K-pop, BTS, and What the Grammys Get Wrong About Asian Music

In 2009, the author relocated from Seoul, South Korea to Middletown, Connecticut to pursue a degree in ethnomusicology. Initially, they did not engage with K-pop, perceiving it as predominantly teen-oriented music. However, as the genre gained traction in the United States, it altered their perspective on both Korean popular music and its worldwide impact.

This transformation continues to evolve, with recent developments raising queries about how K-pop is classified and appreciated within the American music sector. These concerns became especially evident earlier this summer when the Recording Academy unveiled a new category, Best Asian Pop Music Performance, for the 2027 Grammy Awards.

In response, the globally renowned boy band BTS chose not to submit their work for Grammy consideration, igniting intense discussions among K-pop enthusiasts worldwide. Some apprehended that the new category might marginalize Asian artists by relegating them to a distinct "Asian Pop" category, potentially diminishing their chances of recognition in the Grammys' esteemed General Field awards.

Recording Academy CEO Harvey Mason Jr. elucidated that "The Asian Pop category was established to honor the breadth, diversity, and remarkable surge of pop artistry originating from Asia," emphasizing that participating in a genre-specific category would not preclude an artist from also vying for accolades in the Record of the Year, Album of the Year, and Song of the Year categories.

This controversy prompts crucial inquiries. Is a category like "Best Asian Pop Music Performance" truly essential? Does it risk engendering a new form of segmentation? Or can it augment the visibility of Asian artists within American mainstream media? The United States' impact on Korean popular music My initial cassette purchase as a Korean adolescent residing in Seoul during the 1990s was Mariah Carey's compilation album, #1's.

Into the 2000s, indulging in Western pop was deemed "trendy" in South Korea. Koreans certainly consumed gayo, or Korean popular music, though Western pop often carried a different connotation of cultural prestige. Western pop was frequently described as more "intelligent," "authentic," and "meaningful." Radio DJs and music critics readily encouraged young Koreans to immerse themselves in more Western pop instead of gayo.

The cultural hierarchy between Western and Korean popular music was dictated by South Korea's postwar political and military ties with the United States. South Korea's nascent commercial recording industry took root in the early 20th century through the endeavors of Japanese and American record companies. Post the Korean War from 1910 to 1945, and the peninsula's division, South Korea grew increasingly beholden to U.S. political and military sway.

During the post-Korean War era, the Eighth U.S. Army shows emerged as a pivotal platform for nurturing South Korean popular music, employing hundreds of Korean performers to entertain U.S. troops through American popular music and other forms of entertainment. Post-war, imported albums, AFKN, and MTV served as vital conduits through which Korean musicians and audiences encountered emerging musical trends from the United States.

The U.S. military, media, and commercial networks proved instrumental in channeling American popular music into South Korea and molding the evolution of its contemporary popular music industry. Indeed, American pop was traditionally regarded as more prestigious and avant-garde than Korean pop—until K-pop captured global acclaim on its own.

The K-pop ecosystem K-pop primarily encompasses music performed by artists known as "idols," whose careers are meticulously cultivated and managed by entertainment conglomerates. This integrated system was pioneered in 1995 by Lee Soo Man, founder and producer of SM Entertainment, to consolidate artist recruitment, talent management, and music and visual production under a unified entity.

Inspired by Motown's Fordist model of music production and Japan's idol industry, Lee devised a cultural infrastructure wherein idols could mature into seasoned artists and, eventually, self-reliant entrepreneurs. Shortly after my arrival in the U.S., I began encountering an increasing number of American fans who inquired about my familiarity with acts like Girls' Generation or BIGBANG.

These fans introduced me to the realm of K-pop, gradually displacing my interest in American pop. Around the same time, Korean music critics lamented the waning interest of younger Koreans in Western pop, as once prevalent. Perhaps I was not the only one. Over the past decade, I have interacted with hundreds of American K-pop aficionados as a K-pop ethnographer.

My opening query remains consistent: "Why do you appreciate K-pop?" The question inherently carries an assumption: "If K-pop is merely a replication of American pop, as some critics disparage, why gravitate towards the imitation rather than the original?" Their responses bore a striking resemblance, as if they had exchanged insights.

K-pop was deemed "enchanting" and "enticing," whereas American pop was labeled "monotonous" and "invariably the same." According to these fans, while American pop stars sung "excessively about sex, drugs, and revelry," K-pop presented "dreams, fantasies, and self-improvement," frequently through immersive alternative "universes" where idols assumed distinct personas and narratives.

This notion of "universe" was first formally introduced to K-pop in 2012, when SM Entertainment debuted EXO as extraterrestrial beings from "EXO Planet," each imbued with a supernatural ability. Since then, world-building has become increasingly intertwined with K-pop's fusion of music, dance, costume, stage design, and fashion.