[PB 12.2 (2011) 147-165] Perfect Beat (print) ISSN 1038-2909doi:10.1558/prbt.v12i2.147 Perfect Beat (online) ISSN 1836-0343
© Equinox Publishing Ltd 2012, Kelham House, 3 Lancaster Street, Sheffield, S3 8AF..
Hyunjoon Shin
The success of hopelessness:the evolution of Korean indie music*
Hyunjoon Shin is a ‘Humanities Korea’ professor at the Institute for East Asian Studies (IEAS) at Sungkonghoe University. His research focuses on Korean popular culture and popular music, as well as inter-Asia cultural studies.
Institute for East Asian StudiesSungkonghoe UniversityHang-dong 1-1, Guro-guSeoul [email protected]
AbstractK-pop has been the most commercially successful music genre in South Korea since the mid-1990s, as noted by many Asian popular music scholars. By contrast, an underexplored topic is local indie popular music, which experienced a surge in popularity during the 2000s. This paper examines these indie scenes and Boongaboonga Records—a key organization that originated in the Gwanak region of Seoul, and later relocated to the Hongdae region, known as the hub for Korean indie music. It argues that the unique connection that the label and its indie bands have with these specific locations tie into their collective ability to give voice to a young generation affected by political and social change. It also considers the new business model for the record label and how this has developed from these circumstances and the cultural space it inhabits.
Keywords: Hongdae; indie music; Korean popular music industry; Seoul; space/place; youth
IntroductionSince 2007, there has been a significant increase in the popularity of local indie
music in South Korea (hereafter ‘Korea’). This music stands in contrast to main-
stream popular musics, namely K-pop, which have dominated the mainstream
since the mid-1990s and found considerable success in neighbouring Asian coun-
tries. Initially produced in the small clubs in the western end of Seoul, Korean
indie music has now generated interest overseas with some indie bands partici-
pating in music festivals and concerts in Japan (Despres 2010) and North America
(Saria 2011), among other locations. At a local level, a growing number of music
* This work was supported by the Korea Research Foundation Grant Fund by the Korean Government (MEST) (KRF-2007-361-AM0005).
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festivals (such as the Grand Mint Festival which also began in 2007) have featured
indie acts as headline bands. Most notably, Korean indie music and musicians have
found prominence with the broader public through film and television, where
songs are incorporated into television commercials, drama programmes and film
soundtracks, and ‘the indie musician’ is a common protagonist in plots (Tsai and
Shin 2011).
More than just a shift in public taste, the new-found popularity of Korean indie
music points to the changing relationship between the music industry, economics
and politics during the 2000s. In order to examine these shifts, this paper provides
an historical perspective on the formation and transformation of indie music in
Korea from its unofficial birth in 1996 (see Epstein 2000), to the 2000s. The aim
of this paper is to examine, in more detail, the socio-economic forces affecting the
rising popularity of indie music in Korea. It also highlights the specific, regional
factors behind that rise, as opposed to the more typical national-level approach
too often applied in an analysis of Asian popular culture.
This paper begins with a preliminary background of Korean indie music, fol-
lowed by a critical discussion of the association between indie music and place
in Seoul and the district of Hongdae. It then looks at the setting and larger
framework of the local indie scene in Korea and their more recent changes. In
particular, I will present a case study of the indie label Boongaboonga Records
and its associated singers and bands, including Chang Kiha and the Faces (‘Jang
Giha-wa Eolguldeul’) and Broccoli, You Too? (‘Beurokolli Neomajeo’). These artists
have, arguably, created a new musical aesthetic, both lyrically and musically, that
challenges assumptions about modern music in Korea.
It is never a simple task to define the term ‘indie’ in Western contexts, and the
problem is much the same in Korean contexts. ‘Indie’ is a highly contested term
and its meaning can vary considerably. For the purpose of this research, such a
definition should be flexible, inclusive, and determined by a variety of factors, such
as institutional practices, aesthetic orientations, and political attitudes. From the
mid-1990s to the mid-2000s in Korea, for example, there has been an informal
but clearly recognized divide between major commercial record companies and
smaller, ‘independent’ labels, commonly understood as ‘indie’ companies.1 The
musicians signed to such independent labels are generally referred to as ‘indie’ as
well. But this term holds further meaning, articulating a difference that encom-
passes a ‘DIY ethos’ with regard to such genres as rock and punk—an image which
1. As David Hesmondhalgh suggested, the relationship between majors and indies can be symbiotic (1999: 53), and there was a ‘major/independent collaboration’ in the 1990s UK context. A similar process has been taking place for Korean indies since the late 2000s, when some indie labels and artists have attracted interest from the major labels.
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starkly contrasts with artists from the major commercial record companies, who
are mass-produced by a ‘pop music machine’ (Russell 2008) or ‘K-pop machine’
(Shin 2010), and are mainly constructed idols who perform dance music (Howard
2006: 93–96). It is from this broad perspective that I approach the topic of Korean
indie music.
Background: the roots and routes of Korean indieShortly after decades of military rule ended in 1987, the early to mid-1990s
became a time when popular music and popular culture began to thrive in Korea.
