How one Korean American helped shape Hongdae’s punk scene — and then disappeared into the woods

Paul Brickey, center, models a DIY-designed shirt while drinking from a 2-liter soju bottle in the stairs of Skunk Hell in western Seoul's Sangsu-dong. Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar

It's been over a decade since Paul Brickey — a former army brat, runaway teen, punk, soldier — last set foot on the Korean Peninsula. Now a grizzled mountain man in his early 40s, he's migrated between Korea and the U.S. many times throughout his life.

Whether he'll admit it or not, he's one of the most influential voices in Korea's small punk scene, if not the single most important foreign national to have performed in the country's dingiest basement punk venues.

Brickey formed his first band while studying at the now-closed Seoul American High School on Yongsan Garrison. At the time, the base had a music room equipped with everything a band needs, and he and his friends played music there as early as 1998. Around 2000, he started his first band ever, named Merge "after a vulgar T-shirt that was sold in Itaewon back then," he told The Korea Times.

The very first venue where they performed in front of an audience was Woodstock in Itaewon. Shortly after that, he discovered the Hongdae music scene from the "cooler, older kids," and Merge started playing Tuesday night shows at the venue Slugger, "mostly to other band members."

"My girlfriend at the time played bass, and my best friend played drums in that band. The sound was a little poppy for my tastes when it wasn't veering into nü-metal as my friends were both big fans of emo and pop-punk, but it was a band, what I had always wanted. We did a couple recordings on an old Tascam 4-track cassette recorder, but I don't know if any of those recordings survive," he said. "They are now married and have a beautiful family living out in Las Vegas. Funny how life shakes out sometimes, ain't it?"

Hongdae punk

Brickey made friends quickly with the Hongdae punks, joining the now-notorious punk band Rux as a guitarist and also filling in on drums temporarily for a band called Beef Jarky (not a typo), which also included Suk-yuel, who later became the frontman of ska band Kingston Rudieska. At one point, he ran away from his home on base and lived briefly in Skunk Hell, a small basement venue halfway between Hongdae and Sinchon.

He played guitar in Rux after it reunited following the mandatory military service of frontman Won Jong-hee and bassist Lee Ju-hyun (now in Galaxy Express).

"Rux was like punk rock graduate school for me," Brickey said. "I found them to be a bit demanding, as this was not 'my' band and I had to learn to play to their standards. I learned that just because we are playing punk, playing 'simple' music, that was not a license to be a mediocre guitar player. Ju-hyun and I would jam all night together in the old Skunk Hell, getting those songs right and our playing tight. They really pushed me to be my best in my guitar playing."

Paul Brickey performs at a Rux concert in western Seoul, June 29, 2005. Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar

Years after he left Rux, the band reached nationwide attention, but for all the wrong reasons, during the "Music Camp" incident on July 30, 2005. An appearance on the MBC music show "Music Camp" turned into a fiasco when two friends of the band stripped off all their clothes and jumped around naked during the live broadcast.

Brickey called the incident "a colossal fumble of a huge missed opportunity," comparing it negatively to the Sex Pistols' notorious appearance on Bill Grundy's "Today" show on Dec. 1, 1976, which sent the band and punk cursing and flipping off their way into the mainstream. But Korean punk didn't get the same boost, instead inviting only backlash.

"Instead of the Korean punks establishing and controlling the narrative, they shut down, and some quite literally went into hiding," he said. "To some extent, I can understand; it requires some measure of bravery to stand up to wider society like that, but to me, that was what punk was all about. Ships may be safe in harbor, but that is not where ships are meant to stay. Watching some of the Korean punks distance themselves from the incident and especially the individuals that took part, individuals that had been in the punk scene for years, kind of broke my heart."

The incident led to a downturn in new people coming to punk shows and had repercussions across the wider society.

"If you want 'safe' and 'for mass consumption,' punk rock probably ain't the way to go about it," Brickey said. "I knew people in the punk scene that basically said that a few seconds of flaccid penis bouncing around, an organ half the population possess themselves, was an egregious, unforgivable violation of morality and social code — but what is punk rock if not a vehicle for pushing the bounds of morality and questioning social code?"

Staggering between countries

Brickey moved to the U.S. in 2003, where he started a punk band called The 12th Street Staggers, "named for the Weber County Jail in Ogden, Utah, and our penchant for underage drinking."

"We were very fortunate that there was not a ton of gig-ready punk bands in our area, so we had the opportunity to play local support for the likes of Bad Religion, The Casualties, The Unseen, Subhumans, TSOL, a lot of really cool bands," he said.

