SHOW, DON’T TELL
A Reflection on Korean Popular Music Videos
MA THESIS FILM STUDIES
UNIVERSITY OF AMSTERDAM
Author: Eva Heijne
Student no.: 11774592
Date of completion: June 20, 2018
Supervisor: Dr. Gerwin van der Pol
T
ABLE OFC
ONTENTSIntroduction ... 3
Chapter 1: K-pop: Between a Rock and a Hard Place? ... 5
1.1 TRAGEDY STRIKES: THE SEWOL FERRY DISASTER, LADIES’ CODE AND JONGHYUN ... 5
1.2SOUTH KOREA AND K-POP: THE INDUSTRY AND ITS POPULARITY ... 7
1.3SEX,DRUGS AND K-POP: SCANDAL AND SOUTH KOREAN SOCIETY ... 10
1.4THE CURRENT STATE OF K-POP AND HALLYU ... 11
1.5CONCLUSION ... 14
Chapter 2: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: the K-pop cultural industry ... 15
2.1HOLLYWOOD AND KOREA: CENSORSHIP AND AUTHORSHIP ... 16
2.2CONTENT VERSUS CONTEXT:K-POP AS A VICTIM OF ITS OWN DEBATE ... 20
2.3CONCLUSION ... 22
Chapter 3: The Poetics of K-pop ... 23
3.1K-POP VIDEO PRODUCTION ... 23
3.2PAST AND PRESENT ... 25
3.3MISE-EN-SCENE AND BEYOND ... 25
3.4CONCLUSION ... 33 Conclusion ... 35 Works Cited ... 38 FILMOGRAPHY ... 40 IMAGES ... 41 Notes ... 41
I
NTRODUCTIONIn 2017 and early 2018, Korean artists became an almost unavoidable staple in the global music scene. Boy group BTS was featured on prominent US late nights shows, co-ed group KARD had sold out shows in Australia, Mexico and Europe and girl group TWICE sold over a million copies of their Japanese language-singles in just over a year. K-pop as a phenomenon has grown in popularity in a global context, and a multitude of explanations has been offered for this popularity – the impact of PSY is deemed undeniable by most, but other theories range from the desire for a regional Asian identity to the lack of a Korean identity of the music.
However, there remains one question that is largely unaddressed in an academic context. The academic discourse surrounding the genre has only paid particular attention to the musical, political and commercial aspects of the genre, while not considering the inherent artistic merits of K-pop videos. I will explore the claim that the boundaries between art, commercialism and politics are being blurred in the K-pop industry, with the main focus being on K-K-pop video.
Music videos might be considered to belong to the realm of television studies, so an explanation for placing the discussion of K-pop videos in the context of film studies is in order. In recent years, academics specializing in the study of film still make a distinction between “high” and “low” art, even if it is done less explicitly and less frequently than in previous decades. On the contrary, television studies tried to shy away from incorporating this distinction – it was seen as a mass medium ever since its inception and the medium had to fight to be taken seriously in academic circles in the first place. However, in recent years, with an ample amount of discussions concerning concepts like “quality television,” a potential introduction of this separation of “high” and “low” art in the medium has reared its head – and so, a problem plaguing academic discussions of film has now taken hold in television studies. In this debate, music video assumes an interesting position. Does it belong to film art as short films? Does it belong to television, in the tradition of video art? Or is it something else altogether, an example of the continuities between both media?
Music video could be considered one of the few cases of video art that the medium of television has produced, as Daniel Dieters states in his discussion on the video art of Nam June Paik and other video artists in the second half of the 20th century (Television—Art or Anti-art?, 2). How coincidental, then, that
Paik’s home country has, in recent decades, produced a genre that is controlled by major corporations, and yet still manages to be visually engaging and innovative (as I will hopefully illustrate in this thesis).
In other words, the aims of this research can be summarised in two ways: first and foremost, the aim is to no longer reduce K-pop to a genre of dancing bodies and blatant commercialism, hopefully starting a more nuanced discussion when it comes to the artistic aspects of K-pop. Secondly, other than showing the aesthetic merits of K-pop, I’d like to use the genre as an example of an art form where artistry, agency and discourse can be possible even if the medium is used as political capital or is riddled with blatant commercialism and exploitation of its consumers and artists. This does not mean, however, that I will try and excuse the K-pop system’s ethical transgressions and questionable treatment of its artists. Nevertheless, I will argue that recent developments have shown that K-pop’s potential is no longer in its infancy, and therefore necessitates a discourse that foregoes an easy dismissal of the genre purely because of its appeal to a mass audience and utilization by the Korean government.
In chapter 1, I will describe the current landscape of K-pop as a genre and as an industry. The treatment of K-pop artists by record companies has changed dramatically, as well as the way the genre is viewed and utilised in South Korea and beyond. Most academic work on K-pop is concerned with these two factors, and thus this chapter will consider the different viewpoints formulated, nuancing the positions and including recent developments that have not yet been discussed in depth (at least, at the time of writing).
Chapter 2 deals with the questions of authorship and censorship within the K-pop industry, since these two themes are vital to the delicate balance of commercialism and artistry within the genre. This includes a comparison between the K-pop industry and the Hollywood studio system. This chapter also questions how the academic discourse on K-pop is exemplary for film studies as a whole, and how shifting our focus from context and ideology to content and aesthetics might serve us well in certain cases.
Finally, the first two chapters are a motivation for the necessity for the third chapter, where I will propose a poetics of K-pop. Are there certain characteristics that can be classified as defining ‘K-pop’? How are K-pop videos produced? To formulate this poetics of contemporary K-pop, the videos I will be discussing in this thesis will be limited to videos from 2011 onwards. This places my corpus right before the rise of PSY’s Gangnam Style in 2012 up until present day, since the questions posed in this thesis mostly concern the contemporary K-pop scene.
This thesis, of course, has some limitations. The aspect of gender has thus far been an important factor in the study of K-pop. Even though I believe this has yielded some interesting points of discussion and I will not disregard the issue altogether, I will not pay particular attention to this angle in this thesis - I believe there are more important aspects of K-pop to explore at the moment that have not received the attention that the gender angle has had.
Another limitation to my research that needs to be addressed is the lack of Korean sources. My research is exclusively based on English-language sources. As an outsider, my knowledge of the language and culture is unfortunately limited. However, I have observed the K-pop community and industry, as well as their standing in Korean society, for a number of years. I therefore believe I can nevertheless
contribute to the existing discourse. This does mean that some of the websites sourced in this thesis – e.g. Soompi – are based on translations by fans. While these articles base their translations on trustworthy Korean websites, the accuracy of these translations cannot be guaranteed completely.
As a final note to this introduction, there is the difficulty of romanising Korean names. Contrary to the Korean system, I will state the first name before the family name (e.g. Jin Young Park instead of Park Jin Young). Other than that I will use the versions of the names used in the source materials quoted, and if that is not available, the version that is most commonly used in fan translations and Western media coverage. This might mean lack of consistency in the way names are romanised, but do simplify the process of possible further research after reading this thesis.
