For many K-pop fans, the past few years have been leading up to this moment. After a long hiatus, BTS have made their much-anticipated return with album Arirang and title track Swim. I can certainly relate to the excitement of a beloved artist returning after a long time away, and if I catapult my mind back to the period between 2014 and 2016 I can also remember how exciting a new BTS comeback can feel. It’s been quite awhile since their music has hit me in that way, but as an avid observer of K-pop history I recognize the importance of this moment and — like everyone else — am beyond curious how new BTS music will sound and what they decide to promote as their big comeback.
Swim‘s almost nonexistent teasers didn’t offer much information about what we were in for. As its release neared, I became more and more convinced the group would opt for a gentle nudge of a return rather than hit listeners over the head. This hunch was largely based on the way pop music works at the moment. Artists – both K-pop and otherwise – don’t really do “grand returns” anymore. Just ask Bruno, Harry or Taylor. The idea of an epic, lay-it-all-on-the-line comeback is just not in style at the moment, which is a huge loss for those of us who love a big statement single. Instead, we’ve got vibes and sentiment, configured as a minimalist ripple that gradually builds over time to enjoy the maximum streaming life possible. This approach can work wonders, but it takes a very special song to do it. BTS know a thing or two about this with their evergreen 2017 classic Spring Day. No doubt they would love to recapture that magic in a bottle, but there’s a reason these songs don’t come around all that often.
Swim is “fine” in the way I’m getting so tired of describing K-pop tracks this year. We’ve got a whole bunch of “fine” already. I’ve got enough “fine” to last me several (very boring) years. What I’d absolutely kill to hear is a piece of music that actively tries to knock our collective socks into the stratosphere. Swim is not attempting to do that, which is… again… “fine.” The song is not obligated to offer anything transcendently new and exciting. But if the biggest K-pop group of our era isn’t going to do that, who will?
At a scant two-and-a-half minutes, Swim doesn’t allow itself much time to expand upon its ideas. Its minimalist chorus forms the backbone. This hook is simple, repetitive and monotone — but not unenjoyable. The verses employ the kind of sung hip-hop that’s become completely inescapable in modern pop music. For a group who was so transformative during their early years, Swim feels overly indebted to trends not of BTS’s own making. What we’re missing is some shot of drama that might give the song’s storyline a sense of rising action. The entire track is quite flat, painting mood without much purpose. I suppose this makes it ideal for looped streaming in the background, but it doesn’t make for a very compelling return. I suspect (and hope) there’s more interesting music on the album, which makes me wonder why the group chose to herald their long-awaited return with something as safe as Swim.
Hooks
8
Production
7
Longevity
8
Bias
8
RATING
7.75