fandom

The Cognitive Role of Fan Songs in K-pop Fandom

15 June, 2023 — Leave a comment

Abstract: This review examines how studies on cognitive and emotional responses to music, particularly those related to social bonding, can shed light on the function of fan-dedicated songs within global K-pop fandoms. By analysing five recent studies on the social and affective dimensions of music in the brain, the paper argues that fan songs play a crucial role in maintaining group cohesion across the diverse and expansive communities that constitute contemporary K-pop fandom. The discussion underscores the significance of intentionality and source-sensitivity in these musical interactions, suggesting avenues for future research into the role of songs in music fandom.

Keywords: K-pop fandom, fan songs, cognitive responses to music, emotional responses, social bonding, group cohesion, intentionality in music, source-sensitivity, music fandom studies, social and affective neuroscience.

NOTE: This was written as a term paper for a course I took at KAIST CT during Spring 2023, GCT563 Cognitive Science of Music (음악 인지과학) with Professor Kyung Myun Lee from the Music and Brain Lab. It turned out a lot more social than cognitive, but I still managed to finish this course with an A+.

Outline

  1. Introduction (go)
  2. Variables in Music Fandom Studies (go)
  3. Songs in K-pop Fandom (go)
  4. Intentionality and Source-sensitivity (go)
  5. Conclusion (go)
  6. References (go)

Introduction

This review investigates whether studies on cognitive responses to music, especially emotional responses, and the suggested roles of music in social bonding can provide insight into the role that songs play in music fandom, particularly global K-pop fandom. The driving premise is focused on the specific role played by fan songs — the songs that are specially dedicated to the fans. Through the analysis of five recent studies on different social and affective dimensions of music in the brain, I argue that, in the complex structure of K-pop fandom, fan songs are one of the fundamental elements of the maintenance of group cohesion across the large, diverse communities that make up contemporary fan communities of Korean idol music. By drawing theorisations, the goal is to point towards future research on the topic of the role of songs in music fandom.

Variables in Music Fandom Studies 

Fandom studies scholar Matt Hills calls “discursive mantra” the discourse that fans employ to justify their passions and attachments — in his own words, an attempt to “ward off the sense that the fan is ‘irrational’.” In his book “Fan Cultures” (2002), when discussing how fans react when questioned about their attachment to particular texts, he recommends that the justifications that fans offer for their attachment aren’t taken at face value (in context, he refers especially to those conducting ethnographic research on fandom). He claims that the reason multiple fans of the same text would provide similar answers when questioned is more a question of the construction of their own fandom discourse, than a question of how they have made sense of their fandom experience for themselves. 

Hill’s recommendation to fan ethnographers highlights one of the difficult aspects of assessing the reasons for fan attachment through strictly qualitative approaches. Multiple studies of the sort have been conducted; in music fandom, for example, a study published in 2019 in the Journal of Consumer Behavior conducted in-depth interviews with long-term music fans in France and Belgium, to retrieve patterns and categories that explained different types of interactions and mode of engagement of fans with their favourite musicians (Derbaix & Korchia, 2019). But, if we consider Hills’s position that personal statements from fans should be approached with extra care, it’s important to consider other studies employing different types of data and methods to gain more qualified insight into the dynamics of attachment, and how music fans interact with their texts in fandom. To begin this review, I refer to a representative study that successfully employs large samples of subjects, and quantitative methods, to assess fandom affiliation in music fandom, by Greenberg et al (2021). With a combined number of over 85,000 subjects, they found that people tend to prefer the work of musicians whose public personas are similar to their own personality traits, which they call “the self-congruity effect of music”. 

Greenberg et al (2021) conducted three studies (N = 6,279 + N = 75,296 + N = 4,995) to assess the degree of correlation between fans and their personality, and the personality and work of their favourite artists, according to the Big Five personality traits — agreeableness, openness, conscientiousness, neuroticism and extraversion (Goldberg, 1992) —, whose high correlation with preferences for musical features, genres and styles had been demonstrated in prior research (p. 1). In Study 2, the team used a combination of LDA, PCA and ridge regression model to extract personality traits from the artists, according to the lyrics of their 10 most popular songs. They found a high correlation between certain personality traits found in their fans, and the personality of artists that were learned from songs. 

In Study 3, they employed the ESSENTIA software library to extract high-level music features (such as happy or relaxing), and low-level audio features (such as loudness or speed) from popular songs of the same artists. From participants, they assessed their musical preferences by having them listen to 15 music excerpts (15s each) by largely unknown musicians, and registering their opinions and preferences related to those excerpts. The features extracted from the songs, and the participants preferences, were aligned to the dimensions of arousal, valence and depth. They found that the fit between the depth level of an artist’s work and the general preference of the participant for depth-related features was a “highly significant predictor” of the participant’s liking of the artist’s music (p. 9). Taken together, the results show that musical preferences can be predicted with similar accuracy by a match between the participant’s personality and the persona of the musician, demographics and preference for certain music features. 

The authors take these findings to be robust evidence for the self-congruity effect of music. They theorise three mechanisms that might be behind this phenomenon, and two are relevant to this review. First, the possibility that people do seek out the work of musicians with similar characteristics to themselves, which might also follow that, in choosing to like a particular artist, people are after the possibility of connecting to other like-minded people. Second, and conversely, affiliation to an artist’s social following, and listening to their music (considering both lyrics and musical features) might also affect the individual’s personality over time — theorising that people might, indeed, become fans of certain artists for reasons that are not related to personality traits, but socialising into their fan culture might create room for their personality to align to those around them. 

The findings of Greenberg et al (2021) are aligned with a large body of research in the social dimensions of music, approaching the reasons why music is made, shared, appreciated and celebrated in human societies, both from endogenous and exogenous perspectives. Taken together, these studies offer some insight into more nuanced, case-specific aspects of the role that music plays within social groups, especially in the case of music fandom, where it is meant to be the central text of the bonding, along with the musicians that make/perform it. Based on this study, we will assume that, from a music preference perspective, within a certain fandom, certain personality traits are expected to be shared by most of the fans, owing both to processes of homophilic-oriented bonding and group assimilation. In that sense, we consider the specific songs produced by an artist both as an element to bring people together (at a first encounter), and as an element that brings people closer, while creating/maintaining some level of cohesion within said fan community. 

Songs in K-pop Fandom

One of the aspects that makes the idol fandom unlike other fan experiences is the intentional creation of a transmedia alternate universe, which creates the illusion of a world of intimacy between an idol of their fans. Galbraith (2012) borrows from John Fiske and describes this world of intimacy as “inescapable intertextuality” (2012, p. 186), a realm in which all parts of the narrative point back to one another. Throughout the wide variety of contents that idols produce for their fans, the same story is told using various media outlets, such as variety shows, live broadcasts, concerts, backstage clips, vlogs, daily pictures and updates shared in social media — but, most importantly, through their music.

