Welcome back to the Deep Dive. Today we are putting
a magnifying glass on one of the most volatile
currencies in the creative world. Oh, yeah. Volatile
is definitely the right word for it. We're talking
about artistic risk. Exactly. You know, it's
that terrifying moment when a creator looks at
a formula that is just printing money winning
fans and working perfectly. And decides to just
light a match and burn it down. Right. Just to
see what they can build from the ashes. It's
the classic Dylan going electric moment. It's
the pivot. Yeah. And usually in the highly manufactured,
incredibly high stakes world of K -pop, the standard
operating procedure is basically. If it outbroke,
for the love of God, don't fix it. Right, just
rinse, repeat, and cash the check. Exactly. But
today we are looking at a group that looked at
their winning streak and took a really hard left
turn. We are talking about Seventeen and their
2017 release, Don't Wanna Cry. Which is such
a fascinating case study because looking back
from where we stand now, it's easy to see it
as a classic. Oh, for sure. But in May 2017,
this was a massive gamble that could have alienated
their entire core fan base. So let's set the
scene for you. It's May 22, 2017. Seventeen drops
their EPL1. Right. Now, if you were a Carrot,
that's a fan of the group. Up until this point,
you had a very specific image in your head. We're
talking about what they called the fresh teen
energy. Yeah, think of songs like Adore You,
Man See. Very nice. It was highly theatrical.
It was high energy and deeply influenced by funk
and hip hop. Bright colors, school uniforms,
all of that. Exactly. They carved out this very
specific niche of being the happy boy group in
a sea of generally much darker concepts. And
then Don't Wanna Cry happens and suddenly the
funk guitars are just gone. Completely gone.
The bright smiles are gone and we are plunged
into this moody atmospheric soundscape. And that's
really the mission of this deep dive today. Yeah.
We aren't just recounting a release. We want
to understand the actual mechanics of this pivot.
Right. How did a single track shift the group's
entire identity from boyish charm to emotional
maturity? So we're going to look at that move
into EDM and Electropop, the visual rebranding.
And of course, we have to talk about the elephant
in the room. Oh, yeah. The elephant. It's a big
one today. It really is. We're going to unpack
the controversy regarding the songwriting credits.
OK. Because there is a very complex story there
involving. plagiarism accusations, and some massive
Western superstars. It totally challenges our
understanding of independent creation. Absolutely.
It's a story that involves legal maneuvering
that would make a corporate lawyer sweat, honestly.
And just to be clear, we're pulling this from
a stack of data regarding the composition chart
performance, the music video production, and
the official statements from Pledis Entertainment
at the time. So let's get right into the sound.
Because this wasn't just a new song. It was a
total sonic rebrand. Completely. As we said,
the previous DNA of the group was very hip -hop
based. But Don't Wanna Cry is pure 2017 EDM pop.
It's built on these washout synths. A very specific
beat drop and this deeply melancholy melody.
And 2017 was the peak year for that sound, right?
I mean, it felt like every song on the radio
had that drop instead of a traditional chorus.
It was the Chainsmokers era, effectively. And
that's exactly where the risk lies. For a K -pop
group known for a unique... funky sound to certainly
pivot to the dominant western radio trend that
is incredibly dangerous yeah you risk looking
like you're chasing a trend rather than setting
one or worse you risk sounding like everyone
else and the lyrics shifted drastically too we
went from i like you you're pretty let's date
to well pure misery yeah don't want to cry is
a straight up breakup anthem it's all about Loneliness,
regret, that empty post breakup feeling. It's
a maturation of their narrative. I mean, you
can't stay the high school crush group forever.
Yeah. But you have to wonder what the atmosphere
was actually like in the recording studio. They
had to have known this was a massive departure.
Oh, they definitely knew. Yeah. I actually found
this interview with Teen Vogue from around that
time. Yeah. And DK, who is usually the human
embodiment of sunshine for the group, was pretty
candid about the fear they were feeling. Oh,
really? What did he say? He admitted that even
before the comeback, the group was just full
of worry. He said, quote, we wondered how our
fans and the public would react and if they would
even like it. Yeah, and he explicitly called
it a very different sound. That anxiety is so
real. You have to understand, in K -pop, the
relationship with the fandom is totally symbiotic.
Right, it's everything. If you release something
that feels inauthentic, or if the fans feel like
you've lost the spark that made them stan you
in the first place, the backlash can be swift.
They were walking a serious tightrope. And yet,
ironically, the backlash didn't actually come
from the fans disliking the new style. No, it
didn't. The backlash came from somewhere else
entirely. So let's talk about that controversy.
Plagiarism accusation. Yeah. So the song drops.
