Anti K-Pop and Dystopian Soundscapes
- Lucy Cheung
- Oct 7
- 3 min read
When
October 5, 2025
Where
Barbican Centre, London
Who
JAMBINAI
Piri, guitar, Taepyeongso, saenghwang, vocals: Ilwoo Lee
Haegeum, vocals: Bomi Kim
Geomungo: Eunyong Sim
Drums: Jaehyuk Choi
Bass: B.K Yu
London Contemporary Orchestra (LCO)
Conductor: Lauren Wasynczuk
Opening Act: Dal:um — Gayageum and Geomungo duo
What
Founded in Seoul in 2009 and now signed to UK indie label Bella Union, JAMBINAI has won five Korean Music Awards and performed at the closing ceremony of the 2018 PyeongChang Winter Olympics. Their Barbican debut was a large-scale collaboration with the London Contemporary Orchestra, offering a rare evening of symphonic post-rock.
Why
They first made waves at London’s K-Music Festival in 2023. This year, they returned—not as cultural ambassadors of K-Pop, but as a counter-current, presenting a colder, heavier, and more dystopian sonic landscape.
Live Notes
I’ve never been a post-rock devotee. But I loved JAMBINAI live.
During the opening act, my attention was immediately drawn to the two instruments flanking the stage, both reminiscent of the Chinese guzheng and guqin. The gayageum, Korea’s most emblematic zither, is plucked with the fingers. The geomungo, which looks similar, is in fact struck, producing a darker, weightier timbre. Dal:um are often loosely categorized as “folk,” but their music is entirely original. Bowing techniques and percussive rhythms reveal a contemporary sensibility that reaches well beyond the label.
When JAMBINAI entered, the five members sat dispersed among the LCO players. Ilwoo Lee began on the taepyeongso, a piercing double-reed instrument close to the suona, while Bomi Kim’s haegeum sang like a taut fiddle, and Eunyong Sim struck out low on the geomungo. As the orchestra surged behind them, post-rock’s vast dynamic sweep fused instantly with the earthy roots of Korean traditional sound. It was one of those moments that make you want to throw out every easy descriptor—especially “crossover.”
Later came the piri and saenghwang, their timbres hovering above the orchestral texture: unexpected, but entirely unforced.
JAMBINAI’s sound is cold-edged and unsentimental. There were stretches of explosive improvisation where LCO’s sections built and layered with striking precision, and quieter, introspective chapters shaped by the interplay between electric guitar arpeggios and geomungo fragments. The sonic landscapes felt like sketches of ruin and desolation.
The finale, “ONDA”, shifted the mood into something ritualistic. Before the piece, Ilwoo Lee addressed the audience with unguarded sincerity: “Chasing dreams can be exhausting, but don’t give up if you have one.” The vulnerability of the moment was immediately swallowed by the sheer force of the performance. A line of LCO singers stood at the back; Bomi Kim set down her haegeum to take lead vocals. Together, band and orchestra built a roaring climax reminiscent of Carmina Burana, but without bombast.
The scale overwhelmed a friend of mine—a self-proclaimed K-Pop fan—who shouted “epic!” and went straight to the merch line for a record. Another friend, who usually finds traditional instruments “museum-like,” admitted that his highlight was the taepyeongso solos: fragile, like a small boat on a vast sea, carrying a sense of newness.
While the immersive loops typical of post-rock didn’t particularly move me, one song stood out: “They Keep Silent.” Before playing it, Lee explained that the song was written in response to a tragedy eleven years ago: a ferry sank off Korea’s coast while the public watched helplessly on TV as 300 students disappeared into the sea. The government never revealed the full truth. The band wrote the piece out of anger.
The opening—with drums, strings and male chant—evoked early Radiohead. The lyrics repeat: “In the cold darkness,” “Speechless.” Then suddenly, the sound erupted into a massive wall of noise, evoking the numbness of witnessing the end of the world.
JAMBINAI’s music sits far from the slick polish of K-Pop. It’s dense, unflinching, and rooted in both tradition and dissent. On this night at the Barbican, they turned that stance into sound: post-rock meeting Korean instruments not as ornament, but as structure. Anti K-Pop, and unmistakably dystopian.
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