Photo and text by Gaetano Ling

As pianist Cheol Woong Kim wiped sweat from his forehead with boyish mannerism, he sheepishly said through a translator, “This is the most nervous I’ve ever been at a performance.” He then bashfully laughed along with the packed crowd at Boston University’s Tsai Performance Center, which was primarily comprised of young music students and a few distinguished classical aficionados.
Such genuine, innocent humility is rare in a musician of Kim’s status: a piano prodigy born and raised in Pyongyang, North Korea, he was selected for admission to the prestigious Pyongyang University of Music and Dance at the age of eight. “Only eight or nine students are selected a year,” Kim recalls, “out of about 8,000 to 9,000 applicants. So it is very difficult. Not only must you be musically talented, but your family must be in very good standing with the government.” Thanks to his father’s position as a ranking member in North Korea’s powerful decision making body, the Politburo, Kim was able to excel at Pyongyang University: graduating as the top pianist in 1995 and going on to become the nation’s first pianist in the State Symphony Orchestra.
Despite his privileged life in his native country, Kim became dissatisfied under the repression of the North Korean government. While enrolled in the Tchaikovsky Conservatory in Moscow, Kim was exposed to music that is banned in North Korea:
I heard this piece in Moscow. While I was practicing the song [after coming back to North Korea], some inspectors happened to be in the building and caught me. I wanted to play the song for my potential girlfriend. She was my love. I saw these movies where the guy plays a romantic song and wins the girl. So I thought if I played this romantic song, my potential girlfriend would become my actual girlfriend. But I never got to play the song for her.
Such government crackdowns on foreign influence are common in North Korea. In a country where any outsider contemporary music composed after the year 1900 is deemed as ‘jazz’ and considered barbaric, works from the likes of Stravinsky and Gershwin simply do not exist. Even external classical music dating before 1900 is hard to come by in North Korea as it is a law that for every one foreign song an artist learns, he must learn two songs composed by North Koreans.
Kim’s knowledge of North Korean music was evident in his repertoire Wednesday night, as it included his rendition of “Arirang Sonata” (based on a traditional folk tune) as well as a breathtaking duet with Korean-American pianist Sun Eun Han-Anderson of Dong Choon Sung’s “Chosun is One,” which elicited a standing ovation and shouts of “bravo!” from the audience. However, Kim was quick to note that such moving performances are rare in his native land: “North Koreans are all very good technically, but typically they are not good musicians.”
It was this lack of inspiration and passion in Korean music which caused Kim to seek artistic freedom. In 2001, he twice attempted to escape North Korea, but, due to his renowned talent and family ties to the government, he was easily found and deported back. On his third effort to leave the country, Kim left as a refugee, working 17-18 hours a day at a timber mill in China and in 2003, finally arrived in South Korea.
Unlearning the North Korean preconceptions of democratic, free cultures that were imposed on him by propaganda and repression was a non issue for Kim. As he puts it,
It was very easy. It doesn’t take that long to change. People who don’t know the taste of chocolate learn quickly how sweet it is. I learned the sweetness of chocolate.
Now a free man, Kim can play the song that he heard in Moscow; the one that caused him to defect from North Korea, the song that he was forbidden to play, the song to win over the girl.
So with sweat dripping from his forhead, he leaned over the keys, closed his eyes and launched into Clayderman’s “Autumn Leaves.” His fingers stroked each note with pronounced conviction, utter compassion and boyish anxiety, as if playing for his love, reminding everyone in the room that beyond any government lies individuals seeking pure self expression and a yearning for the most noble of human emotions.