2020 Koreana Summer(English)

SUMMER 2020

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS

SPECIAL FEATURE

Popular Music

Tracks from War-Torn Years; Eighth U.S. Army Shows and Korean Pop Music; Trot, Ballads and Dance Music; From Rock Legend Shin Joong-hyun to Indie Bands; Rolling Waves in the New Media Age

VOL. 34 NO. 2

ISSN 1016-0744

IMAGE OF KOREA

Bean Sprouts, Unraveled

O

nly a few desks and chairs are left in the large classroom. After all, the children must sit far apart. This is what classrooms look like as COVID-19 rampages and social distancing makes separation the new normal.

Thirty-odd years ago, Korean schools appeared entirely different. Swollen enrollments forced shoulder-to-shoulder seating in so-called “bean sprout classrooms.” The way we sat so close together conjured up the way bean sprouts are grown – tightly jammed in a jar. In the warmth of those overstuffed rooms, we found comfort in being together.

Soybean sprouts, or kongnamul, are a favorite vegetable in Korea. Over the ages, soybeans have been grown in large quantities in Northeast Asia. At home, the beans are first soaked in water and then placed in a large pottery jar with holes in the bottom. The jar is kept in a shady spot and watered several times a day. Within a week, long sprouts with yellow heads and white stems fill the jar.

When the beans begin to sprout, they produce a pleasant aroma. Although their protein level drops slightly, the sprouts grow rich in fiber and amino acids, as well as vitamin C, which is completely lacking in the beans themselves. One hundred grams of soybean sprouts is packed with three times as much vitamin C as the same amount of apple. And the fine, hairy ends of the sprouts contain asparagine, which relieves hangovers, so the sprouts are used in soups commonly eaten after overdrinking.

Easily available and inexpensive, soybean sprouts are eaten in various ways: blanched and seasoned to make a side dish, cooked in soup, or steamed with rice. I grew up in the countryside at a time when rural families were self-sufficient. For me, the sound of water running through the bean sprout jar sitting in a dark corner of my room was like the footsteps of time carrying away my childhood. Every day after school, I would lift the hemp cloth off the jar and recycle the water that had gathered in a basin underneath, using a split gourd, just as my grandmother did. The water drained instantly. How can the sprouts grow if the water drains so fast? And yet they shoot up so quickly.

“Spiritual practice is about habit. Your words and behaviors repeated over time become a part of you and cannot be hidden. It is like gathering light to ignite a lamp for the path to awakening. The same is true of life. Although water wets them only briefly, soybean sprouts grow if watered repeatedly. Likewise, your everyday words and behaviors become habits, which will ultimately change your destiny.” These are the words of Abbot Dongeun at Cheoneun Temple.

Kim Hwa-young Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts

© Ahn Hong-beom

Editor’s Letter

PUBLISHER

Lee Geun

Recalling War in the Midst of a Pandemic

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

Kim Seong-in

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Lee Kyong-hee

EDITORIAL BOARD

Han Kyung-koo

Benjamin Joinau

Jung Duk-hyun

Kim Hwa-young

Kim Youngna

Koh Mi-seok

Charles La Shure

Song Hye-jin

Song Young-man

Making a quarterly magazine, one lives a couple of seasons ahead – at the very least. In February, when preparation for this Summer 2020 issue kicked off, much of the world seemed unaware of the looming catastrophe. Here in South Korea, the alarm was ringing, with infections surging around a church in a major city. Meetings, interviews and field trips, all essential activities for magazine production, became difficult.

In just four months since then, the world has become a whole different place. Social distancing, facial masks and vigorous hand washing have become the new normal, while many people are now familiar with such medical terms as pathogen, antibody, ventilator and personal protective equipment.

In the meantime, the novel coronavirus has infected a total of 7,442,050 people around the world, leading to 418,563 deaths in 216 countries, according to Johns Hopkins University statistics as of June 12.

With our essential activities faced with unprecedented restrictions, we at Koreana had to revise our editorial plan. Subjects of stories were changed and interviewees were replaced in order to circumvent difficulties as well as reflect the pandemic situation. But every crisis has a silver lining. In the process, we were able to more deeply ponder the current global adversity, how it all began and how further outbreaks can be prevented (see Interview on page 38).

The Special Feature, “Before K-Pop: Popular Music since the Korean War,” looks back at how Korean popular music has evolved since the mid-20th century to reach where it is today. It commemorates the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the Korean War on June 25, 1950. Through QR links, readers are invited to share in the experience of songs that provided the Korean people with courage and consolation during and after the tragic conflict. In conjunction with this special coverage, Tales of Two Koreas (on page 50) reviews how artists of North and South Korea remember the war.

Kim Eun-gi

COPY EDITOR

Jamie Lypka

ASSOCIATE EDITOR

Ji Geun-hwa

ASSISTANT EDITORS

Cho Yoon-jung

Ted Chan

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

Kim Shin

EDITOR

Ham So-yeon

ART DIRECTOR

Kim Ji-yeon

DESIGNER

Jang Ga-eun, Yeob Lan-kyeong

LAYOUT & DESIGN

Kim’s Communication Associates

44 Yanghwa-ro 7-gil, Mapo-gu

Seoul 04035, Korea

www.gegd.co.kr

Tel: 82-2-335-4741

Fax: 82-2-335-4743

TRANSLATORS

Chung Myung-je

Hwang Sun-ae

Min Eun-young

Park Hyun-ah

Suh Jung-ah

Maya West

SUBSCRIPTION/CIRCULATION

Lee Kyong-hee Editor-in-Chief

Price per issue in Korea 6,000 won Elsewhere US$9 Please refer to page 104 of Koreana for specific subscription rates.

PRINTED IN SUMMER 2020

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS Summer 2020

Samsung Moonwha Printing Co. 10 Achasan-ro 11-gil, Seongdong-gu, Seoul 04796, Korea Tel: 82-2-468-0361/5

© The Korea Foundation 2020 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be Published quarterly by THE KOREA FOUNDATION 55 Sinjung-ro, Seogwipo-si, Jeju-do 63565, Korea https://www.koreana.or.kr

reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the Korea Foundation.

The opinions expressed by the authors do not necessarily represent those of the editors of Koreana or the Korea Foundation.

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Koreana , registered as a quarterly magazine with the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism (Registration No. Ba-1033, August 8, 1987), is also published in Arabic, Chinese, French, German, Indonesian, Japanese, Russian, and Spanish.

SPECIAL FEATURE

Before K-Pop: Popular Music since the Korean War

04

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

Tracks from War-Torn Years Lee Jun-hue

10

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

Eighth U.S. Army Shows and Korean Pop Music Lee Kee-woong

16

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

Trot, Ballads and Dance Music Zhang Eu-jeong

22

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

From Rock Legend Shin Joong-hyun to Indie Bands SeoJeong Min-gap

28

SPECIAL FEATURE 5

Rolling Waves in the New Media Age Kim Zak-ka

The Kim Sisters in the 1950s; story on page 14 © Courtesy of Zhang Eu-jeong

32

FOCUS

Bong Joon-ho: Concept of Space Song Hyeong-guk

56

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

Mixing and Motion: An Architect’s Adventure

76 ENTERTAINMENT Disaster Movies Rebuke Authorities Jung Duk-hyun

Cho Yoon-jung

38

INTERVIEW

Two Ingenious Vaccines Against Pandemics Kang Yang-gu

62

ON THE ROAD

Disrupted Connection, Enduring Memories

80

ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

Buckwheat Noodles: A Cool Summer Treat Jeong Jae-hoon

Lee Chang-guy

42

GUARDIANS OF HERITAGE

A Daily Routine as Precious as Ever Kang Shin-jae

70

AN ORDINARY DAY

A Barrage of Voices

84 LIFESTYLE While You Are Sleeping Kim Yong-sub

Hwang Kyung-shin

46

ART REVIEW

Connecting with the Invisible Park Young-taek

74

BOOKS & MORE

‘Marilyn and Me’ The Unlikely Encounter of Two Women

50

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

Same War, Different Memories Kim Youngna

‘A Bird in Flight Leaves No Trace: The Zen Teachings of Huangbo with a Modern Commentary’ A Timeless Guidebook on Meditation

‘COOKAT’

Channel for Culinary Adventurers Charles La Shure

88

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

Light and Shadows of Hope Choi Jae-bong

Festival of Ashes Park Chan-soon

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

Before K-Pop: Popular Music since the Korean War

Tracks from War-Torn Years The Korean War (1950-53) claimed over three million lives and reduced the Korean peninsula to rubble and ashes. For Koreans, the war was a cruel ordeal of internecine hostility. Popular songs reflected their shattered lives and the ultimate sacrifices that were made.

Lee Jun-hue Adjunct Professor, Sungkonghoe University

4 KOREANA Summer 2020

After UN forces stopped advancing Chinese forces at the Battle of Uijeongbu, north of Seoul, on January 1-4, 1951, residents flee southward on foot, leaving behind everything except what they can manage to carry. Š gettyimages; Photo by Joe Scherschel

M

odern popular music in Korea began to emerge in the 1910s, when components of Western music accompanied the start of Japan’s decades-long occupation. The traditional segregation of music according to socioeconomic class and region receded. Universality in melodies and lyrics moved to the forefront, mirroring the sentiments and tastes of the majority of the people.

In the 1930s, healthy growth of album sales and radio broadcasts placed these new types of songs onto the center stage of popular culture.

By then, the Japanese had set up joint ventures

with U.S.-based Columbia Records and Victor Records, who had entered Korea a few years before the occupation began. The Japanese attempted to use songs to facilitate their colonial control over Korea, and after World War II erupted, they also sought songs to lift the morale of troops.

Independence

After liberation in 1945, the popular music industry was unable to exercise its independence. The equipment used for live performances remained when the Japanese occupiers left, so concerts could be arranged easily by Koreans who were versed in logistics. But producing records was another matter. Koreans lacked the know-how behind the record production that had long been done only in Japan.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 5

Various difficulties hampered record producers, but in August 1947, exactly two years after liberation, the first record made solely with Korean capital and technology finally appeared. It was produced under the country’s first record label, Korea Records. The song was “The National Anthem.”

The second half of the 1940s was extremely chaotic. The division of Korea into the communist North and the democratic South, backed by the Soviet Union and the United States, respectively, made the peninsula a hotbed of civil strife and a Cold War flashpoint. Popular songs released during those years typically described the public’s responses to territorial division.

“Begone, 38th Parallel,” released in 1948 by Korea Records, was the first popular music record. It best expressed the uncertainty and fears that people felt, wishing for the day when the Cold War barrier, running along the 38th parallel separating the two Koreas, would disappear. (A link to the song can be found on page 8.) It inspired several other songs lamenting the reality of a divided nation.

Another notable development in the record industry at the time was the establishment of labels outside of Seoul. Corona Records was launched in Busan in 1948, and Orient Gramophone entered the industry from Daegu in 1949. These big regional cities suffered far less damage during the Korean War, and thanks to the record companies based in these relatively safer rear areas, the production of new songs never stopped during the conflict.

Fear of fratricidal hostility intermingled with the longing for reunification. The trepidation intensified in 1948, when separate governments were established in Seoul and Pyongyang. Border clashes erupted and pro-communist partisans mounted

1 3 nal atio ©N

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insurgencies in the South. One battle in 1949 that claimed the lives of 10 South Korean soldiers inspired a large-scale musical entitled “Ten Courageous Human Bullets.” Produced with state support, the show toured the whole country, performing in major cities. Later, during the war when the military became the major stage for entertainers, the Korean Artists’ Unit was formed in 1951 to perform shows for troops.

Internecine Conflict

The Korean War began in the early morning of Sunday, June 25, 1950. North Korean forces poured across the 38th parallel, routing South Korean forces who were totally unprepared. Seoul fell in just three days and many residents were unable to flee ahead of the takeover. Among them was Park Si-chun, composer of “Begone, 38th Parallel” as well as the musical “Ten Courageous Human Bullets,” who had no choice but to go into hiding. It was uncertain what would happen if he were to be arrested by Northern troops. His friend and rival composer Kim Hae-song (a.k.a.

Kim He-szong) was captured and died while being taken to the North.

By September 1950, the North Korean advance was stopped near the southernmost port city of Busan, the wartime provisional capital, with its supply lines in tatters. UN forces and South Korean troops counterattacked, recapturing Seoul and pushing steadily into the North. This was the background for Park Si-chun’s new song “Sleep Well, Comrades in Arms.” A military anthem and popular song at the same time, it was such a success that even children sang along to it.

After the UN forces and South Korean troops captured Pyongyang and

1. “Shoeshine Boy,” a 1954 single play gramophone record from Star Records, is a comical song about young men who barely eke out a living by shining shoes.

Na ver Kno wledg e Encyclopedia

2. “Frontline Nocturne,” a single released by Orient Gramophone in 1952. The title song is about a frontline soldier in mortal danger longing for his mother.

©

3. “Begone, 38th Parallel” was the first popular music album produced solely with Korean capital and technology. Released by Korea Records in 1948, it bridged World War II and the Korean War.

e Le Ju

nhu e

6 KOREANA Summer 2020

The exact relationship between war and Korean popular music has yet to be succinctly explained, and in some ways must be seen as a history still in the making. © gettyimages; Photo courtesy of Interim Archives

approached the Yalu River on the border with China, anticipation of victory and reunification by the end of the year swelled. But China suddenly threw its army into the fight in October 1950, and the war reversed course once more. When Seoul was occupied again in January 1951, anyone who could flee the capital headed to southern regions for refuge. Entertainers were among them. Some crossed the sea to Jeju Island and joined the artists’ unit, while others found temporary homes in Daegu or Busan and continued to work there as musicians.

Naturally, most of the new songs were directly or indirectly related to the war, but their subjects and methods of expression varied widely. For example, “Frontline Nocturne,” describing the soldiers’ situation and mental state when they straddled life and death, was a huge hit (link on page 8).

Other favorites focused on family and non-combatants. “The Wife’s Song” expressed the heartrending feelings of a woman sending her husband to the front line. “Be Strong, Geum-soon” dramatically narrated the lives of those who had lost their families and homes in the war (link on page 9).

Not all of the songs were doleful croonings about the harsh realities of war. “Shoeshine Boy” comically described everyday life in rear areas as experienced by a young shoeshine boy. Songs like “Why the Watermill Turns,” a lyrical eulogy to pastoral life, helped ease the fatigue and desolation of war. Similarly, songs about faraway lands provided a welcome escape for a few moments. Among them was “Incense of India.”

An armistice agreement signed in July 1953 stopped the roar of guns but not the stream of songs

UN forces cross a bridge spanning the 38th parallel in 1950 after retreating from Pyongyang. In the wake of the 1953 Korean War armistice, many popular songs lamented national division, as symbolized by the border.

with war-related themes. The complex feelings of those leaving Busan and returning home to Seoul were given shape in “Farewell at Busan Station,” and the despair of refugees from the North who had nowhere to return was depicted in “Hometown in My Dreams.”

The tragedy of families torn apart by war, which never ended with the silence of guns, was embedded in “Miari, Hill of Wrenching Sadness” (link to the song on page 9; related story on page 62).

Still Ongoing

Throughout the 1950s, popular songs continued to recall the wounds of war. It was a period of horrific pain and loss. Everyone lost something, whether their life or part of their body, their family or hometown, or a house or money. Popular songs were a source of strength that helped them rise and move forward again with purpose.

The influence of the Korean War on popular music was felt beyond these wartime songs. During and after the war, tens of thousands of American soldiers were stationed in South Korea. The Korean musicians recruited for their entertainment absorbed American pop music, which later had a tremendous impact on the Korean pop music scene of the 1960s. The works of many musicians who had gone to the North, either willingly or as abductees, also had a delayed influence. Their music was banned in the South until the 1990s, when the Cold War system collapsed.

Even today, when memories of war are dimming, wartime songs are still listed among beloved oldies. The exact relationship between war and Korean popular music has yet to be succinctly explained, and in some ways must be seen as a history still in the making. After all, although the country has overcome devastating poverty, national division remains a somber reality that threatens peace.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 7

Begone, 38th Parallel

Frontline Nocturne

Lyricist Lee Bu-pung

Lyricist Yoo Ho

Composer Park Si-chun

Composer Park Si-chun

Singer Nam In-su

Singer Shin Se-yeong

Ah– does the mountain block your way to me?

Ah– does the water block your way to me?

It’s the same homeland we all crisscross, but Blocked to North and South, the endless bitter road In every dream– I search for you In every dream I search for you The 38th Parallel is to blame

Dry leaves flutter on this Frontline moonlit night– Soundlessly touching down Even the dew is cold No rest to be had, tossing and turning In my sleepless ear, the voice of my mother Who taught me How to be a man– Ah– How I long to hear that voice

Ah– when the flowers bloom, will you finally return?

Ah– when the snow falls, will you finally return?

The ridge we crossed, packs on our backs The mountain birds, crying, crossed with me Oh Freedom– for you Oh Freedom for you I give this life Ah– How much longer ‘til it all blasts open?

Ah– How much longer ‘til it all disappears?

Who first called it the 38th Parallel Making us weep so, across every ridge?

I put my hands together– and pray I put my hands together and pray Begone, 38th Parallel

https://youtu.be/jqkh26uaMAU

8 KOREANA Summer 2020

The distant ringing bells I make my lullaby– Dreaming, I run through my hometown Right up to our old house, where Over a bowl of water freshly drawn She prays for her son My mother, her hair So blinding white, I weep– Ah– How I longed to sweep her up in my arms

https://youtu.be/ZjjqCRGZXgI

Be Strong, Geum-soon

Miari, Hill of Wrenching Sadness

Lyricist Kang Sarang

Lyricist Ban Ya-wol

Composer Park Si-chun

Composer Lee Jae-ho

Singer Hyeon In

Singer Lee Hae-yeon

Snow whipping, storm rising On windy Hungnam pier– Throat open, I tried calling out I tried searching Oh Geum-soon, where did you go, Were you lost and wandering?

Weeping tears of blood, After the retreat I’ve come alone

Miari– hill of tears Crossed by my love, this hill of farewells Blinded by gunpowder, eyes shut, I staggered through the smoke, while You– hands tied up tight with barbed wire, Looked back, looked back again Your feet bare, limping, limping, As they dragged you over this hill Miari Hill, so full of sorrow

A body without kith or kin What are you doing?

This body of mine Is a peddler now at Gukje Market Oh Geum-soon, I miss you so I long for those dreams of home On Yeongdo Bridge, above the handrail The new moon floats, lonely–

(Narration) Darling, where are you now? What are you doing? Little Yeong-gu spent another evening asking for his father before finally falling asleep just now. On these endless midwinter nights when the northern winds and snow start to rage, how you must suffer in your prison cell.

Whether ten years pass, or a hundred, just come back to us alive, won’t you? Darling, oh darling–

Iron Curtain, harshest sorrows We must live with it all, but– Here, between heaven and earth It’s still you and me– That will never change Oh Geum-soon, be strong for me When the day finally comes Of North-South reunification We can hold hands and cry together We can embrace and dance together

Asking for his father, The young child falls asleep On these endless midwinter nights When the northern winds and snow start to rage, You– how you must suffer in your prison cell Whether ten years pass, or a hundred, Just come back to us alive Oh, this hill, this hill we crossed in tears Miari Hill, so full of sorrow

https://youtu.be/KQazL-qi2_Y

https://youtu.be/2Zz77mDiA-U

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 9

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

Before K-Pop: Popular Music since the Korean War

Eighth U.S. Army Shows and Korean Pop Music After the Korean War ended in a ceasefire, establishing the Military Demarcation Line separating the two Koreas, American troops remained in the South. The U.S. military presence gave rise to a burgeoning live entertainment industry catering to these servicemen living away from home. Korean musicians who stood out at the “Eighth Army shows” later became mainstream acts pioneering trends in Korean popular music.

Lee Kee-woong HK Research Professor, Institute for East Asian Studies, Sungkonghoe University

T

he global popularity of K-pop beyond Asia has provided some food for thought. What about K-pop has made it so immensely popular worldwide? What is the cultural potential of a country where music with such a far-reaching impact originated? How did this music evolve to become what it is today?

The most fundamental question, however, would probably be about its beginnings.

One common view is that K-pop originated from the Eighth U.S. Army shows that were staged in Korea in the 1950s. According to this perspective, contemporary popular music in Korea was strongly influenced by the American popular music that entered the country through these shows. This, in turn, gave birth to open auditions for discovering new talent, as well as to professional agencies for entertainment management.

Such claims, if not entirely unfounded, are probably an oversimplification. There is a 30-year time gap between the U.S. Army camp shows and K-pop as we know it, and the journey that Korean popular music took during those years bears as much significance as the changes that those shows brought to Korea’s pop music scene.

