Deep Dive: Reflections on the Rise of NewJeans a Year after "Attention."

Understanding the girl group ushering in a new generation for K-pop, and what their trajectory signals for the ever-shifting industry’s future.

Oct 05, 2023

A little over a year since their talk-of-the-town debut, NewJeans took the Lollapalooza stage at Grant Park, Chicago, putting on a remarkably faultless first international performance, and drawing a crowd of hundreds of thousands live and online combined. The teenaged HYBE prodigies’ title of becoming the first K-pop girl group to ever perform at the renowned festival comes as no surprise. Since the out-of-nowhere drop of “Attention” mid-summer of 2022, NewJeans’ rise to a force to be reckoned with in the global music scene has been exhilaratingly rapid, and palpable in western and K-pop industry alike — just last month, the quintet’s second EP Get Up scored a Billboard 200 No.1, marking their first entry on the chart.

While paving their path from K-pop sensation to international stardom, for the past year, it has felt like NewJeans have been attracting a chorus of voices with every step of the way — act and label often finding themselves at the heart of discussions around sonic, visual and marketing choices that don’t fail to stand out, non-specific to a focus on praise or criticism, but always distinctly engaging among online communities. Upon the hit release of Get Up, and given the levels of virality surrounding the newcomers currently taking the world by storm, it is interesting to take a closer look at what makes the NewJeans phenomenon a phenomenon, and what the unique place this rookie girl group has so swiftly carved out in the music industry signals for K-pop, in a one year retrospective.

Truly, the name NewJeans, an allusion to the phrase “new genes,” while also referring to the timelessness of an actual classic pair of jeans that the group aspires to emulate in their image, poses as a prophecy thus far largely fulfilled. Let’s set the scene for a second: It’s a regular Friday. If you’ve been around the online K-pop sphere, Min Hee Jin’s name probably rings familiar. There had been talks about the art director famous for her work with various SM Entertainment acts’ (Shinee, f(x), Red Velvet) hands on involvement in the preparation of a new girl group under HYBE Labels (home to BTS and multiple successful K-pop acts), where she had recently moved as CBO, prior to the project’s eventual operation under sub-label ADOR, with Min as CEO in full creative control. ADOR’s Twitter (X?) account has existed for a few months now, posting audition announcements and cute motion graphics here and there, up until news arrived at the very start of July, about the first content drop from the anticipated group on the 22nd.

You know the drill — K-pop business practices don’t play with luck, especially when it comes to newcomers. Debut rollouts typically consist of early pre-order details and introductory information about the members, with lineups slowly revealed through company-produced content, photo or video teasers, leading up to an official music release that commonly takes place a few weeks after initial announcements — all to ensure interest towards the launch, and support of the company’s investment into the artist. None of that happens. On July 22, NewJeans’ first music video is out in the world technically unannounced; a first look at the five fresh faces nobody knows pretty much anything about, placed right into the quirky, idiosyncratically-shot, indie movie-like narrative which, of course, simply accompanies the main focus: unexpectedly (some would say), music.

In both the literal and figurative sense, “Attention” cut through the scene’s noise from the get-go — or, well, its ninth second. Sparkly, legato piano chords over syncopated percussion and echoey, chopped up falsettos strikingly introduce themselves after the song’s short, vocal sample-led intro. And whereas a laidback R&B pop beat shouldn’t be that big of a deal under normal circumstances, it can kind of become one if we accept that quietude can be a statement too; a bold one when your home industry has, especially in recent years, been predominantly characterized by boisterous, maximalist sounds and experimental tendencies, as well as a knack for flashy, high-concept visual material that signals “more is more.”

Singularly non-dated-sounding, and abundant with English hooks, “Attention” flows effortlessly. The singing is squeaky clean in a uniform tone, — what has, thus far, stayed with the group as their signature style of vocal mixing — and all the elements that make up the track’s lush, ethereal yet bouncy production are here to stay until the very end… radically at peace with each other. No harsh beat switch-ups, no genre-mashing, not even a particularly distinct climax — which is to say no vocal flexing. No on-the-nose beauty bait or glamor shots for the members, either. The girls sing about seeking their love interest’s attention, while going to a gig (daydream or not, based on the narrative), hanging around the house, playing dress-up, filming themselves on their phones and checking social media like any young person would. Their hair is long and seemingly undyed, makeup barely there, style unassuming and casual, not devoid of color or playfulness. The whole thing, in the way portals to other dimensions magically open up in fantasy movies, feels like a world previously hidden, finally unveiled. The fourth wall isn’t fully broken in the traditional sense (yet). And in a sort of paradoxical, besides unorthodox, manner, NewJeans aren’t here to present themselves to us or ask to be liked. They simply are, and so are we; happening to have stumbled upon their lives, we find ourselves fitting right in, not just as spectators but actors — not directly addressed, yet part of their world, not at all as different from ours as one may think.

