusion jazz 75–76, 100; history 95–96; Kim Hae-song 107, 116–118; Shin Hae-chul 221 June Democracy Movement 134, 138 JYP Entertainment 155, 173 kayagŭm (zither) 192 kayo 60 Kim Dae Jung’s government 186–187

244 • Index Kim Hae-song 112; in America 119–121; biography 107–108, 111–116; jazz music 116–118; musicals 107, 113–114, 118–119 Kim Min-ki 137; biography 108–109, 133, 136–140; political context 133–136 Kim Sisters 18, 121 Kim Su-ch’ŏl 162, 163 Kim Wŏn-chung 91–92 Kim Yong-u 161–162 Kim Yŏng Sam’s government 181, 182, 183–184, 185–186, 189 King Production 28–29 Kongmyŏng 163 kŏnjŏn kayo (healthy songs) 5, 29, 36, 184–185 Korean black music 95; cultural authenticity 105–106; ethnicity of musicians 198; hip-hop 52, 100–104, 105–106; jazz music 95–96; rapdance era 100–102; soul 95, 96–100 Korean Broadcast Corporation (KBS) 36, 38, 40–43 Korean popular music: definition of 1–2; government influence 156, 181–189; history 1–9, 11–13, 157–166; Japanese colonial period 119–120, 157–158; vocal styles 156, 191–199; see also K-pop Korean War: culture 183; Kim Hae-song 107–108, 120–121; record music 25, 124; U.S. military base show 12 Korean Wave (hallyu) 166, 182, 185, 188, 207–208, 211, 212; see also Asian Wave KOSDAQ 175–176 K.P.K. Musical Troups 115–116, 118 K-pop 7–9, 155; circulation outside Korea 199, 203–212; digital music distribution 47, 52–53, 199; government influence 156, 181–189; rock music 80; television 31, 33, 43–44; university course 169–172; see also idol industry kugak (traditional music) 155, 161–166, 225 kugak kayo 160, 166 kugak rock 164 kŭkchangssyo (theatre shows) 18–20 Kyŏngsŏng Broadcast Corporation (KBC) 3, 36, 38, 40–43; see also Korean Broadcast Corporation (KBS) ‘Kyosil Idea’ (Seo Taiji and Boys) 146–149 language 3, 59–60 Le Monde 156 Lee Myung Bak’s government 182, 187–188 Lee Young Mee 134 liberation of Korea 4, 12, 41, 64, 65, 66

listening: collective/private 29–30, 32 live clubs 21 live music 15–21, 31, 89 live music salons 20 love: in songs 39, 65, 70 LP recording 28, 31, 124 lyrics: censorship 76, 77; folk music 158, 198; Kim Min-ki 135–136; rock music 80; Seo Taiji and Boys 146, 146–152; trot and ballads 65, 68 madang kŭk (theatrical movement) 159–160 mainstream music: broadcasting 36–37, 40–41; distribution 53, 54–56; folk music 84, 87–88, 89, 92; genres 60, 61; idol industry 172; Korean black music 96, 98, 102, 104; rock music 72, 77, 79–80; Shin Joong Hyun 123; standard pop 36–37; trot 60, 63, 194 management of artists: Gangnam Style 56; idols 155–156, 173–174, 175, 177–178; marketing 56, 139 marginalization 25–28, 33, 128 marijuana use 28–29, 108, 131 marketing 56, 139 Marx, Karl 177 mass media 2, 15–16, 21, 72, 73, 211 Meari 90, 134 media convergence 48–49 Mediacorp 50–51 mediation: diversity 43–44; history 15–16; record music 23–24, 30, 31; stage music 31; see also broadcasting medleys: trot 67 middle class 38–39 MIDI technology 225–226 ‘Miin’ (Shin Joong Hyun) 128–129, 131 militarized modernity 4–6 minjung kayo (people’s song) 12, 88, 89–92, 109 minjung munhwa (people’s culture) 159–160 minyo (traditional folk song) 2, 84 Mnet Asian Music Awards (MAMA) 49–52 modernity 1–2; colonial modernity 2–4; cultural opposition 129; militarized modernity 4–6 modes (music) 129–130 MP3s 225 MR (pre-recorded music) 42 Muhangwuedo 218, 219, 220 multiculturalism 197–198 music awards 41, 42, 49 music cafes 20 music festivals 79, 80, 219 music halls 39, 83, 84, 92