Presence of U.S. Troops

The 20th century was peppered with wars, all-out endeavors that mobilized massive troops and resources. Around the start of the century, governments began to provide military entertainment to boost the morale and patriotic spirit of their servicemen. The U.S. govern-

10 KOREANA Summer 2020

ment laid out plans to supply live entertainment to the soldiers on the front lines during World War I, and these plans came to fruition during World War II in the form of the United Service Organizations (USO), a non-profit entity. During and after the Korean War, big names in American entertainment, such as Marilyn Monroe, Louis Armstrong and Nat King Cole, to name a few, visited South Korea for USO tours.

In actuality, the Korean entertainment industry had already begun catering to the U.S. military stationed in the country. After the nation’s liberation from Japanese rule in 1945, a U.S. military government was temporarily set up in Korea; the 24th Army Corps administered the southern half of the peninsula, creating demand for live entertainment at its camps across the country. At that time, there were quite a number of local show troupes and entertainers in Seoul who had been active since the colonial era. Most were well versed in Western popular music such as the Latin, chanson and jazz genres which had been permeating Korean urban centers since the 1920s.

In the early days of the U.S. Army camp shows, the busiest act was Kim Hae-song (a.k.a.

Hollywood star Marilyn Monroe performs for American and UN troops stationed in South Korea.

During her four-day visit in February 1954, Monroe gave 10 performances at military camps across the country, including those in Seoul, Dongducheon, Daegu and Inje County.

Braving sub-zero weather, she went on stage in a tight, strappy dress and dazzled her audiences. © gettyimages

Kim He-szong) and his band KPK. Kim was widely known as the husband of singer Lee Nan-young and father of Sook-ja “Sue” Kim and Aija Kim, two of the three members of the Kim Sisters (see box on page 14). Kim started his career as a singer-cum-composer in 1935 and achieved fame as one of the best jazz musicians in Korea.

The camp club shows really took off when the Eighth U.S. Army headquarters was relocated from

Japan to Yongsan, Seoul, and the United States Forces Korea (USFK) was established in 1957. Army camps were set up around the country, including at Yongsan in Seoul, Pyeongtaek and Dongducheon in Gyeonggi Province, and Daegu in North Gyeongsang Province.

Clubs for U.S. servicemen sprouted up around these camps; in the mid-1950s, the number of these clubs in the vicinities of Seoul and the Demilitarized Zone alone reportedly totaled 264. The surging demand for live entertainment at these establishments could no longer be met with sporadic shows by Korean entertainers or celebrities

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 11

invited from the United States.

The first local entertainment agency, Hwayang, opened in 1957, and was followed by Universal and Gongyeong. These businesses employed a structured approach to managing and training talent, prepping for auditions and organizing live music events. In a war-ravaged country, the U.S. camp club shows were a jackpot that guaranteed huge profits. The USFK shelled out an average of US$1.5 million annually to local entertainers in the early 1960s. The entertainment agencies grew rapidly. A 1962 newspaper article reported how these companies set up by “vagabond showmen” had expanded to command some 1,000 entertainers belonging to 25 troupes and 60 bands.

American-Style Shows

Competition intensified as more and more entertainers sought opportunities in the U.S. camp show circuit. Open auditions were held every three to six months in front of American judges dispatched by the U.S. Department of Defense. Candidates were assigned grades that would determine their pay and the shows they could do. Those rated AA were guaranteed high incomes, while others in lower grades were shuttled from one camp to another in rural regions on the back of military trucks. D was a failing grade.

The auditions were introduced by the U.S. military to control the quality of the shows, but their requirements served as de facto rules for local entertainers. Only certain types of music, performances, sounds and manners were encouraged, and anything else was forbidden. Korean-style music and originality were rejected; conversely, the more closely American-style music was emulated, the bigger

the reward. “Good English pronunciation,” “ability to convey emotions naturally and attractively” and “good showmanship” delineated the criteria, and Korean performers had to internalize American entertainment, changing their techniques and practices accordingly.

Versatile Talents

In the early days, the shows mostly consisted of popular jazz songs and Korean songs arranged in jazz style. But after the audition system was introduced, the repertoires were entirely made up of American popular music with the exception of a few famous Asian songs, such as the Korean folk song “Arirang” and the Japanese pop song “China Night.” To pass the auditions, musicians had to learn and practice the latest American pop songs from jukeboxes at the military bases, AFKN (American Forces Korea Network, known today as AFN Korea) radio, and stock arrangements of American music or songs found in “The Song Folio.” Thus, the Korean entertainers gradually became “culturally American.”

The Eighth U.S. Army shows also became specialized to meet the demands at diverse clubs for different clients, such as those exclusively for officers, non-commissioned officers or enlisted men;

Although they weren’t able to perform their own music, the Korean entertainers took great pride in their job. The American-style popular music they played in the U.S. Army clubs was generally perceived as urbane and refined.

1. Kim Hae-song (1911-1950?) performs with his band KPK, which he formed in 1945 shortly after the nation’s liberation from Japanese rule. Kim and KPK were a regular act in the Eighth U.S. Army shows, mostly performing Korean folk songs arranged in jazz style.

2. The Korean Kittens perform for American servicemen in Bob Hope’s 1966 USO Christmas show held in Tan Son Nhat, Vietnam. Yoon Bok-hee (1946- ; center), the leader of the group formed in 1964, made her debut at a young age in the Eighth U.S. Army shows and went on to become a huge star.

12 KOREANA Summer 2020

1 © Park Seong-seo

white clubs and black clubs; and service clubs and general clubs. Service clubs were like large concert halls while general clubs were smaller venues where sales of alcoholic beverages were permitted. The preferred styles of music depended on the audience: clubs for officers where most of the patrons were white and over 30 largely played standard pop, semi-classical or jazz, while rock and roll, jazz, rhythm and blues, or country music were performed at clubs catering to non-commissioned officers and enlisted men.

Korean entertainers had to become skilled in all musical genres, for specializing in one particular genre meant fewer opportunities. That was the nature of the U.S. Army show circuit, which functioned as a kind of substitute for American culture, inspiring patriotism in the servicemen and soothing their homesickness. Consequently, local musicians were required to become human jukeboxes – anonymous faces conveying the sounds and sensibilities of a far-off homeland. To expand beyond imitation, they would need a different stage.

The heyday of the Eighth Army shows lasted from 1957 to 1965, when the United States significantly scaled down its military presence in South Korea due to the Vietnam War. During this period, American pop music trends shifted from swing

jazz and standard pop to rock and roll. The Eighth Army shows quickly caught on, producing numerous Elvis Presley and Beatles cover acts.

Compressed Growth

Although they weren’t able to perform their own music, the Korean entertainers took great pride in their job. Among them were more than a few college graduates, which was uncommon for popular musicians at that time. The high pay and “advanced” American culture appealed greatly to them, and the American-style popular music they played in the U.S. Army clubs was generally perceived as urbane and refined. On the other hand, homegrown teuroteu (trot) music, which was popular mostly among rural residents and the urban working class, was given the derogatory name ppongjjak. In the meantime, American-style popular music moved to the mainstream as private TV networks, established in the mid- to late 1960s, recruited entertainers from the Eighth Army shows in large numbers.

Further study is required to precisely gauge the impact of the transition to American-style pop music at that time on today’s K-pop.

Like the music of many other countries that have gone without a U.S. military presence, Korean popular music would likely be little different from what it is today without the influence of the U.S. Army club shows. Nonetheless, those shows should be credited for shortening the development process of Korea’s popular music. And it’s certainly interesting to note that “compressed modernization,” a symbolic catchword of Korea’s social and economic growth, can also be witnessed in the trajectory of the nation’s popular music scene.

3. A photograph of Kim Hui-gap (1936- ), a famous composer who produced numerous hits, from the late 1960s. Kim started his career in 1955, straight out of high school, as a guitarist in the Eighth U.S. Army shows.

3 © Kim Hyeong-chan © AP Photo by Horst Faas

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 13

The Kim Sisters Wow Las Vegas Zhang Eu-jeong Music Historian; Professor, College of General Education, Dankook University

S

cores of appearances on major TV shows, such as “The Ed Sullivan Show,” “The

Dinah Shore Show” and “The Dean Martin Show.” The first Asian girl group to perform in Las Vegas. These are some of the legendary feats of the Kim Sisters, a Korean female trio who were active on the U.S. entertainment scene – and all of this some 60 years before BTS would achieve breakthrough success in America. The group consisted of sisters Sue (Sook-ja) and Aija Kim and their cousin Mia Kim. Sue and Aija’s parents were acclaimed musicians – composer Kim Haesong and singer Lee Nan-young – while Mia’s father was Lee’s elder brother, composer

Lee Bong-ryong. The Kim Sisters began their career in 1953 performing in shows for the Eighth U.S. Army, providing entertainment to American servicemen stationed in South Korea. Not only were they talented vocalists and dancers, they played a variety of instruments. They were such a huge hit with the American troops that they were invited to perform in the United States in 1959.

In 2016, the centenary of the birth of Lee Nan-young, I had a chance to sit down for an interview with the group’s leader, Sue Kim, in Mokpo, Lee’s birthplace and the setting of her monumental song “Tears in Mokpo.”

The following is an edited transcript of that 1

interview. © Newsbank

14 KOREANA Summer 2020

How was the group formed?

Korea. Luckily, our first show was an instant

After my father was abducted to North

hit and our contract was extended. We were

Korea in 1950, during the war, my mother

even invited to perform on “The Ed Sullivan

started doing solo acts on the Eighth Army

Show.” In total, we made 22 appearances. I

stage to earn a living. But it became too

was in charge of selecting and arranging the

grueling to do on her own, so my big sister

songs as well as the costumes.

Yeong-ja and I joined her. I remember singing Spanish songs while tap dancing. Then,

Your mother must have been wor-

as Yeong-ja had a sudden growth spurt, my

ried, sending her young daughters to

younger sister Aija and cousin Mia took her

a faraway country. What advice did

place. That’s how we became the Kim Sisters.

she give you?

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© Newsbank

She said two things to us. First, “get

When did you start taking music les-

along”; second, “don’t date.” She wanted

sons and what did you learn?

us to get along well and look out for each

Our father gave us music lessons from a

other. She told us to avoid men because if

young age. I think it was when I was six; he

a guy entered the picture, the group could

would appear suddenly from nowhere and

break up. We’d never had boyfriends before

shout, “One, two, three!” and all seven of

in Korea, and we really had no desire to date

us siblings would immediately have to sing

men in America.

3 © The Dong-A Ilbo

in a round or in harmony. He didn’t spare the rod if we made a mistake. He loved us

Is there anything in particular that

very much and was very proud of us. But he

you remember about those days in

wasn’t an affectionate father and was strict

America?

with us.

For one, we were homesick for Korean

My mother was very different. To pre-

food. Work conditions weren’t that great

pare us for shows, she would first learn the

back then. After we did a performance, we

songs herself and was very thoughtful and

would rest briefly on a bed next to the stage

attentive as she taught them to us. When

and then perform again. One day, Aija broke

1. The Kim Sisters in 1970, when they gave a homecoming show at Seoul Citizens’ Hall. It was their first visit to Korea in 12 years. Their four-day show was a huge success. From left: Mia, Sue and Aija Kim. 2. The Kim Sisters and Lee Nan-young (19161965; center) when they appeared on “The Ed Sullivan Show” in 1963.

3. The leader of the Kim Sisters, Sue, plays the mandolin during an interview with the Dong-A Ilbo at her home in Henderson, Nevada, in 2018.

we were rehearsing, she used to have a bas-

down crying because she wanted to eat

ket covered with a white cloth that was filled

kimchi so badly. So we had some sent to us

with fruit like bananas, which were hard to

from Korea, which took ages to arrive. When

come by back in the day. She promised to

I went to collect the package, it wasn’t there.

shows again, which lasted for 10 years until

give us one only when we learned a new

Apparently, someone had thrown it away

1985. After Yeong-ja left the group, Aija and

song, which made us work harder.

because the juice had leaked all over. I re-

I formed the Kim Sisters & Kim Brothers

member grumbling to myself, “That means

with our younger brothers Yeong-il and

the kimchi was fermented just right.”

Tae-seong. When Aija passed away from

My mother signed a contract with an

What happened after the Kim Sisters?

Kim Brothers. Then I injured my back in an

American agent, named Tom Ball, in 1958.

Aija got married in March 1967, followed

accident in 1994. Starting a new chapter in

But instead of going straight to America, we

by Mia in April. I felt so alone. Then I met

my life, I decided to study for the real es-

went to Okinawa, Japan that winter to give

my husband, John, and got married the

tate license exam. I failed seven times and

a performance for American soldiers there.

following April. He was a big fan who had

passed on my eighth try. I’ve been working

When did you first go to the United States and what was the response?

cancer in 1987, we regrouped as Sue Kim &

We flew to Las Vegas in January 1959. It was

come to see our shows eight times. The Kim

in real estate for over 20 years now. I have

a four-week contract, but we gave it our

Sisters disbanded in 1973; in 1975, my big

two children, Anthony and Marisa, and five

all because we felt we couldn’t go back to

sister Yeong-ja joined and we started doing

grandchildren.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 15

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

Before K-Pop: Popular Music since the Korean War

Trot, Ballads and Dance Music Trot put down firm roots in the 1930s, drawing from the national sensibilities of the colonial period. Ballads mostly deal with love and loss. And dance music from idol groups forms the central axis of K-pop’s ascendance. Developed in different times and in different ways, these three genres of popular music continue to evolve, enjoying extensive popularity among Koreans.

Produced in the 1960s by LKL Records, this 12-inch vinyl record is a collection of Lee Nan-young’s hit songs. The album, a reproduction of 12 popular singles, includes the timeless title track “Tears in Mokpo.”

Zhang Eu-jeong Music Historian; Professor, College of General Education, Dankook University

A

song released in 1935 marked the beginning of a new era in the history of Korean popular music. It was “Tears in Mokpo” (Mokpo-ui nunmul) by the legendary singer Lee Nan-young (1916-1965). Decades later, this song is still sung and loved by many Koreans, residents of the southern port city of Mokpo included.

This typical teuroteu norae, or “trot song,” features a two-beat rhythm, minor keys and a pentatonic scale with the fourth and seventh degrees omitted. It was composed by Son Mok-in, based on lyrics by Moon Il-seok, winner of a hometown song contest hosted

by Okeh Records earlier that year. The public, regarding the song’s theme of lovelorn longing as a metaphor for sorrow over their colonized homeland, called it a “song of the nation.” Although the musical form was new, the song was eagerly accepted thanks to its lyrics.

16 KOREANA Summer 2020

Trot songs initially appeared in the early 20th century, when Korea was under Japanese rule. At first, they were generally criticized by those who considered the musical form explicitly Japanese in style, with some even calling it vulgar. However, the Japanese music which was supposed to have influenced trot was in fact of hybrid origin itself.

Early on, Japan had been proactive in adopting Western culture and music, and the encounter of Western and Japanese styles produced a new form of pop music called ryukoka, meaning “popular songs.” The version of this genre that was introduced to Korea was called yuhaengga, the Korean equivalent of the Japanese name, before it was

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3

1. The original soundtrack album of “Camellia Lady” (1964), produced by Midopa Records, features 12 songs by six singers. With the success of this album, Lee Mi-ja (1941- ), who sung the title song, was plucked from obscurity and made a star, nicknamed “The Queen of Elegy.” The album brought the second heyday of trot to a music scene that had been dominated by standard pop.

2. This 1972 album by Na Hoon-a (1947- ) was released after the trot singer, at the height of his stardom, signed an exclusive contract with Jigu Records.

The title track “Watermill is Turning” earned him the Munhwa Broadcasting Corporation (MBC)’s “10 Best Singers” awards for the fourth straight year.

3. This compilation album released in 1973 by Jigu Records contains 10 songs by five singers. Nam Jin (1946- ), who sung the title track, reigned over the trot scene of the 1970s along with Na Hoon-a, reinvigorating the depressed pop music market.

4. Containing tracks by Cho Yong-pil (1950- ) and the band Young Sound, this split album was released in 1976

by Seorabeol Records. Cho’s “Return to Busan Port” was the highlight of this album which racked up unprecedented sales of over one million copies. The song became widely popular among Korean residents in Japan.

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 17

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renamed as trot in the 1950s. Ryukoka was later renamed enka and exalted to the status of traditional music as Japan attempted to redefine its national identity.

Trot for a Gloomy Era

After Korea was liberated in 1945, trot’s musical characteristics began to change. The pentatonic scale was gradually attenuated and diverse tempos and rhythms were applied – to great success. While the lyrics of earlier songs tended to metaphorically express feelings of love, homesickness or the sorrows of a colonized people, today’s trot has evolved toward more straightforward and candid expressions of emotion.

Since its emergence in the 1930s, trot has settled into the mainstream of Korean pop music. The secret behind the music’s resilience is its adaptability to changing times. During the wartime years from the outbreak of the Korean War (1950) up to the armistice agreement (1953), trot songs were always there for the displaced, war-torn people, giving vent to their sufferings and consoling their hearts.

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A decade later, “Camellia Lady” (Dongbaek agassi) by Lee Mi-ja, a nationwide hit released in 1964, breathed new life into the genre. Musically, it represented typical trot, but the lyrics had a strong down-home feel. Even so, the military government at the time condemned the song as Japanese-style music, and banned it from the airwaves in 1965.

The ban would not be lifted until 1987. But in the meantime, trot’s popularity did not wane, instead being continually rekindled by prominent singers like Bae Ho, Nam Jin and Na Hoon-a.

Trot also transformed itself by incorporating other music genres. In the early 1970s, when younger generations embraced rock and folk, several famous singers were involved in a marijuana-related scandal. In response, the authoritarian government launched the so-called “popular music purification movement” to promote “healthy and

sound music.” The pop music scene was hit hard; rock in particular earned a bad name, branded as depraved and subversive, which made it hard to find an audience. Then came “rock trot,” combining the two genres, with “Return to Busan Port” (Dorawayo Busanhang-e)

by Cho Yong-pil becoming a resounding hit in 1976. Rock musicians looked for ways to survive by adopting elements of public-friendly trot in their music.

After hosting the 1986 Asian Games and the 1988 Seoul Olympics, Korean society grew more open to new trends and the pursuit of fun and enjoyment. Trot saw a resurgence in popularity as entertainment for adults, and the songs released around that time were specifically branded “adult songs.” But the audience for trot music would not remain limited to this demographic group. “Oh my Goodness!”

(Eomeona) by Jang Yoon-jeong, released in 2004, was universally loved and sung along to by people of all ages. Trot had once been maudlin music, sad and tear-jerking, but this song showed it could be a means of entertainment to cheer people up and make them laugh.

Romantic Ballads

The word “ballad” comes from the Latin ballare, which means “to dance.” In the Middle Ages, it referred to “a song to accompany dancing,” but the element of dance disappeared over time and ballads came to be known as songs that tell a story. In Korea, on the other hand, the ballad genre covers a wide range of mellow, slow-tempo love songs. Naturally, the lyrics are mostly about romance and the melodies are sweet and sentimental.

The origin of Korean ballads can be found in the “jazz songs” of the 1930s, a domestic genre rooted in Western pop, or in the American-style “standard pop” numbers that would come to be in vogue in the 1960s. However, it was much later that ballad songs took root as a separate genre. The collaborations of composer Lee Young-hoon and singer Lee Moon-sae turned the 1980s into the golden days of the ballad. Byun Jin-sup, who became a star following the release of his first album “To Be Alone” (1988), was also among the earliest

1. The first (and last) album by Yoo Jae-ha (1962-1987), which was released shortly before his sudden death in a traffic accident. This album contains nine tracks that marked an evolution in ballad music with their progressive sound. It had a substantial influence on later musicians.

2. The first full album by Byun Jin-sup (1966- ), released in 1988, sold over 1.8 million copies, earning him the Best Rookie Award that year and the Grand Prize at the Golden Disk Awards the following year. Byun enjoyed great popularity from the late 1980s to the early 1990s as the “Prince of Ballads,” succeeding Lee Moonsae.

3. Lee Moon-sae (1959- ), who is arguably the doyen of the Korean ballad genre, released his fourth album in 1987. Beginning with his third album, he collaborated with composer Lee Young-hoon (1960-2008), and this famed duo produced an impressive stream of hits.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 19

ballad singers. And Yoo Jae-ha, who made just one album before his sudden death in a traffic accident in 1987, was praised for taking ballads to another level by melding elements of classical and jazz music.

For almost 40 years, the songs of these artists have been in the hearts and minds of Koreans.

A ballad is largely composed of verse and chorus, beginning slowly and building to an emotional climax before coming down again. Singing styles and emotional expressions have changed with the times. For instance, ballad lyrics are more colloquial today than in the earlier songs of the 1980s. Roughly speaking, two vocal styles tend to be employed: clear and sweet or growling and raspy. A typical Korean ballad singer uses the former, while rock ballad singers often use the latter. Since the 1980s, crossover attempts with rock, R&B and soul have expanded the boundaries of the genre.

