The problem with “The Late Capitalism of K-Pop”, and the K-pop industry
The purpose of this article is to provide a critical response to a YouTube video essay entitled “The Late Capitalism of K-Pop” by the channel Jonas Čeika — CCK Philosophy (henceforth Čeika), formerly known as Cuck Philosophy. The video essay sets out to provide a leftist analysis of the notoriously exploitative Korean idol music industry, also known as the K-pop industry.
“The Late Capitalism of K-Pop”, four years since its publication, is still an extremely popular video essay with over 1 million views. It was recently watched on a livestream by popular leftist Twitch streamer HasanAbi, serving as a basis for his conversation about the exploitative nature of the K-pop industry; but even before this, the video essay has been widely posted and circulated on social media, often from non K-pop fans in arguments with K-pop fans.
In this article, I seek to critique “The Late Capitalism of K-pop” by pointing out its inaccuracies, as well as critically reading some of the information presented and the feelings it potentially engenders in those who support it uncritically. But before I do so, please know that this article is:
- Not a personal attack on the character of Čeika, HasanAbi, or others who support this video essay
- Not a dismissal of all of the video essay’s points and information (I believe the essay has some strong points, particularly from about 4:00–9:00)
- Not a dismissal of any Marxist analysis of the K-pop industry as a center of exploitation of laborers and extreme neoliberal capitalism
And most importantly:
4. Not a defense of the K-pop industry
As a matter of fact, it is my position that Čeika’s essay does not go far enough to analyze the exploitation in the K-pop industry, and misses many potential points in this regard, including:
- How, historically, K-pop idol companies (specifically and most troublingly, SM Entertainment) have directly profited from encouraging the stalking of their artists, and done very little to protect them despite their resources, from allowing someone to poison a member of the group TVXQ (nearly killing him), to recent incidents of stalkers sneaking by windows and watching members of NCT while they livestreamed
- The industry’s long history of appropriation of Black, Indigenous American, and South Asian cultures with very few artists and companies making efforts to apologize and change behavior even after public campaigns by international fans
- The K-pop journalism industry in the West almost entirely being made up of White journalists who do not speak or write Korean (thus often literally not knowing what the artists are saying), solely writing puff pieces about K-pop groups, hardly ever investigating or criticizing the companies, and never doing deep dives into the artistic work and stories of K-pop artists — essentially working as a Western PR arm for K-pop companies and completely being below the already-low standard of music journalism in the West
- The industry’s most exploitative features being almost always exclusive to or worse for women, with girl groups by-and-large being paid less (if at all), given less artistic freedom, being forced to do extremely risque concepts (even when they are underage) — all of these being linked to wider problems of misogyny in South Korea
Thus, my position is that criticism of the K-pop industry is necessary, and that I think overall it is positive that YouTubers are creating content calling out the exploitation of the industry. However, when this criticism is not well-researched, and uses sensationalist tactics more than it does evidentiary analysis of histories and structures in the industry, it may do more harm than good.
With that, I find that Čeika’s essay contains numerous falsehoods that should be debunked, as well as more complex problems that can be read subjectively between different viewers. I will start by listing the parts of the essay that are most directly and obviously untrue. Afterwards, I will expound on the more complex, big-picture issues I have with the essay. I will conclude with a summary, then reading recommendations, and lastly, ideas on how leftists across the board can more accurately and productively criticize the K-pop industry, which includes a necessity for different approaches towards K-pop fandom in general.
Falsehoods
This is untrue. Numerous South Korean labels existed and popular music, while being a significant part of South Korean history well before its industry became powerful, was certainly attached to a significant pop music industry as of at least the mid-80s.
