The New Folk Song (Sin-minyo)
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Palace gisaeng 1910-1920, Korea (Public Domain) |
The musical quest of the 1920s and 30s could be described as a swirling multitude of various songs traveling together on a wide road, which then split into distinct groups as they reached a multi-directional fork. This is why, in the early period, the same songs often displayed characteristics of several future genres; thus, the examples previously used to show the development of Trot could just as easily be cited in this chapter to illustrate the "New Folk Songs."
While Yuhaengga, the precursor to Trot, was clearly rooted in Japanese Enka—a mostly melancholic genre perfectly suited to expressing the agonizing feelings of colonial life on both a national and individual level—it remained, despite its fashionability, music from the oppressors. It perhaps sounded even less at home to Korean ears than the explicitly foreign Western Jazz, which nevertheless gained increasing popularity. At the beginning of the 20th century, traditional folk and national song genres still provided a musical comfort zone for the majority of Koreans. Alongside traditional folk songs, popular folk-like songs written by known composers began to emerge as early as the late 19th century. The shaping of the entertainment industry did not leave these musics untouched, nudging them toward mass singability and fixed reproducibility. Although one might think these traits are inherent to folk songs, it is not necessarily true—consider Pansori, which requires a long period of study and preparation for a singer to master.
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| Singing lesson at the Pyongyang gisaeng school (Public Domain) |
Within the diverse world of folk music, there was a group of songs called Japka (잡가) that proved particularly suitable for meeting these new demands. From the second half of the Joseon Dynasty, these songs were primarily sung by street performers in marketplaces and other public spaces. Japka was a highly flexible genre, easily absorbing influences from other folk song groups. It had two other advantages: its themes mostly dealt with the emotions and daily lives of ordinary people, and musically it sat halfway between "unpolished" folk music and lofty aristocratic music. Furthermore, unlike Yuhaengga, it generally viewed the world with more cheer.
From the late 19th century onward, everything in Korean society was in transition, including the arts. In literature, for example, students studying in Japan encountered Western poetry and distinguished the resulting work from traditional Korean verse by adding the prefix "Sin" (New). This prefix was also attached to songs reminiscent of folk music, leading to the genre name "Sin-minyo" or "New Folk Song." There are both broad and narrow interpretations of this term; the former includes songs with new stylistic features emerging since the late 19th century, while the latter refers specifically to the music created in the 1930s. We will focus only on this second definition.
As mentioned in an earlier part, the mature appearance of the "New Folk Song" is dated to 1926, with the release of director Na Un-gyu’s film Arirang, which featured an unusual version of Arirang as its title song. This song is a folk melody sung for centuries, with countless regional variations. What made the film version different?
First, it bore the mark of a specific individual's musical and lyrical creation. It was decidedly an urban, popular arrangement, designed not for spontaneous singing at communal events but for professional performance and distribution in theaters, on the radio, and especially on gramophone records. To this end, its format was standardized: it was divided into fixed verses and a refrain, organized into repeatable lengths. The flexible, rubato style common in folk singing (where the singer speeds up or slows down based on emotion) was replaced by a fixed meter, usually in 2/4 or 3/4 time. This organized meter facilitated musical accompaniment and recording. The solo voice, traditionally accompanied at most by a drum, was replaced by Westernized, urban instrumentation relying primarily on Western instruments. For the sake of the musicians, I will include the following technical detail (though as a non-musician, I take no responsibility for it): functional harmony appears, with simple I–IV–V type diatonic harmonic progressions over a modal-pentatonic base. Finally, instead of regional variants, a single, easily recognizable melody was created at a radio- and gramophone-friendly tempo.
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| An advertisement for the new folk song titled Taepyeongyeon in a Polydor commercial (Public Domain) |
Thus, do not be deceived by the familiar melody; the song also known as Bonjo Arirang truly marks the beginning of a new era, followed by many similar works. The New Folk Songs are, of course, not traditional folk songs but artistic songs with specific composers and lyricists. Even if they resemble genuine folk songs in style or if a specific folk melody is recognizable within them, they are actually hybrids using elements of traditional Korean and Western music, clearly intended for mass consumption. Essential to their rapid popularity was the establishment of Korean-run record labels, which focused on domestic needs as much as possible—possessing greater freedom than the radio stations under direct Japanese control.
