Trot: The Perfect Age to Fall in Love

I share the same taste in music as my grandma.

My grandma immigrated from Korea to the U.S., bringing music and culture with her. When I was little, I remember how I would watch her profile sit in front of the TV, wrinkled yet strong hands clapping enthusiastically. I could always rely on them to be a little off-beat. For each singer on the bright screen, wearing a flashy sequin jacket or traditional Korean hanbok, my grandma would rank their abilities out loud, her gaze appraising each and every note. My home continues to be filled with the presence of bright trumpets, simple yet mesmerizing synths, harmonious backup vocals, and strong voices steeped in an intense, slicing vibrato. My grandma introduced me to trot music.

To anyone reading this, trot is a sound that evades any singular explanation, and the best I could do to explain trot would be to direct you towards legends such as Na Hoon-A. But just like the way my family cooks with feeling, our only measuring cups being the crevasses of our hands, once you taste it you know it. Once you listen to trot, you feel it.

Trot is ingrained in Korea, even if that history is blurry. From what I have gathered through family members and online research, trot originated during the period of Japanese occupation over Korea, dating from 1910 to 1945. Unlike this set timeline, the actual musical origins of trot are unclear. Some say that Trot was born from Japanese “Enka” music and its eventual cross with Korean folk. On the other hand, people such as my grandma believe that trot originated purely from Korean people, without any inspiration from outside nations. Either way, trot was used as a way to preserve the stories of those living under Japanese rule, becoming a form of communication during a time that stifled Korean culture and identity. With its 2-part rhythm and vigorous ability to get stuck in your head, trot’s name is taken from the common “Foxtrot.” The steady beat flows through your body as your arms bounce from side to side, the twisting, bending, and wild vocals making trot what it is. Lyrics tell stories that range from youth lost to hunger and poverty, to celebrating love in any season, to an intense longing to meet your past lover at a wintery train station. Trot was created by, catered to, and considered to belong to a now older generation of Koreans. As the K-pop scene boomed in the 1990’s, trot fell steeply out of fashion, reserved for either karaoke sessions or the occasional street performer winking to a passing ajumma.

However, in recent years the legacy of trot has been rewritten. My grandma has become a massive fan of the hit Korean reality TV series and talent show, Mr. Trot, released back in January 2020. In each season, 100 male contestants audition and compete in elimination rounds against one another, hoping to earn enough hearts (votes) to advance towards the final prize: money and the chance to record their own trot single. The panel of judges is composed of both famous trot legends as well as senior K-pop idols, ranking in viewers from multiple different generations. The ages of the contestants also vary. With the age limit being completely abolished for season 3, you can expect to see contestants like 74-year-old Lee Saeng-No and even 8-year-old Jiwoo Yoo. With rigorous competition, any chance to elevate a performance must be grasped. Contestants make full use of their unique talents cultivated from past careers as actors, dancers, idols, even firefighters, newscasters and martial artists. I have seen stages where contestants will dress in high school uniforms, hoping to woo a girl across the classroom, or in risky black button-ups, undoing their ties as their smoldering expressions fill the camera. Mr. Trot has transformed trot performance away from the singer plus backup dancers stage combo, and with these more elaborate, colorful sets, Mr. Trot goes beyond music to display an almost theatrical type of performance.

In re-popularizing trot and spreading the sound to a younger audience, Mr. Trot has led some incredible musicians into the spotlight. For my grandma’s favorites, I would have to start with Park Seo -Jin, a rising star who plays the Janggu, a traditional, double-sided Korean drum. In his cover of Jin Sung’s “Andong Station,” Seo-Jin moves around the drum with relaxed ease, each impact producing a thick yet subtle reverb. His voice is light, intertwining perfectly with breathy textures and short husky tones, even the controlled voice crack here and there as he travels between registers. What I have noticed about trot, apart from a wide use of vibrato, is that every sound is deeply supported by a singer’s chest voice. Seo-jin’s voice is naturally higher pitched and a bit nasally, yet each texture remains intact as it moves through the air.