I remember coming across “Attention” in all of its strange glory, seeing the video (directed by Shin Hee Won) for the first time, and sensing the familiar air of mystery synonymous with Min Hee Jin’s notorious creative essence I had engaged with in the past. Several attributes could validate her position as one of the most established creatives in the industry, — last year Variety shouted her out in their list of “Women That Have Made an Impact in Global Entertainment,” as “credited with reinventing the concept of ‘concepts’” — as well as HYBE’s trust in her to independently handle the NewJeans project under their resources. At the center of all, it would be logical to assume, lies the subversive angle which offers Min’s directorial character a distinct edge, making her work with girl groups especially captivating.

I’ve previously referenced the phenomenon of “mysterious mundane” imagery’s recent popularity at the expense of ubiquitous, consumerist, ad-adjacent photography in online image curation spaces, as analyzed by fashion content creator Rian Phin, which would provide an apt analogy here as well. Upholding a certain definition of perfection is known to be a contentious ideal at the heart of the K-pop industry, where labels are not hesitant to explicitly take full advantage of their assets in regards to the talent at their disposal. Even when the capital isn’t top notch, it is typically displayed as such; a pretty face will be filtered to look prettier, behaviors polished to a clinical degree, and endless attention drawn to any traits that have the power to assemble a special persona, in order to emphasize the aspirational pull of idols, therefore rendering them all the more profitable. Companies often put artists on pedestals the way a campaign would a model; a presentation that outright lets you know of their excellence and makes sure you want it for yourself. Such is a culture that struggles to show through when looking at Min’s input for visuals used in f(x)’s Electric Shock (2012) and Red Velvet’s Perfect Velvet (2017) album covers. Graphic designer and blogger hydekick writes on the latter:

This [...] trick collage seems less effective in terms of making use of idols’ facial appearance to the fullest extent. However, it turns out to be a good example of making a shivering atmosphere for this album.

Of course, more than worth a mention is the infamous art film for f(x)’s second LP Pink Tape (2013) — also awarded with the Red Dot Design Award for Best Communication Design in 2014 — which set a precedent for album rollouts in the scene. Paralleling the animal-faced masks worn by the ensemble on Electric Shock’s cover, in the film — shot with the help of Min’s younger brother and his art college friends due to budget constraints — two members kiss with their heads covered in white cloth, a nod to René Magritte’s painting The Lovers II, as youngest member Krystal narrates a cryptic text about emotions felt during a lovers’ encounter in English. The clip is soundtracked by the ominous, curiously sugarcoated melody of the group’s song “Shadow.”

As translated by hydekick, a quote from Min highlights the importance of substantial artistic intention in promotional material, which is often overlooked by labels:

“As for me, the profound design should be not only the process of making beautiful packages. If anything, it should consist of musicians’ intentions or interpretations of their music.”

When you are familiar with K-pop’s high stylizations and textbook attentiveness towards (female) idol branding, it can be obvious how Min’s approach subverts expectations; how it goes against the tide of aspirational glamor in favor of raw relatability, omits the model face, is not afraid to place its subjects in odd situations, loves surrealism, symbolism and emotive responses as opposed to straightforward messaging, yet prefers to incorporate that magic into reality instead of confining it to what could be regarded as a convoluted, lore-generating, fictional vacuum1. In the case of NewJeans, angel wings are a thrown-on, fun accessory vaguely hinting at something dreamlike, dressing up as elves and roaming the woods merely a thing girls do to pass the time, the hyperreal (even when it comes to self-contained narrative), part of a girlhood — a projection of all its transcendent experiences. NewJeans are your best friends, they are guardian angels and fairies, and simultaneously, they are NewJeans; holding fans’ hands from the girl-next-door attachment of “Attention,” through the explicit fourth wall breaking of “Ditto” and “OMG,” all the way to “ETA”’s combined approachability, underlying enigma and self-awareness. Manufactured authenticity and its resulting aura of a grounded naturalness beneath the frills is almost enough to even rid idol performance of its context, when the members are seen freely interacting during choreography, throwing smiles and cute expressions at each other while their dance moves call and respond akin to animated conversations — aided by calculated lyrical phrasing. You can almost forget the camera is on, as if being included in the friend group, or present during a genuine moment — and as a fan, it simply feels good to see your favorite artist enjoy their time on the stage2.3

