We had been talking for a little over ninety minutes in a basement cafe in Sangsudong called 100% Original Coffee. Our interview was winding down to the last few questions and rapper Born Kim paused for a brief moment. He looked straight at me and said, āIsnāt it amazing?ā He continued to explain, āIt is not like when the missionaries came to Korea with a clear purpose and built churches. It was MTV and a few CDs that made its way to Korea and were passed to someone. That someone listened to it and said āThis is cool. I want to try it.ā Those someones met together and Hanguk [Korean] hip hop grew this much. It was never about āI am doing it to build hip hop cultureā but because of the true joy and pleasure that came from rapping and making music. I did it because I liked black music and from that hip hop gave me the biggest pleasure. I did not know what it was exactly, but hip hop was the best. I think that because I grew up in the 1990sābetween the analog and digital erasāI was given the special privilege of knowing hip hop. Had I been born before, it might have been jazz, blues, soul, etc. Or had I been born later and not known the boombap years, I would have thought that only trap music is hip hopā (personal communication, October 8, 2014).
Born Kim, a rapper born in 1981, remembers the first time he fell in love with black music. In 1999, he had taken a Kool & The Gang album from his fatherās shelves ājust out of curiosity.ā Two years before then, his parents had put in cable television in their home. Calling himself an āMTV kid,ā Born Kim remembers watching Yo! MTV Raps. Before MTV, there was the Armed Forces Korea Network (AFKN), or often referred to as Channel #02 by many of the artists I interviewed for this book, where he remembers watching Soul Train. Born Kimās consumption of American television and popular music is not unique, in that it represents how American hip hop was largely introduced to Koreans in the 1990s. Various forms of media and technology, including television and particularly the personal computer, play an important role in the making of hip hop in South Korea (henceforth Korea).
The birth and development of Korean hip hop is marked by many travels including (1) tangible forms of music like cassette tapes and CDs from America to Korea, (2) individual bodies to/from America and within Korea, and (3) communities of hip hop listeners. Within the confluence of these travels, there are important shifts and transformations where Korean fans of American hip hop grew into artists who are deeply involved in defining Korean hip hopās lyrics, sounds, and culture (cf. Appadurai 1996). Just like the name of the cafe Born Kim and I were meeting in, many of my interviews and conversations with hip hop artists ultimately led to a discussion of what was original, real, and authentic (or consequently not original, real, or authentic) about Korean hip hop as music and culture.
In Black noise, Tricia Rose (1994) defines rap as a āblack cultural expression that prioritizes black voices from the margins of urban Americaā (p. 2). Rap music, as one element or practice within hip hop culture, serves as āa public and highly accessible place, where black meanings and perspectivesāeven as they are manipulated by corporate concernsācan be shared and validated among black peopleā (Rose 1994, p. 17). In the last four decades, what started in the 1970s postindustrial city of New York as a ācultural form that attempts to negotiate the experiences of marginalization, brutally truncated opportunity, and oppression within the cultural imperatives of African-American and Caribbean history, identity, and communityā (Rose 1994, p. 21) has become a musical language understood and spoken by the global youth. When the culture of hip hopāDJ, b-boying/b-girling, graffiti and rapātraveled to the East Asian location of Korea, the ideologies and cultures embedded in American hip hop become (re)organized in the Korean language and context.
Korean hip hop has a little over twenty years of history. Within these two decades, it saw birth to three generations of rappers. It is noteworthy that most rappers do not like the dividing of generations because it creates a barrier in communication, especially in Korean society where age creates hierarchy. Nonetheless, there are some constructive aspects to having generations such as āoffering a sense of belonging. But with belonging, also comes responsibilitiesā (Hash Swan, personal communication, April 20, 2018). Because these āgenerationsā are only divided into five to eight year periods, many agree that an actual first generation has not ended. Yet, I will use these distinctions for the purposes of this book as they are widely utilized by musicians, fans, and media. I use āgenerationā not in its dictionary term of classifying a body of individuals born within a thirty year or so time period, but more so as a group of people who share a similar beginning in their careers.
The first generation fell in love with American hip hop often through an introduction via AFKN and MTV. Many of these fans logged onto personal computer (PC) communities and met in offline places to question and discuss how rap could work in the Korean language. The second generationāwho were in their mid to late teens when they saw the first generation performāturned their stories of youth into relatable lyrics. The third generation includes those whose love for hip hop grew from Korean hip hop. For some third generation rappers, they have never listened to, or to borrow older generationsā words, āresearchedā American hip hop. A more in-depth look into the three generations will be provided in the sections below.
In the years of completing this book, I often thought about an anthem song for the project and there is one I replayed in times I needed direction: Jerry.kās (2012) āWe All Made Usā featuring Paloalto, The Quiett, Deepflow, and Dok2. 1 The hook of the song is central to this project: āWe made a gold mine from a place filled with ānoās (we made us) / From a nobody to a cool somebody (we made us) / We built a stadium where there was no game (we made us) / Hanguk hip hop (we made us) / We do it for ourselves, we do it for ourselves / We do it for ourselves, we do it for ourselves / We do it for ourselves (we made us), Hanguk hip hop (we made us).ā
While making something from nothing is a common theme in hip hop (cf. Kathleen Knight Abowitzās (1997) work on the Horatio Alger mythology in American hip hop culture), it is telling of Korean hip hop that āa stadium [was built] where there was no game.ā Each verse of the song touches on important issues in the discussion of Korean hip hop. What is particularly striking about this hook is the repeated use of the term Hanguk hip hop . In Korea today, American hip hop and Korean hip hop exist as separate categories in music charts and sales: oeguk hipap meaning foreign hip hop and gungnae hipap meaning domestic hip hop. Hanguk hip hop is also widely used to refer to Korean hip hop. The literal translation of Hanguk hip hop is āKorean hip hop.ā Hanguk means both Korea (noun) and Korean (adjective). As will be demonstrated throughout this book, the use of Hanguk offers sociocultural and political dimensions in negotiating Korean hip hop.
In the third verse of the song, Deepflow not only outlines a personal trajectory of Korean hip hop, but its position in Korean society:
We made us, we all resemble our mothers / With yellow skin, hearts are black / We have lost all sense of fear, do not ask us why / We walk the outskirts, it only messes with our pride / Some earn and sweep money, give them a thumbs up / Some walk through the fog, clear the way for them / Who can say that one path is worthier than the other? / We made us, we all carry the stones to build our castle / Master Plan is born, Big Deal, Soul Com / We protected it for ten years, this ball that was shot up by a homunculus / Sun comes up, the light is bright / We saw the future, Illionaire, Hi-Lite / That is right, this is our playground. Sweat splatters each day / A spiderās web that sometimes binds you, let us make a fire right now / Everyone hurdle and pat each other on the back. Let us applaud. / To the phrase, āAs far as here,ā only lies a question mark.
Deepflow traces Korean hip hopās history with the birth of Club Master Plan and independent hip hop labels like Big Deal Records and Soul Company to todayās Hi-Lite Records and Illionaire Records....