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| Rumkicks /Courtesy of David Tizzard |
By David A. Tizzard
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I have been writing and performing music in the Korean underground scene for over 15 years. I've seen venues come and go, bands rise and fall, people live, laugh, love and pass away. Before academia, dissertations, and suit-requiring conferences, I learnt about Korea by sharing stages with punks, skinheads, rockabilly troupes, goths, funk acts, and acoustic songwriters in small venues and huge festivals. Last weekend was my first show in a while as the pandemic meant doing a lot of things online and trying to stay out of the pubs. What I saw made me realize that things are changing in the scene.
Twitter will talk frequently about "manels" and gender representation in various government departments. It rarely talks about where things are succeeding. At a concert held to raise money for animal rights, apart from our trio of stoner rock representation, the groups on stage were all women (or predominantly so). Moreover, the crowd was at least 50 percent women. There had always been representation in the scene but this felt different. It felt seismic in the changes. That the underground music scene was now showing itself to genuinely be a place for all. That attitude had always existed; now the values were manifesting.
What struck me more than the representation, however, were the values, ideas, and messages being shared from the stage and the crowds gathered at the bar and smoking circles outside. There was a loud and unapologetic voice demanding an end to violence. Chants supported the rights of society's downtrodden. Singers declared themselves queer. A definite political message was being shared. And it was echoed, reflected, and returned by those in attendance.
Watching Billy Carter for the first time with their new drummer is a challenging experience (but all the better for it). Their music deliberately sways between tempos and rhythms. On beat but forever changing where it sits. Never static but instead filled with a restless energy. Ready to explode. Always a melodica solo away from chaos. As they yelled "stop violence" (pongnyeok jongsik) and declared support and allyship for the LGBTQ community, I turned to a friend and remarked, "This isn't a gig. It's a movement."
Perhaps. Or maybe the atmosphere, the adrenaline, and the alcohol had led me to exaggeration. But what I couldn't shake was the idea that in the study of K-pop or dramas, we are always told how progressive these cultural products are for tackling sensitive issues that the traditionally conservative country is not ready for. Idols, who are often employed to act as commercial products of large entertainment companies, can say rather trite and uncontroversial things and hint at progressivism without ever explicitly stating it. They can put allusions to psychology in their music videos. But they aren't calling themselves queer or wearing rainbow flags. They aren't supporting anti-discrimination laws. Yet they will be held as the canary in the coalmine for genuine change taking place in Korean society.
But that canary is just a capitalist reflection of the real change already taking place. A simulacrum. A shadow designed to keep us in chains, stuck in the cave, drooling at the dancing idols. Look at our representation and please buy our products. But the truth and the reality is there. In contrast to allegories of old, however, you have to go underground to see it. And the truth, burning bright and uncomfortably, remains too difficult for many to look at.
There is no authentic Korean music. Just various types and representations created by the many diverse members of this society. However, if you're looking for something that aligns with progressive values, representation, and allyship, it would be hard to find a better place than the underground scene. The only trouble is, in a media-driven world demanding that we read about an idol group's video now reaching another million views on a stan-based platform, you have to find it first.
Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the Korea Deconstructed podcast, which can be found online. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.
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