Documented South Korean labels founded earlier than the 90s include:
Jigu Records (who, among other artists, released Cho Yong-pil’s albums, notably Woman Outside the Window, which has sold over a million copies since its release in 1980)
Oasis Records (the oldest South Korean record label, founded in 1952)
Seoraworm Code (also known as Seorabeol Records, active through the 70s and 80s with numerous significant releases)
Seoul Records (founded in 1978, later known better as Kakao M)
Dong-A Planning (“a record label that led the underground sound from the mid-80s to the 90s,” was an indie label hosting many collaborative, independent artists in genres like jazz fusion and folk, including very popular, influential, and creatively autonomous acts like Wild Chrysanthemum)
Also worth noting is Seoul Studio, Korea’s oldest professional recording/mixing studio. It’s over 70 years old, and it has produced numerous legendary albums by artists like the aforementioned Cho Yong-pil as well as Little Giant. There are many more labels that can be named with further research, but they 100% were thriving to various degrees, releasing widely purchased albums and widely popular artists, well before the rise of “liberal democracy” in South Korea.
“South Korean pop music developed with the television”
As evidenced by the impact of aforementioned stars like Wild Chrysanthemum and Cho Yong-pil, as well as others like Kim Chu-ja and Lee Mi-ja, it’s clear this is not true. While South Korean popular music did grow and centralize with the rise of the television in the 80s and 90s, it very much was prominent decades before, blossoming numerous stars with numerous approaches to fashion and sound which often conflicted with the cultural hegemony, but eventually pushed it progressively. Pre-television, much like in the U.S., popular music in Korea was blossoming and impactful through things like radio, clubs, social gatherings, and the pressing and distribution of vinyl records.
By this point, less than 3 minutes in, we can already see that Čeika’s central thesis as to how South Korean history creates the K-pop industry is based on misinformation. This leads to further problems in the video.
Since we’ve proven that popular music had been prominent in many forms outside of television, and that numerous indie labels were founded and distributed popular underground records, we can then see how the two main TV channels of South Korea (KBS and MBC) did not, in fact, have a monopoly on the country’s popular music at all. These TV channels did, however, play a significant role in star-making and song popularization, which is essentially true to this day.
Again, because we know that television wasn’t what developed South Korean popular music, we know this is not true. Additionally, many (perhaps most) of the most popular acts on 80s television were ballad and trot singers like Na Hoon-a who did not incorporate dancing or showy fashion. Notable is Lee Sun-hee, a ballad singer who became popular in part for her more “androgynous” look, incorporating glasses, short hair and pantsuits. She was arguably the most popular artist of the time. Also see rock bands of varying styles, including Songgolmae.
My point here is not just whataboutism — in reality, this comment by Čeika suggests he actually knows very little about the Korean popular music landscape both past and present. The K-pop industry is not generally home to the most popular music in South Korea, and most South Korean pop records involve no choreography, and in fact do not very much resemble the K-pop music we know in the West.
Ballads, trot songs, rock records and R&B records are far more popular in the Korean market than K-pop music. This is an issue with the term “K-pop” in general — it suggests what we see in Korean idol music, from artists like 2NE1 to EXO, is representative of Korean popular music, when it’s actually a subgenre marketed to young people in Korea and internationally, akin to what Disney is in the U.S. Thus, equating K-pop as the foremost popular music of Korea would be like saying High School Musical and Camp Rock represented the most popular music in America.
Yes, there are many breakout idol hit records, kind of like there are breakout Disney hits in the U.S. And many pop stars, like Olivia Rodrigo and Miley Cyrus, originated in Disney. But they didn’t become massive pop stars until they aged out of the Disney pipeline and audience, and used their notoriety from there to launch more “mature”, “serious” careers as pop artists. With idol music, this line between idol and pop star is more blurred, but still extant.
Idol groups sometimes crossover and become popular with Korean general audiences outside of K-pop fans, but this is neither common nor always intentional. And if you look right now at the top charts of Korea, most of the biggest records are either standard pop fare by artists like IU, ballads, rock records, viral social media hits, etc. Most of these do not incorporate choreography or the styles of K-pop at all.
By this point, we know the TV channels did not have a monopoly on pop music; that many of the most popular artists of the time wrote their own songs and even operated indie; that many of them did not incorporate choreography; that many chose their own distinct look; and that this is all still mostly true to this day. So all of these statements are essentially incorrect.
