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ONE

Space and the Big Bang

In actuality, Konggan [Space] did not embark only to explain Korea to the Koreans; it was its ceaseless wish, too, to explain Korea to other countries.

Alain Delissen, 20011

SamulNori became SamulNori Hanullim, Inc. (Hanullim means big bang) in 1993. This growth from a four-man performance ensemble into a company of thirty artists meant that SamulNori’s new genre in traditional Korean arts, music, and dance over the last two decades had now also become a viable educational and research enterprise.

SamulNori Hanullim, n.d.2

In 1993 the SamulNori quartet officially disbanded, ending their remarkable run. As many histories of the group narrate, the quartet began as a modest experiment in 1978 and developed unexpectedly into a global musical phenomenon. Few could have predicted this rise, or this spread. Within the span of fifteen years SamulNori claimed over thirty-five hundred performances. They were credited with catapulting their brand of music into South Korea’s sonic landscape as the country’s representative genre of kugak (literally, “national [Korean] music”). Their success on international stages spurred a reappraisal of the status of traditional Korean arts on a domestic front. And the music that the quartet performed was soon embraced and imitated by many fans both within and outside South Korea.

But as is sometimes the case with things that have a steep and sudden ascent, the ending can be abrupt. Typically glossed over in SamulNori narratives or confined to the domains of conversation and hearsay, such difficulties as internal strife, conflicting agendas, financial disputes, and burnout all factored into the dissolution of the SamulNori quartet. This did not lead to the demise of samul nori as a genre, however. To the contrary, it was during the 1990s that the genre of samul nori flourished. A growing base of fans became samul nori practitioners, owing in large part to pedagogical outreach efforts sponsored first by the quartet, and later by samul nori’s most tireless and ambitious advocate, Kim Duk Soo.

Master of the hourglass changgo drum, Kim Duk Soo took up the reins and launched a reconfigured and expanded enterprise in 1993, calling it SamulNori Hanullim. Translated literally, hanullim means “grand reverberation”; Kim Duk Soo chose to render this in English as SamulNori “Big Bang.” Broadening his artistic horizons, Kim presided as the director for an organization that featured a roster of samul nori quartet “teams,” an educational division, and a managing staff.

The transformation from a stand-alone quartet to an artistic troupe capable of deploying separate teams to different events reflects the popularization of the percussion genre by the early 1990s. Not only was there an increased demand for samul nori performances, but there was also a younger generation of musicians who had essentially become adept (and even fanatic) at playing samul nori. The quartet attracted serious musicians and amateur enthusiasts—many of whom flocked to train with the quartet members at workshops or at the Sinch’on Live House Nanjang Studio.³ Ethnomusicologist Nathan Hesselink describes the quartet’s impact in even broader terms: “By the 1990s, SamulNori / samul nori in various incarnations had become a prominent fixture of the Korean musical landscape, seen on television broadcasts and in concert halls, disseminated on CD, VHS, and DVD recordings, studied in chapters of music history and appreciation textbooks, and taught at the primary, secondary, and collegiate levels throughout the peninsula” (2012, 3). Thus Kim’s SamulNori “Big Bang” was a fitting appellation to describe the longer-lasting reverberations of the SamulNori quartet, while at the same time forecasting Kim’s more ambitious agendas.

Beginning this story with the quartet’s demise is an unconventional narrative move. But it strategically foregrounds SamulNori’s popular reception—a reception that outlived the quartet’s dissolution. It shifts the emphasis away from SamulNori the quartet to samul nori the global music genre. It also offers another way of thinking of SamulNori—not as a singular, all-star quartet that emerged fully formed overnight—but as part of an evolving musical collaboration and a cultural project. As many Korean music insiders already know, what is usually referred to as the first or “original SamulNori quartet” is actually a misnomer.

The quartet’s membership was never truly fixed, as the “original” designation suggests. One of the founding members, Kim Yong-bae [Kim Yongbae], left the quartet in 1984 when he was recruited by the National Center for Korean Traditional Performing Arts (now known as the National Gugak Center) to establish its own in-house samul nori quartet. Kim was replaced by Kang Min-seok [Kang Minsŏk]. And Choi Jong Sil [Ch’oe Chongsil] departed the group in 1989 in order to pursue academic studies. Because of the fluid membership of the group—even from the first performances at the Space Theater—it is problematic to liberally use the term “original” (see Hesselink 2012, 56–57).⁴ Viewing the quartet less as a fixed entity and more as a collaborative project that involved numerous individuals and membership changes over time will be instructive here.