The rock music scene was no exception and became especially vibrant; musicians,
music enthusiasts, journalists, academics, record collectors, and rock club owners
formed their own journals, magazines, and online discussion groups, which they
used to publicly discuss Korean and international rock music. After slipping away
from the public eye for many years, some veteran rockers (such as Shin Joonghyun,
Hahn Daesoo, Sanullim, and Deulgukhwa) capitalized on the newfound interest
in rock, and some attempted to revive their careers by staging comebacks during
this period. To aid this process, ‘classic’ records from many top artists were reis-
sued in CD format, reviving knowledge of Korea’s rock tradition and introducing
it to a new audience.2 Meanwhile, younger indie bands were forming a new style
of punk/rock community which centred around the small live clubs in an area of
western Seoul called Hongdae-ap (lit. ‘in front of Hongik University’), or simply
Hongdae (‘the Hongik University area’).
Contrary to the expectations of many rock music fans, this resurgence during
the 1990s did not endure. Although Korean rock found greater acceptance with
the broader community, it failed to maintain its momentum and was once again
commercially marginalized. As a result, the Korean music scene began to be over-
whelmed by teenager-oriented dance pop and idol bands, beginning with the rap
dance trio Seotaiji-wa Aideul (Seotaiji and the Boys) who had debuted in 1992
(E.-Y. Jung 2007). This iconic group became the model of choice for future teen
idol groups, including the five-member boy band H.O.T. (debuted 1996), and the
female vocal group Fin.K.L. (debuted 1997), to name but two.3 Sales of the classic
2. Once disdained as ‘representatives of decadent foreign culture’ or ‘druggies’ by official government and media ideology, veteran rockers began to garner respect as ‘the pioneers of Korean rock’. In particular, Shin Joong-hyun, who was born in 1938, received much attention and began to be hailed as ‘the Godfather of Korean Rock’, even by mainstream media. For further information about Shin Joonghyun in the 1960–70s, see Kim and Shin (2010), and for 1950–60s Korean pop/rock in general, see Maliangkay (2006). 3. For more information on popular music groups during this time, see Howard (2002, 2006).
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rock reissues and modern rock CDs could not compare with the millions of albums
and countless merchandise moved by this new kind of Korean pop (or K-pop, as it
came to be known), which began to dominate the mainstream.
As K-pop spread across Asia (as part of a deliberate export strategy by several
music labels) in the late 1990s, then greatly increasing in the 2000s, it became the
vanguard of the so-called ‘Korean Wave’, further reinforcing popular perceptions
of K-pop’s dominance (Shin 2009; S. Jung 2011). Therefore, it came as a great sur-
prise in 2008 when a simple retro-rock single ‘Ssaguryeo Keopi’ (‘Cheap Coffee’)
became a national hit. Singer Jang Giha (who prefers the Romanization ‘Chang
Kiha’) became a national celebrity, playing sold-out shows around Korea with his
newly formed band, Jang Giha-wa Eolguldeul (‘Chang Kiha and the Faces’). With
poetic lyrics that spoke to the then ‘youth of today’, Chang was able to connect
with younger generations and create new fans, many of whom had not previously
been rock or indie enthusiasts. The band was not an isolated success story. Around
a similar time, an indie foursome named Broccoli, You Too? released the album
Aengkol Yocheong Geumji (‘No More Encore’) to quiet, but significant acclaim. More
recently the indie band Gu-wa Sutjadeul (‘9 and the Numbers’) has found moder-
ate success but received critical acclaim with the release of their self-titled debut
album in late 2009. The songs by all of these artists offer poignant lyrics and sound
quite different from K-pop. Most importantly, their songs gave voice to a voiceless
generation—songs that were introspective, reflexive, bittersweet, and intellectual.
It is too early to say for certain whether this new wave of indie bands will
have a long-term effect on mainstream tastes and broaden the base of indie rock
until it flourishes. If, indeed, rock ‘has not died but has become more geographi-
cally mobile’ (Negus 1996: 163), indie rock in different geocultural spaces needs
to be approached anew and in greater depth, else we risk complacency by relying
on theories based on experiences elsewhere, not where they are currently taking
place. Accordingly, the next topic to be considered here is the relationship between
music and a sense of place. This is done with regard to two specific areas in Korea,
both in Seoul—the western area of Hongdae and the southern neighbourhood of
Gwanak. I will begin with Hongdae, the district best known for its indie music.
Locating indie music: Seoul and HongdaeIn 2003, Connell and Gibson noted that while the ‘domestic output from major cities
may be highly significant’, urban centres such as Seoul ‘have not been attributed a
“sound” in international mediascapes’ (102). Indeed, it is difficult to define the ‘sound’
of mainstream Korean popular music in any sort of way that relates to a certain
place, be it Seoul or another city. In fact, most songs played on Korean national radio
and television sound much the same as other western pop-rock music, but with
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Korean-language lyrics. The adoption and inclusion of western sonic material and
formal song structure can be attributed to the post-1990 period of globalization
(Howard 2002: 90), or ‘glocalization’ (S. Jung 2011: 77–80), when Korean musicians
began ‘borrowing musical sound and structure without considering their social and
cultural origin’ (Howard 2002: 89). Since this time, Korean popular music has been
produced with an eye on global styles, in a manner that is not dissimilar to other
popular music forms throughout East Asia, although to differing degrees.