The uniqueness to participatory culture in idol fandom has been discussed by many authors, who have focused on different aspects of the architecture of this alternate reality. For instance, in K-pop, there is an emphasis on the fact that fans are also expected to play a role in performance, through fanchants and lightsticks and banner events, to the extent that Jungwon Kim (2017) argues that K-pop can be understood as an action, rather than simply as a cultural product, because of the participatory nature of performance. She proposed the idea of K-pop as a verb, and coined “K-popping”, based on Christopher Small’s idea of “musicking”:

To music is to take part, in any capacity, in a musical performance. That means not only to perform but also to listen, […] or to take part in any activity that can affect the nature of that style of human encounter which is a musical performance (1999, p. 12)

Specifically about the songs, this emphasis on the joint performance that fans are expected to carry out results in a stronger emphasis placed on memorising lyrics, along with their fanchants. In this sense, Kim (2017) says that the structure of K-pop music is characterised by repetition, which not only makes the songs catchier, and more appealing to the public, but also makes it easier for fans to remember and sing along. Even so, hook-based danceable songs aren’t the only type of music released by K-pop idols, whose albums include a variety of genres, such as hip hop, r&b and slow ballads, resulting from the process of hybridisation that Western and Asian genres that is said to characterise K-pop (pp 19-22). 

The perceived simplicity of lyrics attributed to the hook-based pop tunes, which are the main drive of K-pop, doesn’t completely deplete the significance of what K-pop stars sing about. In that sense, we have two approaches; firstly, as noticed by Jin and Ryoo (2014), in their analysis of Girls’ Generation’s “Gee” and Kara’s “Jumping” (released in 2009 and 2010, respectively), pop lyrics in Korean idol music portray “the secularism of modernity” (commercialism and individualism) (pp 126-27). On the other hand, one of the biggest changes brought forth by BTS’s unprecedented global popularity was a stronger importance placed on K-pop groups having songs with meaningful lyrics. Both global media and BTS fans have often emphasised the relevance of their lyricism to their popularity — for example, in a 2018 article written by Tamar Herman for Billboard, “[K-pop] songs typically revolve around romance, partying and, on occasion, friendship and daily life.” BTS is presented as being a counterpoint — “the group manages to frequently reference the struggles that young people go through and draw on their own experiences within South Korean youth culture.” She also goes on to highlight that “many of BTS’s fans (…) have said that the boy band’s lyrics have inspired them”, because “Many of BTS’ songs are rife with meaning” (2018).

On the role played by lyrics in the experience of musical pleasure, Nummenmaa et al (2021) mention that the high popularity of vocal music, as opposed to instrumental music, might be explained by the ability that vocals have of communicating emotional states more effectively, as well as from the idea of ‘social stimulation’ evoked by text content (which they extent from literature into music). As they mention, such extension is validated by large-scale analysis which suggest a close link between the emotional meanings of lyrics, and the emotional load of musical features, such as major/minor chords (p 198).  

Going beyond the craving for social communication, Nummenmaa et al (2021) also discuss the role of lyrics in how music pieces activate autobiographical memories. This autobiographical element is central to the music appreciation framework brought forth by Thompson et al (2023). In their paper, they describe the central hypothesis of their framework as follows:

Three forms of music appreciation have been identified that may occur simultaneously with varying degrees of prominence: one form involves perceiving and internalizing musical structure; another involves activating networks of personal significance, identity, and autobiographical memories; a third—called source sensitivity—involves identifying and engaging with the causes and contexts of music making, including the personal attributes of musicians, and the sociopolitical, historical, and cultural contexts of music-making. (2023, p. 261, emphasis added)

According to the authors, autobiographical experiences and identity affirmation are forms of appreciation that arise from personal, self-oriented associations, as opposed to forms that arise from structural characteristics of the music (the musical features), and what they call “source sensitivity,” the appreciation that stems from contextual cognition of musical sources. The interplay between these self-oriented and source-oriented forms of appreciation can be well-exemplified, in the K-pop context, by “fan songs,” “idol’s sweet serenade dedicated to their fans” (Kim, 2019). These songs have been part of the K-pop landscape for a long time – for example, SHINee’s song titled “The SHINee World (Doo-bop)” (a reference to the complete name of their fandom, shawols — short for “SHINee world”) was a part of their first album, released in 2008. VIXX (2012) and Seventeen (2015) also had special fan songs in their debut releases — “Starlight,” a b-side in VIXX’s first single album “SUPER HERO”, and “Shining Diamond” in Seventeen’s first mini-album “17 Carat.” Another important aspect is that these fan songs aren’t a one-time event — some groups would go as far as release one special fan song with every mini-album/album. 

Much like what Thompson et al (2023) call “Couple-defining songs,” these fan songs trigger positive memories, specifically associated to the perceived relationship between artists and fans, reinforcing and maintaining the feelings of intimacy and cohesion within the relationship (p. 266). Over the years, these songs become triggers for shared memories; in his large-scale review of BTS’s entire discography, Kim Youngdae (2019) describes “2! 3!,” the special fan song in their 2016 ‘Wings’ album, as “one of the best songs of the album, which is both unusual and meaningful [for a song dedicated to fans]” (p. 138). He highlights the lyrics which say “In the shadow behind the stage // I didn’t wanna show you all the pain in the darkness”, to highlight the central message of the song — “Bad memories will be forgotten and only good days are ahead of us.” A connection is intentionally established between the heartwarming song, and the journey that has brought fans and artists until this point, linking their victory over past hardships, and present success, to the support of their fans. 

These associations between songs and intimate memories, in the context of the parasocial relationship between idols and fans, sit right at the intersection between self-oriented and source-oriented music appreciation, to the extent that the special personal association fans collectively have to that song is a consequence of the “detailed knowledge of the causal and contextual sources surrounding these songs” (Thompson et al, 2023, p. 266). In other words, the fact that fans know the song was written for them, or about them, or that it was dedicated to them. In his review of BTS’s 2018 album ‘Love Yourself: Tear,’ Kim (2019) describes “Magic Shop,” the special fan song of the album, as “the obvious choice for best track”, to the extent that it elevates “the tight bond between BTS and their fans to a whole new dimension”, due to the “warm sentimentality” and “impeccable quality of songwriting” (p. 198-99). 

Intentionality and Source-sensitivity

In an interview with Time Magazine, published in June, 2017, RM, leader of K-pop group BTS, said that he believed the reason why BTS had built such a massive following online was because of their dedication to communicating with their fans through social media. He specifically mentioned his own music-sharing habit, using the hashtag #RMusic, to introduce or recommend songs he liked, and then went on to say “Music transcends language.”

The idea that music is “the universal language of mankind,” expressed in RM’s saying, has been around at least since the 19th century. In their research article about universality and diversity in music, Mehr et al (2019) mention that this idea, albeit regarded as “conventional wisdom,” is very hard to prove — few, if any, universals exist in music. 

