When music was meant to last
Every February, millions of Italians gather around their televisions to watch the Sanremo Music Festival. Founded in 1951, it has produced some of Italy’s most beloved songs and artists. Andrea Bocelli first drew national attention when he won second place in 1994, while rock band Maneskin gained worldwide recognition through the festival in 2021.
At first glance, Sanremo appears outdated. It’s not the flashiest show. The format is familiar. Yet it remains one of Italy’s most important cultural events because it’s more than finding a hit song or launching a new celebrity. It’s a national ritual, a shared experience that connects generations through music. That kind of tradition feels increasingly rare, not only abroad, but also in Korea.
Sanremo welcomes both newcomers and established artists. Winning isn’t simply a measure of commercial success. It’s a mark of artistic credibility, which is why already beloved artists are still eager to bring their new work to the stage. Songs introduced there often remain part of public memory long after the charts move on. The festival creates continuity, allowing music to become part of a country’s cultural identity rather than just another product in an endless cycle of consumption.
Korea once had something similar. Beginning in 1977, MBC’s "Campus Song Festival," better known as “Daehak Gayoje,” offered university students a stage to present original music. For more than three decades, aspiring songwriters and musicians competed not through agency training systems, reality show narratives or social media popularity, but through their compositions and performances. Many participants built successful careers, while many songs outlived the festival itself and became part of modern Korean music history.
Of course, "Daehak Gayoje" was not perfect. Not every song became a classic and the program reflected the tastes and limitations of its time. Yet it provided something that is increasingly difficult to find today: a major national platform where original songwriting was the main attraction.
When the festival was shut down in 2012, the decision made sense from a broadcasting perspective. Ratings had declined, viewing habits had changed and entertainment was moving in new directions. But something valuable disappeared with it.
Today Korea has no shortage of music or stars. The country is producing some of the world’s most successful artists and K-pop has become a global force. Beyond the idol industry, Korea also supports vibrant indie scenes, various music festivals and programs that showcase live performances.
Yet there has been a subtle shift in what the industry awards the most. Many contemporary music programs focus on competition, personal storytelling and star making. Audition shows often succeed in introducing memorable performers, but rarely leave behind songs that become cultural landmarks. In fact, contestants perform existing hits rather than presenting original material. New arrangements of older tracks regularly gain attention both off and online, while classic Korean songs continue to find new audiences decades after their release. This suggests that listeners are not simply chasing novelty. They are searching for songs that endure.
The issue is not that modern music lacks quality. Nor is it that commercial success and artistic value are somehow incompatible. Some of today’s most streamed songs will undoubtedly become tomorrow’s classics. The concern is that the current music scene prioritized immediacy. Songs are designed to capture attention quickly on streaming platforms, short form videos and social media feeds. The pressure to move on to the next trend is relentless.
The songs that endure are rarely defined by a single moment. They accompany people through different stages of life and are rediscovered by younger generations and interpreted in new ways. Korea has shown repeatedly that it is capable of creating such music. Programs like “The Seasons” and “Begin Again” demonstrate that the audience continues to appreciate songs built around melody, lyrics and musicianship. The popularity of older Koreans songs, whether through remakes or live performances, reveals a continued appetite for music that rewards listening rather than attracting attention.
That is why MBC’s recent decision to revive "Daehak Gayoje" is so encouraging. Yet reports suggest the new version will emphasize contemporary audition-show elements: younger celebrity judges, mentoring systems and contestants’ personal stories.
There’s nothing wrong with this approach, but part of me wishes for something closer to the original spirit. I would like a stage where the song matters more than the backstory. Where aspiring composers and musicians can present original work without feeling pressured to turn their lives into content. Where success depends not only on how well someone fits television format, but on whether their music resonate with listeners.
Sanremo survives because Italians understand that some traditions are worth preserving even when they appear outdated. Their value cannot always be measured through trends or immediate profitability. Perhaps Korea could embrace that idea as well. Not because the past was better. But because some songs, not just singers, deserve to live longer than a season.
Han Sang-hee is a former staff reporter at The Korea Times and former editor at CNN Travel. She is based in Stuttgart, Germany, but now lives in Seoul with her Italian husband and two daughters and shares stories on her Instagram @rachelsanghee.