Dance Music and K-Pop

The Korean predilection for singing, dancing and drinking has a history dating back thousands of years, as the literature shows. Today’s dance music, however, originated under the influence of Western culture and entered the mainstream only in the 1980s. After the disco craze of the late 1970s, dance-pop with a strong beat and simple composition, such as the songs by Michael Jackson and Madonna, was widely popular, leading to the emergence of music that was similar, yet Korean in style.

Dance music really hit it big in the 1980s when most households came to own color TV sets, making “music for viewing” as important as “music for listening.” The frontrunners of Korean dance music include Kim Wan-sun, Park Nam-jung and the dance trio Sobangcha (Fire Truck). In the 1990s, the influence of hip hop and rock brought new changes in style led by groups like Seo Taiji & Boys. And in the 2000s, the genre went through another significant shift. Big talent agencies embarked on the systematic training of young wouldbe stars to form what have become known as “idol groups,” mass producing dance music for them and paving the way for the Korean Wave. The international success of Psy’s “Gangnam Style” and his

1. Released in 1992, the first album by Seo Taiji & Boys (active 1991-1996) combined dance, metal and rap. It was such a sensation that some divide Korean pop music into the periods before and after Seo Taiji.

2, 3. Psy (1977- ) performs his signature horse dance as he leaves the stage after a press conference at a Gangnam hotel in 2012. The title track of his sixth full album, “Gangnam Style” stayed at second place on the Billboard Hot 100 for seven consecutive weeks.

4, 5. The second full album by EXO, a nine-member boy band (top); and the first mini album by Blackpink, a four-member girl group. The 2000s saw the advent of idol groups with their dance music dominating the music scene, mostly a result of systematic training by big talent agencies.

20 KOREANA Summer 2020

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While trot is now enjoyed by people of all ages, ballads too have maintained their broad appeal with slow, sentimental love songs. And dance music, which drives the K-pop revolution, is demonstrating the potential of Korean popular music to the world.

“horse dance,” which went viral in 2012, opened a new page in K-pop history.

Currently, third-generation idol groups, including BTS, Twice, Blackpink and EXO, are popular around the world. Although the proportion of K-pop revenue derived from concerts has diminished over the last few years, the share produced by digital music contents has risen. Idol groups perform songs in a variety of styles, but it’s hard to discuss their choreographed stage shows outside the boundaries of the larger category of dance music.

In fact, there is no clear division between pop music genres, and no artist sticks to just one. After all, a healthy pop music ecosystem is created when various types of music coexist and exchange influences. In this context, Korean popular music has undergone a wholesome evolution, with trot, ballads and dance music waging a three-way race.

While trot is now enjoyed by people of all ages, ballads too have maintained their broad appeal with slow, sentimental love songs. And dance music, which drives the K-pop revolution, is demonstrating the potential of Korean popular music to the world.

4 2 © Newsbank

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 21

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

Before K-Pop: Popular Music since the Korean War

Š Kwon Hyouk-jae

1

From Rock Legend Shin Joong-hyun to Indie Bands

Despite an initial hard landing, subsequent political oppression and other fluctuations, rock has steadily grown to take root in Korea. Generations of new bands equipped with talent and individuality have created masterpieces representing the spirit of their era.

SeoJeong Min-gap Pop Music Commentator

22 KOREANA Summer 2020

I

n 1964, the Beatles appeared on popular American variety program “The Ed Sullivan Show,” marking a defining moment in the British Invasion. Around the same time in Korea, the ambitious first steps of a young rock group were frustrated by the cold response of the public. Shin Joong-hyun had formed a band named the Add4 and released Korea’s first rock album, but the outcome was devastating.

It was a shaky moment in the career of the already well-known musician, who had taught himself to play guitar as a boy and made his debut in 1955 in a club show on the Eighth U.S. Army base.

It wasn’t until much later that several tracks on this album, such as “Woman in the Rain” and “A Cup of Coffee,” would gain recognition as epochal songs that had opened up a new era in Korean popular music.

Koreanized Rock

Back then, rock was played only at live clubs on U.S. Army bases or in music halls in Seoul that catered to a small number of diehard fans. The broadcasting and recording industries didn’t understand rock and lacked the techniques to properly deliver its sounds. Frustrated, Shin made up his mind to leave for Vietnam, accompanying American troops who recognized and enjoyed his music.

If he had not decided to produce an album for the Pearl Sisters, a female duo, before departing, and if the album had not been such a success, he might indeed have left the country and the title of “godfa-

ther of Korean rock” would have gone to someone else.

In 1967, an unprecedented “vocal group contest” was held at Dongdaemun [East Gate] skating rink, sponsored by “Pops Koreana,” the country’s first pop music magazine. And in 1969, the Playboy Cup National Vocal Group Competition was hosted by Playboy Productions at Seoul Citizens’ Hall (today’s Sejong Center for the Performing Arts). The event, which would be repeated annually until 1971, was an immense success that attracted 17 bands and 40,000 spectators. A variety of contests held in this period provided a foothold for musicians who had honed their skills at the U.S. Army clubs, helping them to reach a wider audience. In the process, rock bands built up the strength they needed for survival.

Shin created a new band named Shin Joong-hyun & The Yup Juns (yupjun meaning “square-holed coins”) in 1974, and the following spring they released their first album, which contained “The Beauty” (Mi-in), a track destined to become a Korean rock classic.

Characterized by simple lyrics and short, catchy melodies, the album sold 100,000 copies – a stunning feat in the depressed music market of the time. This momentum carried over to Black Butterfly’s “You Don’t Know” (Dangsin-eun molla), which sold over 50,000 copies, showing the power of Korean rock to make an astounding change in just a decade.

Other projects initiated by Shin demonstrated that Korean groups had skills that were already on par with prominent Western rock bands. These talents were displayed in a cover of Iron Butterfly’s “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” by Questions and the psychedelic performances of session band The Men, Shin’s 1970 and 1972 undertakings, respectively. Many other groups who were active around the same time also absorbed and internalized the impact of rock music, which had swept across the world, creating “Koreanized” rock as something distinct from Western rock. In short, the first half of the 1970s was a burgeoning time for the domestic rock music industry.

Dark Days and Rebound

The nascent boom, however, came to an abrupt halt as the authoritarian government of President Park Chung-hee implemented a “popular music purification movement” in 1975. Several artists were incarcerated for smoking marijuana, Shin Joong-hyun among them.

Many of his songs were subsequently banned from being publicly performed, and Shin himself was expelled from the music scene.

1. Legendary rock guitarist and singer-songwriter Shin Joong-hyun holds a custommade tribute guitar awarded to him by Fender. The U.S. company has given its guitars to only a few rock luminaries, including Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck. In 2009, Shin became the sixth recipient.

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2. The Add4, Korea’s first rock band formed by Shin Joong-hyun, released its first album “Woman in the Rain” in 1964. The album was a devastating failure.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 23

1 © Kim Hyeong-chan

A long period of decline ensued, and out of frustration, more than a few rockers gave up music altogether.

At some point, contests for college musicians, which were broadcast on television, began to draw public attention to new bands playing pleasantly simple and honest music that was unlike anything that had previously been heard from professional musicians. Sanullim (“Mountain Echoes”), which debuted in 1977, was one such band.

It was made up of three brothers: Kim Chang-wan (guitar, vocals), Chang-hun (bass guitar, vocals) and Chang-ik (drums). Their music featured sincere lyrics and a psychedelic sound that caused a huge sensation, lifting the darkness that had befallen rock music. Their first album sold 400,000 copies in just 20 days, and for their farewell concert in 1979, fans queued over 500 meters for tickets. Another standout band of the late 1970s was Love and Peace, whose 1978 debut album “It’s Been a While” is an indisputable entry on any list of the 100 greatest Korean popular music albums.

Although the latter half of the 1970s can be seen as a desolate period for rock music overall, it planted the seeds of hope for rockers of the next generation, inspiring them to make the coming decade more promising and productive.

Diversity and Maturity

The 1980s saw the rise of various musical genres that were new to Korea, including new wave, funk, fusion, hard rock and heavy metal, and rock musicians responded eagerly. In particular, the band Songgolmae (“Peregrine Falcons”) was able to reach a wider audience with a pop sensibility tweaked to appeal to local tastes. The group contributed to the popularization of rock by performing frequently on television and radio.

24 KOREANA Summer 2020

1. MBC holds its first Riverside Festival in 1979 at Cheongpyeong Amusement Park. The creative song contest for college students served as a gateway to success, producing many star musicians.

2, 3. Jeon In-kwon (1954- ) performs at the 2016 Seoul Arirang Festival at Gwanghwamun Square in Seoul. As lead vocalist of the rock band Duelgukhwa (active 1985-1995), Jeon captivated the youth of the 1980s with his rough, shouting voice.

4. The indie rock band Kiha & The Faces (active 2008-2018) perform in 2009 at KT&G Sangsang Madang in the Hongdae district. With their radically innovative lyrics and melodies and chant-like singing style, the band emerged as an icon of Korea’s second-generation indie music. The Mimi Sisters, the band’s chorus for several years, became an independent duo in 2011.

Another distinguished band that would grow to become a symbol of 1980s music outside the commercial mainstream was Deulgukhwa (“Wild Chrysanthemums”). They would mostly perform live at small theaters, with an appeal that came in part from their masterful songwriting, which covered rock, blues, pop and folk. But their allure was equally drawn from the sounds they wove with raspy vocals that spoke directly to the heart, classical piano tunes and heavy drum beats that ignited the hearts of young fans to fever pitch, as hot as a Molotov cocktail thrown at the gloom of political oppression. Their debut album “Parade” (1985) spent the longest time at the top of the 100 greatest Korean popular music albums compiled by various

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© Seoul Arirang Festival

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Although it’s regrettable that rock bands are no longer at the center of popular music, Korean rock is still evolving, and the history of the 2020s is yet to be written.

popularly known as “Hondae,” has long been a culturally specialized space, packed with art institutes, studios, workshops and galleries.

The area’s relatively cheap rents made it possible for live clubs to open up, introducing the latest music technology in funk and modern rock to Korea. This development was initiated by musicians who had rejected the production system of big management agencies, opting to lead a more sustainable life making whatever music they liked through independent, small-scale production. In the end, they would bring about a tectonic change that divided Korean popular music into the pre- and post-1990s.

Indie Scene 4 © Newsbank

media outlets.

Deulgukhwa ruled the era alongside other bands armed with talent and originality, some presenting a mixture of pop and progressive sounds, others creating sophisticated fusion jazz, and still others crooning Korean-style blues. Thanks to these bands, Korean rock of the 1980s grew in diversity and maturity.

In the 1990s, musicians who followed in the footsteps of the previous era rubbed shoulders with others pursuing entirely different styles. Folk rock, which had inherited the political awareness of the 1980s, came to coexist with trendy songs expressing the defiant individualism of the new generation.

The area around Hongik University in Seoul,

The spread of internet access also influenced young musicians who thought of themselves as indie. For example, Deli Spice, a ‘90s band who played experimental music based on modern rock, was formed by members who had met in a chatroom on Hitel, an online communication platform. The track “Chau Chau” from their first album and “Run the Horse” by the punk rock band Crying Nut spurred the birth and revolt of Korean indie music as led by the newly formed music community in the Hongdae area.

Later, diverse subgenres like garage, modern rock and hardcore won over music fans of the 2000s, manifesting the initiative of rock bands in the indie scene. A number of these acts rose to stardom, with the immense popularity of Black Skirts, Broccoli, You Too?, and Kiha & The Faces marking the peak of the Korean indie scene.

Other bands that appeared toward the end of the 2010s, such as Jannabi and Hyukoh, started to straddle the border between indie and the mainstream, making the most of Korea’s improved production systems. Today, the arena is wide open – it’s no longer surprising for Korean bands to collaborate with Southeast Asian acts or make forays into Western countries. Although it’s regrettable that rock bands are no longer at the center of popular music, Korean rock is still evolving, and the history of the 2020s is yet to be written.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 25

Roots of African-American Music in Korea Kim Zak-ka Music Critic; Selection Committee Member, Korean Music Awards

O

nce a subculture for African-American youths from Compton, California or

the Bronx, New York City, hip hop produced

a legion of stars in the 1980s and 1990s, dethroning R&B to become the dominant genre of black American music. It also had an immense impact on Korean youths at the time, and still wields huge power over Korea’s pop music scene.

Hip Hop In the late 1980s, when rock music was a prominent element of Korean youth culture, a community of fans of African-American music began to form in a corner of the country. The breeding ground was Moon Night, a nightclub in Seoul’s Itaewon neighborhood

1 © Gramho

– a cultural hot spot where the latest West-

2

ern dance music was all the rage. Formerly, Moon Night’s clientele had been U.S. soldiers

in the 1990s were created. Once passionate

success of “Come Back Home” (1995), a song

stationed in Korea, but a few years earlier, its

clubbers here, Seo Taiji & Boys proved it

rooted in gangster rap from Seo Taiji & Boys’

doors had been opened to locals as well. The

was possible to rap naturally in the Korean

fourth album, provided the ground for hip

young Korean dancers who frequented the

language and enthralled fans with their

hop to take root in Korea.

club were exposed to authentic black Amer-

high-powered dance moves. Thanks to this

Around the same time, Black Loud Ex-

ican dance music, such as disco and funk, as

celebrated trio, dance music swept through

ploders (BLEX), a chatroom for fans of black

well as the latest trends like hip hop and new

the local pop landscape and talent agen-

American music on the online communica-

jack swing.

cies began rounding up for formal training

tion platform Hitel, served as the cradle for

This is where many of the popular dance

those dancers who had made a name for

underground hip hop. BLEX members pro-

music acts who reigned over the airwaves

themselves at Moon Night. The phenomenal

duced mixtapes, recording rap set to beats

26 KOREANA Summer 2020

1. A dance battle is underway at Moon Night, a nightclub in Itaewon, Seoul. Known as the cradle of dance music in Korea, the nightclub produced many first-generation dance music acts of the 1990s.

2. Moon Night’s logo, dubbing it “Legend of Itaewon.”

3. A scene from “Show Me the Money,” a hip hop survival show from the cable music channel Mnet. Since its first season aired in 2012, the show has been held annually on the back of hip hop’s enduring popularity.

3

4. Along with the male trio Solid, Lena Park (1976- ) led the R&B craze that swept the Korean pop music scene of the late 1990s.

© Captured from Mnet

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they had composed themselves, or used

of the ballad genre. Because there was

free-style rap for their pager ringtones. In

no such thing as professional pop music

addition to writing their own music, they also

training back then, it was hard for native

collected and reviewed relevant information

Korean singers to learn the vocal vibrations

from abroad, thereby helping to enrich the

and other features that were typical of Af-

local hip hop culture. Masterplan, one of

rican-American music. Korean Americans

the live clubs in the Hongdae area, regularly

who were familiar with R&B vocals, notably

offered a stage to hip hop musicians, which

through church choirs, could appropriate the

in turn generated greater demand for the

original style far more successfully.

music.

© Captured from KBS

In the 2000s, driven by Brown Eyes’ mega hit “Already One Year” and Asoto Union’s

hip hop constitutes a crucial element of

R&B

“Think About ‘Chu,” songs in African-Amer-

today’s K-pop idol music. “Show Me the

While hip hop developed spontaneously in

ican styles made up a large share of main-

Money,” a TV audition program that has

Korea, R&B was imported via Korean Amer-

stream popular music. Meanwhile, musicians

propelled the hip hop boom since the mid-

icans. Except for the impressive attempt of

continuously strived to do more than just

2010s, elevated rappers to an increasingly

homebred Yoo Young-jin, who composed

imitate foreign styles, weaving Korean sensi-

significant presence on music charts and at

and sang “Your Scent,” R&B vocals with

bilities into R&B to create so-called “mid-tem-

college festivals. This is a radical change from

Korean lyrics were delivered mostly by per-

po ballads,” a megatrend in the pop music

the pre-1990 years, when hip hop was often

formers who had been raised in the United

scene of the mid-2000s.

States. A good example is Solid, a trio of Ko-

derided as “coal briquette music.” Even then, however, there was a stunning exception:

rean Americans including George Han Kim.

Michael Jackson

“Holding onto the End of the Night” (1995),

Korea’s ready acceptance of African-Ameri-

Michael Jackson had a massive impact

a single from their second album, was a hit

can music owed to still other factors: the rise

on Korea’s would-be pop stars, who would

that ushered in the golden age of Korean

of composers who placed greater emphasis

dance the night away wearing out the floors

R&B.

on beat over melody, and the development

of Moon Night. Those impassioned youths

of MIDI software facilitating the use of

were hugely indebted to their iconic hero,

ican vocalist named Lena Park made a suc-

sounds beyond the scope of real instru-

and in this sense, it’s safe to say that Michael

cessful debut with “P.S. I Love You” (1998),

ments.

Jackson and his music proved to be a water-

Soon afterwards, another Korean-Amer-

and her popularity placed R&B at the center

Along with electronic dance music (EDM),

Michael Jackson.

shed in the history of Korean pop music.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 27

SPECIAL FEATURE 5

Before K-Pop: Popular Music since the Korean War

Rolling Waves in the New Media Age Korea’s popular music landscape in the 21st century has become ever more diversified via legacy media, represented by TV channels, and new media of the mobile era, such as social networking and streaming platforms.

Kim Zak-ka Music Critic; Selection Committee Member, Korean Music Awards

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Š Kyeonggi Ilbo

28 KOREANA Summer 2020

D

iversity characterizes the popular music of Korea today. Identifying the predominant genre is a frustrating exercise in this age of new media. The main avenue for music lovers nowadays is online streaming, with traditional music charts that track record and album sales considered less accurate in determining top performers. But real-time online streaming charts don’t have much credibility either; their results are skewed by massive K-pop fanbases streaming their idols’ songs on a 24/7 basis to boost their chart rankings. To musicians without such a fandom, the music charts are nothing more than “a playground for idols.”

Nonetheless, some singers outside the K-pop community are clearly demonstrating that TV exposure and legions of organized fans are not essential as long as an artist has true talent. The history of how Korean popular music arrived at this point harks back to the fickle fame of TV talent shows. As the shows rose, faded and then reappeared, new entertainment agencies spawned K-pop, and waves of new media and communication networks reshaped paths to popularity.

From TV to Agencies

MBC network’s Campus Music Festival kicked off TV talent competitions in Korea in 1977. It helped reinvigorate youth culture, which was set back by a government crackdown on marijuana-smoking entertainers in 1975. The first grand prize went to the band Sand Pebbles for their song “What Should I Do.” Through the ensuing years, the grand prize in this contest brought instant fame to its winners.

By the mid-1990s, the contest had begun to lose steam. Entertainment agencies appeared on the scene, leading to dramatic changes in the popular music market. Aspiring stars as young as early

2 © News1

teens knocked on the doors of talent agencies. Those who were accepted often went through years of rigorous training before they 3 could debut as part of an “idol” © Starnews group. This was the gestation period of K-pop, just as home internet hook-ups and website creations were increasing exponentially. On the other end of the spectrum, aspiring young musicians who wished to pursue a distinctive musical style headed to the live clubs in the Hongdae district.

The proliferation of the internet brought seismic shifts to the music market. MP3 file downloads replaced CD albums as the prevalent form of music consumption. However, most people sought out unauthorized peer-to-peer (P2P) file-sharing platforms to download songs for free, which they would use as background music for their social media profiles or cell phone ringtones.

Diminishing physical album sales coupled with an absence of legal means to download music online suppressed the music market.

The trend began to turn with the widespread use of smartphones in the 2010s and the ensuing shift to a mobile environment. Downloading gave way to streaming music, which grew to a scale large enough to give rise to a digital music market.

Underdog Chart Toppers 1. An overflow audience reacts enthusiastically at a trot music concert at the Suwon Convention Center in 2019.

2. Trot sensation Song Ga-in speaks at a press conference in 2019. Song is the winner of the hit audition program “Miss Trot,” which aired on TV Chosun in 2019.

3. Lim Young-woong rejoices over his victory in the followup male version, “Mr. Trot,” which aired on TV Chosun from January to March 2020. The show’s final episode scored the highest viewership rating of all TV variety shows in Korea.

By the mid-2010s, streaming had taken firm root as the prevailing source for music consumers. But certain artists, despite not being K-pop idols or getting television exposure, invariably see their new releases rank high on the streaming charts. They sing mostly ballads or acoustic songs that accentuate their voices. Rather than relying heavily on “visuals” (referring to physical appearance), an essential feature of K-pop, underdog chart toppers place emphasis on their “sweet to the ear” vocals. They are a new breed of musicians taking

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 29

1 © Ukopia

up the legacy of the “radio stars” of the past.

Heize debuted in 2015 and gradually gained name recognition, topping the streaming charts with her hits like “Don’t Come Back” and “Star.” Bolbbalgan4, a female duo, didn’t receive much attention early in their career, but rose to stardom when their song “Galaxy” climbed the streaming charts to number one.

A decisive determinant in the chart success of these artists has been word of mouth on social media. Although people say that the age of radio is over, demand still exists. It’s just that the platform has changed. These chart-topping vocal performers are a living testimony.