C
HAPTER1
K-
POP:
BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE?
Even though academic interest in K-pop increased significantly post-2012 with the rise of PSY’s Gangnam
Style, the focus has been on the reasons for its global appeal and the difficulties/possibilities that arise from
South Korea’s new international position. There have been articles concerning the position of the genre within South Korea itself, but these are far in the minority – and even then, these articles are either overly optimistic or extremely pessimistic.
The aim of this chapter is therefore to recount some events and developments from recent years (and their possible impacts/causes) that illustrate how the relationship between entertainment companies, their artists, and (inter)national society is more complex than the phenomenon of blatant commercialism taking hold, while at the same time acknowledging the difficulties the genre faces today.
1.1 TRAGEDY STRIKES: THE SEWOL FERRY DISASTER, LADIES’ CODE AND JONGHYUN
In recent years, a few tragedies in both South Korea itself and the K-pop industry have illustrated the potential and difficulties one encounters in the K-pop industry post-2012. The examples outlined in this section show how circumstances in South Korea, personal or national, influenced some of the works released in the K-pop industry.
One of the disasters with a large impact on the K-pop industry had little to do with the industry itself: on April 16, 2014, more than 300 people (mostly students) were killed when a ferry sank. This event is commonly referred to as The Sewol Ferry Disaster. The event had far-reaching consequences; the disaster was the catalyst for president Geun-Hye Park’s unpopularity and eventual ousting from office (Yoo & Park). For K-pop, besides postponed releases and suspended broadcasts, the event spurred two videos so far that (subtly or unsubtly) referred to it.
The first of these videos is Red Light by girl group f(x), released in July 2014, just a few months after the catastrophe. Fans quickly latched onto a theory that the video and lyrics were a criticism of the handling of the event. In a 2015 interview, former production team leader for SM entertainment Sung Soo Lee, confirmed as much: “it’s true that Red Light by f(x) was criticizing the Sewol ferry disaster. Using words such as ‘sink’ were all decisions made internally at the company” (C. Hong).
This was not the only video from SM Entertainment: One of These Nights by girl group Red Velvet, released in 2015, also makes clear references to the disaster. First off, the Korean title of the song is ‘7월 7일.’
The literal meaning of the title is ‘July 7’ – but looking more closely, the first two characters are pronounced as ‘Sewol.’ Aside from this subtle reference in the title, fans found references to the disaster in the video and accompanying promotional material (Figure 1.1 and 1.2).
Since the Sewol Disaster was an extremely sensitive subject for both the Korean public and government, the fact that one of the largest entertainment companies released two videos criticising the handling of the event quite soon after the fact might seem as an encouraging step in the way of adding a political layer to K-pop. However, SM only confirmed the theory about the f(x) video through their employee, and has never confirmed the theories on either video officially – the political impact of the matter will therefore always remain up for debate.
In the same year as the Sewol disaster, a smaller but still tragic accident occurred which impacted the K-pop scene itself. On September 3, 2014, the five members of girl group Ladies’ Code got into a car accident – one member unfortunately died immediately, and another girl passed away a few days later while in hospital. The remaining members disappeared from the K-pop scene, but returned in February 2016 with the song Galaxy. The accompanying video incorporates a motif of repeating the numbers 3 and 5 (the remaining members and the original number of members, respectively) throughout. The K-pop industry and its idols are often said to avoid, or even accused of hiding, any and all affront to their fans or signs of personal struggle. As these examples show, there is now at least some semblance of trying to balance the illusion of perfect, happy idol life and the harsh realities of personal, or South Korean, life.
To add even more momentum to the discussions surrounding idol life and/or South Korean issues, the industry has had to find new ways to deal with tragedy: in late 2017, Jonghyun Kim (a member of Korean boy group SHINee) committed suicide. Western media outlets quickly latched onto the story, being quick to blame the harsh K-pop industry for his death in their headlines and/or articles, such as ‘Kim Jong-hyun: SHINee star dies amid an unforgiving K-pop industry’ (Beaumont-Thomas [The Guardian]) and ‘Jonghyun’s tragic death shines a light on K-pop’s mental health epidemic’ (Kelly [Metro UK]), or the recent BBC documentary K-pop: Korea’s Secret Weapon? (Abigail Payet, 2018) shoehorning Kim’s suicide into a discussion on the relentless K-pop industry.
Figures 1.1 and 1.2
‘Evidence’ used in fan theories surrounding the Red Velvet video
Despite the sensationalised headlines, some articles managed to also emphasize that the tragedy mostly pointed to broader problems with mental health in Korea itself, rather than placing the brunt of the blame on the K-pop industry. The attitude is still exemplary of Western attitudes to the K-pop system, with the emphasis being on the rigid training system which is seen as unnecessarily harsh when considering Western education and/or musical training. While there is certainly abuse and exploitation in the Korean music industry, as we will see in this chapter, there are also positives to the system and its end results. For example, Kim’s suicide triggered a discussion on the state of mental health care in the industry and the country, after Kim directly confronted his doctor’s lack of understanding in his suicide note.
This example is the most recent and most transparent case of the intricate relationship between the unforgiving industry, the reporting on it (by both South Korean and Western media) and the potential role of advocacy the industry possesses at the moment. In chapter 2, I will expand on the difficulties this example illustrates: the complexities that arise when dealing with celebrity, censorship and authorship. For now, I want to point to the other side of the coin: the dark underbelly of the industry.
1.2SOUTH KOREA AND K-POP: THE INDUSTRY AND ITS POPULARITY Keith Howard delineates the way the K-pop industry works:
There are two inevitable results of the way entertainment companies operate. The first is the product: “highly produced, sugary boy and girl-bands with slick dance routines and catchy tunes,” as Lucy Williamson writes for the BBC (…) The second result is restrictive agreements with artists that have been dubbed “slave contracts.” Contracts monitor and control, replacing roles that were formerly taken by government officials. (404-405)
Even though it might not have been the direct cause of Jonghyun Kim’s suicide as Western media might suggest, the dire circumstances some of the artists find themselves are no cause to rejoice – as
exemplified by the cases of (forced) prostitution riddling the K-pop industry. This position K-pop idols find themselves in becomes even more precarious when considering the very real possibilities of repercussions when speaking up about these abuses (either by fans or by the companies themselves).
However, in recent years there has been a (slightly more) transparent discussion of the industry’s treatment of its artists. Besides idols speaking up about their treatment to media outlets or on social media, some idols have chosen to leave their companies for better working conditions, the most recent examples being some members of successful girl groups SNSD and T-ARA. Some have even left
entertainment life altogether (e.g. Choa Park from AOA in 2017). While working conditions for K-pop idols are now at least being discussed more openly, there are still lots of cases of abuse within the industry. The question then remains – why do these idols subject themselves to a life of rigorous training, subsequent scrutiny of their personal lives and possible abuse and exploitation?