Dynamic Korea hews closely to the book’s animating question of how a musical genre goes global. While this chapter chronicles some of the early history of the SamulNori quartet, it does so for the purpose of bringing into relief the social and cultural environment that facilitated the quartet’s emergence and development at a specific moment in South Korean history. And since early accounts of the SamulNori quartet already exist, I direct readers with interest in finer historical details to monographs in both Korean and English (Kim Hŏnsŏn 1988, [1991] 1994, 1995, 1998; Hesselink 2012; Howard 2015; SamulNori Hanullim t’ansaeng samsip chunyŏn kinyŏm saŏphoe 2009). I also base my analysis of samul nori’s global journeys through two groups in particular: the SamulNori quartet and SamulNori Hanullim. The stories of professional samul nori groups such as Durae Pae SamulNori, Dulsori, and Samul Gwangdae—while important in the context of samul nori’s globalization—are not featured here.⁵

In this chapter I begin with a description of the setting—the Seoul-based Konggan Sarang and the community of cultural activists who nurtured what I call the SamulNori project. This is followed by my examination of the ways in which the sounds of samul nori first captivated listeners. Through careful analysis of ethnographic interviews, oral histories, and the accounts of music critics and fans, I reveal the strands of the positive reception that eventually led to the outward spread of the genre and the South Korean government’s promotion of this repertory of music as a dynamic symbol of South Korean culture.

FIGURE 1.1 Sign for the Space Theater (Konggan Sarang). Photograph by author.

SPACE THEATER: SETTING THE SCENE

Most histories of SamulNori begin by paying tribute to the Space Theater / Konggan Sarang Sogŭkchang (“Love of Space” Small Theater) located in northern Seoul (figure 1.1). This was the vaunted place where the percussion quartet first debuted in 1978. More precisely, it was a small theater tucked in the basement of a redbrick building that became the site of many important performances of traditional Korean music (figure 1.2). The building served as the headquarters for the Konggan (Space) Group and was designed by Kim Sugŭn (1931–1986), one of South Korea’s most esteemed architects of the twentieth century.⁶ Kim’s Konggan Group oversaw distinct but connected ventures: an architectural firm; an influential monthly publication; an art gallery and café; and the Space Theater.⁷

Konggan—an arts, architecture, and culture periodical—frequently published Kim’s thoughts on a wide range of topics.⁸ Kim wrote essays on history, culture, and identity. He also reflected frequently on South Korea as a modernizing nation. Historian Alain Delissen’s meticulous survey and analysis of the Konggan publications from 1960 to 1990 paint a portrait of Kim Sugŭn as an ardent cultural nationalist who was simultaneously invested in researching and reclaiming South Korea’s “lost” history while also contributing to its modern infrastructure. As an architect, Kim chose to “pursue the bolder ambition of pulling architecture out of the then purely technical field of construction engineering for transformation into an art, socially legitimate, that would be both genuinely Korean (rooted in the past) and distinctively modern (opened onto the time of the world)” (Delissen 2001, 246). His commitment to the traditional culture of Korea’s past was reflected in his patronage of the arts. As a “cultural activist” interested in giving voice and a venue to traditional Korean culture, Kim Sugŭn was instrumental in creating the artistic milieu that fostered the genesis of the SamulNori quartet.⁹

Kim appointed Kang Chunhyŏk [also written as Kang Joon-hyuk] as the artistic director of the Space Theater. Kang (1947–2014) had a background in Western classical music and earned a degree in aesthetics from Seoul National University.¹⁰ He presided over a diverse range of programming; regular series included the Evening of Ballet, the Evening of Jazz, and traditional Korean dance.¹¹ Kang utilized Konggan Sarang’s austere form to his advantage in planning an adventurous array of performances:

It [Konggan] wasn’t an example of a proscenium stage—there was no such operative concept. That’s likely what people dubbed it, though, since it seemed [superficially] to meet some of the criteria. But there was really no place to call a “stage” as such, no seats…. You place seats in that open space, and that becomes the seated area, and the remaining area will become a stage. So to call it a conventional theater would really be a misnomer. I think the only way you could characterize Konggan would be to call it an experimental stage. (Kang Chunhyŏk interview, September 8, 2009)

Kim and Kang’s “experimental stage”—also known as a black box theater—was a flexible space that could accommodate a variety of different configurations and performances. Dancers, chamber musicians, singers, actors, puppeteers, and even shamans performed at Konggan Sarang. In its heyday the Space Theater was at times an avant-garde venue in Seoul that brought together a coterie of like-minded individuals, interested in the folk and modern arts and cultural activism. It was also the first theater of its kind to regularly sponsor and promote traditional Korean music (kugak), inaugurating the monthly Evening of Traditional Music series in 1978. Many of South Korea’s most famous and revered figures in traditional arts performed at the theater (including p’ansori artists Kim Sohŭi and Im Pang’ul, kayagŭm player Pak Kwihŭi, and dancer Yi Maebang).¹² This high-caliber presentation of Korean folk music was facilitated in large part by Kang’s discriminating ear and Kim’s personal interest in preserving and revitalizing Korean traditional arts and culture. A year prior to the opening of the Space Theater in April 1977, Kim Sugŭn elaborated on his vision for the experimental stage: “Beyond providing the place to nurture traditional arts, as a theater space, we aim to expand the possibilities and cultivate creative work. The small theater was built in a way so that its form could facilitate the creation of new [types of] theatrical plays. But besides theater, there are also plans to present the best quality chamber music, and to have monthly musical appreciation concerts of p’ansori.”¹³

FIGURE 1.2 Konggan Sarang’s small theater (Sogŭkchang) in 2009. Photograph by author.