They became more familiar in the 90s, yes, but Western pop culture had a significant impact on Korean pop music well before the 90s. In the 60s, psychedelic rock music was introduced through the Godfather of Korean rock, Shin Joong-hyun, who wrote politically charged lyrics that led to his imprisonment and torture. Following in his footsteps, many of South Korea’s biggest artists of the 70s and 80s were rock artists, like the aforementioned Wild Chrysanthemum. Many of these bands were part of independent labels, and some delved into heavy metal, like Sinawe, a band led by Shin’s son, Shin Daechul.
This is true on the surface, but Čeika leaves out a ton of significant information regarding Seo Taiji & Boys that would indicate serious problems with his arguments in the video. For one, Seo Taiji, the leader of the group, was a member of the indie heavy metal band Sinawe and left to form ST&B. Second, ST&B operated with a high level of independence and autonomy, because Seo Taiji owned his own studio. He wrote and produced the records and the group came up with their own choreography. None of their origins were rooted in television network manufacture.
Additionally, their rise to fame shows a more accurate representation of television’s impact on pop music. Seo Taiji and Boys debuted on an MBC talent show in 1992 and were panned by judges — they received the lowest scores of any contestants. However, their new styles of music and dress were a revelation for young audiences watching, who went out and purchased their album in droves. It eventually sold nearly 2 million records — their later releases would eclipse that mark.
This indicates television’s role — it was prominent, by 1992, as a tool which artists seeking to gain popularity needed to use. But the TV networks’ monopoly was not in producing and creating the popular music industry — it was in promoting it. Because these television networks had a monopoly on promotion for pop music hopefuls, producing music shows and other programs, they held significant leverage over said hopefuls, who often were forced to concede creative control to the networks to access their platforms.
This holds a significant difference from what Čeika asserts. For one, many artists could operate independently and never have to go on television — they just needed to be able to afford and/or compensate for that lack of exposure, for instance, with local popularity, or other financial backing. For two, artists who could afford to produce music or potentially suffer any embarrassments could use the television networks’ exposure to build audiences without having to concede any creative control. Seo Taiji exemplified this, but he was not the only one.
Shin Seung-hun was known as the “emperor of ballads” in South Korea, with six albums spanning from 1990 to 1998 selling over 1.3 million copies. And Shin was popular before television. In the late 80s, he worked part-time and performed in clubs until he became a local celebrity in his hometown of Daejeon, even hosting TV programs there as a result before actually performing on TV. As his star grew, he began composing music to perform. As a result, multiple songs from his platinum-selling debut album in 1990 were self-written.
One more thing about Seo Taiji and Boys: their music was politically rebellious. They wrote metal-rap records about the oppressive schooling system of South Korea, and rap records about kids running away from home due to feeling the pressure of Korean society and economics. All of this information about the group that literally birthed K-pop (after entrepreneurs looked to capitalize on their success by starting their own, less rebellious and autonomous groups) runs counter to the video’s ideas of the Korean popular music industry and artists within it.
Hyun Jin-young was, in actuality, a highly popular artist who introduced rap-dance stylings to South Korea years before Seo Taiji & Boys’ debut and sold half a million copies each of his first two records. His career was derailed, however, by a drug scandal.
The wording makes this plainly incorrect. Every South Korean K-pop idol managerial company may follow this model, but not every South Korean managerial company does at all. Most South Korean music companies follow the same models, essentially, that Western music companies do. Additionally, each K-pop company has differences in its trainee system. It’s worth noting that companies like JYP and Big Hit have been known to offer mental health services to trainees. Big Hit’s trainee system, under which BTS emerged, had a unique approach centered on offering autonomy for trainees to study and improve as they wish, and attempts a more holistic approach to the young artists as humans:
“The company even organizes a 1: 1 mentorship program for them. Bang PD affirmed: ‘We are not an official educational institution, but we are trying our best as a member of society.’”
Most labels are not Big Hit, but K-pop trainee systems have generally become more equitable overall since the 2000s and early 2010s, in large part due to lawsuits, law changes, and cultural values all offering more progressive change for these young laborers, who are, ultimately, still exploited.