Like the aforementioned “mysterious mundane” imagery’s appeal in taking the form of a lens through which we perceive realistic-appearing scenes from others’ lives, it is the feeling of bearing witness at the core of Min’s point of view that establishes connection between us and the subjects at hand. The parallel, here, is only enhanced when we take into account the prominent ‘00s elements adorning “mysterious mundane” online culture’s visual content, and the fact that NewJeans’ main aesthetic inspirations fall in line with the Y2K revival of the 2020s; the trigger of a trendy nostalgia which seems to be able to capture both older audiences yearning for the era, and younger ones reinterpreting its signatures to suit current tastes. Teenagehood “canon events” in NewJeans’ world are explored through a retrospective window, blending one generation’s memories and another’s present to further emphasize interconnectivity. “I wanted to depict situations that everyone eventually faces to show a positive perspective on the universal values that people strive for,” Min told Billboard, reflecting on the thought process behind the set of four music videos for viral sensation “Hype Boy,” where each version tells a different tale of a teen crush as we all have known them. “Hype Boy” itself offers the most tangible example of an enchanting essence embedded into NewJeans’ music; a lovelorn melancholy layered underneath the glossy, vibrant cover of carefree youth, which perfectly encapsulates the deepest parts of what being a teenager feels like4.

On a different note; it must be said that placing the first building blocks of a brand on the back of conceptualized teen experiences should come with its own responsibilities. At the time when music videos for “Attention” and “Hype Boy” released just a day apart, and as more information about the group was steadily revealed, the acknowledgement of the members’ ages, with an average of 16.6, seemed to unsettle the K-pop fan community. While the industry is no stranger to debuting children, — in the case of megastar BoA, even as young as 13 years old, though typically keeping it at one or two 15-17 year-old members per team as representation for younger demographics — there was something quite out of the ordinary about an act comprising a majority of underage idols, meant to be engaged with as part of K-pop’s highly commercial landscape, which “succeeded” in bringing an inescapable conversation to the surface. Given NewJeans’ immersive, down-to-earth brand sensibility, it can be easy to stick to one side of the coin as a consumer their content may resonate with on an emotional, personal level. Yet, within K-pop’s both intensely scrutinous and parasocial relationship-benefiting machine, the implications of exposing minors to a vast following undeniably remain extremely dangerous.

It could be argued that no visual aspects of those first videos stick out as particularly problematic, for that matter. Sure, is it necessary that the youngest member, at just 14, wear a tiny top, or that the choreography is abundant with inviting looks at the camera? No — but are those things we haven’t seen in K-pop (or the music industry at large) before? Isn’t it universal knowledge that most idols are trained to achieve a captivating stage presence as tweens; how to stand out and make themselves desirable, next to enduring body scrutiny and physical, as well as mental exhaustion in an unforgiving environment? We could be sitting here the entire day, talking about all the potential negative consequences of throwing minors into show business, led by several examples of K-pop stars who have spoken out about their struggles with debuting very young, (BoA, MINZY, HyunA to name a few) and additional cases from the West, (Aaliyah, Britney Spears and Justin Bieber come to mind). Yet there is undoubtedly a lot of subjectivity, too, — depending on factors like age and cultural upbringing — to be found in the gray area where said directorial choices make one viewer think twice regarding sensitive issues, and another not. Which begs the question… what kind of portrayal (or shift in culture) does it take to cross the line of the perpetual legitimization of systemic flaws, reminding us of the industry’s harsh realities, and — to an extent — even our own complicity in relation to them? Or, on the contrary, is it possible to ensure a safe space for underage idols in the scene, when its structure has historically endorsed a high level of sacrifice and unrealistic expectations from children, as well as their mistreatment, or lack of protection by labels?

When it comes to systemic practices, for change to rely on a simple answer, or solution, is nearly impossible, and dialogue continues to be open as ever with questions raised from instances that seem to push the limits of what is considered invariably acceptable. This would be a good place to underline that, as an international fan, my understanding of cultural consensus regarding the societal situation of minors in South Korea, as well as Korean language specifics is very limited. On the other hand, it is worth noting that a year after NewJeans’ debut, ADOR’s intentions of maintaining a global status for the five-piece look clear. When I became aware of the discourse around lyrics of the group’s song “Cookie,” — released on August 1, 2022 — it was before even having gotten to listen to the track itself; what, as I discovered later, was a reasonable disturbance over the easily detectable double entendre associated with the word “cookie,” as a slang term referring to genitalia, which could be quite possibly rendering a song performed by mostly minors a sexual innuendo, given its partially in English lyrics “Made a little cookie / Come and take a lookie” and “I wanna see you taste it.” The company’s response, claiming that in their view of the lyrics “cookie” referred to NewJeans’ fresh music and sound, may have eased concerns of ill intentions for some, still without really addressing the problem of a lack of cultural sensitivity or appropriate consultancy for K-pop labels, which has resulted in plenty of unfortunate events in the scene, over the years.

