A Glocal Dancing Community

As dance in music video may generally be understood as a genre rooted in traditional theatrical chorus line genres, so K-pop may also be seen as a form of theatrical dance that is intended to be watched by an audience. However, in the era of social media, the young generation relies on popular culture circulated via the Internet for everyday interaction (Borelli Reference Borelli and Borelli2014, 2). Often, smartphones seem to replace the traditional functions of theater that used to be the hub of live entertainment. In global flash mobs, as well as in viral cover dances on YouTube, K-pop seems to exemplify what Mark Franko has described as “participatory dance” that exceeds, reframes, and even dismantles traditional concert dance, as a sign of radical democracy (Reference Franko2013, 1).

Obviously, theatrical dance may also be seen as participatory dance if the focus is on the dancing as it is carried out in the studio or at rehearsals. A studio education is a central element of theatrical dance practice in which teachers guide and correct practitioners’ body movements, often through direct physical touch. It is a practice that aims to enhance the artistic outcome in a live theater. With K-pop all over social media, K-pop dance has also been adopted by local dance schools that have started providing K-pop dance classes. To give an example, as a resident in San Diego, California, I have seen local dance studios providing K-pop dance classes, and university student organizations and dance clubs showcasing K-pop performances in public.

Denmark also has a history of public as well as local dance schools offering classes in different forms of movement (Damsholt Reference Damsholt, Vedel and Hoppu2016, 29, 38). The members of CODE9 have previous experiences with dance forms, such as Les Lanciers, hip hop, jive, rhythmical gymnastics, aerobic dance, disco, and cheerleading dance in their physical education classes at school. Unlike this conventional mode of practice, CODE9 engages in a mediated dance education and presentation. As CODE9 accesses K-pop dance online, digital space is space they access and recirculate dance with a nearly unlimited degree of spatial mobility. Home is the place where they practice. They do not have dance studios, and many of them first learn the choreography at home by themselves. Some of them practice in their room without a mirror. Ginger mentioned that she practices K-pop when she is alone at home by watching the videos daily. “When I listen to the song, I can remember the moves and will do them in my head while I read a book or am cooking,” Ginger said. Flemse also said that she practices dance in her living room when she is alone so that she does not get behind on the things they learned at the group practice. Without a wall mirror or a dance teacher, they learn K-pop choreographies by watching tutorial videos on YouTube, practicing by themselves or with friends, videotaping their practice, and correcting each other by reviewing and comparing their videos with the original K-pop videos. Instead of having live, fixed audiences in a theater, they share dance with open-ended, global audiences online. Their mediated dance education and practice would not be possible without what Philippa Thomas called a “democratization of technology” (Reference Thomas and Borelli2014, 289) in the contemporary dance scene.

Although the interviewees have had exposure to various dance and physical education, none of them have been professionally trained in a particular dance technique. Given that they are not attending a conservatory dance school, the open access of K-pop choreography on YouTube enables them to learn dance quickly without conventional experiences or institutional supports. This mediated practice in a private space gives them a sense of safeness because they do not have to be afraid of being judged by others. Also, as they get a chance to edit the video, they are freer from the pressure of performing in front of the public flawlessly.

CODE9 practices K-pop at least three times a week after school, often into late evening. Many of them do not directly express their interests in pursuing dance at the college level. Nevertheless, their sincere dedication, passion, and physical labor to embody and perform K-pop dance are not lesser than any college dance majors I have encountered. For a group practice, they gather at physical education facilities at a school, youth center, gymnasium, or public space. Louise explained the mediatized dance practice with the crew:

Ginger talked about how they use social media to reach an agreement. “We always have our phones out and watch the videos of the K-pop idols dancing. We discuss the moves a lot, and then agree on how to execute them correctly. That is how we learn dances together.” Bent spoke about the process of peer learning and practicing. “We look at the mirrored dance practice videos over and over again until we can fully memorize it. Then we work really hard [on] our synchronization.” As demonstrated by K-pop singer PSY's “Gangnam Style” and Beyoncé's “Single Ladies,” watching dances on the Internet is not mere virtual experience; it generates communities “that emerge from learning similar choreographies via the screen” (Borelli Reference Borelli and Borelli2014, 6). Indeed, Bent said that she feels much closer to the group and “super confident” about herself when the crew completes a sequence. She continued: “Since we are all friends, it is hard when you start to argue about who got the dance right. But when we all bring out our phones to check, we usually find a middle ground [laughs].”