Even so, their study found that societies’ musical behaviours are mostly similar, and the differences within a society are greater than the differences between societies. For example, all societies considered have songs that are calming (exemplified by lullabies), songs that are exciting (such as dance tunes), and songs that are inspiring (like prayers). After running a test with almost 30,000 subjects, to see if people could accurately identify the category of a song from contextual cues, they found the highest accuracy for dance songs, followed by lullabies, healing songs, and love songs (despite being the lowest, the rate was still higher than chance) (p. 8). 

These results are a good indicator of the reason why, in spite of the vagueness behind the idea of music as some sort of “universal language,” it still has enough universalities to make it a powerful communication tool, particularly in the context being considered, which is songs written by artists specifically to address their fans. Even more specifically in the context of K-pop for global audiences, with the language barrier that exists between Korean artists and their international fans. 

As Thompson et al (2023) put it, behind the idea of source-sensitivity, there is an important layer of intentionality (on the performer’s end). In that sense, as one of the most straightforward, non-ambiguous channels of communication between artists and fandom, we can argue that fan songs are an important tool to help create the world of intimacy between artist and fans, to the extent that it can be used as a tool to achieve group cohesion. From existing literature, this idea of group cohesion can be considered from two perspectives; one, which has been discussed already, as demonstrated by Greenberg et al (2021), is through the values and personality traits communicated by artists through their persona and lyrics. 

However, when bringing forth their Music as Social Bonding (MSB) Theory, Savage et al (2021) discuss the role of music in promoting social cohesion from the observed effects on the brain. In the idea that social bonding is the “ultimate, functional explanation of the evolution of musicality” (p. 14), the study proposes specific hypotheses about neurological proximate mechanisms related to the social effects of music. The authors describe a cycle in which learning to predict musical features activates the brain’s reward system, and synchronises brain activity between people, creating a “neural resonance” that facilitates social bonding. This bonding is thought to be due to “facilitates social bonding through shared experience, joint intentionality, and “self-other merging”” that occurs when people listen to music together. Additionally, the rewarding experience of listening to music may be associated with specific individuals, as co-experiencers (Savage et al, 2021). In that sense, the paper supports the idea that, while musicality did not necessarily originate as a biological adaptation for social bonding, musical abilities might have evolved due to how musical behaviours helped signal decisions to socialise and cooperate (pp 20-21). 

This is in line with what is concluded by Nummenmaa et al (2021) — that one of the reasons why music is so rewarding is how it’s linked with interpersonal synchrony and affiliation, which signalise its role in human sociability (p. 200). In their paper, they describe the “neural resonance” as a trick of “simulated synchrony,” giving the illusion of being in sync with other people, which, associated to opioid release, promote the feeling of social contact (and are also known to elevate pain thresholds, as noted by Savage et al (2021)). 

It is important not to forget that these neurobiological mechanisms are simply another side of the social mechanisms being described so far. Nummenmaa et al (2021) mention studies that have found that, the more emotionally salient the autobiographical memories recalled when listening to music, the more activity was seen in the mPFC, the brain region that is involved in social cognition (p. 199). This system is believed to be centrally involved in social bonding through the connecting role of retrieving and sharing personal memories, another evidence suggesting how music and lyrics support social attachment functions (2021). 

Conclusion

Five studies on the role of music in social bonding were analysed in this review. By focusing on fan songs, we were able to consider their effect on what fans think about themselves as members of their fan community, and what they think about their own idols. We found indicators that these songs might serve as important communication tools between an artist and their fans, creating and maintaining intra-group cohesion. This can be done by attracting certain types of people through value-signalling, and by inducing changes in the members themselves through processes of group assimilation.

This review also showed opportunities for future research. For example, future studies could measure different brain responses of fans to specific songs according to how they are categorised in the artist’s discography. This would include not only fan songs, but also the distinction between title tracks and B-sides. There is also some opportunity to study the extent to which lyrics of fan songs influence the social imagination and the lexicon of fans as members of their fan communities. Another possibility is a study analysing different samples of fan songs, testing for musical features and lyrics, controlling for fandom size. This would look for patterns that might be more predictive of efficient communication of intention between artists and fans. A final point, which was only superficially explored in this review, is the aspect of language in K-pop fandom. This includes the role of translation, more specifically the work of fan translators, in helping manage the collective understanding of messages shared through lyrics in the context of global fandom.

Overall, this review shows that studies in cognitive musicology offer rich insight into the specific functions that songs can play inside music fandom. In the context of fandom studies, which has been mostly ethnography-driven over the years, we provide directions that could take studies on the dynamics of fan attachment beyond self-reported fan perceptions. This is based on the well-established cognitive understanding of how music affects the brain, or at least, evidence-abundant suggestions of how music influences social bonding.

References

Derbaix, Maud & Korchia, Michaël. (2019). Individual celebration of pop music icons: A study of music fans relationships with their object of fandom and associated practices. Journal of Consumer Behaviour. 18. 10.1002/cb.1751.

Fiske, John. 1992. “The Cultural Economy of Fandom.” In The Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media, edited by Lisa A. Lewis, 256. New York: Routledge.

Galbraith, P. W. (2016). “The Labor of Love: On the Convergence of Fan and Corporate Interests in Contemporary Idol Culture in Japan”. In Media Convergence in Japan, edited by Patrick W. Galbraith and Jason G. Karlin: 232-64. Tokyo: Kinema Club. 

Greenberg, D. M., Matz, S. C., Schwartz, H. A., & Fricke, K. R. (2021). The self-congruity effect of music. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 121(1), 137–150. https://doi.org/10.1037/pspp0000293 

Hills, Matt. Fan Cultures. London: Routledge, 2002.

Jin, Dal Yong, and Woongjae Ryoo. 2014. “Critical Interpretation of Hybrid K-Pop: The Global-Local Paradigm of English Mixing in Lyrics.” Popular Music and Society 37 (2): 113–31.

Kim, J. (2017). K- Popping: Korean Women, K-Pop, and Fandom. UC Riverside. 

Kim, Youngdae. 2019. BTS The Review: A Comprehensive Look at the Music of BTS. First Edition. Seoul: RH Korea Co., Ltd. 

Mehr, S. A., Singh, M., Knox, D., Ketter, D. M., Pickens-Jones, D., Atwood, S., … & Glowacki, L. (2019). Universality and diversity in human song. Science, 366(6468), eaax0868.

Nummenmaa, Lauri & Vesa, Putkinen & Sams, Mikko. (2021). Social pleasures of music. Current Opinion in Behavioral Sciences. 39. 196-202. 10.1016/j.cobeha.2021.03.026.

Savage, P. E., Loui, P., Tarr, B., Schachner, A., Glowacki, L., Mithen, S., & Fitch, W. T. (2021). Music as a coevolved system for social bonding. Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 44.

