Korean Pop before K-pop
Before K-pop as we know it, there was simply pop music from the Republic of Korea.
For all the years that I’ve listened to K-pop, I’ve often treated it as something to laughingly admit to listening to at best, or at worst as something to not disclose until I know it’s safe, lest I be considered an obsessed internet fan who would dox you for not stanning Loona, or worse, a Koreaboo.
Various things made me feel like K-pop was not serious, that perhaps I’m wasting my time over these soulless, manufactured Asian robots with faces the same color as my toilet bowl.
But well before starting this project I’ve known what most of us do deep down: all art, and by extension music, is political. It’s a commodity. It’s a product of and response to our world systems and structures, the numerous -isms that shape both the planet’s future and what you ate for breakfast this morning.
How could I not take something serious if it’s the result of billions of dollars in government funding? If it’s been inherently shaped by colonialism and imperialism? If the Western music industry still doesn’t quite know what to make of it?
This is the first of a series on Hallyu, otherwise known as the Korean Wave. My approach to this series is informed by my currently dormant 9-5 life with an education underpinned by degrees in ‘critical analysis and being a hater’ as well as my normie life as a big Korean music listener. That of course makes Korean music a huge part of my music journey (to be discussed later), but my interest in the Korean Wave is more so rooted in its implications — the moments in history and politics that it responds to, and the questions about nationalism, soft power and labor that it asks of us even as casual consumers.
To fully understand what I’m getting at let’s rewind a bit to the early 20th century, where the annexation of Korea by the Empire of Japan in 1910 officially brought the Joseon dynasty’s 500 years of rule to an end. Over the next thirty-five years, the Japanese colonial administration heavily suppressed the native Korean language, culture and way of life that had developed over the centuries.
The influences of Japanese occupation on modern Korean culture are numerous but also deeply controversial, considering that we’re navigating the legacy of decades of exploitation, extraction and erasure that people had to live through. One fiercely debated contribution is with Trot, a music genre emerging in the 1920s as a fusion of native Korean folk music and poetry with the rhythms and singing techniques of Japanese Enka and Ryūkōka, which were themselves a fusion partly inspired by Western pop music.
The end of Japanese rule in 1945 wasn’t a guarantee of peace for the Korean people by any means, and the country endured three-year occupations by US and Soviet forces that once again denied them self-determination. The artificial division of the peninsula in two and subsequent war between the halves finally led to the establishment of two separate North and South nation-states in 1953. Throughout the 1950s to 1980s, the Republic of Korea (South Korea) navigated the alternating turmoils of military dictatorship, pro-democracy protest movements, and the broader questions of nationhood. Music responded in different ways.
The Kim Sisters formed in 1953 as a trio made up of two sisters and their adopted cousin: Kim Sook-ja (Sue), Kim Ai-ja (Aija) and Kim Min-ja (Mia). As the daughters and niece of two trot singers, the girls worked as a singing group in order to support their family after the death of their father. Performing in bars and clubs frequented by American soldiers, they quickly rose to popularity for their renditions of American pop songs and ability to play multiple instruments. In 1959 they traveled in the United States and enjoyed fame there too, performing on The Ed Sullivan Show a total of 22 times over the years.
In addition to pop music records circulating in the black market (which is how the Kim Sisters’ mother taught them their repertoire), the continued US presence in South Korea also introduced rock music to the country. Korean rock bands initially played rock and roll tunes for American audiences in the country, and by the late 1960s and 1970s, the rock scene took the same countercultural turn that echoed the rise of hippie culture elsewhere.
Shin Joong-hyun was undoubtedly the leading figure of this era and now known as the ‘Godfather of Korean Rock.’ Starting his career in the same American army bases and clubs, he soon ventured into psychedelia, soul and folk sounds and introduced this to Korean audiences. Shin enjoyed huge success within a few years and also became a noted producer and songwriter for other Korean artists like Kim Chu-ja and the Pearl Sisters.
The 60s-70s were also marked by the presidency of Park Chung-hee, a controversial figure remembered in South Korean history for presiding over the country’s industrialization and rapid economic development while at the same time serving to enforce ‘proper’ Korean values, heavily suppressing social and cultural freedom in the name of anticommunism and national prosperity. This suppression took the form of strict media censorship and directives like Changbal tansok or “long hair crackdowns” where police would forcibly cut men’s hair if they deemed it too long and force women to change if their skirts were considered too short.1
In 1972, Park’s office contacted Shin Joong-hyun, demanding that he compose a song praising the president. Instead of complying, Shin wrote what I think is his best work — Beautiful Rivers and Mountains, a 10-minute tribute to the beauty of the country and its people rather than its president.