In contrast to the Yuhaengga songs about sorrowful love and longing, New Folk Songs celebrated the joyful beauty of nature and local life. Occasionally, familiar melodies were revived with new lyrics expressing fresh, topical feelings. The style of performance also changed; while previously sung only by those skilled in traditional folk singing, more popular singers representing other styles began to include New Folk Songs in their repertoires.
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| The attire of gisaengs in the 1930s (Public Domain) |
However, the singers of New Folk Songs were primarily Gisaengs who received their training in Gwonbeons. Those in the upper class of Gisaengs (Ilpae, 일패) were originally under court supervision, taught poetry, music, calligraphy, singing, and etiquette. Their task was to entertain with dance and song at palace celebrations, while on ordinary days they were employed in medicine-making or sewing. The middle class (Ipae, 이패) entertained civil servants and lower-ranking nobles, while the third class (Sampae, 삼패) entertained commoners, not infrequently (though not necessarily) linked with prostitution. One should not be misled by this classification, which was only a hierarchy within the profession—until the end of the caste system, Gisaengs were uniformly among those of the lowest social status.
With the arrival of colonial rule, this system also disappeared. Gisaengs had to provide for themselves and soon established their own organizations, found in almost every major city, with four operating in Seoul. These were called Gwonbeons, which served both as training institutions and as precursors to modern talent agencies, taking a share of the income of the actors and performers belonging to them. They were quite large institutions, the largest reaching nearly 200 members. Artists associated with Gwonbeons had to register their activities and pay taxes (much like modern sole proprietors), distinguishing them from other Gisaengs. Interestingly, separate institutions served married and unmarried Gisaengs, as many who focused solely on performance arts started families. In the Gwonbeons, in addition to traditional training, they could gain professional skills in performing various folk music genres. Since the inspirations for New Folk Songs were mainly Pansori, Japka, and Minyo, Gisaengs naturally proved most suitable for performing them. When Wang Su-bok became the first Gisaeng-turned-singer to achieve massive popularity, a multitude of Gisaengs followed, trying to break into the entertainment industry. At the same time, the social perception of these singers was quite dubious, which is why we know relatively little about their private lives or family ties, as they sought to keep these hidden from the public.
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A postcard from the Japanese colonial period: A view of the Pyongyang gisaeng school building
© National Folk Museum of Korea |
The genre of New Folk Song reached its heyday in the 1930s. It survived World War II in an almost unchanged form; many New Folk Songs appeared in the 1950s that differed little from their predecessors. However, the countless new musical influences that hit post-war Korea eventually led to the genre's inability to innovate from the late 50s onward, and it finally disappeared in the 80s.
Let us get to know some popular songs and performers from the pre-war era!
Kang Seok-yeon (1914-2001)
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| Kang Seok-yeon (Public Domain) |
We begin with a recording by one of the star singers of the era. Kang Seok-yeon was born on Jeju Island, one of five children raised by a single mother. After moving to Seoul, she followed her siblings into the world of theater. As an actress, she was praised for her natural performances. She debuted as a singer at the age of 17, which marked the beginning of her true success; over the course of nine years, she released 130 recordings across various labels. The primary themes of her songs—parting, the tearing apart of families, and economic ruin—point directly to the tragic reality of colonial Korea.
She was among the first to record the song "The Paulownia Tree" (Odong-namu) on a 1931 gramophone record. This lyrical song is performed in a Pansori style, and its lyrics are rich with symbolic imagery. While it initially seems to speak only of individual pain, by the end of the song, the grief expands to encompass the entire nation. The music was composed by Kang Yun-seok, with lyrics by Lee Gyu-song.
오동나무
오동나무 열두 대 속에 신선 선녀가 하강을 하네
The Paulownia Tree
(Literal translation)
The crow of the mountain spirit caws and caws,
but my beloved’s illness grows ever deeper.
Ehe-ra, such are these tears.
Ehe-ra, such is this sorrow.
Where red and white peaches grow in abundance,
there girls and boys pass to and fro.
Ehe-ra, such is this love.
Ehe-ra, such is this sorrow.
Let us fly away, do not cry,
the sun sets on the slopes of Mount Baekdu.