While this section offers a compelling reading on how capitalism in South Korea hindered the growth of artists and greatly exploited its citizens as laborers, it is overall almost entirely untrue.
The history of South Korean popular music post-Korean War almost entirely extends to independent musicians, who often were countercultural figures and political activists. The central figure in this is perhaps the aforementioned Shin Joong-hyun, who, after being influenced by American music he was exposed to through military bases, pioneered rock music and thus Western-influenced pop music in South Korea back in 1962, before being imprisoned and tortured by Park Chung-hee for refusing to create propaganda music for the state.
Another significant song in South Korean history is “Morning Dew,” an American-influenced folk song from 1970 by Kim Min-gi which contained lyrics calling for uprising. It became a protest anthem in the 70s and 80s despite government bans, and inspired numerous other folk songs that likewise became anthems for political uprising and remain popular songs among the Korean population to this day.
In the 80s, indie music greatly influenced by the West often gave birth to some of the biggest, most impactful records in South Korea, with the aforementioned label Dong-A Planning responsible for many of these artists including Wild Chrysanthemum, Kim Hyun-cheol, Kim Hyun-sik and more. During the 80s, metal bands like Sinawe and ballad bands like Boohwal led the Korean underground.
The legacy of all these bands directly ties into the formation of Seo Taiji & Boys, with Seo Taiji having been a member of Sinawe. And Seo Taiji & Boys, an independent, autonomous group with progressive sociopolitical messages, were one of the biggest artists in Korean history. Their legacy was capitalized on by entrepreneurs to create the K-pop industry, which more resembles the corporate-controlled mainstream entertainment Seo Taiji rebelled against than it does his group.
However, Seo Taiji remains a well-known celebrity in South Korea, and occasionally he has lent his legacy as a blessing to the careers of modern pop artists who emerged in part through the K-pop system. In particular, he celebrated and collaborated with BTS for the Seo Taiji & Boys reunion concert, and he has also collaborated with IU, who has arguably been Korea’s biggest domestic pop star of the past ten years. Both BTS and IU are known to have creative and managerial autonomy, and to endorse more progressive messages in their music, especially the former in BTS, who have released numerous anthems of sociopolitical rebellion regarding Korean education and politics.
With that said, much like every other major market globally, South Korea’s music industry is greatly controlled by capital and capitalists. However, perhaps even more directly than in the States, Korea’s popular music has been influenced by political rebellion and independent creatives since the beginning.
The popularity of depressing ballads and trots as Korea’s most consumed music extends over a century in South Korea and is implicitly (sometimes explicitly) tied to dissent and depression over Korea’s history of subjugation by colonial powers. The K-pop industry is a capitalist venture based on the legacy of independent and politically rebellious musicians. And, perhaps most pressingly, Korea has had a significant indie scene based in the Northwest (Hongdae) since the late 80s and early 90s, which has given birth to hugely popular, best-selling artists like Crying Nut and Hyukoh.
Bigger picture concerns
The primary, direct issue with “The Late Capitalism of K-pop” is that it contains a severe misreading of Korean music history. But some may argue that these inaccuracies do not hinder the overall message of the video essay. Presumably, this overall message is something akin to “the K-pop industry is really, really bad.” My question then becomes: what is shocking about this?
First and foremost, despite the suggestions of HasanAbi during his stream that K-pop stans are inclined to shut down criticisms of the K-pop industry due to bias, the evidence indicates that large numbers of K-pop fans internationally are even more prone to talk about the victimization of idols in the K-pop industry. This should make perfect sense: if a fan has developed an infatuation with an artist, and there is evidence suggesting said artist is being exploited and damaged by their label, the fan is naturally going to become extremely incensed by this.
One such potential fan in HasanAbi’s chat who commented dismissively about Čeika’s video sported the username “Exosluckyone”, a reference to K-pop group EXO and their 2016 single “Lucky One.” HasanAbi dismisses this user’s criticisms, suggesting a K-pop fan’s bias towards the K-pop industry would naturally incline them to uncritically dismiss the video.