Regardless, it wasn’t irrational, at that point, for intention to come into question as well, with fans having picked up on references in Min’s work associated with NewJeans, as well as other artists in the creative director’s roster, which confess to a peculiar relationship to youth, and a fascination with sexually charged depictions of teenage girls in media. From visual parallels between Red Velvet’s “Ice Cream Cake” — member Yeri being 15 at the time — and Kubrick/Stern’s Lolita (1962/60), to the apparent styling inspiration taken from 12-year-old Natalie Portman’s character in Besson’s Léon: The Professional (1994) for — then 17-year-old — member Danielle’s photographs used in NewJeans’ fan communication app Phoning, to observations of posters of young Brooke Shields in the producer’s studio and Serge Gainsbourg’s Histoire de Melody Nelson album as posted on her own Instagram (and later deleted), a certain pattern makes itself obvious, with elements of the aforementioned tinting Min’s lens as pointed towards her themes of girlhood. The dangers within this highly specific context can’t help but be heavily implied, and many relevant points of controversy are yet to be addressed by ADOR or Min herself, whose behind-the-scenes presence remains elusive as ever.

Judging from following occasions, a year later, however, it wouldn’t feel absurd to hypothesize that an extensive explanation wouldn’t be the most viable option for the label. Post NewJeans’ turbulent yet record-smashing debut, the public was divided over ADOR’s conceptual decisions repeatedly; whether it be their take on mental illness as both a device to communicate the psychological toll of parasocial relationships on idols, and a pejorative towards skeptics in “OMG,” the ambiguity in a suggestive scene supposed to be taking place in front of the group’s eyes in “Cool With You,” or the correspondence of character names in “ETA”’s narrative to members of the violent paramilitary organization of the same name, there seems to have been a continuous leaning on the company’s part, towards — accidentally or not — triggering an effect similar to that of shock marketing’s, in relation to choices of nature explicit enough to be attacked, and implicit enough to be defended. If we’re considering NewJeans’ place in the global music landscape as we speak, nonetheless, there shouldn’t be many doubts as to whether any type of publicity has eventually worked in their favor. In fact, as far as intellectually intriguing music videos are concerned, arbitrary issues of what constitutes good morality or political correctness in storytelling can quickly, and within reason, be overlooked, in praise of a kind of bravery displayed; one required for going beyond the surface level messaging and watered-down social commentary frequently featured in K-pop’s attempts at contrived relatability. Whether its practical contents are positively or negatively received, the “Level 2” occasionally used by ADOR to tackle darker subject matter takes the form of a conversation starter that sets NewJeans apart in its own right.

Hardly any hurdle appears to be tall enough to stand in NewJeans’ way or — perhaps visible enough to be — able to psych out fans enamored with their music, gripping visuals, and of course, viral dances. The latter, in particular, proved to be a tool crucial to the group’s future growth from the very start, when… pretty much everyone you know rushed to TikTok to attempt the, now widely recognizable, “Hype Boy” choreography in August 2022. Looking at the dance, the moderate level of difficulty — only slightly dialed down in subsequent NewJeans challenges such as “OMG” or “Super Shy” — is interesting to observe; one that hits a sweet spot between the oftentimes inaccessible, high-skill choreography brought about by early fourth generation K-pop’s prioritization of performance, and tellingly simplistic, TikTok-optimized routines, more recently popular. NewJeans’ signature, uniquely interactive and “catchy” choreography style has earned them a distinct presence in the performance space, in addition to far-reaching appeal online in the era of TikTok dance challenges, becoming the catalyst for the group’s launch onto the global public’s radar. Notably, for their latest comeback, NewJeans have employed choreography for five out of six songs on their EP, while utilizing a range of dance vocabulary — from contemporary hip-hop to waacking — which has kept things fresh throughout their elongated promotion cycle.

