In the 1980s book, Big Sounds from Small People: The Music Industry in Small
Countries. musicologists Roger Wallis and Krister Malm caustically observed: “Sweden
has given the world ABBA (though their music has nothing to do with their country of
origin).” This panel, convened at a time of tariff-talk and anti-globalization, looks at style
through these fundamental issues. Some pop music is aimed at a domestic market, but
much is made for export. That might be from small countries to regions and global
audiences. Or via racial and genre crossover categories. Using the lessons of Motown,
K-Pop, Max Martin, and Quebec, with likely nods to the British Invasion, country music
of various origins and Eurovision, this panel takes as its starting point the idea that
export music is not just a watered-down product. As pop kicked out of the nest, it
explores non- and anti-domestic style, with implications that range from the role of
government to the mediation of identity.
INDIVIDUAL ABSTRACTS
Eric Weisbard, The “SweMix” of American Pop, from Abba to Spotify
This presentation, focusing on the band Abba, the guild of songwriters and “SweMix”
producers associated with Max Martin, and the audio music streaming corporation Spotify,
will explore how a small, Scandinavian country has for fifty years redefined mainstream pop
worldwide. Lacking a large domestic market, Swedes crafted music for export, fitting the moods
and needs of consumers rather than unveiling a local scene.
But what makes it Swedish? We can marvel at its scope, feel shaped by its anthems, and still wonder
about its plasticity. I will track a commercial success, the “Swedish miracle,” but also revulsion aimed
at that success, whether 1970s anti-Abba prog-rock scenesters or anti-Spotify teardowns right now.
Swedish-American pop exchanges map a space of remixing, where the dominant language is often
people’s second language and the local gives way to a relentless flow of at times alarming, hybridity. Abba, Martin, and Spotify chose to emigrate from Swedish origins to – quote unquote – “pop.” And they built up equity
in that placeless place.
The choice put them in the tradition of Vilhelm Moberg’s series of novels, The Emigrants, which
made an epic of Sweden as the nation that sent the highest percentage of its people to the United States
in the 19 th and early 20 th century. Abba’s two songwriters, Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson, created Kristina
från Duvemåla, a musical adaptation of the novels. Having claimed a full stake in a world of Chiquititas
and dancing queens, emigrants Benny and Björn wrote home. These back-and-forths will be my theme:
style at the edge between a small, too-stable locale and a big, ambiguous neighbor.
Euny Hong, “K-Poppenheimer’s Deadly Toy: How the South Korean Government
Manufactured the K-Pop Industry from Scratch”
Just 70 years ago, South Korea was the world’s third-poorest country. Far from having a
global reputation as a producer of music, it didn’t even have its own national anthem,
and it initially had to borrow the tune from “Auld Lang Syne.” Until a decade ago, if you
were to ask any non-Korean to name a K-pop song, the closest they’d get would
probably have been the theme song from the TV show M*A*S*H*. Now, it’s one of the
world’s wealthiest nations and biggest exporters of pop, having re-invented not just
band-dom, but fandom. In fact, its fandom is so unique that Korean record labels had to
invent the word “fandustry,” a portmanteau word combining “fan” with “industry.” The
world has never seen its like. How did we get from there to here? And what bizarre role
did the movie Jurassic Park play? (Hint: everything)
What most people do not know is that “Hallyu”—the Korean Wave of pop culture
led by K-pop—is no accident. It has been brewing in a South Korean government
laboratory (figuratively… but also literally) for the last three decades. It's the most well-
funded, meticulously orchestrated national marketing campaign in the history of the
world. The goal: to make Korea synonymous with cool, with music leading the way.
Just 12 years ago, after “Gangnam Style” broke YouTube records, many thought
K-pop was a fluke. Well, if so, then it’s a fluke that has already endured longer than the
Beatles lasted as a band. Not only has South Korea produced the world’s top boy band
(BTS), but there’s no end in sight, with some gobsmacking stats: Of the top 10 YouTube
music video debuts of all time, numbers one through nine are K-pop acts, with only one
outlier—Taylor Swift’s ME!—occupying 10th place. The most tweeted-about band is
BTS (even though they’ve been on hiatus since 2022), the band with the most
Instagram followers is BlackPink. How did all this happen? How did Korea make its pop
music fully mainstream, when no other non-English speaking nation managed to pull
this off?
Erin MacLeod, “Distinct Society: Quebecois Music Out of Canada”
The tale of CanCon is one that instills fascination in anyone not familiar with the MAPL
system - a requirement that 35% of any popular music played on radio, must fulfill at
least two of the following conditions: music, artist, performance location or lyrics are
defined as Canadian. This has led to niche artists like B-4-4 and Shawn Desman having
a presence as large in Canada as some major American stars, but it also has
undoubtedly propelled the popularity of now massive stars like Justin Bieber and Drake.
But then there is Quebec. The other of the two solitudes has produced artists like
Arcade Fire, Kaytranada, Grimes, and, of course, Celine. But these artists have little to
no connection to the weekly Franco hit parade. Quebec music has always been defined
as having to be, primarily, French language, but the music that grows up in Quebec and
is exported to the rest of the world expands the notion of what Quebec is, much to the
chagrin of the government cultural brokers.
