hongjoin is in disbelief that we are in the middle of an interview. It’s around the half-hour mark, when he’s expounding his self-perceived controversial views on AI, that he stops himself and goes, “Wait, no way this is part of the interview, right?”

The 24-year-old is getting his hair and makeup done for the photoshoot, and thought I was merely joking when I said I was audio-recording. At that point, we were discussing cultural differences between the United States, where he mostly operates, and our mutual hometown. 

“Whoa, it’s getting really deep. I thought you were gonna ask me, like, why do you like making music?” he admits. “I need media training.” 

Can’t blame him; the musician entered his current vocation rather organically. His lore begins with learning production off Jeremy Zucker videos, then posting recreationally on YouTube during the pandemic and his National Service days. It was a mélange of having nothing to do, yet genuinely enjoying it as a hobby. 

Soon, the repetition earned a following and emboldened him to release his first song. It didn’t go viral, but it reached more than he had expected. The boy without a music school background or industry connections eventually landed a deal after playing his first show. 

He then split his time between headlining his own gigs here, and opening for others while completing college in America. “When I received the offer to do Music Business and Communications, my parents didn’t even know I had applied overseas,” he explained, adding that, in typical Asian parent fashion, they assumed music was simply a pastime.

“Being an artist requires you to be delusional, but I was brought up very objective. I like to plan everything. I cannot just figure it out. Moving across the world wasn’t exactly a leap of faith; I went there knowing exactly what I wanted and had to do.”

Despite obtaining a partial scholarship only as a backup plan, he still appreciates the formal education for the practicalities that it taught him. What he calls boring-ass business calls, alongside signing deals, planning tour routes and more, essentially make up 70 per cent of the job.

Acquiring the elusive Artist Visa granted him the flexibility to stay in New York and work in the music tech industry. “At some point the freelance artist thing was just enough, and I was like, fuck my job. All right, guys, love you, but um, bye. Chase my dreams type [crap],” he retells, Gen Z zings consistently colouring his speech and mannerisms.

It was someone he worked with, whom he prefers not to name on the record, who told him to just do it. “And I just said, fuck it. YOLO,” he effuses ironically. “That’s very unlike me because I would need a lot of safety nets. It’s like a moment of revelation. He probably still doesn’t know. Not glazing him, by the way.”

Fortunately for him, the moment that cemented this path’s viability came when he opened for Ricky Montgomery. The front section of the 3,000-strong crowd loudly sang along to his songs, and needless to say, his parents were taken aback. “Most importantly, at the merch booth, cha-ching. Now my mom helps with merch and some of my accounting.”

The indie pop singer has since started his own company. On the side, he works in sound design, teaches music software skills and continues to produce for bigger artists. “My life as an artist is just front-facing. There are many outlets of living life as a creative. So yes, I’m an artist, but not just that.” That balance is precisely what he wants to explore when he eventually returns to Singapore on a longer-term basis.

“It’s kind of ironic ‘cause my goal is to move back here and do what I’m doing,” he shares, describing the ideal family life dynamic he aspires towards.  “When I’m there, it’s a version of myself that’s always just in the art. Whenever I come home, it’s more like I’m doing the art, but is it paying? Am I achieving xx so that I can... there’s something I feel like I have to prove. I don’t know if it’s to my parents or society. You’ve got your Fin[ance] bros making 20k a month as an intern. Then I’m just like, shit, that’s how much I make over five gigs that I’ve had to source for.”

Nevertheless, hongjoin attributes the very access to the opportunities he has to the democratisation of the craft. This refreshing evolution of the music landscape allows anyone to become an overnight sensation.

Part of this new business model is being adept at social media, of course. It’s an almost cursory wave of digital marketing, which he believes applies across all industries. “Virality gives you motion, but clout is not sustainable,” he opines. 

“Obviously, no one is gonna say they love making content, but I treat content as world-building. I had so much fun building a visual narrative around my recent album. When you treat content creation as an extension of your art, it becomes enjoyable.” 

He speaks on the subject with the unhealthy firsthand experience of aiming for views, and inadvertently tying his self-worth to the numbers. “So just view it as a way to build rather than promote. It’s natural, and as a chain reaction, people respond to that. They know when you’re having fun, and they want to be a part of it. That’s when they engage and support you, because you’re not selling them something.”

The pursuit of success is an ever-changing benchmark and never-ending race. hongjoin mentions peers possessing greater fame that still don’t have it all figured out. “So just chill, and have fun while it lasts ‘cause this shit is not gonna last forever. One day, I’ll be completely irrelevant, and that’s ok. Then I’ll just get a real job,” he says, half-wryly. 

“I saw a future for myself in music, which is why I tried very hard to pursue it. It’s cool and low-key, sometimes a game to me. But it’s not all fun and games when I made that choice,” he states soberly. “When you’re doing something against the norm, especially in Singapore, you question if it’s the right choice.”

There were many sentiments that he felt were not necessarily politically correct to carry, especially when conveyed to a larger audience via an interview. In his narrative, he should have been professionally enthusiastic about his burning passion for music and living out his dream.

Yet, in my narrative, I see a kid who embraced his moniker from an autocorrect of his legal name, Hong Jiun. Who—insider scoop—started practising Wushu at age two, didn’t make the national team but instead sustained a spinal injury. Who finds contentment in the happiness of his loved ones. Who simply takes joy in what he gets to do right now.

“I meet people for whom my music means something, taking the time off their busy week to come to a show. Seeing them in real life, that’s my why.”

Photography: Beng
Creative Direction and Styling: Asri Jasman
Grooming: Kenneth Chia using GOLDWELL and LANCÔME
Photography Assistant: Xie Feng Mao