Some scholars of Asian popular music have turned to alternative genres in
search of a connection between local sounds and geography. Eric Ma (2002), for
example, has looked to rap metal for links between this music subculture and the
Mong Kok area of Hong Kong. Yoshitaka Mori (2009), furthermore, has examined
the Shibuya-kei (Shibuya-district style) sound and scene that emerged in the early
1990s in metropolitan Tokyo. The research on Korean indie music by Stephen
Epstein (2000, 2006) and Epstein and Dunbar (2007), however, has been most
useful for this study, especially with regard to the examination of music from
Hongdae. It should be noted that none of these districts is completely dominated
by one genre or style. Mong Kok, for example, produces much more than just rap
metal, Hongdae creates much more than just punk, and Shibuya produces much
more than just Shibuya-kei. In all of these studies, the places associated with these
local musical styles are situated inside the city that is deemed the national cultural
centre, not outside of it. This suggests that the local distinctiveness of those genres
or styles is different from that of, for example, the ‘Liverpool Sound’ (Cohen
1994) or the ‘Seattle Sound’ (Harrington 2002), where an outside development
is seen as happening in response to and challenging the cultural hegemony of
the national centre (that is, London or New York for the cited examples). The
alternative Asian styles cited above are located within the metropolis—Mong Kok,
Shibuya, and Hongdae all belong to, but are different from, broader Hong Kong,
Tokyo and Seoul, respectively. These districts are fashionable or trendy areas of
their associated cities, and arguably represent the stronger traits of the city: they
are fluid and mobile, with streets of streaming people at all hours of the day and
night. Therefore, if the sounds associated with these places are to be regarded as
‘alternative’ or ‘subversive’ in any sense, it is not so much inter-city rivalry between
scenes as it is a delicate and abstract intra-city difference.
The geographical focus of this research, Hongdae, is an area to the west of
Hongik University, an education facility that is best known for its arts programs.
The term itself, Hongdae, is in fact an informal designation of a cultural space that
may be associated with the university but is not defined by it. Rather, it draws its
identity from the people who live or spend time there. It can be seen as an example
of one of the ‘new imagined geographies of musical life’ (Bennett 2008: 70) in a
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mobile metropolitan setting and active domain of social life. I argue that there is
no definitive relationship between the musical style of Hongdae and the space
known as Hongdae. This is, in part, because there have been no conscious efforts
by the artists and fans to connect the sounds with the place, but also because the
connection between location and musical diversity has only recently emerged in
Korea. When the phrase ‘Hongdae scene’ has been used by the cultural producers
and intermediaries based there, the meaning of that ‘scene’ is akin to ‘musical
scene’ as defined by Will Straw, that is, a
cultural space in which a range of musical practices coexist, interacting with each other within a variety of processes of differentiation, and according to widely varying trajectories of change and cross-fertilization (1991: 373).
Straw’s research does not elaborate upon the ‘material conditions of musical produc-
tion’ (Negus 1996: 186), which distinguish one space from another, and so further
explanation is necessary when applying his definition of ‘scene’ to Hongdae. At first
glance, Hongdae may seem like any other homogenized consumerist area dotting
metropolitan Seoul. Upon closer inspection, however, one can find characteristics
which set Hongdae apart. Its proximity to Hongik University has been noteworthy
in the development of an artistic community in the area, and this has been comple-
mented by the neighbouring community of Sinchon: another university district that
was a hotbed for underground music and student culture in the 1970s and 1980s
(Howard 2006: 89) which began to be commercialized in the 1990s.
What most distinguishes Hongdae from other districts is the live music
venues, record labels, rehearsal rooms, record stores and instrument shops that
have thrived since the mid-1990s. There are also numerous shops, pubs, cafes, art
galleries, restaurants, and informal hangout locations which function as meeting
places for those involved in the area’s cultural practices and activities, many of
which are owned and operated by these people as well. Hongdae does not so
much signify a fixed, bound place for community-based cultural production and
consumption as much as act as a flexible space for communication networks,
information flows, and collaborative creativities to flourish. In short, the central
agents in the Hongdae scene are professional cultural elites that are endowed with
a kind of ‘subcultural capital’ (Thornton 1996).
The development of Korean indie: mid-1990s to early 2000sAs I have stated above, the early and the mid-1990s in Korea was an era of optimism
and hope, encouraged by high economic growth as well as political democratiza-
tion and cultural liberalization. It was within this climate that the terminology,
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ideology and attitude of all things ‘indie’ began to develop in Korea, which was
comparatively late compared with other countries around the world. Contempo-
rary forms of Anglophone pop/rock styles were the main sources of inspiration
for these emerging Korean indie bands, and this music starkly contrasted with
mainstream Korean pop, which strongly referenced American R&B and Japanese
idol (aidoru) music. The scene began to grow when the bands found support from
local critics and enthusiasts, and infrastructure and a critical mass began to form
in the Hongdae area.
One of the pivotal events in the early indie scene was held in 1995 at a small
club named Drug in Hongdae. Titled A Tribute Concert for Kurt Cobain, the event
was held as a mark of respect to the Nirvana singer/songwriter who had died the
previous year, and it attracted young people who were fans of the grunge sound
and who were also, I argue, dissatisfied with the mainstream K-pop of the time.