We were, we were born on this ground
We will live here beautiful and proud.
The brilliant red sun is shining
With the ocean that is overflowing with white waves
How beautiful is it here
I will sing a song with my beloved.
In response to this ‘unpatriotic’ act, police confiscated Shin’s guitars and forced him to cut his long hair.
One of my personal favorites from this era is Haenim (Sun) by Kim Jung Mi, a frequent collaborator with Shin Joong-hyun. I actually first learned about the song from the end of Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner aka Japanese Breakfast, a novel that I’ve mentioned before as one of my favorite reads from the past few years. This is what Zauner had to say about the song—
“It was a sprawling, six-minute folk song that started on finger-picked acoustic guitar and swelled with melancholy strings as it went on. We listened in silence. None of us could understand the lyrics, but it had a sound that was captivating and timeless and we were drunk and somber and moved.”
In another show of government suppression, both Kim Jung Mi and Shin Joon-hyun were caught up in the 1975 Marijuana Incident, a crackdown on cannabis use that especially targeted those in entertainment. Kim’s records were pulled from circulation and she was forced to leave the music industry; Shin was arrested, tortured in prison, forcibly placed in a psychiatric hospital, and effectively blacklisted from the industry until after President Park’s assassination in 19792.
Even after Park’s death, South Korea ushered in the 1980s with another military dictatorship, this time under the administration of General Chun Doo-hwan. The 80s were marked by upwards economic growth but also by the 1980 Gwangju Uprising and subsequent massacre, the creation of a military concentration camp, and finally the June Democratic Struggle that led to the country’s first democratic government in 1987. All the while, records continued to spin and people continued to dance.
There’s quite a bit of debate over when exactly K-pop officially started as its own phenomenon and in its current form. Rather than put a definite year on that, I like to think of the 80s and 90s as transitional periods for Korean music, where genres, sounds and the industry continued to evolve while facing many of the same social, political and cultural constraints as before.
Old Seoul
This is my small but mighty collection of Korean oldies from the 1980s and 1990s. I officially began curating it in March 2022, pulling from a handful of songs living in my Liked Songs playlist as well as from a curated playlist by Ode Studio Seoul that I listened to often. The songs are a mix of pop, rock, and a bit of the beginnings of rap and hip hop.
The title is of course a pun playing on the city of Seoul, the music being from a bygone time, and my own habit of listening to older music from various cultures.
There’s two artists from here to highlight:
Yoo Jae-ha
"The evolution of the Korean pop ballad begins with this album," wrote critic Choi Ji-ho; popular singer-songwriter Kim Dong Ryul, less optimistically, described Yoo's death as having set the form back 10 years.3
In my opinion, Because I love you is one of the best Korean albums of all time. You may not feel the same way listening for the first time, but its simple, unassuming quality is what’s made it so influential to the Korean music scene. Unfortunately for singer, lyricist and producer Yoo Jae-ha, this widespread recognition only came after his tragic and untimely death.
Yoo was born in 1962 to a wealthy family where he had opportunities to learn multiple instruments including the guitar, piano and cello. He studied composition at Hanyang University and further sharpened his musical prowess, adding the violin and keyboard to his repertoire while building skills in writing lyrics and arrangement. Jazz and classical music were Yoo’s biggest inspirations, and by the end of his studies he was determined to merge these sensibilities and bring that sound to Korean pop music.
In many ways, South Korea wasn’t ready for Yoo’s first and only album Because I love you. During the recording process, Yoo led much of the production, writing, and arrangement, owing to his high skill level in all of those areas. The result was a meticulous fusion of classical and pop music, spanning ballads, more uptempo tracks and even a Mozart-influenced minuet interlude.
The album closes with its best and most influential song, the title track Because I love you—
What I felt with the first look you gave me
Was it my own delusion?
