It may sound obvious now, but BTS is no longer simply the name of seven members. It has become a proxy that relieves the long-standing yearning of older generations who once sought recognition from the West; for HYBE, it is a decisive factor in stock price fluctuations; and for politicians scrambling to claim even a small share of credit, it is an achievement to be leveraged. When an aura and pressure grow beyond what can be managed, they tend to signal two possible paths: to entrust one’s identity to the expectations of the majority, or to sing of extreme simplicity and humility.
When the title “Arirang” was first revealed, it seemed the choice leaned toward the former. Just as “Idol,” which inserted traditional Korean chant elements into EDM, was once suspected of appealing to so-called nationalist sentiment, similar concerns began to emerge. But when a tracklist densely packed with international producers, such as Diplo, Ryan Tedder, Mike Will Made It, Tame Impala, and Artemas, was unveiled, the guiding concept of Arirang quickly became unclear. What exactly is BTS trying to say?
The blueprint itself is simple. Divided by the interlude “No. 29,” built from the tolling sound of the Seongdeok Bell, the album splits into two halves. Those accustomed to pop conventions may prefer the latter half starting with “Swim,” but structurally, the first half, rooted in hip-hop, has the upper hand. If one can endure the eventual appearance of the folk song “Arirang,” “Body to Body,” placed at the forefront, carries an imposing presence, while “Fya,” featuring Flume and JPEGMAFIA, effectively incorporates the kind of experimental exploration that leader RM showcased in his solo works.
While the rappers’ presence has grown stronger, the pop tracks feel comparatively passive, almost as if they are hiding behind production. “Merry Go Round” is immediately overtaken by the unmistakable influence of Kevin Parker, and the closing track “Into the Sun” amounts to a faithful reproduction of the alternative R&B style popularized a decade ago by Frank Ocean. Even when vocals are emphasized, their tendency to hover in higher registers weakens their connection to the songs, resulting in something not far removed from typical filler tracks already abundant among their juniors. A perspective that overlooks individuals in pursuit of a singular goal, arguably one of the most quintessentially K-pop traits.
In that sense, “Like Animals,” which openly acknowledges its strong references, much like the group’s past title tracks that borrowed from shifting Anglo-American trends, is oddly refreshing. Centered around the melancholic pop style associated with Somber (note: interpreted as a stylistic trend), and enhanced by Artemas’s dark touch, it delivers one of the most memorable choruses in the latter half. The significantly reduced lag in adopting global trends, once taking three to four years, also highlights the active role of multinational A&R efforts.
It may feel like a return to their early career, when hip-hop was foregrounded over idol pop, but the storytelling that once anchored their fanbase has largely disappeared. Tracks like “One More Night” and “Please” attempt to continue the lineage of fan-dedicated love letters, yet they lack the emotional resonance of songs like “Mikrokosmos” or “Magic Shop.” Themes of friendship and deep bonds have been replaced by a desire to escape from stardom. While understandable given the burdens they now carry, much of the emotional landscape feels like an extension of the individual identities explored in their solo work, raising questions about whether a sense of collective identity was sidelined in the production process.
In short, the sense of teamwork feels faint. “Aliens” exemplifies this. RM plays with idiomatic wordplay and references figures like Kim Gu, Suga still channels anger, and J-Hope appears to insert traditional rhythmic terminology almost by force, consistent in their own ways. Yet the vocal members, preoccupied with delivering their individual parts, fail to convey a unified message as a seven-member group. As a result, even what could have been a uniquely BTS-style rebuttal to the West’s skewed perception of K-pop is reduced to a rather flat exchange.
This is also why the title “Arirang” feels like a MacGuffin. The relatively low proportion of Korean lyrics or the absence of traditional melodic structures are secondary issues. Fundamentally, BTS’s music no longer reflects the spirit of the times. While everyone eventually longs for a private life, this is a group that once transformed personal pain into a shared narrative through works like The Most Beautiful Moment in Life. Songs like “Merry Go Round,” which laments being trapped in repetition, or “Normal,” which depicts suffering under the shadow of fame, may evoke sympathy—but stripped of dynamism, the music no longer serves as a canvas for public projection. Instead, BTS risks becoming a distant icon, shedding tears from afar.
Paradoxically, it is in “Swim”, bordered by English lyrics and devoid of a clear melody, that the global star “BTS” reverts to seven individuals once known as Bangtan Sonyeondan. Repeating a vague desire to dive in, the song expresses a resigned urge to sink into deep waters. At its core lies a sense of helplessness in the face of an overwhelming force that threatens to consume their very existence, regardless of cause or fault.
That is why Arirang is, in many ways, a deeply sad album. Like a circle dance where participants try to hold onto one another, they ultimately look in different directions. The name BTS, destined to be permanently etched into K-pop history, is gradually becoming an abstract concept, drifting farther away from anything clearly graspable, as we watch in quiet anticipation.
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