There is a quiet kind of loneliness that runs through the music of DAMONS YEAR. The Korean singer songwriter’s fragile melodies and emotionally raw lyrics have become a refuge for young listeners navigating anxiety, alienation, and the invisible pressures of modern life. At the same time, his songs carry an almost cinematic sense of intimacy, turning deeply personal emotions into something strangely universal.
That emotional pull has taken DAMONS YEAR far beyond Korea’s indie scene. His music has racked up tens of millions of views on YouTube, while his growing presence in Japan has included a Tokyo performance with Saho Terao and an appearance at the TOKYO ART BOOK FAIR. Now, ahead of his first solo Japan tour in May 2026, we spoke with him about the feelings hidden inside his lyrics, the influence of cinema including Shunji Iwai, and the philosophy that continues to shape his work.
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The Quiet Power of DAMONS YEAR’s Emotional Honesty
Browsing through the YouTube comment sections for DAMONS YEAR’s songs is fascinating in itself. Beneath the music, listeners leave deeply emotional reflections about memories, lost relationships, and moments from their past that the songs unexpectedly brought back to the surface.
“I happened to hear this song you once told me you loved, and it made me want to put a few feelings into words.”
“No matter how hard I try to forget, why are you the only person I can’t let go of? Even when I look back on this year, it feels completely filled with thoughts of you.”
DAMONS YEAR never hides emotions like anxiety, regret, or emotional instability. Instead, he turns them directly into song. Even feelings often dismissed as weakness — dependency, obsession, attachment — are portrayed without denial or shame. Memories of former lovers are not reduced to bitterness either; he quietly revisits the good moments they shared, sometimes even allowing traces of gratitude to emerge.
What runs through his music is not an attempt to neatly overcome pain or resolve emotional wounds, but a willingness to simply carry them as they are. His songs are not built around messages like “you’ll get through this” or “everything will be okay.” Instead, there is a deeper feeling underneath them all: if you are about to fall apart, maybe it is okay to fall apart.
That is why his music feels so comforting. It gently affirms listeners even while they are still holding emotions that feel close to collapsing.
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“A Work Means Something When It Fully Reflects Who You Were at That Moment”
I heard that you were originally quite shy. Despite that, your lyrics are incredibly direct and emotionally exposed. Was there a particular turning point that led you to start expressing yourself that openly?
DAMONS YEAR: Ever since I was young, I’ve been very introverted. I was never the type to openly reveal my emotions in front of other people. Because of that, there were many times when I couldn’t say what I truly wanted to say in the moment. And the more experiences like that pile up, the more those unspoken feelings refuse to disappear. Instead, they stay with you as regret — like, “I should’ve said this back then.”
That’s why, at least when I write songs, I try to let those emotions out. For me, it felt like the most natural way not to remain trapped in the past. Over time, my lyrics naturally became more and more personal, and I started writing my feelings exactly as they were in that moment.
When I release those emotions through music, they begin to untangle themselves. It makes things feel a little lighter, and it helps me move forward. So for me, music isn’t just a form of expression. It feels more like a process for surviving life itself.
Born on November 8, 1994, DAMONS YEAR is a South Korean singer songwriter known for his delicate vocal style and emotionally vulnerable lyrics rooted in folk music. His work, often centered around feelings of loss and emotional fragility, has earned him a devoted following within Korea’s indie scene, where his solo concerts frequently sell out immediately.
After making his debut in 2017, he gained widespread attention with the 2019 song “yours.” In 2026, he held his first solo concert in Japan with a one man show in Tokyo.
Would you say that “being honest” is one of your core principles when writing lyrics?
DAMONS YEAR: Yes, I think so. To me, music feels like a direct reflection of a person’s way of thinking. When I write lyrics, I try to preserve my emotions exactly as they were in that moment as much as possible. No matter how personal the subject matter is, I usually don’t hesitate to write it honestly. A lot of the music I loved growing up was like that too, and I always wanted to make music in the same spirit.
Which musicians influenced you in that kind of emotionally honest expression?
DAMONS YEAR: In Korea, there are legendary senior artists like Yoo Jae-ha and Kim Kwang-seok. When I was in middle school, I also listened to The Black Skirts a lot. And because I started music relatively late, the influence of Frank Ocean — whom I discovered in my twenties — was especially huge for me.
His music feels extremely personal, but I think that’s precisely why it reaches so many people. Even if a song isn’t glamorous, I believe there’s value in work that clearly captures who you were in that exact moment. And honestly, I think creating music like that is what makes someone an artist.
Emotions like anxiety, obsession, and attachment appear frequently in your lyrics. It almost feels as though those emotions themselves are what drive your creativity.
DAMONS YEAR: I think those emotions are part of my energy too. Everyone is born with different tendencies. Some people naturally carry positive energy, while others carry negative energy. I’m very clearly the latter.
When I was a teenager, I didn’t know how to deal with that darker side of myself, and it was honestly painful. At first, I didn’t want to accept who I really was, so I tried writing songs while pretending to be someone else. But when I listened back to those songs later, they felt embarrassing. I couldn’t even bear to hear them.
