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.
[ch. 3] Taiji’s vocals in relation to hegemonic masculinity
Published 수요일, 3월 08, 2006 by 쟈넷 | E-mail this post
“Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” and specifically Taiji’s vocals in them, can be understood as exhibiting an alternative gender configuration to Korean hegemonic masculinity. Indeed, as indicated at the beginning of the previous section, Yun-hûi and Yong-t’ae were forthcoming about how Taiji does not ‘sound like a man’ in these songs. We can begin to understand why Taiji does not ‘sound like a man’ by examining vis-à-vis gender patterns, these songs’ cute and gentle as well as sincere emotional aspects, and in “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” by examining these aspects in conjunction with the song’s focus on children and childhood.
Cuteness, gentleness and sincere emotions are marked as feminine traits in contemporary South Korea. If one doubts that emotions, with the exception of anger and cathartic emotional outbursts during men’s heavy-drinking rituals, are feminized in contemporary South Korea, consider how kwasobi (over- consumption) is highly feminized. Women (and never men) are publicly depicted as emotional, out-of-control over-spenders, vulnerable to the whims of marketers or the smell of easy real estate money (Nelson, 2000: 139-149).[1] Furthermore, in chapter 1, we saw how Kang-t’ae expressed considerable frustration over his male relatives’ criticism of his failure to live up to masculine ideals and for instead being sensitive and emotional as well as somewhat introverted. Although Kang-t’ae spoke about his confidence that being emotional and sensitive is acceptable to him, he expressed a clear understanding that in daily life, these traits are still not accepted as suitable for men. South Korean films often clearly illustrate this unacceptability of emotion and sensitivity in men. In his book The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema (2004), Kim Kyung Hyun convincingly argues how emotions and/or the inability to take command of one’s emotions play a significant role in emasculating male characters in the 1980s to mid 1990s cinema, masculinities that stood miserably behind hegemonic masculine ideals. For example in the film A Fine, Windy Day (1980), the emasculated character Tôk-pai, who Kim believes is perhaps the best example of a character symbolizing “masculine lack” in Korean cinema, is unable to take control of his emotions and because of this weakness is continually manipulated and humiliated by those around him (Kim, 2004: 34-42).
Abelmann (2003) also provides insight into emotions and gender in contemporary South Korea, revealing the complexities of the usages and meanings of terms indicating gentleness (for her 50-60 year old informants, terms such as yamjônham and ch’akhada). For many of the Korean women in Abelmann’s study, gentleness as well as other traits such as submissiveness and being inferior or stupid (monnada) form a feminine ideal from the past, which remains present today. For some women this ideal seems repulsive or foolish, but for others it seems desirable and ethical (Abelmann, 2003:63-84).[2] Additionally, one should be reminded how properly ‘feminine’ women were expected to act with genuine tenderness and care towards their husbands during the IMF crisis in 1997, among other crises, no-matter what his behaviour was like (Finch and Kim, 2002:129-130).
Being cute (yeppûn or kwiyôun) is also highly feminized, in both appearance and speech styles of young Koreans. In particular, physical cuteness in young Korean women is often painstakingly constructed, and used as a way to gain power that is denied them in the workforce as well as in their personal relationships with men (Fedorenko, 2004; Kim, 2003). Fedorenko convincingly illustrates that young Korean women often use the word “oppa” when they want something from their boyfriend or an older male friend.[3] Fedorenko illustrates how by calling a man oppa, and I believe especially when spoken with the commonly used cute, whiny intonation “ . . . a woman acknowledges, sincerely or for manipulative purposes, the man’s dominant role and in exchange receives his love, help and protection, a powerful motivator in a society where opportunities for women’s self-realization outside family are limited” (Federenko, 2004).
There may be some objections to such gendered delineations of emotion, with a view that no one (even men) can live without the “gentle” emotions associated with femininity. For example it is certainly true that in recent years, cuteness and prettiness especially in appearance, have crossed over from females to younger males in Korea, a sort of gender-bending which has recently received attention, albeit superficial, in the mainstream Korean press (Korean gender roles, 2004; Metro Sexual, 2004)[4]. In the early 1990s, cuteness had also infiltrated popular male singers’ styles, for example in the case of the singer Toy. It was further popularized throughout the 1990s and 2000s by singers such as Jo Sung Mo (Cho Sông-mo). Younger Korean men nowadays (and to a lesser degree in the early 1990s), certainly display behaviours and traits that were previously coded as feminine. Despite the prevalence and popularity of these types of refined, sensitive young masculinities in contemporary pop music, advertising, fashion, comic books, television dramas and so on, men like this are still described in feminized ways. For instance the term yôja kat’ae (literally “like a girl”), which holds neither positive nor negative connotations, is often used to describe them. A term which shows the speaker’s dislike for these men acting and looking “like girls” is kijibae kat’ae (which also means “like a girl” but is derogatory, even when directed at females). Another feminized term used to describe these men is kkotminam (literally “flower man”). The sensitive, cute kkotminam took on more cultural prestige, among younger Koreans, with kkotminam soccer star Ahn Jung-hwan’s success in the 2002 FIFA World Cup and his modeling career, specifically his “Kkôt-û tûn namja” television commercial (1999, 2002) for Somang Cosmetics (Kkôt-ûn tûn namja, 2002). Ahn’s image in print and television advertisements for skin care products and cosmetics captures the essence of the pretty, sensitive, gentle kkotminam (Hong, 2003) and “Kkôt-û tûn namja” is also, perhaps unintentionally, homoerotic (Flower man/kk’ot-un namja, 2002).