February 22–23, 1978, marked the first installment of the Evening of Traditional Music series at the Space Theater.¹⁴ In this program a group of Korean folk music specialists who were part of the Minsogakhoe Sinawi (Folk Music Society “Sinawi”) performed a selection of pieces.¹⁵ At the end of the evening a new work was debuted. Four musicians—Kim Duk Soo, Kim Yong-bae [Kim Yongbae], Ch’oe T’aehyŏn, and Yi Chongdae—performed a percussion improvisation called “Uttari p’ungmul.”¹⁶ Taking the core percussion instruments used in an older genre of percussion music and dance known as p’ungmul, the quartet offered a sampling of rhythmic patterns drawn from regional p’ungmul variants of South Korea’s Kyŏnggi and Ch’ungch’ŏng Provinces (sometimes referred to as the Uttari region).¹⁷ Inside the Space Theater, the four men presented rural percussion music that was traditionally performed outdoors by a large number of farmers and villagers.

Kim Duk Soo and Kim Yong-bae were the bona fide percussionists of the group; Ch’oe had majored in haegŭm (two-string fiddle), and Yi specialized in wind instruments.¹⁸ But as many folk musicians are proficient in more than one instrument, this difference in musical training did not hinder the performance. The reception of that first performance was unexpectedly enthusiastic, and it has since been inscribed with mythic import as the “birth of SamulNori” (samul nori ŭi t’ansaeng) by the South Korean media and in SamulNori’s own press materials. Although the “original SamulNori quartet” with members Kim Duk Soo, Kim Yong-bae, Lee Kwang Soo [Yi Kwangsu], and Choi Jong Sil [Ch’oe Chongsil] did not actually convene on February 22, 1978, the seed of the samul nori genre sprouted at that first performance.

NOVEL YET FAMILIAR

A symposium organized by SamulNori Hanullim in 2006 brought together experts and scholars to examine SamulNori / samul nori’s past, present, and future. Reflecting on SamulNori’s “past,” Kang Chunhyŏk discussed the reception and unforeseen impact of the first performance of “Uttari p’ungmul” at the Space Theater.¹⁹

On that day, the audience heard nongak [literally, “farming music”] being performed in a seated position for the very first time.²⁰ The karak [rhythmic patterns] themselves were old since they were steeped in the world of nongak; rather it was the configuration of such rhythmic patterns that was new. If in the past, the people who came to see nongak were spectators, then on that day, these were the curiously inquisitive who came to see a musical performance—thus, an audience. In other words, it was the first performance of its kind where we were able to focus more on the auditory dimensions over the visual ones in our [p’ungmul] rhythms. It was a revelation to both the performers themselves and the audience alike that our rhythms were this diverse, charming, exciting and energetic. (Kang Joon-hyuk 2006, 11)

Kang’s testimony conveys the sense of wonder that audience members felt at hearing something that was at once both new and familiar. Although Koreans were well acquainted with the sounds of p’ungmul as part of Korea’s folk heritage and agrarian past, the setting for the performance of “Uttari p’ungmul” at the Space Theater was a drastic change from p’ungmul’s outdoor context. The quartet took music that was traditionally performed by local percussion bands (for hours at a time, by large groups of people) and streamlined it into a more concise form. This recontexualized performance of p’ungmul directed the audience’s attention to p’ungmul’s sonic features—in a way that had not been so isolated before. As we know now, the quartet and its arrangement of p’ungmul rhythms proved to be a big hit. And in many ways, the quartet’s spirit of experimentation resonated with the Konggan Group’s philosophy of being at the vanguard of innovation while maintaining a firm sense of tradition.²¹

Kim Duk Soo explained in his 2007 autobiography that the idea to perform the rhythms from p’ungmul in a new presentational format was not his own. Instead, he credits folklorist Sim Usŏng (b. 1934) as the one to suggest to Kim (and the other performers) to take the four primary percussion instruments from p’ungmul—one of each—and create a piece with them while playing in a seated position. Kim acknowledged that Sim’s proposal was a great idea—recalling that he was “full of excitement and anticipation” at trying out this suggestion on that “unforgettable evening” (Kim Duk Soo 2007, 180–82).²²

SIM USŎNG: FOLKLORIST AND ADVOCATE

Before moving on, it is necessary to pause and explain Sim Usŏng’s central role in supporting the percussion quartet.²³ Although he has worn many hats, Sim is best regarded for his work as a researcher of the folk performing arts and culture of Korea. During the 1960s he began extensive research on the tradition of itinerant performing arts troupes known as yurang tanch’e, focusing in particular on the namsadang (itinerant troupes of male performers).²⁴ Sim was part of the first generation of South Korean folklorists to conduct ethnographic fieldwork with folk musicians. He also served as an advocate for the preservation of folk arts. Through his research on the namsadang, Sim met Kim Duk Soo, whose father (Kim Munhak) was a member of the 1960s Minsokkŭkhoe Namsadang (Folk Theater Association Namsadang) (Hesselink 2012, 32; Sim Usŏng [1974] 1994, 53).²⁵ Sim taught Korean music history and theory at the Seoul Arts High School and also served as the faculty adviser for the Minsogakhoe Sinawi ensemble—a group that he named and helped to form (Ch’oe T’aehyŏn 1991, 31–32; Hesselink 2012, 53). He later introduced Kim Yong-bae (a member of the Seoul-based namsadang troupe in the 1970s) to the folk arts society. It was Sim who was in fact the link between the Minsogakhoe Sinawi group and the Space Theater’s Kang Chunhyŏk. From this connection arose the artistic roster at the Space Theater in its early years.

