f K-pophasa spiritualhome,it’sprobablySMTown.
OperatedbySMEntertainmentCo.,thesix-storycom-
plexinSeoul’swealthyGangnamdistrictis a high-tech
shrinetoSouthKorea’smostsuccessfulculturalexport.
Thelobbywallsarecoveredwithframedblack-and-whitehead-
shotsofSM’s“idols,”asK-popstarsareknown.Bytheelevators
arehundredsofPolaroid-styleportraitsofthesameartistsin
a morecandidlight,albeitwithskinsotouchedupit appears
carvedfrommarzipan.
ThecenterpieceofSMTownisa museumhonoringthe
label’smostprominentgroups.There’sanextensivesec-
tionforSuperJunior,a 13-memberboybandthat
wasoneofK-pop’sfirstbig-ticketacts,andanother
forGirls’Generation,a syrup-sweetensemblethat
flirtedwithglobalstardomthankstomixed-language
trackssuchasI Gota Boy. (“Igota boy/Cool!/I got
a boy/Nice!/I gota boyhandsomeboy!”)Thereare
alsoseveraldisplaysforSHINee,a five-membermale
group.Orrather,a formerlyfive-member male group.
InDecember2017,lead singer Kim Jong-hyun died
bysuicideina Seoulapartment. “The depression
slowlychippedawayat me, finally devouring me,”
hewroteina finalnote. “It wasn’t my path to become
worldfamous....It’sa miracle that I endured all this
time.”Kimwas27;had he been revered in the West,
hemighthavebeenremembered in the same breath
asothermegastars,such as Jimi Hendrix and Amy
Winehouse,whodied at that age. But at SMTown,
Kim’sdeathneverhappened. An otherwise detailed chronol-
ogy of the band makes no mention of it; on one side of the rel-
evant date he’s in the photos, and on the other he isn’t.
It wouldn’t be entirely fair to call this a metaphor for K-pop’s
core bargain with its audience, but it wouldn’t be completely
wrong, either. K-pop depends on a highly controlled relation-
ship with fans. The idol, the genre’s base unit of stardom, is
gestated from adolescence through years of grueling training.
When he’s ready to meet his public, his labels place him in a
group, flowing his image and voice into the music, video, and
social media streams of fans across East Asia. The ideal idol has
a moral record as unblemished as his pores, eschewing drugs,
gambling, and public misbehavior of any kind. While female
groups employ the usual male-gaze clichés—the flirty school-
girl, the doe-eyed ingénue—the frank sexuality of a Rihanna or a
Lady Gaga would be unthinkable. And even though many, many
K-pop songs are about relationships and breakups, labels often
discourage dating. What the music loses in edge, it more than
gains in marketability. Korea and Japan are conservative societ-
ies in many ways, and China, a nascent market, often bans for-
eign acts it deems negative influences.
But the wall of virtue collapsed this year, thanks to a scandal
that continues to grip the industry. It began in January, after a
man said he’d been beaten by guards for trying to stop a sex-
ual assault at Burning Sun, a Seoul nightclub partly owned by
Seungri, one of K-pop’s most bankable stars. The claims spiraled
intoa seriesofoverlappingallegationsrelatedtosextrafficking,date rape, spy-camera recordings, and bribery. Seungri and
several other idols are under criminal investigation, while the
founder of YG Entertainment Inc., the label responsible for
K-pop’s first global crossover hit, Gangnam Style, resigned as
a result of the turmoil. Prosecutors, meanwhile, opened an
inquiry into whether police had been running interference for
stars, ignoring reports of sexual assault and allowing venues
such as Burning Sun to function as hubs of predatory behavior.
The scandal shone an unflattering light on the idol system,
which elevates artists from tightly regimented training schools
to stardom in their early 20s with money and fame to burn. It’salso triggered a larger debate about the treatment of women in
South Korea, huge numbers of whom face harassment, assault,
or surveillance by molka, or spycams, which are routinely dis-
covered in hotel rooms and public bathrooms.
GivenK-pop’stitanicculturalandeconomicsignificance—the
revenueofthefourlargestK-popcompaniesin 2018 wasabout
$1.1billion, according to music export agency DFSB Kollective—a
real change in how it operates could shift attitudes in South
Korea as a whole. But in a country where social progress often
lags behind technological and material advancement, no one is
getting their hopes up. For women in South Korea, “it’s a des-
perate situation,” says Sim Sang-jeung, a lawmaker and former
presidential candidate who’s pushed for stronger protections
against assault. At Burning Sun, “police and the authorities tried
to protect those who have power and conceal crimes,” she says.
“In women’s daily lives, nowhere feels safe.”or most of his career, Seungri, whose real name is Lee
Seung-hyun, stayed within K-pop’s guardrails. Born in
the southern city of Gwangju, he made his debut at 15
as part of Big Bang, YG’s first attempt at an international
idol act. Reception was initially mixed, but the group eventually
became one of K-pop’s biggest names. Seungri, who has a square
jaw, thick hair, and prominent dimples, began releasing solo
work and became one of the most recognizable Korean celeb-
rities—staying popular even after a 2012 “sex scandal” sparked
bya Japanesemagazine’sreportthatwhilespendingtimeinthe64
Bloomberg Businessweek November 11, 2019◀ BURNING SUN NIGHTCLUB KIM JONG-HYUN ▲