Through the popularity of this event, Drug and several other live clubs in the area
became hotspots for indie bands and their fans. Once a steady number of indie
bands emerged in the scene, musical events dedicated to indie were intermittently
held; these included small-scale festivals, band nights at local venues, and DIY
records releases for albums that bypassed Korea’s mainstream distribution net-
works. Although these events were viewed and represented as subcultural rebel-
lion by the mainstream media, they did not arouse any significant moral panic.
Rather, they were welcomed as a component of the new generation’s culture
(K. Lee 2006). Indie bands may have been agents of cultural and creative change,
but they were also comprised of harmless misfits. The first generation of Korean
punk bands were, for example, largely youth from middle-class families who had
adopted a rebellious clothing style and attitude.4
The culture of Korea has changed significantly from 1998 onward when the
effects of the Asian financial crisis were felt throughout the nation and, as a
consequence, society restructured to reflect a neo-liberal ideal. There was also an
ideological shift which encouraged a sense of competitiveness in Korea that super-
seded creativity. Serious social problems were widespread: social polarization, a
collapse of the middle class, the casualization of labour, employment instability,
the disintegration of the family, and more. The economic boom in information
and communication technology during the early 2000s seemed promising, but
this growth was not steady. In reality, a side effect of Korea’s economic success
was that conditions for young people worsened. The younger generation became
victims of the restructuring process, with many becoming freeters (a Japanese
4. For further discussion about the punk scene in Korea during the 1990s, see Epstein (2000), who notes this was a successful era for many punk bands.
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term referring to young people who are under- or unemployed or are freelance
and who struggled make ends meet), and youth unemployment became a serious
social problem, of which there is still no clear solution.5
The Korean music industry was also suffering during these years of social and
economic change. The saturation of teenage pop music in the market, coupled
with the decreased buying-power of teenagers due to the economic crisis, contrib-
uted to the rapid decline of the music industry in the 2000s. Moreover, the effects
of the digitization of music, file-sharing and music piracy—all of which was fuelled
by the spread of high-speed internet throughout Korea—was disastrous for the
artists and creative workers in the industry (J.-Y. Lee 2009: 492). All of these factors
combined to push the development of what was known as ‘total entertainment
companies’: highly-successful businesses which created, marketed and managed
multi-purpose music stars who had additional endorsement contracts to ensure
widespread cross-promotion. This situation, whereby ‘the rich get richer, and the
poor get poorer’, left little space for indie music to flourish in Korea’s music indus-
try. Indie bands struggled through a lack of financial support and decreased album
sales. In order to survive, some ‘went mainstream’ (in that they began following
the conventions of mainstream Korean popular music models), while other indie
bands defiantly retained their ethos and identity (as skinheads, shoegazers, etc.)
but with little hope of breaking through to wider audiences.
The live performance scene also suffered. By the mid-2000s, it was common to
see indie bands playing small clubs to small audiences of just a few dozen, even on
weekends, which was usually the most popular time for gigs. The lack of financial
security and the depressing climate forced many indie bands to quit playing music
and instead seek other livelihoods. The loss of revenue meant that many live clubs
began closing down, while others were run more as social enterprises than com-
mercially driven businesses. A few clubs even relocated to the fringes of Hongdae,
to escape the mass gentrification of inner Hongdae, which had occurred as a result
of the economic boom. Ultimately, the old charm of Hongdae was replaced by the
markers of hyper-consumerism—malls, chain stores and international franchises—
and what was regarded as the first wave of the indie scene dissipated.
The second wave of local indie music began to emerge in the late-2000s.
Whereas the first generation of indie bands and their fans had consciously dis-
dained or simply disregarded the commercial domestic pop/rock music, the second
wave began to scrutinize their place within Korea’s broader popular music land-
scape. This self-examination was provoked by widespread societal anxiety as a
result of neo-liberal globalization, and also an awareness of the failures of the first
5. Refer to Mori for a useful case study of freeters in a Japanese context (2009: 479–81).
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wave of indie artists. It led the musicians to pay more attention to the place of
Korean indie music within the historical legacy of Korean’s pop/rock music scenes.
During this time, Korean popular music recordings from the 1970s and 1980s had
become popular. Fans and record collectors from Korea and around the world
eagerly sought after original and re-issued albums, thus establishing a pop/rock
music canon.6 Music from these decades were of particular interest to performers
associated with the second wave of Korean indie, and among the most enthusias-
tic were amateur musicians who were studying at Seoul National University. The
following sections take a closer look at this second trend through a case study of
the development of a music scene on Seoul National University campus and the
related indie record label, Boongaboonga Records.
Campus culture: musical life in GwanakLike the Hongdae region, described earlier in this article, Gwanak is a zone of cultural
production associated with a university campus. Seoul National University, arguably
the most prestigious higher education institution in Korea, is located within this
official district in a mountainous area at the south end of Seoul (and is also named
after the nearby mountain, Gwanaksan). Whereas Hongdae is in a busy part of the
city, Gwanak is a working-class neighbourhood with little infrastructure that is far
from the metropolitan centre. The isolated nature of the area has resulted in a range
of unique activities, creative works and modes of individual expression, especially
inside of the campus perimeter where the students mainly congregate.