Sim is also generally credited with bestowing the quartet with the name Samul-Nori, which is translated into English as “four things play” or “the play of four objects.” There are discrepancies in the written record and in oral testimonies as to precisely when and where the bestowal of the group’s moniker occurred, however. In an interview that I conducted with Sim in 2009, Sim recounted that he was approached in haste one day by three members of the Minsogakhoe Sinawi—Yi Ch’ŏlchu, Ch’oe T’aehyŏn, and Kim Mukyŏng (Sim Usŏng interview, October 28, 2009). According to Sim, the meeting (which took place at the Seoul Arts High School) followed immediately on the heels of the quartet’s second appearance at the Space Theater in late April 1978. By this time—just two months after the quartet’s debut—the group’s membership had changed. Ch’oe T’aehyŏn and Yi Chongdae were replaced by two brothers from the southern port city of Samch’ŏnp’o—Choi Jong Sil [Ch’oe Chongsil] and Ch’oe Chongsŏk.²⁶ With two expert percussionists now incorporated into the lineup, the quartet had created such a stir at the concerts that Sim was called on to swiftly coin a name for the group that still lacked one (figure 1.3). In an essay commissioned for SamulNori’s thirtieth anniversary, Sim wrote about the pragmatic approach to the quartet’s name: “Well, if only four people are performing, why not call it—‘sa mul’ [four objects]? And if you are performing with the samul [a term used to refer to the core set of p’ungmul instruments], why not say that you are ‘playing’ the samul?” (Sim Usŏng 2008, 16).²⁷

A second, relatively unknown account by Ro Jaemyeong [No Chaemyŏng] (director of the Korean Classical Music Record Museum) points instead to an archived document—an invitation to a birthday celebration event for the theologian and human rights activist Ham Sŏk-hŏn—that lists “samul nori” on the program. No performers are mentioned, but the invitation appears to be the first documented reference to the samul nori genre that predates Sim’s account. Since most Koreans would not have known what the term “samul nori” meant at the time, an explanation was provided in parentheses: “kkwaenggwari, ching, puk, and changgo” (Hŭngsadan 1978; see figure 1.4).²⁸ The event took place on March 18, 1978, at the Seoul office of the Hŭngsadang (Young Korean Academy) and appears to be the quartet’s first documented “gig,” following its successful debut a month earlier. Although conflicting versions of SamulNori’s christening exist, the relevant point to draw out here is that the name of the quartet was in fact a neologism that took two ubiquitous terms and combined them, forging a new meaning. And with the conflicting latter account, the parenthetical explanation gives us the first clue of what would eventually serve as the core instrumentation for a new genre of music.

FIGURE 1.3 Sim Usŏng with members of the SamulNori quartet at the Space Theater. Top row, left to right: Sim Usŏng, Lee Kwang Soo, Kim Duk Soo, Choi Jong Sil. Bottom row, left to right: dancer Kim Myŏngsu, Space Theater’s art director Kwŏn T’aesŏn, Kim Yong-bae. Photograph courtesy of Sim Usŏng.

FIGURE 1.4 First documented reference to samul nori on a program, dated March 18, 1978. Photograph courtesy of the Korean Classical Music Record Museum (director Ro Jaemyeong).

THE SAMUL NORI PROJECT

Meanwhile, the fledgling percussion quartet continued to evolve. At each consecutive appearance at the Space Theater, the quartet began to expand and develop its repertory in an organic manner. The rhythms of p’ungmul provided the musical grammar for SamulNori’s experiments in reconfiguring their own “language”—a slick and streamlined, yet somewhat recognizable urban dialect of p’ungmul. Interestingly, these musical explorations were always informed by the sonic identifiers of place—each “piece” an interpretation or “rearrangement” of rhythmic patterns from the central, southeastern, and southwestern regions of p’ungmul performance. The members of the quartet became a de facto study group, learning and researching rhythmic patterns associated with a variety of local percussion bands throughout South Korea. For this reason, the quartet’s incipient years can be viewed as part of the SamulNori “project,” which I base in part on Alain Delissen’s “Konggan Project.”