Manufactured by conglomerate agents, K-pop dance choreography often has a homogenized pattern and structure, such as a short intro with basic story lines/narratives, quick switch of space among the group members, chorus with accentuated signature dance moves, called a “point choreography” (e.g., PSY's horse dance in the “Gangnam Style” music video), and a dramatic intricate choreography for the climax and ending. As Bench has articulated it, in remaking an original popular dance text, flash mob “dancers asserted a collective ownership over the choreography” (quoted in Borelli Reference Borelli and Borelli2014, 13). Like a flash mob dancer who shows her or his agency through a mutual completion of the prearranged choreography, the fixed, homogenized structure of K-pop dance opens room for quickly memorizing the routine and having a sense of accomplishment and collective agency with peers.

Many of the interviewees mention their cover of “Ddu-Du Ddu-Du” by K-pop girl group Blackpink, which got a thousand views, as their best dance cover. “We put much effort into the cover and trained really hard,” Code9 L said. In the video, four girls dance and lip-sync in Korean, to the original song “Ddu-Du Ddu-Du.” They are dressed like Blackpink, wearing mesh stockings, short tops, and pink pants that match well to each other's clothes. Blackpink has four members, and each CODE9 member plays a role and performs the exact choreography assigned to each original K-pop singer. The cover dance video is filmed in the middle of a central shopping area in Copenhagen. Pedestrians are passing by, and some of them turn back to watch the dance crew. The members seem to have much fun wearing a natural smile on their faces while dancing. Their dance consists of powerful swaggering gait and stomping feet. At the same time, it presents conventionally feminine movements, such as a gunshot pose with a flirtatious smile, delicate arm and beckoning hand gestures, and a flexible body roll and wave. The end of the cover dance is marked by a blackout when the song ends, but the last part of the video includes a montage of bloopers. In this section, the behind-the-scenes glimpse shows the crew stop dancing because of pedestrians walking in front of the camera. Some of the pedestrians wear somewhat disapproving look or grimace on their faces. The last section also includes an unexpected mistake they made while dancing and even a group of pigeons wandering next to them. All these blooper scenes emanate playful humor and liberating, resistive ambiance.

While CODE9's videos on YouTube cover full-length K-pop choreographies, their Instagram profile provides more casual, short versions of cover dances. In their cover dance of K-pop girl group ITZY's “Dalla Dalla,” posted on the CODE9 Instagram profile, three crew members are dancing to the music, wearing black leggings and little sports bras. It is filmed on a public basketball court. The video is relatively short (around thirty seconds), and the dancers cover only the first chorus of the original song. Their dress code seems athletic, and the choreography entails cheerful jumping and dynamic, circular arm movements demonstrating a girlish mood like that of cheerleading dance. “We all had such amazing energy, and we learned this dance the day before filming! So I am really proud of us for making this,” Bent said. Being able to learn the dance routine in one day, film it, and share it on their social media gives the team an instant pleasure and a feeling of reward. In a conventional dance concert in a theater, the final stage show carries a significant amount of value and even pressure on dancers. For CODE9, however, sharing a dance on the Internet and regularly updating their posts matter. This expeditiousness and the open possibility of sharing dance anytime, anywhere on the Internet certainly gives agency to the dance crew. Yet, it is this rapidity that also generates a different level of pressure.

In the mediated space on YouTube, a timely update is often more important than perfection. As K-pop cover dance is shared by global fans, covering a newly released song for the first time means that they are on edge. “I have high hopes for our cover of “Really Bad Boy” by Red Velvet that we filmed today, as it has not been published yet,” Flemse said. She then highlighted why it is vital to “stay relevant” in covering new, popular songs; so then their group can “get noticed” by other fans and cover dancers online much quicker. “That is the cost of trying to be noticed and working hard to become valid in the community,” she continued. To CODE9, K-pop cover dance is a way of socializing and finding their presence within and beyond the Danish K-pop community—a culture of youth with the slightly competitive taste of being recognized online, which requires constant updates with decorative self-representation in the virtual space.

On March 16, 2019, CODE9 released a video titled “1 Year with CODE9 | CODE9 Anniversary Video.” It is a compilation video of their public performances and practice footage since 2018. It starts with a few group members trying to learn K-pop dance movements in a small classroom. The dancers wear pedestrian clothes, and they seem to have much fun while dancing, playfully making mistakes, laughing, and interacting with one another. Their dance does not seem organized and appears to be somewhat chaotic. They seem to fail to notice where the front is—the camera—and appear to have a minimum of spatial awareness. The videos are barely edited, and the shots are often blurry and shaky. However, later in the video their dance routines become more professional, organized, and well synchronized. CODE9 also began to shoot videos in public spaces, wearing highly groomed costumes and makeup. The video ends with one member's recent solo cover of “Cherry Bullet.”