However, a cursory search and deep dive into EXO’s history shows that they have an alleged history of severe mistreatment by their company (SM Entertainment) which fans have been vocal about in numerous mediums. Videos on YouTube like “SM Entertainment EXPOSED for mistreating their artists” and “Why EXO fans are Done with SM” are examples of this.
These kinds of videos exist throughout YouTube, with some done more tactfully than others, about a whole number of K-pop groups. One such video called “proof blackpink is being controlled” by a channel called blackpink tea has nearly 8 million views. These attempts to prove mistreatment of idols by their labels are one of the most common parts of the K-pop fandom internet, and have a whole host of their own problems including mistranslations and a variety of hidden agendas, but most certainly demonstrate a precarity from K-pop fans towards these management companies.
And yet, non-K-pop fans seem convinced that K-pop fans are simply unaware of exploitation in the industry, and often treat them as such. This is because K-pop fans are some of the most unpopular communities on the Internet, which people attribute to general ideas of “toxicity.” It is true that K-pop fan communities are filled with misinformation, harassment, doxxing and backwards agendas. But very few online communities can say they are not.
Video game communities, sports communities and Twitch streamer communities also see their fair share of toxicity. Yet if a complete outsider were to make videos about video game companies being exploitative, and were to get basic facts wrong, they would rightfully be called out by these communities and often treated extremely negatively.
It seems a prerequisite that someone writing a video essay about, for instance, the Dark Side of Rockstar Games should have a base of knowledge accrued over time and even enthusiasm about Rockstar Games before publishing it, and a lack of such knowledge and enthusiasm would quite possibly lead to their doing bad research. So why is it entirely normalized for folks with no enthusiasm for K-pop, who have done no extensive research into K-pop, do not speak Korean, etc. to be seen as the primary authorities with regards to how the K-pop industry really works?
And why are those with years’ worth of knowledge and experience in K-pop spaces instantly dismissed when they present their own opinions? Should this not be the other way around?
This brings me back to my central concern of this section. Why should a video that, essentially, merely states “The K-pop industry is exploitative” be so vigorously defended? Why have such videos become so popular? Why do they lead to further negative attitudes towards K-pop stans, who are accused of being ignorant to the industry’s exploitation despite tons of evidence to the contrary?
I believe the (mostly) hidden agenda of many of these videos’ creators and defenders — though not true, in my view, of Čeika or HasanAbi — is merely to shame K-pop stans and to guffaw at a girly, Asian entertainment industry that’s “secretly” very bad.
Many parts of Čeika’s video, aside from the flat-out falsehoods it asserts about Korean music history, can be criticized for leaning more towards sensationalism and generalization than towards analysis. When Čeika elects to show us pictures of idols sleeping on the dance floor, or looking tired in photos, what do we extract from this? We come away with an image of idols across the board being visibly exhausted by an exploitative industry. But what difference do these images present us between the K-pop industry and other entertainment industries? Do we ever get context for these photos? Do each of them actually reveal exploitation, or merely artists being tired in public?
This is obviously not to say that the idols are not exploited — but why should we be made to gasp in shock at out-of-context images to do so? Why not elect to purely tell stories about these groups, like EXO and TVXQ? It’s an aesthetic choice that walks a very fine line between conjuring emotions in a viewer and sensationalism. And these are the choices that, when made consistently, lead to a more sensationalist product than a journalistic one.
In reality, K-pop idols do not usually walk around looking exhausted. Especially in 2021, they do not pass out on stage any more often than your average entertainer in the West. And we know that that doesn’t mean anything — right? Exploited laborers, especially entertainers, don’t have to walk around looking like zombies — they’re still exploited entertainers. They need not be insulted by their managers or physically attacked to still be abused by them.
Regardless, Čeika chooses to make generalized statements about idols being insulted, passing out on stage “countless” times, looking tired in paparazzi photos etc. to paint a picture of a dystopia. But the problem is: K-pop is not a dystopia. It is a modern-day industry — exploitative because of neoliberal capitalism and imperialism, just as every other industry is. There’s nothing sexy going on here. It’s not the Hunger Games. Just good ol’ fashioned systemic abuse of workers.