To really grasp the impact of the girl group’s explosive arrival to the scene, however, we have to linger on the first of the aforementioned features for just a little longer. It’s clear that the point about quietude and uniform tones in NewJeans’ music goes back to a definitive K-pop context and the underlying suggestion of always striving for louder, brighter, higher, beltier — so it goes. For a few generations now, as a newly conceived musical niche, K-pop has been able to afford its experimentations, even when they have led it to ambivalent states of gimmicky versus cutting-edge. To render performances memorable in its competitive, centralized ecosystem, the industry has been embellishing its group formula through the years, building onto its shiny and colorful, yet almost endearingly show-offy and overachieving identity as we know it — what can basically be described as MTV era dialed up to 101. Getting used to the designed-to-impress attitude as a follower, sooner or later means starting to see through its tricks, leading to an expected “unexpected” which tends to fall short of satisfying the craving for witnessing something actually new and exciting — given the scene’s remarkable record of legitimate creativity and innovation. It is only logical, therefore, that the real subversion in 2022 would come from an “Attention” or a “Hype Boy”; tracks where the simple pleasure of harmony, effortless groove and traditional (despite non-dated) pop-making is subtly weaponized, yet that retain a strong pulse and the performance criteria necessary to comfortably exist amid the K-pop sphere of music show promotions.

NewJeans’ sonic route a year in, hasn’t stirred far from this core idea at all, albeit moving on to embrace what the public has shown to enjoy on them the most. December 2022’s “Ditto” marked the first statement (looking past hints mixed up in “Cookie”) venture into club genres for the ensemble; a misty, minimal, Baltimore dance-inspired single about confessing to a crush, featuring interchangeably sweet and haunting vocal presence by the group which, besides becoming a reference point for K-pop’s nostalgia-induced retro wave as of late, as well as a landmark for the acknowledgement of fan-idol dynamics in the industry, achieved a 10-consecutive-week-long stay at No.1 on Melon (Korea’s largest music streaming service). Since then, 2023 saw the releases of percussion-intensive, trap-fusion sensation “OMG” at its very start, and refreshing drum and bass Coke Zero partnership “Zero” just in time for spring. The latest, Get Up EP offers a sampler of inventive takes on various drum-based club music sub-genres, spanning the likes of 2-step, jungle and Jersey club, all woven through earwormy pop girl toplines; a 12-minute deal of profuse (90% English) hooks over energetic, by default addictive percussions, rendered endlessly loopable by its own lack of substantial build-ups or destinations, which leaves a conclusive satisfaction to be desired and, thus, perpetually chased.

It’s a combination that feels and sounds incredibly current — you would only need to turn to UK producer and TikTok star PinkPantheress, and her girly, introverted spins on garage and jungle for a taste of the modified club resurgence of the 2020s — and simultaneously deviant from regular K-pop molds. After all, there is no hiding the fact ADOR has always been Min Hee Jin’s dream label, destined to do “things never seen in the K-pop scene before” and put out “radically different music.” Get Up collaborator Erika de Casier, the Portugal-born, Copenhagen-based singer-songwriter and “IYKYK secret weapon” behind four out of six cuts on the EP, recently confirmed another layer to Min’s bold plans by revealing to GQ that her inexperience with K-pop was favored by the NewJeans team due to their search for something “new” and “fresh.” “I felt like I had been tacitly forced to follow the formula of how to produce K-pop hits,” Min said in an interview with Korea JoongAng Daily. “It was taken for granted, so I felt a bit rebellious and wanted to break that formula.” Of course, the same sentiment extends to pretty much every aspect of NewJeans’ production, not excluding rollout tactics or music videos as analyzed above, and reflected in ADOR’s apt partnerships on each front. “Ditto” (among others) director Shin Woo Seok wasn’t interested in participating in the creation of K-pop music videos before his first meeting with Min, and their discussion about fan-idol relationships. Of that professional step of his, he shared with Melon:

Personally, when I look at idol group MVs so far, there were parts where I felt burdened by the gaze that seemed to display a person, and from the point of view of the general public, not fans, it seemed difficult to approach. I felt that most MVs had a standardized framework. So I thought I wanted to break that mold with a new composition method. Of course, there will be reasons I don't know about in the ways that have been continued in the idol industry so far, and there will be complex interests. But I'm a stranger in this scene anyway. So rather, I think I was able to try new things without being tied down to anything.