1. Spectators cheer at a preliminary round of Mnet’s “Superstar K” season 3, held in New York City in 2011. The TV audition program generated remarkable interest abroad as it was open to international contestants.

Talent Shows Return

and cheered loudly during their performances. Fan groups also battled passionately in online communities, raving about the charm and talent of their favorites in hopes of earning votes from viewers.

The intimate link between fans, musicians and television stations has turned music into an arena of competition that bears resemblance to sports.

Musicians without the strong backing of a major management agency compete against one another like gladiators in a coliseum; the public are spectators watching them fight to survive, cheering wildly. This is one aspect of the current popular music scene in Korea.

Until recently, teuroteu, or trot music, was given the cold shoulder and largely neglected by the public. Its streaming market share was only

Talent competitions made a comeback in 2009 with “Superstar K,” which aired on Mnet. Unlike the college song contests, wannabes of all ages could enter, and the competition took place both on and off stage. The show spotlighted not only talent but personal stories, often tear-jerkers, which helped elicit support from home viewers who could vote for their favorites alongside a panel of professional judges. The winner of season one, singer Seo In-guk, transitioned into acting as well. Following winners were similarly catapulted to stardom.

The huge success of “Superstar K” led to a spate of singing competitions, such as “K-Pop Star,” which aired on SBS for six seasons beginning in 2011, and Mnet’s “Show Me the Money,” which aired its eighth season in 2019. The standout was Mnet’s “Produce 101,” which began its first season in 2016 to runaway success. Contestants inevitably developed fanbases that hoisted banners and placards

30 KOREANA Summer 2020

2, 3, 4, 5, 6. MBC Campus Music Festival, which began in 1977, initiated TV talent competitions in Korea. In the 2000s, TV talent shows evolved to feature a wide array of musical styles, including hip hop, trot and crossover. Shown clockwise from top left are the posters for “Phantom Singer” (JTBC), “K-Pop Star” (SBS), “The Voice of Korea” and “High School Rapper” (both Mnet), and “TOP Band” (KBS).

Downloading gave way to streaming music, which grew to a scale large enough to give rise to a digital music market. By the mid-2010s, streaming had taken firm root as the prevailing source for music consumers.

2

3

6 5

two percent in 2019, and few music stores sold trot stock. The genre’s main revenue source was album sales at highway rest stops and performances at small local events or festivals. Nevertheless, trot music has seen a remarkable resurgence, thanks in part to internet exposure.

Trot Renaissance

The harbinger of the current trot boom was comedian Yoo Jae-suk, perhaps the most loved and sought-after TV personality in Korea. In 2019, he debuted as a trot singer under the stage name Yoo San-seul on MBC’s variety show “Hangout with Yoo.” The show followed his transformation into a rookie trot singer whose songs became surprise hits, ranking high on the streaming charts. As Yoo San-seul, he even won the Rookie Award in the variety category at the 2019 MBC Entertainment Awards. He proved that trot had the potential to become a “blue chip” musical genre in the entertainment industry.

The audition program “Miss Trot,” which aired on TV Chosun in 2019, added to the boom ignited

by Yoo, and winner Song Ga-in rocketed to stardom overnight. An unknown singer who had struggled for many years, Song bucked the prevailing trend of fusion trot and won the hearts of the audi-

4

ence with her authentic style. She amassed an enormous fanbase, mostly middle-aged and older viewers just as loyal and passionate as the young fans of idol groups.

TV Chosun went on to roll out a male version of the show. It aired from January to March of this year, producing another breakout star, Lim Young-woong. Unlike “Miss Trot,” which featured cookie-cutter contestants in its early episodes and failed to garner much attention, “Mr. Trot” hooked the audience from the beginning.

Distinctive contestants brought a contemporary touch to their performances, showing off amazing dancing skills. The final episode scored a viewership rating of over 35 percent, an all-time national high for a TV variety show. This was possible because it succeeded in captivating young viewers as well as older generations.

Winners of both shows chose to depart from the trend toward fusion trot. They faithfully rendered the classic style of the 1960s and 1970s, the heyday of trot music that produced legendary stars like Lee Mi-ja and Na Hoon-a, and moved viewers deeply with “old-fashioned” vocal techniques that had long been pushed aside.

Trot’s resurging popularity across all generations can also be attributed to its young stars appealing to their contemporaries. Thanks to YouTube, classic oldies have found a new following among the digital generation. YouTube and its content curation have bridged the temporal gap between content and consumer; city pop, a genre of popular music from the 1980s, is enjoying similarly renewed popularity, and ‘90s dance hits have also made a major comeback online. To the YouTube generation, old no longer means tacky.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 31

FOCUS

© gettyimages

Director Bong Joon-ho holds his Oscar trophy at the 92nd Academy Awards on February 9, 2020.

For his scathing black comedy, “Parasite,” Bong picked up four Oscars, including Best Picture (the first ever for a non-English film), Best Director, Foreign Language Film and Original Screenplay, rewriting the history of the Academy Awards as well as that of Korean cinema. This came on the heels of his Palme d’Or at the 72nd Cannes Film Festival last year.

32 KOREANA Summer 2020

Concept of Space “Snowpiercer” and “Parasite,” both by Oscar-winning director Bong Joon-ho, highlight clashes between the elite and the disenfranchised, a motif that has resonated deeply with audiences worldwide. These idiosyncratic films display how Bong uses space to address his social concerns.

Song Hyeong-guk Film Critic

K

orea has no shortage of original and creative commercial movies. But its film industry also possesses an abundance of flicks exploiting a single obvious motif. Their heyday in the early 2000s especially latched onto gangster comedies. Popular storylines had a gang boss going back in time to a string of incidents in high school, or a female prosecutor marrying into an organized crime family. The formula ensured box office success, and copycats proliferated for years.

Filmmakers finally widened their scope in the 2010s, but their subsequent hunt for a distinctive concept persisted. As long as the box office largely defines the commercial achievement of a film, a trailblazing storyline is gold. On the other hand, producers and directors who are more risk averse may fall back on well-worn plots that have already enthused moviegoers. The pitfall there is overuse; these movies deliver little more than a predictable sequence of scenes and a cliché ending. Such flicks may be good for filling time, but not for broadening one’s horizons.

Upending Assumptions

Bong Joon-ho strikes a different path, carving out a novel niche in genre film. He dangles an interesting concept that piques the audience’s curiosity, but then goes a step beyond. This approach has earned him

the highest recognition in the industry.

When Bong’s “Parasite” (2019) took home multiple Academy Awards in February on the heels of its Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival last year, interest was sparked in the movie’s application of vertical space. This interest also expanded to Bong’s previous works, and notably to the horizontal space in which the action unfolded in “Snowpiercer” (2013), a futuristic sci-fi thriller and Bong’s first English-language film. Both movies depict the impoverished underclass plotting to jump over the gap between themselves and the elite.

In “Snowpiercer,” the underprivileged mass crammed into the rear section of a train advance “horizontally” toward the front section where the elite reside. In “Parasite,” a poor family of grifters living in a semi-basement apartment moves “vertically” by infiltrating the wealthy family of Park Dong-ik, who lives in a posh, hilly neighborhood.

The concepts of these movies make their spatial contexts ripe for explicit, black-and-white interpretations. Such viewpoints would not be entirely wrong. However, they would most likely preclude the infinite possibilities of the imagination that can flourish when moviegoers’ memories and fantasies meld with on-screen images. Rather than presenting a single clear-cut answer, Bong’s movies are characteristically saturated with questions and suggestions.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 33

So in order to fully enjoy this maverick director’s films, viewers need to refrain from predetermining their direction.

The world of “Snowpiercer” is the planet Earth frozen in a new ice age. The only human survivors live aboard a train that endlessly circles the snow-covered globe. The passengers are segregated by social status; as the movie progresses, those in the rear, perpetually suffering from inhumane treatment, revolt and fight their way forward to the first-class front section, one car at a time. If this was all there was to the movie, it would be no different from any other escape film. Unexpectedly, Bong upends the motif and veers to the side – literally and figuratively. As security specialist Namgoong Min-soo (Song Kang-ho, who also stars in “Parasite”) opens a connecting door for the rebels to advance, he turns his gaze to a side door.

To decipher its meaning, we need to explore Bong’s “concept within a concept.”

The Changed World

The steam locomotive is a symbol of the modern era.

After the invention of the steam engine ushered in mass production, urban populations exploded. Time management subsequently evolved in order to oversee factory employees who were accustomed to a sunrise-to-sundown workday.

Factories had to schedule commute and shift hours, and trains needed to arrive as scheduled. As a single machine could now do the work of a hundred

humans, machines came to be valued more while humans were relegated to maintaining them. In the 20th century, machines were worshipped and the elite minority who owned them ruled the world – much like the ruling class in “Snowpiercer” and the “sacred engine” of its train, both of which can be maintained only when each component fulfills its role.

As portrayed in Charlie Chaplin’s silent comedy “Modern Times” (1936), workers in the mechanized world were reduced to mere interchangeable cogs in a vast machine. “Snowpiercer” offers a harrowing depiction of class segregation in one particular scene where small children are discovered inside the train’s engine, performing the roles of broken parts. Minister Mason (Tilda Swinton) orders the rebels to “stay still” while the train’s owner and overlord Wilford (Ed Harris) declares, “Everybody has their own place.”

The train’s elite employ various measures to control both the human and animal populations on a regular basis. This is the inhumane logic of the modern, industrialized era, dominated by machines and productive capital. But in reality, the tide of industrialization began to turn later in the 20th century. The Cold War system collapsed and the Age of Ideology waned.

The technological revolution has since ushered in a new era where intangible digital data, which moves freely without physical limitations, attracts money and power. Financial capital and digital power have become the ruling forces as the Machine Age has yielded to the Information Age, represented by the

1. At the outset of “Parasite,” Kim Ki-taek peers out of a semi-basement apartment that his family occupies. Detached houses of the 1980s were required to have semi-basements in case war erupted. The government eventually allowed these spaces to be rented, creating an affordable option for low-income households.

2. The home of the Park family in “Parasite” underscores the wide economic gulf in Korea.

A 2019 survey says that the average monthly household income of the bottom and top quintiles is around 1.3 million won and 9.5 million won, respectively.

1 © CJ ENM

34 KOREANA Summer 2020

3. Kim Ki-woo and sister Ki-jung try to find a free WiFi signal from the bathroom in their semibasement apartment. The toilet in such homes is usually built on a higher level. If it is lower than the underground septic tank, sewage can flow back up.

2 3

3 Photograph by Magda Hueckel; Courtesy of National Stary Theater

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 35

Internet. In this new era, the subjugated fight against an invisible foe from the virtual world. Similarly, as the impoverished underclass in “Snowpiercer” continues a 20th-century style battle, the world outside the train undergoes immense changes.

This is illustrated exquisitely in a particularly memorable scene. Unlike the rebel leader Curtis Everett (Chris Evans), whose gaze is locked on the door leading to the carriage ahead, Namgoong Minsoo frequently glances outside. A snowflake catches his eye. It swirls here and there, its direction determined by the complexities of the atmosphere and even the breath of living organisms. This is a different kind of movement compared to the rebels’ dogged advance forward in the early part of the film. It can be likened to a digital signal that has escaped the modern era when “everybody has their own place.” This is Bong’s way of questioning the assumed concept of the movie – the undeterred quest forward – and suggesting that we stop staring straight ahead and notice changes occurring around us.

The vertical space in “Parasite” is another concept. The metaphor of stairs in the movie serves as Bong’s bait. The film’s deceptively simple tagline, “What happens when a poor family works in a rich family’s house?” obviously predicts an impending

class war. But that idea is overturned in the second half of the film when skirmishes between the poor and the poorer take center stage. The wealthy Park family is completely oblivious to this struggle, and neither the media nor the police has a clear grasp of the events that transpired. While members of the upper class were busy playing their role “faithfully but without an ounce of self-reflection,” did the world revert to the pre-modern era, when, in the words of philosopher Thomas Hobbes, there was “war of all against all”? The employment issues that underlie the movie constantly remind audiences of the unintentional real-life conflicts between full-time and contract workers, those who were laid off and those spared, and small business owners and part-timers.

Invisible Power

The rear passengers in “Snowpiercer” relentlessly strive to forge their way forward, but in the end, shift their gaze to a revelation on the frozen terrain. Likewise, the poor Kim family in “Parasite,” with their sights set on moving upward, instead descends to rock bottom. This is encapsulated in a bloody scuffle between the Kims and an even more desperate couple, the Park family’s housekeeper and her husband, who secretly lives in the rich family’s house, hiding from

1

36 KOREANA Summer 2020

Rather than presenting a single clear-cut answer, Bong’s movies are characteristically saturated with questions and suggestions.

So in order to fully enjoy this maverick director’s films, viewers need to refrain from predetermining their direction.

1. Bong Joon-ho’s 2013 film “Snowpiercer” is based on the French graphic novel of the same title by Jacques Lob and Jean-Marc Rochette. In the post-apocalyptic sci-fi thriller, the only humans surviving in a new ice age are on a train that endlessly circles the frozen globe.

2. The destitute aboard “Snowpiercer” surround spiritual leader Gilliam (John Hurt), who wants rebel leader Curtis (Chris Evans) to take his place.

3. The lavish lifestyles of the elite in the front of the train are built on the sacrifices of the poor passengers crammed in the rear.

loan sharks. After fleeing the house and racing down steep stairs in a torrential downpour, the poor family’s son, Ki-woo, suddenly halts and ponders, “How is it that we seem to get embroiled in battles only with those who are worse off than us?”

The stairs in the movie inquire whether there is an invisible power in our society that pits the socially disadvantaged against one another. This power could be something that is omnipresent in cyberspace but indiscernible to the naked eye, very much like the world in the virtual reality devices developed by the global IT enterprise run by the rich family’s patriarch, Park Dong-ik. This is why “Parasite” and its contemplation of 21st-century society appear a shade more pessimistic than “Snowpiercer” and its philosophical reflection on the 20th century.

The crisis of global capitalism, tectonic shifts in the job landscape and consequences of anti-ecological acts – these have been among Bong’s ongoing interests. Even in today’s highly interconnected world, decisions are still being made at the local and national level, which is not conducive to effectively addressing the common global challenges faced by humanity.

Perhaps this is why Bong’s movies continue to pose on-point questions that prod us to encounter reality while conveying his profound concern for the human race.

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© CJ ENM

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 37

INTERVIEW

Two Ingenious Vaccines Against Pandemics Sociobiologist and ethologist, Ewha Womans University Professor Choe Jae-chun has long warned against the dangers of destroying ecosystems. As humankind grapples with COVID-19, he predicts a repeat scenario if humans do not begin to better protect the natural world.

Kang Yang-gu Science Journalist Heo Dong-wuk Photographer

T

he leafcutter ant is the star of the National Institute of Ecology, located in Seocheon County, South Chungcheong Province. Endemic to the tropical regions of Central and South America, these ants slice off tree leaves, bring them back to their nest, and chew them up into a mixture used to fertilize their fungal gardens. These ants have been farmers far, far longer than humans, who only started domesticating animals and tilling fields some 10,000 years ago.

Close observation of these ants reveals that, as they busily rush about, a number of them are covered in a kind of white powder. This powder is actually a bacterium with antimicrobial properties that sterilizes the pest that attacks the ants’ fungal crops. For millions of years, this has been the symbiosis between leafcutter ant and microorganism.

Professor Choe Jae-chun, ecologist and founding director of the institute, first brought this ant to his workplace.

Famously known as the “Ant Doctor,” Choe has long been vocal about his belief that “in order to maintain biodiversity, humanity has to face the climate crisis head on and take action.” On a recent spring day, forsythia in full bloom, I met him at Ewha Womans University.

between human beings and viruses. Let us first acknowledge what must be acknowledged: if humans and viruses compete against each other, there’s just no way for humans to emerge victorious. Viruses have existed on earth for far longer than human beings, and at this very moment there are countless strains all across the planet, coiled and ready to strike. Among them are those that, given the chance, will do their best to mutate in order to make human beings a suitable host. Most fail. But what’s happened now is this: a shockingly canny one has revealed itself. Easy to spread even when symptoms are still weak, but with a mortality rate that is not too terribly high – and, with humans as its host, it has managed to spread itself all over the world.

You’ve long predicted a viral outbreak like what we’re currently experiencing, right?

As an ecologist who studies both ecology and evolution, it was impossible not to be worried about trouble brewing

Then what must humankind do?

We need fundamental countermeasures that can be used against the spread of all viruses. I would like to call these “eco-vaccines” and “behavior vaccines.”

38 KOREANA Summer 2020

What can be done to resolve this pandemic situation?

Humankind will find a way to overcome this particular pandemic. The bigger problem is that this will not be the last. There will be an endless stream of new viruses seeking to make hosts out of humans. So even if we manage to make a vaccine for this strain of coronavirus over the next 18 months, there is a chance that by the point that vaccine actually reaches us, another virus will have appeared.

Professor Choe Jae-chun and Dr. Jane Goodall visit Dragon Swamp on Mt. Daeam [Big Rock] in Gangwon Province for a 2017 event to promote environmental protection, hosted by the Biodiversity Foundation which they lead. The foundation supports academic research in animal and environmental studies, and development and distribution of educational materials. Dragon Swamp, or Yongneup, is Korea’s first protected wetland registered under the Ramsar Convention. © Cho Soo-jeong

“ We need to reflect on all the ecological destruction we allowed in the name of economic growth, and repent.

It’s actually far more economical to protect nature than to develop it.”

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 39

A behavior vaccine sounds like intensified “social distancing.”

That’s right. Social distancing is a great example of an excellent behavior vaccine. This might sound overly simple, but if we could just put the whole world on complete hold for exactly two weeks – no more – then all avenues for the further spread of COVID-19 would be blocked and the only work left for us to do would be to treat those already infected. If the world could just come to an agreement and everyone could stop, together, all at once – well, there could actually be no more effective vaccine than that.

Does eco-vaccination mean an end to the reckless destruction of ecosystems that has long been committed by humankind?

That’s exactly right. The reason that viruses are continuously attacking human beings is that so many of the viruses’ previous host animals and their natural ecosystems have disappeared. For a long time, there was no occasion for a virus living in a bat in a forest cave to ever encounter a human being. There was really no reason for bats, or civets, or camels, or pangolins to initiate contact with us at all. That is only

the result of forests being destroyed, and wild animals being captured and bred for food – all of these practices becoming commonplace. From now on, we need to leave wild animals alone so that viruses can’t make that jump. This is why climate change and the resulting disappearance of biodiversity are both interconnected with the spread of viruses.

Humankind has treated ecological destruction as part of economic growth.

That’s the problem. We were so busy chasing economic growth that we never considered ecological destruction to be an issue. But what is the situation we must deal with now as a result? The entire global economy has come to a halt because of this viral outbreak, and unimaginable damage is being done. We need to reflect on all the ecological destruction we allowed in the name of economic growth, and repent. It’s actually far more economical to protect nature than to develop it. And we must understand that an eco-vaccine is the most basic prescription for blocking another viral outbreak.

Do ou think this could be an opportunity for us to take a

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40 KOREANA Summer 2020

different path?

How could it be? Humans are forgetful animals. Once the pandemic is over, there will be people who go right back to living as they did before. But there’s also no doubt that this pandemic will become a moment of ecological awakening, and the number of people moved to action will gradually increase – one or two at a time. These people’s actions must come together to lead the way to meaningful change.

As for a behavior vaccine, it seems social distancing will need to become permanent.

Humans are the only animals on earth that have evolved in the direction of free exchange with large numbers of unknown individuals of the same species. Even if 20-30 strangers are sitting in a Starbucks, we can enter the space alone, without fear. What do you think would happen if such a thing occurred in the world of chimpanzees? The chimpanzee group would attack, and the outsider would be dead in less than a minute. The same goes for the world of ants. Sure, this virus means that we humans may keep giving each other some distance for a while, but I don’t believe that such precautions will last forever. As much as we are the fruits of a marvelous process of evolution, we will con-

tinue to group together, and meet, and touch. Of course, if a pattern of viral outbreaks continues, we’ll have to repeat the whole process of distancing each time. We’ll part ways a while and meet again, and likely love and appreciate each other that much more.

Campuses have closed and lectures have gone online.

How are you spending your time?

This is the most free time I’ve had in years. Most of the planned lectures and conferences, both here and abroad, have been canceled. I’m meeting my students through online lectures and enjoying this unexpected space. I’ve actually been able to make a great deal of progress on a book manuscript I’d been putting off because of my busy schedule – I’m almost done.

What is your next book about?

It’s a book that teaches you how to be good at discussion. It seems like a bit of a stretch for an ecologist, doesn’t it? But actually, that’s not the case. Many animals in the natural world can learn. But among all those countless learning animals, only we humans have become “lords of all creation.” The key reason for that is the fact that humans are animals that carry their starting line around with them.

Animals that carry their starting line?