Everyone is streaming it. And almost immediately,
the Internet does what the Internet does. People
started pointing fingers and saying, wait a minute,
I know this song. Which is the nightmare scenario
for literally any songwriter. Listeners started
drawing immediate comparisons to something just
like... This, you know, that massive collaboration
between the Chainsmokers and Coldplay. Right.
And look, I've listened to them back to back
as part of the research. I'm not a musicologist,
but even I raised an eyebrow. It's hard not to.
When you look at the structure, the way the verse
builds into the pre -chorus and specifically
the synth design in the drop, the similarities
are striking. It shares that exact same mid -tempo
sentimental EDM progression. It's basically the
millennial whoop of synth drops. Exactly. And
in 2017, that sound was just ubiquitous, which
really complicates things. Was it actually plagiarism?
Or was it just two different groups drinking
from the exact same creative well of current
trends? Right. But the public perception was
tilting dangerously toward ripoff. Put yourself
in the shoes of Pledis Entertainment here. You've
got your star group. They've just taken this
massive artistic risk to mature their sound.
And now the headline isn't 17 matures, it's 17
accused of plagiarism. What do you even do in
that situation? You deny it. You release a statement
saying, we hired three professors of music theory
who say the chord progressions are completely
different. And you just ride out the storm. That's
the industry standard playbook. But Pledis didn't
do that. No, they did something actually very
rare. They updated the copyright credits. And
this is where my jaw literally hit the floor
when I was reading the source notes. They didn't
just add a generic interpolation credit or something
quiet. They added the absolute titans of the
industry. Oh, yeah. I'm looking at the official
writers list for Don't Wanna Cry right now. You've
got the 17 members, Woozy, Vernon Hoshijongan,
and their producer, Bumzu. Standard stuff. Right.
But then Andrew Taggart. Of the Chainsmokers.
And then it continues. Guy Berryman, Johnny Buckland,
Will Champion, and Chris Martin. Literally the
entire roster of Coldplay. So essentially, they
handed a piece of the song's ownership. and the
royalties that come with it to some of the richest
musicians on earth. Yes, they did. Now, be real
with me here. Doesn't that look like a massive
admission of guilt? I mean, you don't just give
Chris Martin a check if you didn't take his song.
That is definitely the cynical view, and frankly,
it's a view a lot of netizens took at the time.
See, they admitted it. But we have to look at
the official statement Pledis released, because
it is an absolute masterclass in corporate gymnastics.
Oh, I have it right here. They maintained firmly
that Don't Wanna Cry was independently created
by Seventeen. They stood by their artists 100%.
So you have this wild contradiction. We made
this ourselves. It's totally original. But here's
a songwriting credit for Coldplay. So why do
it? Why give up the money and the credit if you
actually believe you're innocent? Because of
the what if. Pledis stated the move was to protect
the artists from potential legal issues. You
have to think about the power dynamic here. OK.
On one side, you have a K -pop agency, successful,
sure, but not a global monopoly. On the other
side, you have the combined legal might of the
chain smokers and Coldplay, backed by massive
Western labels. It's essentially David versus
two very well -funded Goliaths. Exactly. Even
if Pledis was 90 percent sure they could win
in court, the cost of that battle both financial
and reputational, would be catastrophic. Because
a copyright lawsuit drags on for years, right?
Years. It freezes the song's revenue. It completely
dominates the news cycle every time the group
comes up. By giving the credit, they essentially
paid a go -away fee. Wow. It's risk management.
They sacrificed a slice of the pie to ensure
the bakery didn't get shut down entirely. Precisely.
It's a settlement without a trial. And honestly,
from a purely business perspective, it was brilliant.
The moment those names appeared in the credits,
the scandal effectively ended. The legal threat
just evaporated, and Seventeen could go right
back to promoting the song. It's really fascinating
how independent creation can be so fluid when
lawyers and risk managers get involved. But let's
shift and talk about that promotion, because
despite that whole legal cloud hovering over
them, they still had to sell this brand new sad
boy image. And this is where the visuals really
come in. You can't sell a moody song like this
with a bright box set in the studio. You need
real atmosphere. So they flew the entire production
over to Los Angeles, USA. Which was a statement
in itself. The video is gorgeous. It's got that
vast, desolated L .A. landscape, the desert vibes,
the dramatic rooftop shots. The source actually
describes it as the group melancholically expressing
their regrets. Yeah. And it feels lonely, even
though there are literally 13 of them on screen.
And that visual isolation was so crucial to the
pivot. the theme of the song instantly to the
viewer. But I want to pivot to the performance
aspect because this is where Seventeen really
separates themselves from the pack. Right. Because
usually when a boy band does a sad song or a
ballad, The choreography kind of takes a backseat.
You get a lot of standing around, maybe some
dramatic hand gestures or sitting on stools.
But Seventeen is known specifically for their
synchronization. They are performance monsters.