Small, C. (1999). “Musicking — the meanings of performing and listening.” A lecture, Music Education Research, 1:1, 9-22, DOI: 10.1080/1461380990010102

Thompson, W. F., Bullot, N. J., & Margulis, E. H. (2023). The psychological basis of music appreciation: Structure, self, source. Psychological Review, 130(1), 260–284.

News Articles:

Bruner, R. (2017, June 28). Rap Monster of Breakout K-Pop Band BTS on Fans, Fame and Viral Popularity. Time. https://time.com/4833807/rap-monster-bts-interview/ 

Herman, T. (2018, May 7). BTS’ Most Political Lyrics: A Guide to Their Social Commentary on South Korean Society. Billboard. Billboard.
https://www.billboard.com/music/music-news/bts-lyrics-social-commentary-political-8098832/ 

Photo by Anthony DELANOIX on Unsplash

nos moldes de um ídolo

15 June, 2021 — 1 Comment

Que tipo de artista é um idol?

For the English version, click here.

Meu primeiro contato com idols de K-pop foi em 2009, aos 14 anos de idade, quando eu aprendi que uma das minhas músicas favoritas de uma das minhas bandas alemãs favoritas – “Forever or Never”, de Cinema Bizarre – também havia sido gravada por um grupo coreano chamado SHINee. No ano seguinte, a maioria das minhas colegas que também eram fãs de bandas alemãs haviam trocado Cinema Bizarre, Tokio Hotel e Killerpilze por Super Junior, BIGBANG, SHINee, entre outros. A maioria de nós já tinha um histórico com J-pop e J-rck; eu mesma me interessei rapidamente por Super Junior, por conta do quanto o Heechul me lembrava meu guitarrista de visual kei favorito, Miyavi. Mas esse interesse não durou muito; como uma jovem cristã, eu não conseguia lidar naturalmente com o termo “idol”.

Cinema Bizarre “Forever or Never” live, 2008

Coincidentemente, foi a música “IDOL” do BTS, lançada em 2018, que acabou me arrastando de vez para a indústria, me atraindo com uma sobreposição de percussão tradicional Coreana e Afrobeat que deixavam minhas manhãs de recém-formada (e recém-desempregada) menos insuportáveis. Isso foi há cerca de dois anos e meio. Minha mente adulta, mais educada e esclarecida, foi capaz de se importar menos com as conotações negativas que o termo “idol” me comunicava no passado – ainda que de vez em quando eu ainda tenha que me explicar um pouquinho quando sou questionada dentro dos meus círculos religiosos. Chamar jovens popstars de um nome desses é uma forma bem pouco sutil de deixar claro para qual propósito eles foram criados, mas, mesmo assim, há mais por trás disso que uma escolha de palavras.

Isso é algo que eu digo com frequência – eu sempre fui fã de alguma coisa, desde pelo menos minha pré-adolescência. Ser fã é parte da minha identidade, e parte de como eu interajo com o mundo. Isso é relevante porque, depois que me tornei fã de K-pop, o processo de aprender mais sobre o que o rótulo “idol” significava e o quanto era importante na formação de algumas das coisas que eu mais gostava nesses artistas deu uma forma nova à como eu percebia minha própria vivência como fã. Este texto é uma peça bastante pessoal, e uma primeira tentativa, bastante subjetiva, de colocar em palavras como minha noção de gosto mudou ao longo dos últimos anos, bem como de prestar uma pequena homenagem à um dos idols que eu mais estimo – Hoshi, do grupo Seventeen – , não apenas porque hoje, 16 de Junho, é aniversário dele, mas também porque gostar dele tanto quanto gosto hoje em dia tem muito a ver com meu processo de descobrir o que idols eram de verdade.

BTS, o maior grupo de K-pop do mundo, afirmando que eles são, de fato, idols. Agosto, 2018.

Eu vim para o K-pop direto de uma carreira longa em diversos tipos diferentes de rock, de power pop a pop punk, punk e stoner rock, e todo tipo de sonoridade rotulada “alternativa”. Minhas primeiras percepções como fã eram naturalmente altamente definidas por essa experiência que eu já possuía, mas, ao mesmo tempo, porque havia uma transição bastante evidente em jogo, eu precisei admitir para mim mesma que deveria haver algo específico, potencialmente novo, me atraindo para esse tipo de artista muito diferente (ainda que houvesse alguns paralelos importantes, tantos que até foi escrito um artigo analisando o porquê de tantos antigos fãs de emo e pop punk foram para no K-pop). Eu tinha em mim um sentimento de querer muito ser capaz de apreciar as diferenças tanto quanto as semelhanças. Como eu mencionei antes, eu havia acabado de me formar, então minha cabeça ainda estava cheia do processo de estudar para & escrever meu TCC, e eu tinha tempo suficiente para fazer minha coisa favorita: continuar estudado (btw, esta é a versão resumida de como eu acabei estudando fandoms). Eu tive a sorte de fazer amigos que me apontaram na direção certa, me mostrando as músicas, vídeos, performances ao vivo, artigos e livros que me ajudaram a estabelecer uma boa base pra começar a visualizar o cenário de idols na Ásia de forma mais ampla, colocando em contexto o produto final que eu gostava tanto de consumir.

Bem no começo de 2020, em uma conversa com uma das amizades mais experientes que eu arranjei, eu ouvi que todo fã em algum momento poderia ser confrontado com a situação de não ter mais tempo (ou energia) para continuar apoiando a carreira de tanta gente ao mesmo tempo, então deveria haver 1 idol com o qual nós estamos dispostas a seguir, deixando os outros para trás. Eu me lembro de dizer que não sabia dizer quem eu escolheria; mas então, não muito tempo depois, um pouco depois do 24º aniversário do Hoshi, eu percebi que ele havia se tornado minha resposta àquele questionamento. Quando eu comecei a gostar de Seventeen, ele não foi um dos primeiros membros a chamar minha atenção, mas, quanto mais eu aprendia sobre o grupo, mais ele me intrigava. A princípio, eu acreditava que havia algo de incomum por trás desse interesse, porque todos os meus idols favoritos até aquele momento tinham algumas características em comum que não eram as coisas mais marcantes sobre ele. Essa percepção me fez pensar bastante sobre o que havia gerado esse interesse. Eu acabei concluindo que minha nova simpatia era o resultado de um processo maior de transição pelo qual eu estava passando, que era resultado dos pensamentos e ideias que eu havia assimilado depois de ter buscado educar minha mente para perceber idols como idols.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 5r6a0700_2.jpg
Hoshi, em fotos do behind the scenes da gravação do clipe da música que marcou seu debut como artista solo, “Spider”, lançada em Abril deste ano. Em suas próprias palavras, ele é “o menino que vai quando você diz que ele não deve ir // o menino que tenta até o final quando você me diz para não fazer alguma coisa” (trecho da sua música “Horanghae”, não lançada). Foto retirada da plataforma Weverse.

QUAIS OS MOLDES DE UM IDOL?