In overall consideration of “breaking molds,” just a couple of years ago it truly might’ve been somewhat puzzling to imagine that your standard K-pop music show performance could also look and sound like this5. Today, however, the strong artistic presence of NewJeans and their approachable yet dreamy brand of “easy listening” is echoed across multiple corners of the industry. With the novelty initially found in fourth generation’s notorious fashion of genre-bending, extravagant productions — carried by the likes of ITZY and Stray Kids around 2019, and crystallized by aespa in 2021 — steadily wearing off, K-pop was always bound to return to the basics in one way or another. What makes one wonder is whether the pivot would’ve happened this rapidly hadn’t it been for Min Hee Jin’s forward-thinking vision for NewJeans, including the savvy execution of it conceptually, early on. The chain reaction isn’t hard to notice; from lore-led, high-concept acts suddenly landing in the “real world,” to girl groups across the board stepping away from ambitious experiments, getting their school uniforms back out and incorporating interactive dance sequences into their performances, to emerging newcomers not looking further than Y2K-indebted R&B and hip-hop to kick-start their careers safely. In 2023, the tide in K-pop is shifting towards the desire to produce tunes defined by their capacity to be comfortably consumed worldwide, more emphasis on toplines, smooth mixing and palatability as opposed to explicitly attention-seeking additions, and an abandonment of the idea of pure escapism through music and idol culture; a warming up to that of realism and closed-distance identification instead.

Despite some pre-debut in-HYBE concerns about the act’s concept, reportedly called “plain” and “unlikely to be a hit because it doesn’t follow the conventional ‘K-pop idol grammar’,” that precise universality is now claiming its part as a factor essential in catapulting NewJeans to worldwide popularity. Nowadays, with its eyes set on the West — specifically the US market6 — more than ever before, K-pop seems to be on a mission to shed the “convoluted” exterior that has limited its accessibility in the past, by getting closer to the listener. (Safe to say that several pages from BTS’ playbook that resulted in “Butter”’s 10-week-long stay at No.1 on Billboard Hot 100 and a Grammy nomination last year have been gracing strategy boards ever since, with HYBE still the frontrunner company in western liaisons for the scene.) Besides practical simplifications (more on that in a bit), it means that K-pop is returning to its roots; the largely unprocessed interpretation of US music trends where the genre found its very first footing in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s, both regarding the current sonic environment of choice, nostalgic and familiar to both western and domestic audiences (“Attention,” “Hype Boy,” and “Hurt”’s Y2K R&B pop) and, particularly in NewJeans’ case, a new trajectory that establishes alignment with — given the modern fragmentation of mainstream culture in the US — an “internet niche-mainstream” close to the coveted young demographic, whereby TikTok background tracks are able to worm their way into radio stations, and award ceremonies (Get Up’s two-minute-long club variations). NewJeans’ brand of manufactured authenticity has, furthermore, been able to tap into the US audience’s affinity for, well, authenticity, which has historically marginalized K-pop acts by painting them as, well, manufactured. Still, the bubble bursts with the defining “unusual” edge it has spent years cultivating, — in most cases — carefully preserved; one linked to K-pop’s knack for intricate visual work that can stand out from a crowd. Secure in its potential to fill the western market’s ongoing girl/boyband gap, the K-pop wave behind NewJeans looks occupied with nailing the golden ratio of, as things are, diminished novelty and amplified familiarity that can quickly propel it to the global stage, by speaking directly to a newfound international audience.

Whether the arrival of the fifth generation of K-pop is already upon us may be debate of the season among fan circles (likely due to “sticky” PR proclamations from newly debuted groups). It’s a conversation that feels out of place for many (perspectives of insufficient passage of time, non-significant technological advances, or absent big company debuts are all valid), yet one that still finds room to exist amid a certain empirical sense of change in the 2023 K-pop climate. If this is, indeed, the latter half of the fourth generation, it definitely doesn’t resemble its first. At least, quality-wise. There is a lot to say about how Covid has logistically impacted the industry’s modus operandi since cutting fourth generation’s momentum7 in half in 2020, but such couldn’t be more apparent in the global entertainment landscape; nostalgia is in. The ordeal probably doesn't need to be reiterated in-depth; the collective need for escapism alongside interconnectivity, a yearning for the past seen through rose-tinted glasses, reboots of TV classics, and rampant unimaginative sampling in music have predominantly determined pop culture for the past three years. For K-pop, this would imply phenomenal success for an act like NewJeans, whose visual identity centers nostalgia in a lived-in manner (rather than its reduction to costume), when combined with backing from experienced industry trailblazers, considerable resources and a charismatic approach to challenging established formulas. Naturally, for labels missing one or more of the aforementioned, NewJeans’ rise to prominence would also lead to the superficial adoption of cues from the grand launch of Y2K-infused easy listening, in true K-pop “imitate the frontrunner” pattern; a streak of releases evoking non-distracting background music “to relax and study to,” tracks watered down to shopping mall playlist staple status, projects capitalizing on girl or boy-next-door (don’t mind the HYBE logo there, ADOR and KOZ couldn’t be further apart in terms of vision execution) appeal which end up more soulless than friendly, attempting to channel the most commercial of girl/boyband archetypes, and recreate what has already been done better in the past by both the West and K-pop itself. As noted above, K-pop has been, to a great degree, derivative since its inception, the reinterpretation of US trends constituting its very fabric. What it curiously seems to have never been, however, is more inoffensive.