An answer might be found in the attitude the South Korean public has toward the exploded popularity of the genre. Ingyu Oh and Hyo-Jung Lee note ‘while myriad studies have analysed the success of Hallyu (the “Korean Wave”) and K-pop (…), few have focused on the social change aspect of Korea’s popular music industry’ (106). Oh and Lee also point out how the success of Korean idol groups abroad has inspired a new generation of Koreans who want to be idol singers (114), since Korean society awards more social legitimacy to success achieved abroad than in Korea itself (115). The prospect of
acknowledgement by peers and elders, fame in South Korea as well as other Asian nations, and perhaps even the possibility of riches are the reason Korean entertainment companies have no trouble casting and recruiting young Koreans inspiring to become idols.
As Hyun-Key Hogarth writes, K-pop has inspired another change for and in Korea, as K-pop “is also generally believed to have improved Korea’s image abroad (Yu 2005; Im 2009; Ch’oe 2010; Yi 2011)” (136). This improved image of South Korea has brought positive change to Korea, but unfortunately, this seems to be only one side of a two-sided coin.
As Jeongsuk Joo argues, discussions of globalization within Korea itself are mostly based on fear (490). Historically, Koreans have been “concerned more about the influx of foreign cultures (…) than the advance of its own” (489). Now, due to increased attention to the nation after the surge in K-pop’s popularity, South Koreans are comforted by the fact that the Korean Wave “has quickly discredited the argument that Korea is threatened by foreign cultural invasion” (495). However, as Olga Fedorenko remarks: ‘[f]or Hallyu celebrities as well, their cross-border appeal is bound to Korea and Koreanness, for the nationalist pleasures of Korean observers, diplomatic victories of the Korean government and
economic gains for Korean businesses’ (505). In other words, while improving their standing with other nations, this improvement Koreans abroad has given rise to nationalist tendencies in the Korean nation. To return to Joo:
While globalization is often seen to undermine nation-states and nationalism with the rise of globalization, the surge of popular nationalism in Korea concerning the transnational advance of Korean popular culture indicates that forces of globalization are not completely free from nationalizing impulses (500).
These citations and articles highlight two effects of the popularity of K-pop in South Korea: an improvement of Korean self-image and increased nationalist sentiments. Yet neither of these points addresses the popularity of K-pop itself in its country of origin. By the late 1990s, local Korean pop music had 60% of the domestic music market (Joo 491) and therefore, despite international success and the focus on exportability, the entertainment companies tend to have audiences from their home-turf as another major point of focus.
Therefore, an analysis of the K-pop industry itself is in order. As John Lie writes, “as a matter of traditional culture, there is almost nothing “Korean” about K-pop” (What Is the K in K-pop? 360). Keith Howard agrees, stating:
Appropriating foreign elements created the foundation for claims that remain common today, namely, that K-pop has been “de-Koreanized” (Shin, 2009: 513-5) and become “culturally odorless” (Jung, 2011: 3), “too white” (Hubinette, 2012: 523), and “trapped” as a hybrid form between the national and the global (Cho, 2011: 388). (402)
Regardless of the validity of this statement, Korean audiences nevertheless have preferences in the music they consume, meaning some genres and groups will outperform others. The Korean taste might be summarised best through the success of Korean ballads, indie music or hip-hop music – all genres that are more popular in South Korea (on average) than a lot of K-pop groups and styles.
When looking at the current line-up of K-pop groups, there are three major categories of popularity that separate the different acts active today. The first of these categories contains household names, who mostly were formed by one of the ‘Big Three’ entertainment companies: SM Entertainment, JYP Entertainment and YG Entertainment (note: subsequently, I will drop the ‘Entertainment’ from these
companies’ names for the sake of brevity).
While not all groups from the biggest companies are at the same level of popularity, on average, groups from these companies can count on huge fandom support from the day they debut, purely because of their status as a group from the Big Three. There are several groups from other companies in this category, but these often only become this well-known through one of their songs going viral or the backing of former managers from one of the Big Three companies. One such example is GFriend, whose company Source Music was founded by a former SM employee. They became well-known when their song
Me Gustas Tu went viral through a video showing the group performing in the rain and persevering after
several stumbles (Britton).
The category below these household names includes mid-tier groups: groups with some hits under their belt – either rising stars or groups who have peaked and partially faded back into obscurity. As a final (and most interesting) category, the genre is being oversaturated by smaller companies creating idol groups with the hope to catch a segment of the market that hasn’t been tackled before. However, these groups are often referred to as nugus, after the Korean word for ‘who?’ – signifying the insignificant amount of public awareness these groups acquire on average.
Another factor in the popularity of groups is the South Korean military. Due to tensions with the North, South Korea operates under a mandatory military service – meaning that men between the age of 18 and 35 must serve for approximately two years (Lie, K-pop: Popular Music 123). This affects girl and boy groups active in the K-pop industry very differently.
For girl groups, this means that Korean men stationed at military bases get visits from girl groups for entertainment. Smaller groups perform at these bases more often, but bigger groups can get a frenzied reaction from the soldiers (Fisher). More importantly, for boy groups, this means that the longer a group exists, the bigger the chance one or more of the members has to go on hiatus to complete his military service. In a volatile market like K-pop, groups cannot afford to delay releases for two years – this would mean losing momentum, popularity and/or relevancy. Factors such as these have influenced the decision to create temporary groups like Wanna One (created by a talent show) which reduces the need for long-term investment, relying on short-long-term popularity, or SM’s NCT project which rotates members in and out, relying more on brand power rather than the popularity of any given individual member.
With lots of smaller groups flooding the market, young men being conscripted into the military and the uncertainty of career stability creating a volatile market, there is a lot of room for error. With an unforgiving audience and either idols themselves or their companies making mistakes, the K-pop industry has had their fair share of scandals.
1.3SEX,DRUGS AND K-POP: SCANDAL AND SOUTH KOREAN SOCIETY
Where the K-pop artists involved in the tragedies recounted in the first section could count on significant support from local and international communities, some others received a lot less understanding from the general public.
Female singer IU (real name Ji Eun Lee) was, and arguably still is to a lesser degree, known as ‘the girl next-door:’ she was infantilised and sexualised from a young age in a similar way Britney Spears and Miley Cyrus have experienced in Western entertainment industry. In 2015, she released a video for
Twenty-Three, in which she showed her complex relationship to her audience, sexuality and fame; playing
around with lipstick in one shot and Barbie dolls the next, she sings: “The woman saying hello to me, is she still smiling after going round the corner? I’m always anxious. I want to be a child forever - no, I want to be a moist woman.” Other songs on the album, Chat-Shire, repeated this theme, receiving much controversy along the way, leading the singer to issue an apology (Allkpop, “IU personally apologizes for 'CHAT-SHIRE' controversies”).
One year later, small-time group Stellar released a video for Sting, which also criticized the way idols are sexualized to garner internet clicks, performing in racy outfits surrounded by computer mouse icons. This was after their previous releases for Marionette (2014) and Vibrato (2015) became more popular than their other releases, while at the same time receiving criticism for their overtly sexual videos. While this criticism woven into the Sting video seems encouraging, some of the former members of the group spoke up about their experiences after their contracts expired, stating how they were forced into sexy concepts by their company in a last ditch attempt to gain popularity or at least media attention: “If a group is not from a large-scale agency, it's hard to gain attention even if the song and concept are great. Because this is reality, it's pitiful when we see teams from other smaller agencies also decide to take on sexy concepts to become successful.” (former member Min Hee, Allkpop, “Stellar honestly open up about why they had no choice but to go the sexy route”).
