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Courtesy of Christopher Dombres |
By David Tizzard
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But fandom is performative. That is, individuals become fans through the performance of fandom. Football fans, opera fans, and K-pop fans will all carry out particular performances relevant to their interest and this kind of performance in turn affects their dress, linguistic choices, mannerisms, spending habits, and so on.
And even if two people are a fan of the same thing, their level of devotion will probably differ. Some theorists divide such people into either "followers and fans" or "admirers, fans, and cult fans." More colloquially, we now have "stans," "sasaeng" fans, "antis," and so on.
The most ardent are those fans who engage with the text and create their own alternative versions or variations―becoming pro-sumers. Music, art, sports, action movies, and video games are not simply passively consumed, but rather something that has a transformative effect on their lives.
And, just as the level of fandom differs among people, so does the intensity of the effects to which they are subjected, with these effects varying according to who exactly the fan is, in terms of age, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, and socio-economic class.
Korean acts, artists, performers, and entertainers now bring joy and hope to millions around the world, from India to Indonesia and from Rio to Romania. Through K-pop, fans are constructing new social and political realities and navigating their own identities.
K-pop becomes a source of inspiration and hope: a vision of a decolonized world and new cultural formations in a post-modern society that is more accepting to groups that had previously been either demonized or Orientalized.
One of the ways many fans demonstrate their passion for K-pop and the various artists and performers involved is to stream their music and promote them on social media.
The most passionate fans of K-pop groups have established lists of dos and don'ts when streaming their biases to ensure that every view counts and boosts their idols' "organic" popularity. Fans encourage each other to not use playlists, avoid incognito mode, not refresh pages, and not mute videos.
Following these rules becomes a form of fan labor, as some fans will stream their favourite groups for 24 hours a day as proof of their devotion. Should it be a particular idol's birthday, fans will stream that artist's songs and back catalogue to give them a huge social media boost.
The result of all this, however, is an unwelcome numbers game that seems to neglect the music. Moreover, there is unparalleled financial success for the entertainment companies and social media platforms in a neoliberal system, while the fans work for free, or in some cases even place themselves in debt.
The result is that when you see pieces in the press discussing K-pop groups, they are often just reporting about how many views a video has on YouTube. It's an endless supply of completely unnecessary information: Group X has gotten 1 million views in 24 hours; Group X has gotten 10 million views in 2 months; Group X has gotten 100 million views; Group X has gotten 250 million views.
And on. And on. And on
If that wasn't enough, some articles now report only on how many comments a video has. In case you were wondering, BTS' Dynamite recently became the first music video in YouTube history to surpass 12 million comments.
Such behavior is completely understandable in a world in which a musical group's value is determined not by the musical complexity, originality, or timelessness of their artistic output, but by simply the number of views next to their YouTube video. We have willingly come to inhabit a world not too dissimilar from that discussed by Adorno and Horkheimer: victims of a culture "industry".
The fans are therefore simply playing by the rules within a system that we have created.
But then there's "sajaegi."
In a fantastic piece for NPR, Haeryun Kang recently described sajaegi as "unethically and/or illegally boosting a chart ranking". Blogger Mary Sisson says, "To be sajaegi, the artist (or their label) must be buying the music themselves or hiring someone else to do it."
These two writers point to various incidents in the Korean music industry, in which artists have either been found guilty of using chart manipulation to buy success, or have come out and attacked fellow members for engaging in such unethical behavior. Some of the cases they cite remain speculation, but others seem rather more clear-cut.
Demonstrating the depth of the phenomenon, those in charge of the country's once most popular audition program, "Produce," were sentenced to prison terms in 2020 for vote rigging, manipulating outcomes, and taking bribes during what was supposed to be a public-driven democratic music competition.
Gatekeeping in the music culture industry is different now. In the past you had to get past the cigar-smoking bigwig in the boardroom or have something so outstanding that it simply could not be refused. Now, however, to get press and to get into various award shows, you just need millions of YouTube views.
As above, fans can provide these with their tireless dedication and indefatigable streaming of the songs. This tireless streaming can be considered passion and devotion.
But when that fails, there are always "click farms," and the act of purchasing views. If the companies or those involved with the artists do this, it's sajaegi.
Various websites and programs offer different packages for wannabe influencers, bloggers, and aspiring musical stars. A thousand YouTube subscribers might cost around 50 dollars, 5,000 views might cost you 20 dollars.
For production companies looking to boost idols in which they have invested heavily through training over a period of years, such investments might seem incredibly tempting and a very efficient way of creating a feedback loop of success.
For example, you can use sajaegi to boost your artist's song. This song then gets featured in the press―which as above, often writes solely about the number of views rather than anything related to the musical content itself―and then a snowball effect occurs: people see the group, the name, and then it starts appearing in YouTube feeds and algorithms.
The once saejigi-influenced push metamorphoses into organic growth.
Of course this scenario is not limited to the K-pop industry. And, it is not applicable to everyone inside the K-pop industry.
Artists such as Tiger JK and BTS' Jin have referenced the problem, either directly or indirectly, and spoken of the problems it creates vis-a-vis credibility and authenticity. The former defiantly saying during a Korean program that he refused the offer of sajaegi while Jin used his platform at the 2019 MAMA Awards in Japan to demand a more honest approach.
The "King of Masked Singer" program in Korea seems an interesting way of asking people to judge performances solely on the voice with no awareness of identity or appearance. Perhaps as members of the public, as consumers, we need to mask ourselves to names and views as well.
It would be nice if we could avoid basing news stories or our understanding of what makes great art solely on the number of views it has online. Knowing that the process of what music gets considered good is so ripe for corruption and manipulation through the process of sajaegi, as a society we need to find a way of getting back to the music itself.
We should be thinking: art for art's sake, rather than simply views for news.
Music should not just be about numbers and social media presence. It should be something that comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comfortable.
Music has a unique position and power in the human world, and many of its positive effects are visible in those fans that currently find solace and joy in it, but I hope we don't lose sight of that.
Dr. David A Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies from Hanyang University. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.