During that time, he wrote songs like "Out of the Factory (Into the Fire)" and "Spirit of Rebellion," both of which he would keep playing later in Korean bands.

When asked how his early songs stood the test of time, he acknowledged how much he's grown while still appreciating what he wrote in the early days.

"I can be both proud of material I have written and still find aspects of it cringe or somewhat embarrassing in hindsight," he said. "I think I would be far more embarrassed if my writing had peaked at some stage and stagnated."

Punk sucks

Brickey returned to Korea in 2005, now legally an adult, and his musicianship was maturing, even if he otherwise wasn't growing up.

"One thing I will never miss about the U.S. punk scene is hard drugs," he said. "I had several band members get caught up in pills and coke or whatever, and I just hated to see it. I was always glad that Korea did not really have as big an issue with that as it is in the States. I also did not miss the militant straight edgers and neo-nazis that would show up to shows in the U.S., something that the Korean scene has not had to deal with very much," he said.

"The camaraderie of the Korean scene was unique and something not really found in the U.S. The musicianship in Korea is on another level than in the States. The Korean punks were always much more skilled musicians than a lot of Americans."

This time, he joined the punk band Suck Stuff, a band known for its meaningful lyrics and punk scene anthems. The lead vocalist, Ryu Chul-hwan, allowed Paul greater latitude to direct the band's sound and introduce his own songs.

Paul Brickey plays his final show before leaving Korea at Skunk Hell in western Seoul, Nov. 11, 2007. Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar

As a Korean American, he admitted there were some ways in which he didn't fully fit into the Korean scene, and that there were fundamental differences between their opinions on some things.

"For instance, the Korean punks' worship and platforming of the Japanese scene over their own," he said. "Without looking too deep into it, I almost felt at times like a Donghak member in 1894 that wants to promote and encourage our own unique Korean culture, but the wider scene/society wanted to emulate Japan, be just like them as they appeared more 'advanced,' a Big Brother to the Koreans. I want Korean punk to stand on its own, not merely emulate the Japan style."

Instead, he directed his attention to other punk scenes around Asia, including China's younger, rising punk scene. In 2006, he brought Suck Stuff on a multi-city tour there, becoming the first Korean punk band to do so.

"I was interested in platforming the overlooked and underappreciated," he said. "I thought that I was the only one in the Korean scene that was working to promote the actual Korean scene, which put me at odds with a lot of the shot-callers within. When a Japanese band showed up, tons of kids came out, but these kids were less willing to come and support their own fellow Korean punk rockers when it mattered. This made me feel very isolated from a lot of the Korean punks."

He left behind graffiti on the wall of the second Skunk Hell, summing up his sentiments. "On the Eastern or Western side, one thing I have come to understand, one thing I carry deep inside, I will forever be a stranger in a familiar land."

Gun clubs

This era ended in 2007 when Brickey surprised us all by announcing he had enlisted in the U.S. Army. He left the country and ended up serving in Iraq as a combat medic, where he was awarded the Combat Medic Badge for rendering care under fire in addition to several individual commendations and medals. "But I was honestly a pretty mid soldier," he added.

Paul Brickey, right, is joined on stage by his former Rux bandmate Won Jong-hee during a Suck Stuff reunion show at DGBD in western Seoul, June 16, 2012. Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar

In 2012, the Army transferred Brickey to Korea, and for about the next two years, he leapt back into the scene. This time, he started his own band, Heimlich County Gun Club (HCGC), a reference to the animated sitcom "King of the Hill."

HCGC showcased Brickey's exploration of country, folk and other Americana genres blended with punk. The band's catalogue was built from songs he had written during his time in the Army, drenched with nostalgia and longing for his wayward home in Hongdae's gutters. The band released one album, "Stars and Streetlights," a 19-song collection that stands the test of time as one of the best albums this scene has ever produced.

Paul Brickey, right, is joined during vocals by Jeff Moses from the melodic punk band ...Whatever That Means during Heimlich County Gun Club's final show at Thunderhorse in central Seoul's Itaewon, March 29, 2014. Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar

After he finished his Army service, he moved back to the U.S., where he went to college and then started working as a park ranger in Oregon. During that time, he began looking for a parcel of land that he could afford, somewhere he could move that offered privacy and solitude, where he could make a little private mountain getaway.

During this period, he formed his next band, pushing his punk roots a little into the background and focusing more on bluegrass, recruiting a banjo player, fiddle player, upright bassist and washboard percussionist.