This is especially true of the industry in 2021, which, thanks to numerous aforementioned reforms, offers more creative and physical autonomy, more contractual freedom, more mental health services (as evidenced by idols taking mental health breaks much more often, for one) than ever before. But reform is just that: reform — not revolution. This is still the same old, fucked up K-pop industry, just shinier and easier.
To understand how the dark side of the K-pop industry truly works on average, one can research and analyze particular cases of artists. For this article, we should talk about StayC.
StayC is a six-member K-pop girl group that debuted in November 2020, and since has had a sparkling rookie campaign. One of the group’s members, Park Si-eun, was an acclaimed child actor who won awards for her performance in the show Still 17 prior to joining and debuting with StayC. The group has had numerous hit singles that have charted well, indicating good reception even from general audiences with no investment in K-pop; but they have also begun building a strong international fanbase that often disseminates fancams of their best records, which garner good views on social media.
Despite this, StayC have still not received one check for their music. Their label, High Up, is a startup K-pop company created by Black Eyed Pilseung, an acclaimed K-pop production duo. In a recent interview, one of the label’s owners, Rado, noted the costs of debuting, producing and managing a K-pop girl group are sky-high. Producing just one album can cost about $1.7 million USD. The company is still about $2.5 million USD in debt, and by the terms of their arrangement, can’t pay the members of StayC until that debt is paid off.
The expectation is that StayC will succeed enough to eventually pay off this debt, but nothing is certain. Girl groups’ shelf lives in K-pop are often shorter than boy groups, and they almost never amass the same types of devoted, money-spending fandoms, instead relying on success in the mainstream general public’s eyes. This is due to a number of complex factors that can be traced back to misogyny and heteropatriarchy in Korea. And that’s to say nothing of the intense beauty standards the members of StayC must live up to also as a result of this systemic misogyny.
Additionally, the K-pop industry has long been oversaturated with groups, but now, this is truer than ever. Girl groups are debuted every week — StayC already has a handful of girl group competitors in their rookie class. How are they to compete with the girl groups to debut in the upcoming years, some of whom will have far more financial backing, especially when K-pop fandom culture ultimately values new and shiny things? This is especially concerning when those “things” are women, in-line with how women are often desexualized and condemned to modesty as they age not only in South Korea, but globally.
What the members of StayC will get out of this arrangement is time in the spotlight, training, and industry connections. The first part is perhaps the most relevant, as their visibility can turn into a brand which they can use to launch successful solo careers both in music and outside of it — see how Ashley Choi of the group Ladies’ Code, a modestly popular girl group of the 2010s, has transitioned into becoming a popular YouTuber and podcaster (and now likely makes way more money than she did as an idol).
But this is not enough. One should not be at the top of the pop charts and unable to afford a place to live. Predatory financial practices that push labels to take on tremendous debts in order to create these groups are unnecessary and inexcusable. And responsibility should not be lifted from these labels’ executives, who fully can choose better practices for the artists they debut, but instead choose to conform with the usual, highly exploitative system.
This is the dark side of K-pop in 2021. None of the members of StayC have passed out on stage. They probably haven’t suffered anything near the abuses groups like Stellar and Girls’ Generation did. They are finding success at a time wherein the K-pop industry is as visible internationally as ever, and as equitable as ever. And still, they’re screwed.
Meanwhile, those who purport to fight against K-pop’s dark side in 2021 are still messing up basic information about the industry and the country’s history, are still antagonizing the fans of these groups and dismissing them as ignorant (despite these fans by-and-large knowing more about the dark side of K-pop than they do), and are still doing very little to shed light on the true problems of the industry other than pointing and laughing at it.
We should do better.
Conclusion
First and foremost, a TL;DR: The K-pop industry is fucked up, but “The Late Capitalism of K-pop” gets basic facts about it incorrect, posits an incorrect thesis as a result, and uses sensationalistic imagery and generalizations that are often either outdated, poorly contextualized or both. Fans of the video do not seem bothered, as most are happy to say incorrect things about K-pop and speak unkindly of K-pop fan communities as if they are ignorant to the industry’s dark side — when in fact, they are more knowledgeable, and cannot be generalized.