In addition to forced sexy concepts by companies and the sexualisation of young idols by
audiences, the BBC documentary on K-pop from 2018 touched upon another issue: idols can’t date – or at least, not publically. This possessive attitude by the fans is, up to an extent, encouraged by the
entertainment companies. When an idol is caught dating or having casual sex, the backlash is enormous. But this restricting of activities in idols’ personal lives does not stop there – idols also receive huge consequences when they get caught up in drug scandals.
It does serve to mention that this makes sense from a Korean perspective, seeing how Korean society is still extremely conservative when it comes to their attitude towards drugs. Even huge artists like TOP (real name Seung Hyun Choi) from Big Bang and Bom Park from 2NE1 faced huge consequences when caught with narcotics, with Choi being sacked from his duties as police officer during his mandatory enlistment and facing charges, and Park going on hiatus and 2NE1 disbanding later on. However, Choi’s case stands out since even after he was punished for recreational use of marihuana at home, the public was most upset because he did so in the company of a female trainee (Asianjunkie, “T.O.P’s supposed weed pal, Han Seo Hee, ‘You fucking bitches. Yes I hugged & kissed your oppas’”).
Even less nefarious “scandals” can become a huge issue to the Korean public, issues that might be hard to understand from a Western perspective. One such example is the phenomenon of TaJinYo (short for “We demand the truth from Tablo”), a group that started in mid-2010 and refuses to believe that popular rapper Tablo (real name Daniel Lee) graduated from Stanford University in the US, leading to Lee releasing his transcripts from the university and the Korean police intervening in the matter (Davis). However, when Tablo’s group Epik High released Born Hater in 2014, in which Tablo directly referenced
the group and its actions there wasn’t much backlash – actually quite the opposite, as the song became a huge success.
In other words, these examples show how K-pop idols have a hard deal; while trying to remain popular with the South Korean public, their personal lives have to be controlled or censored heavily by themselves or their companies. Besides from popularity in their home country, what is the profit in this trade-off?
1.4THE CURRENT STATE OF K-POP AND HALLYU
As I have argued thus far, the success of K-pop has had some positive effects on South Korean society as a whole, like the improvement of South Korea’s image abroad and inspiring pride in South Korean citizens. However, one disconcerting development signalled by several different writers is the fact that this improvement of self-image has also given rise to (extreme forms of) nationalism in some parts of the Korean public. Consequently, the regional tensions that have lingered due to the colonial past and territorial disputes regularly flare up.
Olga Fedorenko describes how the cultural internationalism inherent to the K-pop industry has made the position of Hallyu stars seemingly untenable (507). While Fedorenko mostly focuses on the problems Korean actors face, the increased regional tensions seem to have created a significant problem for K-pop companies and idols as well. So what is the position of these K-pop idols in their neighbouring countries and beyond? As for the West, the language used to be an obvious obstacle in the achievement of success for Korean artists. But as mentioned in the Payet documentary, successes like the Spanish
Despacito (Luis Fonsi, 2017) show the US might be opening up more to music in other languages, opening
up avenues for Korean artists as well. One such venture shows that this indeed could be the case: BTS. After JYP’s failed attempt to launch the Wonder Girls in the US, or SM’s lacklustre English-language release of SNSD’s The Boys, boy group BTS has seemingly finally managed to succeed where others did not; being invited to talk with popular late night shows like James Corden and even Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve show have made the group visible to a widespread US audience.
In addition to this, other Korean acts are creeping into the mainstream as well, with songsi being used during broadcasts of TV shows. This popularity in the West goes beyond the US; as mentioned in the introduction, KARD sold out shows in Mexico. The KCON festival 2016 in France sold out in minutes and G-Dragon, from boy group BIG BANG, had a solo stadium tour through Europe in 2017.
Besides gaining ground in the West, there the countries where the Korean Wave originated have not forgotten the genre either. Even though most Korean stars are less successful in Japan than during the heyday of Hallyu, Japan is still crucial for Korean entertainment companies. Groups that were popular during the golden era, such as TVXQ (SM) and 2PM (JYP), are still hugely popular and some newer groups are gaining a lot of ground, like TWICE (JYP) and iKon (YG). Nevertheless, the groups venturing out to Japan face two problems. The first is the difficult past the two countries share, with occasional protests against Korean groups in Japan (Si-soo Park). In addition, when some companies choose to send their groups over to Japan, this leads to grumbling Korean fans boycotting, or losing interest in, groups that branch out to Japan since Japanese releases aren’t as interesting to the Korean public as releases in their own language.
The other point of origin of the Korean Wave is China (Jeongmee Kim 47). The K-pop industry has achieved some successes in China in the last few years: Korean idols now often sign with Chinese entertainment companies to collaborate with their Korean ones, since these Chinese counterparts know the local tastes and market more thoroughly. However, regional tensions often interfere with the advancement of Korean acts. Especially once the administration in Seoul decided in 2014 to deploy a missile-system from the US, tensions with China ran high. Korean artists were banned from appearing on Chinese television, with the ban only being lifted at the end of 2017 (Soon Do Hong). However, the missile-defence system (usually abbreviated to THAAD) is not the only restrictive factor in the Chinese market. As Steve Borowiec reports, choosing products that at the same time are appealing to Chinese tastes without offending Chinese audiences is incredibly complicated, as it can be difficult to estimate for Korean businessmen what is and is not political to Chinese audiences (45).
One popular method to increase the popularity of K-pop groups in China is the inclusion of Chinese members in new groups. This opens up a whole new minefield, however, as Chinese artists operating in Korea can face difficulties because of allegiance to Chinese sentiments: a fact that was exemplified when JYP’s Fei, SM’s Lay and Victoria (real names Feifei Wang, Yixing Zhang and Qian Song) and others got into heated waters with Korean fans for siding with China in the territorial dispute over the South China Sea on social media (Henochowicz).
These regional tensions fit into the current narrative surrounding K-pop. As Joseph Nye and Youna Kim have stated, an often heard concern in the discourse on K-pop is the fact that K-pop might develop into, or already is, a new form of cultural imperialism, replacing Western influences as coloniser of culture in the Asian region (41. See also Joo 496). The case might be slightly more complicated than that, however. To start off, as Koichi Iwabuchi succinctly summarizes:
Elsewhere I argue that the global governance of media culture connectivity and diversity have been generated through three interrelated forces of marketization, state policy of national branding and cultural internationalism (Iwabuchi 2010). Their interplay works to deter and limit cross-border dialogic connections in East Asia as it promotes market-oriented international diversity and connections while suppressing other kinds. (50)
The interaction between the three fields Iwabuchi mentions are exactly the three factors that make the Korean Wave such a popular global phenomenon. This seems to suggest that the advance of K-pop only encourages profit margins for Korean industries while blocking more productive connections between the East Asian nations plagued by their complicated relationships in the past. Is this really the case? To answer this question, it is necessary to understand what the three factors Iwabuchi mentions entail in the context of Korean pop music.
