Korean punk rears ugly head

By Jon Dunbar

On July 12, The Korea Times online edition shared a video of “Korea’s WORST broadcasting accident of all time,” but shared virtually no other relevant information. So, I might as well talk about what happened; what it does and doesn’t mean; and share a few words about punk music in Korea.

The performance by local punk band Rux was aired live 11 years ago on July 30, 2005, on MBC’s “Music Camp.” The band gave out an open invitation for friends and supporters to join them onstage. I was supposed to be there too but personal matters intervened when I was on my way out the door, leaving me to watch the resulting chaos from home and call them up after it happened.

Toward the end of the performance, two punks clad in one-piece jumpsuits and Adicts-style clown facepaint suddenly disrobed, pogoing around the stage with their junk bouncing around. The broadcast cut to camera 2 which was also aimed at them, then to a third camera revealing the traumatized reactions of the very young studio audience. The spectacle had been broadcast nationally live, without a broadcast delay that could’ve prevented it from reaching millions of eyes.

Everyone who’s seen the video has tried to put their own meaning to it. Many were ready to assume this is just what punks do behind closed doors. Still others thought it was a desperate cry for attention, or a condemnation of the media or music industry. More ridiculously, the conspiracy-minded suspected that Samsung, engaged in a bitter legal battle with MBC at the time, had bribed them to sabotage the TV station. Nobody today can really say why it happened ― not even the guys who bared it all, who quickly lost control of its message.

At that time, reactions in our small local punk community varied, split along national lines. Us foreigners thought it was brilliant. Our Korean friends, however, exhibited only shame.

I hoped that the Music Camp incident would reach millions of disaffected youths seeking an alternative to the staunch music establishment and an outlet to rebel against social pressures, causing a turning point in Korean punk history. After all, punk originally entered the mainstream following the Sex Pistols’ profanity-loaded 1976 appearance on Bill Grundy’s Today show, making them a national sensation and destroying the host’s career. Surely the “Music Camp” incident would likewise put Korea’s handful of very talented punk bands ― such as Couch and Spiky Brats ― on the radar and proliferate subversive underground music throughout the country.

But history certainly did not repeat. The two streakers spent a couple months in prison, and after their release were banned from performing music for a longer period. The authorities, stymied by negative results on multiple drug tests, sought to also implicate Rux vocalist Won Jong-hee, basically the ringleader of Korean punk in those days.

The fallout was far-reaching, rattling the country to its foundations and toppling a media empire. MBC, facing heavy disciplinary measures, canceled “Music Camp.” Public opinion shifted, leading MBC to lose its court case against Samsung. Then-future presidential candidate Lee Myung-bak called for a Yushin Constitution-style blacklist for musicians.

That summer, warnings rang through the local punk community not to dress up in Hongdae.

The punk scene entered an era of low growth, stunted by a lack of new blood. The tight circle of supporters stayed put. Many grew up and got married, including the two streakers, but they haven’t wandered far. I only wish more people had the chance to discover their music back then.

The “Music Camp” incident was the only time that Korean punk threatened to grow into something much bigger. But instead, it was dragged in front of the public, its spirit broken, before being exiled back to obscurity.

Today, Korean punk bands struggle onward domestically, while winning acclaim overseas. Despite our best (and worst) efforts, punk has been slow to catch on in the country that needs it most.

Jon Dunbar is a contributing writer and works as copyeditor at The Korea Times.