SYNOPSIS

Swag Age: Shout Out, Joseon is set in a fictional Joseon where Sijo poetry, once the heart of national ideology, has been banned for 15 years. The ban was declared by Hongguk, the powerful Minister of Sijo, who assassinated the former king and now controls the country while a young, powerless king remains silent under his rule.

Dan, an orphaned street kid scorned by the townspeople, boldly sings Sijo in the marketplace. Just as he’s about to be arrested, a woman named Jin intervenes, using her authority to stop the soldiers. Meanwhile, a group of underground performers called Golbindang appears in the streets, performing Sijo, though the fearful public dares not openly support them.

Unknown to most, Jin is Hongguk’s daughter. She secretly runs a performance club called Gukbonggwan and is herself a member of Golbindang. Crowds come in secret to enjoy the group’s rebellious performances until dawn.

After Dan went to Gukbonggwan to look for his brush, he came to know that it was Golbindang’s hideout. There, their leader Shipjoo recognizes Dan as the son of the late Jamo and shares the truth: years ago, Jamo, a commoner, won the Minister of Sijo position over the aristocrat Hongguk. In retaliation, Hongguk falsely accused Jamo of treason, had him exiled, and secretly murdered him. Upon learning this, Dan joins Golbindang.

Longing to hear his people’s voices, the young king announces the first National Sijo Competition in 15 years. Surprisingly, Hongguk agrees—planning to use the event to expose Dan as the traitor’s son and crush Golbindang. Hongguk’s enforcer, Jono, a deadly Japanese guard wielding three swords, is the same man who killed the former king years ago. He now spies for Hongguk and suppresses dissent.

Golbindang wins the regional round and advances to the finals. When Hongguk discovers Jin’s involvement, he locks her in her room. At the final performance, Golbindang sings of the people's real suffering—of war wounds from conflicts they never asked for, and of a woman forced to leave her husband to become the bride of a powerful man. Moved, the king begins to grasp the harsh truth of his kingdom. But Hongguk seizes the moment, denouncing Dan as Jamo’s son and accusing Golbindang of plotting rebellion.

The entire group, including Jin, is arrested. Shipjoo is tortured. But Jono, swayed by the truth, helps Jin and the others escape, handing her secret documents proving that Hongguk framed Jamo and orchestrated the former king's assassination. Jono is killed during the escape, protecting the group from Hongguk's soldiers.

When Hongguk demands the king execute Golbindang, Dan and the others step forward, pleading for the truth to be heard. The king reads the evidence. Hongguk's treachery is exposed. Stripped of his power and branded, Hongguk is exiled beyond the kingdom’s borders.

At the end, when the king offers Dan a wish, Dan tearfully asks for only one thing: that all people be free to sing Sijo.


REVIEW

Sijo, a traditional Korean poetic form, consists of three lines with a set rhythm and structure. Unlike Japanese haiku, sijo allows for fuller expression and often ends with a twist or reflection. Once used by scholars and kings, sijo in this musical becomes a voice of rebellion and emotional truth.

While Korea has established vocal traditions like chang and gugak, Swag Age: Shout Out, Joseon! deliberately centers its narrative around sijo - not as a musical form, but as a poetic one. The choice is fictional yet meaningful: by freeing sijo from its classical form and transforming it into a vehicle for rap, musical theatre, and rhythmic chant, the show reimagines sijo as a living, rebellious art form. This reinterpretation is echoed in the choreography - not through court or folk dance, but through street-based movement: b-boying, popping, and waacking dominate the stage, injecting modern swag into the suppressed poetry of Joseon.

The songs were genuinely good - an essential quality that elevates a show from good to great. Numbers like Oh Yeah Oh, Shout Out!, Act Like a Nobleman (이것이 양반놀음), and Land of Sijo (시조의 나라) stood out, blending orchestral scoring with Korean traditional instruments.

One of the most beloved characters was Lululala Jono (a name clearly riffing on Roronoa Zoro from One Piece). His mix of casual Japanese and Korean dialogue made him even more endearing. Though he served the main antagonist Hongguk - and was the one who killed Dan’s father - his final act of redemption and sacrifice struck a deep chord with the audience. The actor received loud applause at the curtain call.

Despite its dark and oppressive premise, the show maintains a bright, energetic tone through its rebellious use of song and dance. At one point I asked myself, “Why on earth would a government ban sijo?” The plot explains that Hongguk, having lost his wife in a war during a time of national weakness, decided to create a strong state - but through cultural suppression? It seemed illogical at first, but I came to accept that controlling expression is a form of power. Preventing the people from voicing hardship - especially through music - was a way for Hongguk to hold onto control. The irony, of course, is that the elite could still enjoy sijo while it was banned for the common people.

In fact, Hongguk himself recites some of Korea’s most iconic sijo on stage. He begins with ‘Though I die and die again, till white bones turn to dust’ (‘이몸이 죽고 죽어,’ Dansimga) to show loyalty, then twists it into It’s fine this way, ‘It’s fine that way’ (‘이런들 어떠하리, 저런들 어떠하리,’ Hayeoga), a famous poetic rebuttal, as an expression of disdain toward the king. Another classic line, The great mountain may be high, but it still lies beneath the sky (태산이 높다 하되 하늘 아래 뫼이로다), also appears - these are the sijo Koreans all learn in high school.

The National Sijo Competition portrayed in the musical is not a traditional poetry contest. The emcee (엄씨) drops a beat, and contestants step up to perform - mostly rap. With K-pop's global influence, Korea's affinity for hip hop is no secret. For local audiences, rap feels completely natural. In Swag Age, the raps are delivered with beat-perfect precision and clear diction, likely adjusted for musical theatre performers.

The dance, too, leaned on foundational street styles. I found myself wishing for one strong breakdancer to add dynamic, complex moves. The cast performed tailored, uniform street choreography - solid and enjoyable, though not dazzling. That said, I wasn’t disappointed - just left imagining what a single standout dancer could have added.

Though the musical leans somewhat on rap, it also delivers well-written, traditional musical numbers. I was especially impressed by the duet between Jin and her father Hongguk - at times singing in unison, but often harmonizing along diverging melodies, reflecting their emotional distance.

The lighting design was intense and at times overwhelming, using wide and sharp pin spots, vertical light columns, and concert-style strobes. Backdrop LEDs were present but lacked symbolic visuals. Still, with a bit of refinement, the lighting could go from very good to truly exceptional.

If you’re visiting Korea and want to experience something distinctly Korean - but not tragic - I recommend this show. You might find yourself shouting, dancing, and joining the chorus: “Shout out, Joseon!”