'No more BTS-style Cinderella stories': Young Korean fans and artists leave K-pop for trot

The seven members of BTS lived together in one home as trainees, sharing a single bathroom. The members prepare a meal together in a living room crowded with household items, including a drying rack. Courtesy of BigHit Music

“It is undeniable that trot singers are more skilled and have better attitudes than some K-pop idols caught up in scandals. Many trot singers have gone through hardships in life, and they have the determination to overcome them. It is no wonder they are becoming more popular.”

The comment was posted under a members-only Hankook Ilbo article about why Koreans in their 20s and 30s are increasingly turning to trot music. The apparent resentment toward repeated controversies involving K-pop idols — whether another military service dispute surrounding a male idol or a government probe into tax evasion allegations — offers a glimpse into why some young Koreans are shifting their attention to young trot singers.

A comment under an article on why Koreans in their 20s and 30s are flowing into the trot market / Captured from Hankook Ilbo

Trot refers to a Korean popular music genre that predates K-pop. Influenced by Japanese enka and Western musical styles, it dominated Korea’s music scene for decades and remained a favorite among older generations even after K-pop took over the charts. For many younger Koreans, however, the genre long carried an image of being old-fashioned and tacky.

Recently, however, trot has been enjoying a revival and gaining popularity among younger listeners. Behind the rise may be not just a sudden change in musical taste, but also a sense of disappointment and fatigue that some longtime K-pop fans feel toward the idol industry.

Kim, a woman in her 20s, is one of those fans who left K-pop. She said she felt insulted by the way K-pop agencies treated her as a potential criminal.

“I bought more than 40 albums just to win a chance to attend a fan meeting, only to be subjected to a body search,” Kim said. “Another time, I went to an airport to see members of my favorite K-pop group. I was standing far away from them, but bodyguards pushed me and knocked me to the ground anyway.”

Fortunately, she was not injured. But one thought crossed her mind: Why should she continue being a fan if this was how she was treated?

“Chandala.” Translated as “untouchable,” the word refers to the lowest social class in India. In recent years, it has been used among some K-pop fans to describe how they feel they are treated by entertainment agencies.

Complaints have flooded in that, despite the money and time fans dedicate to their beloved idols, agencies often deal with them as if they are dealing with “untouchables.”

Their anger finally boiled over when security guards at a fan meeting started checking fans’ underwear, citing efforts to prevent unauthorized filming and recording. Some young Koreans decided to leave K-pop and head to trot, where they felt wholeheartedly welcomed. For Kim, that choice was Lim Young-woong.

A rest area for Lim Young-woong’s concert is set up outside KSPO Dome at Olympic Park in Seoul. Mulgogi Music installed the tent for older concertgoers and their children, who wait inside at night while their parents attend the show. Korea Times photo by Yang Seung-jun

Outside trot music performance venues, a different scene unfolds. In winter, tents are set up to keep elderly concertgoers warm, along with the grown-up children waiting to take their parents home after the concert. A photo of a young staff member carrying an elderly fan on his back once went viral online.

In trot, “serving” is not merely a gesture but a key cultural value. Children serving their parents is regarded as one of the most noble social norms. By extension, serving fans — many of them older and less accustomed to live performances — has become central to the genre’s culture. It is a striking contrast to K-pop, where fans often say they feel watched, managed or treated as potential risks.

A staff member carries an elderly concertgoer on his back to their seat at a Lim Young-woong concert. Captured from online video

And as some K-pop concepts have grown too arcane, or perhaps even convoluted, Kwangya being the obvious example, fans in their 20s and 30s have begun turning to young trot singers. When BigBang performed last month at Coachella, the massive music festival in Indio, California, the crowd’s loudest cheers came not for one of the group’s global hits, but for Daesung’s trot song “Look at Me, Gwin.”

BigBang member Daesung sings his trot song “Look at Me, Gwisun” at Coachella, the massive music festival held last month in Indio, California. Courtesy of R&D Company

K-pop’s broken ladder: The boomerang of survival anxiety

The shift is not limited to fans. More and more artists in their 20s and 30s are entering the trot genre. The reason, according to several K-pop insiders, lies in the ossification of K-pop.

Take i-dle, for example. Its agency spent 1.1 billion won ($727,000) on the music video for “Super Lady.” In the 2000s, music videos for groups such as BigBang, Wonder Girls and Girls’ Generation reportedly cost around 110 million won to 220 million won. By that measure, the cost of producing a top-tier K-pop music video has risen at least fivefold.