Kim Sugŭn’s Space Theater was the perfect incubator for this project, and influential figures such as Kang Chunhyŏk and Sim Usŏng served as trusted advisers. Similar to Kim, Kang, Sim, and the Minsogakhoe Sinawi, the quartet members (even while in flux) also shared a desire to rekindle Korea’s dwindling folk arts. Founding member Kim Duk Soo reflected on this preservationist impulse in the context of South Korean history:

After the division of North and South [in 1948], our country went from being an agricultural society to an industrialized one.²⁹ In this period of great change, our traditional culture changed drastically. When I was in elementary school, 70 percent of Korean citizens were farmers. The music that the farmers played was a natural and essential part of the life cycle; you heard the sound of the samul [four percussion instruments from p’ungmul] at feasts, festivals, ancestor worship rituals, and at funerals. But as we developed into an industrialized society, aspects of our traditional lifestyles were modified or rendered obsolete. It is because of this tremendous change that we had to bring the instruments from the madang [traditional courtyard, village common, or large open ground] to the inside. And at the same time, we had the twofold objective to “bring back what was lost” and “to show what is magnificent about our culture to others” (Kim Duk Soo interview, October 27, 2002).³⁰

In their efforts to preserve and promote Korean music genres that were threatened because of industrialization, changing economic structures, and shifting musical tastes, the members of the SamulNori project thus engaged in both formal and informal research on Korea’s traditional arts. But in their representations of Korean percussion music, there was also a certain degree of latitude in updating or innovating “traditional” music for modern audiences. Seoul’s urban audiences were not necessarily keen on sitting through hours-long performances of noisy and rustic p’ungmul. Nor could performance venues like the Space Theater even accommodate such large performing forces. One significant change made by the SamulNori quartet—which will be discussed at length in chapter 2—was the distillation and adaptation of elements drawn from the larger sphere of p’ungmul into a condensed presentational format.

While this recontextualized indoor setting of the samul instruments would vex p’ungmul purists later on, the principal motivation behind the SamulNori project ultimately echoed the Konggan ethos. This ethos was inscribed in the very pages of the Konggan periodical. Appearing on the title page of a volume in 1976 was a working version of Konggan’s mission statement. The statement—composed in English—underwent extensive revisions over time: “We will think over tradition and history of the arts and various questions on the environment. We will try to help each Korean to know better about his nation and himself. And we will report, record and study the situation in which he lives. We are going to go forth bravely with him to the better future that is desirable to all of us” (Konggan 1976, 103).

In 1989, Konggan had further revised its mission statement, framing its vision in more urgent and global terms. The Konggan Project was no longer relevant for just Koreans; it was also oriented toward the world.

With foremost emphasis on the problems of our environment and on contemporary architecture and art, properly focused in a historical perspective, our evaluations of the past and present day Korea will enable us to understand her better and will forge a powerful vision of a better Korea for all of our readers. What does Korea mean to us here and the rest of the world, or vice versa? In each of our fresh issues, our dear philosophical readers, we attempt and answer with all our emphasis on art, architecture and environment, for when nothing is contemplated about the past, present and future in those fields of human endeavor, life might even prove meaningless. (Konggan 1989, 266)

Delissen aptly describes Kim’s Konggan Project as “Korean history without a historian,” where the assembled team of writers and contributors “strove to elaborate Korean identity through aesthetics and aesthetics through history” (Delissen 2001, 243–44). Besides focusing on art and architecture, Konggan magazine devoted critical attention to traditional Korean music genres, and often featured detailed pictorial essays of village rituals or traditional dance genres. And while most articles were written in Korean, some titles would appear solely in English—with aims to reach a wider readership: “Instrumental Music for Dure [ture: a cooperative labor unit used in Korean farming] in Kosan, Taegu”; “Character of Korean Traditional Music”; and “The Stage of Korean Folk Drama—Ogwangdae nori.” One entire issue from 1975 was devoted to the theme of preserving Korean traditional music (Konggan 1975, vol. 6). And very much in line with the Konggan mission, folklorist Sim Usŏng contributed essays on “Disappearing Heritage” (1971); “What Have We Done, and What Has to Be Done?” (1975); “What Is Gut [kut] (and What Has Been Studied over [sic] It)?” (1980). These examples shine a light on how Konggan presented research on (combined with concerns and hopes for) Korean folk music and culture to its readers. In a similar vein, the SamulNori project engaged in an intensive study of Korean rhythm. For the musicians, this was not so much a scholarly endeavor as it was one driven by a spirit of discovery.

KŎLLIPP’AE P’UNGMUL: A CASE STUDY

Here I present one compelling case for my framing of the SamulNori project. While other examples can be summoned, I highlight this one since it is curiously absent in other studies of SamulNori. Furthermore, it is directly linked to the Space Theater and underscores a key issue in the study and reception of SamulNori.

On September 29, 1980, the Space Theater gave the SamulNori quartet its own billing for the first time. Prior to this, the quartet had performed at the theater under the umbrella of the Minsogakhoe Sinawi (Folk Music “Sinawi”). This concert featured a new member—Lee Kwang Soo [Yi Kwangsu], who replaced the elder of the Choi [Ch’oe] brothers. Lee came from Yesan County in the southern part of Ch’ungch’ŏng Province, and was son to a father who was part of a professional itinerant performance troupe (Lee Kwang Soo 2009, 119–20). He met Kim Yong-bae through their membership in the Seoul-based namsadang troupe that Sim Usŏng had fostered in the 1970s.³¹ Initially, Kim had approached Lee about the quartet in 1978, but it was not until 1980 that Lee officially joined the group.³²