As for state policy, the past few Korean administrations have aimed to promote these industries since the late 1990s (Seth 293). As I elaborated in this chapter, this policy was quite effective in improving the image of South Korea abroad. In the BBC documentary on K-pop directed by Abigail Payet, Gwang Soo Kim, director of tourism Gangnam district states, when asked what K-pop has promoted about South Korea: “it’s a very tricky question… I personally think that K-pop concerts have considerably contributed to making our unique tradition known to the world.”
The fact that the Korean government has invested enormously in the Korean cultural industry to use them as a soft power tool has been a major argument to question the independence and agency of these businesses: “The emergence of Korean popular culture, as exemplified by Psy’s Gangnam Style, is a ready-made export that is enhancing the country’s soft power (British Council 2012; Daily Mail 2012; Forbes 2012)” (Nye & Kim 34). They highlight that global audiences may enjoy Korean cultural products without knowing anything about Korean socio-political issues (38). However, as far as K-pop is
concerned, the intervention of the Korean government might not be as far-reaching as these claims suggest. As Oh and Lee state:
‘The pop industry has criticized the ministry’s mammoth Hallyu budget, however, because K-pop firms do not actually benefit from it. Instead, politicians want to fatten “related” industries, promoting Hangul along with Korean food (K-food), fashion (K-fashion) (…) and tradional folk music (Dong-A Ilbo 2013a)’ (117-118).
The relationship between Korean music labels and the government is therefore more complicated than suggested. In addition to this, as we have seen in the examples in this chapter, the increased popularity of the genre has caused Western media outlets to highlight the problems in South Korean society – or at least, in the K-pop industry as a starting point.
In other words, the stance that emphasizes the position of K-pop as a soft power tool downplays the complex relationship between the genre and the government. As I will illustrate in chapter 2,
governmental censorship still happens up to an extent – but more significantly, before the heavy promotion of Korean culture, the Korean government censored Korean pop music even more heavily during its developmental era (Oh & Lee 106) and throughout the twentieth century (Lie, What Is the K in
K-pop? 348).
The marketization and cultural internationalism are almost synonymous in the context of K-pop, as many theories suggest the marketization of the genre is so successful because of its international appeal. According to John Lie, K-pop and its idols are inoffensive and of universal appeal: “K-pop in this sense satisfied the emergent regional taste and sensibility, though it would be remiss to stress the region as its appeal could easily extend beyond it” (What Is the K in K-pop? 355). As far as the East Asian region, Lie might be right. Hyun-Key Hogarth mentions the following reasons for the success of Korean TV dramas in other parts of Asia: “They also reflect Asian ethos, life philosophy and value system (…) [s]ome go as far to say that Korean TV dramas “encourage the Chinese to reassess their traditional culture and five rise to a renaissance in traditional culture (Jain 2008:103)” (138).
However, Jeongmee Kim notes how the drama ‘Winter Sonata was retroactively labelled a Hallyu drama,’ emphasizing how this illustrates that the term Hallyu refers to the exportability of Korean cultural products rather than any one aesthetic or ‘Korean’ quality of these products (50). She also argues that ‘Hallyu can only be applied to cultural products within Asia’ (55) and ‘to become a star beyond Asia means dropping the Hallyu epithet’ (56). Most importantly, she notes how the success of Korean cultural
products in other Asian countries is the result not of ‘conquest but rather a willing collaboration and acceptance’ (56). While this is partly true, we have seen that remaining scars from the region’s difficult history often question this optimistic acceptance of cultural difference.
Moreover, the claim that Korean pop is popular regardless of its content or “Koreanness” seems to lead to a paradox. The marketability of Korean cultural products would be due to the shared Asian values, and for other art forms, such as TV dramas, the Asian values might be easier to define. This is not as easy to claim about K-pop, since a lot of the videos rely solely on aesthetics to tell their stories and according to Kim et al., the aesthetic qualities don’t matter. Furthermore, a theory like this also dismisses the issues a lot of Korean businesses and artists face when it comes to handling the cultural differences present in the East Asian region.
One reason for this seemingly contradictory nature might the fact that none of these theories actually carry out an analysis of K-pop videos. They cite its history and context, which ultimately devolves into discussions riddled with contradictions because of the complicated nature of the interregional East Asian relationships and the relationship between South Korea and the West.
However, this does not mean I completely agree with Iwabuchi’s claim that the interplay of these factors mean that K-pop only inspires market-oriented relationships in the region. The discussions that start when K-pop stars get involved with regional problems might not always be reasonable or productive, but at least it is a catalyst for discussion – not to mention the attention Western media outlets now bring to their audiences because of the increased interest in K-pop or the artistic merits of the genre that seem to be wholly ignored.
1.5 CONCLUSION
In conclusion, this chapter illustrates the complicated relationship between K-pop, South Korean society and other nations as well as the tensions between South Korean entertainment agencies and its artists. However, the examples delineated in this chapter have also shown that there is still yet the potential for agency and positive influence by the businesses and its artists.
This chapter has shown the importance of paying attention to not only the success of K-pop abroad, but also in South Korea itself, as this shows how important the concepts of censorship
marketability are for an industry like K-pop. This chapter has also provided examples that defy the notion that K-pop cannot be politically engaged or critical of audience reception, showing how the content of these videos is just as important as the context surrounding it.
CHAPTER 2
THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY: THE K-POP CULTURAL INDUSTRY
In the previous chapter, I outlined the way K-pop artists navigate the complicated landscape of the
modern globalized society while at the same time catering to local morals and tastes. While I have already mentioned some aspects of the industry housing these artists, it would serve well to take a closer look at the machinations of these companies. The best way to introduce the system of Korean music production is to compare it to a slightly more familiar system to the average Western reader: the Hollywood studio system of the early 1900s.
Comparing the Korean music industry to Hollywood might seem like a strange choice; a more obvious approach would be to look at the differences and similarities between Korea and music industries from other regions/countries, with the most straightforward being the Japanese idol system. Even though there are similar ways in which the industries work, there are some major differences that hinder a fruitful comparison. The largest of these differences is the fact that the most well-known of these idol groups in Japan, AKB48 and its sister groups, are huge groups based in their respective towns with designated theatres (e.g. AKB48 is a 48-member group based in the Akihabara area in Tokyo, hence the name). The target audience is obviously Japanese – while the groups have a fan base in other countries, the focus lies on Japan. As such, the main difference between the Korean and Japanese idol system is the exportability of the music, videos and stars – since the K-pop industry (and the phenomenon of Hallyu in general) has been often been positioned as a new form of cultural imperialism, it makes sense to compare it to another system often claimed to be the same instead.
