日本排隊進台灣的那一週,K-POP剛滿25年

日本排隊進台灣的那一週,K-POP剛滿25年

BoA 12歲離開首爾,去日本學日文學到母語程度,然後以「日本歌手」的身份在2001年出道。不是「韓國來的BoA」,是「你們的BoA」。這不是行銷話術,這是一個國家決定用多少年、多少預算,把一個孩子塑造成文化橋樑的工程起點。

2026年,K-POP在日本滿25年。根據分析報告,從BoA那一代到現在的第四代偶像,韓國藝人在日本三大公演場館合計動員了40萬人。25年不是一個里程碑,是一份施工記錄。

一套系統,不是幾個天才

韓國做對的事情,從來不是培養出幾個有才華的人。是把「文化輸出」當成工業流程在管理。韓國政府在日本東京、大阪、福岡、京都等地設立文化教育中心,把韓劇、音樂、語言課全部打包進去。KOCCA負責撥預算,出口獎勵機制讓唱片公司有誘因往外推。韓國文化體育觀光部2019年的數據顯示,文化出口貢獻了123億美元,帶動32%的訪韓旅遊。這是產業政策,不是文化補助。

台灣在1990年代有超過3,000家唱片行,周杰倫首張專輯在台賣破30萬張,五月天《雙面》達50萬張,那是一個可以靠音樂養活整條生態鏈的年代。然後P2P盜版來了,唱片市場從1999年的NT$150億崩跌到2005年不足NT$50億。台灣音樂業最脆弱的時候,剛好是K-POP開始有系統地築牆的時候。KKBOX在2005年作為全球最早的合法串流平台之一出現,比Spotify早了好幾年——是台灣人試圖從廢墟裡長出新系統的嘗試,只是沒有國家預算跟在後面。

那一週,流量的方向是反的

就在K-POP日本25週年的同一週,日本品牌WEGO開進台北,愛麗絲沉浸式互動展選台灣為亞洲首站,屏東美術館同步展出16位日本大師的作品。這幾件事湊在一起,有點像在嘲諷——台灣花了25年沒有複製K-POP,結果日本反而在排隊進來。

但也可以換一個角度讀這張地圖。日本品牌不進首爾、不進北京,選台北選屏東,是因為台灣市場對日本文化有天然的接收頻率,消費者懂得欣賞,策展環境配合,物流和語言門檻低。台灣不是在輸出,而是一個讓外來文化願意在這裡「亞洲首站」落地的磁力入口。這是另一種話語權,不是K-POP那種,但也不是沒有。

問題是:台灣有沒有意識到自己在打這場不同的比賽?

茄子蛋唱台語,Makav唱布農語,這是出口還是建國

台灣音樂這幾年做出了一些K-POP學不來的東西。茄子蛋和滅火器讓台語搖滾從邊緣走回主場,阿爆把原住民語做進R&B的節拍裡,Makav在2024年金曲獎同時拿下最佳新人和最佳原住民語專輯——一個布農族語的藝人在台灣最大音樂獎的舞台上,這件事在任何文化出口手冊裡都找不到範本。金曲獎從1990年創立,2003年第14屆正式把台語、客語、原住民語拆成獨立獎項,這個決定在當時看起來像行政調整,現在看起來像一份語言平等的文化宣告。

草東沒有派對從地下Live House走上金曲獎主舞台,Deca Joins的獨立美學被主流串流接住——這些事情發生的時候,台灣沒有國家預算在後面推,是市場自己找到出口。但「市場自己找到出口」和「有策略地讓世界知道這個出口在哪裡」,是兩件完全不同的事。

磁力入口這個位置,能不能轉換成定價權

我在想的是一個比較實際的問題:如果台灣是日本文化最想靠近的亞洲入口,那台灣在這個關係裡拿到什麼?愛麗絲展的票房留在台灣,WEGO的選品通路開在台北東區,16位日本大師的展覽在屏東落地——這些都是好事。但如果台灣的角色永遠是「亞洲首站」的場地方,而不是把這個首站的注意力轉化成台灣文化輸出的跳板,那磁力入口只是一個功能,不是戰略。

BoA花了25年讓日本人覺得她是自己的。台灣有沒有辦法讓世界在看日本文化的時候,同時看到台灣在旁邊策劃了什麼——不是複製K-POP,是把「台灣懂得選擇」這件事變成可以輸出的品味座標。

這個問題沒有答案。但WEGO開在台北的那間店,和K-POP動員日本40萬人,是同一週發生的事。

— 黃冠霖

延伸閱讀


The Week Japan Lined Up at Taiwan’s Door

BoA left Seoul at 12. She learned Japanese to native fluency, then debuted in Japan in 2001 — not as a Korean artist crossing over, but as someone the Japanese market was meant to feel was already theirs. That framing wasn’t accidental. It was the opening move of a 25-year national infrastructure project.