Which illustrates a nuance between this Y2K resurgence and previous trend cycles, such as the ‘80s synthpop craze circa 2020 (remember when The Weeknd and Dua Lipa kind of left the entire music industry with no choice there?), or latin pop’s course before that, or tropical house’s even further back; K-pop, as we have known it, — and as largely defined by top labels8 — is losing its signifiers. Of course, an argument like this autonomously answers a question as old as the industry itself, none other than “What is it that K-pop is really made up of?”, from a quality angle; agreeing with the stance explained above which identifies a genre out of its — besides mostly Korean lyricism — maximalist tendencies, sonic audacity, vibrancy, extroversion and a vaguely formulaic approach to music-making. Amid the “globalization by localization” movement, and as the margins between K-pop and the western industry increasingly blur together, the same discussion is seeing multiple hands raised, with new players emerging ready to, voluntarily or not, challenge its potential conclusions about definitive K-pop attributes in more ways than one.

Journalist Tamar Herman argues against fifth generation’s arrival in tangible terms in her newsletter, Notes οn K-pop, while acknowledging a potential change in landscape:

If anything, we may see less the fifth gen of K-pop, and more the end of South Korea’s idol scene as a singularity, but rather one integrated into America’s industry for a time [...]
Which begs the question… are we nearing the end of K-pop as its own entity if what makes it unique gets swallowed up into globalized music markets?

It is undoubtedly the era of the “global girl9 group.” At the peak of K-pop’s worldwide popularity, industry leaders’ long-thought-over plans to amplify the culture’s influence internationally are finally out of meeting rooms and being realized, ground fertile enough to inspire faith in lucrative unions. Such is literal; several Korean entertainment companies in the last few years have reached out to American record labels, or vice versa (more on this later), with the goal of combining K-pop methodology and influence in the American music market to launch textbook pop acts with universal appeal. Take HYBE America’s own ongoing Dream Academy program, in collaboration with Geffen Records, for example; where a selection of 20 girls — narrowed down from tens of thousands of applicants from all over the world — is provided the training resources and space to showcase their skills, teamwork and artistry, in hopes of making it to the final line-up of “the world's biggest girl group,” as PR touts, revealed in November. The contestants’ ethnicities and nationalities range from East Asia and North America, to Southeast Asia, Latin America and even smaller European countries, with the results being mostly viewer-voted. Less diverse and democratic, but similarly aligned, JYP Entertainment’s (home to TWICE, ITZY, Stray Kids and more) A2K project, in partnership with Republic Records, concluded on September 22 having followed company founder and musician J.Y Park’s journey in distinguishing talent from the US and Canada, and forming the final act. Attached to the meaning of “America to Korea” — or the transferral of American contestants to South Korea in order to train under the idol system — and a mission statement of creating “a team of artists that America and the whole world will fall in love with,” the program birthed VCHA, whose pre-debut single “Y.O.Universe” meshes together English lyricism with redundant musicality taking from K-pop’s signature affinity to culturally-favored youthful joy and innocence, that is difficult to picture as holding a place in the US market beyond what tween Disney Channel acts have represented in the past. (Of course, it doesn’t help that the average age of the group rounds off at 16.410.)

With VCHA getting their live performance debut on Korean music shows, more doubts were raised as to what JYP’s target audience for this endeavor could actually be. For multiracial-membered groups that lean into the K-pop formula sonically, conceptually, promotionally, and in regards to their training, finding domestic success in the industry’s unhurriedly-evolving climate isn’t a painless process, even when operating in the Korean language. Though, that may help things along; Fatou of four-piece BLACKSWAN, a more seasoned diverse-background K-pop act that has faced backlash for having zero Korean members, recently told CNN, “We speak Korean. K-pop is Korean pop. So as long as the language is there, it is still K-pop,” the ensemble adding that “most of the criticisms come from international observers, while Korean fans and artists have been largely supportive.” Persistence in the goal of “pushing boundaries and changing perceptions of what K-pop can be” — especially coming from a smaller company — is a badge of honor for the group11. However, breaking through a saturated market isn’t easy without a global following. And, interestingly, acts of non-Korean make-up promoting on South Korean grounds often aren’t necessarily looking to collect achievements within the K-pop sphere, as much as beyond it.

