Two of my most favorite activities in college are ranking random things and listening to Korean Pop music. Supersaturated as the industry has become with aspiring groups boasting slightly different aesthetic variants, debuts mark an emotional milestone for all trainees that were once inspired by the multi-talented cohort of idols that struggled to superstardom. I have a personal childhood attachment to K-Pop, at the same time respecting the possibility of pop culture as a cornerstone of a society’s socioeconomic and political climacteric.
I want to chime in my thoughts with regards to the best ten debut songs, taking into account their musical and lyrical composition, artistic value, innovation among contemporaries, replayability (spoiler alert), and to a lesser extent longevity. I will not be considering subunit debut (e.g., Girls’ Generation-TTS), as well as discounting solo debuts when their main group activities are still prominent (e.g. Kai for EXO). My main knowledge of K-Pop belongs to the second and third generation, which means that I have a lot less knowledge of the more recent groups. If you feel like there is a debut song that can rival these ten, let me know (somehow)!
By the time Luna debuted as a solo artist, f(x) had been earmarked for permanent hiatus, with the last comeback being a full year earlier and only one more song as an SM Station (meaning no promotional materials in conjunction). At this point, Luna has proven herself to be the gifted all-rounder… middle child of SM Entertainment. Auditioning as a dancer yet in possession of a highly skilled vocal prowess (arguably with more support than Taeyeon) from a clasically trained musical family, the twin sister chose the glamorous life of a pop idol. While well-poised within f(x)’s critical accolades (their second studio album, Pink Tape, was ranked by Billboard as the greatest K-Pop album of the 2010s), f(x)’s experimental techno-music garnered limited commercial success compared to their elders, Girls’ Generation. f(x)’s internal crises also struck at the time when SM’s next project, Red Velvet, was already in the making. Solo directions were apt, given that one member was a foreign national of a country that South Korea was in a trade war with, another withdrew for personal reason, and one more (out of three remaining) was the sister of Girls’ Generation now-estranged 9th member.
Free Somebody feels like a personal project, as it contains the multitudes of aspirations and showcases the unlimited talents that Luna has relentlessly sought to convey. The music video leverages her dancing skills in a hallucinogenic experience, representative of the beginning lyrics (“오감의 끝이 몽환에 젖어 / 이 모든 감각 일어나는 그 곳에”: “The tips of the five senses are soaked in fantasy / where all these senses are happening”). Luna’s voice projects, maintaining a strong grit as she goes up the register along the chorus. Much like f(x)’s pioneering works, Luna’s debut track does not feel like it tries catering to a public audience that enjoys a well-defined female trope. Instead, it is her authenticity that shines through the multicolored media of artistic expressions and reminds us of her profound perspectives.
NU’EST made their first official appearance in 2012, at the apex of boy group grunge that Big Bang, BEAST, or at times Super Junior has perfected. To be honest, I was also a severely lovelorn admirer of this batch of boybands. With hair covering one eye (if not both) and bandanas strewn across imported streetwear, they grow in vogue to influence the likes of EXO, BTS, and of course NU’EST. The group entertained moderate success, rising early on in their career though struggling to break through, even with participation on the Produce series with competition of a much younger age. The group disbanded earlier this year, not without snatching some achievement awards a few months prior.
Inasmuch as the senior groups to NU’EST heavily inspired their style, none really had a debut track at the same level. It seems like the producers behind the group paid attention to the pop-rock-punk intersections that had worked wonders among the Korean/East Asian public, risked it for their new group entrance, and was rewarded. Even the sprinkling of English words in their hooks (“터져 나오는 Jackpot / 누가 뭐라 건 so what”: “The bursting out jackpot / no matter what anyone says, so what”) conjures up the heart-wrenching ante-elopement teenage love story that is exactly what was all the rage at that time.
This is unsurprising to anyone who knows me in real life. I have harped on about how incredible of a song ELEVEN is to a point where I started being associated with the tune to several of my friends. There are many reasons for me to enjoy the song. The fourth generation of K-Pop has signaled its onset with a combination of third-generation bands like BTS and BLACKPINK at their international peak, talent-show contract groups coming to a permanent end, and a new crop of Big Four group debuts. Most of the new idols are younger than me. For someone who has lost interest in staying abreast of all of K-Pop, I needed something clean, quality, and reminiscent of something I have liked. Pre-debut I’VE lineup stirred many a concern for netizens, given that two of their members are also two of the most eminent members of the recently disbanded IZ*ONE. I agree: highlighting the two more experienced stars would be a safe move, but I wanted to see how their identity could thrive beyond the post-PRODUCE tag.
