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| Courtesy of Onnola |
By David A. Tizzard
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The 21st century is no longer characterized by innovative content but rather new technology. We are given 20th century products in high-resolution digital format, shared all around the world instantly: Chris Martin from Coldplay like you've never seen him before; Snoop Dog still stoned but now appearing alongside hyper-real K-pop groups to promote a country that will, somewhat ironically, put you in jail for even taking a puff of the stuff; the Fresh Prince of Bel Air dominating our media and still acting against all of his mom's wishes by getting into fights; Spiderman and Batman as box office trends, but now with added cultural diversity and a darker and more grittier realism than you've ever seen. (They're not actually darker in theme or content than most of the stuff we watched in the 1980s, they just tell you it is and hope you don't actually notice). It's a cultural malaise in which everything in the mainstream is from the past but no one seems to really notice. Even the idea of something being "futuristic" means some weird 80s version of tomorrow from the past, like Blade Runner or Dune.
In that sense, postmodern culture in our capitalist world is characterized by an abandonment of the future. We seek refuge in nostalgia and "member berries." And this repetition of the past is driven by neoliberalism and a fear of not being profitable. Things with established IPs and fans (see: consumers willing to pay for things and promote it on social media irrespective of its quality) are a much safer economic investment than something genuinely new. Because things that are new are not always liked nor are they always successful. A lot of new things fail. A lot of new things start underground. They are anti-establishment. They are subversive. A direct challenge and opposition to the status quo. A breaking of cultural, technical, linguistic, political, and artistic boundaries. That's what the new is. It starts beneath us and then ultimately becomes adopted by the powerful hegemonic center and turned into a mainstream capital commodity.
People will suggest, "That's what always happens. History just repeats itself." But I fear this is a somewhat lazy rehashing of an idea seen in memes. The 20th century gave birth to many musical genres that had never before been heard. Sounds that radically altered the cultural landscape: Jazz, rock, hip-hop, punk, disco, techno, garage and K-pop. These things had earth-shattering implications for the societies in which they were born. They became the definitive sounds of a generation and were cultural movements with political consequences. And remember, when they arrived, they were often called evil, destructive, and banned by the established media and corporate interests. It was only upon realizing that the public actually loved this new weird thing that it became something businesses would engage with. Now, those once counter-culture art forms are our mainstream: Dre is at the Super Bowl and Green Day are industry-friendly dyed-haired punks who look a bit naughty but will never do anything remotely challenging.
Korea also had its musical revolutions in the 20th century. But where are we now? When Seo Taeji made his debut 30 years ago last month, he fundamentally altered the soundscape and culture of Korean music, from ballads and trot to hip-hop and electronic music. For many, this was the birth of K-pop. Drawing on the dance culture of Osaka and movements in New York, Seo was a world traveler. He gave his country a culture and music that had not been seen in the mainstream before.
But it wasn't just about the music. Seo wrote and produced his own records. You could hear him on the albums, his DNA engrained into every song. It was authentic (as much as it clearly pulled on influences of western pop, rock, and hip-hop). His lyrics were also censored by the Public Performance Ethics Committee because he advocated social change. And when they censored him, he didn't change the lyrics. When they banned him from being on TV and radio because his appearance, hair, and fashion styles were deemed unacceptable, he kept going. The establishment tried to change him. But, because he was a driven individual, they couldn't. Instead, Seo changed the industry.
His influence gave birth to decades of copycats. But they focused only on the external manifestations in music and performance and they missed the idea and inspiration that drove him to do what he did. K-pop is now anything but subversive. The lyrics are pre-screened to avoid causing offence and the clothes and styles are analyzed for anything that might be the source of cultural controversy somewhere in the world. Even the authenticity, the idea that idols are in control of their art and their music, is manufactured.
K-pop's current international success means that little else in the Korean music industry has the opportunity to achieve mainstream popularity. Of course there are artists out there doing good stuff, but is it going to be picked up by record labels and promoted as much as you read about aespa or Twice in the national papers? No chance. K-pop has certainly evolved since that first generation: it's now got better choreography, better songwriters hired from abroad, hotter stars, younger trainees, and more parasocial relationships allowing fans to actually believe they are dating their bias. But there has been no revolution. There has been nothing to challenge the status quo. The culture malaise remains. We are forever stuck in the 1990s. We just now have it on Tik-Tok. It's not Seo's fault. It's the ever-tightening grip of neoliberalism and the lack of agency among those in the industry that don't dare stand-up to corporate interests.
So when will this century get its first genuinely new music genre? Or will it even get one? Will we still be listening to disco, funk, hip-hop, and rock when the year 2100 strikes? We are creating a generation of people who are unaware of what it means to see a cultural seismic shift. And that is worrying.
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.
