K-pop is becoming more popular than ever — and less Korean

The lights flashed. The bass kicked in. The crowd went wild as a cast of dancers peeled off to reveal seven figures on stage against the backdrop of Seoul’s Gyeongbokgung Palace.

It was the comeback concert for BTS, perhaps the most famous boy band in the world. But their much-heralded return in March, nearly four years after they went on hiatus for mandatory military service, has also highlighted a key question for the K-pop industry: What comes next?

The genre looks completely different from when BTS first debuted in 2013. No longer is K-pop a fringe or novel concept; now, it’s a global phenomenon and multibillion-dollar industry, winning Grammy Awards and fueling South Korea’s expansive soft power.

This is the so-called “fifth generation” of K-pop, said Grace Kao, a professor of sociology at Yale University. Fans often describe the industry’s history as unofficial eras, characterized by different trends and waves of new artists.

The second generation, which began in the early 2000s, saw K-pop gain footholds in regional markets like China, Japan and Southeast Asia. The third generation took that expansion further west, with groups like BTS and Blackpink breaking into Billboard charts and appearing on American talk shows.

This current generation has arguably grander ambitions – some of which beg the question: Does K-pop need to be Korean at all?

For instance, Blackpink’s recently released mini-album “Deadline” is almost entirely in English. And new groups are debuting in other parts of the world, some with members that have no ties to South Korea.

“There’s more global collaboration, and work within the K-pop world to become globalized, within every generation,” said Danny Chung, the songwriter behind several major Blackpink hits and the voice of Baby Saja in the Netflix smash hit “KPop Demon Hunters.”

Some of this is happening in other musical genres, too, with social media increasingly shaping how we consume and produce music. But it’s especially true of K-pop, which is “ever-changing,” said Chung, who also works in the Artists and Repertoire (A&R) team for record company The Black Label.

Experts say this fluidity could fuel the industry’s aim to expand beyond borders and neat categorization.

“It’s a forever moving target to try to define the genre of K-pop,” Chung said.

Designed for export

From the start, K-pop was largely intended to be an international product.

“One thing about K-pop is that it was always export-oriented,” said John Lie, a professor of sociology at the University of California, Berkeley.

This sets it apart from most music in other countries, he added. An average American listener, for example, might not be able to name any major French or Vietnamese pop acts, since those artists often target local audiences. But K-pop has evolved differently; from the very start in the 1990s, groups worked to cultivate fanbases in Japan and China, said Lie, who wrote a 2014 book on the topic.

This intent was evident in the names of early groups like H.O.T. and S.E.S. – deliberately chosen to be easy for English speakers, said Kao. The same went for English song titles.

By the 2000s and early 2010s, some labels were training K-pop artists to learn other regional languages – and increasingly, recruiting members from different nationalities so that within every group “there would be a native English speaker, someone who spoke Japanese, someone who spoke Mandarin, and so forth,” Kao said.

Lie added that that trend has only intensified. Labels are now recruiting members from Southeast Asia and other parts of the world, “so K-pop becomes kind of a hybrid entity,” he said. Even K-pop songwriters, composers, choreographers and producers are often from other countries.

“It’s not really Korean – but it doesn’t matter, because the formula can be replicated around the world.”

The ‘K-pop methodology’

Perhaps the best-known example of this hybrid model is Katseye – an LA-based girl group backed by South Korean conglomerate HYBE, the same company (formerly named Big Hit Entertainment) that created BTS.

Since their 2024 debut, the group has prompted heated debate (mostly among overseas fans) about whether or not they count as K-pop. They sing almost entirely in English and are ethnically diverse, ranging from Swiss to Indian American to Venezuelan-Cuban American. But they were formed through a reality competition show in which they beat out other contestants vying for a spot – mimicking the cutthroat selection and training structure that K-pop is famous for.

“KATSEYE is a K‑pop group, even if they sing in English or are affiliated with a Western label,” one popular Reddit post argued. (Katseye was formed in collaboration between HYBE and American label Geffen Records). Another TikTok user pushed back, declaring: “Katseye is not K-pop, Katseye is never going to be K-pop … they are not literally doing the K!”

For its part, Katseye describes itself as a “global girl group formed using KPOP artist development methodologies.” That phrasing echoes the “multi-home, multi-genre” approach that HYBE laid out in a 2024 letter to shareholders, describing an increasingly global vision of the future.

HYBE has established subsidiaries and held local auditions around the world, including in India, China, Japan, Latin America and the US – aiming to bring K-pop music to global audiences, and to introduce “K-pop methodologies” to local musicians in foreign markets.