I was not disappointed in the slightest. I remember anticipating the comeback, but I forgot about it the day of, as I was preparing my graduate school applications. On my bus from Boston to New Haven, I scurried to pre-save some songs and realized that I was three days behind the I’VE debut. Trying to fathom the intensity of the music video on spotty wi-fi in the middle of Massachussets was almost a religious awakening; I questioned what I was hearing and why I liked it, so much so that I had spent a quarter of my data for that month just by watching performance videos of ELEVEN. From the jaw-dropping slowmo “난 몰랐어 내 맘이 이리 다채로운지” (I didn’t know my heart was so colorful) to the hip-thrust accompanying “Ain’t no one, two, three, four, five, six, seven”, the song was tight, refreshing, and daring in its comprehensive portrayal of the girls’ charisma, identity, and synchronicity. Wonyoung and Yujin both matured substantially–with arguably the brightest star of the lineup being Liz–which served as a comforting reminder that the group possessed immense potential right at the launch of their career.
Following the reception of I.O.I and Wanna One from the first two seasons of PRODUCE, the third iteration welcomed a twist: introducing Japanese idols from the AKB48 scene as part of the once exclusively Korean lineup. Albeit both prioritize fan service, Korean idols come under much more scrutiny when it comes to their singing, dancing, and somewhat rapping talents. They undergo intensive training periods and are expected to present impressive performance qualities upon debut, even as teenagers. On the contrary, AKB48 and their sister groups are simply doted on for their personality. They have songs with singing and dancing component, but the level of perfection is way less compared to the rigor of K-Pop. Instead, fans root for their energy, progress, and variety show engagement, if not appearance. Successful graduates of the AKB system are younger compared to K-idols of the same recognition; what they lack in raw skills are made up for with their ability to draw in supporters.
At this point, we have concluded the heavy-handed rigging involved in the results of PRODUCE 48. The 1/4 Japanese membership could have easily doubled were it not for the show to cater to a primarily Korean audience, seeing that the J-idols were in fact outshining several top 12 Korean trainees in popularity rankings–the only metric that supposedly mattered. However intentionally harmful were these manipulations are up for debate, but the group, compared to their predecessors, was engineered to be more about the group as a whole and less about talented individuals. The results were that IZ*ONE flourished commercially when they were active, with no misses among all five Korean title tracks but especially their first post-show appearance. La Vie En Rose set the bar high with their elegant motif meshed well with hard-hitting beats, especially at the mesmerizing pre-chorus (“더 깊어진 눈빛 그 속에 붉어진 / 내 맘을 타오르게 해 나를 춤추게 해”: “Your deepened eyes / make my heart red and burn, they make me dance”). At this time K-Pop has not seen too many anti-drops, and La Vie En Rose happened to execute them well in their chorus. At one of their MAMA performances, the dance break remix proved the song’s modern production that was foundational to the group’s branding success.
K-Pop enjoyers now sulk at the confusing metaverse of Kwangya, but the ideas for paranormal world-building have germinated in Lee Soo Man et al.’s playbook for eternity. The loudest manifestation pre-aespa goes to EXO, or, as 2011 fans recalled, EXO-K and EXO-M. For me, EXO came at a time when SM has established its superiority in the music industry, consecutively scoring victories with TVXQ!, Super Junior, Girls’ Generation, SHINee, and f(x). The first three had a classic boy/girlgroup vibe that is unmistakeable; the latter two, though with more visionary explorations of music and members’ individuality, are still within safety limits. EXO represented the first surefire attempt at stardom that could potentially define a new era of debuting idols.
Elder K-Pop fans all knew where we were when MAMA dropped. The six-minute super trailer of a music video provided sensory overload atop utmost confusion at the sonic, compositional, and visual dissonance: surprise, there is even a second version with another half of the group and superimposable dynamics. From the gothic set design to the Gregorian chant, full-face tattoos to a hollowing “Shoot anonymous, anonymous / Heartless, Mindless” (at first listen I assumed they said “fatherless, motherless”, which is even wilder to comprehend), EXO’s kickoff single did not receive the critical acclaim that it later earned. In fact, their following single “Wolf” suffered a similar fate, and it took until “Growl” for EXO to witness the widespread adulation it sees today.
