Little Pink Starfish

Americans might not like hearing this, but they have no roots.

Though they declared independence from Britain in 1776, the Constitution—the backbone of their nation—wasn’t ratified until 1787.

They weren’t seen as a nation with a unique identity, distinct from Britain’s many vassals, until the 1800s.

In short, their history—at best—is only 200 years old.

There’s no mystique that touches on the core of human origins.

No founding myths, no ancient civilizations, no legendary kings from stories.

That’s why they treat Star Wars like their founding myth, regard Christianity almost like a national religion, and cling so fiercely to the idea of “American greatness.”

Because the human craving for a sense of origin is stronger than we realize.

There’s even research suggesting that’s why Japanese culture—representing Eastern Orientalism—has found such popularity in the U.S.

So, whenever I work in the States, I take advantage of this.

The method is simple:

Act in the exact opposite way of the “typical Asian stereotype,” while subtly emphasizing Orientalism.

When American stars flaunt their Andy Warhol collections, I show off Goryeo-era artifacts on social media.

I even based one of my music video concepts on the Dangun founding myth once.

Honestly, I thought it was kind of cringey.

Korean media praised it as national pride, but really, it wasn’t about pride—I was using my country as a marketing tool.

But it was worth it.

It worked far better than expected.

When that kind of tactic repeatedly succeeds, American audiences begin to see me as something altogether different from your average video star.

They believe I’m not just another fame-hungry clown.

Instead, I become a pioneer of a cultural New Wave.

They interpret the emotion embedded in my music as something transcendent.

Eventually, Korean content starts thriving on platforms like OTT dramas and films—and tapping into that also helps.

And well, I know the future.

If I invest just enough—not too much, or it ruins the work—I can ensure the success of a project.

Once that happens, Korean production companies begin to treat me like Nostradamus.

If Han Sion, the guy fluent in world culture, is investing big, that means the emotional wavelength of that content will resonate globally.

And honestly? That’s not wrong.

The projects I invest in usually go on to set world records.

Not because I chose them—but because I came back from the future already knowing the results.

Anyway, I almost always use this strategy when promoting in the U.S.

Except when working with teams like GOTM.

I don’t want to impose the identity of “Han Sion” onto a band’s group image.

But I had thought maybe it’d be okay with Sedalbaekil.

Since all the members are Asian, after all.

Still, it was just a thought—I never put it into action.

We hadn’t properly launched activities in America yet.

So no matter how I thought about it, I’d never tried appealing that way through Sedalbaekil…

So how did it end up like this?

Why had we left such a strong impression on the American market?

The starting point, of course, was the Sound Fact podcast.

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Bonnie and Ronnie focused the spotlight on me, even putting a bounty on me, but they hid one important fact:

That I’m Asian.

They have a genuine love for music—but they’re not above showmanship.

Actually, they might be even better at showmanship than average folks.

That’s how they brought an indie podcast so close to the mainstream.

And their surprise twist worked.

The podcast, audio-only, left listeners debating whether my mother tongue was English or Spanish.

But I was Korean.

So when the YouTube version of the podcast was uploaded, it spread like wildfire.

Even a special bonus episode exploded in popularity.

After that, I returned to Korea upon hearing about Jaesung’s injury—but that was just my perspective.

Thinking the world stops turning without you is pure delusion.

Even if the Dalai Lama dies, even if Michael Jackson dies, even if the U.S. President dies—the world goes on.

So QG’s influence in the U.S. market didn’t slow down just because I left.

The podcast gave it a push, but what truly drove it forward was Players.

To sum it up, Players was a hit.

At its peak, it hit #6 on the Billboard Hot 100, and ranked #2 on the minor charts for rock and bands.

Too bad the #1 on Hot 100 at the time was also a band track—otherwise we would’ve taken #1 on the minor charts too.

Still, music insiders agreed that Players was more musically superior than the Hot 100’s #1.

Some even claimed if it hadn’t been a group of unknowns, it would’ve reached #1 easily.

Half of that success came from Han Sion’s composition, the other half from Sedalbaekil’s vocal performance.

And the rest came from GOTM’s instrumentals.

To be fair, GOTM’s playing isn’t top-tier Billboard-level yet.

The band hasn’t been together long, and they haven’t fully developed their individuality.

But Players was different.

Its original title was <Kkun-deul>—“The Hustlers.”

I wrote it while thinking about the previous life’s GOTM members.

So naturally, the final form of those past members seeped into the composition—and that influenced the current GOTM.

A comfortable, yet unreachable feeling—like you want to touch it but can’t.

That frustration drove GOTM forward—and with Han Sion as their brilliant producer, it became a guaranteed success.

A bit off-topic, but Eddy contacted me once.

He was staying in Jeju before returning to the States, and he mentioned that GOTM wasn’t happy with the song selections the label gave them.

-Sent them a follow-up track list, and they said no.

-Said nothing matches the high they felt while playing Players.

