Jay Park: Not too cool to be uncool
Jay Park is a bit of a contradiction. For an artist whose music is practically a 2000s R&B time capsule, he draws a strikingly young crowd. One minute he’s dancing and grinding; the next, he’s riffing and crooning—or lost in quiet introspection.
He debuted in the polished, highly structured world of K-pop but has since carved out a space as an unfiltered, independent artist. And while he’s celebrated for bringing Korean hip-hop to the global stage, his American upbringing—and the 2009 controversy that led to his departure from the boy band 2PM—have made him something of an outsider in Korea. (Old MySpace posts about his struggles adjusting to Korea as a trainee were mistranslated and overblown.)
It had been six years since he last performed for his Filipino fans, or the “JWalkers,” so it wasn’t the best time, he admitted, to catch a cold. Fair warning: he might blow his nose once or twice… maybe even thrice. But if he was feeling under the weather, it didn’t show.
Onstage at the New Frontier Theater, Park commanded the eager crowd with ease, slipping from one slinky midtempo to the next and jumping from one dance banger to another. His setlist was split into two sections: one for “more singing” and another for “more dancing”—hence the title of his world tour, “Serenades & Body Rolls,” which recently made a stop in Manila via Live Nation Philippines.
Electric showmanship
As a performer, his showmanship carried unmistakable shades of Usher, Chris Brown, and Ne-Yo—a presence that felt both spontaneous and electric, with choreography that was slick, punchy, and with the attitude to match. But while he draws heavily from 2000s and early-2010s R&B, he never leans on it completely. By weaving in other—at times seemingly disparate—influences into his sonic palette, his music sidesteps the trap of becoming purely nostalgic or like a throwback affair (read: millennial, ouch), keeping it intriguing even for the youth.
Take “Ain’t No Party Like an AOMG Party,” for instance: It channels a classic party anthem groove but updates it with a modern, hip-hop-heavy package. “Keep It Sexy (MOMMAE 2),” which featured special guest Maymay Entrata, sizzled with sensual vocals, now spruced up with pulsating trap and EDM beats. And then there was “Gimme a Minute,” whose tight production and burnished sheen made New Jack Swing feel brand new again.
With the trap-influenced “V,” Park filled the air with percussive hits that echoed like water droplets. In “DANK,” a bass-heavy track that straddles R&B and hip-hop, Park seamlessly switched between melodic crooning and semi-rapped verses. In “Me Like Yuh,” he shifted the mood anew, riding a dancehall and reggae-laden undercurrent. Then, the tropical, carefree vibes of “Yacht” conjured images of balmy summer nights, glasses clinking under the stars.
“The choreo for ‘Yacht’ was actually done by my Filipino homie (Lil Migz),” said Park, who was born and raised in Seattle, Washington, before moving to Korea in 2008. “I grew up watching a lot of Filipino breakdancers, singers, and choreographers on YouTube. I get a lot of inspiration from your very talented community.”
“Thank you for the inspiration—maraming salamat!” he added, the crowd dissolving into awws at his genuine display of affection for Filipinos.
But more than his modern-retro proclivities, it’s perhaps his media savvy and knack for keeping a pulse on trends that make him so surprisingly accessible even to the Gen Z fans. An early adopter of YouTube and social media, maintaining an active presence and interacting with fans comes naturally to him. Collaborations with younger artists like IU help bridge generational gaps. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that he embraces—rather than hides—his K-pop past.
A cheeky turn of events
Park was just as adept at making the crowd swoon as he was at making them lose their heads. The sultry beats of “Need to Know” had the 38-year-old artist kneeling, pleading. And in full-on ballads like “Yesterday,” Park let his vocals shine unmasked, with sparse instrumentation that highlighted the slightest quivers in his voice, his emotive runs, and aching falsetto.
“Everyone wants unconditional love; not the kind that switches up depending on who you are or what you do,” he told the crowd, as hums of stifled shrieks broke the silence around him. “You want someone who will love you for you.”
It was a moment so tender, so introspective, you wouldn’t expect to see bras and panties flying to the stage a couple of songs later. But as it turned out, this cheeky little ritual from his fans usually signals the winding down of the show. Now, everyone was letting loose—dancing, screaming, jumping—as Park launched into a flurry of hip thrusts and, of course, body rolls. And as the remaining songs in the setlist dwindled, so did his clothing. By the end of the show, performing “The Purge,” Park waded through the crowd—bare-chested, tattoos in full display—much to the fans’ delight.
But beyond his undeniable swagger and charisma, what really makes Park cool is his willingness to be uncool—a quality that may or may not be a vestige of his K-pop training and early fan service. And if it is, he’s managed to turn it on its head, delivering otherwise cringe-worthy lines and owning them completely.
It was in the way he unabashedly blew his nose (he did warn us) and blurted out, “Boom Panes!”—a phrase probably as old as the group he debuted in. Still, he wouldn’t let it go, punctuating just about every joke he cracked with the outdated line. Soon, it morphed into “Boom Sarap.” But without fail, the crowd burst into giggles.
“I’m that old guy who uses words that were popular 10 years ago to look cool. I love how they roll off my tongue,” he said.
But as all these layers unraveled—and then collided—in a span of two hours and nearly 40 songs, it couldn’t be clearer: Park is fresh yet nostalgic, flirty and goofy, gritty and polished—all at once. Ultimately, his hold on people isn’t despite his contradictions—it’s because of them.