With your innocent smile
You turned me into a fool
The day you left my side
The countless rose-colored memories in my heart
Faded into blue
But innovation was not rewarded in these times, as the prevailing dictatorship under president Chun Doo-hwan continued State enforcement of conservative values across all fields. Rather than see (or in this case, hear) the vision, industry critics simply dismissed Yoo’s singing style as “improper” and the album’s overall sound as “unusual.”
Yoo Jae-ha died in a car accident on November 1, 1987 at the age of 25, only three months after his album came out. It was only after his death that critics re-evaluated their criticisms, now realizing that everything ‘strange’ about it was actually incredibly innovative for a Korean artist. The album is now recognized as having laid a foundation for modern Korean music, especially Korean pop ballads.
Seo Taiji and Boys
For much of the 80s and early 90s, the music scene in South Korea was dominated by trot and pop ballads as lovingly demonstrated by artists like Yoo Jae-ha. There were also a number of other scenes including heavy metal — one such group called Sinawe disbanded in 1991, leading their bassist Seo Taiji to look for his next move. From the beginning it was clear that Seo was determined to create a new sound that the Korean public had never heard before, and it was this spirit that drew dancers and rappers/background vocalists Yang Hyun-suk and Lee Juno into the fold.
Officially forming as Seo Taiji and Boys in 1992, their self-titled debut album was released that same year. Featuring an innovative (for South Korea) mix of hip hop, new jack swing and dance music, it was a surprise mainstream hit and went on to sell over a million copies.
Live performances like the above show exactly what made them popular, particularly with younger audiences — highly choreographed dance routines, ‘cool’ outfits, and a sense of theatricality that somehow still came across as cool and casual. Yet after this performance which was their very first television appearance, judges gave the group the lowest score of the night, going on to say that their music “didn’t sound like music at all.”4
As the group progressed, their music continued its rap/hip hop base with forays into rock, metal and even traditional Korean music. Lyrics became critical of Korean society, capturing young people’s anxieties with critiques of older generations and the education system. Outfits became bolder and more outlandish with jewelry, colored hair, and eventually things like faux locs. I know.
For me, their most memorable song is Come Back Home from their final album in 1995. The song centers on the widespread issue of of teenage runaways at the time, narrating the anxieties and pressures facing young people while attempting to bridge the generational gap between parents and their children. It’s also noticeably similar sounding to Insane in the Brain by Cypress Hill which they themselves were aware of and cool with.
But of course, this unconventional and new way of doing things was not always well received. Between being banned from television for their onstage appearance, having several songs banned from the radio, having lyrics banned by the government censorship committee*, and even facing hidden Satanic messaging allegations, it’s safe to say that the group had a tumultuous relationship with the government and conservative parts of the public.
*To this second to last point, the South Korean Public Performance Ethics Committee operated a system of “pre-censorship” where they could ban music with lyrics they disagreed with before its official release. With the final album, the Committee took issue with the song Regret of the Times for ‘anti-government’ lyrics like “gone is the era of honest people” and “I wish for a new world that'll overturn everything,” demanding the group change the lyrics ahead of release.
Both Seo and the government refused to budge on changing anything and the album was initially released with the track as instrumental-only. As a result of public backlash for this, the Committee finally ended its pre-censorship practices in 1996.5
Things like the censorship scandal eventually proved exhausting for the group to constantly navigate, and they disbanded at the height of their popularity in 1996. Seo Taiji went on to have a successful solo career and Yang Hyun-suk started the entertainment company YG Entertainment, now recognized as one of the ‘Big 4’ of the Korean entertainment industry with globally recognized artists like Big Bang, 2NE1, Psy and Blackpink.
Although they only existed as a unit for four years, Seo Taiji and Boys laid the foundations for what we now know as K-pop today. I say that in a way that encompasses the good and bad of whatever comes to mind.
The links between nationhood, imperialism and pop music have been on my mind well before starting out on here, and South Korea’s music industry has a lot to show from these. It would be both too simplistic and completely accurate to say that what we now know as K-pop is quite literally just pop music and pop culture in Korean. And just as with all 20th-21st century globalized pop culture, it owes a LOT to Black American culture, a point that I must state here and will most likely be stating throughout the rest of this series.
Over the next bits of this I hope to share with you some more favorite artists, songs and moments in South Korea’s music history. Trust and believe there WILL be some critical analysis and perhaps a bit of being a hater.
Wynn x
🫶🏻to the passionate critics and haters