Up until the mid-1990s, this zone was strongly associated with student activ-
ism, political protest, and music. A song style called minjunggayo (‘the people’s
songs’), which was heavily influenced by American folk/protest songs, was per-
formed here by noraepae (‘singing troupes’)7 in the 1970s and 1980s, when the
6. Matthew Bannister has analysed canonism in indie guitar rock, noting that a canon is ‘a key means of stratification within indie scene’ (Bannister 2006: 79) and indie’s ‘complex (but often ignored) relation to “rock tradition” ’. What happened in the 1990s in Korea looks similar to the process of canonization in 1980s Anglophone contexts. However, a difference is also clear. The process of canonization of the Korean rock tradition, which had previously to then been largely disregarded or ignored, represented a big break from the previous local style of rock connoisseur-ship, which had valued only international rock traditions until the 1980s. Whether this process also caused stratification in Korea’s indie scene is difficult to determine. Through this paper we can see that canons have been both constructed and deconstructed through the battles over memory and the critical evaluation of tradition. 7. Me-ari (‘Echo’)—a singing group with a variable and flexible membership—played an especially central role in the minjung song movement since the group was founded in 1977. For more information about the history of the song movement and this ensemble, see Hwang (2006: 41–44).
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democratic movement was most active. Students were easily recruited into the
noraepae (upon the provision that they were ‘intelligent’), and the troupes provided
resources to support and encourage the creation of music. They would gather in
a room for rehearsals, and musical instruments and recording equipment were
handed down from seniors to new and junior members. Although not musically
sophisticated, the members of the noraepae possessed enough cultural capital to
at least attempt at becoming music artists.8
Not all music was deemed acceptable in Gwanak. During the 1970s and early
to mid-1980s, localized Korean folk music was preferable to rock and pop, which
were criticized for their more overtly ‘American influence’ (Hwang 2006: 43, 45).
Following the political democratization and cultural liberalization that began in
1987, rock music began to find increasing acceptance, most notably after the mid-
1990s. This led the way for changes in the culture of the campus song movement in
the early 2000s. Although most student musicians still preferred to be associated
with the term ‘folk music’, some pioneering amateurs based in Gwanak began
to experiment with an indie rock sound—they retained an attitude born from
the campus song movement while also incorporating elements of local popular
music. In the context of Korean popular music history, this convergence of ‘folk’
and ‘rock’ in student culture is significant, since the two genres had been divided
for a long time due to the political climate and student ideology.
In the early 2000s, the Gwanak campus area became a vibrant space for
new musical pursuits in folk/rock and other forms of popular music. Even so, it
is difficult to pinpoint a ‘Gwanak sound’ in musical terms. We can look to three
significant compilation albums for insights, as they feature music by amateur
Gwanak-based soloists and bands.9 These albums, produced from 2002–2004,
were released under the collective title Band Band Jjan Jjan.
Some of scene’s musical pioneers, who had played on the Band Band Jjan Jjan
recordings, began to venture off campus to play in the live clubs of Hongdae.
8. The noraepae had financial backing from the student union which approved of their cultural pursuits, including concerts, exhibitions and festivals—all of which brought together like-minded students with political agendas. A formal organization called Chukjehaneun Saramdeul (‘People who do festivals’, or simply Chukhasa), formed in 2003 and became the primary coordinator of university cultural activities, including on-campus festivals. There is some controversy regarding Chukhasa, and it can be argued that the depoliticization of student culture can be attributed to the organization. However, the cultural capital accumulated from planning and organizing cultural events proved to be beneficial when some of the Chukhasa-affiliated Seoul National University students graduated and relocated to Hongdae. 9. Chang Kiha contributed one track to the second compilation album (released 2003), calling himself simply Kiha. Yun Deok-won, the current leader and frontman of Broccoli, You Too?, and Song Jae-kyung, the leader of 9 and the Numbers, contributed one track each on the third compilation (released 2004).
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One such ensemble, Nunco Band (which formed in 2002 and debuted with the
EP Paneun Mulgeon (‘Sellable Commodities’) in 2003, was the first to experiment
with the post-campus Gwanak sound. The band was fronted by Kim Namhun
(a.k.a. Kkamak-gui, who had organized the first of the Band Band Jjan Jjan
albums) and featured the notable drummer Change Kiha. Nunco Band became
the cornerstone for the post-Gwanak movement, determining whether the
cultural activities that had previously taken place only within the boundaries of
campus would find success elsewhere in Seoul. Nunco Band was not immune
to criticism: it was often dismissed by the student movement as ‘not political
enough’, and even disregarded by some established Hongdae bands as lacking
in musical sophistication. Even so, Nunco Band forged its own path and actively
pursued an audience in Hongdae that would be receptive to its sound. Other
Gwanak bands were not so successful, and lacked longevity: over half of the
ensembles disbanded and many musicians quit playing music altogether after
they graduated from university, and no longer spent time in the Gwanak area.
In retrospect, Gwanak, despite all its cultural activities during the first half of
the 2000s, essentially functioned as a talent pool for Seoul’s broader indie music
scene, the centre of which was Hongdae.