I would like to suggest that it is best to think of young males’ feminized traits and behaviours as part of re-envisioned popular culture masculinity, as well as a youth culture masculinity generally, which is multidimensional. To emphasize the multidimensionality and flexibility of gendered sign systems in South Korea rather than the polarities of gender—something done especially well by Abelmann (2003)—I have chosen to refer to the phenomenon of males displaying feminized traits as an alternative masculinity, rather than as males acting feminine. Taiji’s masculinity in these three songs, through exhibiting much gentleness, cuteness and soft emotions, helped to negotiate a masculinity that seems strikingly at odds with hegemonic masculine practices. I also argue that this alternative masculinity, formed partly by Taiji in “Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” contests hegemonic masculinity. Before moving on to investigate this through a consideration of issues of power as well as the pleasurable aspects of Taiji’s masculinity in these songs, “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”‘s childlike aspects and focus on childhood should be considered in terms of masculinity.
“Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”
The lyrics of “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” focus on a theme of longing to return to childhood and is emphasized by the children’s chorus at the beginning and ending of the song. In addition, Taiji’s soft vocals, especially his clear and light timbre and lack of vibrato, sound childlike and play a major role in forming the character of the song. The focus on childhood and childlikeness contrasts South Korean hegemonic masculine practices by confusing normative male sexuality and gender practices.
Taiji’s soft, childlike voice in “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” combined with the lyrics and children’s chorus contrasts with normative heterosexuality on which Korean hegemonic masculinity depends. Dominant masculinist discourses circulating in recent years still view normative, often virulent, male heterosexuality as a necessary component of “healthy” Korean male subjectivity (chuch’esông), playing a central role upholding the national institutions of the normative family and the military (Jager, 2002; Cheng, 2000). In “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”, the lyrics combined with Taiji’s vocals as well as his lack of body movement in live performances of the song, seem stripped of any sexuality. Howard has pointed out that male ballad (palladû) singers of the 1980s and early 1990s, most notably Cho Yong Pil (Cho Yong-p’il), also lacked noticeable sexuality and describes Cho’s appearance, movements while performing and lyrics as devoid of any sexually provocative qualities (Howard, 2002:81-84). However “ . . . Cho Yong Pil’s conservative “safe” romanticism . . .” (Howard, 2002:84), and that of most male ballad singers since, still stands firmly within normative male heterosexuality, something that has ensured their popularity while escaping criticism from the moralizing, conservative sectors of society such as censor boards. Despite sharing qualities with Cho Yong Pil in “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”, innocence, a lack of sexuality and so on, Taiji differs from Cho by pushing the boundaries of male sexuality, instead of helping to cement its normative form. “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” is perhaps the best example of a performance of Taiji’s asexual image, an image that noticeably contrasts with representations of male sexuality found elsewhere in Korean popular music even today. Taiji’s lyrics in this song sung in his gentle voice, express frustration with adult society and a longing to return to childhood, a place that for the most part lacks adult complexities including sexuality. In short, Taiji’s character in this song seems to express a desire to reject a normative Korean adult male life, along with its required normative heterosexuality. As Yun-hûi suggested near the beginning of this chapter, Taiji seems so much “not like a man” in this song that he seems to fall outside the gender patterns of adult society altogether. Rather than transcending all things childlike and presenting like a ‘man’ with required heteronormative sexuality, Taiji seems to relish childlikeness, which in South Korea remains highly feminized.
This song’s fixation on childhood confuses conventional notions of gender in South Korea. Children, the spaces young children fill and domesticity generally, are almost completely absent from Korean hegemonic masculine practices and are designated as feminine (Moon, 2002). Conventional notions of gender require men to transcend childhood and domesticity to become fully ‘masculine’, which often occurs forcibly with military conscription (Cheng, 2000; Moon, 2002). When for example, men fail to keep up masculinized practices, lose their job and are forced to care for their children, Korean public discourses paint them as fallen men who must have their subjectivity and masculinity restored by regaining employment outside domestic spaces (Kim and Finch, 2002). This failure—defeated, humiliated and feminized men—is considered so serious that discourses linking its cure to the salvation of the nation itself have figured prominently in films, newspapers, novels, community meetings and so on (Song, forthcoming). This occurred most noticeably, but not exclusively, during the financial (IMF) crisis of 1997-2001 (Song, forthcoming; Kim and Finch, 2004).[5] Conversely in, “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” Taiji’s character does not seem humiliated or defeated. Although this song is rarely presented as a critique of Korean society, as are others such as “Classroom Idea” or “Shidaeyugam”, I believe it can be and certainly it is seen as such by some fans (for example Kang-t’ae).[6] Its expression of a desire to turn away from an adult, masculinist world stands in opposition to South Korean conventions of gender and specifically masculine public practices.