For self-proclaimed global girl group XG, appearances in Korean entertainment media seem to be a means to a further-reaching end. Managed by XGALX, a subsidiary of Japanese conglomerate Avex Entertainment, and consisting of seven members all hailing from Japan, XG sing and rap in English, boasting a catalog of neatly produced R&B, trap and club-infused tunes, accompanied by lavish, majorly trendy Y2K futurism visual branding. Much due to ineligibility for award nominations, the group’s performances on Korean music shows have, thus far, remained devoid of expectations higher than general public exposure. Nevertheless, the amount of eyes and ears on K-pop’s centralized structures, based on an increased international interest in Korean pop culture as of late, is not to be underestimated, as recorded music show performances are automatically optimized for online platforms like YouTube, where acts can benefit from global visibility. XG’s rising popularity shows that XGALX has effectively leveraged its access to the K-pop ecosystem — given executive producer Simon Jakops’ background in K-pop, and collaborations with various acclaimed industry creatives — as a stepping-stone towards harder-obtained promotional opportunities in America, such as participation in renowned festivals like 88rising’s “Head In The Clouds” where XG went on to make their US live debut.

A strategic trajectory akin to XG’s could likely prove fruitful for VCHA, Dream Academy’s finalists, or any future act with proximity to the Korean music industry wishing to make a name for themselves globally, but discouraged by the vastness of the US’ decentralized entertainment culture. As American record labels struggle to break pop stars into the mainstream in the algorithm era, it seems that an interest in artist development is having a resurgence, with the K-pop industry standing as the only market force with significant influence in the West where the essence of the Motown training model has been kept alive for decades. That has come with its downsides, of course — no one can deny the pressures of extensive contracts, rigorous practice, and the demand for borderline unapproachable levels of faultlessness etched within the idol training system, largely sustained by cultural values which might even render the stay arduous for non-Korean trainees12. However, artistic evolution is hard to peel your eyes off of as a spectator, especially when it comes to results as fascinating as those that K-pop methodology has been able to produce over the years, which prove that investment in talent isn’t a lesser alternative to the monetization of pre-existing fame. Arguably its most essential aspect, K-pop’s training system offers the industry both its performative and interpersonal edge, the latter stemming from fans’ admiration, reverence, and aspiration towards the hard work that brought their role models to stand on stage, thus strengthening parasocial relationships and fan-idol bonds.

Now, the doors are more open than they have ever been, and it is safe to say that cultural exchange between the East and West is bound to reach a whole new level with the gradual integration of the two music industries conceivably afoot. Therefore, labels’ awareness concerning different targeted markets’ lay of land becomes of great importance. Besides surrounding issues attached to cultural weight of social or political nature, the product also has to bear consequences of adjustment. For the US market, the implementation of the K-pop model may be announced as a breath of fresh air in the pop space, where artist development has been set aside in the last few years. On the other hand, problems could possibly arise regarding the reception of its harsh conditions, as well as the potential push for a revival of the child star, as more international visibility finds its way behind the scenes. The scale of impact is still unclear for the K-pop industry alone, where creative freedom seems to be past its heyday. Whether the globalization wave will redefine K-pop all over again as the culture approaches the mainstream remains the bottom line and phenomenon to look out for throughout this time.

I would like to guess it has eventually become quite obvious that the use of the word “generation” in the subtitle of this piece is somewhat metaphorical. NewJeans, as a K-pop act that leans away from industry typicalities, has captured the world’s attention through activity on internationally accessible Korean entertainment programs and social media virality, while thoroughly embracing aesthetics popular overseas, boasting a unique conceptual point of view, and employing smart song craft which facilitates easy connection and replay value universally. At the forefront of the next era for K-pop due to apt timing, and despite directly responsible for quite a minor percentage of its DNA, the group’s balance between a solid background in training under K-pop’s artistic development system, and superimposed branding of manufactured authenticity, embodies a mutation simultaneously taking place in both the western and K-pop industry, palpable in the 2023 climate. “New genes” describes NewJeans’ fresh colors, explosive upon their arrival to the scene. It is similarly characteristic of the shifting paradigm which rendered their way to profound popularity smoother. And, most accurately, an indicator of the music landscape’s capacity to adapt, at a time where definitions remain open, and culture never stays in one place for too long.

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