These two are mentioned together because while the former is for sure their debut track, the latter is no less essential to understanding the group’s breakout success. When I first joined K-Pop listening circles in elementary school, I was a YG aficionado. BIGBANG had an iconic originality whose influence could be documented across generations; 2NE1 defied conventional standards of femininity of a very culturally conservative Korean public. By the time I had paused on being part of the any fandom, however, it had become clear that YG was mismanaging their treasure female idols. Park Bom suffered immense public backlash for her medications that were legal in the US, while CL could count the collections of albums she had written and not allowed to release. Although their heyday left an indelible mark on the Korean populace, it was clear that their badass attitude was not above the merciless scorn of a market rising in demand for bubblegum pop. YG faced a creative business dilemma: how to maintain their trademark uniqueness while triumphing over the fickle audience that once lacerated their own group.
BLACKPINK set the trend (or the standard) for their unwavering emphasis both on the “black” (girl crush) and the “pink” (ebulliently feminine), their outward-facing yet Korean beauty (with majority foreign-born members yet still majority Korean), and their lack of leadership structure within the group. We see this through and through in the synergization of the two releases: BOOMBAYAH is a hard-hitting, rap-heavy freedom statement, and Whistle is an effervescent, almost angelic melodic story. As they enter the conscience of millions of to-be fans with their signature “BLACKPINK IN YOUR AREA”, the fun-loving lyrics frequently take us by surprise when the vocal bridge emerges calmly yet powerfully “this beat got me feeling like.” BLACKPINK is the first and only group to achieve a Perfect All-Kill (meaning a song charts at number 1 for all real-time, daily, and weekly charts native to South Korea) with their debut (Whistle), and that is a testament to the powerhouse that will not be stopping in the near future.
Truth be told, I have always loved this song. I just never expected others to consider it also a great debut, given how much their later singles acted much more as a fulcrum to superstardom for SHINee members. In fact, this song is so not representative of their biggest hits like Ring Ding Dong, Lucifer, or View. Yet somehow it makes more sense than their other title tracks. SHINee keeps up the stacked vocal dominance among SM Entertainment’s groups, with the late Jonghyun being the main vocalist, Onew having a strong and soulful voice, and Taemin growing into the R&B agility that had more space to shine in his own solo journey. The rather boys-next-door aesthetic emulates a diametrically opposed counterpart to the cool and sharp Super Junior, which was underutilized given the raging popularity of Boys Over Flower. Replay is the only song that can be considered not upbeat in this list.
SHINee’s debut evokes a deep sense of comfort, fascination, and appreciation that parallels the melodramatic vocal layering in a college a capella group. Their performance has an unfalsifiable genuineness: their voice glides along the pleasant rhythm with a clear command of when to let loose and when to belt. “날 바라보는 눈빛이 말해 주잖아” (“The way you look at me tells me”), one of the first impressive vocal runs came from Key, who is not even in the group’s top half vocalists, as baby Taemin provides the countless adlibs, “그 그녀를 보는 나는 미쳐” (“Looking at that girl, I go crazy”). It is now rare to witness something toned down in the flashiness among debut tracks, but it takes SHINee-level of talent to pull off such an amazing vocal performance.
This is pushing the envelope to some rock coverage, but I doubt it is far removed from pop discussions. Debatably short for Five Treasure Island, F.T. Island deviates from the idol group composition as a self-contained band regarding their music production; the most well-known member is definitely the front man vocalist Lee Hong-gi. After the sensational opener of an album, F.T. Island actually spent most of their auspicious career abroad, touring and promoting in Malaysia and mainly Japan. As of the moment, the band has announced touring activities, though the flux of membership has left the fandom in tatters.
Rock (infused with pop or not) has been my personal favorite music form to communicate outbursts of love, with the special flavoring of an ungovernable yearning, even if unrequited. Love Sick is almost textbook in this regard, leveraging the full spectrum of romantic metaphors. From sinning, self-inflicted pain, to unconditional patience (“꼭 올거라는 말은 안했지만 / 기다릴수 밖에 없는사람”: “She never said she would not come / But all I can do is wait”), the protagonist singers even gave the accompanying visualizer a narrative reminiscent of a K-drama super trailer. This is no stranger to the earlier times of the second-generation bands (Haru Haru is a famous example), but the raspy vocals, snaring percussion, and intensifying emotionality allow the audiovisual experience to feel like an original sound track–one that F.T. Island directed from start to finish in their first attempt at it.