Another possible comparison would be the Western music industry. Both the Western music industry and Korea have found some acts that acquired contracts through survival audition shows (like
American Idol in the West or K-Pop Star in Korea). However, talent agencies in Korea will also scout talent
through dancing competitions, audition days for the company itself and/or on the street. In the West, this street-scouting is almost exclusively the practice of the modelling industry and not the music business. In addition, the Western music business does not have the same training regimen that Korea has and thus is not influenced as much by the ‘star power’ of the artists (in the sense that their personalities aren’t as relevant to the promotional cycles as it is to K-Pop acts).
As we will see in this chapter, the Hollywood studio system did have these elements and could therefore serve as a way to better understand the Korean music industry. So while comparisons to some other industries seem more obvious, this chapter will look at the similarities between the Hollywood studio system and the companies operating in the field of K-pop, especially its status as an export machine and the domination of its values & morals in surrounding regions (in other words, these industries as vehicles for cultural imperialism). Important to note, however, is that this chapter will be a comparison to the Hollywood system, as well as comment on the current situation of the K-Pop debate; it won’t delve into the effects of the dominance of Hollywood on the Korean cultural industry.
2.1HOLLYWOOD AND KOREA: CENSORSHIP AND AUTHORSHIP
As mentioned, there are several parallels to be made between the Hollywood studio systemii. In the
K-Pop industry, talent is scouted on the street or acquired through (global or local) auditions. These scouted talents are mostly very young in age, and become trainees signed exclusively with the record company that has scouted them. The trainees then follow dancing, singing, acting (and sometimes language) lessons for several years, while in some cases also undergoing plastic surgery and receiving coaching on how to behave during interviews and fan meetings. These are a few of the similarities to the early Hollywood studio system, where stars were also the focal point of the promotional system. Studios signed their stars to “exclusive, long-run contracts” (Gomery 46). Akin to the K-pop industry, the way these artists dealt with their treatment changed after some years. There was increasing awareness present in the artists themselves of exploitation in the industry leading to contract disputes and the establishment of small independent agencies. After a while the Hollywood stars realised their importance to the continued success of the studios: “Although many remained to exploitative contracts, some of the most successful broke loose from the system:” D.W. Griffith, together with Charlie Chapin and others, set up his own studio (Gomery 46). With the stars and directors attached to this small studio, tried to produce their own works separate from the major studios already in existence – even if they met with a lot of resistance and hardships.
Just like the Korean pop music companies, the Hollywood studio system from the 1920s often had to deal with the conflicting sides of artist and industry, censorshipiii and freedom of speech. Censorship
can be enacted in two different ways: censorship enacted by the government or self-censorship. Both forms of censorship were enacted in the Hollywood studio system of the 1920s. US audiences were becoming increasingly agitated with the behaviour exhibited in films and the surrounding industry. Films were believed to not only be exemplary for the decay of American morals, but also to be a leading cause of this decline (Fine 307). In addition to this, “[i]n practice, the great majority of film censorship, at least in the English-speaking world, has been concerned with the cinema’s representations, particularly of sex and violence, than with its expression of ideas or political sentiments” (Maltby 235).
But the decrease of governmental censorship does not mean an industry is not subject to censorship altogether. In Hollywood, calls for censorship came from within the industry after Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle was tried three times for the death of an aspiring actress, eventually being acquitted (Fine 299). The trial was accompanied by a media frenzy: before the trial, profits in the film industry had already been decreasing due to the perception of the industry (Fine 304) – after the trial however, the executives had to take action to limit further damage to the image and revenue of the studios (313). One of these actions was imposing so-called “morality clauses” on stars signed to these studios: “appearing to assure virtue, while simultaneously providing the corporation with more control over its workers (see Motion
Picture News 1921e:1727)” (314). This self-censorship was also enacted to appease the US government,
preventing the establishment of governmental censorship boards (Fine 316).
In chapter 1, I briefly mentioned the difficult relationship between the Korean government and the music companies due to censorship enforced by the government in the past. Historically speaking, when looking at the Korean music industry in general, the censorship suffered by the industry in recent history can be described as follows:
“Control was, at times, challenged by artists and consumers, generating underground music scenes. However, in the 1990s, as the newly democratized government abrogated responsibility for maintaining moral codes, so the emerging entrepreneurial entertainment companies imposed their own control agendas, abandoning traditional morality as they targeted new audiences at home and abroad.” (Howard 393)
Even as late as the 1960s, the Korean government heavily censored outside influences on popular music due to their protectionist political stance (Lie K-Pop: Cultural Amnesia 115), the severity of which only let up in the 1990s. When looking at the two forms of censorship in modern Korea, effects of the censorship enacted by the government have significantly decreased. This is especially true since the advent of more avenues to distribute the music and its accompanying videos: “[The companies] can bypass government censorship by posting new music videos on YouTube or exporting them to foreign countries, and they no longer have to beg Korean television or radio stations to play their songs or feature singers on their programs.” (Oh and Lee 107). The influence of Korean television and radio stations has also been somewhat diminished by the arrival of cable television networks instead of the government broadcast channels. These governmental channels do, however, still wield significant power. Especially the channel KBS is known to censor the most innocuous of regressions, for example banning the song Oh Na Na by group KARD for mentioning Instagram, until they changed their lyrics (Kpopstarz, “K.A.R.D’s Debut Song 'Oh Nana' Is Not Fit For KBS Broadcast”).
Yet, similar to the studio executives in Hollywood, after (the threat of) governmental censorship was softened or abandoned, the Korean entertainment companies censored themselves to ensure the approval of audiences in Korea and abroad. Two important things can thus be concluded: censorship is often heavily reliant on moral standards – and when the government threatens to intervene, these kinds of industries take it upon themselves to censor their own works.
Censorship, both formal and unofficial, forms a hurdle for every for-profit industry. It hinders the free speech of many artists. However, I want to argue that it does not hinder artistic integrity completely. Consider the following passage on John Ford, from The Oxford History of World Cinema:
In 1939 Ford made a triumphant return to the Western with Stagecoach. Its success rescued John Wayne’s career from the doldrums, and helped revivify a genre which had fallen into decline. Ford described Stagecoach as a ‘classic’ Western, several cuts above his series Westerns of the silent days. By now he was one of the most respected directors in Hollywood, dependent on the studio system to finance his films, but with a measure of choice in his projects. The Grapes of Wrath (1940) (…) brilliantly wedded the key Fordian themes of family and home to a bleak vision of the social deprivation of the Depression (Buscombe 288).
This quote implies several things about the position of John Ford in the Hollywood system:
(1) The Oxford History of World Cinema could be seen as a collection of canonical film history, including the important works and directors. John Ford is among these;
(2) He is considered an auteur, with Buscombe citing ‘Fordian themes,’ implying Ford has a style and consistent motifs running throughout his works;
(3) His work features social commentary despite being dependent on the Hollywood system. Notwithstanding Ford’s position in the cultural industry of the Hollywood studio system, with the emphasis on it being an industry, there is nothing to prevent his films being considered as works of art. Ford is not the only director that can be taken as an example; D.W. Griffith, Howard Hawks or more
recently, Quentin Tarantino could also be rightfully considered as pioneers in the art of film while also being subject to the for-profit Hollywood studio system. This means that despite attempts to enact censorship by government or the industry itself, in addition to dealing with public taste, morals and monetary obligations such as loans, directors active in the Hollywood studio system still found ways to circumvent these obstacles and create works or art that have stood the test of time for multiple decades.