Ser um idol é, em si, uma performance. Idols são um gênero especial de artista pop, cujas personas são especialmente desenvolvidas para maximizar a chance do estrelato. Tal performance é, de fato, um trabalho artístico – um fato que pode ser facilmente ignorado de acordo com a definição de “arte” do observador. Como é uma performance em tempo integral, o papel dos jovens que dão duro para trazer à tona uma imagem de si que seja digna do título é com frequência ofuscado pelo papel dos agentes e produtores no processo. Trainees em empresas de K-pop gastam toda sua juventude treinando em busca do sonho de receber a chance de debutar em um grupo[1], e depois gastam os anos subsequentes trabalhando para construir relevância e estabilidade, no grupo, e individualmente. A partir do momento em que um novo trainee é aceito em uma agência, e sua jornada começa, o objetivo final é o palco; é o lugar em que todos os elementos do processo se juntam, e eles apresentam a excelência que desenvolveram em música e dança, para mostrar que são dignos do nome, e do apoio de seus fãs. Mas a soberania do palco é apenas um dos aspectos dessa performance.

Idols foram projetados para que se tornassem uma fonte de segurança, além de um objeto de desejo, através dos quais os fãs pudessem viver a fantasia de realizar sonhos, em forma de apoio incondicional. Para alcançar essa fantasia, tornar-se fã de idols é uma experiência como a de adentrar uma realidade alternativa transmidiática, um domínio no qual todas as partes da narrativa eventualmente referenciam e apontam umas para as outras[2], criando a ilusão de um mundo de intimidade entre um idol e seus fãs. Neste mundo, uma estética utópica de juventude coletiva é efetivada; para muito além de desejar seus corpos e seus estilos de vida, fãs são encorajados a se perceber como sendo parte da jornada. Da mesma forma que idols crescem desde seus dias como trainees até que se tornem artistas maduros, todos os seus fãs também irão, em suas próprias existências, crescer, e trabalhar duro em busca das próprias aspirações e sonhos.

Esses processos de crescimento do artista e de seus fãs são percebidos como sendo um só, de acordo com a arquitetura dessa relação parasocial; nesse sentido, a experiência de ser fã de um idol é o trabalho de uma vida[3] – conforme empresas e idols trabalham juntos para trazer as imagens e textos através dos quais o apoio dos fãs será captado, fãs entram na equação não apenas como apoiadores, mas com sua própria performance de fandom. Essa performance é expressa através de práticas diárias, como comprar produtos, votar para premiações, escutar músicas e assistir vídeos, organizar eventos, produzir fanart, apoiar marcas patrocinadoras. Mas, da mesma forma que o palco é o momento em que o idol se apresenta em toda sua majestade, fãs também tem um papel próprio no show, sacudindo seus lightsticks (bastões de luz), cantando coros especiais que acompanham cada música, e apresentando as performances coordenadas com slogans que carregam frases especiais para os artistas.[4] Todo esse sistema de idols é construído sobre esse pacto de vínculo entre idols e fãs; e, nisso, como aponta Joanna Elfving-Hwang (2018), qualquer seja o papel que as partes constituintes devem exercer, a base desse pacto é nunca sair do personagem[5].

Se ser um idol é um processo de produzir uma expressão de si que seja digna do título, o talento mais desejável à um jovem aspirante seria a habilidade de articular uma performance cativante e consistente dentro e fora do palco. Nesse sentido, quando elaborando suas personas, a genialidade de exercer esse papel é saber como usar o que se tem em si para construir uma ponte entre quem eles já são, e quem eles devem ser. Já que todo idol que consegue debutar teve que passar ao menos pelo mesmo processo duro de preparação antes de ter a chance de se apresentar num palco, a carreira duradoura que eles tanto desejam depende muito da sua habilidade de fazer com que outras pessoas se apaixonem pelos sonhos deles, e queiram sonhar junto com eles. É por isso que uma história pessoal impactante é tão importante para dar credibilidade à uma personalidade atraente, como uma bússola que indica a direção da narrativa e dá à performance tons mais realistas, e cronologicamente sustentáveis.

Hoshi aparecendo de surpresa para dançar com fãs esperando na fila do show do Seventeen em Newark, nos EUA. Janeiro, 2020.

HOSHI, O IDOL 

Hoshi, meu idol favorito, é uma força da natureza. Seu nome artístico é uma combinação das palavras “horangi” [호랑이, tigre] and “siseon” [시선, olhar]. Sua persona divertida e falante faz uso abundante de uma estética de fofura barulhenta para mostrar um lado cativante, que é um grande contraponto à postura de tigre feroz que ele assume no palco. Nascido em 1996 como Kwon Soonyoung, ele debutou oficialmente em Maio de 2015, como o dançarino principal entre os 13 garotos do Seventeen, depois de treinar por quatro anos. Por conta do grande número de membros, o grupo é dividido internamente em times de acordo com especialização; existe o Vocal Team, o Hip Hop Team, e o Performance Team, do qual o Hoshi é líder. Ele é reconhecido como um artista apaixonado, um coreógrafo talentoso, e o metrônomo do grupo, obcecado tanto com a sala de ensaios quanto é obcecado pelo palco. Seu amor por trabalhar duro e enfrentar os processos é uma de suas maiores vantagens – sua paixão dá conta de cada um dos degraus da escada que leva do compromisso com a preparação até o lugar sob os holofotes.

Pensando em retrocesso, eu acredito que a habilidade que ele tem de tremer de tanta paixão por tudo que faz, em tudo que faz, tenha me feito começar a gostar tanto de assisti-lo. Conforme eu avançava na minha jornada extensa pelo conteúdo do Seventeen em diversas mídias, ele me contava uma história bem consistente de um artista que trabalhava muito duro, que havia desafiado todas probabilidades para se construir do zero. Quando ele era apenas um garoto com um sonho de se tornar um artista, e um histórico sólido em taekwondo, ele percebeu que suas habilidades físicas eram o suficiente para que ele tivesse uma chance. Seus pais não apoiaram seu sonho, mas ele já tinha em si fome e sede que o levaram a tentar provar que era capaz. Ele começou praticando sozinho, em casa, e foi criando as próprias oportunidades, fundando o próprio clube de dança na escola, e entrando em diversas competições, e saindo de campeão de algumas. Em uma dessas, ele alcançou o desejo de ser recrutado por uma agência. Decidido a não deixar passar a chance que havia recebido, ele construiu para si desde o dia 1 a reputação de ser o trainee que dava mais duro e se entregava mais que todos; essa reputação o tem seguido desde então, e continua sendo reafirmada toda vez que ele dá um passo adiante para se apresentar de novo.

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O jeito leve e bobo com o qual Hoshi se apresenta diante dos fãs vem para contrabalancear seu performance intensa e feroz nos palcos. Seventeen “Ode to You” Turnê em Seul, foto de Eyes on You. Agosto, 2019.