Ehe-ra, such is this parting.
Ehe-ra, such is this sorrow.
Where has the land adorned with beautiful mountains and rivers gone,
and why has this desolate wilderness come in its place?
Ehe-ra, such is this resentment.
Ehe-ra, such is this sorrow.
Composer: Kang Yun-seok / Lyricist: Lee Gyu-song
Park Bu-yong (1901- ?)
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Park Bu-yong (~1932, Public Domain) |
노들강변
노들강변 봄버들 휘휘 늘어진 가지에다
무정세월 한 허리를 칭칭 동여 매어나 볼까
에헤요 봄버들도 못 믿으리로다
푸르른 저기 저 물만 흘러 흘러가노나
노들강변 백사장 모래마다 밟은 자죽
만고풍상 비바람에 몇 번이나 쉬어갔나
에헤요 백사장도 못 믿으리로다
푸르른 저기 저 물만 흘러 흘러서 가노나
노들강변 푸른 물 네가 무슨 망녕으로
재자가인 아까운 몸 몇몇이나 실어갔나
에헤요 네가 진정 마음을 돌려서
이 세상 쌓인 한이나 두둥실 싣고서 가거라
On the Banks of the Nodeul River
(Literal translation)
On the Nodeul banks, among the drooping branches of the spring willows,
Could I tie the ruthless years like a tight belt?
Heh, even the willow tree cannot be trusted,
Only the green water flows there, just flowing away.
On the Nodeul banks, footprints cover the white sand everywhere,
Amidst a thousand years of storms, rains, and winds, how many have rested here?
Heh, even the sand cannot be trusted,
Only the green water flows there, just flowing away.
Nodeul banks, oh you green water, what madness drove you
To take away so many precious youths, talents, and beauties?
Heh, if your heart would turn, truly,
You could carry away the accumulated sorrows of this world on your waves.
Kang Hong-sik (1902-1971)
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| Kang Hong-sik (Public Domain) |
Though Kang Hong-sik went to Japan for high school with ambitions of becoming a singer for the Tokyo Opera, he eventually became an actor, screenwriter, and theater director. He returned to Joseon in 1927, appearing in numerous films and plays. He recorded many songs for his films as well as solo tracks. Born in Pyongyang, he remained in his hometown after the war, helping to establish a film production company in North Korea and working as a director for the National Film Studio. He is credited with the documentary The 38th Parallel and the first North Korean feature film, My Hometown. His children also became directors, actors, and musicians; his grandson is the renowned South Korean actor Choi Min-soo.
His 1934 song "Maiden and Bachelor" (Cheonyeo Chonggak) showcases the more playful nature of New Folk Songs. Based on the folk song "Heungtaeryeong," it was composed by Kim Jun-young with lyrics by Beom-o (the pen name of Yoo Do-soon).
처녀총각
After graduating from the three-year Pyongyang gisaeng school, Sunwoo Il-seon made her debut in 1933 as a discovery of Polydor. She also formed a duet with singer Wang Su-bok, and they occupied the first two places in the 1935 popularity poll. After the division of Korea, she remained in the North and became a professor in the folk music department of the Pyongyang College of Music. Writer Lee Bu-pung remembered her as having a voice so beautiful and clear, "as if hearing the sound of a jade flute in heaven."
It was recorded of Sunwoo Il-seon that she secretly visited independence activist Ahn Chang-ho, who was also an educator and patron of the arts, during his detention in Seoul, when Ahn was being treated in a hospital due to police torture. She also helped the man with money, who in the end could not be saved and died from the aftereffects. Sunwoo Il-seon, however, was caught by the police, and although they did not harm the singer who was at the peak of her success, she was allegedly humiliated in some way.
Released in 1934, "Flower Picking" brought her popularity, the composer of which was Lee Myeong-sang and the lyricist Kim An-seo.
꽃을잡고
하늘 하늘 봄바람이
꽃이 피면
다시 못 잊을
지낸 그 옛날
지낸 세월 구름이라
잊자건만
잊을 길 없는
설운 이 내 맘
꽃을 따며 놀던 것이
어제련만
그 님은 가고
나만 외로이
(Literal translation)
The spring breeze, light as air,
When the flowers bloom,
I cannot forget
Those days of long ago.