To return to the Korean music industry, some Korean artists such as Shinhwa and HIGHLIGHT (formerly known as BEAST) have found success by establishing their own labels after leaving their original record companies (SM and CUBE respectively). In turn, this rise in successful cases of South Korean idols challenging their contracts produced a side-effect: the phenomenon of self-producing idols. Artists now demand more autonomy, sometimes citing lack of input in the creative process for their disputes with the company (Seoulbeats, “Keeping Up With Krishan: Contract Disputes and Lawsuits Galore” ). The record labels involved, such as SM, now try to train their artists in the art of music production and composing to prevent their artists from becoming dissatisfied. This development in K-Pop does show certain parallels to the Western music industry, with the famous example of George Michael suing his record company Sony Music Entertainment in 1992. The reason for the lawsuit was Michael’s belief that the label refused to promote his newest album since Michael refused to further portray himself as a sex symbol (Stevenson).
Yet, this increased encouragement for self-producing idols is also inspired by two other, more economic motivations. The first factor is due to the global attention K-pop is receiving. Calls for “authenticity” and creativity are becoming more frequent. A consequence of this is, for example, the success of a group such as SEVENTEEN. As Charli Taft (a songwriter who has written songs for K-pop groups like Red Velvet and LOONA) remarks in the 2018 BBC documentary by Abigail Payet, K-Pop artists aren’t involved in the song writing process most of the time. There are some notable exceptions, and the groups or solo acts that do write their own songs use this as a marketing tool to set them apart from others.
This increase in support for song-writing idols has also led to the rise of multiple idols writing and composing songs for other idols. A famous example is Jonghyun Kim, the idol who committed suicide as mentioned earlier in this thesis. He composed the song and wrote the lyrics for Breathe (2016), ultimately performed by Lee Hi (Ha-yi Lee). Kim was signed under SM and Lee Hi is currently still under YG – two of the three biggest companies that are in direct competition. The CEO of YG only agreed to produce a song when one of his senior artists (Tablo) presented the song to him without telling him who the composer was (Soompi, “Yang Hyun Suk dishes about Lee Hi's new album + 'Breathe' composed by Jonghyun”). The song received significant attention because of the rivalry between the companies, with fans seeing it as acknowledgement of Kim’s song writing abilities. This attention reignited after Kim’s suicide, with multiple fans pointing to the lyrics as a sign of his mental troubles.
Besides improving an idols’ image, a second motivation to include idols in the production of their own music is the reduction of costs: “A source from the industry said, ‘It is the ultimate goal for artists to show their own music. For agencies, it’s beneficial because it reduces the cost of producer fees. It also gives more opportunity to promote the members’ skills in various ways.’ (Soompi, “Here’s How The K-Pop Industry Is Changing As More Idols Promote Self-Compositions”). While the increased inclusion of these artists in the production process does have some downsides for the record companies, such as the fact that royalties have to be shared more with the artists in question, the two benefits of marketability
and the reduction of costs are seemingly no longer too large of an obstacle. However, as with all popular music, the matter of authorship remains complicated due to the number of people involved in the song writing process.
The question concerning who can be considered an author in the creative processes involved with the production of K-pop becomes even more complicated when taking into account the fact that in videos have to be produced in addition to the music. Idols are becoming increasingly involved in the song writing process and music production, but the promotional concepts and the production of music videos are more often than not wholly decided upon by the record labels housing the idols. These record labels often work with the same few dozen music video production companies. As we will see in chapter 3, the landscape of music video production in South Korea is dominated by just a handful of video collectives.
These video collectives remain in the background, or for Western audiences even mostly
anonymous. At least on YouTube, the major distribution channel for these music videos, the individual or collective responsible for the creation of these videos or songs seldom receive credit; at the end of the video, we mostly see the logo for the record label housing the idol(s) and the idol(s) featured in the video. There are some notable exceptions, such as video collective Digipedi – since they are one of the few video production companies with enough renown to bring in brand recognition (Figure 2.1). There has not been a long tradition of music videos being credited at all in either the West or in K-pop, so the fact that there are examples to be named at all could be seen as noteworthy.
The vested interest Korean record labels have in not naming the video-production companies is not difficult to grasp, as it is better for the image of the company as well as the idol to maintain the illusion that just these two parties are responsible for the final product: the company comes up with the concept and video, and the idols are responsible for the perfect execution – and increasingly, for participating in the creative process. Adding another layer of credit takes away from the synergy between the idols and their companies.
When looking at the websites for these production companies, they often feature several different directors – but only when looking at personal Twitters, Vimeo channels or Tumblr-pages can we find the
Figure 1.1
Still cropped from Kim Lip’s Eclipse [4:20] (2017). Housing her group LOONA, her agency BlockBerryCreative is credited. Also mentioned is video production company Digipedi.
individual directors responsible for the creation of these videos. The emphasis is on the collectivism of these video production companies. As mentioned earlier, the propagation of Asian values is one of the reasons often pointed to explain the success of Korean products in the region (Hogarth 138; Joo 492; Jeongmee Kim 48). One of these values is the emphasis of the collective. So while remaining anonymous serves an economic purpose for the record companies hiring these individual directors, it might also be exemplary of an attitude more prevalent in Asian regions than in the West: the video is considered a collective effort between the video production company, the idol and the record company rather than which individual was ultimately responsible for the final product,. This means a change in the way we should talk about the creation of these videos – instead of only talking about the circumstances
surrounding the music companies or the idols themselves, every step in the artistic production process of K-pop needs to be considered. This also means looking at the content of the videos themselves – which I will do in chapter 3.
2.2CONTENT VERSUS CONTEXT:K-POP AS A VICTIM OF ITS OWN DEBATE
The choice whether to focus on content or context often provides academic works on film and its surrounding fields with a significant problem. With the shift from dissecting problems of representation to more ontological problems presented by film, there has been a significant shift from the analysis of content to the analysis of context. In a sense, this is not a wholly negative development. In the early days of film theory, attention was almost exclusively focused on the content, and obviously a correction was needed to account for the effect of the audience, the circumstances in which a person watches the film, the ideological apparatus underlying certain films. As Rick Altman writes:
For decades, film has regularly defined as a text, an autonomous aesthetic entity most closely related to other autonomous aesthetic entities. During this period, film theory stressed relationships internal to individual films or characteristic of cinema as a whole. (…) In recent years, this text-oriented model has begun to waver in the face of discursive approaches, feminist theory, cultural studies, and other critical methods sensitive to a broader notion of what film is and how it affects human activities. (2)
However, there is now the tendency to solely analyse works in a broader context, which means losing out on the individual circumstances the work was released in. The irony of this claim does not escape me - while I have paid substantial attention to the context in this thesis, I have attempted to do so by taking into account the actual contents of the works as well to support the analysis of context. By only considering K-Pop as a part of the debate surrounding South Korea’s newfound renown in a global position, or analysing whether the success of K-Pop is due to global distribution’s ability to produce viral videos (Arnold 247-248) – or any other broader discussion on Hallyu, there is the risk of missing the more nuanced effects produced by the aesthetic and narrative content of the genre.