Quando ele dança, ele é intocável e intrigante; diante das câmeras, é uma figura confortante e confiável, com uma aura acessível que faz com que seus fãs o considerem quase como parte da própria família. Esses lados diferentes dão forma à complexidade do seu “tiger power”, a marca que resume e iconifica o gênio da sua performance de ídolo. Kwon Soonyoung, o jovem, diz que é um introvertido, mas, como artista, dá preferência ao barulhento e cheio de energia e quase insano como um impulsionador, e parece decidido a transformar qualquer pedaço de chão num palco, independente de qual seja o papel que ele deve cumprir. Eu até diria que essas diferenças entre sua performance e aquilo que ele às vezes descreve como seu “verdadeiro eu” tornam o show mais interessante. Ele pode sempre contar com o suporte da credibilidade da sua trajetória, que torna o pacote completo sendo apresentado mais crível, e mais agradável de ver – quase como se nós pudéssemos ver a estrada inteira pela qual ele caminhou toda vez que os holofotes se projetam sobre ele. Há um senso geral de coerência que ele consegue comunicar através de diferentes formas de mídia que é difícil de descrever mas, em última análise, se traduz para mim como um senso de comprometimento e segurança de que ele está tão fascinado pelos próprios sonhos quanto seus fãs estão fascinados por ele.

Essa habilidade de se comunicar de forma coerente ao longo dos anos talvez seja uma das razões pelas quais é tão fácil se apaixonar por ele por seus sonhos, a ponto de desejar muito vê-lo alcançar todos. Isso foi muito evidente durante “Spider”, seu excepcional debut como artista solo, lançada em Abril. O lançamento é um excelente display de tudo que ele construiu desde que decidiu que queria estar em um palco; a canção sutilmente voluptuosa foi escrita e produzida pelo seu amigo de longa data e companheiro de banda, Woozi, e permitiu que ele se mostrasse como um artista completo além do Seventeen, destacando seus movimentos pungentes, sua voz encantadora, e seus ângulos e formas belos e viciantes. A canção é fácil de ouvir e implora pelo replay, e tanto o clipe oficial quanto as múltiplas performances, incluindo o dance practice, são um banquete visual, conforme ele se movimenta entre os bailarinos e bailarinas e os caixilhos que constituem a performance. Seus altíssimos padrões de qualidade estão presentes em cada aspecto, desde a concepção, como ele mesmo descreve nas entrevistas e no registro do processo lançado no canal do Seventeen. Não é muito diferente do Hoshi, membro do grupo e líder do Performance team, mas é um pouco maior, e vai além, como a sensação de que você tem que andar mais alguns passos para ter uma visão melhor do todo.

Se você é meu amigo, eu provavelmente te obriguei a assistir isso aqui pelo menos uma vez.

A TRANSIÇÃO

Gosto é um assunto difícil de navegar, porque existem múltiplas camadas coletivas e individuais, externas e internas, por trás do que nos enviesa e nos vincula às coisas; existem diversos aspectos da subjetividades que são inexprimíveis, mas que são como peneiras e filtros que definem com nós digerimos tudo aquilo que ingerimos. Mais difícil ainda quando consideramos nos diversos tipos de discursos de fã que existem, não apenas por causa das qualidades emocionais que fazem parte, mas também o aspecto comunitário que caracteriza a percepção geral de ser fã como ser parte de uma ideia de um arranjo extenso de pessoas que compartilham o mesmo gosto, o mesmo viés, o mesmo vínculo. É discutível até que ponto o gosto de um fã deve ser analisado, principalmente porque, conforme o tempo passa, se torna cada vez mais difícil diferenciar a identidade e a reação pessoal do indivíduo das construções coletivas de discurso com as quais o fã pode entrar em contato. Por isso, desde o começo, eu deixei claro que este era um relato pessoal, porque, no fim das contas, aquilo que me enverga diz respeito à mim.

Mesmo assim, mesmo que o processo de me tornar uma grande fã do Hoshi tenha sido um processo individual, pessoal e subjetivo, existe um processo mais amplo em questão – que é a coisa que eu estou chamando de uma transição ocasionada pela minha experiência de adquirir conhecimento – que foi o processo de me tornar mais fã de um dançarino que de outros. Isso pode soar estupidamente simples, e provavelmente indigno de um texto tão longo assim, mas a verdade é que na verdade é bem duro desconstruir percepções de uma vida toda sobre o valor das muitas mídias através das quais a expressão pessoal se articula. Na faculdade de Arquitetura, minha melhor vantagem era a capacidade de traduzir imagens e espacialidades em palavras, e vice-versa. Mesmo como professora de Inglês, minhas habilidades devem muito ao meu talento de pensar demais sobre como usamos a língua para expressão. A coisa que eu sempre mais admirei foi a capacidade de usar bem as palavras – o tipo de percepção que eu cultivei enquanto crescia sendo fã de coisas, e que carreguei comigo quando virei fã de idols.

A princípio, todos os meus idols favoritos eram os compositores, aqueles que carregavam em si uma poética que era articulada verbalmente, alguns que até haviam lançado livros. Mesmo que eu fosse tão fissurada pelo pacote completo do show, no frigir dos ovos, eu ainda atribuía mais valor subconscientemente àqueles que conseguiam se expressar com palavras. O processo de me aprofundar nos conteúdos não-verbais do K-pop, e entender como cada aspecto adicionava valor ao produto final, me fez mais capaz de apreciar as várias camadas do espetáculo como sendo igualmente importantes; a essência daquilo que eu chamei de perceber idols como idols seria um consenso geral de disposição a ver cada um pelo papel que desempenha em pé de igualdade – desde aqueles que escrevem canções e cantam a maior parte delas àqueles que deixam o grupo mais bonito mas não necessariamente tomam a frente de performances. Uma das razões pelas quais idol groups tem uma diversidade de visuais, personalidades, talentos e tipos é justamente para maximizar o seu apelo; quanto mais amplo o espectro de apelo, maiores as chances de que alguma história toque o coração de alguma pessoa que está assistindo – porque, no fim das contas, o que está sendo comunicado ainda depende em grande medida da habilidade da outra parte de entender.

Uma fancam do Hoshi dançando ao mega hit do Seventeen em 2016 VERY NICE. Outrora os inimigos de Estado #1 do Twitter, fancams foram uma das coisas que eu demorei a entender quando virei fã de K-pop, mas que se tornaram parte constituinte da minha jornada quanto mais eu aprendi a apreciar dançarinos e performance. Julho, 2016.