If SamulNori’s premieres of “Uttari p’ungmul” (1978), “Samch’ŏnp’o 12-ch’a 36 karak” (1978), and “Honam udo karak” (1979) were inspired by the musical logic and the inflections of p’ungmul from those respective regions, then the 1980 “Kŏllipp’ae p’ungmul” program laid claim to the namsadang connections of its performers. The namsadang were itinerant troupes of male performers who traveled from village to village during Korea’s middle to late Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1910).³³ In exchange for food, shelter, and money, the namsadang (translated literally as “male temple group”) performed a variety of entertaining acts for locals: tightrope walking, masked dance drama, acrobatic tumbling, saucer spinning, puppet plays, and p’ungmul. By the middle of the twentieth century, the namsadang had diminished in significant numbers. These traveling groups faced resistance and found it increasingly difficult to sustain an itinerant lifestyle—especially within the context of the Japanese colonial period (1910–1945) and the Korean War (1950–1953).³⁴ In the 1960s, owing to the efforts of Sim Usŏng, a Seoul-based namsadang group was established.

Members of the 1980 SamulNori quartet lineup were no strangers to the namsadang culture. The fathers of Kim Duk Soo and Lee Kwang Soo belonged to namsadang troupes while supporting their families in Taejŏn and Yesan, respectively, and Kim Yong-bae and Lee Kwang Soo were the youngest members of the Seoul namsadang troupe. Later, SamulNori’s promotional materials would accentuate this connection as lineage.³⁵

The performance at Space Theater was the first time the quartet introduced the elements of dance and song—drawn in part from the namsadang repository—into their project’s expanding orbit. As the quartet’s newest member, Lee brought an expertise that added a welcome dimension to the group. A gifted singer, Lee took the lead with a narrative prayer song called “Pinari.” The pinari was typically performed by the namsadang to mark their arrival at a village. A complex text, the chanted song seeks to clear the grounds of malevolent forces and beseeches the village’s tutelary spirits to bless all inhabitants. The pinari is infused with religious sensibilities that nod to an older Korea’s syncretic relationship with Buddhism, shamanism, and Confucianism. Lee explained in an interview that as a young child, he would often accompany his father, Yi Chomsŏk, to namsadang performances. With a special aptitude for words, he became familiar with the basic contours of the text in his youth (Lee Kwang Soo interview, February 20, 2009).³⁶ Lee’s rendition of the pinari did not stray far from the version that was performed by the Seoul namsadang troupe, and was later passed on to younger musicians such as Park An-ji [Pak Anji] (Howard 2006, 16).

FIGURE 1.5 “Kŏllipp’ae p’ungmul” program: the SamulNori quartet’s first solo appearance at the Space Theater. Photograph courtesy of SamulNori Hanullim.

Space Theater’s pamphlet for the concert included a rare image of SamulNori (figure 1.5). The musicians were photographed from a higher vantage point, circumambulating the iconic stone pagoda in the courtyard of the Konggan Group Building.³⁷ The aerial shot shows three tasseled hats (sangmo) captured in midspin, with white streamers creating arcs around the performers while they play their instruments. This image documents a moment when the SamulNori project embarked on a new direction. Previously, the quartet’s performances at the Space Theater involved playing only while in a seated position—dubbed “samul nori anjŭnban” by Sim Usŏng. After September 1980, dance (and song) would find a natural place in SamulNori’s diversifying portfolio. And the all-male quartet (now with its storied lineup) was able to draw on another rich reservoir—the namsadang—for its ongoing project.

Additionally, the program also marks the SamulNori project’s turn toward embracing (and adapting) aspects of religiosity in its performances. Of the different types of itinerant or semi-itinerant performance troupes that traversed the Korean peninsula, the kŏllipp’ae maintained the strongest association with Buddhism and shamanism. According to Sim Usŏng’s study of the namsadang, the kŏllipp’ae (fund-raising group) would travel and sojourn at Buddhist temples. In exchange for food from the monastic and lay communities, the troupe would perform acts like the pinari and the tangsan kut—a ritual drawn from shamanistic ceremonies that propitiates the village shrine’s god. Because I discuss the pinari in chapter 5, Nathan Hesselink’s English translation of Sim’s analysis of the kŏllipp’ae is particularly instructive here:

A typical group was composed of fifteen or so male members organized hierarchically under a top-ranking hwaju (leader). Their primary function was to perform household rituals for individual families on behalf of a local Buddhist temple. After a dramatic prelude or pre-show in which the troupe would perform percussion music and dance (p’ungmul), mask dance, and (depending on the skills of the members) bowl spinning, they would then engage in a series of propitiatory rituals for the deities of the living quarters, kitchen, and domestic well. Once the majority of the household rituals had been completed, the troupe would then conclude with a sŏngju kut (house god ritual). This performance of percussion and vocal music featured the recitation of a ritual offering (pinari); during and after this concluding ritual, grain and money were collected as payment. Kŏllipp’ae activity was absorbed into the local (rural) p’ungmul scene sometime during the Chosŏn period, and it continues to be an important component of student-based and community-led p’ungmul organizations in modern times. The namsadang would take on many of the kŏllipp’ae’s roles in the early twentieth century.³⁸ (Hesselink 2012, 21–22)

At the September 1980 concert, the quartet performed eight elements stemming from the kŏllipp’ae. They appear in this order on the program: mun kut (ritual performed at a gate); tangsan kut (ritual performed at the village shrine); chowang kut (ritual for the kitchen god); tŏju kut (ritual for the house god); umul kut (ritual played at the village well); pinari; mul soji (ritual burning of paper); and p’an kut (an exuberant showcase of p’ungmul drumming and dance).³⁹ In an effort to evoke some spatial semblance of temple grounds, the quartet made strategic use of the Konggan Building’s unique architectural features—features that were designed by Kim Sugŭn.