Power and pleasure in Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”
Let us now consider how issues of power as well as the pleasurable aspects of the three songs affect how we understand them in terms of masculinity. Connell emphasizes that hegemonic masculinity is the configured gendered practice that holds the most power and in so doing stands to uphold the gender hierarchy reliant on patriarchy (1995:77). Masculinities that lack power can do little to uphold the gender hierarchy, while those that differ significantly from hegemonic masculinity have the potential to contest it. Taiji’s soft singing voice and particularly his soft rapping style evident in these songs falls within the latter type of masculinity because their parameters express characteristics—emotions, extreme gentleness and cuteness—which, for the most part, lack power or are used by a type of person who lacks power in the gender hierarchy. Taiji’s soft vocals are associated with womanly or child-like characteristics, signifying weakness, and as such stand in contrast to the power intrinsic to hegemonic masculinity. One may argue that the softness and weakness coded by Taiji’s soft voice should not be read as such because this style of singing is popular and thus the singers who use it, such as Taiji, Toy or Jo Sung Mo, have had power in the form of wealth and stardom. This is true, but I believe the character of the soft voice does not change simply because Taiji is famous and well off. The character we hear and imagine through Taiji’s voice, one soft male voice among many in Korean popular music since the early 1990s, leads me to understand his voice as part of a gendered discourse opposing hegemonic masculinity, regardless of the considerable benefit to the singer. It may be that Taiji’s soft voice in rapping, which is rare among other performers, opposes normative masculine practices more than other singer’s voices in this discourse.
An alternative masculinity presented in popular culture is not always one that is a viable or desirable alternative. In the case of these three songs, Taiji’s voice and the character in these songs do provide such an alternative because they are pleasurable. Kim Kyung Hyun (2004) thoroughly explains how in South Korean movies released in the same years of these songs, as well as the fifteen years or so preceding, were filled with male characters who presented alternatives to hegemonic masculinity, often in similar ways to that of Taiji’s character in these songs. But unlike Taiji, these characters were meant to be pitied not desired nor admired as they were “ . . . stripped of talent, glamour, and charisma, which are traits that a male hero usually possesses in Western narrative cinema, either in Hollywood or in European art film” (Kim, 2004:37) and possessed by the majority of popular music stars as well. Kim writes “[f]rom the early 1980s, a period of intense economic growth, late stage urbanization, and political terror, to the late 1990s, one of economic recession, deindustrialization, and postdictatorship, the male position shifts from a passive agent (Tôk-pae [in A Fine, Windy Day]) to an active one (Mak-tong [in Green Fish]), but each man’s lack is still specular for the purpose of insisting on the need for fraternal, communal, and masculine values/ethics to which the society must conform” (2004: 34).[7] In“Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” the male character we hear and imagine through Taiji’s vocals certainly displays emasculated characteristics like so many male characters in films of the same era, but what is different is that Taiji’s character is not displayed to insist that a ‘better’, more hegemonic perhaps, masculine character is needed to replace it.[8] But rather that Taiji, and the character he is genuinely displaying in these songs, is the hero, the star displaying talent, glamour and charisma ensuring his massive popularity at the time of these songs. In short Taiji’s vocals, and the songs generally are pleasurable, indeed highly pleasurable for the screaming and singing female, as well as male, fans threatening to drown out Taiji’s voice in the 1996 live concert video performance of “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro.” His character displayed in the songs combined with his star status and image is/was pleasurable enough to entice young Koreans, both male and female.
Except for its Golden Age in the 1960s, it was not until the very end of the 1990s, with films such as Shiri (1999), that Korean cinema was able to produce Korean heroes, male characters who were objects of desire and emulation (Kim 2005:9-11). The lack of desirable male Korean characters in film has recently been portrayed in the popular movie Once Upon a Time in High School: Spirit of Jeet Kune Do (Malchukkôri chanhoksa) (2004). Set in the late 1970s, the shy, gentle high school senior Hyôn-su chooses to emulate Bruce Lee, the only appealing East Asian male character available to him, to fight against the stifling, abusive and static hyper-masculine society, represented by his tae kwon do teaching father and his military-like high school, which he feels is ruining him. Conversely, in“Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” as well as in much of his early music, Taiji is able to present a desirable and pleasurable masculinity and as such an attractive alternative to hegemonic masculinity. In this way, South Korean popular music has been quicker to adopt alternative masculinities than has been South Korean film. The alternative masculinity of Taiji’s soft vocals, as well as other musical features and his appearance added to the possibilities of representing Korean masculinity in the early to mid 1990s. His vocals worked to negotiate a soft but pleasurable, rather than pitied, viable alternative masculinity.
