Seo Taiji 1992-2004: South Korean popular music and masculinity (my master's thesis)
© Janet Hilts 2006 - please note: this is not the final version of my thesis.
To end this chapter, I will discuss fans’ conceptions that Seo Taiji displays no gender and instead only expresses his individual characteristics. The fans with this opinion were Chang-to and Chin-ha [1]. Chang-to (24) and Chin-ha (20) were both quite sure that Taiji had no gender. Both were also quite uncomfortable talking about gender issues, and in fact gender took up only a part of our last meeting together. Chang-to and I talked about studying English for a while waiting for the translator to arrive (he did the interviews in Korean), and Chin-ha and I interspersed our talk about gender with talk on cooking, fashion, learning English and Korean and her family’s expectations of her while in Canada. Chin-ha was a little nervous talking about gender issues (she did not seem to want to disappoint me) and Chang-to was just entirely uninterested and unfamiliar with the topic.
Chin-ha, despite being a little uncomfortable, persevered and tried her best to express some ideas she had. Concerning Taiji, she was certain that gender had nothing to do with him. She repeated the words “common issues” quite a number of times when trying to explain why she did not think Seo Taiji and his music related to gender issues, for example in these sentences about Taiji’s lyrics: “Common issues, like abortion. And social issues. It is not either masculine or feminine. It is not like girl, like boy, it is common issues.” As explained earlier in this chapter, Chin-ha suggested that it is possible for a popular music star to be ‘masculine’ (e.g. Shin Hae-ch’ôl) if they are obviously so, but that this is not interesting or important if he is expressing his ‘natural’ personal characteristics. In contrast, she explained that ‘feminine’ idol singers construct a fake gender, which she finds commercial and unappealing. Because Taiji is neither stereotypically masculine, like Shin Hae-ch’ôl, nor does he seem superficial or commercial, Chin-ha seems to conclude he has nothing to do with gender. To her, the “common issues” of Taiji’s songs that resonate with both male and female fans, confirm what is similar between the sexes. For Chin-ha, Taiji is about similarities between the sexes, and he does not depict this as something social or cultural. Taiji to her does not seem to be “like girls” or “like guys” (in other words he does not seem to express a social construction). Additionally, because Chin-ha talked about gender primarily in terms of differences and opposites (feminine men versus masculine men)―“Actually just before all the [male] stars, they were all very like guys. They were very masculine but now, they are, some who are very like girls” ―it does not make much sense to her that Taiji would have anything to do with gender. For Chin-ha, because Taiji is about similarities between the sexes and he does not obviously seem to practise a gender, is not “like girls” or “like guys”, gender and Taiji simply do not go hand and hand. Chin-ha’s discomfort and reluctance to discuss Taiji and gender is primarily a result of being uninterested in gender issues, but also partly a result of the increasing complex and fluid conceptualizations of masculinities and femininities within young people’s culture in Korea, which render thinking and talking about Taiji in terms of gender arduous.
Although Chang-to expressed the same opinion as Chin-ha, he was more adamant about Taiji and gender having nothing to do with each other. First, he stated bluntly and confidently that music has nothing to do with gender or gender issues. [2] Then he went on rapidly to say a few sentences about Taiji that certainly did not indicate an interest but instead seemed to be said in hope that we would not bother him with more uninteresting and difficult questions about gender. For instance, he quickly said that he could not know if Taiji has anything to do with gender because he has used many different images [3] or that certain songs are powerful so he can feel masculinity in them.[4] I did not ask more questions nor do I consider his sentences as genuine responses. This is because he said these sentences very quickly and his rigid body and complete lack of eye contact with me indicated he was uncomfortable and perhaps a little annoyed. Clearly, he wanted to change the topic and chat about something more interesting―how to evaluate great music or what constitutes a skilled pop singer or songwriter for instance (the path his talk took enthusiastically in our first conversation together). Chang-to’s discomfort may have partly resulted from the fact that in Korean, there is no terminology that distinguishes between sex, gender and sexuality (the word sông is used to refer to all, and sometimes nowadays the transliteration of the English words are used). As such, he may have been somewhat confused about how to think about the concepts gender (sông) or masculinity (namsôngsông or namjadaum). But his discomfort also came from his aversion to feminist concerns and emerging gender strategies among young Koreans; for example, he joked that nowadays women have so many rights and are so dominant that more men are beaten up by women than the other way round, and that he emulates his father’s (normative) way to be a man “because I was raised that way.” Chang-to’s discomfort and lack of interest in discussing gender issues and his firm prescription to patterns of hegemonic masculinity were tendencies I had expected to see in other fans but did not. Even Chin-ha, who expressed openly to me that she did not know much about gender issues and did not really think they were particularly interesting or important, talked about how Korean masculinity and femininity is unstable and should rightfully continue to undergo changes. As such, Chang-to’s disavowal of gender parity and complete disregard for thinking about Taiji in regards to masculinities provides a very important contrasting example to those fans, Kang-t’ae, Chae-tol, Yu-t’aek and others, who energetically and seriously expressed their thoughts about Taiji’s expressions of gender or about his song dealing with gender discrimination.