With Lee Kwang Soo taking the lead as the kkwaenggwari (small gong) player, the quartet performed the tangsan kut in front of the pagoda (t’ap) in the building’s courtyard. The audience moved with the performers as they processed down the stairs to the Space Theater, located in the basement. As they entered the theater, Lee began the pinari, which then segued into the offering of the mul soji. The latter involves the burning of white hanji (traditional handmade paper), designed to appease the spirits. And despite the cramped quarters, the p’an kut—a danced number—was performed inside Konggan’s experimental stage (i.e., black box theater). In an interview, Lee confessed that although there were minor details that were not perfectly executed, the concert on the whole was an enormous success (Lee Kwang Soo interview, February 20, 2009).⁴⁰ The concert also yielded an important development of the SamulNori project—the mun kut, pinari, and p’an kut began to be incorporated into the quartet’s later performances. The combination of the mun kut / pinari and p’an kut became the bookends for what eventually became the standard ninety-minute SamulNori program: mun kut / pinari; samdo sŏl changgo karak (rhythms from three regions, played on changgo); samdo nongak karak (rhythms from three regions, played in samul nori formation); and p’an kut. In just a few years’ time, the quartet would then regularly present this program at venues in the United States, Europe, and Japan (figure 1.6).

With a growing buzz over the quartet’s performances, and the celebrated SamulNori cast now in place, the group began to take off both literally and metaphorically. In the midst of travel to various theaters in and around Seoul, the group continued to mine the rhythmic material not only from p’ungmul but also from the neighboring soundscape of Korean shamanism. When they exhausted their own expertise, they studied informally with specialists or elder teachers. The Songnisan (Songni mountain) research trips to rehearse and to study with village elders were fruitful, and were even documented by Japanese photographer Ichiro Shimizu in a strikingly beautiful photographic book.⁴¹

The quartet also engaged in an ongoing process of revision. Arrangements of p’ungmul rhythms were subject to editing, expansion, and resequencing. Chapter 2 will provide insight into the fine-tuning of an arrangement that would later become known as “Yŏngnam nongak”—a piece that we will learn more about. In Korean, the terms chagŏp (work) and chŏngni (organization or arrangement) have been used by quartet members to describe their recursive process. In many ways, this process constituted the SamulNori project’s pathbreaking phase of research, experimentation, and (re)creation.

FIGURE 1.6 The SamulNori quartet performing p’an kut inside the Space Theater. Photograph courtesy of Sim Usŏng.

SAMUL NORI’S BIG BANG

What was it about the music or the performances by the quartet that so captivated early audiences? As already mentioned, Kang Chunhyŏk suggested that it was the novelty of SamulNori’s seated position, which focused the spotlight on the diversity of rhythms in p’ungmul’s regional variants. For others, what piqued interest was the exploratory musical journey on which the quartet embarked—with each concert came a new attempt at creating fresh arrangements from vintage materials. Suzanna Samstag, an American expat who became SamulNori’s first managing director, reminisced about the word-of-mouth effect that drew in SamulNori’s crowds: “After word got out about SamulNori, the [Space] theater would be totally crowded, standing room only. People would tell their friends to come, and pretty soon there was this group of true believers who were trying to find something sacred” (Suzanna Samstag interview, November 22, 2005).

While the Space Theater remained an important venue and base for Samul-Nori, demand for the quartet grew exponentially. By 1981, the SamulNori quartet received invitations to perform at other theaters and venues, such as the Cecil Theater (Sesil Kŭkchang), the Sejong Center for the Performing Arts (Sejong munhwa hoegwan), and the UNESCO hall in Seoul. And the group started to receive fees that would mark their move toward professionalization. In 1982, SamulNori made their international debut with a series of events in Japan, beginning in June in Tokyo (SamulNori Hanullim t’ansaeng samsip chunyŏn kinyŏm saŏphoe 2009, 58). This was co-organized by the South Korean government and the Mindan (Korean Residents Union in Japan). Later that year, the quartet traveled to the United States for the first time, performing at music festivals and at theaters in Florida, New York, Boston, Virginia, Washington, DC, and Los Angeles. On November 19, the quartet traveled back to the United States to participate in the Percussive Arts Society International Convention (PASIC), where they made an indelible impression on attendees and fellow percussionists. As SamulNori’s success began to extend beyond national boundaries, the quartet garnered both fame and notoriety within South Korea. But rather than narrating the next decade of SamulNori’s history here, I turn instead to the quartet’s positive reception that fed into SamulNori / samul nori as a global phenomenon.

