If K-pop Made You Curious About Gugak
From BTS, Agust D, and Stray Kids to LEENALCHI, Seodo Band, Song Sohee, and KARDI: How Gugak Meets the Music of Today

If you remember the “eolssu” in BTS’s “IDOL,” the weighty march of Agust D’s “Daechwita,” and the pansori image in Stray Kids’ “Thunderous,” it may be time to listen a little further. Beyond the fragments of gugak inside K-pop is today’s music made by artists who have absorbed gugak through practice.
Starting with Familiar K-pop
K-pop fans may already have encountered gugak (국악), or traditional Korean music, at least once. If the phrases “eolssu jota” and “jihwaja jota” caught your ear in BTS’s “IDOL,” then you have heard chuimsae (추임새). These are short calls used in pansori and folk songs to encourage the singer and lift the energy of the performance.
The title of Agust D’s “Daechwita” comes directly from daechwita (대취타), a form of traditional processional music. It was played for the processions of kings and other high-ranking figures, as well as for military marches. Much of its force comes from wind instruments such as the taepyeongso and nabal, and percussion instruments such as the jing and yonggo. Agust D brought this weighty sound into hip-hop.
In Stray Kids’ “Thunderous,” the Korean title, sorikkun, catches the ear first. A sorikkun (소리꾼) is someone who sings pansori or folk songs. In this track, the meaning expands a little. It also carries the attitude of making your own sound even when others call it noise.
These three songs offer an accessible starting point for listeners unfamiliar with gugak. But if we stop there, gugak can easily seem like a traditional sound used to decorate K-pop. So let us change direction. What kind of music are artists trained in gugak making within today’s bands, pop, and rock?
Gugak Is Not a Single Genre
The word gugak may bring to mind only the gayageum (가야금), a traditional Korean zither, or pansori. But it covers a much wider field. There is court music performed for royal and state ceremonies, as well as music cultivated for leisurely enjoyment by scholars. There is also folk music that grew from people’s lives and stories, including folk songs and pansori. In the broadest sense, newly composed gugak also belongs to this continuum.
Folk traditions, in particular, often meet today’s popular music. The stories of pansori, the breath of folk songs, and the energy of jangdan (장단)—traditional rhythmic cycles—and chuimsae fit readily into popular music. That does not mean court music is far removed from this movement. Agust D’s “Daechwita” evokes the world of royal and military ceremonial music.
I also remember seeing gugak mix with other music on a small stage. I learned the gayageum in an after-school program in middle school, and once the gayageum club, violin club, and school band performed together. At first, I worried that the instruments might not work well together. But when the performance began, the gayageum did not disappear into the mix. Instead, it sounded even clearer among the guitars, drums, and violins.
That was when I realized that placing a traditional instrument beside other instruments does not weaken the tradition. In an unfamiliar combination, its distinctive resonance can sometimes be heard more clearly. The artists introduced below do something similar. They bring the voice of pansori, the breath of folk songs, and the resonance of the geomungo onto today’s stage.
When Pansori Meets a Band
Pansori (판소리) is a performance in which a single sorikkun unfolds a long story to drum rhythms played by a gosu (고수). Here, a gosu is the person who plays the drum and sets the rhythmic pulse. Pansori is not made up of singing alone. Spoken narration, gesture, and the audience’s chuimsae move together to create the full performance.
LEENALCHI moves the energy of that performance onto bass and drums. The song that introduced many listeners to the band, “Tiger Is Coming,” draws from the pansori work “Sugungga” (수궁가). “Sugungga” is an old story featuring a rabbit and a turtle. LEENALCHI does not freeze that story in place. By setting pansori vocals over repeating bass and drums, the band turns an old narrative into rhythms that move bodies today.
LEENALCHI’s appeal comes through in the music before any declaration about “modernizing tradition.” The musicians know pansori and play with it in their own way, in the present. That is why LEENALCHI’s songs sound like band music rather than material designed to introduce gugak.