The increasingly stratified hierarchy of K-pop is evident on music charts. According to Circle Chart, which tracks music consumption across nine domestic and overseas platforms including Melon, Bugs and Spotify, seven of the 20 most-streamed songs last year were by K-pop idol groups, including aespa’s “Whiplash.” All seven were produced by major agencies such as SM Entertainment or their affiliates. Not a single song by an idol group from a smaller agency made the list.

Things were diffrent a decade ago. In 2014, at least three songs from smaller agencies made the year-end top 20: Apink’s “Mr. Chu,” released by Play M Entertainment, ranked No. 7; “Not Spring, Love, or Cherry Blossoms” by High4 and IU, released by N.A.P. Entertainment, ranked No. 8; and Girl’s Day’s “Something,” released by Dream T Entertainment, ranked No. 9.

But over the ten years, those medium and small-sized companies often worked as a ladder allowing new talents' run for the Cinderella story have virtually all collapsed. Money power and influence over industry have increasingly become essential factors determining the new K-pop group's success.

The basement lodging where g.o.d members lived as trainees is seen in an SBS video. Without a refrigerator, they reportedly stored food outside the window before eating it. Captured from SBS YouTube channel

This means the days when new K-pop groups could endure hunger and poverty on their way to success are no longer viable. No more surviving on corn stolen from nearby farms, as g.o.d once reportedly did. No more seven members sharing a single bathroom, with some running to public toilets, as BTS once described. Today, sheer effort alone is no longer enough to carry young Koreans to a K-pop idol debut.

“Twenty years ago, even major entertainment agencies would spend 500 million won to 1 billion won on producing an album. Now the cost starts at 5 billion won at the bare minimum,” said the CEO of a mid-sized agency who has managed K-pop groups for more than 20 years.

For a music market the size of Korea’s, such costs are difficult to sustain. New investment is therefore increasingly flowing to large agencies with the capital and overseas networks needed to absorb the risk. That makes it even harder for idols from smaller agencies to break through, helping explain why many K-pop groups disappear before their standard seven-year exclusive contracts expire. Boy group Luminous and girl group Purple Kiss are examples.

From no teenagers to the largest group: Trot’s youth reversal

In turn, more Koreans in their 20s and 30s are turning to trot as a path to a music career. Ha Dong-geun, who debuted as a trot singer in his 20s, told Hankook Ilbo he chose the genre because he wanted to keep performing on stage even as he aged.

The shift is also gaining momentum at music academies, where trot is increasingly seen as offering more opportunities and a less crowded path to success, especially with the rise of audition programs.

Lee Ho-seop, a veteran composer behind major trot hits such as “Let’s Do the Cha-cha-cha” and “Chan Chan Chan,” who also teaches singing, told Hankook Ilbo that just five years ago, not a single teenager wanted to learn trot. Now, teenagers make up most of his class.

“The biggest change I feel on the ground is that kids now proudly say they are learning trot, without hesitation. In the past, they often tried to keep it quiet,” he said.

Seeking pause in trot after years of overstimulation

Trot is a genre built more on stability and tradition than on change. Compared with rock or hip-hop, which are often marked by messages of resistance, sometimes decadent lyrics, experimental electric guitar sounds and heavy beats, trot is musically conservative.

The fact that young singers are gaining influence in such a market, and that listeners of their own generation are beginning to follow, could point to a shift in what young Koreans seek from popular culture. Rather than chasing novelty, they appear to be seeking something more familiar, stable and emotionally reassuring.

Kim Sung-yoon, a full-time researcher at Dong-A University’s Institute for Convergence Knowledge and Society, described trot as “a magical device that briefly turns back time or holds it still,” interpreting the trend as “a reaction to fatigue from excessive competition and constant overstimulation.”

In some ways, the trend echoes what is happening in the United States. Music data platform Luminate reported last year that country music was enjoying a new heyday, despite long being treated as outdated, much like trot in Korea.

The fact that artists in their 20s and 30s are driving this renewed popularity, while listeners of the same generation are actively embracing the genre, offers a striking similarity.

This article from the Hankook Ilbo, the sister publication of The Korea Times, is translated by a generative AI system and edited by The Korea Times.