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Shin Choong-hyun, The Godfather of Korean Rock.
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A conversation with Park Choon-hoom, Kwangmyung Valley Music Festival Director of the Arts.
Nicknamed "the Godfather of Korean Rock," and a "Living History" of music in Korea, singer Shin Choong-hyun has left behind deep footprints in the realm of Korean popular music. Important sounds such as rock and soul passed through his hands before making their debut here, where they were imbued with a Korean sensibility. Kim Chu-ja, Pearl Sisters, and Chang Hyun all made their debuts through his interpretation of their songs, and Shin’s own songs, "Beauty," "Flower Petal," and "Beautiful Rivers and Mountains" became household melodies while contributing to and expanding the horizons of Korean popular music.
Now he will begin his exit from the stage. Starting with a performance July 1 at the Incheon Baseball Stadium, he will tour the nation’s cities one last time, and then put an end to a career under the spotlight. Park Choon-hoom met Shin Choong-hyun at his home in Youngin amidst his preparations for retirement and exchanged words with him regarding his music and full life. On that particular day, it was raining. Mr. Shin greeted his guest in a low and tranquil voice.
Q A musician shines brightest when he stands on the stage in a concert. Yet, now you have said that you will put an end to your performances. I suppose you feel somewhat out of sorts right now.
A Now that I have reached this age, I thought it inappropriate that I continue. It’s not a good thing if the old folks hang around the house for too long. In departing, they should stand up quickly and leave, thus giving the younger generation some breathing room.
Q. Even so, do you feel no melancholy?
A. Melancholy...I can’t even express my feeling in words. In fact, all that I know is music. I’ve lived within the world of music all of my life. Such a feeling cannot be contained in words.
Q. What are your thoughts on your planned tour?
A. I have not ventured much to the outlying provinces, and thus I think of this tour as my way of searching out and paying my respects to the fans. The music that I do is best when done live. In the end, hearing music on the record and hearing it live are two altogether different things. I set my heart on directly showing [my fans this live music].
Q. If one listens to your music, it is nearly all about being part of a one-sided love. It would seem that, despite the glare of the spotlight, you felt emptiness and loneliness.
A. Indeed. Everyone is the same, but I too navigated life within loneliness. My music did not paint a love fulfilled, but rather the heart’s lingering attachments. I was small in my youth, and so a common experience was that I would start to like someone, but encounter disappointment or flat-out rejection. After these sorts of experiences, I learned to give up before even trying to approach someone. Most of my lyrics are about this sort of thing. There’s no need to lie. Honestly speaking, I’m glad that the music lives on.
Q. In 1997, upon the release of your album "Kim Sat Kat," you said, "the only thing I know is music. I tried to compose a Korean style of rock, but at the same time one that would not fall far from modern sensibilities." When I heard those words, I thought that you would regularly release albums, but it was only your releases last year, "A Crane Living in the City" and "Safe Arrival" which have appeared in stores. Personally speaking, I miss your work.
A. If I release an album, it does not get any airtime, and my publicity is not picked up, so I didn’t even think about [putting out an album]. However, when I do have an excuse I do cameo performances in such movies as "Lower Class Living." I myself think of that sort of music as good, since I do not have many chances to approach the common man, many people do not know about me. (Pointing to a remake album) The reason for all of these remakes is that the songs are precious but the people don’t know about them. The times have changed, so the young generation doesn’t know about my music, and although the older folks know something about it they don’t buy music, so there’s no way but this.
Q. On your retirement tour, I heard that other singers will perform for the first half, and then you will take over for the remaining 150 minutes. Is there any meaning to this structure?
A. I want to show everything of mine live. I’m thinking of conducting everything myself. I want to get rid of as many elements of staging as possible, and focus on the music. Music is to be appreciated as music--does putting on some sideshow make any sense? I have no thought of putting on some flashy hubbub of a show. I want to expose everything live, starting from my voice, my rendition, and the sound of my guitar, and then I want to pick up and go. Don’t think of it as a show, but rather as the man that is me, placed before you, ready to rock.