Journalist Ku Hŭisŏ (or Ku Hee-seo) was an avid fan and supporter of the group. Her writings shaped much of the early reception of SamulNori for the broader Korean public. She was also one of the appointed contributors for Kim Sugŭn’s Konggan magazine. Ku’s essay “Korean Spirit, Korean Rhythm”—written in 1983 for Konggan—provided the context for readers first encountering SamulNori through the printed word. She narrated SamulNori’s development at the Space Theater as an experimental quartet into a rigorous study group intent on researching and reinterpreting Korea’s musical heritage. SamulNori’s 1982 U.S. tour highlights were also provided as evidence that the quartet was making headway in American cities. For this, the Korean public should take heed, Ku noted:

Whether it was by attempting to theorize and actually organize the regional characteristics of nongak’s rhythmic cycles, or participate as performers in a kut pan [kut ritual gathering] for several months in order to learn the rhythms associated with shamanistic music, these performers’ efforts are testimony to tears shed during the learning process.

As a result of these valiant efforts, not only have the stereotypical myths about the triteness, monotony, and noisy clatter of nongak (and other traditional percussion music) been completely shattered, but [we hear] the rhythms that have long lived within our minjung [people]—this elegance has entered into hearts today and awakened our own voice. (Ku 1983, 98–99)

In the English-language publication Koreana, Korean musicologist Han Myung-hee [Han Myŏnghi] echoed this nationalistic sentiment but placed the SamulNori phenomenon in a more sociohistorical context:

By the end of the 1970s, many Koreans had come to an important point in the process of self-awareness, which included growing interest in Korean Studies and the traditional performing arts. Politically the power structure was pressing heavily on the people’s consciousness. Tear gas–filled university campuses, anger, frustration and low morale characterized the consciousness of citizens. It was during these times that SamulNori made its debut and spread its message through the seeming madness. The music provided an antidote to the heartbreak of the era. But interest in the music was not momentary. The music provided a release, an experience of group ecstasy and a way, through nostalgia for the past, for us to find ourselves. (Han, Myung-hee 1993, 35)

To Suzanna Samstag (an important figure in the story of global samul nori), what appealed most about the SamulNori quartet were the electrifying performances. On hearing a particular arrangement for four changgos (“Samdo sŏl changgo karak”) in 1982, Samstag recounts that the music “literally tore through my body” (Lee, Katherine In-Young 2004, 37). The four musicians were more or less equal in terms of their training. Onstage, this synergy of talent sometimes resulted in the young musicians trying to one-up each other. The audience became spectators to what was transpiring in performance; witnessing this explosive “turf war” left one breathless with anticipation. Samstag admitted that she was similarly impressed by the physicality of the dancing and the sheer athleticism of the performers—who despite being thin were at the top of their form.

Another “foreign” opinion of the budding quartet came from Beate Gordon (1923–2012), former director of programming at the Asia Society. In an interview I conducted with Gordon at her New York apartment, she mentioned the course of events that led her to invite SamulNori in 1983 to be part of an Asia Society–sponsored tour. Gordon explained that she had heard about the group only indirectly, from a fellow presenter who had observed the quartet perform live at PASIC (Percussive Arts Society International Convention) the year before. Since she was keen on bringing in talented performers from Asia for her series, she decided to take a chance. The risk proved to be one well taken:

I thought they were superb. I think that their virtuosity, their technique was so thoroughly embedded. I mean, it was just unbelievably strong. You didn’t really have to worry about them at all…. In German, one says, er sitzt, “it sits.” It’s in there, it’s solid. And they had that.

They were very much the thing that I thought would communicate. And they had that tsuchikusai [in Japanese, “rustic earthiness”] thing about them. And I thought that this would come through very strongly, and it did. People were enraptured by them. (Beate Gordon interview, November 23, 2010)

Gordon’s sponsorship of SamulNori in 1983 under the auspices of the Asia Society tour stands as the singular launch pad for SamulNori’s entry into the “world music” scene in the 1980s. The tour also bore SamulNori’s first internationally issued recording, Samul-Nori: The Legendary Recording by Original Members, in 1983 on the Nonesuch label.⁴²

As evidenced by the sponsorship by powerful individuals such as Kim Sugŭn and Beate Gordon—impresarios both dedicated to the performing arts—auspicious encounters helped to facilitate and propel the SamulNori quartet’s development and rise to fame from 1978 until 1993, the year when the quartet disbanded. Modeled after the same tenets of Kim Sugŭn’s Konggan Project that aimed to reevaluate Korean culture and history in the face of modernization, the Samul-Nori quartet negotiated an emphasis on the traditional and regional roots of their own musical research collaborations with a changing urban audience. It was in the Space Theater’s culture of innovation that they were given the creative license to undertake such an endeavor. In the process of researching the regional rhythms of p’ungmul, they increased the likelihood that native Koreans would find familiar elements in the sounds of their arrangements. But it was also the “foreign” audience’s enthusiastic reception of their dynamic performances as a quartet (in the “classic” line-up of Kim Duk Soo, Kim Yong-bae, Lee Kwang Soo, and Choi Jong Sil) that proved to be a key component in the launching of the quartet and, later, the genre.