"Combining the instrumentation of bluegrass with a punk rock energy was such a fantastic mix for me," he said.

The band started off named Truffula Grove after the fictional trees in the Dr. Seuss book "The Lorax," but Brickey decided it needed "a name with more menace, a name with some teeth to reflect my darker songwriting."

He ended up settling on Center Mass String Quartet.

"While at a pistol range and aiming center mass at a man-sized target, I thought that 'Center Mass' might be a cool band name," he said. "'String quartet' was tacked on to contrast with the violent imagery of 'center mass.'"

The band stayed active in the late 2010s, playing campouts, parks, street corners, wineries, breweries, bars and clubs everywhere; Brickey found new freedom, no longer needing to haul around drums, amps or a PA system. He also found the genre a bit more approachable and welcomed in more places.

"My songwriting took a much more introspective and frankly dark, misanthropic turn with that band," he said. "I would inject a similar energy into performances with that band like I did in Suck Stuff or HCGC, which made us stand out among other acoustic acts."

He added that the band has yet to record and may never release a proper recording.

"To be honest, a couple of my bandmates did not seem very eager to record and it's pretty discouraging," he said, "especially considering that IMO, the songs I wrote for The Center Mass String Quartet are some of my most refined and proudest songwriting efforts."

He was furloughed from his park ranger job after the pandemic hit, and started working at a motorcycle dealership. He ended up losing that job "for rolling my eyes at an impatient and entitled customer," according to him, adding, "I'm probably a pretty 'meh' employee, no hard feelings."

Next, he packed his stuff, bought a remote piece of land, and went out to live in Oregon's wilderness. He built a cabin, mostly from trees that he harvested and milled. He started growing crops, as well as relying on hunting and fishing for his food, and he cobbled together other off-grid technologies such as solar power and rainwater collection.

Paul Brickey and Grace show off their homemade kimchi at the homestead in rural Oregon. Courtesy of Paul Brickey

"I have been living 100 percent off grid for the past five or so years," he said. "I am surrounded by hundreds of square miles of forest and mountains. I think I am some 6 or 7 miles from even pavement, the nearest grocery store is about an hour drive away. I would often go weeks or months not seeing or speaking to another human and just enjoying the mountains and forest, working on my land."

After a couple of years of this isolation, he started the YouTube channel Easy Acres Homestead to document his rural, hands-on, DIY life.

These days, he says he's no longer playing music actively.

"The only musical creative outlet that I have is making background music for my YouTube channel, which I really enjoy," he said, "and I am pretty sure I snuck a few Suck Stuff melodies and phrasings into some of the background music there."

It was through his YouTube channel that he met his girlfriend, who moved in with him on his homestead in 2024.

As both of them have roots in Korea, they decided to visit Korea over the year-end holidays. Coming out of the wilderness, Brickey boarded a plane heading over the ocean and returned to Korea for the first time in over a decade.

"There are certain aspects of Korea that I miss, that I will always miss. Some of that is so tied to a specific era that once that is gone, it is irretrievable except in memory. But there are some things that never seem to change," Brickey said.

"There are a lot fewer PC rooms, motorcycles, U.S. GIs, soju tents than I remember. A lot more signage in English, foreign tourists and vape shops. I spent more time in Gangneung, my Mom's hometown, on this trip and it has also become much more amenable to tourists than I remember."

Paul Brickey and Grace visit Seoul. Courtesy of Paul Brickey

The biggest change he's seen, he says, is the worldwide growth of K-pop in recent years. "Growing up, most Americans had little notion of what Korea was, other than maybe they had an old crusty relative that fought in the war or was stationed there or something. People in the U.S. suddenly having some familiarity with Korea and Korean culture was the most shocking to me and still takes some getting used to," he said.

Within the punk scene, many of the older punks, now mostly in their 40s, still remember the young upstart who once ran away from home and lived the true punk lifestyle a quarter-century ago.

Although he's been away for a long time, one part of his legacy has been kept alive. The melodic punk band ...Whatever That Means (WTM) continues to cover "This Wasteland," one of the great classics Brickey penned while performing in Suck Stuff.

WTM will likely play the song this Saturday at Freebird during the World Domination, Inc. 2026 New Year Label Party, and Brickey will likely be in the building.

Other bands playing include Sweet Gasoline, Fail Fast, Beacon, Long Time No Shit, Monkey Gang War, Social Club Hyangwu and the Japanese band Blaster Kid. Entry costs 25,000 won. Visit @wdikorea on Instagram for more information.