Uma vez que eu havia me colocado à disposição para celebrar as várias facetas de como idols se articulavam, eu pude colocar minha admiração de longa-data pela habilidade de construir uma narrativa artística coerente à serviço de apreciar a performance de idols de forma mais inteira, o que eventualmente se desenvolveu na direção do Hoshi, o idol e artista. Tornar-me sua fã foi como descobrir o quanto eu desejava encontrar novos pontos de contato no tecido da realidade em que a sensibilidade do meu corpo e da minha alma pudessem se encontrar com as ordens superiores do cosmos – a janela de possibilidade que nos leva ao numinoso, se tivermos sorte. É tão simples quanto uma profunda ânsia por beleza. Existem incontáveis camadas coletivas e individuais, externas e internas, por trás do que nos enviesa e nos vincula às coisas, conforme nós abrimos caminho pela mata virgem que é viver e existir no mundo, e as únicas constantes são de que o tempo vai continuar passando, e que vamos continuar mudando ao longo do caminho. É aí que a performance de um idol em cima de um palco te leva de volta à estrada que ele trilhou para chegar até ali, a interseção entre se apaixonar por assistir, se apaixonar por sonhar, e transformar essa paixão em uma prática. É daí que nasce um fã.

Mesmo assim, a despeito das minhas palavras emocionadas, em última análise, a relação artista-fãs não deixa de ser uma transação financeira. A razão pela estrutura emocional complexa que sustenta o pacto de vínculo entre idols e seus fãs é a necessidade de uma estrutura resistente de apoio que viabilize o emprego de todas as partes envolvidas na montagem do show. E o que fãs tiram disso? São muitas as razões pelas quais nós damos espaço para que nossos sentimentos e percepções virem uma moeda nessa troca do que oferecemos aos artistas dos quais gostamos e que decidimos apoiar. Talvez eu também anseie pelo sentimento de seguir vida juntos à distância, como linhas paralelas nesse mundo imenso, caminhando em direção ao lugar para onde vão as almas. Eu tenho certeza que isso soa emotivo e otimista demais, mas talvez seja só minha mente pândemica, cansada demais, necessitando de distração com mais frequência que o normal, e falando mais alto que meu bom senso, mas eu já li que a beleza do mundo é realmente como a boca de um labirinto. O fato é que eu amo escrever sobre minhas coisas favoritas, porque elas sempre me ajudam a pensar sobre mim mesma. E eu amo escrever sobre o Hoshi também, mas eu gosto de assisti-lo ainda mais. Como café forte e amargo, toda vez que ele aparece, deixa pra trás um sabor que perdura na ponta da língua, que me dá energia extra pelas manhãs, ou me mantém acordada à noite quando é necessário. E esta é minha opinião orgulhosamente, totalmente, completamente, apaixonadamente tendenciosa sobre o que faz dele um grande idol.

A dona aranha subiu pela parede
Veio a chuva forte e a derrubou
Já passou a chuva o sol já vai surgindo
E a dona aranha continua a subir
Ela é teimosa e desobediente
Sobe, sobe, sobe e nunca está contente



OUTRAS LEITURAS (em Inglês)

Filmi Girl. “Why an Idol Group isn’t a Boy Band.” The Idol Cast and Other Writings. Mar 4, 2021.

Musikosmos. “In the Spider’s Web.” Musikal Kosmos. Mar 29, 2021.

Sara Delgado. “SEVENTEEN’s HOSHI Talks First Solo Mixtape “Spider”.” TEEN VOGUE. Apr 2, 2021.

[INSIDE SEVENTEEN] HOSHI Mixtape ‘Spider’ Behind. SEVENTEEN Official Youtube Channel. 14:07. Apr 12, 2021.



NOTAS DE RODAPÉ:

[1] Muitos idols que começam a treinar muito jovens e/ou debutam na adolescência podem interromper os estudos devido às demandas do treinar/se apresentar. (Saeji et al. 2018: 12)

[2] Em “Idols: The Image of Desire in Japanese Consumer Capitalism”, Galbraith (2012: 186) descreve isso usando o termo “intertextualidade inescapável” [tradução livre]: 

“Constantly present and exposed, the idol becomes “real,” the basis of feelings of intimacy among viewers, though this is independent of “reality.” John Fiske (1987, 116) describes the situation as “inescapable intertextuality,” where all texts refer to one another and not to any external reality. This is not to say that reality does not exist, but rather that what is accessible in cultural products is a construction of reality, which must be understood on its own terms. “Images are made and read in relation to other images and the real is read as an image” (Ibid., 117). The meanings of images, however temporary, are made (or negotiated) in interaction with images.”

[3] Para mais a respeito disso, eu recomendo especificamente “Always Fans of Something: Fandom and Concealment of Taste in the Daily Lives of Young Koreans” de Lee Eungchel (2021). Agradeço muito à Profa. Dra. CedarBough T. Saeji que compartilhou um link para este artigo, que me inspirou a escrever este texto.

[4] Sobre práticas de fãs, existe um espaço especial no meu coração para a densíssima auto etnografia “K- Popping: Korean Women, K-Pop, and Fandom” (Kim, 2016) 

[5] Demonstrar consistência entre diversos meios de comunicação com fãs, com a mídia e outros espectadores é um aspecto chave na formação do vínculo duradouro com fãs, assim como a apresentação de uma imagem confiável e digna como celebridade perante a sociedade. (Elfving-Hwang 2018)

REFERÊNCIAS

Elfving-Hwang, Joanna. (2018) “K-Pop Idols, Artificial Beauty and Affective Fan Relationships in South Korea.” In Routledge Handbook of Celebrity Studies, edited by Anthony Elliott: 190-201. New York: Routledge. Retrieved from: https://www.academia.edu/36343905/K_pop_Idols_Artificial_Beauty_and_Affective_Fan_Relationships_in_South_Korea 

Galbraith, Patrick W. (2016) “The Labor of Love: On the Convergence of Fan and Corporate Interests in Contemporary Idol Culture in Japan”. In Media Convergence in Japan, edited by Patrick W. Galbraith and Jason G. Karlin: 232-64. Tokyo: Kinema Club. Retrieved from: https://www.academia.edu/25849863/The_Labor_of_Love_On_the_Convergence_of_Fan_and_Corporate_Interests_in_Contemporary_Idol_Culture_in_Japan 

Kim, J. (2017). K- Popping: Korean Women, K-Pop, and Fandom. UC Riverside. Retrieved from https://escholarship.org/uc/item/5pj4n52q

Lee,  Eungchel (2021). “Always Fans of Something: Fandom and Concealment of Taste in the Daily Lives of Young Koreans.” In Korean Anthropology Review 5: 53-78. Retrieved from: https://s-space.snu.ac.kr/handle/10371/174377 

Saeji et al. (2018) “Regulating the Idol: The Life and Death of a South Korean Popular Music Star.” In Asia Pacific Journal: Japan Focus 16 (13:3): 1-32. Retrieved from: https://apjjf.org/2018/13/Saeji.html 

The Day We Jopped

4 October, 2020 — Leave a comment

Do you remember the day we first jopped?

To those unaware, “Jopping” is the combination of “jumping” and “popping”. I’m not a dancer, so I can’t “jump” nor “pop” at the same time, but I’m under the impression that I can every single time I crack yet another joke about the verb coined by “Jopping”, SuperM’s debut title track, released in October last year.