In 2026, K-pop marks 25 years in Japan. From BoA’s generation to today’s fourth-generation idols, Korean acts have filled Japan’s three major concert venues with a combined audience of 400,000 people. That number is not a celebration — it’s a construction log.

A System, Not a Streak of Talent

Korea didn’t win Japan by producing a few gifted artists. It built an industrial process around cultural export. The Korean government established cultural education centers across Japanese cities including Tokyo, Osaka, Fukuoka, and Kyoto — bundling K-drama, music, and language classes into a single soft-power package. KOCCA managed the budgets. Export incentives gave labels reasons to push outward. By 2019, cultural exports were contributing US$12.3 billion and driving 32% of inbound tourism to Korea. This was industrial policy wearing a pop star’s face.

Taiwan had over 3,000 record stores in the 1990s. A single album by Jay Chou sold over 300,000 copies domestically; Mayday’s Double hit 500,000. Then P2P piracy arrived, and the market collapsed from NT$15 billion in 1999 to under NT$5 billion by 2005. KKBOX launched in 2005 as one of the world’s earliest legal streaming platforms — years before Spotify — a Taiwanese attempt to build new infrastructure from the ruins. Without a government budget behind it.

The Same Week, Traffic Ran the Other Way

On the same week K-pop turned 25 in Japan, the Japanese fashion brand WEGO opened its first Taipei store, an Alice immersive exhibition chose Taiwan as its first stop in Asia, and Pingtung hosted an exhibition of sixteen Japanese masters. Japan wasn’t lining up for Seoul or Beijing. It was lining up for Taipei and Pingtung.

This could be read as irony — Taiwan spent 25 years not replicating K-pop, and now Japan is the one arriving at Taiwan’s door. But the map looks different if you accept that Taiwan was never playing the same game. Japan chooses Taiwan as a first port of entry because Taiwanese audiences read Japanese cultural cues fluently, the curatorial environment is compatible, and the market receives rather than resists. That is a different kind of leverage — not K-pop’s kind, but not nothing.

Singing in Taiwanese, Bunun, and Nowhere on the Export Manual

Taiwan’s music scene has been producing things K-pop has no template for. EggPlantEgg and Fire EX. carried Taiwanese-language rock back from the margins. Abao folded indigenous-language melody into R&B. Makav, a Bunun-language artist, took both Best New Artist and Best Indigenous Language Album at the 2024 Golden Melody Awards on the same night — an event that appears in no cultural export handbook because nothing like it had happened before. The Golden Melody Awards were founded in 1990; in 2003 (the 14th edition), Taiwanese, Hakka, and indigenous languages were formally split into separate award categories. That administrative decision now reads as a policy statement about which voices count.

Indie acts like Deca Joins moved from underground live houses to mainstream streaming without a government subsidy pushing them. That’s the market finding its own exit. But finding an exit and telling the world where the exit is are two entirely different operations.

What Does an Entry Point Actually Cost

If Taiwan is the Asian city Japan’s cultural exports want to reach first, the question is what Taiwan extracts from that position. Ticket revenue from the Alice exhibition stays in Taiwan. WEGO’s Taipei store sells in Taiwan. The Pingtung masters exhibition draws local audiences. All of this is fine. But if Taiwan’s permanent role is venue — the place where Asia-first launches happen — and not the place that turns that attention into outbound leverage for its own cultural production, then being a magnetic entry point is just a function, not a strategy.

BoA spent 25 years making Japan feel like she was theirs. The open question is whether Taiwan can make the world, while looking at Japanese culture, notice what Taiwan was curating beside it all along.

WEGO opened in Taipei the same week K-pop filled 400,000 seats in Japan. Both things happened. The interpretation is still up for grabs.

— 黃冠霖

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