Boongaboonga Records: a case study of an indie labelBoongaboonga Records (hereafter BGBG, as it is more commonly known) is a
company born out of Gwanak campus life, but only really came into its own during
the post-Gwanak music movement.10 In 2004, BGBG began operations by setting
up a home recording studio on Ssukgogae (‘Ssuk Hill’) near the Seoul National
University campus. With a desire to become self-reliant, the label released a finan-
cially independent album, titled Gwanak Cheongnyeon Pokeu Hyeobuihoe (‘Asso-
ciation of Gwanak Youth Folk’) in 2005. This album is considered its first official
release, and is also the last one associated with the musical identity of Gwanak,
and, as such, it showcased four artists from the campus area. One was Yoon Deok-
won, who appeared under the stage name of Green Tea Banana and would later
become the leader of the significant band, Broccoli, You Too? (as discussed later
in this article). Another artist was Song Jae-kyung, who adopted the stage name
9, and who would later lead the group 9 and the Numbers (after leaving BGBG
and setting up his own label, Tunetable Movement). After this album, BGBG’s
focus shifted toward cultural business activities outside Gwanak campus, and the
company moved its offices to the Hongdae area in 2005.
10. In fact, the word ‘Boongaboonga’ comes from a term used to describe dogs and cats masturbating.
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Before going into detail about BGBG’s business activities, some further back-
ground regarding changes to Korea’s indie music business in the mid-2000s would
be beneficial. The harshest period for the music industry had already passed when
BGBG formed in 2004, and new developments in digitization and production
greatly changed how the music business functioned in Korea. By 2004, the digital
music market had already overcome its initial chaos and was relatively stable.
Most unauthorized internet music distributors ‘went legal’, prompted by the
success of the digital music online stores set up by domestic media giants, such
as SK Telecom and Mnet (Lee 2009: 493). Korea became the first country where
digital music sales exceeded physical sales, showing how rapidly and completely
the music industry had embraced the digital revolution in music. On the produc-
tion side, the ready availability of home recording equipment eliminated the need
for bands to record in a professional studio. It became the norm for most indie
artists to make home-recordings cheaply and quickly, resulting in the release of
about 300 indie record titles into the market each year since the mid-2000s. It was
important for bands to promote these new releases through live performances
and, as such, several new live music venues were built in the Hongdae area and
greater Seoul, and a variety of music festivals began to emerge. As a consequence
of their increased record sales and widespread exposure through live perform-
ance, some indie bands and indie record labels became commercially successful.
For example, the two labels Pastel and Happy Robot reached a level of success far
beyond their humble indie beginnings by diversifying their business into areas
such as digital aggregation and festival organization. All in all, the division between
the major players and the indie scene was becoming more fluid.
We can view the development of the indie record label BGBG within the
context of the Korean popular music industry at this time. As a newcomer to
the scene, BGBG made a name for itself as a self-proclaimed ‘no budget (not
low budget) indie label’ with ‘sustainable entertainment’, and used the jargon-
istic slogan ‘survivally sound and sustainable DoReMi’ [sic], which was often
shortened to the acronym ‘SSSD’. At first, business was tough for BGBG. The
sales of their first two albums (namely Gwanak Cheongnyeon Pokeu Hyeobuihoe,
as mentioned above), and Cheongnyeosileop (‘Youth Unemployment’, which was
a side project of Chang Kiha and his senior friends) were poor, such that the
label nearly closed in 2006. During this difficult period, the BGBG staff and their
artists had many serious debates about business practices and the label’s direc-
tion, causing some people to leave the label.11
11. BGBG was not financially able to release another album until late 2007, which saw the release of the EP Aengkol Yocheong Geumji (‘No More Encore’) by Broccoli, You Too?
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In order to curb the crisis, BGBG developed three specific operational strategies
that did not require significant financial outlay. First, they produced and sold CD
singles using a more cost-effective method: copies were manufactured using a CD
burner and blank CD-Rs, then distributed to a few specialist shops. They referred
to the singles as ‘small-scale handicraft-manufactured records’, as opposed to full-
length albums, which they called ‘big-scale factory-produced records’.12 Second,
BGBG organized a series of coordinated shows, called ‘label shows’, where most of
the artists under the same label would appear on stage in the hope of producing
some synergy. This label show format was partially inspired by how universities
usually organize performing art events—in effect, a throwback to their Gwanak
days. And third, they put a great amount of effort into online exposure and pro-
motion. While such a strategy is not unusual these days, it was novel at the time.
BGBG’s goal was to boost personal communication with fans by using all available
virtual spaces, both domestic and international, including homepages, blogs, and
Korea’s various social networking platforms.
Despite many initial obstacles, everything changed when one of BGBG’s artists,
Chang Kiha, suddenly rose from obscurity to stardom. His breakthrough, which
completely surprised the staff at BGBG, was largely due to the fact that he had found
resonance with audiences via the internet. Using their own initiative, online fans
uploaded video clips they had taken of his concerts, festival appearances and TV
show performances, in effect giving Chang a major push of online publicity.13 This
translated into sales of Chang’s mini-CD, which was the label’s ninth ‘handicraft-
manufactured’ record. To keep up with demand, the staff had to burn approxi-
mately 10,000 copies of the single on CD-R from July 2008 until February 2009,
when Chang released his first full-length debut album, Byeol Il Eobsi Sanda (‘Living
the Nothing Special Life’). The album was recorded with the assistance of his newly
formed backup band, the Faces, and together Chang Kiha and the Faces were invited
to perform at numerous industry showcases events, music festivals and TV music
shows throughout 2009, until Chang declared that he needed a break.