Among all the animals, humans are the only ones who record their accumulated knowledge and pass it down. Each generation of human beings moves their starting line precisely as far as the achievements of the previous generation, then starts from that point, further along. We are the only species that does this. So the most important task for us humans is to learn from the generations that came before us, and to trust each other and share that knowledge. And in order to do all this, we must be good at discussion and debate. This is the reason an ecologist became interested in how to become a better debater.

2 © Munhwa Daily

1. Professor Choe Jae-chun emphasizes engagement with issues of climate change during an interview at his office on the campus of Ewha Womans University. An advocate of consilience, or the unity of knowledge, Dr. Choe currently teaches and serves at Ewha as chair professor.

2. Professor Choe explains the ecology of ants to a group of elementary schoolers touring a special exhibition on the life of ants, held at the National Institute of Ecology in 2015.

It would be nice if this pandemic could positively affect humankind’s moveable starting line.

Dr. Jane Goodall, who always speaks of hope, said something to me recently when we were in touch. “Good things will happen, too,” she said. “We’ve already been through this a few times now. Maybe now, people will begin to see that it’s actually good for us to leave nature alone, just as it is, as much as possible; maybe now, those calculations will start to make sense for them.” And I truly hope that is what happens.

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GUARDIANS OF HERITAGE

Ahn Sang-min, third-generation owner of the 70-year-old shop Biwon Tteokjip, took over operations from his father eight years ago. Although he changed the shop’s logo and packaging to add a modern touch, he sticks to the traditional ways when making rice cakes.

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A Daily Routine as Precious as Ever Located near Gyeongbok Palace in the old city center of Seoul, Biwon Tteokjip is a rice cake shop known for its royal court recipes handed down from Joseon, the last Korean monarchy. Ahn Sang-min, the third-generation owner of this 70-year-old shop, is quietly preserving the taste of age-old delicacies.

Kang Shin-jae Freelance Writer Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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he shop had no sign on the facade, its nature barely implied by a humble, eaves-shaped overhang at the front window. The same roof-tile decoration was also found inside, high up on the wall above the showcase; the shop’s atmosphere, reminiscent of the hall in a traditional hanok, was underscored by the wooden doors and floor. The showcase featured five kinds of rice cakes neatly arranged side by side.

What first caught my eye was the duteoptteok, the shop’s signature item. This glutinous rice cake is stuffed with chopped walnuts, chestnuts, pine nuts and jujubes, all mixed with yuja (citrus junos) extract, honey and cinnamon powder. Once stuffed, the rice dough is shaped into a ball and sprinkled with roasted red bean powder before being steamed. Presumably made for the first time during the Goryeo period (918-1392), this type of rice cake was a luxurious snack enjoyed by the wealthy upper class and also served on the birthday banquet table of the kings of the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910). A gentle bite into a piece generously frosted with red bean powder gives you the rich flavor of crispy nuts followed by the sweet and tangy taste of yuja extract. Not many rice cake shops can properly produce this dainty snack, which is complicated to make and requires expensive ingredients.

In 2017, the city of Seoul introduced a program to support shops of historical value by designating them “Old Stores” (Orae Gage). As one of these Old Stores, Biwon Tteokjip (“Secret Garden Rice Cake Shop”) has enjoyed

considerable media spotlight. Many articles describe the store’s origin as follows: “Han Hui-sun (1889-1972), one of the last court ladies of Joseon, who supervised the palace kitchen during the reigns of King Gojong (r. 1863-1907) and King Sunjong (r. 1907-1910), handed down the royal rice cake recipes to Hong Gan-nan (1925-1999). Hong opened Biwon Tteokjip in 1949, and in 1984, bequeathed the shop to her nephew Ahn In-cheol, who had worked there since the 1970s.”

Royal Recipes

The shop is now run by Ahn Sang-min, the third-generation proprietor, who took it over from his father eight years ago.

The junior Ahn began learning the craft 14 years ago, when he was 23 years old. While I interviewed him, he was busy going back and forth between the kitchen and the hall. Asking him how his great-aunt had learned her skills and recipes from Joseon’s last court lady, I anticipated an enthralling story. But his reply was stark and simple: “That’s all I ever heard about it from my father. I don’t think my greataunt told him the details.”

Few of my questions succeeded in getting a longer answer. Ahn said he was reticent by nature. When I asked him what he did and did not know about the craft after devoting himself to it for 14 years, he was as laconic as ever: “There’s nothing I can’t manage on my own. My father has left everything in my charge.” As to whether there was any skill he found hard to master however he tried, he

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replied, “No, nothing at all.” I finally elicited a somewhat detailed answer when I inquired if his father was any better than him at the job.

“Hardly. I think I’m better than my father,” he said. “I changed the texture of our rice cakes a little, which brought increased sales and a favorable response. For instance, our earlier seolgi [fluffy rice cake steamed in a mold] was tougher and chewier than the current version, which has a lighter texture similar to pound cake.”

When I asked if he had been taking young people’s tastes into account, he said no, his own tastes guided him.

Then I wondered what this young proprietor considered to be the qualities of good rice cakes.

His replies were consistently devoid of any desire to glorify his job. He mentioned no plans for a fancy menu developed in collaboration with bakeries, or of a dessert café combining classical and contemporary styles.

Texture Matters Most

“Well, there are a number of conditions, but it would be texture that matters most – in other words, texture determines the taste. You need the right texture and chewiness for each variety of rice cake. There’s really nothing else,” he said. And what factors affect the texture? “The fineness or coarseness of the rice flour and the amount of water and salt. The texture is influenced most by the particle size of the rice flour. Depending on how fine or coarse, a product might be tough or nice and chewy, either hardens quickly or remains soft longer. I think about these things a lot.”

Ahn changed not only the texture of the rice cakes but also the look of his products and of the shop itself. As most of his patrons were regulars, he tried to find ways to attract new customers, particularly younger people in their 20s and 30s. First, he got rid of the old packaging, which used plastic film tightly wrapped around rice cakes layered on crude Styrofoam plates. Instead, he began wrapping each piece individually, and then he redesigned the store logo and packaging, following the example of famous bakeries.

He also started offering gift sets – assortments of rice cakes contained in white paper boxes. As a result, younger customers came to account for some 30 percent of sales.

None of the current proprietor’s changes have compromised the essence of the flavor handed down in the family.

As far as his work is concerned, Ahn seems quite confident and free of anxiety in running a shop that has provided the same products made in the same way every day for over 70 years. His is a craft of producing something perishable – a

1. The roof-tile decorations on the ceiling create a traditional atmosphere inside the store. In 2017, the place was designated by the city of Seoul as an “Old Store,” a title conferred to shops of historical value in the city.

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2. Two pieces of stuffed rice cake are put together in the shape of human lips to make ssang gaepitteok. The stuffing, which is made of red beans peeled, boiled and mashed, is wrapped in rice dough.

3. To make yaksik, soaked sticky rice is steamed, then mixed with honey, raw sugar and soy sauce to color it brown. Halved chestnuts, dried and quartered jujubes and sesame oil are added, and the mixture is steamed again and garnished with pine nuts.

4. The store’s signature item duteoptteok is Ahn’s favorite. A bite into a piece covered with fine red bean powder gives you the luxuriant flavor of chopped nuts and sweet citrus junos extract.

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diately after his discharge from military service, he started to work all day, beginning at three or four in the morning. He put aside college education, in which he’d had little interest anyway.

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craft polished for decades, refined and proven by patrons’ tastes. He has the relaxed manner of a person who knows what he’s doing. It was reassuring to hear that he continued to use high-quality local ingredients, just as his father had.

Would cost cutting on any of the ingredients mean a change in taste? I asked. He looked a little puzzled, and then said, “Probably. But I actually have no idea because I’ve stuck to the same ingredients since my father’s days.”

When I asked what he found to be the hardest part of making duteoptteok, which requires more than a dozen ingredients to be properly mixed, he paused for the first time before answering. He finally said, “I don’t know what is hard or what is easy. I’ve never learned to make rice cakes anywhere else. I’ve only worked here, so I can make no comparisons. I’m not sure how to answer that.”

Ahn grew up looking at things through the vapor rising from the steamers in the shop’s kitchen. He had always felt sorry for his father, who would spend hours on end in front of the pot roasting the red bean powder to be sprinkled on the duteoptteok. That’s when he decided to take over. His only goal was to add value to the job, which brought puny rewards compared to the amount of work it required. Imme-

Everyday Rituals

Gradually, he settled into the daily routine of the shop that would become the only place in the world over which he had complete control.

“What has been the hardest part of this work so far?” I asked again.

“Nothing really, except that my family spends all day working here together, so we sometimes bicker over little things,” he said.

“Now that you have the shop on the right track, do you ever feel complacent or bored with the repetitive routine?” I tried from a different angle.

“Such a thought has never entered my mind,” he replied.

“Do you have any master plan for this shop?” I tried again.

“Not really. I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing,” he said.

His replies were consistently devoid of any desire to glorify his job. His shop has become well-known through media coverage, but he mentioned no plans for a fancy menu developed in collaboration with bakeries, or a dessert café combining classical and contemporary styles. On the contrary, he said he might reduce the variety of items on sale to concentrate on some of the more important types.

I wondered why I felt unsatisfied with his answers.

Then I realized that I’d expected him to fit my preconception that a young leader of a generations-old family business should reinterpret tradition and innovate. With this realization, my eyes finally opened to what was in fact a person’s ordinary day – a day with nothing special about it. A simple life where his days begin and end in the same shop, just like his father’s; where he works late when there’s a rush of orders, or happily closes up early when the shelves are empty. His modest attitude, with which he doesn’t compare his life with that of other professionals, calmly carrying out his tasks for today and welcoming tomorrow rather than fretting over the unknown days far ahead.

As I left the shop, something seemed to spill out of the wooden door, which had grown glossy with time. It was the precious consistency of daily life, alive in every corner of the world but rarely receiving its proper share of attention. The untiring rhythm of a plain life, never particular but beautiful.

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ART REVIEW

V Connecting with the Invisible “Korean Video Art from 1970s to 1990s: Time Image Apparatus” at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (MMCA) in Gwacheon was a meaningful opportunity to look back on the history of Korean video art. Regrettably, the exhibition was closed for much of its originally scheduled period between November 28, 2019 and May 31, 2020, due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

Park Young-taek Art Critic; Professor, Department of

Western Painting and Art Management, Kyonggi University

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ideo art in Korea developed in tandem with contemporary Western video art, but outside of the world-renowned artist Nam June Paik (1932-2006), the genre remains rather unfamiliar to most Koreans.

“Korean Video Art from 1970s to 1990s” displayed more than 130 works by some 60 artists, spanning from the art’s nascent years to its maturity. The exhibition represented a rare occasion to explore the history of video art and how it took root in Korea, and to appreciate early works from artists who would later attain international repute.

The 1970s were characterized by many experimental and avant-garde movements in contemporary Korean art.

Against a backdrop of radical attempts including happenings, installations, photographs and images, a handful of artists conducted pioneering projects in the field of video art.

Ironically, the harsh political reality under military dictatorship served to nurture a progressive spirit in the art community.

Avant-Garde Experimentalism

Rather than using video as an independent new medium for aesthetic images, most artists embraced it as a tool for practicing avant-garde or conceptual art. At the vanguard of this movement were Kim Ku-lim, Lee Kang-so and Park Hyunki. Through the novel medium of video, they began to visualize thoughts about temporality, process and action, sense and existence, and concept and language. For example, Kim Ku-lim’s early work “Wiping Cloth” (1974/2001) condenses the process of wiping a desk with a cloth that gets dirtier and dirtier, almost turning black and disintegrating into pieces in the end.

Fellow video art pioneer Park Hyun-ki began working in the genre around 1973. His “Untitled” series, better known by the nickname “TV Stone Tower,” is a juxtaposition of real stones and video footage of stones – a work that studies the issues of nature and technology, reality and fantasy, and originals and reproductions. Park had been impressed by Korean War refugees who, while evacuating from their homes, took the time to pick up little stones, pile them into small towers and pray in front of them. To him, a stone functioned both as matter and as a cultural-anthropological object projecting human aspirations, and his art offers a glimpse of the relevance of stones in Korean shamanism. Through his work, viewers can see the occult shamanic qualities of traditional Korean art reincarnated with advanced technology.

“Good Morning, Mr. Orwell” is a video art piece edited from Nam June Paik’s satellite installation show of the same

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1. “Untitled” by Park Hyun-ki. 1979. 14 stones, 1 TV monitor. 260 × 120 × 260 cm (WDH). National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. 2. “TV Buddha” by Nam June Paik. 1974/2002. Buddha sculpture, CRT TV, closed-circuit camera, color, silent. Variable size. Nam June Paik Art Center.

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It is interesting to see how the supernatural communication and ecstasy inherent in Korean shamanism connect with the up-to-date medium of video. This is one of the most attractive features of Korean video art. The MMCA exhibition served as a reminder of that.

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1. “Heaven, Earth & Man” by Oh Kyung-wha. 1990. 16 TVs, video and computer graphics, color and with sound, 27 minutes and 4 seconds. Artist’s collection.

2. “Ghost Furniture” by Yook Tae-jin. 1995. 2 monitors, VCR, antique furniture. 85 × 61 × 66 cm (WDH). Daejeon Museum of Art.

name, which aired live across the world on January 1, 1984.

This was a pivotal moment that introduced wider Korean audiences to video art. From very early on, Paik took notice of the aesthetic characteristics of light-emitting cathode-ray tubes used in TV sets, distinct from photographic images and movies that are mere shadows. He had originally studied music and had been active in Japan and Germany as an experimental contemporary musician. At the beginning of the 1960s, Paik’s work showed his attempt to arbitrarily manipulate TV in order to break away from the one-way communication of commercial broadcasting. Around 1965, he began employing new video technology in his works, opening a new chapter in media art.

Paik had discovered artistic possibilities in TV. By transforming TV equipment and images, he was able to appropriate the medium for a usage other than its inherent objectives. He thus enabled the fixed medium of TV to take on a formative experiment and incorporate philosophical thinking, ultimately breathing new life into it.

Though not included in this exhibition, “TV Buddha” (1974) is representative of his early meditative and ritualistic art. A monitor is placed on an elongated base facing a bronze Buddha statue, seated cross-legged. A camera placed behind the monitor shoots the front of the Buddha, his visage displayed on the screen, while he calmly gazes at his own image. This installation was acclaimed for combining Eastern religion and Western technology. The Buddha intended to reach the absolute void transcending time and space through meditation, but the image in the monitor shows the body that he cannot shed.

Video Sculpture

In the latter half of the 1980s, video sculpture emerged as a new art form. Born out of interest in post-2D, postgenre, mixed media and technology, most of the earliest works consisted of multiple TV monitors piled together or superimposed.

After the mid-1990s, however, kinetic video sculpture emerged, combining physical motions and moving images. Among the artists in this group, Kim Hae-min and Yook Tae-jin are in a 2 similar camp with Nam June

Paik and Park Hyun-ki in that their work reflects ideological and existential themes.

With profound insight into the medium, Kim Hae-min has created subtle boundaries between virtual and real, past and present, and existence and non-existence. “TV Hammer” (1992/2002), one of his early installations, provides the unique experience of jumping between the real and the virtual with a TV monitor that shakes whenever the hammer shown within hits the screen with a loud bang. Meanwhile, Yook Tae-jin incorporated objects like antique furniture with images of repetitive action, opening up an ingenious realm in video sculpture. In “Ghost Furniture” (1995), two drawers open and shut repeatedly, automated by a motor.

Inside the drawers are video images of a man continuously ascending a flight of stairs, reminiscent of humans who, like Sisyphus, struggle toward new heights but are destined to confinement in the absurdity of existence.

Shamanic Art

Artists are alchemists. They touch and connect trivial materials and turn them into something new. Artists are also shamans who can read the souls of matter. In so doing, they can turn stones and trees into people and they also breathe life into dead matter, turning them into living things. This is not based on human-centered thinking but on respect for all beings as equal. Shamanism is rooted in hylozoism, the philosophical point of view that all matter is alive.

The power that animates matter is called god. Shamanism and animism erase all dichotomic divisions and barriers that separate life and death, darkness and light. Shamanism facilitates communication with and travel to the world of death. Similarly, art may be intended to communicate with the dead, show the invisible around us, or allow us to reach the unreachable. Through art, we can therefore escape from a world dominated by that which is visible.

It is interesting to see how the supernatural communication and ecstasy inherent in Korean shamanism connect with the up-todate medium of video. This is one of the most attractive features of Korean video art. The MMCA exhibition served as a reminder of that.

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TALES OF TWO KOREAS

Same War, Different Memories Artists in the two Koreas have exercised selective memories of the Korean War (1950-1953). Their perspectives and styles in recounting the death and destruction of the fratricidal conflict vary distinctly.

Kim Youngna Art Historian; Professor Emeritus, Seoul National University

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he swift fall of Seoul in the first week of the Korean War upended the lives of its artists. Those who failed to flee beforehand were mostly given a stark choice: they would receive food rations if they painted giant portraits of Soviet leader Joseph Stalin or North Korean regime founder Kim Il-sung under the instruction of the pro-communist Korean Art Alliance.

Three months later, when the United Nations forces and South Korean troops retook Seoul, these artists faced punishment for collaborating with the enemy. Painters such as Ki Ung and Kim Man-hyong, who were instrumental in pro-North activities, fled alongside retreating North Korean troops. But they weren’t alone in escaping the 2 threat of reprisal; they joined other artists who had willingly gone to the North before or during the war. In total, about 40 South Korean artists switched sides. Had they stayed in the South, the expectations of their approach to art would have been entirely different.

Art in the South

Korean literature has quite a few masterpieces dealing with the war. The same cannot be said for the fine arts. Few artists have attempted to realistically depict the brutal realities of the conflict. “The Battle of Mt. Dosol” is among the few exceptions. Yu Byeong-hui, a signal corpsman in the Republic of Korea Army, produced the work in 1951, shortly after the bloody clash which took place in the rugged Taebaek Mountains, one of the five major battles fought by the ROK Marines. The South Korean national flag, or Taegeukgi, flies high in the center of the canvas, while the North Korean flag lies on the ground, soaked in blood. Some 2,260 North Korean troops and 700 South Korean forces perished in the brutal combat.

Kim Seong-hwan (1932-2019) is recognized for having documented the Korean War more graphically than any other artist. When the war erupted, Kim, a high school senior, was already drawing a comic strip – “Meongteongguri” (Dimwit) – for the daily Yonhap Sinmun. After Seoul fell, he hid himself in the attic of his house to avoid being conscripted into the North Korean army, but managed to venture out to observe the occupation. The teenaged artist produced some 110 true-to-life watercolor sketches based on what he witnessed. One piece depicts South Korean soldiers having captured a formi-

“The 38th Parallel” by Kim Won. 1953. Oil on canvas. 103 × 139 cm.

The painting depicts a crowd of refugees trying to cross the line dividing the two Koreas.

The dark-blue dirt ground and red sky represent their despair and pain, while the bright rays on the hill at the right side of the canvas symbolize hope.

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dable Soviet T-34 tank, with dead North Korean soldiers strewn on the street.

In contrast, most of the other artists in the South focused on depicting refugees desperately clinging to life and choking escape routes. Battle scenes were seldom revisited. This was probably because many of the artists were refugees themselves who were suffering from the horrors of the war.

Kim Won (1912-1994), who left Pyongyang to settle down in Seoul before the war began, captured a group of refugees trying to cross the line dividing the two Koreas in “The 38th Parallel” (1953). The painting depicts some wailing sorrowfully while holding a dead person, and others struggling to ascend a hill, carrying their children in their arms or on their back. The dark-blue dirt ground and red sky represent their despair and pain, while the bright rays on the hill at the right side of the canvas symbolize hope.

Abstract vs. Realism

South Korean artists didn’t stow away the horrendous memories of the war even when a semblance of stability returned. Instead, their paintings became more metaphorical or abstract. After the end of World War II, realism had been shunned and realist paintings became considered politically oriented and left-leaning. In some quarters, there was even a tendency to hesitate to recognize such paintings as works of art. Many artists also regarded the socialist realist style of paintings that were popular in the Soviet Union and North Korea as rabble-rousing and ideologically biased.

In the wake of the Korean War, South Korean artists sought to express their anger, pain and sense of futility derived from scars of the war and the loss of family. They tried to avoid politically motivated subjects and turned to abstract

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1. “Vestiges of History” by Nam Kwan. 1963.

Oil and collage on canvas with a faux rust effect. 97.5 × 130.5 cm. National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Gwacheon.

In this melancholic and emotional flashback to tragic moments of war, abstract forms made up of long and short strokes suggest pathetic episodes against a backdrop where time seems to stand still, with light and shadow crisscrossing each other.

2. “Victory” (detail) by Lee Quede. 1958.

A mural in the Sino-Korean Friendship Tower.

Oil painting. 200 × 700 cm. Pyongyang.

This massive mural features several combat scenes at the center, with American stragglers on the right-hand side and victorious Chinese troops in the upper half.

art, which had gained popularity in Europe and the United States.

