If Arirang is meant to express Korea, why is so much of the album in English?

The question assumes that language is where culture begins.

It doesn’t.

Arirang has never relied on definition.
It carries meaning without needing to translate—held in tone, in repetition, in the way it moves through people.

Its meaning was never fixed.
Only recognized.

And in the past three weeks, BTS have shown exactly what that looks like.

Not through explanation.
Through evidence.

Origin — Before BTS

Over a century ago, Arirang was recorded in the United States—
by a small group of Korean men.

Seven voices, far from home,
preserving something that could not be translated, only carried.

Today—
seven men record Arirang again.

Not to repeat it.

To continue it.

Place — Korea, Fully Centered

They begin in Gwanghwamun Square.

Not as a backdrop—
but as a place where Korea gathers, remembers, and speaks.

They move through Gyeongbokgung Palace—
through gates once reserved for kings,
through spaces built for ceremony, power, and statehood.

This is not aesthetic.

This is placement.

Sound — A Nation Heard

At the center of the album is “No. 29.”

A track built from the sound of the
Divine Bell of King Seongdeok—
Korea’s National Treasure.

There are no lyrics.

Only resonance.
And the slow disappearance of it.

The track’s duration mirrors the time it takes
for the bell to fade.

Silence becomes composition.
History becomes time.

Objects — Heritage, Carried Forward

Through MU:DS, Korean heritage leaves the museum.

• A layered skirt carries the echo of a bell

• A hair clip and pin turn pattern into form

• A folding table reflects Korea’s grounded, floor-based living

• A fan reduces tradition to its most minimal expression

These are not objects of nostalgia.

They are meant to be worn.
Held.
Lived with.

Material — Knots, Cords, Tassels

Across the styling, the details hold:

Cords.
Knots.
Tassels.

Not decoration.

Structure.

Echoing traditions of Korean knotwork—
where tension, balance, and finish carry meaning.

They move with the body.
They complete the gesture.

Form — Reinterpreting the Body

The silhouettes move between:

• structure and fluidity

• uniform and movement

• discipline and release

At the Guggenheim performance—

V wears a headpiece that feels familiar,
but isn’t.

Wrapped.
Extended.
Finished with a tassel.

Not borrowed.
Rewritten.

Symbol — Myth Made Physical

A microphone held by a dragon’s hand.

Myth.
Power.
Protection.

Cast into something meant to be heard.

Design — Korean Authorship

This is not styling.

This is authorship.

Built with Korean designers and studios:

• Songzio

• Studio Dong Lyung

• and a network of Korean creatives shaping the visual language

The clothing does not reference Korea.

It is made by it.

Cinema — A Korean Visual Language

The project draws from Korean cinema.

Not loosely.

Specifically.

Referencing works like Oldboy—
controlled, psychological, precise.

Even “Hooligan” carries that tension.

This is not global imagery.

This is Korean storytelling.

People — Living Culture

Through KEEP SWIMMING,
the focus shifts to Korean individuals:

• film

• fashion

• movement

Masters of their craft.

Not introduced—
recognized.

Culture, not as history,
but as living expertise.

Language — The Bridge, Not the Loss

So where does language sit in all of this?

If you want to welcome someone into your home—
you speak in a way they understand.

Not to replace yourself.

To invite them in.

English becomes access.
Not identity.

Closing — An Invitation

Jungkook says it simply:

“I speak Korean. You learn Korean… even if it’s simple.”

Not as distance.

As invitation.

They didn’t step away from their roots.

They made it easier for the world
to step toward them.

감사합니다.
정말 감사합니다.
방탄소년단.