Conclusion
It is essential that Taiji’s vocals, and the characters depicted by them, are included in the study of Korean masculinities because of power with which popular songs, as well as films or television dramas, enable us to envision other ways of being. Placed in the context of the late 1980s to mid 1990s, a period remembered for bringing in a democracy, optimism and the blossoming of social movements including youth culture (shinsedae), feminist and sexuality politics (sôngjôngch’i) movements, the difference in Taiji and his songs had the potential to stoke younger Koreans’ social imaginations to a significant degree.[10] Abelmann writes “[w]hile many have stressed the ways in which the social imagination is stimulated by our ever more connected, mediated, and even wired social world, it is also clear that social transformations—even a quiet traditional variety—tirelessly offer other worlds” (Abelmann, 2003: 16). During the lively social and cultural transformations of the early to mid 1990s Taiji’s music provided young Koreans with profoundly new and exciting ways to imagine themselves (Lee K-h., 2002, Young, 1999). Taiji’s soft vocals, especially prominent in the three songs of this chapter but evident in many of his other songs as well, presented to young Koreans a different and appealing way to be a young Korean man. Although, as the vignette introducing this chapter attests, alternative masculine behaviours of young Korean males, for example speaking with pronounced ‘feminine’ sounding inflections, can be received as unacceptable in the ‘real’ world.[11] Perhaps Taiji’s alternative masculinities are more easily performed in the ‘real’ world by female fans. It is likely Taiji’s alternative masculinity has been practiced more by young Korean males in safe performative spaces such as in a noraebang (karaoke room) and imagined rather than practiced in communication with elders, superiors, girlfriends, male peers etc. However, I agree with Abelmann that “[a]gainst a distinction between the imaginary and the real that “has dominated Western thought” (Crapanzano, 1980:7), we must take the imaginary for real” (Abelmann, 2003:17). In the early 1990s, a period of distinct social and cultural transformation and experimentation, it may have been the realness of Taiji’s alternative masculine practices in his songs and the realness of the imaginings these evoked, that simultaneously drew many involved in the sexuality politics movement to admire and follow Taiji while causing confrontation with conservative sectors of adult society at his androgynous image.[12]
[1] For a discussion of South Korean male drinking rituals and male bonding, including mention of emotions, see Cheng, 2000: 61-63.
[2] For insightful analysis of the reappearances of feminine virtues such as gentleness, submissiveness and patience of the Korean pre-modern era, a past often simplified and imagined as ‘the Confucian past’, in contemporary South Korean gendered discourses see Jager (1996), Choi (1998), Song (forthcoming), among others.
[3] Traditionally, females have used the word oppa to address their older brothers. In current usage however, females also use it to refer to their older (but not too much older) male friends, boyfriends and even their husbands.
[4] In a related matter, see Choi (2005) for evidence of Korean teenage boys and girls’ belief in the importance of young men’s stylish and attractive appearance in achieving their job prospects.
[5] One of the most popular Korean films during the IMF crisis, Happy End, depicts this theme precisely. It tells the story of an emasculated husband who after losing his job during the crisis is forced to become a house-husband while his wife is able to keep working outside the home. The wife, fitting into the role of a ‘bad husband’, having an affair and mistreating her child and so on, ends up being murdered by the husband who in so doing regains his masculinity. Discussion of this film can be found in Kim K-h. (2004: 233-240, 246-258) and in Song (forthcoming: 2-3). See Paquet (2000) for a review in English.
[6] Examples or articles focusing on Taiji’s obviously socially critical songs are Morelli (2001), Jung (forthcoming) and Baek (1996).
[7] In the same time in mainland China, remarkably similar discourses of insufficient masculinities brought about by political oppression, and the necessity of reconstructing them circulated prominently in novels, television dramas, and popular music. See Lu (2000: 29-31) and Baranovitch (2003: 114-127).
[8] This is also very different from masculinities enacted by popular musicians as part of mainland Chinese remasculinization discourses of the same period. Mainland Chinese popular musicians, most notably but not exclusively rock musicians, expressed in songs their attempt to regain a hyper-masculinity, symbolized by heroes of ancient northwestern China (Lu, 2000: 30; Baranovitch, 2003: 115-132)
[10] For discussion of the sexuality politics movement see Seo (2001), Song (2003:xii-xviii). For discussion of the youth culture movement, specifically as acted out day-today in Apgu-jung dong, Seoul in the early 1990s, with some mention of the social imagination, see Lee K-h. (2000:478-479; 2002:46-59).
[11] Along this line, Connell when discussing hegemonic masculinity writes, “Clearcut alternatives [to hegemonic masculinity], however, are often culturally discredited or despised. Men who practice them are likely to be abused as wimps, cowards, fags etc” Connell, 2000:217.
