Korean Rapper Recommendations Based On American Artists You Like

Tasked with describing Korean hip-hop, you would find the genre as nonconformant to generalizations and as elusive of labels as its American counterpart. It is shaped by every kind of music, by Korean politics, by American media, by the syncopations of its native language, and by the personal narratives of that language’s speakers.

Korean hip-hop has a dense history dating back to the late 1980s, when American hip-hop began finding national and international appeal. Interestingly (and perhaps problematically), the genre’s growth in popularity was not driven primarily by the music; it was the culture that lay adjacent to hip-hop that pushed it through those early, wayward years. Rap beats were incorporated into a burgeoning B-boying scene, and many Koreans got their first taste of the music in dance clubs in the 1990s. For the next decade, hip-hop as Americans would recognize it lay dormant in Korea, more an underground community, and mainstream pop acts incorporated a sugary, benign version of it that continues to this day with groups whose music raise pressing questions of Black cultural appropriation.

Then, in the late 2000s and early 2010s, with hip-hop reigning supreme in American pop culture, the underground burst open. Was it the Internet? The intense commercialization (and appropriation) of “urban” street style?  Regardless of the answer, by 2015, Noisey was talking about the “Korean Invasion” being led by golden grill-wearing rapper, Keith Ape. Two years later, Roc Nation had signed Jay Park, a fixture of mainstream Korean hip-hop.

But these milestones were just the beginning. With streaming services increasing accessibility to foreign-language music, Korean hip-hop is finding a home in American clubs and on Spotify playlists. For those interested in exploring their music, we’ve put together a list of essential Korean hip-hop artists. To guide your introduction, and as a reminder of where the cultural origins of hip-hop lie, we’ve listed corresponding American artists whom their music is reminiscent of.

DPR Live is the musical face of the DPR Collective, a “multi-genre music and video group” based out of South Korea. Vast negative space, echoing backing vocals, and a penchant for guitar samples, his music immediately brings Mac Miller to mind. Add to this that DPR Live is part of a growing cadre within the genre that are effectively bilingual, adeptly switching between English and Korean and never losing the beat. Moreover, his lyrics’ internality and imagery are reminiscent of Isaiah Rashad: that slow sway to his verses that spill into sing-rapping, and like Rashad he seems to find his feelings reflected in the world around him-- in the sunshine, in the water.

Kid Milli seems to have learned all the words that were cool in 2017 and committed them to memory. Phrases like “Raf Simons,” “fuckboi,” “Breaking Bad,” and “Pablo Escobar” are sprinkled throughout his hit single “WHY DO FUCKBOIS HANG OUT ON THE NET.” The song’s elastic, capacious beats bring to mind early Ronny J and Smokepurpp collaborations, with Milli’s affinity for cursing as a stark imitation of Ski Mask the Slump God’s potty mouth. For all the fun his music can be, Kid Milli’s popularity is where Korean hip-hop most acutely feels like an appropriation and dilution of Black culture. Like Post Malone, he treats hip-hop like something cool but depthless; fun but solely hedonistic. What does it say about Milli’s view of the genre and its originators if all he draws from it is that rappers are celebrities cast in the mold of Pablo Escobar?

pH-1 was born in Korea and raised in New York, but somehow his music is distinctly unlike the sounds of either region (aside from his bilingualism). His music exudes color and optimism, even when he’s dissing groupies or feeling heartbroken, so much that he may well have been raised on the same ray of sunshine that Chance the Rapper was. 

Heizi is right at the convergence of rapping and pop-singing in Korean hip-hop. Her songs and collaborations are built on slow beats and soulful choruses. Take some trap snares, slow down the tempo, add a guitar, some snaps and claps for good measure, throw in a moody insouciance, and you’ve got a Heize single.

There’s no beat this guy can’t inhabit. Sik-K is a pop-savant (or possibly just a trend-chaser). Sometimes he raps, sometimes he sings. Sometimes he’s a heartthrob, and sometimes he looks like he spends too much time in Hot Topic. At his best, Sik-K combines serrated, raspy vocals (à la Uzi Vert) with the sadboy slouch and swagger of Lil Peep. At his live performances he’s been known to filter his vocals through a Travis Scott-inspired flanging autotune. But the La Flame comparison doesn’t end there— Sik-K is also a fan of spraying his water bottle over the front row right as the beat drops.

Yezi’s flow, voice, and music videos are eerily similar to Nicki Minaj’s, so much so that if Nicki spoke Korean, there would probably have been a diss track and a Twitter rant by now. For the time being, however, Yezi has hold over a unique niche in the Korean hip-hop community. Where many people expect Korean female rappers to be as bubbly and ingratiating as their K-pop counterparts, Yezi holds it down with intimidating backing vocals and rock-driven samples fit for Princess Nokia.

Composed of rapper Kim Ximya and producer FRNK, XXX formed in response to mainstream Korean hip-hop quickly becoming sanitized and commodified. Except, for a group ready to tear down the capitalist music machine, they're surprisingly palatable. FRNK's production can be twitchy and disorienting, but Kim Ximya has that nasally, ScHoolboy Q snarl and a furious, Eminem-like flow that can tear apart any beat with a good story.