--------------
Conclusion
This chapter has examined various patterns in Seo Taiji fans’ conceptions of popular music and gender and Seo Taiji and gender. Now I will summarize aspects of my findings and comment on their implications.
First of all, this part of my study shows that most fans I interviewed talked about popular music sound and masculinities and femininities as related things, some fans being more interested in this than others. We see how fans spoke about music as expressing a variety of genders, including chungsông, while others spoke about music expressing only extremes or stereotypes of masculinities and femininities. We can also see that most fans spoke about musical signification with confidence at certain times and with hesitation or vagueness at other times. Due to the complexity of this topic, I had assumed I would find a lot of hesitation or vagueness, but I was quite surprised to find that most fans spoke about relationships between musical sound and gender. This finding is quite important. Considering these young South Koreans’ sensitivity to the possible relationships between singers’ voices or the beat of a song and gender patterns or gender types, we need to question why most research on Korean popular music avoids dealing with the sound of popular music (e.g. Baek, 1996; Howard, 2002, 2003; Lee, 2004; Maliangkay, 2003; Morelli, 1997, 2001; Noh, 2001, 2002; Willoughby, 2005). In particular, we should question whether it is always true that younger Koreans focus on gendered elements of popular music only in regards to performers’ images and that the sound of South Korean popular music is incidental to gender formations (as suggested in Willoughby, 2005).
Second, I found that most fans either explicitly spoke about Seo Taiji’s relationships to gender patterns and types or spoke about Taiji in gendered ways, as a particular type of man for instance. A general finding was that most fans spoke about how Taiji does not display conventional types of masculinity in a consistent way in his songs. I found that for some fans, Taiji’s recent pro-feminist song “Victim” was central to their talk about Taiji as a different type of man, and other fans articulated that Taiji displays multiple patterns of gender in his music, for instance using ‘masculine’ beats and a ‘feminine’ voice simultaneously. This finding is quite important and suggests that the almost exclusive examination of Seo Taiji in scholarship and the South Korean popular press in terms of the analytic categories “youth” and “youth culture” (and often in comparison to adults and adult culture) erases other meaningful features (e.g. masculinities) that factor into the Taiji phenomenon.[5] In fact, in the final chapter of this thesis, we will see how when examined in terms of the category “masculinity”, Taiji’s performances significantly display patterns which play a major role in adult and youth cultures (primarily fraternity or male bonding).
The finding that most fans spoke about gender with some hesitation or vagueness and at other times confidently or with utter confusion is also important. This is not so interesting in fans’ talk about popular music sound and gender, as the unusualness of these issues would render pretty much anyone a little unsure or confused. The hesitation and confusion with moments of confidence in talk about gender however, is quite interesting. In many instances of talk, fans debated conceptions of masculinities and femininities, rather than spelling them out plainly. Only in Chang-to’s talk did I see gender constancy and confidence in gender norms. In many instances, fans were tripped up trying to talk about masculinities and femininities because in so doing they had to discuss gender changes. When fans did this, such as in Uk-tong and Yu-t’aek’s lively debate, talking clearly and confidently was almost impossible. In their talk about gender, an array
of hesitation and uncertainties with moments of confidence, we can see the transformations of contemporary South Korea, in this case of ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’.[6] In the chapters that follow, I will discuss in much more detail how Taiji’s music and performances factor into South Korean gender changes and transformations.
[1] Kûn-hae also expressed this idea despite talking about Taiji using gendered terms in earlier conversations.
[2] Irôn’gô hago sangkwan-i ôpsnûn’gô kattûndeyo. Ûmak-e pyôllo sangkwan-i pyôllo ôpsnûn’gô kattayo chônhyô.
[3] Kûnde Sôt’aeji-nûn imiji-ga norae naulttae mada tallajijanha kûraesô ttakgi mwô ôttôdago marhalsuga.
[4] Noraegat’ûn’gô puldaenûn “Kyosilidea” kat’ûn’gyôngu-e “P’ilsûng” kat’ûn’gô tûlûlttenûn p’awôp’ôul(powerful) hajanhayo. Kûrôngô tûlûlttenûn namsôngdaum.