[12] For reception of Taiji by members of the sexuality politics movement, see Yu (2004). On reception of Taiji’s unisexual image by adult society, Chung writes, “While he [Taiji] received full support from the new generation, response from the older generation was negative, and some exhibited extreme disgust. There were many reasons for this. First of all, there is his noise-like music and hard-to-hear lyrics. His style and appearance was another problem. His ambiguous appearance in terms of sex delivered a unisex fashion mode to the teens” (2003:105)
Cuteness, gentleness and sincere emotions are marked as feminine traits in contemporary South Korea. If one doubts that emotions, with the exception of anger and cathartic emotional outbursts during men’s heavy-drinking rituals, are feminized in contemporary South Korea, consider how kwasobi (over- consumption) is highly feminized. Women (and never men) are publicly depicted as emotional, out-of-control over-spenders, vulnerable to the whims of marketers or the smell of easy real estate money (Nelson, 2000: 139-149).[1] Furthermore, in chapter 1, we saw how Kang-t’ae expressed considerable frustration over his male relatives’ criticism of his failure to live up to masculine ideals and for instead being sensitive and emotional as well as somewhat introverted. Although Kang-t’ae spoke about his confidence that being emotional and sensitive is acceptable to him, he expressed a clear understanding that in daily life, these traits are still not accepted as suitable for men. South Korean films often clearly illustrate this unacceptability of emotion and sensitivity in men. In his book The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema (2004), Kim Kyung Hyun convincingly argues how emotions and/or the inability to take command of one’s emotions play a significant role in emasculating male characters in the 1980s to mid 1990s cinema, masculinities that stood miserably behind hegemonic masculine ideals. For example in the film A Fine, Windy Day (1980), the emasculated character Tôk-pai, who Kim believes is perhaps the best example of a character symbolizing “masculine lack” in Korean cinema, is unable to take control of his emotions and because of this weakness is continually manipulated and humiliated by those around him (Kim, 2004: 34-42).
Abelmann (2003) also provides insight into emotions and gender in contemporary South Korea, revealing the complexities of the usages and meanings of terms indicating gentleness (for her 50-60 year old informants, terms such as yamjônham and ch’akhada). For many of the Korean women in Abelmann’s study, gentleness as well as other traits such as submissiveness and being inferior or stupid (monnada) form a feminine ideal from the past, which remains present today. For some women this ideal seems repulsive or foolish, but for others it seems desirable and ethical (Abelmann, 2003:63-84).[2] Additionally, one should be reminded how properly ‘feminine’ women were expected to act with genuine tenderness and care towards their husbands during the IMF crisis in 1997, among other crises, no-matter what his behaviour was like (Finch and Kim, 2002:129-130).
Being cute (yeppûn or kwiyôun) is also highly feminized, in both appearance and speech styles of young Koreans. In particular, physical cuteness in young Korean women is often painstakingly constructed, and used as a way to gain power that is denied them in the workforce as well as in their personal relationships with men (Fedorenko, 2004; Kim, 2003). Fedorenko convincingly illustrates that young Korean women often use the word “oppa” when they want something from their boyfriend or an older male friend.[3] Fedorenko illustrates how by calling a man oppa, and I believe especially when spoken with the commonly used cute, whiny intonation “ . . . a woman acknowledges, sincerely or for manipulative purposes, the man’s dominant role and in exchange receives his love, help and protection, a powerful motivator in a society where opportunities for women’s self-realization outside family are limited” (Federenko, 2004).
There may be some objections to such gendered delineations of emotion, with a view that no one (even men) can live without the “gentle” emotions associated with femininity. For example it is certainly true that in recent years, cuteness and prettiness especially in appearance, have crossed over from females to younger males in Korea, a sort of gender-bending which has recently received attention, albeit superficial, in the mainstream Korean press (Korean gender roles, 2004; Metro Sexual, 2004)[4]. In the early 1990s, cuteness had also infiltrated popular male singers’ styles, for example in the case of the singer Toy. It was further popularized throughout the 1990s and 2000s by singers such as Jo Sung Mo (Cho Sông-mo). Younger Korean men nowadays (and to a lesser degree in the early 1990s), certainly display behaviours and traits that were previously coded as feminine. Despite the prevalence and popularity of these types of refined, sensitive young masculinities in contemporary pop music, advertising, fashion, comic books, television dramas and so on, men like this are still described in feminized ways. For instance the term yôja kat’ae (literally “like a girl”), which holds neither positive nor negative connotations, is often used to describe them. A term which shows the speaker’s dislike for these men acting and looking “like girls” is kijibae kat’ae (which also means “like a girl” but is derogatory, even when directed at females). Another feminized term used to describe these men is kkotminam (literally “flower man”). The sensitive, cute kkotminam took on more cultural prestige, among younger Koreans, with kkotminam soccer star Ahn Jung-hwan’s success in the 2002 FIFA World Cup and his modeling career, specifically his “Kkôt-û tûn namja” television commercial (1999, 2002) for Somang Cosmetics (Kkôt-ûn tûn namja, 2002). Ahn’s image in print and television advertisements for skin care products and cosmetics captures the essence of the pretty, sensitive, gentle kkotminam (Hong, 2003) and “Kkôt-û tûn namja” is also, perhaps unintentionally, homoerotic (Flower man/kk’ot-un namja, 2002).