12. The language used is perhaps reminiscent of Marxist discourse on the development of capitalism, twisting the words with humour and satire that echo the long history of student movements in Korea. 13. The three most important moments of Chang Kiha’s media exposure in 2008 were his performances at, first, the 10th Ssamzie Sound Festival on 3 October; second, the TV music show Hello Rookie at Space Gonggam (EBS) on 29 November; and, third, another music show Lee Hana-ui Peppermint (KBS) on 21 November. The second performance was released as a digital bootleg album and was circulated on the internet. In 2009, his two songs ‘Ssaguryeo Coffee’ (‘Cheap Coffee’) and ‘Dal-i Cha Oreunda, Gaja’ (‘The Moon Becomes Full, Let’s Go’) became the subject matter of a parody sketch by some famous comedians on the reality program Muhandojeon (‘Infinite Chal-lenge’), receiving the highest viewer ratings of the year and becoming a cult favourite for fans.
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Chang’s case highlights the significance of digital media to the indie music
industry at that particular time, as well as the role of internet fans in growing and
sustaining the popularity of a star. The website which played the most important
part in elevating Chang and BGBG’s status was DC Inside (http://www.dcinside.
com). It had started out as an online community forum space for digital camera
users but evolved into an online hotspot for all kinds of subcultural, rebellious
and anti-mainstream activities. The website, which is still in operation today, has
members who are called pye-in (lit. ‘geek’), which refers to one who fails or refuses
to get a regular job in fear of (or in hate of) the fierce competition pervading every
field of society. Pye-in are heavy consumers of all sorts of internet-based enter-
tainment but are not necessarily indie music fans. Chang Kiha was the first indie
artist to attain star status because of his fans’ unpaid, volunteer labour in produc-
ing and circulating user-generated content about him, such as uploading footage
from televised concerts. It was the grassroots efforts of fans that transformed this
underground artist into a cultural icon through the medium of internet culture.
This example shows how old media sources (such as television) and new media
sources (such as the internet) combined to greater effect in the age of so-called
media convergence. Chang was one of the main beneficiaries of this ongoing evo-
lution of digital media within the cultural industries.
After surveying the indie scenes developing out of Hongdae and Gwanak, and
tracing the development of the indie label BGBG, it is useful to now take a closer
look at the social and cultural relevance of selected indie songs from these scenes.
A question is raised: is it still possible to relate indie music to specific places, even
after the music was popularized beyond the boundaries of these locations?
Korean indie music: place and meaningOver this course of this article, I have made reference to the music of several Korean
indie bands, including Chang Kiha and the Faces, Broccoli, You Too?, and 9 and the
Numbers. I contend that these bands, among others, appeal to young audiences
in the 2000s through poignant and bittersweet lyrics that relate to the everyday
lives of the ‘hopeless’ younger generation. Some notable songs include Broccoli,
You Too?’s tracks ‘Janinhan Sawol’ (‘Cruel April’, 2009) and ‘Jol-eop’ (‘Graduation’,
2010), and 9 and the Numbers’ songs ‘Seokbyeol-ui Chum’(‘Farewell Dance’, 2009)
and ‘Kaliji Bugi’ (‘College Boogie’, 2009), among others. These songs describe the
plight of frustrated young Koreans in contemporary society, especially those who
are desperate to obtain a permanent job after graduating from university.14 Chang
14. Other songs by these artists are not explicitly about generational frustration, but are rather moving tunes with tongue-in-cheek lyrics about everyday life.
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Kiha has been hailed as the voice of this generation—the so-called palsippalman-
won sedae (literally, the ‘880,000 won generation’, the amount a low-paid casual
worker usually earns in a month and struggles to survive on), as young people
are commonly called in academic and media circles. Although Chang has been
reluctant to identify his music with this generation, the evolution of this discourse
was beyond his control and the association is now well established.
With regard to the musical content of these songs, it is important to note that
there are diverse influences from both domestic and international repertoires,
and these influences also come from a variety of historical periods. Even after a
cursory listen, one can hear the influence of American bands—including the avant-
garde new-wave group, Talking Heads, and the alternative rock band, the Flaming
Lips—in some songs by Chang Kiha. Similarly, one can hear stylistic similarities
between songs by 9 and the Numbers, and British groups such as Manchester-
sound exponents the Stone Roses and electronic dance duo the Pet Shop Boys.
The adoption and adaption of Western and local Korean trends and traditions by
bands such as these can be considered examples of indigenization or domestica-
tion. However, I argue that the process today is different from the glocalization
evident in Korean popular music up until the mid-2000s, which largely ignored
the importance of history and place with regard to local popular music.