The memory of seeing many dead refugees during an evacuation never faded for Nam Kwan (1911-1990). He relived those scenes in “Vestiges of History” (1963), a melancholic and emotional flashback to tragic moments.

Human figures, symbols and pictograms are placed across the canvas, as if floating around here and there. Abstract forms made up of long and short strokes suggest pathetic episodes against a backdrop where time seems to have stopped, with light and shadow crisscrossing each other.

In post-war North Korea, where the Korean War was called the “Fatherland Liberation War,” artists embraced socialist realism. Pyongyang University of Fine Arts taught Russian art as a required course and artists learned how to portray heroic people dramatically.

Among the former South Korean artists who defected to the North and painted wartime scenes was Lee Quede (1913-1965). Lee had already attracted public attention while in the South for his awe-inspiring history paintings.

His signature war painting, “Victory” (1958), is a mural drawn inside the Sino-Korean Friendship Tower in Moranbong District, central Pyongyang.

The tower was erected to thank China for its wartime assistance and promote bilateral ties between the two countries. Several combat scenes, including one on Sanggam Pass in which Chinese troops repulsed U.S. and South Korean

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In post-war North Korea, where the Korean War was called the “Fatherland Liberation War,� artists embraced socialist realism.

Pyongyang University of Fine Arts taught Russian art as a required course and artists learned how to portray heroic people dramatically.

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1. “Kosong People, Supporting the Front Line” by Chung Chong-yuo. 1958/1961 (retouched).

Chosonhwa. 154 × 520 cm. Korean Art Gallery, Pyongyang.

The painting features civilians in Kosong, Kangwon Province, bringing ammunition and food to the front line during winter storm.

2. “Women in the Nam River Village” by Kim Ui-gwan. 1966. Chosonhwa. 121× 264 cm.

Korean Art Gallery, Pyongyang.

The painting portrays gallant women in a riverside village in Kosong as they take care of soldiers and cattle and join the fighting.

forces, are found at the center of the mural, with American stragglers on the right-hand side and victorious Chinese troops in the upper half.

Art in the North

But more frequently depicted than battle scenes are heroic people assisting North Korean troops. Another artist from the South, Chung Chong-yuo (1914-1984), won a gold medal in a national art exhibition for “Kosong People, Supporting the Front Line” (1961), which features civilians in Kosong, Kangwon Province, braving a snowstorm to carry ammunition and food to the front line. It rhythmically portrays human figures and animals moving from right to left in perspective, effectively evoking a sense of depth and space through implicit brush strokes and graded shades of ink.

It is worth noting that, until the 1950s, oil painters outnumbered ink wash painters in North Korea. In the 1960s, however, painters were encouraged to draw the so-called Chosonhwa (literally “Korean painting”), the North Korean-style ink wash painting. This came after paramount leader Kim Il-sung stressed the need to develop Chosonhwa as a national style of painting, using traditional brush and ink, rather than producing Western-style oil paintings.

Kim allegedly pointed out that “the weakness of Chosonhwa is a lack of color, and it’s important to depict people’s struggle vividly, succinctly, beautifully and emphatically by applying colors.”

Kim is also said to have lavished praise on “Women in the Nam River Village” (1966) by Kim Ui-gwan (1939- ) and “Grandfather at the Naktong River” (1966) by Ri Chang (1942- ), among other works of Chosonhwa. The former depicts gallant women in a riverside village in Kosong as they shelter soldiers, herd cattle and fire weapons. It earned the artist the first prize in a national art exhibition.

Interestingly, North Korea doesn’t have many paintings depicting the Korean War. A far greater number of paintings have portrayed Kim Il-sung waging anti-Japanese struggle. It seems North Korean artists have sidelined the “Fatherland Liberation War,” presumably because it was Kim’s failed campaign to take over the South.

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IN LOVE WITH KOREA

Mixing and Motion An Architect’s Adventure Simone Carena A “resident alien” of almost 20 years, Italian architect Simone Carena is constantly inspired by the fast pace of life in Korea. Relishing the possibilities of a country that he believes is emerging as a lab for future cities, he happily offers hybrid solutions for his personal and professional spaces.

Cho Yoon-jung Freelance Writer and Translator Ha Ji-kwon Photographer

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ou could say the journey started with Bob Marley. As an architecture student at Polytechnic University in his hometown of Turin, Italy, Simone Carena created his own exchange program. Destination: Jamaica, home of the late legendary reggae singer.

“I’ve had a big passion for Bob Marley since I was a kid,” explains Carena. “I was 11 years old when my uncle told me, ‘You will hate this guy when you grow up. It’s just pop music.’ But I said, ‘No. I will go to Jamaica and meet the family and learn about this [music].’”

While studying on a scholarship at the Caribbean School of Architecture at Jamaica’s University of Technology, Carena did indeed meet Bob Marley’s wife and children. He also learned about dub, a genre of electronic music rooted in reggae. “It’s taking a base and adding your own sounds. In architecture, this means maintaining the structure and adding

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new elements,” says Carena. This approach courses through his work as an architect – and his life choices in Korea. It is exemplified by his home, a remodeled traditional tiled-roof house, or hanok, sitting atop the hills of the Bukchon neighborhood of Seoul.

Hybrid Home

Bukchon, found in the old center of Seoul, is an enclave of hanok houses dating back to Joseon, the last Korean monarchy. The windows and doors of these one-story homes are typically made with wood and mulberry paper. Carena’s home was far from move-in ready when he purchased it. “The wood was in bad condition. It was a poor house from the beginning. That’s why we could afford to buy it,” Carena recalls, laughing. That was in 2006.

Many preservation restrictions apply to any restoration in Bukchon. For example, it was illegal to install glass windows and doors

Looking for a place to live after marrying, Italian architect Simone Carena fell in love with a hanok in Bukchon, Seoul. A year of remodeling turned the old traditional house into a contemporary home, where he lives with his wife and three sons.

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back then, though it is allowed now. Carena didn’t feel overwhelmed, however. Coming from Italy, with its rich architectural heritage, much of his education and work had focused on restoration.

Today, the resulting “Hanok Dub” is both old and new – the precious old hanok enveloped inside of what is essentially a contemporary home. Originally facing south, the house was reoriented to the west, toward Italy, with views of Gyeongbok Palace and the presidential office, Cheong Wa Dae, lying in between.

At the center of the house is the “Living Pool,” an open space for play and relaxation by day and a bedroom by night. The kitchen and other interior spaces are colored green, which seems to make the house glow in a way that somehow is evocative of 1980s electronic music and warm and beautiful at the same time. Downstairs is a room with a window in the ceiling-cum-terrace floor. Carena’s wife, Shin Ji-hye, a fashion designer, can look up and see her three young sons playing above.

She grew up in a hanok and has happy memories of playing in the yard where a rose tree grew.

Over the years, the boys have grown and the terrace has been incorporated into the house. The apricot tree that was planted there has come inside and now stands by the dining table, like the sixth member of the family, its top passing through the roof. Carena is the first to acknowledge that his home is not a pure hanok renovation. “It is a mixed style.

We are a mixed family. So it’s going to be a mixed result,” he says.

This is all part of the “living experiment”

that constitutes life in the house. “I chose to be here because I was curious about Korean architecture, because the scale of the house makes it feel like our house, our land. I love the neighborhood, but I must say that with tourism it could become unbearable,” he says. As for the interim results of his experiment: “It’s going in the right direction. I’m very happy with the quality of life and the roots that my children are putting down. On the other hand, there is the economic system, which is an enemy.”

In Bukchon, many of the old houses have been renovated as shops, galleries and cafés rather than homes, and the neighborhood itself is surrounded by commercial areas. This translates to a lack of education infrastructure and services for families, including the hagwon (private cram schools), music teachers and swimming pools that are often part of large apartment complexes. Carena worries that his children are making sacrifices because of his choices.

But still, he dreams for the future of Bukchon. Building upwards is not allowed, but interestingly, there are no regulations against going down. “I would love to go down 20 floors. To build a nuclear safety zone, a new city underground,” he says with a smile.

Led by Passion

When Carena comments, “My life is about passion that leads me to something,” you wonder what brought him to Korea in the first place. His education was international, including a Master of Architecture from the Polytechnic University of Turin, an exchange

To create more space for the children, the house was extended to bring the terrace indoors.

The apricot tree that grew outside now lives inside with the family like its sixth member.

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program at Oxford University and the Harvard Graduate School of Design summer school, as well as a second master’s degree from the Southern California Institute of Architecture.

And, of course, there was Jamaica.

As with Jamaica, it was actually music that led Carena to Korea. His office in Turin was located in a century-old, family-operated brick factory. One day, a band came to shoot a music video there, and this led him to the production of a music video for the deaf. On a presentation tour of the video around Asia, including Korea, he met the dean of Hongik University’s International Design School for Advanced Studies and was asked to teach there. Carena arrived in 2001 and has been at the university ever since.

He also met his future wife just before she went to Japan and then Italy to study fashion. After their transcontinental courtship, the couple chose Korea to begin their married life. The reason: “We had a lot more architecture projects here than in Italy. I’m very happy to live here because I see the growth options.”

As a speed fiend who rides a motorcycle and loves Lamborghinis, Carena says, “The speed of transformation in Korea makes it always very exciting.” Therefore, Carena and his business partner, Marco Bruno, established MOTOElastico, with an office in Gwangjang Market, one of the oldest traditional street markets in Seoul.

Elaborating on his decision to stay, Carena says, “I think Korea is a lab that the world is watching to understand the impact of technology – how contemporary architecture and

the reinvention of traditional architecture play a part in its identity,” adding that, “The digital city is much more accepted and prevalent here. People understand the advantages.

In Italy, people are afraid of being spied on or commercially exploited.”

Work Inspirations

M OTO E l a s t i c o ’s p r o j e c t s h av e b e e n described as landmarks that swing between Korean know-how and Italian why-not to produce works of “super local culture.” The firm is involved in architecture, interior design, installations, exhibition design, public design, performances, and sometimes a mixture of these. Besides the Hanok Dub, the company’s high-profile works include High Street Italia, a building in Seoul’s trendy Garosu-gil neighborhood that pays tribute to Roman aqueducts and showcases Italy and Italian products, and Citizens’ Hall (Simincheong) in Seoul City Hall, where color codes identify the purpose of each zone in the open-space basement.

“Designing a public space is similar to creating a set for a play, and you have to imagine what kind of comedy or tragedy takes place there,” Carena says. And he also believes that every activity, like a play, should be entertaining in its own way. Many of his projects are fun and play with words.

Tank Bang, for example, is a portable “room” made of people walking in room-shaped formation, carrying police shields that serve as the walls. The shields are pink and bear the word “Felice,” a play on “Police.” “Felice” is the Italian word for “happy” and also the

Seeing the boys happily tumble around their Living Pool, it’s nice to think of them putting their roots down further, growing with the apricot tree, while their parents dream of building upwards or digging down into the ground.

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name of Carena’s first son. His second and third sons are named Forte and Fermo.

Bang, the Korean word for “room,” pops up in several MOTOElastico projects. “We like the bang. You have your noraebang [literally “singing room”], your PC bang, a bang for every activity of the house, that is now rentable somewhere else. This shows the practical mind of the Korean people,” Carena says. A project he would like to initiate in Bukchon is a jjimjilbang, a Korean-style public bath and dry sauna, which he hopes would start a kind of dialogue on the hanok renaissance. “It’s something that the locals and tourists could share,” he says.

Back and Forth

Carena describes his beloved motorcycle as “a moving bang that is neither interior nor exterior but a combination.” Aside from motorcycle, “moto” means motion. “It’s a dynamic point of view, a vibrant approach to the city,” he says. Moto is also about moving away from a place and then returning.

His family travels back and forth between Italy and Korea. In 2017, Carena was awarded a knighthood by the Italian government for his contribution to Italy-Korea relations. The future may hold opportunities for his family outside Korea, but he says, “We’d come back.

Korea is a great place to return to.”

Seeing the boys happily tumble around their Living Pool, it’s nice to think of them putting their roots down further, growing with the apricot tree, while their parents dream of building upwards or digging down into the ground.

Thanks to its rapid technological development and digital transformation, Carena believes that Korea is becoming an experimental laboratory for future cities.

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ON THE ROAD

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Disrupted Connection, Enduring Memories During the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), the Great Kyonghung Road was the only road connecting Seoul and the northeastern border area of Hamgyong Province in present-day North Korea. Little is left of the road today, but it continues to evoke emotions and memories.

Lee Chang-guy Poet and Literary Critic Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

A hillside neighborhood of multi-family residences is seen from Dream Forest, the fourth-largest park in Seoul.

North Korean soldiers crossed the foot of Mt. Opae, where the park is now located, as they retreated during the Korean War.

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“K

ingdom,” a Korean zombie series produced by Netflix, transports world audiences to the 17th century Joseon Dynasty. The bloodiest battle in the show’s second season, released this year, occurs at Mungyeong Saejae (“Bird Pass of Mungyeong”), a steep mountain pass on the Great Yeongnam Road, which served as a defense stronghold and conduit of cultural intercourse during Joseon. In April 1592, however, a Joseon commander put too much faith in his 8,000 cavalrymen and set up camp on the plains below the pass. This allowed Japanese invaders to cross the pass unchallenged. King Seonjo immediately recognized the tactical miscalculation. Realizing that he was in grave danger, the king fled his palace early the next morning. Within the next three days, the Japanese forces seized the royal capital Hanyang, which is today’s Seoul.

It seems that the writer of the popular series, Kim Eun-hee, took this painful memory of the storied mountain pass as the catalyst for historical imagination: the survivors in “Kingdom” strive desperately to keep legions of zombies from getting any closer to the capital city. On the other hand, history buffs might compare the valiant defense to the South’s last stand against Northern troops bearing down on Seoul 358 years later. The crucial byway in this modern war was the ancient Great Kyonghung Road.

Lost Road

Castles are major landmarks in period dramas set in Europe. Their Korean counterparts are roads. Rough mountain roads and the act of passing through their gateways have been symbolic of hardship or changes in national fortune. Mungyeong Saejae’s historical significance is further enhanced by its riveting natural landscape. But while some of these roads are memorialized today as historic and scenic spots, others have been all but forgotten. This trip takes us on roads that don’t even have signs, let alone well-tended parks or memorial halls with explanatory plaques.

During Joseon, anyone traveling overland from the nation’s northeastern border to Seoul would have used the Great Kyonghung Road. It spanned more than 500 kilometers, much of it hugging the eastern seacoast. Today, the section of the road that lies in South Korea is treated as a historic national road. The designation ends at the Demilitarized Zone that separates the two Koreas. Surely, many Koreans who traveled this road to flee the North before or during the Korean War (1950-53) have never had a chance to return. It thus symbolizes someone’s wishes to go back to his hometown, another’s desire to find her lost self, or yet others’ hopes to simply return to something.

Starting from the northeast and going southward, the road tells a story of courage and heroics. In his geography book Taengniji (“Ecological Guide to Korea”), Yi Jung-hwan, a late Joseon silhak (“practical learning”) scholar, described inhabitants of the

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1. Seen from the Chinese province of Jilin, a bridge over the Tumen River connects North Korea and Russia. This bridge is crossed when traveling by train from the Rason [Rajin-Sonbong] Special Economic Zone in North Korea to Khasan in Russia.

2. Ruins of a train chassis and a North Korean freight car bombed by UN forces are displayed on the grounds of Woljeong-ri Station, a major tourist attraction near the Southern Limit Line of the Demilitarized Zone dividing the two Koreas. The railway station in Cheorwon County, Gangwon Province, has been out of operation since the division.

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© Yonhap News Agency

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Hamgyong region as “strong and fierce,” a trait achieved by living in an area that “borders a land of barbarians.”

During the Japanese Invasions (1592-1598), Jeong Mun-bu, a low-level civil official, famously gathered 3,000 civilian warriors and successfully repulsed some 28,000-strong enemy troops along this road. Later, King Sukjong (r. 1674-1720) erected a monument in the town of Kilju to honor their victory.

But during the Russo-Japanese War, a Japanese general sent it to the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo. Heeding a years-long campaign by the Koreans, Japan returned the monument in 2005, a century after it was stolen. The following year, it was sent back to its rightful place in North Korea.

The Tumen River constitutes the northeastern border of the Korean peninsula. Across the river lies the Russian border town of Khasan, so near that it seems within earshot of a spattering of Russian. A small bay with several lagoons occupies the downstream part of the river. South of the bay is the Rason [Rajin-Sonbong] Special Economic Zone, the first free trade zone in North Korea, and to the east is the site of Sosura Harbor. Google Maps shows no traces of this ancient harbor now. During Joseon, it was the site of the first signal fire post to warn of an enemy attack.

The Great Kyonghung Road started at Sosura, passed through Kyonghung (a.k.a. Gyeongheung, or today’s Undok), and followed the Tumen River upstream for a spell. It then squeezed through majestic mountains like a thin capillary before turning southward and crossing over Chollyong in Gangwon Province. Chollyong is a winding mountain pass.

Exploiting the local topography, both the Joseon and the preceding Goryeo dynasties maintained a fort on this pass to serve as a stronghold for defense of the northeastern region. The part of Hamgyong Province north of this fort was called Gwanbuk, literally “north of the mountain pass,” and the area to the west was called Gwanseo, meaning “west of the mountain pass.” Past Chollyong, the road leads to the famed Mt. Kumgang (a.k.a. Mt. Geumgang), or the Diamond Mountains, in the southeast.

Beyond this point, it is difficult to discern any roads on Google Maps. This is an indication that the Demilitarized Zone is near. South of the DMZ, the road crosses the Gimhwa Plains to Pocheon and over

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 65

the Chukseong Pass to Uijeongbu city. It is here that, suddenly, the three magnificent peaks of Mt. Bukhan appear before your eyes on the northern periphery of Seoul. The subway trip from here to the middle of the city takes about 40 minutes.

Departure from Seoul

The official departure point for the Great Kyonghung Road was Dongdaemun, the main east gate of the old city of Hanyang. However, it seems Jurchen envoys preferred Hyehwamun in the north, one of the city’s four minor gates. Hyehwa means “to edify by grace” and is thought to have referred to educating the Jurchens (ancestors of the Manchu people). To travel northward from Hyehwamun to Uijeongbu, it was necessary to cross Donam-dong Hill between Mt. Bukhan and the adjoining Mt. Gaeun. The original name of the hill was Doeneomi, meaning the “hill crossed by doenom.” Doenom was a derogatory term for immigrants from the northeast. At a certain point of time, the Jurchens became the main users of the hill road, thanks to Yi Seong-gye, later King Taejo (r. 1392-1398), founder of Joseon.

Yi’s father played a pivotal role in reclaiming the northeast, which had been ruled by China’s Yuan Dynasty for about a centu-

ry during late Goryeo. Yi inherited his father’s power and position, and shielded the region from constant aggression. His amicable relationship with the Jurchens was a diplomatic asset that was useful to him as he founded Joseon. When the so-called Red Turban rebels invaded, Yi led his forces on the Great Kyonghung Road to protect the Goryeo-era capital of Gaegyeong, which is today’s Kaesong in North Korea.

In his later years, after he stepped down from the throne, Yi spent the rest of his life traveling back and forth along this road.

Hill of Sorrow

Donam-dong Hill was also called Miari Hill because a neighborhood named Miari lay beyond it. Today, Donam-dong is part of Seongbuk District, in the midnorth section of Seoul. Before the post-Korean War urban sprawl, the area was located on the outskirts of the capital. It was a major battlefront in the defense of Seoul during the Korean War. South Korean soldiers, who had been driven back by the advancing

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1. Monument and statues erected in honor of the soldiers who participated in the Battle of Chukseong Pass in Uijeongbu during the Korean War. 2. Miari Hill undergoes an expansion in this photo dated 1964. At the time, there was no walkway alongside the road so pedestrians had to dodge vehicles.

3. Miari Hill today is a busy traffic thoroughfare connecting the old city center of Seoul and its northeastern outskirts. In June 1950, North Korean troops crossed this hill as they advanced on Seoul.

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Š Seoul Metropolitan Government

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The defense line collapsed in the early hours of June 28, 1950, three days after the invasion began. The battle stripped the mountain of its trees; now, long after the smoke of guns has been forgotten, an apartment complex commanding sprawling views stands on the spot.

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First Corps of the North’s Korean People’s Army in the Battle of Uijeongbu, fought to the last on Mt. Gaeun as they tried to stop the North’s tanks from advancing.

The defense line collapsed in the early hours of June 28, 1950, three days after the invasion began. By then, unbeknownst to the South Korean units on Miari Hill, North Korean tanks had already reached downtown Seoul. The battle stripped the mountain of its trees; now, long after the smoke of guns has been forgotten, an apartment complex commanding sprawling views stands on the spot.

Months later, after the tide of war changed, UN forces used the Great Kyonghung Road to pursue the retreating North Korean army, piercing deep into the northeast to the major industrial port of Chongjin, now the provincial capital of North Hamgyong.