I would like to suggest that it is best to think of young males’ feminized traits and behaviours as part of re-envisioned popular culture masculinity, as well as a youth culture masculinity generally, which is multidimensional. To emphasize the multidimensionality and flexibility of gendered sign systems in South Korea rather than the polarities of gender—something done especially well by Abelmann (2003)—I have chosen to refer to the phenomenon of males displaying feminized traits as an alternative masculinity, rather than as males acting feminine. Taiji’s masculinity in these three songs, through exhibiting much gentleness, cuteness and soft emotions, helped to negotiate a masculinity that seems strikingly at odds with hegemonic masculine practices. I also argue that this alternative masculinity, formed partly by Taiji in “Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” contests hegemonic masculinity. Before moving on to investigate this through a consideration of issues of power as well as the pleasurable aspects of Taiji’s masculinity in these songs, “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”‘s childlike aspects and focus on childhood should be considered in terms of masculinity.
“Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”
The lyrics of “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” focus on a theme of longing to return to childhood and is emphasized by the children’s chorus at the beginning and ending of the song. In addition, Taiji’s soft vocals, especially his clear and light timbre and lack of vibrato, sound childlike and play a major role in forming the character of the song. The focus on childhood and childlikeness contrasts South Korean hegemonic masculine practices by confusing normative male sexuality and gender practices.
Taiji’s soft, childlike voice in “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” combined with the lyrics and children’s chorus contrasts with normative heterosexuality on which Korean hegemonic masculinity depends. Dominant masculinist discourses circulating in recent years still view normative, often virulent, male heterosexuality as a necessary component of “healthy” Korean male subjectivity (chuch’esông), playing a central role upholding the national institutions of the normative family and the military (Jager, 2002; Cheng, 2000). In “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”, the lyrics combined with Taiji’s vocals as well as his lack of body movement in live performances of the song, seem stripped of any sexuality. Howard has pointed out that male ballad (palladû) singers of the 1980s and early 1990s, most notably Cho Yong Pil (Cho Yong-p’il), also lacked noticeable sexuality and describes Cho’s appearance, movements while performing and lyrics as devoid of any sexually provocative qualities (Howard, 2002:81-84). However “ . . . Cho Yong Pil’s conservative “safe” romanticism . . .” (Howard, 2002:84), and that of most male ballad singers since, still stands firmly within normative male heterosexuality, something that has ensured their popularity while escaping criticism from the moralizing, conservative sectors of society such as censor boards. Despite sharing qualities with Cho Yong Pil in “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”, innocence, a lack of sexuality and so on, Taiji differs from Cho by pushing the boundaries of male sexuality, instead of helping to cement its normative form. “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” is perhaps the best example of a performance of Taiji’s asexual image, an image that noticeably contrasts with representations of male sexuality found elsewhere in Korean popular music even today. Taiji’s lyrics in this song sung in his gentle voice, express frustration with adult society and a longing to return to childhood, a place that for the most part lacks adult complexities including sexuality. In short, Taiji’s character in this song seems to express a desire to reject a normative Korean adult male life, along with its required normative heterosexuality. As Yun-hûi suggested near the beginning of this chapter, Taiji seems so much “not like a man” in this song that he seems to fall outside the gender patterns of adult society altogether. Rather than transcending all things childlike and presenting like a ‘man’ with required heteronormative sexuality, Taiji seems to relish childlikeness, which in South Korea remains highly feminized.
This song’s fixation on childhood confuses conventional notions of gender in South Korea. Children, the spaces young children fill and domesticity generally, are almost completely absent from Korean hegemonic masculine practices and are designated as feminine (Moon, 2002). Conventional notions of gender require men to transcend childhood and domesticity to become fully ‘masculine’, which often occurs forcibly with military conscription (Cheng, 2000; Moon, 2002). When for example, men fail to keep up masculinized practices, lose their job and are forced to care for their children, Korean public discourses paint them as fallen men who must have their subjectivity and masculinity restored by regaining employment outside domestic spaces (Kim and Finch, 2002). This failure—defeated, humiliated and feminized men—is considered so serious that discourses linking its cure to the salvation of the nation itself have figured prominently in films, newspapers, novels, community meetings and so on (Song, forthcoming). This occurred most noticeably, but not exclusively, during the financial (IMF) crisis of 1997-2001 (Song, forthcoming; Kim and Finch, 2004).[5] Conversely in, “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” Taiji’s character does not seem humiliated or defeated. Although this song is rarely presented as a critique of Korean society, as are others such as “Classroom Idea” or “Shidaeyugam”, I believe it can be and certainly it is seen as such by some fans (for example Kang-t’ae).[6] Its expression of a desire to turn away from an adult, masculinist world stands in opposition to South Korean conventions of gender and specifically masculine public practices.
