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changing economic structures, and shifting musical tastes, the members of the SamulNori project thus engaged in both formal and informal research on Korea’s traditional arts. But in their representations of Korean percussion music, there was also a certain degree of latitude in updating or innovating “traditional” music for modern audiences. Seoul’s urban audiences were not necessarily keen on sitting through hours-long performances of noisy and rustic p’ungmul. Nor could performance venues like the Space Theater even accommodate such large performing forces. One significant change made by the SamulNori quartet—which will be discussed at length in chapter 2—was the distillation and adaptation of elements drawn from the larger sphere of p’ungmul into a condensed presentational format.

      While this recontextualized indoor setting of the samul instruments would vex p’ungmul purists later on, the principal motivation behind the SamulNori project ultimately echoed the Konggan ethos. This ethos was inscribed in the very pages of the Konggan periodical. Appearing on the title page of a volume in 1976 was a working version of Konggan’s mission statement. The statement—composed in English—underwent extensive revisions over time: “We will think over tradition and history of the arts and various questions on the environment. We will try to help each Korean to know better about his nation and himself. And we will report, record and study the situation in which he lives. We are going to go forth bravely with him to the better future that is desirable to all of us” (Konggan 1976, 103).

      In 1989, Konggan had further revised its mission statement, framing its vision in more urgent and global terms. The Konggan Project was no longer relevant for just Koreans; it was also oriented toward the world.

      With foremost emphasis on the problems of our environment and on contemporary architecture and art, properly focused in a historical perspective, our evaluations of the past and present day Korea will enable us to understand her better and will forge a powerful vision of a better Korea for all of our readers. What does Korea mean to us here and the rest of the world, or vice versa? In each of our fresh issues, our dear philosophical readers, we attempt and answer with all our emphasis on art, architecture and environment, for when nothing is contemplated about the past, present and future in those fields of human endeavor, life might even prove meaningless. (Konggan 1989, 266)

      Delissen aptly describes Kim’s Konggan Project as “Korean history without a historian,” where the assembled team of writers and contributors “strove to elaborate Korean identity through aesthetics and aesthetics through history” (Delissen 2001, 243–44). Besides focusing on art and architecture, Konggan magazine devoted critical attention to traditional Korean music genres, and often featured detailed pictorial essays of village rituals or traditional dance genres. And while most articles were written in Korean, some titles would appear solely in English—with aims to reach a wider readership: “Instrumental Music for Dure [ture: a cooperative labor unit used in Korean farming] in Kosan, Taegu”; “Character of Korean Traditional Music”; and “The Stage of Korean Folk Drama—Ogwangdae nori.” One entire issue from 1975 was devoted to the theme of preserving Korean traditional music (Konggan 1975, vol. 6). And very much in line with the Konggan mission, folklorist Sim Usŏng contributed essays on “Disappearing Heritage” (1971); “What Have We Done, and What Has to Be Done?” (1975); “What Is Gut [kut] (and What Has Been Studied over [sic] It)?” (1980). These examples shine a light on how Konggan presented research on (combined with concerns and hopes for) Korean folk music and culture to its readers. In a similar vein, the SamulNori project engaged in an intensive study of Korean rhythm. For the musicians, this was not so much a scholarly endeavor as it was one driven by a spirit of discovery.

       KŎLLIPP’AE P’UNGMUL: A CASE STUDY

      Here I present one compelling case for my framing of the SamulNori project. While other examples can be summoned, I highlight this one since it is curiously absent in other studies of SamulNori. Furthermore, it is directly linked to the Space Theater and underscores a key issue in the study and reception of SamulNori.

      On September 29, 1980, the Space Theater gave the SamulNori quartet its own billing for the first time. Prior to this, the quartet had performed at the theater under the umbrella of the Minsogakhoe Sinawi (Folk Music “Sinawi”). This concert featured a new member—Lee Kwang Soo [Yi Kwangsu], who replaced the elder of the Choi [Ch’oe] brothers. Lee came from Yesan County in the southern part of Ch’ungch’ŏng Province, and was son to a father who was part of a professional itinerant performance troupe (Lee Kwang Soo 2009, 119–20). He met Kim Yong-bae through their membership in the Seoul-based namsadang troupe that Sim Usŏng had fostered in the 1970s.³¹ Initially, Kim had approached Lee about the quartet in 1978, but it was not until 1980 that Lee officially joined the group.³²

      If SamulNori’s premieres of “Uttari p’ungmul” (1978), “Samch’ŏnp’o 12-ch’a 36 karak” (1978), and “Honam udo karak” (1979) were inspired by the musical logic and the inflections of p’ungmul from those respective regions, then the 1980 “Kŏllipp’ae p’ungmul” program laid claim to the namsadang connections of its performers. The namsadang were itinerant troupes of male performers who traveled from village to village during Korea’s middle to late Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1910).³³ In exchange for food, shelter, and money, the namsadang (translated literally as “male temple group”) performed a variety of entertaining acts for locals: tightrope walking, masked dance drama, acrobatic tumbling, saucer spinning, puppet plays, and p’ungmul. By the middle of the twentieth century, the namsadang had diminished in significant numbers. These traveling groups faced resistance and found it increasingly difficult to sustain an itinerant lifestyle—especially within the context of the Japanese colonial period (1910–1945) and the Korean War (1950–1953).³⁴ In the 1960s, owing to the efforts of Sim Usŏng, a Seoul-based namsadang group was established.

      Members of the 1980 SamulNori quartet lineup were no strangers to the namsadang culture. The fathers of Kim Duk Soo and Lee Kwang Soo belonged to namsadang troupes while supporting their families in Taejŏn and Yesan, respectively, and Kim Yong-bae and Lee Kwang Soo were the youngest members of the Seoul namsadang troupe. Later, SamulNori’s promotional materials would accentuate this connection as lineage.³⁵

      The performance at Space Theater was the first time the quartet introduced the elements of dance and song—drawn in part from the namsadang repository—into their project’s expanding orbit. As the quartet’s newest member, Lee brought an expertise that added a welcome dimension to the group. A gifted singer, Lee took the lead with a narrative prayer song called “Pinari.” The pinari was typically performed by the namsadang to mark their arrival at a village. A complex text, the chanted song seeks to clear the grounds of malevolent forces and beseeches the village’s tutelary spirits to bless all inhabitants. The pinari is infused with religious sensibilities that nod to an older Korea’s syncretic relationship with Buddhism, shamanism, and Confucianism. Lee explained in an interview that as a young child, he would often accompany his father, Yi Chomsŏk, to namsadang performances. With a special aptitude for words, he became familiar with the basic contours of the text in his youth (Lee Kwang Soo interview, February 20, 2009).³⁶ Lee’s rendition of the pinari did not stray far from the version that was performed by the Seoul namsadang troupe, and was later passed on to younger musicians such as Park An-ji [Pak Anji] (Howard 2006, 16).

      FIGURE 1.5 “Kŏllipp’ae p’ungmul” program: the SamulNori quartet’s first solo appearance at the Space Theater. Photograph courtesy of SamulNori Hanullim.

      Space Theater’s pamphlet for the concert included a rare image of SamulNori (figure 1.5). The musicians were photographed from a higher vantage point, circumambulating the iconic stone pagoda in the courtyard of the Konggan Group Building.³⁷ The aerial shot shows three tasseled hats (sangmo) captured in midspin, with white streamers creating arcs around the performers while they play their instruments. This image documents a moment when the SamulNori project embarked on a new direction. Previously, the quartet’s performances at

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