In 1956, three years after guns had been laid down by an armistice agreement, the song “Miari, Hill of Wrenching Sadness” became a hit (see page 7). However, local residents preferred Donam-dong Hill to the sorrow-ridden name Miari Hill. Indeed,

Sites to Visit in Miari Kyonghung

Mia Station

Sosura

Dream Forest

Hamhung

Pocheon

1 Sang Sang Tok Tok Gallery

Chollyong Cheorwon

Seoul Uijeongbu

Miasageori [Mia Junction] Station

“Miari” cannot be detected anywhere today in the local government’s project to restore the old roads and create a cultural exploration trail.

It seems everyone living here is uncomfortable with the image of their home as the site of national tragedy, immortalized by a line in the song: “You− dragged away with hands tied up tight with barbed wire.” Moreover, nobody knows for sure whether the person who was dragged away was a rightist captured and killed by the retreating Northern troops or someone who had trusted the South Korean government and remained in Seoul only to be executed on charges of siding with the enemy. After the city was reclaimed, some 50,000 people were arrested on such charges and around 160 were executed.

Distant Memories

National Road No. 3 runs northward from Mia Junction, over Suyuri Hill and along Jungnyang Stream to Uijeongbu. Taking into account that the road has been widened and moved several times over the past decades, it can be surmised that it roughly follows the same route as the old Great Kyonghung Road.

Part of the original road actually remains, one block to the left of Banghak Junction. Amazingly, this stretch of road, which is more than 500 years old, still functions today, not as a historic site but as a part of everyday life. Some 10 meters wide and running 3 kilometers to Mt. Dobong Station, the road is lined with shops or traditional-style markets, with North Seoul Middle School located near its midway point. Residents go about the business of day-today life, sweeping their yards and buying and selling goods. They apparently have little interest in the

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Gireum Station 2 Miari Arts Theater 3 Miari Fortunetellers’ Village

4 Hyehwa Gate

Mt. Gaeun Park

Sungshin Women’s University Station

Hansung University Station

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1. Dream Forest opened in 2009 on the site of a former amusement park. It has a 50-meter-high observatory.

2. Jeil Market in Donam-dong was opened in 1952 and renovated in the 1970s.

Though not large, the traditional market has many old stores. It is a part of everyday life for the local residents, as well as a tourist attraction.

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joys, clamors and marvels that the road has witnessed over time. Hints of history are occasionally seen on roadside signs bearing detailed directions to the Mt. Dobong walking trail or the tombs of Joseon royal family members and other powerful men.

In the past, Miari Hill was like a gateway to Seoul. Without crossing the hill, it was difficult to buy anything of value or enjoy sights worth seeing. When eaten at the market in Donam-dong, even the most common rice and soup dishes cooked with potatoes or ox blood tasted cleaner and better. This was because Donam-dong was the last stop on the

tram line, the urban terminus. Beyond was the countryside. The tram line opened in 1939 and operated until 1968, creating the area’s signature impression. But when Miari was designated for new town development in 2002 as part of a plan to achieve more balanced growth in Seoul, its history was shaken once again. The scale and speed of development was large and fast, and in less than a decade, people’s image of Miari was completely overturned.

However, from the observatory in Dream Forest, one of the area’s symbolic spots, you can see the past and present of Seoul at the same time.

The road that runs north from Uijeongbu Station splits in two directions. The northeast road that forks off to the right is the Great Kyonghung Road, its first section passing the ceasefire line and running all the way up through North Korea to the Tumen River.

I imagine a file of travelers: a vain, young nobleman on a sleepy mule that stumbles for a moment; young servants following behind with loads on their backs, oblivious to the blisters on their feet, with their destination still far away; and a young solider carrying a long rifle over his shoulder, bringing up the rear and bellowing a military song until his voice is hoarse. I stand there for a long while, just looking, unable to decide in which direction to go.

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AN ORDINARY DAY

A Barrage of Voices Most customers are kind. There are always a few, though, who manage to inflict deep emotional scars with just a few words. Currently in her third year at a customer service call center for a massage chair company, Jang Yoon-young has experienced this firsthand.

Hwang Kyung-shin Writer Ha Ji-kwon Photographer

H

er morning is precisely choreographed: wake up at 7:40, skip breakfast, leave at 8:20, arrive 25 minutes later, have coffee and prepare. At precisely 9 a.m. the phones ring, without fail.

“Hello, this is Customer Satisfaction Team Member Jang Yoon-young. What can I help you with?”

On an average day, Jang answers 60 inquiries at her Seoul call center and makes 40 calls to tell customers about special giveaway events or relay product safety information. Most of the incoming calls involve delivery time. For massage chairs, this averages seven to 10 days, but to people who have become accustomed to same-day delivery, that may seem like an eternity. For rush requests, she estimates a date and assures that the delivery team will follow up with an exact time, but not every caller is satisfied.

Jang groups customers into three clusters. The majority – 80 out of 100 – eventually accept the delivery situation after listening to her polite explanation. She labels people who listen closely and those who are amicable as “good customers.” About 18 out of every 100 are in her “bad customers” group. Their overriding reason for calling is to complain and they refuse to listen. “Don’t give me that nonsense,”

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they yell. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” “I don’t want to hear your excuses!” The remaining two out of 100 are the “worst.” These are the ones who spew a torrent of obscenities and shift seamlessly into sexual harassment.

The odds of encountering a bad customer on the first call, at 9 a.m., are very high. Impatience and anger have been percolating for a day or more, ready to be unleashed as soon as the call center opens. Monday mornings are even worse. The usual first callers have been watching the clock all weekend with a shortening fuse. For Jang, Monday mornings could hardly be any further from a pleasant start to a new week.

A Sobering Start

During the noon hour lunch break, Jang bypasses the cafeteria. What she craves most – more than any meal – is a space without voices, a piece of time to herself when she doesn’t have to listen or speak. After soothing her empty stomach with a boiled egg and some soy milk, she tries a quick power nap. In the same way manual laborers need food to replenish their physical energy, service workers require peace and quiet to refill their exhausted emotional reservoirs. It is necessary to recharge for the afternoon shift.

When the call center opened in 2017, it was understaffed and underequipped. Jang received only two days of training, so she had to rely on more experienced coworkers for correct information. “I know call centers are notorious for having poor working conditions, but I didn’t really feel it that much at the beginning,” she says. That matched her early assumption that working at a call center would be easier than her previous job in pharmaceutical sales. But it soon changed.

A month into her job, she got a taste of what feeds the bad reputation.

A customer requested that an order be delivered later, rather than imme-

Jang Yoon-young speaks to a customer.

A call center employee, she assists scores of customers during her 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. workday.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 71

During the noon hour lunch break, Jang bypasses the cafeteria. What she craves most – more than any meal – is a space without voices, a piece of time to herself when she doesn’t have to listen or speak.

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1. Jang estimates that 20 percent of the people she interacts with on a given day are abrupt and harsh. To deal with the stress, she sometimes writes down her thoughts.

2. As the COVID-19 pandemic stifles hugs with even her close friends, Jang’s Pengsoo doll has been helpful.

diately. Jang’s simple question, “When would you like it delivered?” somehow ignited a barrage of verbal abuse and obscenities. In the end, all she could do was put down the receiver after explaining, “Due to your abusive language, it has become impossible to continue your consultation.” Afraid that she would burst into tears, Jang left her desk for a nearby playground, where she sat on a swing and cried for a good while. Years later, she still remembers that voice and phone number.

“Someone who just starts swearing for no reason – those people act that way because that’s how they’ve lived their own lives. They must have solved a lot of things by yelling. So now, they just start right off by yelling and then see what comes next.”

Asked about anything fun about her job, Jang cocks her head to one side and says she

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can’t recall a single moment. However, there are always a few customers who thank her sincerely and express their appreciation, and that helps sustain her. Just hearing the tenor of a customer’s voice, or even the sound of their breathing, informs her of what to expect, she adds.

As for unhappy moments, she responds with a sigh. “There was a customer once who said they turned their massage chair on without realizing their little dog was sitting in it. Tragically, it was too late to save the dog.

And I’ve received requests to move massage chairs from the homes of elderly parents to the homes of their children. I assume this is because the original owners have passed away. Once, a delivery driver got on an external platform to assure a customer that it would be a reliable way of moving a chair up to a high-rise apartment. And then, there actually was a fall.”

Stress Relief

When she has a difficult customer, Jang tries to imagine the caller’s perspective and thoughts. No matter how unpleasant or unfair an encounter, the only way forward is to push it aside or find a way to forget. Still, the stress never disappears completely. It comes in many forms.

The job is inherently faceless. But Jang describes an episode when an

end at 6 p.m., and then, bang! Like a door slamming shut, she closes her emotions and turns off the lights.

Jang tries a variety of ways to keep stress at bay.

“I bring all kinds of scents to the office and try spraying this and that.

If the smell changes, the air changes. And that helps change my mood.

There are nights when some of the other employees and I get together after work to have a drink and blow off steam, but these days I usually go home early. Partly because of coronavirus and partly because I’m so desperate for time to just space out and do nothing.”

Embracing Reality

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employee at another call center was on an elevator, telling a colleague about “a strange call from a strange customer” – and ended up in court. The “strange customer” had happened to be on that same elevator at that same moment.

In a flash, the encounter was shared with other call centers, exacting a chill throughout them.

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve just been crying because someone yelled at you; the next call that comes has to be answered cheerfully.

And the calls just keep on coming, so you can’t even step outside for a moment to calm yourself down. That’s why, after you hang up on a particularly hurtful call, you kind of end up talking to yourself. Actually, if you look around, everyone’s sitting at their seat mumbling to themselves.”

Still, no matter what happens to Jang and her 12 coworkers, the clock always promises an

Jang might once have been ill-suited for work in a call center. At her first job right out of high school, where she worked for 10 years, she was no easy mark. Hit with a verbal jab she would counterpunch instantly, saying whatever she wanted. Back then she enjoyed socializing. Now, she prefers to be alone.

Recently, when Jang told a customer that an outstanding balance had to be paid before repair services could be rendered, the customer replied, “I hope you get COVID-19 and die.” At that moment, she thought of her younger sibling, who had suddenly passed a few months earlier, and of her mother, now living alone. That night, she wrote the following in her diary: “These days, now that the coronavirus means human hugs are entirely off the table, I’ve taken to carrying around a 60 cm tall Pengsoo doll. Hugging the soft, light and round little guy and patting its butt – it’s soothing.

Seems likely the KF94 mask I have to wear isn’t the only reason I have trouble catching my breath. My vocal cords are always swollen from the dryness, and by afternoon my voice has changed from morning. There’s a lump in my throat that’s so big that I can hardly swallow. My throat is actually fine, of course. I just mean that every now and then, it feels like I’m trying to swallow something hot and dense, gulping it down before it can jump out of my mouth. Today a customer cursed at me, saying, ‘I hope you get COVID-19 and die.’ Me, the only child Mother has left now.

They wanted me to die.”

When she was young, Jang wanted to become a writer, proving to herself that she could succeed in a popular but elusive field. Now, her dream is simply to do no harm, to live a life of tenderness and simplicity. Her days feel like a repetition of something less than sacred, certainly not worthy of any medal. But that doesn’t mean she wants to erase any part of her life. She doesn’t want to lament the roads not taken, either, or indulge any lingering regrets over the opportunities she may have missed.

“As long as people are still people, the world will keep turning in the same direction, no matter what choices I happen to make. There are moments when I think it would be good if everything just stopped for a bit. Still, wanting to make the most of the time we are given regardless, and finding ourselves doing the best we can – I actually believe that’s what life is.”

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BOOKS

& MORE Charles La Shure

Professor, Department of Korean Language and Literature, Seoul National University

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The Unlikely Encounter of Two Women ‘Marilyn and Me’

By Ji-Min Lee, Translated by Chi-Young Kim, 170 pages, £12.99, London: 4th Estate [2019]

Less than a year since the end of the Korean War, the peninsula is about to be thrown into chaos again as another bombshell targets it. This bombshell, though, is of the blonde variety: Marilyn Monroe is scheduled to visit for a four-day tour of U.S. military bases in South Korea. While nearly all the men in the story predictably lose their minds whenever she appears, the protagonist – a woman named Alice J. Kim, who is tasked with being Marilyn’s interpreter – struggles with a different kind of insanity.

Alice works for the U.S. military as a translator in the Public Information Office, a position that might at first seem enviable for the stability it offers in the uncertainty of post-war Korea. But she finds herself caught between worlds, haunted by a wartime past that turned her hair prematurely gray and marked her as broken. She tries to forget this past and put it behind her, like the women in the dance hall who have survived the war and are determined to live their lives as boldly as possible. But she cannot escape its grip. Indeed, the very first words she utters in the novel are “I go to work thinking of death,” setting the tone for the rest of the story.

Alice’s encounter with Marilyn and her experience as the star’s interpreter serve as a frame for reminiscences and flashbacks to the war and the years leading up to it. Then, as now, she is caught between worlds, between a relationship with a married writer and a Japanese-American missionary who teaches her English and gives her a new name. And yet perhaps the only man who ever truly understood her – an artist like her who also studied in Japan and was creating propaganda with her in North Korea before the war – is the one man whose affections she rejects.

As the story unfolds, we learn more about Alice’s past and her experiences during the war. She fled the North during the Hungnam Evacuation, but cannot escape the memories of the horror she endured. Back in the present, Alice strives to maintain her composure at Marilyn’s side, buffeted by the crush of humanity wherever the star goes. Behind the scenes, though, when Marilyn has left the stage and the crowds of clamoring soldiers behind, Alice sees a woman tired and exhausted, who is fated to “love all men while not receiving a single man’s love,” sharing Alice’s need for the sweet embrace of oblivion. Marilyn will survive her whirlwind tour of Korea, and will later say that it was the first time she felt like a real star, but will Alice survive the memories of her past, memories of fateful decisions that plunged her life into tragedy?

Lee’s prose flows smoothly, and the desperateness of the story as it hurtles toward its conclusion keeps the pages turning.

Many novels have of course dealt with the horror of the Korean War previously; “Marylin and Me” (the title of the U.S. edition: “The Starlet and the Spy”) avoids any discussion of ideology or the grander issues of history, instead choosing to focus with intensity on one woman whose life was shattered during that horrible time. Yet within her pain and suffering there is perhaps a glimmer of hope, shining like the smile of the most beautiful woman in the world.

A Timeless Guidebook on Meditation ‘A Bird in Flight Leaves No Trace: The Zen Teachings of Huangbo with a Modern Commentary’

By Seon Master Subul, Translated by Robert E. Buswell, Jr. and Seong-Uk Kim, 360 pages, $29.95, Massachusetts: Wisdom Publications [2019]

This volume offers a multilayered text: a ninth-century Chinese treatise by the Chan Master Huangbo Xiyun interwoven with modern commentary from Korean Seon Master Subul, all of which has now been translated into English for the first time.

Chan or Seon Buddhism, more commonly known in the West as Zen Buddhism, focuses primarily on meditation as a means to enlightenment, as opposed to doctrinal schools, which draw from the sutras. Seon Master Subul has spent many years leading others in the practice of ganhwa Seon, or “the Seon of examining meditative topics.” The idea is that a practitioner concentrates on a key topic that eventually gives rise to a sense of questioning or doubt. Our usual ways of thinking will only lead us into a dead end if we apply them in an attempt to dispel this doubt. Instead, the practitioner must abandon these old ways of thinking in order to experience a breakthrough. However, after having helped many lay practitioners to arrive at such an experience through the practice of ganhwa Seon, Master

Subul discovered that they often yearned for more; beyond the breakthrough, they wanted to deepen their spiritual experience even further.

Master Subul unfailingly tells such students that there is, in fact, nothing more to achieve, and that chasing after new experiences is only another form of attachment. His commentary on Huangbo Xiyun’s “The Essentials of Transmitting the Mind-Dharma” was written as a guidebook on what to do after achieving that initial breakthrough. This ancient text, which is written in the form of a series of exchanges between Pei Xiu, a Confucian scholar who also practiced Buddhism, and Master Huangbo, proves surprisingly modern, as the questions that Pei Xiu asked Master Huangbo were the same questions that Master Subul receives from his students.

While this book was originally intended for practitioners who have already achieved their breakthrough and will most benefit such readers, it will also be of interest to any student of Buddhism.

Channel for Culinary Adventurers ‘COOKAT’

www.youtube.com/channel/UCBAYajvDy1-R8D0aaPaleaw

Cooking channels are especially popular on YouTube these days, with people from countries and cultures around the world sharing their culinary experiences and knowledge. This is one such channel, featuring a variety of recipes sorted into playlists such as “Main Dish,” “Appetizers,” “Desserts” and “Korean Food.” The last playlist in particular will be of interest to those looking for some quick and easy takes on Korean cooking.

Most of the videos are only a few minutes long, mak-

ing them ideal for watching during quick breaks (or even binge-watching, if that’s your thing). The topdown camerawork and captions make the recipes easy to follow, and the ingredients and instructions are reprinted below each video for those who want to follow along at a slower pace. Your waistline would suffer if you were to try everything they have on offer, but you might also be inspired to try something new or incorporate a little Korean into your own cooking.

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ENTERTAINMENT

Disaster Movies Rebuke Authorities Public despair about government responses to natural and manmade calamities seep into the storylines of Korean disaster films.

Jung Duk-hyun Popular Culture Critic

B

efore the premiere of “The Host,” Korean moviegoers were led to believe that it would be a monster movie. But the 2006 film directed by Oscar-winning Bong Joon-ho (“Parasite”) had a deeper layer. The focus was not so much on a rampaging monster emerging from the Han River in Seoul but on the recklessness and ineptitude of those in command. The monster is the result of U.S. military chemicals dumped in the river. When the Korean government fails to defend the public, powerless, innocent people are left on their own to save a child grabbed by the river beast.

“The Host” was the highest-grossing Korean film ever at the time, exceeding 13 million admissions. Its success was partly credited to torrential rain in the summer of that year. The inundation cost hundreds of billions of won in property damage and displaced tens of thousands of people from their homes. Under the circumstances, people could relate to the movie’s message, which

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was basically, “The real monster is not the disaster itself, but the way people respond to the disaster.”

Template for Success

“The Host” cast a new template for the disaster genre. “Haeundae,” a 2009 film directed

by Yoon Je-kyoon, revolved around a tsunami that slams into the most popular summer destination in Korea. It highlighted the characters’ subtle emotions and conflicts rather than death and destruction on the Busan beach. It sold more than 11 million tickets.

The emotional approach became an idiosyncratic feature of Korean disaster blockbusters amid their continued commercial success. However, some movies made in this mold turned out to be sentimental tear-jerkers, and the style eventually lost favor.

Disaster films rebounded with Yeon Sangho’s “Train to Busan” in 2016, featuring passengers fighting off zombies on a high-speed KTX train headed for Busan. But the flick

1. A scene from director Bong Joon-ho’s 2006 hit “The Host.”

The movie created a new success formula for Korean-style disaster movies. It also became one of the highestgrossing Korean films of all time.

© Chungeorahm Films

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also had elements of an “upgraded” disaster movie. The train was a metaphor for the modernization of Korea at breakneck pace. Hordes of zombies, charging in waves, represented a satire of the growth-obsessed Korean society. And higher-status characters who failed to provide enough help were a comment on destructive privileged beliefs, echoing the message of “The Host.”

Leadership in Crisis

The sinking of the Sewol ferry in 2014, which claimed the lives of hundreds of passengers, most of them high school students on a field trip, sparked public outrage when investigations revealed an absence of leadership and emergency protocol in the wake of the accident. The Korean public condemned the government for negligence. The failure to respond promptly and effectively weighed heavily on the impeachment of President Park Geun-hye.

In 2016, when the impeachment process

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2. Gang-du, a snack bar vendor near the Han River, grabs his daughter Hyun-seo’s hand as they flee from a monster that has surfaced from the river. “The Host” is a black comedy film that highlights government incompetence in an emergency situation.

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© Next Entertainment World

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Many disaster films that followed had common critical themes: incompetence and non-transparency by officials in charge, and social network-based public opinion leading to tangible changes.

1. Passengers turn into zombies in “Train to Busan,” a 2016 action horror film by director Yeon Sang-ho. On the surface, this may be yet another zombie film, but it also satirizes Korean society’s obsession with growth at breakneck speed.

2. Director Lee Sang-geun’s 2019 film “Exit” added touches of humor in portraying the mayhem in a city engulfed with toxic gas. The movie thus exhibited a distinctive approach to handling a disaster.

3. “Ashfall” is about North-South collaboration to stop further eruptions of a volcano that has awakened, threatening the entire Korean peninsula. Co-directors Lee Hae-jun and Kim Byung-seo led the 2019 film to success, injecting humor into the crisis.