Right. So even for a track like Don't Wanna Cry,
they didn't dial it down at all. No, they didn't.
They created a choreography that was incredibly
intricate, kinetic, and honestly, just difficult.
It's iconic now. The opening formation, the kneeling
parts, it's arguably some of their most famous
choreography ever. And the industry recognized
that. We have to mention the 2017 MMA Awards.
The MNET Asian Music Awards. Exactly. They won
best dance performance for a male group. Think
about the weight of that. They didn't win best
ballad or best vocal. They won best dance performance
with a song about heartbreak and trying. That
is a massive flex. because it proves that they
didn't just borrow a Western sound. They made
it entirely their own through their performance.
They translated that EDM drop into physical movement
in a way that the chain smokers certainly weren't
doing. Exactly. It completely validated the artistic
risk. It showed that they could change the genre,
change the vibe, but keep their core competency,
which is that elite performance, totally intact.
So we've got the risk, the scandal, the video,
the dance. The big question you have to ask is...
Did it work? When the dust finally settled, was
the juice worth the squeeze? If you look at the
scoreboard, the answer is an overwhelming yes.
Let's run those numbers then. In South Korea,
it was a smash. It hit number one on the K -pop
Hot 100. It peaked at number 12 on the Gaon digital
chart. Which is highly impressive for a boy group,
since the general public charts over there are
usually dominated by girl groups or soloists.
But the international numbers are where I think
that Western sound really paid off. It peeped
at number three on the U .S. World Digital Songs
chart by Billboard. That proves the pivot worked
globally. By adopting that trending EDM sound,
They effectively lowered the barrier to entry
for Western listeners. Right. It sounded familiar
to an American ear, which likely helped pull
in totally new fans who might have found their
older, fresh teen stuff a little too distinctively
K -pop. And the longevity is there, too. I was
looking at the Japanese certifications, and the
song went gold under the RIAJ. And that is specifically
for streaming, right? Right, right. Specifically
streaming over 50 million streams. That's not
just a dedicated fan base mass buying physical
CDs in the first week. No. That has sustained
casual and dedicated listening over years in
the second largest music market in the world.
It really cemented their place in Japan. And
honestly, the critical reception helped quite
a bit, too. We talked earlier about their fear
of alienation, but critics actually praised the
song as a transition. Yeah, they really did.
They used words specifically like mature and
evolved to describe it. Which is kind of funny,
right? The very thing they were terrified of,
people saying, oh, it's too different, became
the main selling point. Oh, listen to how mature
and different they are now. It's the paradox
of artistry in pop music. You almost have to
risk losing your audience to actually grow your
audience. Well, yeah. If they had just released
Very Nice 2 .0, the reviews might have been,
17 is stagnant. By taking the risk, they forced
the industry to take them seriously as artists
who could tackle complex adult emotions. And
they swept the music shows. For you listeners
who track the day -to -day promotional battles,
they were completely unstoppable in mid -2017.
It was a clean sweep. The show Music Bank Show
Champion M Countdown. From late May through mid
-June, they were picking up trophies practically
every other day. And remember, this is all happening
while the plagiarism accusations are actively
flying around on social media. That's the most
crucial point. The data shows that while the
scandal was loud in the comments sections, it
didn't stop the general public from listening
at all. The song was simply too good, and the
performance was too compelling. The controversy
essentially became a footnote to the success.
It really is a case study in crisis management
and artistic evolution rolled into one single
comeback. You take the huge risk, you hit a nasty
legal speed bump, you pay the toll, and you just
keep speeding toward number one. It truly marked
the end of their rookie era. Before Don't Wanna
Cry, they were the talented, energetic kids.
After this, they were a top -tier group capable
of weathering a storm and seriously evolving
their sound. And now looking back, it's impossible
to imagine their discography without this track.
It really opened the door for all the emotional
and complex tracks that came later in their career.
It definitely did. It proved that they could
be vulnerable and massively successful at the
very same time. So as we wrap up this deep dive
into the high stakes world of 2017 K -pop, we're
left with a pretty incredible story of survival
and success. But before we sign off, we want
to leave you with a thought to kind of chew on.
We talked a lot about that independent creation
defense versus the reality. of the songwriting
credits and it raises a question that gets harder
and harder to answer every single year what's
that well we live in a hyper -connected world
now we're all consuming the exact same viral
trends the same 15 second audio clips the same
global hits right in that environment where does
independent creation end and unconscious inspiration
begin Can anyone truly write a song that is 100
% original anymore? Or are we all just kind of
remixing the things that are constantly stuck
in our heads? And if the result is a masterpiece
that 50 million people want to stream over and
over again, does it even matter where the inspiration
came from? That is the real question. Thanks
for taking this deep dive with us. We'll catch
you on the next one.