Photo 1.

A screenshot of “[KPOP IN PUBLIC COPENHAGEN] Q&A - CHERRY BULLET (체리블렛) | CODE9 Dance Cover.” Video published on YouTube, February 26, 2019. Copyright CODE9 Dance Crew.

The “Cherry Bullet” cover dance demonstrates how the crew has improved their skills over time, and it reflects the increased self-conscious awareness as dancers. Unlike the mini–group dance covers on their Instagram profile, this is a four-minute-long solo and thoroughly covers the entire original choreography. The video is well edited, showcases multiple angles, and the dancer changes her costume various times during the performance. In the introduction, she is wearing tight black pants and a top. The costume is more revealing compared to those that appeared on the crew's previous videos around a year ago. On the edge of the video screen, a colorful graphic image of cheeries is added. Her movement is much more abundant, expressive, confident, and coordinated in time and space, with a highly articulated sense of musicality. The dancer is aware of the location of the camera and the fact that she is dancing for the camera—a two-dimensional medium. She mostly moves side to side, and whenever she takes up space, she does not forget to look at the camera directly, often wearing a choreographed smile with bright eyes. Her facial expression precisely matches the lyrics, and the timing of her lip-sync is flawless.

Through its mediated embodiment and communication of dance with global audiences online, CODE9 has gradually transformed itself as a group. The anniversary video exemplifies how the dance crew has transformed themselves from amateur fans to young professional artists on YouTube. In the words of Sherril Dodds, presentational aspects of popular dance require spectatorship and commodification, which have a “potential to insert it into a matrix of capitalist exchange, and its transition into a ‘performance’” with enhanced choreographic design and a “self-conscious presentation of the body” (Reference Dodds, Bennett and Waksman2014b, 407). Yet, simultaneously, CODE9's priority goes beyond being professional performers. Vedel mentioned that “we have a good balance between being serious and having fun when at practice. K-pop is all about standing together and being together, a sort of closeness—a family.… It is a place where I can go be myself.” Flemse said that CODE9 is very tightly knit because they have “established a strong and profound friendship amongst each other” through dancing. In other words, for this crew, K-pop dance is a platform for socializing—a collective set of communal activity.

A Thirdspace

In Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-and-Imagined Places (1996), Edward W. Soja (Reference Soja1996) described a “Thirdspace” as a constant evolution and transcendent negotiation of spatial and cultural identity generated by creatively restructuring binaries, such as reality and imagination, center and periphery, the micro-macro, and local-global. Thirdspace aims to neither trace nor neglect the two origins called “Firstspace” and “Secondspace.”Footnote ² Instead, it is a purposefully tentative and flexible approach toward a creative process of restructuring, that “draws selectively and strategically from the two opposing categories to open new alternatives” in which other spaces could emerge (5). Soja called this strategy “thirding-as-Othering” (10). Thirdspace is a space of “extraordinary openness, a place of critical exchange where the geographical imagination can be expanded to encompass multiplicity of perspectives,” he wrote (5). In reference to Soja, Chamari Edirisinghe et al. (Reference Edirisinghe, Ryohei Nakatsu, Widodo and Anacleto2011) has later used the concept of Thirdspace as a tool in their analysis of social media networks, suggesting that a social networking space, such as Facebook and more recently YouTube and Instagram, represents such an opening of a new alternative. It consists of “individuals, connected through a telecommunication network, interacting on one platform, which could be customized yet universally defining similar functions, ambiguous yet clear with one clear intention—connectivity” (401). Social networking thus exists “in-between” (399), as it is connected but yet independent, and differences are presented in a shared space. Social media networks operate within this space of binaries—physical but virtual, individual but collective, imaginary but real—thus, according to Chamari Edirisinghe et al., such networks represent Thirdspaces as spaces of “negotiation, contestation, and rearticulat[ion]” of social and cultural identity (401).