In other words: they’re not trying to turn Latin music into K-pop. But they are trying to develop Latin artists through the “K-pop system.”

This system has drawn heavy criticism in the past for its rigidity and impact to mental health. Idols are often under heavy pressure, facing overloaded schedules and stern rules – including around their dating lives.

It’s often characterized as overly formulaic – but Chung, the songwriter, said it was “disrespectful to keep on saying it’s manufactured.” To him, this system of artist development is what really defines K-pop, not just language or nationality.

And it goes beyond just training. There are the groups’ carefully curated visual identities, such as specific colors that correspond to each member, or a unifying style aesthetic. There’s the messaging in their music, which helps fans “relate with each group or each member in a different type of way.” There’s the ubiquity of physical media – CDs, photo books, postcards, stickers, posters, and other types of coveted merch. There’s the fervid fanbase, cultivated through digital platforms and in-person events that encourage fan participation.

“I don’t think a lot of other genres necessarily build that world and make you feel like you’re part of something that’s part-fantasy and part-escape,” Chung said.

What’s next

There are a few things we can expect to see in the coming years as K-pop settles into its fifth generation, experts said.

Sonically, the music is becoming more like “hyperpop,” said Chung – a faster tempo, and snippets of catchy lyrics or choreography that are easily “clippable” for social media. Artists also face tougher competition in a crowded field, as more eyeballs turn their way.

There’s still room for growth, said Kao; K-pop hasn’t become ubiquitous enough to hit “a point of saturation.” But it won’t be simple to replicate the success of BTS, which benefited from good timing – first, through a social media presence in the 2010s when that was still a novel strategy, then breaking into the Western mainstream during the pandemic when the world was stuck at home and switched online.

And even BTS may face new hurdles. Its free comeback concert in March reportedly saw far lower attendance in non-ticketed public areas than anticipated, according to local media outlets, citing data from city authorities – prompting Hybe’s shares to drop sharply afterward.

That said, the small number of official tickets given away online were snapped up immediately, and the concert live-stream racked up more than 18 million viewers on Netflix. BTS quickly sold out all 41 stadium shows in North America, Europe and the UK for their ongoing world tour, according to ticket seller Live Nation. Their new album “Arirang” sold 641,000 “album units” (combining streams, album sales and track sales) in its first week, according to Billboard – the biggest album debut by a group since the chart began using units as a measure in 2014.

K-pop remains a hugely lucrative business. Between 2019 and 2024, four of the biggest K-pop music agencies (including HYBE) saw their combined revenue nearly triple to $3 billion, according to a Morgan Stanley report. YG, HYBE, SM and JYP are now working to combine forces and organize a “Fanomenon” event, according to a joint statement from the companies. So far, they haven’t provided any more details on timing or scope – but excited social media users are already calling the event “K-chella,” a play on the annual California festival Coachella.

The controversy over what K-pop is – or isn’t – is also likely to continue. After all, it’s not clear whether this global direction is what the fans actually want.

Fans in South Korea might not “consider (groups like Katseye) K-pop at all,” Kao said. And for many fans in other countries, much of what they liked about K-pop in the first place was its Korean-ness.

For instance, many Asian diaspora in Western countries – Kao herself included – are hungry to see “Asians as pop stars.” Many may have faced racism and isolation growing up in White communities, and now enjoy seeing “idols that are primarily Korean, speaking Korean,” she said.

And for foreign audiences with no personal ties to K-pop, it opens the door to a whole new culture. It’s why many K-pop fans travel to Seoul, making pilgrimages to the HYBE headquarters and flying thousands of miles for a BTS concert. It’s part of the larger “Korean wave,” or “Hallyu,” that has propelled South Korea in a soft power surge – popularizing other Korean exports like K-beauty, K-dramas, and even Korean food.

If you take the Korean element out of K-pop, the question follows, will the fans still be there?

Lie would say yes. Many genres of entertainment in both music and film peak in popularity within one generation of a population, or roughly three decades, because “people grow up and younger people want new things,” he said. But K-pop is an “innovation machine,” which could prolong its lifespan.

Chung understands the potential concerns of fans, comparing it to hip-hop, which he grew up with in the 1990s. Many listeners of old-school hip-hop might decry what’s being made today “because it doesn’t sound like that anymore,” he said.

“But at the same time, you can’t hinder evolution,” he added. The changing nature of K-pop “allows the art to be more accessible (and) more globally executable. I’m excited to see what the world does with that.”