Power and pleasure in Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro”
Let us now consider how issues of power as well as the pleasurable aspects of the three songs affect how we understand them in terms of masculinity. Connell emphasizes that hegemonic masculinity is the configured gendered practice that holds the most power and in so doing stands to uphold the gender hierarchy reliant on patriarchy (1995:77). Masculinities that lack power can do little to uphold the gender hierarchy, while those that differ significantly from hegemonic masculinity have the potential to contest it. Taiji’s soft singing voice and particularly his soft rapping style evident in these songs falls within the latter type of masculinity because their parameters express characteristics—emotions, extreme gentleness and cuteness—which, for the most part, lack power or are used by a type of person who lacks power in the gender hierarchy. Taiji’s soft vocals are associated with womanly or child-like characteristics, signifying weakness, and as such stand in contrast to the power intrinsic to hegemonic masculinity. One may argue that the softness and weakness coded by Taiji’s soft voice should not be read as such because this style of singing is popular and thus the singers who use it, such as Taiji, Toy or Jo Sung Mo, have had power in the form of wealth and stardom. This is true, but I believe the character of the soft voice does not change simply because Taiji is famous and well off. The character we hear and imagine through Taiji’s voice, one soft male voice among many in Korean popular music since the early 1990s, leads me to understand his voice as part of a gendered discourse opposing hegemonic masculinity, regardless of the considerable benefit to the singer. It may be that Taiji’s soft voice in rapping, which is rare among other performers, opposes normative masculine practices more than other singer’s voices in this discourse.
An alternative masculinity presented in popular culture is not always one that is a viable or desirable alternative. In the case of these three songs, Taiji’s voice and the character in these songs do provide such an alternative because they are pleasurable. Kim Kyung Hyun (2004) thoroughly explains how in South Korean movies released in the same years of these songs, as well as the fifteen years or so preceding, were filled with male characters who presented alternatives to hegemonic masculinity, often in similar ways to that of Taiji’s character in these songs. But unlike Taiji, these characters were meant to be pitied not desired nor admired as they were “ . . . stripped of talent, glamour, and charisma, which are traits that a male hero usually possesses in Western narrative cinema, either in Hollywood or in European art film” (Kim, 2004:37) and possessed by the majority of popular music stars as well. Kim writes “[f]rom the early 1980s, a period of intense economic growth, late stage urbanization, and political terror, to the late 1990s, one of economic recession, deindustrialization, and postdictatorship, the male position shifts from a passive agent (Tôk-pae [in A Fine, Windy Day]) to an active one (Mak-tong [in Green Fish]), but each man’s lack is still specular for the purpose of insisting on the need for fraternal, communal, and masculine values/ethics to which the society must conform” (2004: 34).[7] In“Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” the male character we hear and imagine through Taiji’s vocals certainly displays emasculated characteristics like so many male characters in films of the same era, but what is different is that Taiji’s character is not displayed to insist that a ‘better’, more hegemonic perhaps, masculine character is needed to replace it.[8] But rather that Taiji, and the character he is genuinely displaying in these songs, is the hero, the star displaying talent, glamour and charisma ensuring his massive popularity at the time of these songs. In short Taiji’s vocals, and the songs generally are pleasurable, indeed highly pleasurable for the screaming and singing female, as well as male, fans threatening to drown out Taiji’s voice in the 1996 live concert video performance of “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro.” His character displayed in the songs combined with his star status and image is/was pleasurable enough to entice young Koreans, both male and female.
Except for its Golden Age in the 1960s, it was not until the very end of the 1990s, with films such as Shiri (1999), that Korean cinema was able to produce Korean heroes, male characters who were objects of desire and emulation (Kim 2005:9-11). The lack of desirable male Korean characters in film has recently been portrayed in the popular movie Once Upon a Time in High School: Spirit of Jeet Kune Do (Malchukkôri chanhoksa) (2004). Set in the late 1970s, the shy, gentle high school senior Hyôn-su chooses to emulate Bruce Lee, the only appealing East Asian male character available to him, to fight against the stifling, abusive and static hyper-masculine society, represented by his tae kwon do teaching father and his military-like high school, which he feels is ruining him. Conversely, in“Nôwa hamkke han shigansok-esô”, “Nôege” and “Aidûl-ûi nun-ûro” as well as in much of his early music, Taiji is able to present a desirable and pleasurable masculinity and as such an attractive alternative to hegemonic masculinity. In this way, South Korean popular music has been quicker to adopt alternative masculinities than has been South Korean film. The alternative masculinity of Taiji’s soft vocals, as well as other musical features and his appearance added to the possibilities of representing Korean masculinity in the early to mid 1990s. His vocals worked to negotiate a soft but pleasurable, rather than pitied, viable alternative masculinity.