[5] For a critique of this scholarship and popular press pieces overlook of the category “class”, see Lee K.-h.(2002).
[6] Nancy Abelmann makes similar observation on much older South Koreans’ talk (Abelmann, 2003).
Chin-ha, despite being a little uncomfortable, persevered and tried her best to express some ideas she had. Concerning Taiji, she was certain that gender had nothing to do with him. She repeated the words “common issues” quite a number of times when trying to explain why she did not think Seo Taiji and his music related to gender issues, for example in these sentences about Taiji’s lyrics: “Common issues, like abortion. And social issues. It is not either masculine or feminine. It is not like girl, like boy, it is common issues.” As explained earlier in this chapter, Chin-ha suggested that it is possible for a popular music star to be ‘masculine’ (e.g. Shin Hae-ch’ôl) if they are obviously so, but that this is not interesting or important if he is expressing his ‘natural’ personal characteristics. In contrast, she explained that ‘feminine’ idol singers construct a fake gender, which she finds commercial and unappealing. Because Taiji is neither stereotypically masculine, like Shin Hae-ch’ôl, nor does he seem superficial or commercial, Chin-ha seems to conclude he has nothing to do with gender. To her, the “common issues” of Taiji’s songs that resonate with both male and female fans, confirm what is similar between the sexes. For Chin-ha, Taiji is about similarities between the sexes, and he does not depict this as something social or cultural. Taiji to her does not seem to be “like girls” or “like guys” (in other words he does not seem to express a social construction). Additionally, because Chin-ha talked about gender primarily in terms of differences and opposites (feminine men versus masculine men)―“Actually just before all the [male] stars, they were all very like guys. They were very masculine but now, they are, some who are very like girls” ―it does not make much sense to her that Taiji would have anything to do with gender. For Chin-ha, because Taiji is about similarities between the sexes and he does not obviously seem to practise a gender, is not “like girls” or “like guys”, gender and Taiji simply do not go hand and hand. Chin-ha’s discomfort and reluctance to discuss Taiji and gender is primarily a result of being uninterested in gender issues, but also partly a result of the increasing complex and fluid conceptualizations of masculinities and femininities within young people’s culture in Korea, which render thinking and talking about Taiji in terms of gender arduous.
Although Chang-to expressed the same opinion as Chin-ha, he was more adamant about Taiji and gender having nothing to do with each other. First, he stated bluntly and confidently that music has nothing to do with gender or gender issues. [2] Then he went on rapidly to say a few sentences about Taiji that certainly did not indicate an interest but instead seemed to be said in hope that we would not bother him with more uninteresting and difficult questions about gender. For instance, he quickly said that he could not know if Taiji has anything to do with gender because he has used many different images [3] or that certain songs are powerful so he can feel masculinity in them.[4] I did not ask more questions nor do I consider his sentences as genuine responses. This is because he said these sentences very quickly and his rigid body and complete lack of eye contact with me indicated he was uncomfortable and perhaps a little annoyed. Clearly, he wanted to change the topic and chat about something more interesting―how to evaluate great music or what constitutes a skilled pop singer or songwriter for instance (the path his talk took enthusiastically in our first conversation together). Chang-to’s discomfort may have partly resulted from the fact that in Korean, there is no terminology that distinguishes between sex, gender and sexuality (the word sông is used to refer to all, and sometimes nowadays the transliteration of the English words are used). As such, he may have been somewhat confused about how to think about the concepts gender (sông) or masculinity (namsôngsông or namjadaum). But his discomfort also came from his aversion to feminist concerns and emerging gender strategies among young Koreans; for example, he joked that nowadays women have so many rights and are so dominant that more men are beaten up by women than the other way round, and that he emulates his father’s (normative) way to be a man “because I was raised that way.” Chang-to’s discomfort and lack of interest in discussing gender issues and his firm prescription to patterns of hegemonic masculinity were tendencies I had expected to see in other fans but did not. Even Chin-ha, who expressed openly to me that she did not know much about gender issues and did not really think they were particularly interesting or important, talked about how Korean masculinity and femininity is unstable and should rightfully continue to undergo changes. As such, Chang-to’s disavowal of gender parity and complete disregard for thinking about Taiji in regards to masculinities provides a very important contrasting example to those fans, Kang-t’ae, Chae-tol, Yu-t’aek and others, who energetically and seriously expressed their thoughts about Taiji’s expressions of gender or about his song dealing with gender discrimination.
--------------
Conclusion
This chapter has examined various patterns in Seo Taiji fans’ conceptions of popular music and gender and Seo Taiji and gender. Now I will summarize aspects of my findings and comment on their implications.
