Why more Southeast Asian listeners are turning to homegrown artists
In Southeast Asia, the popularity of K-pop and Western artists is waning in favor of local acts that fans can see themselves in
From left, Thai artist Saran, Filipino girl group BINI, Indonesian artist and comedian Raim Laode, and Thai rapper PUN.
Graphic by Ryan Quan
Words by Andy Crump
Trends come and go; the “pop” in “pop culture” can shift at any given moment. Case in point: even going solely by our own pages here at JoySauce, one could conclude that Southeast Asian music of all stripes is having A Moment. Regional artists like no-na, Alextbh, Rinni, and Vannda have each released records, full-length or otherwise, that’ve seen success both at home and abroad within the last few years. Their diasporic peers—a’la Olivia Rodrigo, beabadoobee, Sailorr, and Thủy—have likewise made their presence felt with debuts, sophomore follow-ups, and, speaking to Rodrigo, high placement on the Billboard 200. Southeast Asian nationals and their Western cousins, it appears, are mounting a counterargument to K-pop’s primacy.
South Korea’s stranglehold on the culture writ large tightened in the early 2010s, and hasn’t meaningfully loosened since. This year, Aespa’s second studio album, Lemonade, sniped the number nine spot on the Billboard 200 in June, while BTS’ sixth, ARIRANG, held the number one spot for three weeks running in April following its March release. There’s also the matter of KPop Demon Hunters’ monster commercial and creative success, culminating with a series of wins at this year’s Grammys, Golden Globes, and Academy Awards, plus a show-stopping live performance of the movie’s marquee song, “Golden,” at the Oscars; that soundtrack is holding steady at number 40 as of this writing. In short, it’s impossible to either overlook or overstate K-pop’s global prevalence. Likewise, it’s impossible to ignore signs, however small, that listener tastes have, after a decade and a half, begun to change.
But Asia, it turns out, is a pretty darn big continent. South Korea only makes up 1.1 percent of its land mass, and there’s a whole region about 2,300 miles away that’s totally capable of producing its own pop music and pop culture. It also happens that, bit by bit, music lovers in a handful of those Southeast Asian countries—the Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore—have begun gravitating away from K-pop idols as well as Western recording artists, and investing their time, energy, and ears in homegrown music groups and styles instead.
This growing inclination toward local groups and singers doesn’t reflect across the board entirely. Thailand’s Spotify Daily Chart, for example, includes BTS’ “SWIM” and “COME OVER,” aespa’s “Lemonade,” which take up the first three spots on the chart, and Ariana Grande’s “hate that i made you love me” which stands in spot number seven. Each of the top 109’s remaining spots, though, are occupied by Thai musicians: rappers Pun and Saran, rock bands Bodyslam, Klear, and Bedroom Audio, and pop quintet PURPEECH. Likewise, a glance at Malaysia’s Spotify Daily Chart reveals a fistful of familiar North American recording artists–Grande once again, Justin Bieber, Katy Perry, Bruno Mars, and Olivia Rodrigo–next to Indonesian talents like Piche Kota and Raim Laode, with nary a K-pop name in sight until BTS pops up in the mid-20s.
Globally recognizable titans of pop will, of course, stomp all over the landscape, leaving their footprints wherever they go, and a trail of catchy hooks and irresistible choruses in their wake. But there’s nonetheless much to say about the magnetic pull of singers and songwriters who call the same place “home” as their listeners. Representation matters in politics as well as in pop culture. For a Filipino audience, what does it feel like to watch the P-pop girl group BINI, who worked for three months between 2019 and 2020 with coaches from South Korea’s MU Doctor Academy, to distinguish themselves from the associations to K-pop imposed on them by their training? What pride does that level of accomplishment instill in BINI’s fellow Filipinos? (That designation should also include the Filipino American Rodrigo, whose songs “drop dead” and “the cure” respectively peaked at the number seven and number eight spots on the Philippines’ chart.)
It’s possible to write the trend off as passing. Spotify’s charts simply reflect what users queue on their service, after all, and don’t necessarily represent sea change in listener tastes. But the hold K-pop and U.S. artists have over international markets is so firm that any amount of change in turn feels significant, if not profound. When we fire up Spotify and press “play” on an album, after all, we’re making a conscious choice, and if charts have limitations in terms of what we can glean from their data, it’s nevertheless true that tracking those choices tells us not just what people are listening to, but what they want to listen to. And if people in Southeast Asia are listening to music that’s from their nationality, of their nationality, instead of contemporary pop music’s dominant entities—whether South Korean or American—then that’s meaningful.
As local musical talent grows, and as foreign acts’ favor slowly recedes with Filipino, Indonesian, Malaysian, Singaporean, and Thai listeners, keep this in mind: K-pop isn’t going anywhere, and American pop music isn’t, either. The latter’s aesthetic and subculture is as prominent as ever. But when a commodity—and pop music is nothing if not heavily commodified—saturates as many markets in as many parts of the world as K-pop has in the last 15 years, give or take, then it’s inevitable that in time, audiences will come to crave alternatives in time. And if audiences like to see themselves reflected in their music as they do in their TV shows and movies, then it stands to reason that they’d turn to acts that provide that reflective surface. This isn’t the end of K-pop or pop music as we know it, though: rather, it’s the beginning of SEA’s rising.
Published on October 15, 2026
Words by Andy Crump
Bostonian culture journalist Andy Crump covers movies, beer, music, fatherhood, and way too many other subjects for way too many outlets, perhaps even yours: Paste Magazine, Inverse, The New York Times, Hop Culture, Polygon, and Men's Health, plus more. You can follow him on Bluesky and find his collected work at his personal blog. He’s composed of roughly 65 percent craft beer.
Art by Ryan Quan
Ryan Quan is JoySauce's social media manager, associate editor, and all-around visual eye. This queer, half-Chinese, half-Filipino writer and graphic designer loves everything related to music, creative nonfiction, and art. Based in Brooklyn, he spends most of his time dancing to hyperpop and accidentally falling asleep on the subway. Follow him on Instagram at @ryanquans, and check out his work on his website.