Another favorite is Lee Chan-Won—endearing by his awkward smile and boy-next-door vibes, he is the perfect poster child for all things trot. There is no wonder that fans adore him. Covering the famous song “Jintobaegi,” Chan-Won’s rendition can only be described with one word: powerful. Every note comes from the back of his throat, rich like silk, supported from the very bottom of his chest. While I gravitate towards more lively performances and stages with lots of fun choreography, Chan-Won’s clean voice makes up for awkward (yet sweet) movements. Not only does he have full control of his sound, but he seems to be a complete reincarnation of some of the best trot performers to exist. He makes even simple songs compelling, with talent that is simply undebatable.

It is because of Mr. Trot that the trot genre has returned to Korea’s mainstage, allowing us to see in real-time the ways a genre evolves and changes with time. Now, I can go online and interact with my culture in a new way, spending hours listening to a team that recreates the vibe of BTS, stages where ballet dancers and beatboxers alike can show off their skills, and even witnessing artists recreate popular K-pop hits in a trot context. It has always been hard to track trot songs back to their original singers, having been covered and transformed throughout the years, and now, there is no limit to the possibilities of trot and its future growth. Mr. Trot truly continues to bridge any gap between old and young, the fluidity of its tone allowing us to experience music together.

However, I believe that the real reason trot became legendary in the first place is because trot provided a safe space for the elderly to feel and process their emotions. It is hard for me to see how some of these younger contestants could possibly touch someone’s heart in the same way as the original artists. For example, when 13-year-old contestant Jung Dong-Won covered Jin Sung’s “Barley Hill,” the crowd was shocked at the clarity of his voice paired with the innocent wide-eyed expression on his face. Although hardly even a teen, he brought Jin Sung to tears, sitting quietly in the judge’s chair. I have to say, I really do not get it. When it comes to the song “Barley Hill,” the lyrics are heart-wrenching, the narrator telling a child not to run or jump, for their starving stomach may cave in, all while detailing how a mother’s sigh could be heard every night. I think the fact that these lyrics are so poignant is because they are true for a lot of Korean elderly, messages aligning with their own histories. Even lighter songs that depict drinking, partying all night, and even having an affair, are ways for the elderly to relive life experiences. Sure, there are exceptions like the 27-year-old vocal powerhouse Song So-Hee, who rekindled the fire for the traditional sound with songs such as “Pollack,” but the way she carries herself also shows a rare maturity to her voice and there is this special dramatic tension that pushes the boundaries of human ears, one that I do not feel 8-year-olds would be able to replicate.

I do think that the evolution of genre is tremendous, especially for the preservation of trot. On the other hand, age is a big theme in trot music, particularly on the topic of time passing and growing old. Age and its transformative power cannot be found written on my grandma’s shining face, but I see the way age dictates how my grandma feels about herself. She compares the original singers to their younger counterparts, saying that in losing their youth, the legends lost their ability to perform and sing. She comments that their prime is gone. She ties weakness and old age together, as if they are synonymous with one another. It hurts to see this, and to hear her say things like, “I am too old to dance,” or “no one wants to see an old lady dance.” She questions: “what about the face of an old person looks pretty?” She cuts me apart in passing, leaving invisible lines to bleed out across my face. I feel cursed with the youth that separates me from her, and I wonder if she looks into my face with hope and pride, all while feeling a sense of loss towards an time she longs to feel again. I can only help call her pretty so many times, and dance with her so many times. Only the trot music coming from the screen can fulfill the parts of her I fail to reach.

This is exactly why I share trot with her, and why I know that in my old age, I will continue to listen to trot. More than just preserving my culture, I stand by its messages. Trot lyrics ask, “what is wrong about my age / does love have an age? / tears form in my eyes / I am at the perfect age to fall in love.” My favorite line is “the broken clock has stopped spinning / yet time still will not come to a stop,” because while this lyric points to an end, the sounds and cheers continue on. The music, in a sense, is in constant reflection of the flow of time itself, but it always proves how there is affection found in the lines slowly melding into your face. I want my grandma to continue singing these lyrics proudly, for while she may age, it will never change her capacity to love and be loved. I think that is beautiful.