First of all, this part of my study shows that most fans I interviewed talked about popular music sound and masculinities and femininities as related things, some fans being more interested in this than others. We see how fans spoke about music as expressing a variety of genders, including chungsông, while others spoke about music expressing only extremes or stereotypes of masculinities and femininities. We can also see that most fans spoke about musical signification with confidence at certain times and with hesitation or vagueness at other times. Due to the complexity of this topic, I had assumed I would find a lot of hesitation or vagueness, but I was quite surprised to find that most fans spoke about relationships between musical sound and gender. This finding is quite important. Considering these young South Koreans’ sensitivity to the possible relationships between singers’ voices or the beat of a song and gender patterns or gender types, we need to question why most research on Korean popular music avoids dealing with the sound of popular music (e.g. Baek, 1996; Howard, 2002, 2003; Lee, 2004; Maliangkay, 2003; Morelli, 1997, 2001; Noh, 2001, 2002; Willoughby, 2005). In particular, we should question whether it is always true that younger Koreans focus on gendered elements of popular music only in regards to performers’ images and that the sound of South Korean popular music is incidental to gender formations (as suggested in Willoughby, 2005).
Second, I found that most fans either explicitly spoke about Seo Taiji’s relationships to gender patterns and types or spoke about Taiji in gendered ways, as a particular type of man for instance. A general finding was that most fans spoke about how Taiji does not display conventional types of masculinity in a consistent way in his songs. I found that for some fans, Taiji’s recent pro-feminist song “Victim” was central to their talk about Taiji as a different type of man, and other fans articulated that Taiji displays multiple patterns of gender in his music, for instance using ‘masculine’ beats and a ‘feminine’ voice simultaneously. This finding is quite important and suggests that the almost exclusive examination of Seo Taiji in scholarship and the South Korean popular press in terms of the analytic categories “youth” and “youth culture” (and often in comparison to adults and adult culture) erases other meaningful features (e.g. masculinities) that factor into the Taiji phenomenon.[5] In fact, in the final chapter of this thesis, we will see how when examined in terms of the category “masculinity”, Taiji’s performances significantly display patterns which play a major role in adult and youth cultures (primarily fraternity or male bonding).
The finding that most fans spoke about gender with some hesitation or vagueness and at other times confidently or with utter confusion is also important. This is not so interesting in fans’ talk about popular music sound and gender, as the unusualness of these issues would render pretty much anyone a little unsure or confused. The hesitation and confusion with moments of confidence in talk about gender however, is quite interesting. In many instances of talk, fans debated conceptions of masculinities and femininities, rather than spelling them out plainly. Only in Chang-to’s talk did I see gender constancy and confidence in gender norms. In many instances, fans were tripped up trying to talk about masculinities and femininities because in so doing they had to discuss gender changes. When fans did this, such as in Uk-tong and Yu-t’aek’s lively debate, talking clearly and confidently was almost impossible. In their talk about gender, an array
of hesitation and uncertainties with moments of confidence, we can see the transformations of contemporary South Korea, in this case of ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’.[6] In the chapters that follow, I will discuss in much more detail how Taiji’s music and performances factor into South Korean gender changes and transformations.
[1] Kûn-hae also expressed this idea despite talking about Taiji using gendered terms in earlier conversations.
[2] Irôn’gô hago sangkwan-i ôpsnûn’gô kattûndeyo. Ûmak-e pyôllo sangkwan-i pyôllo ôpsnûn’gô kattayo chônhyô.
[3] Kûnde Sôt’aeji-nûn imiji-ga norae naulttae mada tallajijanha kûraesô ttakgi mwô ôttôdago marhalsuga.
[4] Noraegat’ûn’gô puldaenûn “Kyosilidea” kat’ûn’gyôngu-e “P’ilsûng” kat’ûn’gô tûlûlttenûn p’awôp’ôul(powerful) hajanhayo. Kûrôngô tûlûlttenûn namsôngdaum.
[5] For a critique of this scholarship and popular press pieces overlook of the category “class”, see Lee K.-h.(2002).
[6] Nancy Abelmann makes similar observation on much older South Koreans’ talk (Abelmann, 2003).
Previous posts
- Vignette # 2
- CHAPTER 3: Alternative masculinity through Seo Tai...
- [ch. 3] Vocal sound and gender
- [ch. 3] Seo Taiji & Boys’ soft, slow songs
- [ch. 3] Taiji’s vocals in relation to hegemonic ma...
- CHAPTER 4: The relationship of “Hayôga” performanc...
- [ch. 4] Fraternity
- [ch. 4] Remasculinization
- [ch. 4] Competition with ‘western’ masculinity
- Conclusion & Coda