A screenshot I took from the “Jopping” music video page, 12 minutes before it premiered. From left to right: Mark, Ten, Taemin, Taeyong, Lucas, Baekhyun and Kai.

SuperM’s debut season was one of the greatest times of my career as a fan of things. From the initial skepticism with which the project was met, and all the jokes people cracked before some of us realised exactly how huge it was to have all of these amazing artists together in one single group, seeing their separate fandoms coming together to love them or hate them, getting caught in the crossfire, but still having so much fun from getting to know new people and new music I wasn’t very invested in at the time. One mini album, one album, five music videos, a tour, numerous stages and performances of over twenty songs later, we’re still somehow jopping to all of this, as we make our individual ways in the world.

Last week, when their new music video dropped at 1am – for the title track “One”, a mash-up of two other of their songs, “Monster” + “Infinity” – I wasn’t having a particularly good day, nor night. I considered going to bed and watching everything the next morning, but, in honour of the “good old times” – read, last year – I decided to stay. As we began to go through the album, the timeline felt just like October last year all over again, and I was reminded once more of just how much I love being their fan.

SuperM “One”, a mashup of tracks “Monster” and “Infinity”, lead single for their first album

The season around SuperM’s debut was a particularly troubled time of our fan experience on Twitter – by “our” I mean us, their supporters. The aforementioned skepticism with which their debut was met came from different sides – not just their own, suspicious fans, but other fandoms as well – and it reflected badly on us that chose to support them. It might not make a lot of sense to outsiders, but, in the trenches of fandom-making, picking sides might turn into an ugly game if the parties involved are willing enough to take it seriously enough.

At the time, I was working on my essay about Fandoms on Twitter for the BTS Interdisciplinary Conference in London, as well as working double to afford the trip from Brazil to the UK. 2019 was the year I decided to interact with collective fandom again, after a couple of years of enjoying my hobbies solo. This sudden comeback gave me a lot of food for thought, which eventually led me to engaging academically with the topic. It sounded like a great idea at first, but the nights were long and filled with tears, because I felt so alone and so unable to complete what I had decided to do.

Even as I worked on my essay, I still hadn’t realised that this end-of-year journey was my own process of giving birth to the academic fan I had in me. She is the one writing this piece right now.

My own struggles around this time last year surely add to the value of just how good it was to have something that felt so fun and weightless during an especially hard time. I can’t separate how badly my personal life was going from how I perceived everything that happened at the time. But the trope of the lost girl that found herself in a community is an old, overused one, which does not provide enough answers for me – because the question that makes rounds in my head is why everyone else, even those who weren’t particularly struggling at the time, felt the same about this experience we got to share. 

My SuperM mini album – Taemin version, with a Taeyong photocard, the day it arrived. My favourite group chat on Twitter came together because we wanted to discuss which album versions we were going to buy.

Fandoms are inherently religious projects, not just for those who join them, seeking a community to belong to, but for those from whom they are born – the sources of our love, the ones from which we get content and to whom we offer our time, money and full attention in return. The desperate commitment to something so aesthetically appealing, and which can appear bigger than life if you tilt your head the right way, produces religious fanatics in droves, easily driving the most sensible out of their best senses. The digital fandom experience is filled with its own unbelievable kinds of highs and lows, and there isn’t a single reason that explains how our community problems happen. My own theory to digital fandom spaces is an attempt at understanding how artists, admirers, devotees and outsiders interact in/with specific digital social network sites over time and generate their own specific identities. This is why, in order to understand fandoms, I always turn to the sources, to understand what birthed them in the first place.

As I’ve mentioned before, there was a lot of collective trouble starting when SuperM was announced, in August 2019. When Taemin, Baekhyun, Kai, Taeyong, Ten, Lucas and Mark were pulled from SHINee, EXO, NCT 127 and WayV to make the group, no one was very sure of what was going to happen – in fact, there were indeed plenty of reasons for the initial skepticism with which the project was met. None of them knew how it would turn out, but neither did any of us, on the other side of the screens. Wishful thinking wasn’t enough of a window into the future, but, as the first teasers dropped, and our collective enthusiasm grew with each new release, I guess this is where the turning point happened – realising how great this project was going to be, with such a great lineup.

A picture that I downloaded from Twitter, taken during SuperM’s debut showcase at Capitol Records Building. From left to right, we can see the lightsticks of the fandoms that make up SuperM – SHINee, EXO and NCT (minus WayV‘s lightstick).

If you know who took this picture, let me know so I can credit them.

In SuperM’s debut, all of my favourite things about being a fan came together to make an unforgettable experience. Nothing felt like a job, or a personality trait I had to hold onto for dear life. In a sense, their debut was a turning point in my fan experience as well, as I realised exactly the type of fan I wanted to be from then on. The images that inhabit my imagination and my memory from those days are filled with, among other things, countless jopping jokes, concept pictures, broken friendships and scenes from always-so-dramatic “I Can’t Stand the Rain” stages, in between dozens of papers I read and dozens of friends I gained and lost along the way. The excitement of anticipating their TV appearances and wondering if our side of the world was about to fall in love with artists we admired so much; appreciating the great interactions between the members, all of them talented beyond measure and committed to help one another as they worked to make this project successful on their end.

Fans’ attachment to the optics of the bond between members can often be their own way of satisfying their craving for stability in the existence of their fannish identities. With a temporary supergroup such as SuperM, there’s no stability besides the assurance that these members are talented and willing to make their time together count. Our network of SuperM Supporters is shaped the same – we’re all happy with the great content, but we’re the happiest that we get to come together from our individual fandoms when it’s time for them to assemble again, like a special party. We’ll be here for whatever the outcome is, because these artists brought us together, and they are worth the views, the listens, and the chance*.

And all of this happened even before the pandemics arrived, and lockdown and quarantines became the norm. SuperM has been just one of the many pieces of fan experience that made the last months easier to bear – watching them on Beyond Live on the first weeks of Quarantine, waiting to see them perform “With You” on Together At Home, discussing with friends, staying up to see everything first hand, waiting for the next teaser, the next single, the next live, the next stage. There was always something to look forward to, even as the world felt out of place. But, even so, even after so much changed, and the world appeared to have become much darker, and we needed even more distraction to cope, the memories that SuperM gave us when we first jopped still feel just as special. Perhaps even more now that we were given a first full album with amazing songs and fun music videos, reminders of how great this group is, and how much they’re capable of, and how we all want them to succeed altogether.

This is the power of a successful parasocial interaction; both parties are inherently separate and so, so distant, but still enjoying and building something together. I can only hope that these members are having as much fun as we are. We all deserve that little jumping and popping. 

* Read Also: Kulture Kolumn: The Polarizing Debut of SuperM – Riddhi Chakraborty‘s amazing piece about SuperM for Rolling Stone India, which greatly influenced me back then, and still does.

SuperM’s first full album is out now! My personal favourites are Together at Home, Wish You Were Here and Step Up.