Index • 245 music listening rooms 32 music tearooms 32 music videos: Gangnam Style 13, 52; Seo Taiji and Boys 149; streaming 13 musical drama (akkŭk): colonization period 11–12; Kim Hae-song 107, 113–114, 118–119; stage music 15, 16–18, 31; US military base show 16–18 musical form: trot and ballads 64–65 musicians: see artists musicology 9, 156 Myŏngdong 20, 33, 136 mysticism: censorship 139–140 Na Hun-a 193–194 naked commercialism 8 Nam Chin 193, 194 Nanŭn Kasuda competition 195–196 nationalism 3–4, 5, 50, 80, 124, 125; see also patriotic music native music/language 4 Negus, Keith 7, 35 neoliberal restructuring 7–8 new generation 109, 143, 144 new/neo folk song (sinminyo) 2, 117–118, 123, 124, 128, 157–158, 204 N.EX.T. 74, 215, 217, 219, 221–224 night club stages (pammudae) 18–21, 40 Noizegarden 77, 78 non-genres 60 North Korea 116, 184 nostalgia 69, 92, 195–196, 199, 205 Oedipus mechanism: idol industry 172–174 Okeh Records 25, 111–113, 114, 116–119 older generation 133, 144, 158–159 operettas 107; see also musical drama orchestral music 164, 192 ordering device: use of record music 23–24 Orient Production 28–29 Pak Yŏng-ho 66 pammudae (night club stages) 18–21, 40 pangsong kayo (broadcast songs) 36 pangsongkŭk chujega (drama theme songs) 36 parents: ‘Kyosil Idea’ 148–149 Park Chung Hee’s government: controlling vs supporting K-pop 181–182, 183, 184–186; history 4–5; protest music 90, 135, 159; regulations 20–21, 28–29; Shin Joong Hyun 108, 130–131; see also censorship Park Geun Hye’s government 188

participatory culture 48–49 patriotic music 157–158, 183; see also nationalism pentatonicism 64, 124–125, 129–130, 158 people’s culture (minjung munhwa) 159–160 people’s song (minjung kayo) 12, 88, 89–92, 109 periodization: popular music 15–16, 71–74 p’ok’ŭsong (folksong) 83–88, 123–124, 127–128, 159 political context 2–9; controlling vs supporting K-pop 156, 181–189; democratization 161; Kim Min-ki 133–136; Seo Taiji and Boys 143–144; see also authoritarian period; censorship; regulations pop cosmopolitanism 48–49 popular music: see Korean popular music; Western music influences popularization: folk music 84, 159, 161 post-colonial period 4, 25–28, 36, 183 postmodernism 6–8 post-rock music 164 poverty 28 ppong 60–61 ppongtchak 60–61, 64, 125, 134; see also trot pre-recorded music 42 presentation: artists 31, 178 Presley, Elvis 193, 198 privatized listening 29–30 production industry: idols 169–178, 174; K-pop 155–156; record music 23–24; Shin Hae-chul 221–224; trot and ballads 65–68 progressive metal 74, 215, 217, 219, 221–224 protest folk 86, 87–88, 89–92 protest songs: democratization 135, 159–160 Psy 8, 52–56, 172, 188 psychoanalysis: Oedipus mechanism 172–173 Public Performance Act 20–21 publicity 56, 139 punk rock 76–78, 79, 80 R&B 104 race: multiculturalism 197–198; see also Korean black music radio 3–4, 36, 37–38, 124–125; see also broadcasting rap 145–146, 147–152, 196–197, 220 rap-dance era 100–102 reality shows: television 177, 195–196 Record Law 28 record music 15, 23–33, 111–113, 124, 225 record shows: radio 38 records: production of 23–24

246 • Index regulations: Cultural Asset Protection Law 182; entertainment venues 20–21; marijuana 28–29; see also censorship; government repetition: folk music 86 resistance: cultural 2, 6 revenue (sales) 30, 47 revolutionary politics 6 Rhee Syng Man’s government 183 Rho Tae Woo’s government 183, 185 rock music 71, 81–82; broadcasting 79–80; campus sound groups 21, 39; early Korean rock 20, 21; East Asia 59; ground sound era 71–72; heavy metal 73–74; indie 77–80; postrock 164; punk 76–78; Shin Joong Hyun 108, 126–131; underground artists 74–76 Roh Moo Hyun’s government 134, 144, 187, 188 romance: in songs 39, 65, 70

song genres 60–61 song movement 11, 12, 89–90, 134; see also minjung kayo soul 95, 96–100 soul-psyche 96–98, 105 sound source (ŭmwŏn) 13 South by Southwest Festival (SXSW) 80 Soviet Union occupation of Korea 4 sports events 143, 162, 186–188 spying system: education 144 staff notation 16 stage music 15, 16–18, 31; see also musical drama standard pop 36–39 state: see government streaming music 13 structure: trot and ballads 64–65 students 39, 146–152