In 2011, the influence of domestic repertoire from the 1970s–80s is as impor-
tant as international repertoire. By multiplying the amount of influences, sources
and references, this new music is considered neither an international genre with
Korean lyrics, nor a domestic genre with international references. I argue that it
is a new form of musical creativity that has radically changed the dominant logic
of popular music in Korea; it is a harmonious resonance of different historical
genres and styles, rather than a ‘typical’ surgical process of appropriation and
displacement. The new indie sound since the mid-2010s differentiates itself from
mainstream K-pop by refusing to try and catch up with the latest international
trends, and by that same logic it simultaneously challenges the global hegemony
of international pop/rock by denying it as the only fashionable source in popular
music. Overall, it can be said that this new sound was an artistic reaction to the
social crises and cultural depression instigated by rampant development and neo-
liberal globalization. In creating this new sound, these artists distanced themselves
from the hard-work ethos permeating mainstream Korean society as well as the
ideology of infinite competition brought on by global capitalism.
At this point, it is pertinent to consider the relationship between local music
and place: how are local places, be they Hongdae, Gwanak, Seoul or anywhere in
Korea, imagined through song? For Koreans, who can understand the language
of the lyrics, the connection is obvious, and even for those whose everyday lives
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are organized around such places, the music of certain bands plays a ‘sensual role’
in the creation and depiction of place (Cohen 1998: 434). The Korean indie case
is difficult though, because for the most part these musicians and artists do not
intentionally associate themselves with certain places. Rather, they conceptually
construct and rationalize their relationship, as similarly noted by Peter Webb
(2007) in his study of the ‘Bristol Sound’. We can ask, therefore, is there some-
thing unique in terms of instrumentation, song structure, chord progression, or
rhythmic patterns in this indie music that warrants calling it the ‘Hongdae Sound’
or ‘Gwanak Sound’? While an examination of these aspects could prove enlighten-
ing, a musicological analysis is beyond the aims of this article, and I will instead
briefly consider how lyrics create meaning.
The difficulties described above are part of the reason why Broccoli, You Too?
created and performed a song titled ‘Bopyeonjeogin Norae’ (literally ‘Universal
Song’), which is a song about any place and any time. The song begins with a
self-reflexive statement that declares it to be ‘one of those plain love songs’ in
which ‘neither the place nor the time nor the mind is remembered’. I find that
this song reveals something significant about the singer, Yoon Deok-won, who
started his musical career at Gwanak and migrated to Hongdae, and the way
he constructs music with a sense of place. Like the title of another song by the
band, it is a narrative about ‘boys and girls at the margins’, and it explains the
emotional state shared by the generation who were in their twenties during the
first decade of the twenty-first century. Hongdae and Gwanak are two real and
yet also imagined places that have produced certain songs according to the mate-
rial conditions available for music making. With the ability to articulate life for a
struggling generation, some ‘Korean’ indie songs have moved beyond the margins
to find relevance with a mainstream audience, with some achieving nation-wide
appeal.
ConclusionIn the past, academic studies of Western popular music and place have chiefly
focused on local sound at a sub-national level (in the city, town or village). By
contrast, research on Asian popular music tends often to disregard local music
in favour of ‘national’ sounds—as such all music from a particular country is des-
ignated according to the nation: for example, Japanese popular music, Chinese
popular music, etc. I argue that this approach is prevalent not only in Western
but also Asian academic circles. This article has taken a different approach. In
my case study of Korean indie music, I have shown that ideas of ‘place’ in Korean
music can, and should be, conceptualized in other ways—place in Korea should
neither be equated with the nation nor should it be detached from it. This means
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that the history of ‘national’ popular music in Korea and, arguably, other parts
of Asia needs to be re-examined through a deconstructive lens. Popular music
in Asia is not a single linear development of coherent sound, which is produced
and communicated by the national centre, but is instead a range of multiple and
discontinuous processes creating scattered sounds in, and from, different local
places.
While mainstream K-pop has become one of Korea’s largest exports through
globalization and regionalization in its own sense (cf. Shin 2009), it is gradually
losing its connection to the everyday lives of common people through what I
believe is the rapid and blind appropriation of global trends. More relevant are
the narratives about life in a specific time and place, which are created by those
in non-mainstream popular music scenes, such as indie music artists. At this
point in time, and in spite of K-pop’s status as the international face of Korean
popular music, it is Korean indie music that seems to have taken on the role of
constructing a sense of place over the last decade. Even under extreme pressure
from a neo-liberally restructured society and the remaining tensions left over
from the Cold War, the Korean younger generation is ‘living the nothing-special
life’.
Korean music critics and enthusiasts have often contended that Korean pop-
rock songs from the twentieth century were about hope amidst despair. As this
study has observed, indie musicians in the twenty-first century are instead singing
about despair amidst hopelessness. By rebelling against neo-liberalism and creat-
ing commodities from these emotions, indie musicians have forged a new path
for Korean music: they have created a new business model, built from a new
economic and cultural space.
Notes on Korean romanization
This article uses an adapted version of the revised romanization of Korean roman
letter notation, which is the official system adopted by South Korea. I have, for
example, included hyphens for a select number of words, in order to assist non-
Korean readers with their understanding of the original Korean script and grammar.
These include, for example, jol-eop rather than joreop for ‘졸업’, and Gu-wa rather
than Guwa for ‘9와’. With regard to the romanization of Korean names, I have
adopted internationally accepted spelling styles and have also maintained the
original spelling of a name as determined by that person or a band (e.g. Shin Joong-
hyun, or Chang Kiha and the Faces). All surnames precede given names, in keeping
with the established Korean order.
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