For most of the last three years, the most clever, artful and progressive act in K-pop has been NewJeans, a five-member girl group — Danielle, Haerin, Hanni, Hyein and Minji — with an almost preternatural musical and aesthetic sophistication. With one elegantly rendered chart-topping single after another, the artists, who range in age from 16 to 20, seemed invincible.
Which is why the group’s announcement, last November, that it wished to terminate its contract with its label and management agency, Ador — a sublabel of the K-pop conglomerate Hybe — was such a watershed moment. NewJeans said that its differences with the company were irreconcilable, and that it would move on separately.
Ador took exception, leading to back-and-forth legal fusillades. (A lawsuit about the validity of the contract will begin with a hearing on April 3.) Last month, NewJeans’ members announced they were taking on a new name, NJZ, and that the group would perform for the first time under that moniker at ComplexCon Hong Kong, which took place this past weekend.
Two days before the performance, though, the Seoul Central District court approved an injunction requested by Ador that precluded NewJeans from participating in or initiating any new commercial activity as NJZ. A representative for the group said that it would appeal.
Ominously, a statement from Ador said it would have representatives at the Hong Kong show: “We will be fully present at ComplexCon this weekend to guarantee the performance is presented under the NewJeans name. We eagerly anticipate meeting with the artists for a heartfelt conversation at the earliest opportunity.”
This was a fraught context in which to deliver a memorable performance. The second installment of ComplexCon Hong Kong, a three-day streetwear and music festival, drew tens of thousands of chaotically dressed young people to AsiaWorld-Expo, a humongous convention center by the airport. The performance would headline the final night’s concert.
Anticipation was high. From the moment the doors opened on Sunday, fans decked out in various microgenerations of NewJeans merchandise — the Takashi Murakami collaboration, the Hiroshi Fujiwara collaboration — had raced to form a line for the NJZ merchandise booth, where they clamored to buy T-shirts, photo cards, pens and stickers. Hundreds of admirers — “Bunnies” is the name for the fandom — wrote messages of support in marker on the wall of the booth.
By 9 p.m., over 10,000 politely buzzing enthusiasts filled the convention center’s arena, many of them waving neon bunny signs with NJZ in the middle. Shuzo, the Japanese D.J. who was up just before the group, hadn’t even made it off the stage at the end of his listless set before the crowd started chanting “NJZ! NJZ!” Murakami and a handful of South Korean rap stars milled about in the V.I.P. section. Here and there, audience members made their feelings about Hybe known, in unflattering language.
Each member of NewJeans emerged to perform a cover song, one after the next, as if they couldn’t be seen together. First came Danielle, with a sprightly and sassy performance of TLC’s “No Scrubs.” She was feeling “jittery,” she said, and told the crowd that she and her bandmates would persevere “no matter what our group name is, no matter what kind of tough time we’ve been through.”
Then came Minji, with a testy take on Upsahl’s “Smile for the Camera,” a charged pop-rock song about chafing at authority. She chomped down hard when singing the song’s indignant chorus: “You tell us we ain’t good enough? / Well really you’re just out of touch / We might be young, we might be too much / But we’re not gonna shut up and smile for the camera.”
Then came a pair of soulful turns: Haerin performed a light-touch version of “Dontcha” by the Internet, followed by Hyein, confidently stalking the stage in a fur jacket, singing SWV’s “Use Your Heart” (recently prominently sampled on Kendrick Lamar’s “Heart Pt. 6”).
The exultant conclusion to these one-offs was Hanni’s peppy take on “My Boo,” the 1996 Atlanta bass anthem by Ghost Town DJs (though she suggested that the crowd was more likely to know it from the viral Running Man challenge from 2016).
The performances were solid, a little tentative perhaps — the group hadn’t been onstage in some months, and this was a set list chosen as if by a careful lawyer. There were no NewJeans songs: not the ecstatically sweet “Super Shy,” the rousing thumper “ETA,” the casually seductive “Supernatural,” the offhandedly coy “Cookie.” (The group did debut one new song together: “Pit Stop,” which pulsed with intense drum ’n’ bass fervor, and which its members accompanied with the sort of easefully precise choreography they’ve become known for.)
While on the surface the set was casual and unbothered, it wasn’t hard to sense something turbulent and emotionally taxed just underneath — atypical for the deeply polished group. It was as if the performers were communicating with their faithful in a kind of code.
After the solo turns, the five women changed into coordinated outfits, as if reassuming their shared identity. Minji wore tights that read Chapter NJZ. They spoke to the crowd gingerly, but were clearly holding back. At one point they formed a semicircle, clasped hands, and engaged in a little collective primal scream therapy: “3, 2, 1, aaarrrrgggghhhh!”
Before leaving the stage, they stood together and read prepared statements, in English and Korean, for eight minutes. The members repeatedly insisted that they respected the court’s decision, and that they were effectively going on hiatus until some of the open legal questions were resolved. What was intended to be the first NJZ performance appeared likely to also be the last, at least for now.
“It feels too hard to keep going at this pace, and as strong as we are trying to stay, it is honestly taking a bit of a mental and emotional toll on us,” Danielle said. “However, this doesn’t mean that we are going to give up.” Added Hanni, “It’s about protecting ourselves so that we can come back even stronger.”
After each statement, the crowd cheered. Multiple members shed tears. The words were an embrace, but the tone was that of a goodbye. It was as distressing a moment as seen at any concert in recent memory.
Perhaps the shape of the angst is different, but we have seen pop stars wither in plain sight before. Take the public unraveling of Britney Spears following years of paparazzi aggression, tabloid dissection and management disputes; or a despondent Justin Bieber literally performing in a cage, as if his alienation weren’t obvious enough.
The invisible costs of pop superstardom are often unfathomably high, and it was difficult not to think of cautionary moments like those when faced with a group of performers so clearly fraying under pressure.
This feels especially pointed in the South Korean entertainment industry, where performers labor under almost impossible standards of perfection with an expectation of emotional blankness. That the members of NewJeans spoke out on their own behalf at all is a rare act of boldness. That it might cost them their ability to continue performing feels unfathomable and cruel.
Around a half-hour after the show, the vast convention hall was practically empty and most of the vendors’ displays were being dismantled. The one that had been selling NJZ merch was still intact, though.
Just a handful of people were around when Hanni, Minji, Hyein, Haerin and Danielle emerged from a side door surrounded by security guards. They looked downcast, drained. They walked over to survey their booth and see up close what their fans had left them. For around five minutes, they took in the messages, signed the wall in a couple of places, and then posed for photos in which they mustered some long-practiced defiantly joyful faces.
Then they dropped their heads again and made for the exit, not knowing what awaited on the other side.