As a reflection of the definition of social media networks as ongoing negotiation, contestation, and rearticulation of social and cultural identity, the members of CODE 9 described the global K-pop community as a Thirdspace. Ginger said that “K-pop is a place where they finally found people they could fit in … the community is so diverse, and you can be whomever you want.” Code9 L said, “We like new and different. In K-pop, there is something for everyone.” Vedel also highlighted diversity in terms of personality, ethnicity, and sexuality. “In Denmark, the community is very close, and almost everybody knows each other.… K-pop is a subculture heavily focused on bringing people together in the fandom culture,” she added. In general, the interviewees said that they have open-minded, friendly communities and have great support from their friends and families. Meanwhile, they have also encountered a less welcoming response. Louise said, “Not everyone thinks K-pop is cool to like.… I was afraid to tell people about it.” Bent wrote that some of her friends think K-pop is “cringe” and shared her stories of getting negative comments from her friends. When Vedel first watched K-pop music videos in 2012, her classmates found K-pop “so strange and annoying.” For her, it was the opposite. “I was drawn to how different it was … the sound, dancing, and the visuals of the music videos were just something I could not stop coming back to watch more.” Some of their friends have changed their attitude gradually and began to support the dance crew. Flemse shared her story at school:

According to Julie Malnig, social dance not only “absorbs and reflects daily life, but it can also shape, inform, and influence social patterns and habits and cultural discourse” (Reference Malnig2009, 7). K-pop dance brings the young girls together, and through it they embrace their different hobby and shape cultural identity and visibility within the community. Louise further explained what it means to be a K-pop dancer:

To CODE9, it is elements of dance that distinguishes K-pop from Western pop music. Ginger wrote that K-pop is “very bright and colorful,” while Western music is often “very dark.” Vedel said, “No Western artists have put as much effort in their dancing as K-pop idols.” Bend expressed a similar perspective. “K-pop is a lot different than anything else here.… Western music is basically just music and a concert now and then.” Louise wrote that “most of the American artists just make songs and sing them at concerts, while K-pop artists do a whole choreography with makeup and clothes and much looking cute or sexy in the camera for their fans.…” In K-pop cover dance, a perfect imitation is often more valued than originality. The closer the dancing is to the dancing in the original video and the more the dancers look like their K-pop idols, the more views they get on the Internet, which is an important criteria of success. Ginger said, “I spend so much time trying to dance as the idols do.” This includes a complete set of masking, including lip-syncing, dancing, costuming, and makeup. In their cover dances, the CODE9 members sing or lip-sync while dancing, and they are dressed like K-pop singers with makeup that resembles those of K-pop singers.

Actually singing the songs in Korean is one of the most challenging parts because none of them can speak Korean. This foreignness creates a sense of distance, and yet at the same time, a cultural proximity; the crew enjoys the mix of the foreignness of the Korean language and the familiarity of some English lyrics in K-pop chorus lines. Another level of cultural proximity occurs among the dance crew; while performing together, they can speak and sing a language that many people in other countries do not understand. “Denmark is such a small country … artists are more likely to sing in English and not in Danish, mostly because they want to target a bigger audience. But in Korea, they sing in Korean with few catchy English lyrics,” Louise said. Her comment implies her desire to avoid a general Americanization, as American culture has had an influence on countries outside the United States throughout the twentieth century. It also celebrates a notion that K-pop singers singing their songs in Korean with the possibility of its global circulation potentially resists the hegemonic American pop cultural flow. Through K-pop dance, CODE9 brings Asian culture to its local dance scene. “We are not taught much about Asia and Asian culture in general… K-pop is something we have never heard about before,” Louise said. She compared K-pop with J-pop (Japanese pop), which she thinks is closely related, and elaborated on the J-Popcon Convention, the largest and oldest convention on Japanese pop culture in Denmark. She continued, saying that a lot of K-pop fans attend the convention and that they will perform at J-Popcon next year. In the video “J-POPCON VLOG,” CODE9 hangs out with their friends and performs at the convention. Some of their K-pop performances seem to be inspired by Japanese pop culture, as they wear anime cosplay costumes.

The interviewees are not Korean, and none of them speak in Korean. One might wonder how they feel conformable and even feel being themselves while doing K-pop cover dance. This unfamiliarity and cultural distance, however, is one of the reasons they feel liberated, because they can be an “Other” in the local society and “do not care about getting judged.” For COED 9, K-pop is a way of expressing parts of their personalities that are often hidden. Many of them said that they are hesitant to show off in school, but they feel like themselves when dancing. Flemse said, “I feel more confident when we film a cover dance because I am more or less in control.… In my everyday life, I am more of a wallflower kind of person, so it is rather refreshing to step out of that role for a while.” Bent also said that she is a shy person and has social anxiety, but feels different in dancing. “I am very introverted, but when I do a K-pop cover dance, you would think I was a total extrovert! [laughs].” Louise said:

Bent further articulated this point of performing as an Other in Thirdspace:

Judith Butler's idea of “gender performativity” (Reference Butler1993, ix) is useful in order to understand the dance crew's performance of gender. K-pop girl groups are known for their performance of girlish or sexual femininity, thus choreographic choices are often stereotypes such as the “virgin” and “whore” dichotomy (Oh Reference Oh and Kuwahara2014, 60). Some of the K-pop girl group dance exhibits “hyper girlish” choreographies that consist of soft, fluid, delicate, and decorative movement, often inspired by balletic movement, such as airy arm gestures and intricate steps that display elongated legs (62). Other choreographies are often made explicitly sexual by integrating pole dance, body roll, strip, and night club dance, and twerking hip movements on the floor. The cover dances performed by CODE9 exemplify both of these categories.

In videos with girlish choreographies, CODE9 takes up limited space and presents docile and even childish girl images, such as holding their arms tight next to their waists, clenching their fists lightly, and quickly waving their fists with shy facial expression. They present a photographic duck face pose while dancing, slightly tilting their heads to the side, and positioning their palms underneath their faces. In their cover of K-pop girl group TWICE's song “Likey,” CODE9 stretches their arms down while flipping their backhands out and upward and cavort like young girls wearing innocent smiles on their faces. They send air kisses with small, cute, and decorative girlish gestures. They wear casual pastel color T-shirts and flare skirts, like school girls wear. The original music video is performed by nine members of TWICE and filmed in various outdoor spaces, such as a school, street, restaurant, and a park in Vancouver, Canada. CODE9's cover dance has a similar outdoor vibe. It is filmed in a park and performed by seven members. In conjunction with performing girlish femininity, CODE9 exhibits programmed facial expressions, such as winking, innocent looking eyes, or bright smiling, directly imported from original K-pop choreographies. Their facial expressions are identical to those of singers who “choreograph” their facial expressions to match with the lyrics and movement, similar to what Dodds called a “facial choreography” (Reference Dodds2014a, 39), that is designed, improvised, and set based on norms of each performance style.

An example of sexual choreography is their cover video of K-pop female singer Chungha's “Snapping,” in which they wear tight, short tops and revealing, short black pants. The CODE9 member who plays the singer's role caresses her body and hips with a seductive gaze, undulates her chest and tilts her hips side to side, boldly snapping her fingers. She circles her hips backward, covering her pelvic area with her hands as if she wants to tease the audience. The original video consists of the female singer, dressed in a highly extravagant, tight costume, and male and female backup dancers. It is filmed in a futuristic stage setting. CODE9's cover dance version is performed by females and videotaped in a space that appears to be in a museum. Behind the dancers, there is a big modernist painting on the wall, which resembles the opening scene of the original music video in which the singer is dancing in front of a big blue painting in a white room. In the original music video, the singer appears to have bleached blond hair. A CODE9 member, who performs the singer's role, also has the same hair color. In the original music video “Snapping,” there is a duet scene with the female singer and a male dancer seducing each other. In the CODE9 version, this scene is performed by two female dancers; one plays the singer's role, and the other one plays the male dancer's role. The girl playing the male dancer has an androgynous look—she has a short haircut and wears skinny, black jeans and a T-shirt. With this cross dressing adaptation of sexuality and the stage setting of the video, CODE9's local cover dance is compatible with, but at the same time different from, the original version.

As it occurs, fashion is an important element in the performance of an Other in K-pop. “When we film our covers, I dress and wear my hair a certain way to match the concept or to make it resemble the actual looks from that particular dance,” Flemse said. Code9 L addressed fashion, saying that K-pop singers’ makeup and fashion style influenced her since she started to listen to K-pop. “I use skirts more and invest in more Korean makeup, like lip tints and cushion foundations.” Ginger said that she always tries her best to wear the same clothes as the idols. “Sometimes I even buy special accessories to match their outfits.… I am not really good at makeup, so I do not really go into detail with that unless the idols wear something really iconic that I just have to wear,” she said. Admittedly, not all participants feel comfortable with being someone else. “Sometimes I get a little uncomfortable if the clothes are a little too tight or revealing,” Louise said. Highlighting the importance of clothing in dance performance, she continued, “If I just showed up in sweat pants and an old t-shirt, it is more likely that people do not want to see the cover.” CODE9 goes through a process of becoming between and across being K-pop idols and being themselves by adapting song lyrics, gendered choreographies, facial expressions, makeup, and fashion both for the stage and for daily life routines. They perform multiple egos physically and psychologically, and masquerade various gender roles from girlish femininity to androgyny, albeit temporarily.