-You ruined them. Broke them beyond repair.

-You cancerous tumor on modern music.

Well—I get it.

There aren’t many songs in the world on Players’ level.

Let alone tailored for GOTM.

I wrote it, after all.

But calling me a tumor?

Come on.

Anyway, GOTM’s performance shook up the American rock scene, and the name QG kept getting mentioned.

People love sharing things only they know—whether positive or negative.

And I was the latter—positive.

-QG is a genius. I’ve never seen Bonnie and Ronnie admire someone like that.

Of course, backlash followed.

-Bonnie and Ronnie? You mean that nerd podcast with no credibility?

-Getting acknowledged there is hardly a badge of honor.

And then, backlash to the backlash.

-Didn’t Iovine say it multiple times? That he released <SINCE> thanks to Bonnie and Ronnie?

-That was a business strategy. He became a star because of them, but the album’s quality is all his own.

-They shaped the album’s genre direction.

And then… chaos.

-You believe that crap? It’s all part of the show, morons. Same with QG or whatever.

-The Chinese government probably promised them crazy money.

-Mark my words, Bonnie and Ronnie will be buying beach houses in Miami soon. With “MADE IN CHINA” plaques.

-He’s Korean.

-What’s the difference?

The usual pattern.

That’s how internet discourse always goes.

But in my case, there was another factor in play.

HBO’s ambitious documentary, Before, After and Future.

-Then does the praise from legends like Eric Scott, Yankos Greenwood, and Mary Jones mean nothing?

-Where did that come from?

-Because QG is the friend of Chris Edwards mentioned in BAF.

-What? That was ZION.

-ZION is QG.

-What the hell are you talking about?

-QG was a joke name he made up on the show.

-You idiots clearly didn’t listen to the podcast.

At this point, I was honestly considering changing my U.S. stage name to QG.

Anyway, things kept moving.

Now, people were sincerely listening to my music, and those who had bought the Korean version of the <TFD> album joined in.

-Wait, I bought this Korean album because of Mary Jones. This was QG?

-These guys are the Asian dudes from the Colors Show, right?

-What? Seriously?

-It’s true lol

-Why do they operate with no category? Don’t they have an agency?

Fair question.

Foreign artists usually have clearly defined categories when entering the U.S. market.

Most wear the “K-pop star from Korea” label.

Some drop the K-pop tag altogether and go underground.

But me? And Sedalbaekil?

We had no clear direction.

We didn’t embrace the K-pop label—but we didn’t reject it either.

We weren’t underground, nor were we riding on the fame of musical legends.

If we were, we wouldn’t have rearranged their songs at all.

That happened for two reasons:

First, because we entered the international market before conquering Korea.

The Colors Show happened as a desperate counter against Choi Daeho’s pressure.

It turned out big, but it started as a last resort.

Same with the musical legends.

I gave Eddy tracks to lure them in because I wanted to boost our image in Korea.

So unlike typical K-pop acts, we didn’t use Korean success as a launchpad.

Second, because we sold albums like maniacs.

This life, in some ways, is different from how I usually operate.

I normally act with calculated potential.

But with Sedalbaekil? We sold whatever we could.

And by chance, the albums sold in the U.S. too.

Now, of course, I’m planning properly and laying out a strategy for the U.S. market.

But to foreign audiences, it still looks like chaos.

And it’ll stay that way for a while.

Because this year, we’re focusing on activities in Korea—for Choi Jaesung.

Anyway, around the time American audiences were starting to get confused, Sedalbaekil finally hit the mainstream.

And the song they chose?

Totally unexpected.

I didn’t compose it.

I didn’t arrange it either.

Okay—maybe technically arranged—but more like an edited cover.

It was SEOUL TOWN FUNK, from Coming Up Next.

Seoul Town Funk.

The first track with a time-travel concept.

Originally titled Hanyang Town Funk, but the judges thought Seoul had more resonance, so it was renamed.

Despite the name change, the stage remained mostly the same.

The setting: a marketplace in the Goryeo era.

Traditional instruments opened the performance—buk (drum), nabal (horn), taepyeongso.

As royal musicians practice for a king’s procession, Sedalbaekil appears—from the future.

They join the music.

Seoul Town Funk.

At first, I couldn’t understand why this song caught on in the U.S. mainstream.

But after watching it again, it made sense.

Of course.

It used Uptown Funk—a globally recognizable track—as a reference.

The stage setup was steeped in Orientalism.

The song was good, and the video was visually engaging.

This gave Sedalbaekil a clear category.

Color Show, Sound Fact, collaborations with legends, TFD, BAF…

There were many things related to Sedalbaekil—but no singular image to tie it all together.

I had spread too many different styles.

No one could pin down what kind of group we were.

Seoul Town Funk gave us that identity.

-This is crazy.

-You have to watch the music video.

-Is this what Korea used to look like?

And the next jackpot was, of course, the music video for STATE OF MIND.