Conclusion
It is essential that Taiji’s vocals, and the characters depicted by them, are included in the study of Korean masculinities because of power with which popular songs, as well as films or television dramas, enable us to envision other ways of being. Placed in the context of the late 1980s to mid 1990s, a period remembered for bringing in a democracy, optimism and the blossoming of social movements including youth culture (shinsedae), feminist and sexuality politics (sôngjôngch’i) movements, the difference in Taiji and his songs had the potential to stoke younger Koreans’ social imaginations to a significant degree.[10] Abelmann writes “[w]hile many have stressed the ways in which the social imagination is stimulated by our ever more connected, mediated, and even wired social world, it is also clear that social transformations—even a quiet traditional variety—tirelessly offer other worlds” (Abelmann, 2003: 16). During the lively social and cultural transformations of the early to mid 1990s Taiji’s music provided young Koreans with profoundly new and exciting ways to imagine themselves (Lee K-h., 2002, Young, 1999). Taiji’s soft vocals, especially prominent in the three songs of this chapter but evident in many of his other songs as well, presented to young Koreans a different and appealing way to be a young Korean man. Although, as the vignette introducing this chapter attests, alternative masculine behaviours of young Korean males, for example speaking with pronounced ‘feminine’ sounding inflections, can be received as unacceptable in the ‘real’ world.[11] Perhaps Taiji’s alternative masculinities are more easily performed in the ‘real’ world by female fans. It is likely Taiji’s alternative masculinity has been practiced more by young Korean males in safe performative spaces such as in a noraebang (karaoke room) and imagined rather than practiced in communication with elders, superiors, girlfriends, male peers etc. However, I agree with Abelmann that “[a]gainst a distinction between the imaginary and the real that “has dominated Western thought” (Crapanzano, 1980:7), we must take the imaginary for real” (Abelmann, 2003:17). In the early 1990s, a period of distinct social and cultural transformation and experimentation, it may have been the realness of Taiji’s alternative masculine practices in his songs and the realness of the imaginings these evoked, that simultaneously drew many involved in the sexuality politics movement to admire and follow Taiji while causing confrontation with conservative sectors of adult society at his androgynous image.[12]
[1] For a discussion of South Korean male drinking rituals and male bonding, including mention of emotions, see Cheng, 2000: 61-63.
[2] For insightful analysis of the reappearances of feminine virtues such as gentleness, submissiveness and patience of the Korean pre-modern era, a past often simplified and imagined as ‘the Confucian past’, in contemporary South Korean gendered discourses see Jager (1996), Choi (1998), Song (forthcoming), among others.
[3] Traditionally, females have used the word oppa to address their older brothers. In current usage however, females also use it to refer to their older (but not too much older) male friends, boyfriends and even their husbands.
[4] In a related matter, see Choi (2005) for evidence of Korean teenage boys and girls’ belief in the importance of young men’s stylish and attractive appearance in achieving their job prospects.
[5] One of the most popular Korean films during the IMF crisis, Happy End, depicts this theme precisely. It tells the story of an emasculated husband who after losing his job during the crisis is forced to become a house-husband while his wife is able to keep working outside the home. The wife, fitting into the role of a ‘bad husband’, having an affair and mistreating her child and so on, ends up being murdered by the husband who in so doing regains his masculinity. Discussion of this film can be found in Kim K-h. (2004: 233-240, 246-258) and in Song (forthcoming: 2-3). See Paquet (2000) for a review in English.
[6] Examples or articles focusing on Taiji’s obviously socially critical songs are Morelli (2001), Jung (forthcoming) and Baek (1996).
[7] In the same time in mainland China, remarkably similar discourses of insufficient masculinities brought about by political oppression, and the necessity of reconstructing them circulated prominently in novels, television dramas, and popular music. See Lu (2000: 29-31) and Baranovitch (2003: 114-127).
[8] This is also very different from masculinities enacted by popular musicians as part of mainland Chinese remasculinization discourses of the same period. Mainland Chinese popular musicians, most notably but not exclusively rock musicians, expressed in songs their attempt to regain a hyper-masculinity, symbolized by heroes of ancient northwestern China (Lu, 2000: 30; Baranovitch, 2003: 115-132)
[10] For discussion of the sexuality politics movement see Seo (2001), Song (2003:xii-xviii). For discussion of the youth culture movement, specifically as acted out day-today in Apgu-jung dong, Seoul in the early 1990s, with some mention of the social imagination, see Lee K-h. (2000:478-479; 2002:46-59).
[11] Along this line, Connell when discussing hegemonic masculinity writes, “Clearcut alternatives [to hegemonic masculinity], however, are often culturally discredited or despised. Men who practice them are likely to be abused as wimps, cowards, fags etc” Connell, 2000:217.
[12] For reception of Taiji by members of the sexuality politics movement, see Yu (2004). On reception of Taiji’s unisexual image by adult society, Chung writes, “While he [Taiji] received full support from the new generation, response from the older generation was negative, and some exhibited extreme disgust. There were many reasons for this. First of all, there is his noise-like music and hard-to-hear lyrics. His style and appearance was another problem. His ambiguous appearance in terms of sex delivered a unisex fashion mode to the teens” (2003:105)