— Overview
This reading stays with one evening of jazz in 2013, from a trio's new album to a singer who builds a song on the spot with two microphones.
— Contents and key concepts
A UNESCO evening, and a trio’s new album
This reading stays with the 2013 International Jazz Day concert hosted by the Korean National Commission for UNESCO. The first stage is the Yoon Seok-cheol Trio. An opening of synthesizer-like machine sound, with piano and drums, feels hard and unfamiliar; the writer even wishes that tone would be taken out.
When the opening ends, the machine sound recedes, and contrabass, drums, and piano settle into a calmer jazz. The bass keeps a steady beat, the drums make regular variations, and the piano seems to run free. The feeling, they write, is like walking a Jeju Olle trail in well-cushioned sneakers, with an autumn wind and a smell of the sea. Near the close the machine sound returns, and listening becomes hard again. Afterwards the trio explain that a new album had just appeared, and that they had played three representative pieces from it.
An ambassador, two unnamed guitarists, a music box, and Arirang
The second stage is Na Yoon-sun’s. She is introduced as among the finest jazz vocalists, and as the concert’s ambassador. The set opens on a soft machine tone, at first like a slightly melancholy, primitive landscape. A hummed beginning gives way to lyrics about raindrops falling on roses, and the picture in the head becomes a leisured afternoon in a polished European house — not the landscape the humming had suggested. Her singing is clean and exact; she also plays a small instrument like a game console, pressing it with her fingers and feeding sound into the microphone stitch by stitch. In interview, by contrast, she speaks so softly that the words carry less well.
She introduces two guitarists, who are not named, and performs a number this reading records as “momento, finished,” as written. Small hand-claps keep time, then a simple bounce that still makes the chest move. She repeats a syllable-run they record as “ppang-laladu-dodu-dodu,” and taps her body so the line can be seen as well as heard. One guitar, they write, had come from Africa; the melody climbs and falls until the body seems to climb and fall with it. After that she plays a music box brought from France, turning the handle, and sings Arirang over it. The voice sounds as if it had been prepared for that song. The particular sorrow of Arirang, they write, comes through more keenly than in the pansori, K-pop, or children’s-song versions the writer had known.
Two microphones, a stacked sound, and an older generation
The guitarists step off. She takes a sip of water, tests her voice and the strength in her belly, and begins to tune herself with a microphone in her hand. Her body, this reading says, was itself an instrument. She makes a low “dung-dung,” then starts building a piece on the spot, recording and stacking layers of her voice. A sound they record as “chuppaera,” as written, is the second of those stacked layers — a recorded sound, not a title they assign. A third layer she sings freely. The left microphone is the one prepared for recording, the right the one for the free line; on the left she stacks dozens of layers, with syllables they list as “dung, ppa, tti, ki, ka, tseu, te.”
Jazz, she says afterwards, is music that comes closer to the heart as time goes on. She then introduces a first generation of jazz in Korea. Elderly men come on, sit as if the chairs were already theirs, and play with bent backs more gleefully than anyone. One image stays with the writer: a man in an orange shirt and a khaki vest, shaking what this reading calls pepper, standing and turning a slow circle where he is. Another, in a flat cap like a London boy’s, plays the clarinet without a slip.
The same Korean report, at fuller length, is on CampusDown.
Sources
- This reading, a student account of the 2013 International Jazz Day concert hosted by the Korean National Commission for UNESCO: the Yoon Seok-cheol Trio and three pieces from a then-new album, Na Yoon-sun as ambassador, two unnamed guitarists, a phrase recorded as “momento, finished,” an African guitar, a French music box and Arirang, two microphones, a sound recorded as “chuppaera,” and a first generation of jazz in Korea.
Last updated: 15 November 2026
Frequently asked questions
What concert do this reading describes, and how do they hear the Yoon Seok-cheol Trio?
The concert is the 2013 International Jazz Day programme hosted by the Korean National Commission for UNESCO. The first stage is the Yoon Seok-cheol Trio. An opening of synthesizer-like machine sound with piano and drums feels hard and unfamiliar; the writer even wishes the machine tone would be dropped. When that opening ends, the machine sound recedes, and contrabass, drums, and piano settle into a calmer jazz. The bass keeps a steady beat, the drums make regular variations, and the piano seems to run free. The feeling, they write, is like walking a Jeju Olle trail in well-cushioned sneakers, with an autumn wind and a smell of the sea. Near the close the machine sound returns, and listening becomes hard again. Afterwards the trio explain that a new album had just appeared, and that they had played three representative pieces from it.
How does Na Yoon-sun's set begin, and what do they record around “momento, finished” and Arirang?
She is introduced as among the finest jazz vocalists, and as the concert’s ambassador. Her stage opens on a soft machine tone, at first like a slightly melancholy, primitive landscape, then, after a hummed beginning, on lyrics about raindrops falling on roses — a leisured afternoon in a polished European house, not the landscape the humming had suggested. Her delivery is clean and exact; she also plays a small instrument like a game console, pressing it with her fingers and feeding sound into the microphone stitch by stitch. In interview, by contrast, she speaks so softly that the delivery is weaker. She introduces two guitarists, who are not named, and performs a number this reading records as “momento, finished,” as written. Small hand-claps keep time, then a simple bounce that still makes the chest move; she repeats a syllable-run they record as “ppang-laladu-dodu-dodu,” and taps her body so the audience can see the line as well as hear it. One guitar, they write, had come from Africa, and the line of the piece rises and falls until the body seems to rise and fall with it. After that she plays a music box brought from France, turning the handle, and sings Arirang over it. The voice, they write, sounds as if it had been prepared for that song; the particular sorrow of Arirang comes through more keenly than in the pansori, K-pop, or children’s-song versions the writer had known.
What happens after the guitarists leave, and whom does she then introduce?
The guitarists step off. She takes a sip of water, tests her voice and the strength in her belly, and begins to tune herself with a microphone in her hand; her body, this reading says, was itself an instrument. She makes a low “dung-dung,” then starts building a piece on the spot, recording and stacking layers of her voice. A sound they record as “chuppaera,” as written, is the second of those stacked layers, not a title they assign. A third layer she sings freely. The left microphone is the one prepared for recording, the right the one for the free line; on the left she stacks dozens of layers, with syllables they list as “dung, ppa, tti, ki, ka, tseu, te.” Jazz, she says afterwards, is music that comes closer to the heart as time goes on. She then introduces a first generation of jazz in Korea. Elderly men come on, sit as if the chairs were already theirs, and play with bent backs more gleefully than anyone. One image stays: a man in an orange shirt and a khaki vest, shaking what this reading calls pepper, standing and turning a slow circle where he is. Another, in a flat cap like a London boy’s, plays the clarinet without a slip.
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