The Music Maker

A Master Traditional Korean Instrument Craftsman

By Karly Pierre

Lee Bok-soo, 63, sips instant coffee from a thermos. He is sitting in his second-floor workshop surrounded by planks of wood—walnut, chestnut, paulownia. It has been his life’s work since the age of 16 to transform these planks into musical instruments that have given sound to the story of Korea. Lee’s own life story is one of transformation, beginning with his name. It was changed three times during his childhood.

“My parents named me Bok-dungee, which means fortune, because they were prosperous at the time,” said Lee. “My grandfather, a traditional medicine man, did not like the name, so he randomly changed it to Chun-soo. Then there was an epidemic in my town that killed many people, and the mayor changed my name to Bok-soo.”

Lee grew up in North Jeolla province, the son of a farmer, but he was ambitious and dedicated to excelling in his studies. After completing elementary school he wanted to continue on to middle school, but his family could not afford tuition. So he joined a music society instead and worked there for four years.

“The conditions there were terrible, so I went back to my father and again asked to be sent to middle school. He said I should work with him on the farm instead. I did not want to do that, so I tried to find a job so I could work in the morning and study at night.”

He finally found a master instrument maker willing to take him on as an apprentice. Lee observed his master, but most of his duties consisted of running errands.

After quickly working his way through middle school in just three months, he was also able to complete high school, supporting himself financially with his apprenticeship.

“I studied for school while secretly making instruments,” Lee explained. “One time a high school teacher displayed one of my instruments in class. Many of my classmates thought it was arrogant of me to make instruments. They made school difficult for me. But I enjoyed creating and teaching myself how to do things.”

As a young man, he often relieved stress through cycling. Even though he had no formal training, he began winning competitions and considered becoming a professional athlete.

“I was asked to join the team of the Hungah Bicycle Company, a very renowned company at the time,” said Lee. “But they went bankrupt and I missed a critical year for an athlete, so I went back to my master. He was really happy to have me back because not many people in the trade had an educational background past elementary school. My master thought that people like me with a higher educational background were essential to improving the trade.”

Lee’s skill has earned him recognition as a master craftsman and a UNESCO intangible asset. He specializes in traditional instruments made from natural materials and can make 27 of the 68 traditional Korean instruments.

“My favorite traditional instruments are the gayaguem and geomungo,” said Lee. “Fundamentally, Korean instruments are derived from China. However, these two instruments uniquely represent the style of Korean musicianship.”

The gayageum was developed by Wu Ruk, a musician during the Three Kingdoms period in the state of Gaya. This long wooden string instrument has a delicate tone when plucked. There are several versions of the instrument that vary in size and number of strings.

The geomungo—meaning dark instrument—looks similar to the gayageum and also originates from the Three Kingdoms period, but produces lower tones. Wang San-ak, a prime minister, is attributed as its creator. Legend holds that the first time Wang San-ak played the instrument, a crane landed next to him and began to dance.

Though Korea’s traditional instruments are an important part of the country’s cultural identity, Lee fears for the future of this tradition.

“Young people are not willing to be trained in this cultural trade because there is no guarantee of economic benefit,” he said. “I have tried to teach a few people, but they were focused on making profits. They made the instruments very quickly to sell quickly, but the quality of the instruments was low. On the surface it looked like they were interested in preserving tradition, but that was not the reality.”

Lee has also been frustrated by what he feels is the government’s lack of interest in seriously investing in Korea’s cultural assets. Unlike in Japan, China and Europe, traditional artists in Korea, Lee said, do not receive the support they need from the government to continue to see these trades thrive for generations to come.

“South Korea is regarded as a developed country, but in terms of preserving its culture, this country has a long way to go,” he said

To illustrate his point, he noted how samulnori, a traditional Korean musical style, had been losing respect and popularity in modern Korea. Recently, a group of four samulnori musicians toured Europe, where they received rave reviews for their distinctive sound.

“When the musicians came back to Korea, their musicianship was finally recognized and praised. Our culture was accepted by us because it succeeded in a different country. We are not aware of the value of culture.”