K-pop is expanding its universe into alternate dimensions, and the results have been either phenomenal or eerie. Aespa debuted in 2020 and explored the metaverse with eight members in total– four real members and four respective avatars in the virtual dimension.
Although they discontinued the concept, it was quite revolutionary.
This concept is now taken to the next level with the first-ever all-virtual boy band Plvae, which debuted on March 12, 2023, with their single album “Asterum.”
Among its ranks, Eunho, the main rapper, stood out not just for his virtual charisma but for a controversy that’s as real as it gets. With a mix of excitement and skepticism, fans and critics alike have been left wondering: How does a virtual idol navigate the pitfalls of a past that’s anything but virtual?
PLAVE isn’t your run-of-the-mill boy band. Formed with a mission to blend play and dreams into a new world of music, their debut promised a fresh take on the K-pop formula.
Yet, beneath the computer-generated personas and high-tech performances, the real talents behind these avatars carry their own stories, challenges, and, as we’ve recently discovered, controversies.
Plave’s rapper Eunho’s past lyrics have stirred up a storm, challenging the boundary between virtual artistry and real-world accountability. Netizens have criticized the lyrics for blatant misogyny and for not making much sense. In another instance, some of the lyrics depicted women being harassed by stalkers.
Behind the Avatar: Eunho’s Lyrical Labyrinth
The revelation of Eunho’s past as an underground rapper with controversial lyrics has thrown a spotlight on the complexities of virtual idolatry. Fans were taken aback when songs from his mixtape surfaced, showcasing a side of Eunho that clashed with the polished, progressive image of PLAVE.
The song titled “B**ch” featured lyrics that many deemed misogynistic, sparking a debate on the responsibility of artists for their past work, especially in the ever-evolving landscape of K-Pop.
“Tall nose and a face the size of a fist
That fake smile, a pro at playing pretend
You’re a so-called b**ch b**ch b**ch
Anyone can tell you’re a b**ch b**ch b**ch
Tall heels and that lean body line
chin lifted, so chic
Pay for your own food you b**ch b**ch b**ch
Bring me a bottle of Febreze, you stink of soybean paste you crazy b**ch.”
This is a translated version of the Korean lyrics. What do you think? Drop your impression in the comments section below.
Eunho’s response to the controversy was swift and apologetic. He stated, “The lyrics I wrote when I was younger were fictional and do not reflect my current values.” This apology, however, opened up a broader conversation about the nature of artistry, fiction, and the persona artists adopt in their work.
PLAVE’s agency, VLAST, also weighed in, emphasizing their stance against privacy violations and defamation, hinting at the delicate balance between an artist’s creative freedom and public accountability.
The incident with Eunho raises questions about the identity and privacy of virtual idols. While some argue for complete transparency, others highlight the need for a protective veil, especially in cases where the artist’s virtual persona allows them to explore themes and narratives that may not align with their personal beliefs or past.
Moreover, the controversy has sparked discussions among fans and critics about the implications of virtual idols in the K-pop industry.
With PLAVE’s members performing both the vocals and choreography, the group has shown that talent and human effort lie at the core of their virtual existence. Yet, as Eunho’s case illustrates, the line between the artist and the avatar can sometimes become uncomfortably thin.
As PLAVE prepares for their next mini-album release, the conversation around Eunho’s lyrics serves as a reminder of the evolving challenges faced by artists in the digital age. It begs the question: How can virtual idols like Eunho navigate their past and their present in a world that constantly blurs the lines between reality and virtuality?
How much of an artist’s past should influence our perception of their art? Can virtual idols truly separate their digital personas from their real-life histories? Where should we draw the line between enjoying the art and holding artists accountable for their past actions?
These questions challenge us to rethink our relationship with virtual celebrities and invite us to engage in a deeper dialogue about the nature of identity, art, and redemption in the digital age.
Share your thoughts in the comments section below.