Though I try to forget,
The years have flown like clouds,
My sad heart
Does not know how to forget.
Playing while picking flowers
Was just like yesterday,
But that beloved is gone,
Leaving me all alone.
Composer: Hyeong Seok-gi / Lyricist: Pyeonwol.
Lee Eun-pa (~1917- ?)
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| Lee Eun-pa (Public Domain) |
We do not know her date of birth, just as we do not know the real name of the girl who most certainly came from Jinnampo (South Pyeongan). Eun-pa is an artist name, which was probably given to the gisaeng by her discoverer, who was none other than composer Moon Ho-wol. He heard Lee sing during a trip to the countryside and invited her to Seoul. Soon they fell in love and also became partners. Lee debuted in May 1934, and shortly after became one of the most popular singers; among her numerous recordings, she mostly sang Moon's compositions as well. A few years later, however, she almost completely vanished without a trace; one or two of her public appearances could still be tracked until 1949, but after that, nothing is known about her. It may be that she started a family, and like many of her colleagues, lived a quiet life afterwards, concealing her past.
Mention must also be made of the song's authors. Moon Ho-wol (1908-1952) allegedly taught himself music, but even so, acquired a wide musical education. He played in the Korea Jazz Band, and began working as a composer in 1933, achieving his greatest successes until 1940. He wrote songs in several genres, but is most considered a representative author of new folk songs. Although his compositions are adaptations, the spirit of the original folk songs is still strongly felt in them. The same is true for lyricist Kim Neung-in, whose real name was Seung Eung-sun (1910-1937). The tragically short-lived Kim left behind a significant body of work as a children's author and playwright as well. He also founded and presided over the poetry club called Remény Társasága. The two men had a shared passion: traveling the country, they sought out and noted down the melodies and lyrics of local folk songs, and began organizing them. This direct connection nurtured with the folklore treasure makes their own adaptations, compositions, and lyrics particularly alive and sensitive.
In Korea, too, interest in folklore awakened in the early 1900s, when intellectuals began working on the preservation of traditional songs. The composers and lyricists of the new folk song also frequently traveled to the countryside on folk song collecting tours, noting down local melodies, which at the same time served as the foundation for the “modernized” versions they created. Strangely, the Japanese Governor-General also encouraged the collection of folk songs, but mainly for the purpose of scholarly cataloging (and often from a distorting, colonialist perspective).
Released in 1935, the song titled Kwanseo ezer mérföldje was created in cooperation between Moon Ho-wol and Kim Neung-in, and above we could already hear the song titled Nodeul folyó partja from Moon as well.
관서천리
관서천리 두메산골 장사차로 떠난 님
A Thousand Miles of Kwanseo
(Literal translation)
My beloved who left for the remote mountain village of Kwanseo, a thousand miles away, on business, Even as the autumn leaves fall, there is no news at all. Crossing over mountains and clouds, the path of dreams comes and goes, In the old days, the blue bird would fly there in a single breath.
The ancient site of Nangnang, a thousand miles away in Kwanseo, the Daedong River is in autumn colors, A traveler sheds tears at Morandai. The Yellow Sea is a blue sea, the boat route is endless, And the twilight deepens over the rapids of Yongdangpo.
At the sound of the train passing through the fertile plains of Kwanseo, a thousand miles away, A maiden sighs beneath the festive lanterns of the cotton field. Where might Hanyang be? Water and mountains overlap, And only the old appearance of my departed beloved flickers before my eyes.
To perceive the diversity of the compositions, it is worth listening to another Moon Ho-wol piece, the lyrics of which were written this time by Kim Yeon-su. A male-female duet performed by Go Bok-su and Lee Eun-pa, its title is Új nap virrad (A New Day Dawns), released in 1936. The song celebrates a bountiful harvest (풍년 pungnyeon); the menari is a Korean folk melody form, while the “sinsangmaji” (신상맞이) is an old ritual for welcoming gods/ancestors, which the text shows as a tradition that had already faded away by the early 20th century.
We can hear in it the basic pulsation given by pungmulnori (traditional percussion), but in a somewhat march-like manner, and the appearance of the canon is unusual yet ingenious. It also slightly resembles a choral work and a jazz band, but all things considered, the final result is energetic and cheerful.
