Sanullim: Mountain Echo Psych

1977 was the year the Sex Pistols released their first and only studio album “Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols”, and the same year The Clash released their self-titled debut (just a year after The Ramones had released their own self-titled debut). 1977 was also the year Elvis Presley died, when disco was at its peak, and hip hop was brewing out of the percussive riddim vat of soul, funk, disco, and dub breaks. Meanwhile, across the Pacific in South Korea, three Seoul-based brothers, still heavily under the influence of late 60s psych rock, released their first album as Sanullim (산울림, translated as “Mountain Echo”). Sanullim is something of an anomaly in rock history. At a time when vintage rock was dying and new cultural tropes were diversifying the palette of pop music, Sanullim appeared on the margin in a country whose pop music landscape, heavily censored by the authoritarian bureaus of Park Chung-Hee, mainly consisted of traditional trot ballads and dance-pop music. Sanullim’s heavy bass lines, thunderous drums, chromatic fuzz guitar-work, and psych-image lyrics were a revival shock in a system which had gone dormant since the early 60s scene singlehandedly engendered by Korean rock godfather Shin Jung-Hyeon.

The three brothers (Kim Chang-Hoon/김창훈, bass/backing vocals; Kim Chang-Ik/김창익, drums; Kim Chang-Wan/김창완, guitar/lead vocals) were university students when they formed the group in 1976. The first incarnation of the group was originally named Mu-Eee (無異 / 무이, which translates to “Same As Usual” or “Be Not Different”), an ironic name considering the divergence of their first albums (they would permanently change their name to Sanullim shortly before the release of their debut).

The brothers were children of privilege and from early on enjoyed the advantage which the self-taught garage band nowadays takes for granted: playing with their own rock instruments, in those days and in that area of the world, a fairly expensive hobby. The brothers were at liberty to experiment, to tweak, to fiddle with ideas; by the time they were enrolled at Seoul University, they had already composed a number of songs and were motivated to participate in a university-sponsored pop song competition under the band name Sand Pebbles. Though the group won first place for the song “What Am I To Do?” in the preliminaries, they were subsequently forced to drop out of the main competition after oldest brother Kim Chang-Wan graduated and could no longer participate.

Like the bulk of their early material, “What Am I To Do?” (나 어떻게 해) was written during the student years prior to the release of their first album, and it was eventually recorded for their 2nd LP (their albums are all simply titled Volume 1, Volume 2, etc.) The song quickly became one of the band’s most emblematic, recognizable tunes, a 4-minute pop masterpiece which demonstrates the melodic dexterity underlying all their compositions. The song opens with an instant-classic farfisa organ refrain (played by uncredited 4th member, sister Kim Nan-Suk) and the lyrics succinctly express the desperate anguish one feels after a lover has departed for good. When I first heard the song, I was somehow reminded of the compact mastery of an early Kinks composition, with its girl-drives-me-mad lyrical arrangement and indelible melody and hook. Though Kim Chang-Wan writes and sings almost all of the band’s material (as Ray Davies had for The Kinks), “What Am I To Do?” was actually penned by middle brother Kim Chang-Hoon (who in this respect resembles Dave Davies):

Though their second album is considered by some to be their finest effort, it was the 1st album (Volume 1) which immediately catapulted the group to nationwide fame, selling a half-million albums, much to the brothers’ starstruck bewilderment. Their debut success is all the more surprising, not only for the confounding authenticity of the 60s-era pop-psych sludge that oozes from the recordings (due perhaps to the vintage quality of the bros’ instruments), but also for the fact that the album was recorded and completed in a single day. Volume 1 features cuts like “It Was Probably Late Last Summer” (아마 늦은 여름이었을 거야) and “Ah, Already?” (아니 벌써), the latter a strange blend of dandyish organ, throbbing guitar fuzz, and whimsical lyrics expressing surprised glee that the dawn has come to his window (“ah! already?”) announcing a new day of fresh prospects:

Volume 2, recorded and released only 5 months after the band’s 1st album, contains even more sunshine rock stompers, including the fitfully-psych titled “It Bloomed One Day” (어느 날 피었네), whose opening guitar-and-bass section channels the death-throes of winter before suddenly blossoming into a springy flower-petalled rhythm, and “Laying Silks And Satins On My Heart” (내 마음에 주단을 깔고), a monstrous bassline-and-drum growl which culminates, almost obscenely, into a wailing guitar howl congested by nerve-piercing fuzz. The moment Kim Chang-Wan’s alternately passionate/cool voice chimes in, the effect produced is one of chaos and order coalescing:

Volume 3 rounds out the trinity of albums that comprise the very best work of the trio (the music by which Sanullim are principally known beyond the borders of South Korea). The 3rd album is distinguished by a harder-edged sound developed by the band after glimpsing the recent poptone transitions in rock which had taken root in the west. In other words, the usually concise psych-pop of the 1st album inevitably gave way to the prog elements toyed with on the 2nd and explored at length on the 3rd. The album’s hallmark is the 5th and final track, an 18-minute masher titled (with Rimbaud-like conspiratorial intent) “You Are Already I” (그대는 이미 나). The track is divided into three broad sections that pulsate and transition with alarming congruity and spontaneity (the version below is edited down to a palatable 10 minutes, before fading out, unfortunately leaving out some of its more majestic sections):

The history of Sanullim does not end with these three albums, since the trio went on to release 10 more LPs throughout the 80s and 90s, though never quite with the same success. As the music landscape in South Korea shifted toward dance and electronic tropes, the audience for Sanullim gradually lessened, and the group’s once thunderous echo subsided into folk balladry (though there are a few metal flirtations here and there). Kim Chang-Wan developed into an accomplished singer/songwriter in his own right and wrote numerous songs that achieved permanence in the vast korean folk pantheon, most notably “Mom And Mackerel”, a tender song describing a son’s fond recollection of discovering late one night, while his mother slept, a salted mackerel she had prepared for him:

Once upon a time Sanullim’s Volumes 1-3 were available at DustyGroove.com (whence I was able to purchase them nearly 4 years ago) but now seemingly only Volume 3 is available on the site. In South Korea itself, the albums are very difficult to track down, but there has been a career-spanning 3-CD boxset as a readily available substitute. Just recently in 2008 all their 13 albums have been completely reissued and packaged together in a massive boxset titled in english “The Story of Sanullim”, with obvious intent to attract the band’s growing western fan base. (For the hardcore completists out there with deep pockets, the boxset will cost you a cool $150 plus shipping and handling.) This major release came on the heels of Sanullim’s resurgence in 2007, when they reunited to celebrate their 30th anniversary and played concerts across the country. The timing for Sanullim’s comeback was fortuitous since only a year later, the youngest brother, Kim Chang-Ik, passed away in Vancouver. Kim Chang-Hoon continues to live in Los Angeles with his family, and Kim Chang-Wan remains in South Korea where he made a second fame for himself as an actor of television dramas.

For more Sanullim info/music, check out this page and this one.