Seodo Band also takes pansori as a starting point, but it has given its music a different name: “Joseon pop.” Joseon pop can be understood as music that rearranges the stories, rhythms, and melodies of traditional music within the flow of pop.
That name matters. Music where gugak meets popular music is often called “fusion gugak.” The term is not wrong, but it is very broad. It does not tell us what has been mixed, how it has been mixed, or what musical tradition it starts from. Rather than remaining within that broad category, Seodo Band chose language that fits its own music.
Listening to LEENALCHI and Seodo Band suggests that pansori does not have to remain within an old form. The stories remain while the voices change. The jangdan remains while the rhythm is dressed differently.
Gugak Remains in the Voice
Song Sohee may still be an unfamiliar name to international readers. In Korea, she drew attention as a folk singer from an early age. She was once known as the “gugak girl,” but that nickname alone cannot explain the artist she is today.
Her musical foundation is Gyeonggi minyo (경기민요), folk songs shaped by the musical language of Seoul and Gyeonggi Province. More recently, she has been writing and singing her own music as a singer-songwriter. Gyeonggi minyo is often associated with a clear, bright sound, though each song has its own texture.
What makes Song Sohee interesting is not that she uses many traditional Korean instruments. She has even said that some of her songs do not directly include gugak elements. Even so, the years she spent learning folk songs still come through in her music.
Those years remain in her voice. Breath, diction, and ways of bending and vibrating notes become ingrained in the voice of someone who has trained in gugak for a long time. In traditional Korean music, this kind of ornamentation is called sigimsae (시김새). It is a way of creating emotion not by holding a note straight, but by pushing, pulling, and shaking it.
That is why it is worth listening to Song Sohee’s voice before focusing on the instruments. Gugak does not remain only in the sound of traditional instruments. It can remain in the body, in the breath, and in the habits through which a singer handles a single note.
When the Geomungo Becomes Part of a Band Sound
There is a simple reason to introduce KARDI: at the center of this band is a geomungo.
The geomungo (거문고) is one of Korea’s major traditional string instruments. Its six strings are struck or plucked with a stick called a suldae (술대). Because of its low, weighty resonance, many people imagine it only as a quiet and solemn instrument.
But KARDI’s geomungo does not sit politely in the background. Park Dawool brings it into the center of a rock band. He does more than pluck the strings; at times, he strikes the instrument like percussion. He builds a firm rhythm and makes a place for the geomungo between the guitar and bass.
Here, the geomungo is not a prop used to add a layer of “traditional atmosphere.” It becomes a central force that drives the band’s sound forward. At times it moves like percussion, and at others it carries weight like a bass.
An old instrument does not have to be played only in old ways. Depending on who plays it and how, the geomungo can sound rough and solid inside a rock band. After listening to KARDI, it becomes easier to imagine traditional Korean instruments finding entirely new places in the music of today.
Borrowed Sounds, Embodied Sounds
Gugak elements are easy to notice in K-pop. Hanbok, palaces, chuimsae, and the sounds of traditional instruments create an immediate impression. If they have prompted questions such as “What is daechwita?”, “What does sorikkun mean?”, or “When do people say eolssu?”, that is already a good beginning.
The next step is to listen to those sounds a little longer. Adding traditional elements is different from making tradition part of your own musical language. Borrowing a sound for a moment is not the same as learning its grammar and allowing it to move within your own music.
LEENALCHI and Seodo Band bring the stories and voices of pansori into a band. Song Sohee writes music in other genres with folk-song training ingrained in her body. KARDI places the geomungo at the heart of a rock band. These artists neither reproduce gugak exactly as it was nor use it as a simple sound effect.
If K-pop opened the first question, this music carries that question a little further. Gugak is not just the sound of a museum, nor is it merely an ornament in K-pop. Even now, artists are using pansori, folk songs, and the geomungo to make the music of their own time. Listen long enough, and gugak begins to feel like a much wider world than the phrase “something from the past” can capture.
- Park Hanbin