The remaining member of the Big 3 learned a lot from their most ground-breaking debut. The now-disbanded miss A was composed of a four-member, all-female ensemble. Notwithstanding the similar division of singing, dancing, and rapping roles, the group was conceived unintentionally similar to Western female group acts when one member was at the center of the spotlight much more than others. Suzy, the youngest member yet the group’s face, was involved in JYP’s star-studded Dream High series fresh out of their debut, and subsequently was lionized both for her solo promotions and her stunning appearance. miss A’s kaleidoscopic style would take Korea by storm many more times with Touch and Hush, but the gradual departure of members meant that the odds of a group reappearance dwindled. To much speculation, the downfall of miss A was a tragic lesson for Park Jin Young himself when deciding the trajectory of Twice.
Bad Girl, Good Girl featured a best-of-both-world combination of glamor and sensuality, much akin to what the name suggests. Four girls in very distinct styles danced in sync in a school practice room, proclaiming their own layered identity through defiantly challenging any preconceived notions. Repeating “You don’t know me, so shut up boy,” the song represented a reclamation of feminity that is independent of the male gaze within the profundity constraints of pop. “그 위선이 난 너무나 웃겨” (“I find your hypocrisy funny because you point at me”); every chorus reminds us of how they are much more complex than observed characters, and how they reserve respect for men whose confidence does not equate with arrogance and misogyny. It comes as no surprise that they won Song of the Year for Bad Girl, Good Girl, and, for the longest time, netizens have heralded it as the debut success.
By far the most established debut song of all of K-Pop is Into The New World. Yet its legendary status was not without a heart-wrenching rough start. Girls’ Generation made their debut at a time where few other girl group acts were around, let alone popular enough; SM Entertainment had already paved the way for two rising stars, a five-member TXVQ! and a thirteen-member Super Junior. The nine girls’ image was characterized by innocence, joviality, and determination; they were smiling throughout their performances, dressed in white and glitter. Yet the angelic modelesque idols suffered major backlash. Anti-fans (colloquially known as Anti-fan SONE, or AFS) accused several members of undergoing plastic surgery, something that was much more stigmatized in popular media in the 2000s, whereas the collective hivemind of Casseiopeias, E.L.Fs, and even V.I.Ps (different boygroup fandom names) rallied against SNSD as if they were plastic dolls grifting off of their own idols’ talents. The zenith of this fiasco was a coordinated demonstration dubbed as the Black Ocean incident. AFS crowded out the stadium that SNSD was hosting their concert in, and altogether turned off their lightsticks when it came to the girls’ performances. When asked about it several years later, they all said they were so focused on performing that they did not notice the pink lights going away, but I cannot imagine the horrowing sensation it must have dealt to their confidence if they realized the stadium looked pitch black.
The petty fanatical behavior could not outlast the quality of Girls’ Generation’s discography, which probably turned around at the time of Gee. Into The New World has cemented its place for what it deserved from the get-go: a celebration of ambition, humility, and hope. The song has become the threshold to pass for new girl groups to showcase their qualifications, as it requires great breathing technique, intense choreography, consistent well-supported vocal range, and the right facial expression as well. The song invites us to become our better selves, “알 수 없는 미래와 벽 바꾸지 않아” (With unknowable obstacles in the future, I will not change), with each other, “언제까지라도 함께하는 거야” (It is something we will do together in the end), nothing short of a mission declaration to overcome any hardships that fly in the face of their valiant efforts. When Jessica departed from the group, the remaining eight stopped singing their debut in its original version, opting for a ballad tear-jerking arrangement that reflects upon exactly the difficulties they have championed together, and the accomplishments they would continue to reap. For a song to be impassioned with such a message of tenacity, it has become an anthem for youths in Korea. In the 2016 presidential scandal, students of Ewha Women’s University, when faced with police suppression against their protest, chanted the chorus in unison. The words of nine hopeful idols in 2007 reverberated through the minds of hundreds of thousands of young girls a decade later, demanding their voice to be heard in a society lacking in justice. This song was a recurrent theme in my college journey too. I wrote about it in a paper about nonviolent protest my first year, taught a class on how it exemplified a form of cultural soft power, and remained the only Korean song I could sing every word without knowing the language. Into The New World reigns supreme as a testament to how life will get better, as long as you maintain your integrity and resolution.