Q. I see that in 1970 you organized the Go-Go Gala Party, the very first psychedelic stage show in Korea. At the time, some 4,000 spectators who filled the seats reacted with excitement to the performance. Recently I heard the live album, and I was surprised that you could pull off such a stint at the time. In fact I heard that you said, "before the ban on [musical] activities in 1975, Korean popular music was at its zenith. It was second to none on the international stage."
A. The peak of my musical life was around 1970. Furthermore, the period of international stagnation coincided with the 1975 ban as well, unfortunate though it is. That’s when dance music came into vogue. So it wasn’t just me falling into a rut, but rather rockers the world over having to take a back seat. In America, heavy metal started kicking about, but it was ignored by most. Dance music ruined musicality, since it’s just a kind of music to move one’s feet to. From that point on, music took on an existence as mere commercialized music. That’s why I think that the true musician ceased to exist in that period.
Q. At that time, you sang Iron Butterfly’s psychedelic rock song "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" at the people’s hall, and the reaction was enthusiastic. I’m curious as to how such an atmosphere was possible 35 years ago.
A. I call that time a spiritual age. The age changed to being a physical one from 1975, but at the time, the sensibilities of the people truly reached a spiritual peak. We appreciated music at a higher level back then. The level that music reached was scary. Being a spiritual age, music pursued emotion and depth, and because it was appreciated for those things, people let songs like "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" into their hearts. Of course, we originally intended it as psychedelic rock, but it was only possible to reach such heights because there were people willing to take it in.
Q. By saying that the level was high and that hearts were open back then, I suppose that you mean this is not the case for the Internet generation.
A. That’s right. I don’t approve. I can’t understand [them]. Perhaps it is because recently a multicultural movement has taken shape, thus causing chaos among the people, and so the shaking, dancing, and showing off of muscle, the physical parts have all taken off. These days there’s nothing that one can focus one’s mind upon. It would seem that the deeper parts of our world cannot be discovered. That period was a time when we could all focus on one thing. Spiritually too, it was a period when the focus was set.
Q. If one were to look at your musical influences, what sort of elements would there be?
A. After the breakout of the Korean War, I went to the town of Jincheon in North Chungcheong Province, where I did farm labor and overheard many local folk songs. The songs stuck in my ears as I worked in the fields. Local drummers would also come by and play their rhythms just outside of the gates of the farm. When I was young, it seemed really cool. The things those fellows would do were truly artistic. I think that there is some of that local folk influence in songs like "Beauty."
Later on, as I worked near the U.S. 8th division, I encountered Western music, most prominently American music. There, while encountering standard Jazz and African American music, I felt the music’s charm and learned to distinguish [among its different forms]. Also at the time, Latin music--and by that I mean Tango, Rumba, the Cha-cha-cha and the Mambo--were all popular in the red-light districts. I liked that sort of music, so upon hearing it once, I would never forget it.
When I was in Manchuria, I remember encountering some Chinese music as well. In the 50s, I always carried around a radio, and at the time, the Chinese signal was strongest. So I ended up hearing a lot of Chinese music.
Among these different types of music, I recall the workers’ songs and traditional songs I heard during the Korean War as being particularly wonderful. It is because music born naturally from the common people has the greatest musicality. The reason that one may assert my music to be Korean is because it has come from the soil. The 1964 song "Woman in the Rain" can be seen as containing elements of foreign, Japanese, and local folk music as well.
Q. Commenting on popular music singers, you once said, "currently, there are no singers who are making music worthy of being called music." As a critic of music, I would have to agree that within the mainstream, singers capable of making such music worthy of being called music have all but died out. However, outside of the mainstream, they still do not sell many albums, but there are many musicians who are producing wonderful albums. However, the paths of these people are all blocked off, and I wonder if you don’t feel despair in regards to this. Or, do you perhaps feel dissatisfied when you listen to non-mainstream music, as well?
A. In truth, I don’t have the time to listen to many kinds of music. I’m in my own musical world, and other musicians have theirs, as well. I don’t think I’m in a position to make comparisons. That’s why I can’t make any evaluation. I only have the desire to create my own musical world and continue to delve further into it. Perhaps other musicians may feel frustrated because of this.
