Years ago, during a business trip to Memphis, Tennessee, I ventured to Beale Street late at night in a rental car. Despite accurate navigation, the bright, bustling street was nowhere to be found. After circling the area several times, I asked a parked police car for help. The officer offered assistance, leading the way. At the entrance, he gestured to stop and advised placing all bags in the trunk to prevent theft. That night, Beale Street revealed its neon lights and the rhythmic pulse of blues and jazz. A visit to the famous B.B. King’s Blues Club followed. Most cocktails were experimental failures because we picked flashy names; only one person, who wisely ordered something familiar, ended up with a good drink.

The show’s set design featured signage and advertisements modeled after real Beale Street businesses or inspired recreations. I entered with both excitement and concern. Like West Side Story, Memphis is filled with cultural nuances — especially Southern accents — that are difficult to authentically translate into Korean productions. As I anticipated, the Southern accent wasn’t captured, which was understandable. Rather than imitating the original, the Korean production redefined the narrative, discarding elements that didn’t translate well while preserving the core messages. This clear, digestible version resonated with local audiences — a common and admirable strength of Korean musical adaptations.

The production excelled in one undeniable way: it was Huey’s show from beginning to end. Kang-hyun Park’s portrayal blended a childlike innocence with a rebellious, streetwise attitude that suited the character perfectly. I had expected him to handle the role well, but his nuanced, layered interpretation exceeded my hopes. Though I’m not naturally drawn to blues or jazz, the rock elements in the score brought an energetic edge that pulled me in. His timing, particularly in delivering lines and shifting between dialogue and song, was masterful. I noticed similar excellence in his later work, such as Dear Evan Hansen, where line delivery became an art. His vocals were consistently powerful, steady, and emotionally resonant. My favorite number was “Love Will Stand (Reprise)” — short, beautiful, light, and tinged with sorrow. It echoed with simplicity and truth, performed with a delicate balance of clarity and emotion. I was always curious how Park would portray Huey’s emotions, especially when Huey insists to Felicia that they must stay in Memphis. Each time, his sudden burst of passionate tone amazed me. The final, bittersweet DJ box scene also left a lasting impression. This was a show I found myself returning to again and again.

Over time, I returned to see the remarkable Felicias who graced the stage. Among them, SONnet (손승연) stood out for her exceptional voice — a rare blend of natural texture and power, capable of delivering the rich tones of blues, jazz, and rock, which is unusual among Korean performers. Her vocal versatility had already been proven in concerts where she performed the entirety of “Bohemian Rhapsody” solo before later being joined by a rapper and a choir. In Memphis, she brought that same depth and fearless range to the role of Felicia, making a lasting impression. Her performance reaffirmed what I had long believed: she brought something truly unique to the role. Other Felicias also impressed me, including Jung Sun-ah (정선아), an outstanding singer and actor, and later YuRia, whose vocal power left a lasting impression.

Interestingly, most of the Hueys in various performances also maintained a high standard. However, not every casting choice met that level. On one occasion, Felicia’s brother struggled to hit a high note — a rare but noticeable lapse in an otherwise strong ensemble.

The most unforgettable surprise came from an ensemble actress. Her voice resonated powerfully during background harmonies, standing out in a way few ensemble voices do. I was so struck that I kept following her through the performance. At the curtain call, I gave her two thumbs up, and I believe she noticed. That moment underscored the importance of the ensemble — often the unsung heroes who carry the vocal and emotional weight of a production alongside the leads.

One of the most emotionally powerful moments came in Act II when Gator, who had remained silent after witnessing the brutal assault on his father, sang for the first time. His voice was unexpectedly beautiful, and he delivered his opening line a cappella, precisely on pitch before the orchestra joined in. The moment was both musically impressive and emotionally cathartic.

The production also introduced Korean audiences, particularly younger viewers unfamiliar with the richness of mid-20th-century American music history, to the world of Motown and the Soul Train era. This infusion of soul, R&B, and early rock created a vibrant, immersive soundscape that resonated with audiences beyond the narrative itself. The live band, positioned at the back of the stage, provided the feel of an authentic underground club. The delightful interplay of piano, strings, and brass added warmth and musical texture that emphasized the joyful, rebellious spirit of the music that defined an era.

Another highlight was the portrayal of Huey’s mother. Compared to the Broadway version (based on YouTube clips), the Korean production brought out a stronger comic side. The ad libs varied with each cast pairing and were often catchy and clever, introducing fresh comedic energy into the show. The unique chemistry between Huey and his mother painted new emotional colors onto the familiar storyline. Even when the era, race, and culture differ, the relationship between a hardworking yet socially stubborn mother and a dreamer son who refuses to face reality is universal. It repeats not only in America but also in countless families across Korea. This dynamic made the story relatable to Korean audiences in a way that transcended the original context.

The racial tensions of 1950s Memphis — rooted in segregation, systemic racism, and the fight for civil rights — are historically significant and form the heart of the story. Without claiming to fully understand or having lived that experience, I recognize that the broader themes of inequality and societal division are universally relevant. They may take different forms, but they are natural to human society. As such, the core narrative of Memphis could be translated loosely but meaningfully for Korean audiences.

In West Side Story, I had left wanting more from the limited role Kang-hyun Park had at the time. Memphis delivered what I had hoped for and more. I especially appreciated how the show evolved Huey’s character vocally. The early scenes brimmed with optimism, while the final song reflected his disillusionment. Even his vocal tone thickened subtly, a detail that spoke volumes about Park’s understanding of character development through voice. I didn’t attend as many performances as I would have liked, but I was fortunate to be at the final show. The curtain call was warm and emotional, with fans filling the theater and many around me in tears. That final bow — a deep, respectful gesture — captured the spirit of a production that, despite the challenges of translation and cultural adaptation, told its story with heart, resilience, and a lot of soul.