Though the video essay has some strong points in terms of describing various exploitative practices and harsh realities for idols, and features some fairly strong historicization at times, it overall should be left behind. It is too inaccurate and too sensationalistic. Čeika’s effort to provide Marxist analysis of this exploitative industry was perhaps admirable 4 years ago, and likely comes from a good place, but in 2021, there are far better resources for leftists to use for K-pop learning and far sharper approaches.
One such resource is the defining book on K-pop, which is John Lie’s K-Pop: Popular Music, Cultural Amnesia, and Economic Innovation in South Korea. This book, published in 2014, features a comprehensive and well-cited explanation of Korean music history and how it leads to the creation of the K-pop industry. This is a much better source to turn to with regards to Čeika’s goal to historicize the Korean music industry and how it creates an exploitative K-pop industry — though it can be argued Lie’s analysis does little to expose the dark parts of K-pop as intensely as is necessary.
Another work by John Lie worth examining is his talk at York University, entitled “The Divergent Trajectories of South Korea & Japan ~or~ Girls’ Generation vs. AKB48.” This talk explains the histories of Korea’s music industry as well, with a particular view into how the IMF crisis affected Korean and Japanese economics, and the (shady) entrepreneurs (Yasushi Akimoto and Lee Soo-man) who pioneered booming businesses that appeal to large fandoms.
A book that does a more historically accurate job of delving into patriarchy, misogyny and exploitation in the K-pop industry is Gooyong Kim’s From Factory Girls to K-pop Idol Girls: Cultural Politics of Developmentalism, Patriarchy, and Neoliberalism in South Korea’s Popular Music Industry, though this book at points features some more outdated information and sentiments about the industry, primarily focusing on a group in Girls’ Generation that has not been active for some years, and dominated K-pop during a quite different era.
One of the keys of creating better scholarship and activism surrounding the K-pop industry will be for leftists to finally start looking within the K-pop communities and searching for K-pop fans that can bring them verifiable facts about the industry and the artists. This can start by watching some K-pop fans’ videos.
YouTuber Chaennie Lisoo’s channel is filled with video essays detailing allegations about a bevy of different K-pop companies mistreating, mismanaging and abusing their artists. The 15-part ongoing series can be viewed in its entirety here.
YouTuber Mera’s currently-privated video essay “The Inconstant Moon,” about K-pop group LOONA and their bizarre battles with their management company, BlockBerry Creative, can be quite informative and entertaining for outsiders. Her other video about Dreamcatcher, entitled “Dodging Disbandment and Other Extreme Sports”, is also worth watching for similar reasons.
Many videos about appropriation and racism in K-pop are littered with mistranslations and misinformation, but YouTuber redvelvetsus’ video on the subject is brief and effective.
Yhara Zayd’s recent video essay, “White: K-Pop, Horror & the Curse of Fame,” does a strong job touching on the basics of K-pop’s exploitation and how it links to other exploitative music industries globally while covering a Korean horror film about a fictional K-pop girl group.
For a look at how K-pop’s most successful group, and the world’s biggest pop act, BTS, rose to fame through unique musical, aesthetical, and business approaches, Kim Youngdae’s 2019 book BTS: The Review is worth a read, as well as Youngdae’s interview clips detailing unfair treatment BTS has received from the Korean press in part through coming from an upstart company.
Lastly for now, it may be worth checking out essays I wrote for our channel, bby gang mag, about attitudes towards K-pop coloring skewed coverage of its industry and artists, particularly “the media is wrong about k-pop” and “k-pop vs. orientalism: no more than a machine.”
There are more things I could write on this topic, but for now, please accept this article as my best effort in responding to “The Late Capitalism of K-Pop” with a critical eye, in an effort to challenge the K-pop industry more effectively and examine unfair biases towards K-pop fans and Asian people in media.
And lastly, as I stated in October 28’s bby gang livestream reacting to HasanAbi’s live reaction and discussing these topics, please refrain from creating any toxicity as a result of what I’m saying. The goal is to spread better information; that is all.