© CJ ENM

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‘The Flu’ and COVID-19

unfolded, Koreans had more than their usual share of disaster films on offer; in addition to “Train to Busan,” there were “Tunnel,” which was about a tunnel collapse, and “Pandora,” which dealt with a nuclear power plant accident. The impeachment reflected “digital democratization” in Korea, which bloomed alongside the internet and smartphones. In the 2000s, public outcry moved more and more from physical spaces to cyberspace, where information and ideas could be shared at greater speeds and larger scales. The country’s high-speed links and deep mobile phone penetration facilitated discussion not only on political issues but also on government response to disasters. Many disaster films that followed had common critical themes: incompetence and non-transparency on the part of officials in charge and social network-based public opinion leading to tangible changes.

By looking into these trends, it is possible to read the change in Koreans’ perspective of disasters and the responses to them. Messages contained in disaster movies, such as a demand for a competent central command and timely information, reflect public anguish over the handling of real-life crises.

The disapproving tone was non-existent in 2019 films. “Exit,” which was about escaping a city filled with noxious gases, and “Ashfall,” which depicted inter-Korean collaboration in the aftermath of a fictitious volcanic eruption of Mt. Paektu (a.k.a. Mt. Baekdu), recorded 9.4 million and 8.25 million admissions, respectively. Social criticism was absent from both films; they were all about the fun of the genre and were loaded with humor. But the evolving trends in Korean disaster movies may turn yet again, motivated by the COVID-19 pandemic.

4. Director Kim Sung-su’s 2013 movie “The Flu” regained attention amidst the COVID-19 pandemic.

The people wearing masks in the movie poster bear an uncanny resemblance to people worldwide today.

The novel coronavirus pandemic elicits eerie comparisons to “The Flu,” a 2013 film by director Kim Sung-su. It depicts panic and chaos created by a deadly respiratory virus that breaks out in a town near Seoul and spreads across the nation.

The movie opens with a scene of droplets from a sneeze floating through the air, a chilling reminder of one of the primary ways COVID-19 spreads. A later mass incineration scene is terrifying; the infected are burned alive in order to stop the spread of the virus.

Similar to other Korean disaster movies, “The Flu” questions incompetent leadership, placing more weight on accusing the government’s modus operandi instead of public fear of the horrible disease.

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ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

Buckwheat Noodles A Cool Summer Treat

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© Yonhap News Agency

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Cold noodles eaten in the hot summer stimulate the appetite and help restore vitality. Buckwheat, or memil, the main ingredient of the cold noodle dish naengmyeon, contains more nutrients than most other grains. Koreans like to consume buckwheat powder in jelly (muk) and pancakes (jeon), but they especially love cold buckwheat noodles.

Jeong Jae-hoon Pharmacist and Food Writer

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hen an inter-Korean summit took place on April 27, 2018, the temperature hovered over 22 degrees Celsius.

After their talks at Panmunjom, President Moon Jaein and North Korean leader Kim Jong-un sat side by side and ate a bowl of cold buckwheat noodles, a scene that was broadcast around the world. Pleasantly inspired, Koreans began lining up in front of naengmyeon restaurants and sales of instant naengmyeon soared 300 percent.

Naengmyeon is a summer delicacy today, but was originally eaten in winter. In the days before refrigerators, the cold broth – or the dongchimi (radish water kimchi) juice that was often used in its place – required ice that could only be procured in winter. The late autumn harvest of buckwheat was another reason. Buckwheat grows quickly and can be harvested after two or three months, but is difficult to store in warm weather. It can spoil quickly because of its high lipid content, which is twice that of most grains. As long storage is only possible in winter, it’s best to sow seeds in summer for a late autumn crop.

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© Newsbank

A Seasonal Delicacy

There was another reason that naengmyeon was originally considered a winter treat: the very special feeling of enjoying cold noodles while sitting on a nice warm floor on a cold day. A “eulogy to naengmyeon” by a woman named Kim So-jeo was run in the popular magazine Byeolgeongon (“Another World”) in December 1929: “Consuming the noodles in thinly iced kimchi juice with chopsticks and then moving to the hottest part of the heated floor to warm up your shivering body!

That’s the real taste of Pyongyang naengmyeon! Those of you who haven’t tasted it

1. Simply the sight of Pyongyang naengmyeon with its slushy ice is cool and refreshing. The buckwheat noodles, freshly made and immediately boiled, feel firm and elastic in the cold meat broth.

2. Hamhung naengmyeon is mixed with a sweet and spicy sauce, and garnished with sliced cucumber and raw pollack. Consisting mainly of starch, the noodles are thinner than Pyongyang-style noodles but still chewy.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 81

1 © Yonhap News Agency

– can you imagine it?”

This joy of contrast is also found in an article published in the Dong-A Ilbo daily newspaper on January 11, 1973. In a conversation with his son, Kim Seon-bong (1922-1997), a master performer of the Bongsan Mask Dance, recalls winters in his hometown in Hwanghae Province, beyond the DMZ. “After playing yut [a traditional board game] late into the night, we would make makguksu with iced dongchimi juice, topped with pheasant meat. What a flavor it had! As we slurped the cold noodles, our teeth chattered while our bodies, wrapped in blankets, sweltered on the hot floor…”

Today, people think makguksu is a specialty of the mountainous province of Gangwon, but as indicated by

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the above statement, it is in fact another type of naengmyeon. Generally, mak means “rough,” so the name apparently refers to something roughly made, as in makgwaja cookies or maksoju liquor. It could also refer to the roughly ground buckwheat used to make the noodles. Both explanations seem valid; as the noodles are made of roughly ground seeds, they do feel rough in texture. Another meaning for mak is “just now,” and buckwheat noodles must indeed be made and cooked quickly. The lipid they contain decomposes easily and the volatile elements that provide their flavor can disappear when heated. If the grinding machine overheats, the savory, nutty taste of buckwheat flour is lost. For these reasons, buckwheat has to be made into noodles shortly after being ground. This is unlike wheat flour dough, which gets more elastic the more it is kneaded, due to its gluten content.

In fact, buckwheat doesn’t contain gluten at all. Consisting of 80 percent starch, 14 percent protein and a little mucilage, buckwheat doesn’t easily make a sticky dough.

To enhance its stickiness, starch or wheat flour is added, and the texture of the noodles differs depending on the mixture. In order to get the best flavor and texture, the dough should be passed through a noodle maker as quickly as possible. That was the reason a noodle maker was transported from Okryugwan, the restaurant in Pyongyang famous for its naengmyeon, to the Panmunjom truce village for the summit banquet. Once the noodles have been extracted, they have to be boiled right away, but only for two or three minutes – any longer and they become mushy. Afterwards, the noodles should immediately be washed in cold water to stop them from further cooking in the residual heat, or from sticking together because of the starch on their surface.

When mixed in cold broth, the noodles characteristically feel firm and elastic, whereas when mixed with a sweet and spicy sauce, they feel tender.

Gastronomic Debate

Hand-operated noodle makers of old have been replaced by noodle-making machines, and the development of refrigeration and freezing has made it possible for diners to enjoy naengmyeon at any time of the year. The July 1931 issue of Byeolgeongon carried the following report: “In Pyongan Province, naengmyeon tastes better and seems more special in winter than in summer, but in Seoul it is eaten more in the summer. In truth, it is also eaten more often in summer in Pyongan Province, too. Regardless of where you are, for those who love to eat cold noodles in the summer, what’s better than a naengmyeon restaurant? The

Buckwheat noodles are cooked for only two or three minutes – any longer and they become mushy.

Afterwards, the noodles should immediately be washed in cold water to stop them from further cooking in the residual heat, or from sticking together because of the starch on their surface.

2 © Naver Knowledge Encyclopedia

1. From a traditional noodle maker, buckwheat noodles fall directly into boiling water. Buckwheat contains absolutely no gluten, so the dough must be passed through a noodle maker as soon as it is made and the noodles immediately boiled to ensure a firm texture.

2. Bitter buckwheat is a variety that is usually roasted and consumed as tea. Grown mostly in the Himalayas in China and Nepal, it has become popular as a health food for its high rutin content. Recently, it has been successfully grown in Korea.

number of naengmyeon restaurants in Seoul is increasing every year. One bowl costs 15 jeon on average, but the taste varies depending on who makes the noodles.”

Naengmyeon has also sparked fierce gastronomical debate. A few years ago, the newly coined word “myeonsplain” appeared. Like “mansplain,” which denotes a man

explaining something to a woman in a condescending manner, myeonsplain (myeon means “noodles”) indicates someone expounding on their ideas of “real naengmyeon.”

The debate centers specifically on Pyongan Province-style naengmyeon eaten in Pyongyang. Starting with whether the version eaten in Pyongyang today or the version eaten in Seoul is closer to the original from Pyongan Province, the debate goes on to question the noodles and the broth, the vinegar and mustard, and the garnish. Some insist on the principle of “drinking first and eating later,” arguing that only after drinking alcohol and eating a meat dish can the taste of the noodles be properly appreciated. They aren’t necessarily wrong. To really enjoy the flavor of a food, it’s better not to be hungry.

Regional Specialties

However, there are no real rules for eating naengmyeon. Too many different varieties exist for that. Although it was intro2 duced to South Korea by North Koreans who came south during the Korean War, Pyongyang naengmyeon served in Seoul, Uijeongbu and Incheon all differ from one another.

Daejeon and Daegu also have their respective specialties. In Jinju, South Gyeongsang Province, naengmyeon is served in seafood broth and garnished with egg-coated, pan-fried beef slices (yukjeon), and in Busan, the noodles are made of 100 percent wheat flour.

Within Gangwon Province, where they call cold buckwheat noodles makguksu rather than naengmyeon, different types of noodles, broths and garnishes are found from region to region. In the region west of Daegwallyeong pass, fine, white buckwheat is used, and in the eastern coastal region, the noodles are rather dark and rough because they are made with unhusked buckwheat. Various soup bases are used, such as dongchimi juice, meat broth, or soy sauce broth. In Sokcho, a coastal town just south of the DMZ, residents hailing from Hamgyong Province in the North 3 remember home as they eat yet another type of naengmyeon, which is mixed with spicy sauce made with red pepper paste and garnished with raw pollack.

Recently, noodles made with a new, bitter variety of buckwheat have been gaining popularity. Buckwheat contains rutin, a flavonoid with antioxidants, which helps keep blood vessels healthy. Bitter buckwheat has somewhere between 20 and 100 times as much rutin as ordinary buckwheat. Research is actively underway to reduce its bitterness while maintaining the rutin content. This is good news for gourmets who want to beat the summer heat by relishing a bowl of cold buckwheat noodles.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 83

LIFESTYLE

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ears before pandemic, lockdown and food hoarding became intertwined, Korean city dwellers had already latched onto home delivery of groceries. The convenience of doing away with time-consuming trips to stores quickly persuaded households to try the new service. The introduction of predawn deliveries soon completed the transformation, and today, shoppers have their food orders assembled, packaged and delivered while they sleep. Now, with social distancing as a global watchword, grocery delivery is not only practical but essential.

Goodbye, Superstores

In the past, grocery shoppers who made large purchases or bought bulky items could often, if not always, get them delivered. Then, in the 1990s, the advent of so-called superstores standardized the practice. In 2015, a local online shopping mall startup took the service to an even higher level with early morning deliveries. Now, families can buy breakfast ingredients the night before and have them outside their door in the morning. They just need to order before midnight to ensure delivery by 7 a.m. or even earlier. With careful packaging guaranteed by logistics companies, perishables (including fresh meat and dairy products), non-perishables and non-food items such as dish soap are safely brought to their door. In short, virtually anything on their shopping list which is carried by a supermarket is available.

It seems that once a household tries grocery delivery, it gets hooked. Home delivery has altered food shopping so much that scores of superstore branches have closed. Going to a large store was once a weekend ritual for many families; when Korea’s notoriously long working hours left little time for food purchases, shoppers loaded up their carts on the weekend with

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© Market Kurly

2 © Coupang

While You Are Sleeping “Early morning delivery” and “bullet delivery” are constant expectations among Korea’s urban households. Shoppers can place an order before midnight and have breakfast ingredients and other groceries at their doorstep before dawn. But there are downsides to such incredible convenience.

Kim Yong-sub Trend Analyst

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1. Workers toil around the clock to sort out orders and pack goods at a startup delivery company’s distribution center.

2, 3. The issue of labor rights and working conditions for delivery personnel has now come into focus as a rising number of shoppers submit orders for predawn delivery of groceries and non-food items.

supplies for the whole week. But as home delivery steadily seeped into household routine, the long hours spent driving back and forth, navigating crowded parking garages and store aisles, and waiting in checkout lines became increasingly less necessary or appealing.

Logistics companies have rushed to grab a share of the new food shopping norm, offering “bullet-speed” door-todoor deliveries and expanding flash deliveries to other markets. Online shopping malls that receive a clothing order before 10 a.m. will make sure the purchase is at the customer’s door that afternoon. Beauty products bought online also get bullet delivery service. Pickup and delivery of laundry – dry-cleaned clothes, shoes, bags and even blankets – also are available.

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 85

Cleaning, mending and ironing is done and the order is hanging from the customer’s doorknob in two days.

Social Environs

Since the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic, people in many countries have hoarded food and other supplies. But such chaos is absent in Korea, not simply because of Koreans’ sense of civic pride, but also because of a stable logistics and delivery system. Shelves are not stripped bare by panicked consumers and sophisticated home delivery service means there are no long lines to wait in to just enter a store.

Home delivery is obviously preferable not only for its convenience but also because it complies with guidelines for limiting physical contact during a pandemic. Delivery workers may leave an order at the management or custodial office of a residential building or simply place it by the customer’s door, ring the doorbell and leave. No face-to-face interaction with a sales or delivery person is required.

In many ways, flash delivery service is another reflection of Korea’s famous propensity for focus on speed. Koreans became accustomed to doing things fast and wanting quick answers to questions while undergoing the rapid process of industrialization in the 1960s and 1970s. Even government

offices are credited with completing projects quickly.

This national trait has been illuminated once again in the way medical professionals, government officials and the general public responded to the outbreak of the COVID19 pandemic.

There’s another factor that makes such delivery services possible: in Korea, groceries or other products left at the door hardly ever go missing. Not surprising in a country where café patrons in need of the restroom can leave their laptop computer and personal belongings on a table without worrying about them being stolen. In fact, merchants usually make a display of their goods outside their shop, confident in their belief that nobody will take them. Without such a social environment, the early morning delivery service could never have been established as a new lifestyle. Who would use such a service if they couldn’t sleep at night for worrying that somebody would steal the groceries to be delivered to their door before dawn?

The Flip Side

This logistics system is a 24/7 operation. Predawn delivery personnel naturally have to sleep during daylight

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© SSG.COM

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When the early morning delivery service first came into our lives, the astonishing convenience of the service overshadowed the grim reality, and the problems caused by overpackaging were ignored. But the issue has now come into sharp focus. Some companies minimize packaging as much as possible and use recyclable materials.

1. Since the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic, deliverymen increasingly leave packages on doorsteps or hang them around doorknobs to avoid face-to-face interaction with customers.

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2, 3. Logistics companies have recently begun efforts to minimize packaging and develop eco-friendly, recyclable packaging materials, as excessive packaging waste has become a social problem.

Š Market Kurly

hours, living an upside-down life for customer convenience. Their job is mentally stressful as well. Even daytime delivery staff cannot avoid feeling the crunch as customers who don’t want overnight deliveries can designate a narrow time window during the day for their purchases to arrive. That puts most delivery personnel in the grip of a breakneck competitive environment that pressures them to do their job precisely if they intend to outperform others.

Though the competition is cutthroat, delivery personnel are not adequately compensated. To stay competitive, delivery companies charge a very modest fee of 2,500 to 3,000 won (less than US$3) for small to medium-size orders and no fee at all for larger orders.

Tipping is not expected in Korea, so these workers earn nothing more than their wages. Recently, there have been voices raised to take issue with the bullet speed demanded of delivery workers and call for rea-

sonable compensation for them.

Another problem is excessive packaging. Food deliveries began with Styrofoam boxes, which can keep meat, fruit and vegetables cold and protect softer items from bruising. In little time, households had piles of non-biodegradable packaging materials on their hands.

When the early morning delivery service first came into our lives, the astonishing convenience of the service overshadowed the grim reality, and the problems caused by over-packaging were ignored. But the issue has now come into sharp focus. Some companies minimize packaging as much as possible and use recyclable materials. For example, they replace plastic ice packs with paper packs filled with frozen water, and plastic wrap tape with paper tape. Other companies collect used boxes or bags to reduce customers’ inconvenience. Retailers themselves are also responding, with small products no longer placed in oversized boxes packed with plastic bubble wrap. Different size boxes are now available and paper bubble wrap is used.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 87

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

CRITIQUE

© Park Jae-hong

Park Chan-soon received the 2006 Chosun Ilbo Spring Literary Award at the age of 60, and so began a new career as a writer. Since then, she has published three volumes of fiction, building on her experience as a translator of foreign films and dramas, and showing no less energy than any much younger writer.

Choi Jae-bong Reporter, The Hankyoreh

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n her earliest works, Park Chan-soon depicted multicultural landscapes, incorporating various spaces and ethnic groups. The short story with which she began her career, “Garibong Lamb Skewer,” is centered on a Chinese-Korean cook living in Korea as an undocumented immigrant, and the title story of her first short story collection, “The Garden of Balhae,” features a salesman for a Korean company that is entering Uzbekistan. Settings for her other stories range from Prague in the Czech Republic to Thailand and the jungles of Southeast Asia, while a young female refugee from North Korea or a Chinese boy appears as a major character. While multicultural backgrounds and characters are hardly anything new in Korean fiction

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from the 2000s, the multicultural context plays an especially important role in Park’s works. It serves as a condition for evaluating the possibility or impossibility of hope at a turning point or a dead end in a character’s life. “Marginal people” are placed in dark realities, but the author ultimately seeks hope as she warmly beholds those who endure the harshness of life.

“The Garden of Balhae” was published in 2009, and this first collection of fiction contains 11 short stories, three of which feature translators of movies and documentaries. The author herself translated foreign films and TV programs for over 30 years before starting to write fiction. It’s no stretch to assume that her experience as a radio producer, translator and then professor at a graduate school of interpretation and translation laid the multicultural foundations of this first book.

In her second collection, “Ladybugs Fly from the Top” (2013), containing nine short stories, her multicultural interests and concern for the socially vulnerable continue to stand out, as seen in “A Walk with Rousseau,” featuring a boy from Sri Lanka who has come to work at a Korean factory. The settings of the stories remain international: the corn fields of Iowa, Key West in Florida, Sendai in Japan, and Havana in Cuba. And the very title of Park’s third collection, “Slow Train to Amsterdam” (2018), indicates her enduring interest in foreign lands.

Compared to her previous books, however, the most prominent feature of this latest collection might be a sense of literary history. “Tehran Syndrome” is set in the Iranian capital, as the title suggests, but the main character is a Korean writer on a residency program, who teaches Korean literature, including fiction by Kim Seung-ok (1941- ), to Iranian students. “A Place for Lemons” focuses on anecdotes about the Korean poet Jeong Ji-yong (1902-1950) during his studies at Doshisha University in Kyoto, Japan, and the contemporary Japanese writer Motojiro Kajii (1901-1932). “The North-South Poetry Orchestra” depicts dark shadows over

Palestinian literary critic Edward Said and Jewish pianist and conductor Daniel Barenboim.

In particular, the two short stories, “How to Carry Sincheon at the Waist – A Day in the Life of Kubo the Novelist” and “230 Seongbuk-dong,” pay homage to the novelist Park Tae-won (1910-1986). In the 1930s, Park Tae-won was noted for his novel “Scenes from Cheonggye Stream” and the short story “A Day in the Life of Kubo the Novelist.” After going to North Korea in 1950, during the Korean War, he won great acclaim for his epic historical novel, “The Gabo Farmers’ War.” It is also worth mentioning that Bong Joon-ho, director of the movie “Parasite,” is his daughter’s son. In any case, in these two short stories, Park Chan-soon does not conceal her respect and admiration for Korean literary history and writers of previous generations, as represented by Park Tae-won. The reader may also take these stories as an expression of the author’s pride in her own position in literary history.

At first glance, the short story “Festival of Ashes” from “Slow Train to Amsterdam” hardly stands out from the other works in the collection. However, it offers a glimpse into the mature worldview of the writer, now past the threshold of her 70s. The protagonist, Sinae, lost her husband five years ago. One day, a friend of her late husband, who was unable to attend the funeral, contacts her to say that he wants to visit the grave. So she takes him there, though she herself has not visited it since the first anniversary of her husband’s death.

As the friend evokes memories of her husband, Sinae realizes that she has never truly “mourned” her husband’s passing.

In the Author’s Postface at the end of the book, Park says, “In the end, what I could believe in was the pure breath emanating from very trivial, small things, transient beings, in the darkest moments of life.” Her protagonists continue to live a hard life, each carrying their own sadness, but the author captures the beauty of life that exists, even if faintly, within the sadness. Perhaps that is the reason she continues to write.

Park Chan-soon:

“ In the end, what I could believe in was the pure breath emanating from very trivial, small things, transient beings, in the darkest moments of life.”

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