Get Conceptual
One of the first things we’d learned about writing for the Asian market is that, although most of the English lyrics we write do get translated, one aspect matters a lot: the concept. “I don’t know if ‘Mafia’ would have gotten cut if not for that concept,” my partner Elli confesses, referring to the party game Mafia which had been the inspiration behind the song. “Korean labels want something they can build a whole vibe around, something that can be reflected in not only in the music, but the graphics, and the music video.”
Melanie Fontana agrees on this point. “Korean labels have a very strong vision for every project,” she tells me. “In fact, they’ve probably cooked up this whole world these artists will live in for this album. We’ll get very detailed briefs from them, and sometimes they even include the title. When we co‑wrote ‘Boy With Luv’, the label had the title already picked out.”
“The most important thing is to have a good concept,” Neya confirms, her husband Daniel nodding his agreement. “I always imagine the music video in my head when I’m writing a song. Like, could they be in space or jumping on giant strawberries? It needs to be something that can be envisioned easily.”
Producer Daniel Durn.
“Although,” Daniel chimes in, “sometimes a good concept is only the starting point. Labels might be inspired by it but twist it into something different. We did a song called ‘Yum Yum’ for the TV show Produce 101. The original concept was about candy, all of its different flavours. The label liked the food reference, but chose to go with a broader meaning — which is how we ended up with ‘Yum Yum’.”
“For us, it’s important to have a good concept even if it does end up getting changed,” Neya agrees. “We care about what we write and want to present the song in the best light, to help the label visualise it as we do.”
Take It To The Net
We’ve all heard of the old days where a piano/vocal recording on a cassette was sufficient to present a song. Those days are long gone, but in recent years I’ve noticed the quality of demos consistently climbing up and up until many are indistinguishable from final records. This is even more prevalent in K‑pop than Western music, especially when it comes to vocal production.
“Do you remember how aggressively we used to stack our BVs?” I ask Elli.
“You made me cut four instances of every harmony,” Elli reminisces, “and there were always, like, four‑five parts.”
Although we’ve since cut down the number of harmonies we record — two per part instead of four — the idea remains the same: if you’re presenting a song to an Asian pop group, you need to have a lot of parts to represent every singer in the band.
...if you’re presenting a song to an Asian pop group, you need to have a lot of parts to represent every singer in the band.
Most K‑pop writers abide by the same concept. “We take it to the net here,” Melanie shares proudly. “Lindgren and I put everything on the track as if it was a final: backing vocals, even ad‑libs. We’ve noticed labels love ad‑lib suggestions, so I always do full takes of those.” She demonstrates by effortlessly singing a very high note. “I sing the whole song as if I’m the artist.”
“We can easily use 10 hours doing vocals for a K‑pop song because of the many parts,” Neya confirms. “It’s super‑important to present it as close to final‑quality as possible.”
Lyrics Matter
When we write for the US, we might spend two hours just trying to dial in the lyrics on the second verse: the story development, the clever metaphors, the cerebral wordplay. We know that once the song we’re creating is out, the lyric will be in its original form, so we want to make sure it’s Neya perfect. In the Asian market, almost everything gets translated, but the English lyric still matters in one way: its phonetics. I will never forget how surprised Elli and I felt when we first heard the Korean version of our song ‘Talk To Me’, which had been recorded by the group Red Velvet.
“In the pre‑chorus,” Elli recalls, “we had this repetitive lyric: ‘keep it real, keep it real, keep it real.’ When we heard the Korean version, it sounded very similar: ‘gidarin, gidarin, gidarin’ [‘I waited’ in Korean]. The phonetics of our English lyric inspired the Korean writers’ choice of lyric.”
“I always give lyrics good phonetics because it enhances the lyric,” Melanie agrees. “Melodies just sound better on good lyrics.” Although, according to Melanie, you can’t always guess what will be kept and what will be translated. “Often,” she shares, “the lyrics you think they won’t keep, they keep. And vice versa.” Sometimes, even the song’s title is on the chopping block. “With BTS’s ‘ON’, the original title was ‘The Elements’, but the label changed it. You never know!”
Neya experienced something very similar with her song ‘Hell In Heaven’, which had been cut by TWICE. “The song was called ‘Paradise’,” she recalls, “but they ended up calling it ‘Hell In Heaven’, which is not even a lyric that was originally in the song. Funny how that works sometimes.” Although the label did keep some of her original lyrics: “When I was writing, I added some little keywords in there, just for some ear candy. A lot of those are still in the song.”
A Fair Fight
Even years later, I still feel amazed at the way Elli and I were able to dive into the Asian music world without much resistance. We were completely unknown as writers, and we lived in Nashville — not exactly the capital of K‑pop. And yet, we were able to get a cut on a K‑pop album that went to number one on Billboard’s World Albums chart within the first few months of writing for that market, simply because it was a good song.
“Something like this is unheard of in the Western market,” Elli says, shaking her head as we reminisce. “In America, your clout always comes before the quality of your work.”
You can be at your laptop on GarageBand in a town no-one’s ever heard of, and you can be 15. If a K‑pop group gets a hold of a song of yours that they think is great and is better than a well‑known writer’s song, they don’t have a problem...
“But in Asia,” Melanie says, chiming in on the topic, “it’s a fair fight. You can be at your laptop on GarageBand in a town no-one’s ever heard of, and you can be 15. If a K‑pop group gets a hold of a song of yours that they think is great and is better than a well‑known writer’s song, they don’t have a problem telling a ‘large’ writer that they have something that meets their vision more head‑on from a lesser‑known person. They simply don’t care about clout. It’s all about meeting their vision.”
Melanie then goes on to explain that she’s always admired the professionalism of the Korean A&Rs she’s worked with. “They’re usually very honest,” she explains. “There’s never been a time I’ve been told by a K‑pop A&R that I have the single, and then it didn’t happen. If they say it’s coming out in three weeks, it is. There’s no hype. Just be the best songwriter, write the best song, and you will do well.”
It’s a far cry from the US market, where it often feels like you’re playing the lottery when you’re writing and producing for pitch — which was exactly the way I felt when I was trying to get country artists to cut my songs back in Nashville. It had shattered my world at the time, but looking back now, I’m so glad my publisher had given me that ultimatum all of those years ago. I would have never been able to write songs with my best friend with no ‘big’ writers involved and get them cut.
Stretch Musically
Over the years, I’ve felt beyond grateful for all the career opportunities LYRE has garnered through writing Asian music. But my love of K-, J-, and Mandopop goes so much deeper.
“You love the challenge,” Elli smiles, calling me out. “Being able to do something totally left‑of‑field and seeing how it turns out.”
She knows me well. If I were solely focused on Western music, I doubt I’d find myself mixing jazz with EDM, stacking up six parts of harmonies, or switching tempos mid‑song as I often do with K‑pop. I wouldn’t be forcing myself to study complex chord structures, chipping away at my music‑school‑dropout solfeggio skills — stretching and growing as a writer and producer.
I had hoped writing Asian music would save my career — and it did. But I would have never imagined that it would save my love of music as well.