This tendency to favour context over content in the study of K-Pop is further exemplified by the extremely differing views on the topic of its inherent ‘Korean-ness.’ Academics trying to portray K-Pop as beneficial to South Korean or Asian society often state that the success is due to the Korean or Asian nature of the genre while, while academics sceptical of the industry deny these elements and call it a genre without a national character – as I have shown in chapter 1.
As I have illustrated in chapter 1, up to a certain extent, profit has obviously been a major driving force for the production of K-pop music and videos. This is not a new statement when it comes to music video in general:
In the 1980s, when MTV began circulating music videos to promote music, the medium maligned as a form of marketing. It was seen by critics as destroying listener imagination, forcing consumers to understand songs as having a single meaning, and finally, as being subject to as many (if not more) corporate and economic restrictions than popular music (Arnold 246).
When looking at film from an economic perspective, some of the most renowned texts in an academic context state that art and capitalist society are fundamentally at odds with each other (Benjamin 33; Adorno & Horkheimer 95). In a sense, there is some truth to this claim when it comes to K-Pop. The fact that the production of K-pop functions as a veritable cultural industry becomes transparent when looking at the way K-pop and its videos are promoted. Promotional images for new songs by K-pop groups are reminiscent of advertisements for fashion brands and editorial fashion spreads, in some cases even
explicitly showing off major designer labels (Figures 2.2-2.4). K-Pop is accused left and right of being solely for profit, musically as well as visually:
The founders of the three most important K-pop agencies were or are musicians. Therefore, it is tempting to seek a larger and deeper artistic vision behind K-pop. But that would be a mistake, for the logic of musical innovation followed the logic of the export imperative in particular, and of the profit motive in general (…) Money may be a horrid thing to follow, but it is a charming thing to meet and keep; it is the alpha and omega of K-pop (Lie, K-Pop: Cultural Amnesia 120).
But as I have argued above, while the Hollywood studio system was hugely influenced by the flows of capital and the pursuit of profit, a substantial amount of films from that era are held in high regard and are considered to be works of art by many. The standing of these works has been preserved by not only looking at the circumstances surrounding the production of these works, but by judging the merit of its contents. K-pop has not yet been granted the same privilege. Whether this is due to its position as a genre of pop music video (a medium that is only recently started to be taken seriously) or because of K-pop’s extremely recent global attention remains to be seen.
What is clear, however, is the fact that there have been next to no attempts to uncover the potential value of the genre by taking the videos as its focus. While some theory on K-pop has mentioned a few influential K-pop works musically speaking (e.g. Lie K-Pop: Cultural Amnesia 57), or provided small descriptions of music videos (e.g. Lie K-Pop: Cultural Amnesia 63; Arnold 251), no attempt has been made to uncover the potential value of the genre by taking the videos as its focus. This by no means would be a fruitless question of l’art pour l’art (Benjamin 42) – as I have illustrated in chapter 1, there are now several examples of K-pop videos illustrating the potential for social criticism and self-awareness.
2.3CONCLUSION
This chapter has illustrated the how K-pop is similar to the Hollywood studio system. This comparison is one way to explain the Korean system and its place in Korean society, but it also has shown how a for-profit industry like Hollywood is subject to censorship (both self-regulating and governmental), public scrutiny and economic motivations, while still being able to product works considered to be works of art. There is a significant resemblance between the characteristics of the two systems. There are parallels between the problems they face and the way they solve these problems is similar.
Whereas Hollywood has since been lauded for its production of important canonical works in the history of cinema despite it being grounded in capitalist enterprise, K-pop has not yet received the same treatment. This is mostly due to the current debate surrounding the K-pop industry paying sole attention to the economic motivations at the root of the industry and the negative ramifications caused by these motivations, such as exploitation and sexualisation. While it is by no means a wrong aspiration to rid the industry of these transgressions, nor would it be my intention to romanticize or downplay these issues, it has led to a dismissal of the works produced in this industry. It would therefore be useful to look at the works themselves, as I will do in the following chapter.
Figures 2.2, 2.3 and 2.4
Promotional photos for K-pop songs/albums featuring famous brands. Pictured are WanneOne (GUESS), EXID (Tommy Hilfiger) and TWICE (Balenciaga) from left to
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OETICS OFK-P
OPAs Abigail Payet remarks in her BBC documentary on K-pop, without the music videos, there is no K-pop. However, there have been almost no attempts to analyse the content of these videos in a scholarly manner, as I have mentioned multiple time throughout this thesis. This chapter will be a first attempt to define some general characteristics exhibited by K-pop videos. Before this, there are some issues that need to be addressed.
In addition, a delineation of what this chapter will not be able to include is also necessary. Three major factors will be missing from this chapter, and will warrant further research. Since this only a first attempt to formulate a poetics of K-Pop, there is no room to compare K-Pop videos to other countries and their style of video production – the next step would be to have a comparative study of Western music video and K-Pop video. This would shed further light on the difference and similarities between the cultural industries in both countries and the two-way influence they might or might not have on each other.
There is also no room for in-depth case studies of the several different video production companies named below – analyses of the styles of these collectives could provide more insight in the relation between the whole industry, the collective and the individual authors involved.
Finally, this chapter will only look at music videos from recent years; a historic overview of K-pop video since the advent of the genre would also be vital to research the mutual influences of Western, Korean and other music videos and the differences and similarities between the first K-pop videos and contemporary ones. In the West, music videos gained traction with the start of MTV since the early 80s. K-Pop, however, was arguably only given birth to in 1993 with Seo Taji and the Boys. K-Pop videos are therefore a fairly recent genre. These older generation K-pop groups differ a lot from their contemporary counterparts, however: ‘The original idol groups, such as H.O.T. and its female analogue, S.E.S., were speedily assembled, and their music, dance, and videos are, to put it charitably, amateurish and asinine’ (Lie
K-Pop: Cultural Amnesia 99). Therefore, to define a poetics of recent K-pop video, a comparative study
would not be suitable for the task at hand.
What this chapter will do is attempt to describe the contemporary landscape of K-pop video
production, and the styling choices associated with K-pop. It will also describe some of the consequences of these production methods and styling choices.
3.1K-POP VIDEO PRODUCTION
In chapter 2, I briefly described the way the record companies hire video production companies to produce the music videos. This is by far the most popular approach to create pop videos. Despite K-pop’s advance in the Western world and beyond, few non-Asian directors have jumped on the chance to take the helm in directing K-Pop videos. The only recent examples of note are Tarik Freiketh directing
Sherlock (performance by boy group SHINee) in 2012 and Dave Meyers (notable for directing Camilla
Cabello’s Havana and Kendrick Lamar’s Humble) directing WINNER’s Really Really in 2017. The creation of K-pop videos is therefore very much still a Korean affair.
