The rise of busking in K-Pop

In June, a South Korean K-Pop girl band called QWER launched their ‘QWER busking everywhere’, series. This was one in a long line of busking news stories coming out of South Korea, so I asked Camila—who did her undergraduate degree there and is fluent in Korean—to do a little research project to see what’s going on.

– By Camila Hidalgo

‘Busking’ gained popularity during the 2010s, but the idea has been around since the 90s. The concept started as a segment on a variety show where famous idols (Shinhwa, G.O.D, S.E.S., Rain, Boa, etc.) had to hold these ‘guerrilla concerts’ as a test of their popularity. They would announce them about 10-12 hours in advance, set up a stage in weird or hard-to-reach locations, and see if they could get a certain number of people to show up.

When I lived in Korea (2012-2016) the term 'guerilla concert' was synonymous with surprise events and performances, more of a publicity stunt or a 'thank you' performance for loyal fans.

‘Busking’ was originally considered the exclusive domain of indie bands, but it now describes a tool that rookie idol groups exploit, especially those preparing to debut. Unlike TV or radio programs, where appearances are brief, scripted and heavily edited, busking offers idols the opportunity to showcase their talents, connect more authentically with (potential) fans, interact with the public in a more intimate way, and stand out among other rookies. And fans get a chance to see their idols up close in a more relaxed, informal environment.

These shows are announced ahead of time, usually a few hours before. Right now with Instagram and TikTok it seems to be much more organized, but I remember back when I lived there idols would only announce the performances in their fan cafe (kind of a blog for official fans) and sometimes distribute flyers in the area just before the event.

They perform on popular busking pitches like Hongdae and Sinchon, in front of major subway/train stations, in public parks, small venues, and sometimes at malls. Many of these shows are pre-arranged by their entertainment agency as these places occasionally require permits/security.

It’s not strictly busking though: they don’t do it for tips. I read that some actual street performers have expressed concern that these tactics are making it harder for lesser-known performers to secure space and attention.

Nick here again. The timing of the above research project was weirdly prophetic. I asked Cami to work on it on June 14th. Just six days later, Netflix launched K-Pop Demon Hunters, which has already become the platform’s most-watched title ever.

It’s interesting for us because not only do K-Pop bands do the kind of ‘busking’ that Cami describes above, but it also contains the first time that the verb “to busk” has ever been used in a blockbuster movie:

If you can’t read it, the subtitles say: “My family was extremely poor and miserable. I had a single possession to my name, an old bipa. So I busked the streets, but it didn’t get me anywhere. I was desperate.” That is, of course, how busking is most-often presented in popular media: as the result of poverty and hardship.

In that light, is it so bad to have K-Pop bands call their highly-choreographed, industry-backed, promotional stunts ‘busking’ as well? If record labels in one of the world’s most culturally emulated and celebrated countries are promoting their future stars by bringing them outdoors to the streets, isn’t that adding some overdue respect to the discipline?

I don’t think I’m giving too much away to say that the debut performance of a boy band in K-Pop Demon Hunters—and one of its pivotal scenes—is in the form of an impromptu street show:

Seoul’s Myeongdong Theatre, where that dance took place, has now become one of the pilgrimage sites for international fans of the movie. However, had the Saja Boys tried to do their show in real life, they’d quickly have found that their performance was illegal under current laws:

This last requirement would have been difficult, as if musicians aren’t members of either the “Seoul Street Artists Cooperative” or “Nook and Cranny Live”, booking a busking spot can take up to two to three months!

Local Governments in South Korea have pretty tight controls on street performance, producing the usual winners and losers. Sinchon, a neighbourhood in Seoul, holds auditions for buskers. Musicians that pass their audition get a 300,000 won stipend (worth $250 USD in 2016). The rest can’t perform at all.

That’s an extreme example, but all tightly-controlled government programs, however well-meaning, create a hierarchy on the street between those that are sanctioned and those that are not. As one busker noted:

And here’s the obvious result of all those restrictions and limitations:

I’m sure I’ll be writing about South Korea again. But, if you’re a Korean street performer, get in touch if you think there’s a particular story I’d be interested in (or if you disagree with any of the above!)

News, stories and gig opportunities from around the world that I’m not writing about elsewhere. In this newsletter: AC/DC are filming buskers in Melbourne, more busking stories from South Korea, and videos of celebs (including the boxer Ricky Hatton, if you can believe it) doing similar things around the world.