That said, I do on one hand hope that other musicians will take up an international musicality. In any case, being an old-timer, I feel that I have the responsibility to give the young ones a bit of a whipping. I’m speaking dispassionately, and I am stingy with my grades. I hope that my words will not be regarded reproachfully.
Q. In mid-February, a certain daily newspaper quoted you as saying in relation to the screen quota that "culture is, in the end, a product. Everything must be spoken of as a product." In such words, you expressed your opposition to the position of the Korean film industry on the screen quota issue. Why?
A. If the screen quota is necessary for a movie to exist, then I wonder if it is truly a movie to begin with. A movie worthy of being called a movie is a movie, so learn how to make them. They are just making up a prop to fight against--I really don’t understand what the fuss is all about. I think that as an artist, one needs to show a different attitude. I think that the position of the movie distributors is correct, but I don’t understand why the actors marched on the National Assembly.
Q. The market for albums is in decline. Musicians are raising issues in regards to the illegal download of music and requesting a reform of the system. Is this request for a secure production environment not largely the same with the request coming from those in the movie industry requesting the maintenance of the screen quota?
A. I guess that everyone has something to complain about. Whether it is political or industrial, I think that the real problem lies in us. In other words, the important thing is not one’s product. If a product is released, it is something that comes from oneself, it’s not done in response to a demand from someone else. So I wonder if the concept isn’t mistaken [in the first place]. That’s what I’m getting at.
Q. What is rock?
A. There are a lot of ways to describe rock. Some call it resistance. I choose the word freedom. The age is upon us where the rules that man makes bind man further, and I think that we must use rock to escape. The same is true with musicality. When someone is making music with friends, there are times when they will struggle within the preset rules and framework. I say be rid of it all. I say throw out even the formulas. What’s the use of a formula? Just do music because you love it. Make the noise you want to make. That’s the kind of rock I stand for. My successors and the popular musicians are very distrustful of this, and think, "that guy doesn’t know much about music." But in truth, there’s no need for a formula. A formula is in itself a rule, a regulation. If one just follows the book in trying to make music, well, to put it extremely, they are merely making noise. To speak from a specialist’s standpoint, there is a method of composition and harmony, and if one masters those two things, freedom will arise. If one learns these things, one gains the power to transcend all things. If one reaches that point, one achieves freedom, and at that point, the music one produces is indeed rock. Just strumming the guitar is noise, but it isn’t rock. I say that rock is freedom, but it’s not easy to get there.
Q. I have thought of you as the face of Korea. You sought a musical identity amid Korea’s period of cultural chaos. Just as Korea experienced modernization through the West, so did you search for Korean culture and approach Korean rock through experiencing the music of the American soldiers stationed in Korea. Please lay out the period of cultural chaos during the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s from your own perspective.
A. Even after undergoing war, the ’50s saw the formation of a culture. After experiencing liberation and then war, it was not easy to find the joys of culture. That’s why musical performance groups would come around and quench the people’s thirst. At the time, there were people who, just like the gypsies of Spain, wandered around and got by in such a fashion. There was also the circus. The fifties were a complete jumble, as Japanese and Chinese culture both mixed with our own tenacious and innate culture.
In the 1960s, the influence of the American soldiers was quite strong. I even at times felt that they came less to participate in a real war than to fight in a war for their culture. As for us, we had neither music nor anything else, but it seemed as if their warfare was in playing their music to us. After drill time, they would go out to the clubs where they would listen to music. Each unit had at least three clubs--one for the officers, one for the sergeants, and one for the privates. The U.S. 8th Division was the fountainhead for our modern sensibilities. Musicians received strong influence via the stage of the 8th Division. Also, the products flowing from America had an influence on changing modern culture.
