Chapter 38 #3
I considered the answer. “It’s sometimes a bit of both.
For the most part, I’m given a subject and I write about it, but Frequency isn’t a K-Pop publication, and I’m not the foremost expert on it.
I’m just the staffer they have who knows probably more than most, so when it comes up, it comes my way.
I think the BBC were doing a spot because of the recent interest because of groups like yours all touring at the moment, and…
and because of GVibes coming out of enlistment. ”
Tae was contemplative as he replied. “It’s a busy year.”
“It is, indeed.”
“Speaking of busy, Pom, I’ve gotta run. We’re doing a fansign event in a little bit, and I need to go get pretty.”
“You’re pretty enough as it is,” I said firmly.
“Yeah, yeah. Speak soon?”
“Soon,” I promised, before we hung up, and I was left alone with my thoughts again.
July
Being shown through the hallowed halls of the famous Broadcasting House had to be up there with one of the coolest things I’d ever done – professionally and personally.
So much of my cultural upbringing came from this building, and here I was, being shown to a studio where I’d soon be live on one of the most iconic radio channels in the UK.
Admittedly, it wasn’t exactly prime time, but still. It was the BBC.
The studio was smaller than I’d expected.
The small room was dominated by an oval table.
A PC set up at one end, flanked by soundboards.
Above the chairs, an octopus-like microphone rig hung at comfortable heights where the guests presumably sat.
The walls were padded, making the small studio feel warmer.
It wasn’t glamorous, but in a way that was better.
I was familiar with what the flagship Radio One studios looked like – everyone who’d ever tuned in to watch their Live Lounge had seen it.
This… this was more like the booths I’d spent so much of my time working in at university.
It felt comfortable, and it successfully calmed my nerves down a few notches.
I was briefly introduced to the producer, and the host – Pete Gurney. We went over the general timings and topics we’d be discussing. It wasn’t a long segment. Our actual interview would probably last around ten minutes, but I was welcome to stay for the whole hour, to watch.
I was hustled into the studio and I sat in the chair opposite the producer while he adjusted a few things on the mic rig. He handed me a large set of headphones, and we spent a few minutes doing sound checks, before the host gave me a thumbs up and a warm smile and silence fell in my ears, until–
“Welcome back, and thanks for tuning in. Now, today we’re going to be talking about the global pop phenomenon that’s reshaped music charts, fan culture, and even media itself.
“The influence of ‘K-pop’, or Korean Pop, is impossible to ignore, but what’s interesting is how Western media has only recently begun to treat it as a serious cultural force.
I’m joined today by journalist and social media savant–”
Social media savant? My brows slid up my forehead, but I bit my lip to keep from smiling. This was serious journalism, and I was a serious journalist. And savant. Apparently.
“–Kaiya Thompson, whose latest piece in Frequency magazine explores this shift in perception. Kaiya is joining us to discuss this newest force of nature. Kaiya, hello, thank you for coming all the way to Broadcasting house.”
“Hi Pete, thank you for having me, it’s quite the honour.”
“An honour! I’ll be sure to share that with the production team,” Pete laughed good-naturedly.
“You’ve been following K-Pop for a while, is that fair to say?
Both as a journalist and as someone who’s seen it up close during your time working for one of the largest entertainment companies in South Korea.
What do you think has changed in how Western outlets approach K-Pop now compared with, say, five years ago? ”
I barely thought, just answered, having addressed this very question several times in the past.
“I think what’s changed is legitimacy. For a long time, K-Pop coverage in Western media was…
almost anthropological. It was like, ‘hey, look at this fascinating thing from Korea, isn’t it quaint?
’, but what a lot of outlets failed to realise – or perhaps refused to acknowledge – was that K-Pop isn’t just a fad we could write off as being something that happens ‘over there’.
And what’s really interesting, Pete, is what we’re seeing now is Western outlets trying to catch up, to invite K-Pop to the global party, and to contextualise why it’s worked so well, but often through a Western lens, and that’s where it gets complicated. ”
Pete leaned on the desk, looking at me so intensely that for a moment, I forgot about the mics.
“Complicated, how?” He asked.
“Because the media still impose Western validation as the benchmark. You’ll see headlines like ‘K-Pop finally breaks America’ when, in reality, it broke into America years ago.
It’s less about trends, and more about Western media finally deciding it matters.
In a way, the fans really decided the course on this one, because historically, the music companies have had the power to tell us – the public – what’s popular, what to like, who’s in and who’s out, – but with K-Pop, the fans have firmly fought back.
Just look at the well deserved outrage around who is, and who isn’t nominated during awards season. ”
“Now that’s a really interesting point, let’s talk more on that.”
The rest of the interview blurred past. I was barely aware of time passing until the producer held a hand up to the glass, and Pete segued neatly into a break, thanking me for my time and leaving an open-ended suggestion to having me back on, before clicking the ‘off-air’ button and launching some music into the void to replace our voices.
“Kaiya, I am thoroughly surprised,” he confessed, taking his headphones off. I followed his lead and hung mine neatly back on the nearby rack.
“Surprised?” I echoed.
“I really wasn’t expecting that to be so animated. To be honest with you, I don’t know a great deal about K-Pop, and I wasn’t expecting to get so invested!” He laughed, and I smiled in response.
“Pete, I think you might have just exemplified my point,” I said gamely.
He held up his hands and nodded. “Every day is a school day.”
“Babes you were amazing! I’m so fucking proud of you!” Becka howled down the phone as I queued to get on the train.
“Thanks, but it was only a little segment, probably not a lot of listeners.”
“Who gives a fuck!” She said, outraged on my behalf. “Post it! Are you allowed to do that?”
“Yes,” I said after squeezing myself into a seat. “Providing I credit the show and don’t post the entire thing.”
“Do it, then!”
“I’m gonna!” I insisted, laughing.
“Seriously babes, “Becka’s voice took on a unexpectedly sombre tone. “I am so, so proud of you. Everything you’ve done. You’re doing it, y’know? I always knew you would.”
A suspicious sniffling sound alerted me to the fact that she was crying.
“Becka.”
The sniffling continued.
“Becka,” I tried again, “I love you, too.”
Becka burst into tears, and I had to pull the phone away from my ear as loud sobs burst out of the speaker, earning me a concerned look from the woman I was pressed up against in the packed carriage of the London Underground.
Similar, but less wet messages flooded in throughout the day. First it was just my parents, and then Taeyang, but eventually my colleagues and peers sent messages, or one-liners, and I was kind of surprised to learn that so many people had listened in.
But the thing that had made me sit suddenly on the little bed in my dorm room was a message from Ace on my social media. I knew it was him, and not a scam. I confirmed it.
Kim Seokmin
Kaiya, you did so well today. I am so happy for you. Eat well to celebrate.
The ‘reply’ button was right there, but every time my thumb hovered over it, I seemed to freeze. Until, eventually, I closed the app and put my phone down and tried to pretend the door that had just cracked open didn’t exist.