A New Day Dawns
(Literal translation)
Though a bountiful harvest of early rice came to the Namuri Plain in Sinjaeryeong, Beneath the chestnut tree on the back hill, a bountiful harvest of maidens came. E-he-ya de-he-ya, a shoulder dance breaks out, A new day dawns as we welcome the bountiful harvest~
The sound of menari is in full swing on the Namuri Plain in Sinjaeryeong, And the maidens of the front and back houses are in the midst of weaving cotton. E-he-ya de-he-ya, a shoulder dance breaks out, A new day dawns as we welcome the bountiful harvest~
It has been several decades since even the old sinsangmaji vanished without a trace, Yet only the fine melodies of menari resonate in every corner. E-he-ya de-he-ya, a shoulder dance breaks out, A new day dawns as we welcome the bountiful harvest~
Ondol Night Tale
(Literal translation)
[ "What is written in that history(Literal translation)
is not the issue, but about sixty years ago from now,
in the land of Yeoju, Gyeonggi Province, there was a young man named Bakdol
and a maiden named Gapsun, they say." ]
Bakdol and Gapsun lived in the same village,
It is said that the two of them loved each other.
But that was only inside their hearts;
On the outside, mmm~~~ they pretended
not to know each other.
Meanwhile, they say Gapsun went to get married;
Inside the wedding palanquin going away, tears flowed, they say.
But that was a matter inside the palanquin;
On the outside, mmm~~~ she pretended as if nothing was wrong.
Out of anger, Bakdol got married too, they say;
That night, the groom laughed high into the sky.
But his heart was aching and bitter;
On the outside, mmm~~~ he even tried saying,
"Who cares about that girl."
Even after that, the two of them had unchanging thoughts of the past,
They could not forget their heartbreaking yearning for each other.
But that was only inside their hearts;
On the outside, mmm~~~ they pretended
not to know each other.
Lyricist: Kim Seong-jip / Composer: Kim Yong-hwan
Lee Hwa-ja (~1916 – ~1950)
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| Lee Hwa-ja (Public Domain) |
We do not know much about the life of Lee Hwa-ja either; her birth data are missing, and her real name might have been Lee Won-jae. She was already singing at the age of 13, living her life as a wandering tavern musician. The story of her discovery is told in several places, perhaps a bit embellished. According to this, in 1935, Kim Yong-hwan, a composer referred to as the "godfather" of the musical scene at the time, heard a rumor that a woman in a countryside tavern was excellently singing the contemporary nonae melody style. At first, he did not care much about it, but then the matter piqued his curiosity after all, so he and his companions went to see her. Allegorically, they were immediately disheartened by the sight of the not-too-beautiful woman, her face shining oily in the heat, sitting with her legs apart in a skirt rolled up to her knees, cooling herself with a fan. But since they were already there, they had a drink, Lee Hwa-ja poured for them, and finally, the performance took place. The woman sang wonderfully, so they immediately invited her to Seoul. It did not take much time either for the portraits and song lyrics of the woman, who brilliantly interpreted multiple genres, to cover the music stores, and for everyone to try to imitate her. She was under contract with several record labels, but the super-hits of new folk songs were released with her at Okeh Records, earning her the title "Queen of New Folk Songs." The era of her brilliance lasted until the very beginning of the 1940s, when Lee, a heavy smoker, also began experimenting with opium. Her last recording was made in 1942, which was a pro-Japanese song. Although there are other variations as well, the singer, who was already a drug addict at the time of liberation, is suspected to have lived alone in a rented room near the Danseongsa temple, and might have died completely degraded both physically and mentally, probably in 1950, as no records can be found of her after that.
A szénazsákos pásztorfiú dala (The Song of the Shepherd Boy with the Hay Sack, 1938) shows her excellent sense for singing new folk songs; the incorporation of animal-urging sounds, which almost present a genre scene, is particularly enjoyable in the song.
The composer was Kim Yong-hwan, the lyrics of the song were written by Jo Myeong-am, and it was arranged by Son Mok-in.
That shepherd boy driving the cow, with a hay sack slung over his shoulder,
Tugging at the reins and humming a tune,
Lee-ya heung- let’s go quickly, my beloved must be waiting,
Eung~ lee-ya tsk-tsk.