Sagye 162–163 salaries: artists 25–27 sales figures 30, 47 Sangnoksu, Kim Min-ki 133–134, 135–136, 138, 140 scales: pentatonic 64, 124–125, 129–130, 158 school 144, 146, 148–149 Seo Taiji and Boys 109–110, 143, 152–153; ‘Come Back Home’ 149–152; hip-hop 100, 101, 153; ‘Kyosil Idea’ 146–149; new generation 144–146; political context 143–144 Seoul area 8, 52 Shin Dae Chul 73–74 Shin Hae-chul 221; ballads 68, 221, 224; biography 215–216; interview 216–226; rock music 74, 216 Shin Joong Hyun: biography 123, 131; censorship 108, 130–131; genres 123–124; ‘Miin’ 128–129, 131; pentatonicism 124–125; rock music 73–74, 107, 126–131 show bands 20 Sin Sŭng-hun 67–68 Singapore 50–51 singer songwriters 80, 86, 88–89, 137 sinminyo (new/neo folk song) 2, 117–118, 123, 124, 128, 157–158, 204 sinsedae (new generation) 109, 143, 144 SM Entertainment 155, 169 social distribution 47, 48–49, 52–56 social media 47, 48–49, 51–52 Son Sŏk-u 36, 37 song clubs 89–90

Taiwan 7, 59, 208–210 teachers 144, 146, 148 technology: digitalization 43–44; hip-hop 102; internet 12–13, 47–57, 77–79, 102, 199; Kpop 199; MIDI 225–226; record music 24–25; Shin Hae-chul 223–226; social distribution 47, 48–49, 52–56 television: audition shows 43–44; authenticity of recorded versions 32; cable 41–42; in color 16, 30, 40; history 38–39, 40; pop music 30, 125; reality shows 177, 195–196; Sangnoksu 133–134; see also broadcasting theatre: see musical drama; stage music; theatre shows theatre shows (kŭkchangssyo) 18–20 theatrical movement (madang kŭk) 159–160 thrash metal 74, 77 tonality 129–130 t’ong-guitar boom 133, 136 totalitarian regime: see authoritarian period traditional folk song (minyo) 2, 84 traditional miscellaneous song (chapka) 2 traditional music (kugak) 155, 161–166, 225 tragic romanticism 65 trainee system: K-pop 155–156, 173–174, 175, 177–178, 196–197 transcriptions: language 59–60 translations: language 59–60 transnational scale 47–48, 50, 207–208, 212; see also globalization; international scale transplanted culture 2 trot 60–61, 69–70; broadcasting 38–39; characteristics 64–65; consumers 69;

Index • 247 Kim Hae-song 117; live music 18–19; lyrics 65; origins 63–64, 158; productions 65–67; vocal styles 191–194, 198 Tŭlgukhwa 74–75, 88 ŭmwŏn (sound source) 13 underground artists: folk music 88–89, 90; hiphop 102–104; live music 21; rock music 74–76 U.S. military base show: black music 95–96, 105; history 4, 12, 31, 36; live music 16–18, 19–20, 31, 125; rock music 71; Shin Joong Hyun 108 U.S. period of Kim Hae-song 119–121 variety show 18–19, 38 videos: see music videos Vietnam War 125 viral music 13, 48–49, 53, 54–56 visual appearance: idols 178 visualization of music 13, 31, 38, 40, 196–197 vocal styles 156, 191–199 vulgar songs (chapga) 123, 124, 128 waesaekgayo (Japanese colored songs) 124 wages: artists 25–27 Western music influences 1; Americanization 4; black music 95–96, 98; broadcasting 38–39;

folk music 83, 84; jazz music 116–117; K-pop 155, 157; Shin Hae-chul 215–216; trot 64; youth culture 144–146, 158–159, 165–166; see also U.S. military base show Western reception of K-pop 211 Wŏn Il 164 YG Entertainment 155 Yi Chang-hŭi 196 Yi Chŏng-sŏn 75, 86–87, 88, 89 Yi Mi-ja 192 Yi Nan-yŏng 107, 110, 113–114 Yi Yŏng-hun 67–68 Yŏŭido power (broadcasting) 40 youth culture: 1970s 133, 158–159; folk music 28, 84–86, 87, 92, 198–199; generational differences 144–146, 158–159, 195–196, 199; Korean black music 105–106; record music 28–29; Western influence 144–146, 158–159, 165–166 YouTube 43, 47, 53–56 yuhaengga (fashionable song) 2, 36, 63, 123, 204 Yun Bo Seon’s government 183 Yun Sim-tŏk 25 Yushin constitution 5, 131 zither (kayagum) 192