This culture all came together to form rock in the 1970s. Culture developed in the 1960s, and great bands made appearances in the U.S. and Britain. For instance, the band The Animals wrote songs like "House of the Rising Sun" which became a big hit--there wasn’t a band that couldn’t perform it. Psychedelic culture bloomed during the Vietnam War. Young people experiencing shock as they emerged from the war created psychedelic rock, which reached a peak in the 1970s, when a variety of musical cultures took form. At the time, culture was both brilliant and boisterous, but there was also a part of it destroyed by the [more pure sound and culture] of the Beatles. The songs of Iron Butterfly were called East Asian. It’s because American music was formulaic, while East Asian music was melodic. At the time, they turned East Asian music into rock. The reason they made the song "Yeopjeon" (coin used in the Joseon Dynasty) was for the same reason we were trying to make Korean style rock. When I saw foreign bands flavoring their music with Indian culture and Western music, I took this as a big hint and thought to myself, "There is not yet a Korean style of rock," and so I took Korean melodies and made them into rock.
Q. Looking back through your life in music, can you point to anything that you think is missing?
A. Even now, there are many things I think are missing. Our culture is so uniform and shifts too far to one side at a time, whether towards disco, rap, or punk. If everyone is focused on one genre, all the others are discarded. In the case of Japan, 1950s culture is still preserved. There are still to this day imitators of 1950s and 1960s music. The reason that people like me are disappearing is because of the tendency to shift too far to one side, so if music shifts to disco then the listeners forget about the other genres. Recently, everyone is shifting towards soccer, and those that don’t suffer a shock. I’m no economics Ph.D., but the important thing in culture is to have diversity--you have to value and preserve it, and no matter what kind of culture comes out of it, the economy will not suffer much, so please don’t switch your line of work because of a little soccer. To give the example of the screen quota: just because of this one problem, the entire Korean cinematic world has been shaken up. I think that we need to cultivate a land that can bear a multiplicity of cultures. It’s because of this phenomenon that our music is in shambles. Popular music has not been granted any particular favors by society. It must be nice for Korean classical music and Western classical music to be presented with such fine theaters for concerts. Is it not wretched that a person like me be forced to play in a tiny playground, off to the side? They talk about Korean music, and I’m all for classical music, but we have to retain, develop, and highlight a modern national musical sensibility.
Q. Looking back, what was your greatest accomplishment?
A. I took the task of working studiously as my duty, and I carried this out well, I think. Even when times got tough, I stuck it out without asking questions. I read the works of Lao Tzu and endured.
Q. Are there any instances that you regret?
A. Well, my memory fails me here. There were difficult situations depending on the time, so I would flee and play music, hide out in the U.S. military base, and seek protection in the red-light district in front of the bases. I’ve had my hard times. I’ve had my activities banned, which historically speaking was an honor.
Q. After the cannabis incident, you used the expression that you were enlightened about the "hole." It would seem you were referring to a sort of emptiness. In your subsequent writings, it appears you received quite an influence from Lao Tzu.
A. When my activities were banned, it was quite a psychological shock for me. They call Lao Tzu’s philosophy Do-ga (Chinese characters: road-house) but I think I learned only of the road. If the ’house’ character is attached, the ’road’ vanishes. The path of Lao Tzu is quite extreme, and hard for most people to approach. Being constitutionally fit, I was in the mood to take it on. His teachings healed the wounds within me. First, I looked at the teachings of Zhuangzi, but he was always mentioning Lao Tzu, so I looked into Lao Tzu. In reading his works, I found my direction. If I hadn’t seen Zhuangzi’s works, who knows where I would be today. I would not be able to perform concerts, nor would I have been able to endure those years. The ban on my activities was eventually lifted and I took the stage once more, but people had completely forgotten about me. Even though they talked about "the School of Shin Choong-Hyun," everything had changed and they had forgotten me. What I learned from Zhuangzi is that everything returns to its natural state. His works gave me the power to discard everything. I learned that the important thing was that which I gained through throwing aside everything. If one becomes attached, then one’s road comes to an end, and in disposing of everything I found myself. It was in the 1970s when my activities were banned that I first encountered Zhuangzi, and thanks to that, I endured.
Organization: Kim Ki-Tae kkt@hani.co.kr
Pictures: Kim Kyung-ho jijae@hani.co.kr