That shepherd boy singing a taryeong while looking toward the setting sun over the mountain,
Tapping out his tobacco pipe and lighting up,
Lee-ya heung- let’s go quickly, my beloved must be waiting,
Eung- lee-ya tsk-tsk.
That shepherd boy washing his face in the brook in front of the village,
Dusting off the waist of his trousers and slung his farming sack back on,
Lee-ya heung- let’s go quickly, my beloved must be waiting,
Eung~ lee-ya tsk-tsk.
Although Lee Hwa-ja was at home in several genres, I am now showing a song that does not fit into any of them. With this, I also take the opportunity to mention those songs not discussed here that are strongly inspired by the authors and do not necessarily bear the traits of any specific genre.
The song titled Mother was released in 1939 and, for lack of a better term, was designated as an autobiographical song. Lee Hwa-ja, who had a troubled fate and grew up without parents, likely recognized her own life in the song, which is why her performance holds a particularly dramatic power.
Music: Kim Yong-hwan, lyrics: Jo Myeong-am.
Mother
(Literal translation)
Mother, Mother, are you always in good health and peaceful?
I pray for your health with all my heart and utmost sincerity.
Upon receiving your letter, tears cloud my vision,
Burying my face in the hem of my light pink skirt,
I wept endlessly.
Mother, Mother, this young daughter of yours, before her mother,
Grinds ink with tears of blood to make her plea.
By what sin in a past life was I separated from my mother,
That on mornings when flowers bloom or evenings when birds cry,
I beat my chest and lament?
Mother, Mother, clasping my hands together, I pray to you.
May you enjoy the remaining world for a long, long time.
When will I hold onto my mother's knees
And pour out the deep sorrow bound in my heart?
I bow my head to the ground in reverence.
Finally, Lee Hwa-ja's famous song released in 1934 is also fitting to serve as a bow at the end of this post before the gisaeng singers of the era, who lived their artistic and everyday lives—which often turned out tragically short—under the double pressure of popularity and success, as well as social contempt. Even though composer Kim Hae-song was the husband of singer Lee Nan-young, he stubbornly insisted that his song be sung by Lee Hwa-ja. For a long time, Lee hesitated whether to accept the song, which could also be interpreted as a metaphor for her own past life, but in the end, she did. Her performance became a deeply felt expression of the life sentiment of women working in the entertainment industry.
The author of the song is Kim Hae-song, and the lyricist is Jo Myeong-am.
화류 춘몽
꽃다운 이팔 소년 울려도 보았으며
철 없는 첫사랑에 울기도 했더란다.
연지와 분을 발라 다듬는 얼굴 위에
청춘이 버스러진 치는 낙화 신세
마음마저 기생이라 이름이 원수다
점잖은 사람한테 귀염도 받았으며
나 젊은 사람한테 사랑도 했더란다
밤 늦은 인력거에 취하는 몸을 실어
손수건 적신 적이 몇 번인고
이름조차 기생이면 마음도 그러냐
빛나는 금강석을 탐내도 보았으며
겁나는 세력 앞에 아양도 떨었단다
호강도 시들하고 사랑도 시들해진
한 떨기 짓밟히운 낙화 신세
마음마저 썩는 것이 기생의 도리냐
Hwaryu Spring Dream
(Literal translation)
I have made a flower-like youth of twice-eight years weep,
And I have also wept over an innocent first love.
Upon the face refined by applying rouge and powder,
My youth is shattered, a state of falling blossoms;
Even my heart is that of a gisaeng, the name itself is the enemy.
I have been doted on by dignified gentlemen,
And I have also loved young men.
Loading my intoxicated body into a late-night rickshaw,
How many times have I soaked my handkerchief?
If even my name is a gisaeng, must my heart be so too?
I have coveted brilliant diamonds,
And I have also played the coquette before intimidating power.
Luxury has withered and love has withered too,
A state of a single trampled, falling blossom;
Is it the duty of a gisaeng that even her heart must rot away?
We will continue the overview of the popular music genres of the colonial period in the next part with the manyo, with the examples of which we will simultaneously sail into more cheerful waters.
→ Part 7
The Formation and Differentiation of Modern Korean Music World;
Korean Social Sciences Review | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2013: 107-131
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