At one point, I went through a complete emotional collapse. After that experience, I realized, “I can’t lie in my music anymore either.” Since then, I’ve only written about the emotions I genuinely felt in that exact moment.
The song I wrote during that period became my debut single, Couldn’t Sleep. It was the first time I could truly say, from the bottom of my heart, that I liked one of my own songs. Before that, I think I had always been trying to decorate or stylize my music somehow. But writing that song made me realize, “This is how I should express myself.” In a way, it also felt like the song saved me a little.
Earlier, you mentioned that you began writing your emotions exactly as they were in the moment. On your latest album “CORPUS 0,” I was especially struck by how THE BEACON OF HOPE portrays the feeling of being unable to let go of an almost impossible possibility within a romantic relationship. Generally speaking, emotions like anxiety or obsession are often treated as weaknesses people are supposed to overcome, but this song feels more like it embraces those feelings instead.
DAMONS YEAR: In today’s society, whenever people point out someone else’s flaws or mistakes, it often feels like there’s an unspoken assumption that human beings are supposed to already be complete and emotionally perfected from the very beginning. I’ve always felt slightly uncomfortable with that idea.
Personally, I don’t think human beings are capable of fully controlling their emotions. When you truly love someone, attachment naturally follows. And I think it’s also completely natural for people to experience impulsive emotions that others might not understand. To me, those contradictions are part of human nature itself.
Working on this album especially made me feel that even more strongly. That’s why, in THE BEACON OF HOPE, I didn’t want to forcibly reject or overcome negative emotions. I wanted to express them exactly as they existed.
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“CORPUS 0” Was Built on the Belief That No Emotion Lasts Forever
The title “CORPUS 0” feels very conceptual, especially with its use of the Latin word “corpus,” meaning “body” or “physical form.”
DAMONS YEAR: I chose the title with the meaning of “a body that doesn’t exist.” Personally, I actually prefer having bad dreams over good ones. Good dreams often show you things you can never truly have again, and when you wake up, reality feels even more painful afterward.
At some point, I started wondering, “Is there a way to keep dreaming forever after having a good dream?” (laughs). That led me to imagine a state where there is no physical body left to wake you up — where the body and consciousness separate while dreaming, allowing only the consciousness to remain trapped inside the dream indefinitely. That image eventually became the concept behind the phrase “CORPUS 0.”
The album begins with “+,” and the first half is filled with songs that portray hope and memory in a beautiful light. But then the title track CORPUS 0 seems to pull the listener back into reality before the album ends with “-.” The flow felt very deliberate. What kind of structure were you aiming for?
DAMONS YEAR: I wanted to express the way human emotions shift from positive, to zero, to negative. At first, there’s still desire, or a small sense of hope. Then, by passing through “zero,” you begin to recognize and accept reality, and eventually your emotions descend into something darker.
But at the same time, I also wanted the album to work in reverse — starting from negativity and gradually rising upward again through memory. No matter where you begin, the structure is designed to eventually loop back into itself.
The image I had in mind was like placing two mirrors face to face, creating an endless reflection. One mirror is “plus,” the other is “minus,” and they continue reflecting each other infinitely.
Throughout the album, the phrase “when morning comes” appears repeatedly. I was struck by the way you seem to connect the passage of time with emotional states. Is that something you consciously think about?
DAMONS YEAR: I feel like emotions are what move time forward. Once a certain emotion appears, it causes you to repeatedly revisit the past, and in doing so, you begin reconstructing those memories and experiences in your mind.
There’s a line in Interstellar that says, “Love is the one thing that transcends time and space,” and I really connect with that feeling. Emotions are what allow the present to connect itself to both the past and the future.
At the same time, I also think emotions are constantly transformed by time itself. For me personally, anxiety tends to become much stronger at night, and then eases slightly once morning arrives. That’s why the phrase “when morning comes” started appearing naturally in my lyrics. I don’t believe any emotion lasts forever, so I want to preserve those shifts while they still exist.
Another thing that stood out to me was your relationship with memory. Painful memories are often framed as things people should forget or overcome, but your music feels more like an attempt to hold onto them. What does writing about memory mean to you?
DAMONS YEAR: I think I’m simply trying to preserve memories that matter deeply to me. In the end, memories are things we can never truly return to.
Even with close friends, when someone leaves your life and you can never see them again, there are moments where they almost begin to feel like someone who has died. Because of that, I want to keep them alive somehow inside myself.
When I write songs like that, it usually means I’m still not ready to completely let go of those memories. I want to preserve them as vividly as possible. Of course, I know there will eventually come a day when I have to release them too. But until then, I want to continue carrying them with me.
That said, I’m also someone who often only realizes how important something was after I’ve already lost it.
Looking through the comment sections under your songs, there are so many people recalling memories and moments tied to someone important in their lives through your music. How do you feel about people connecting with your songs in that way?
DAMONS YEAR: I try not to offer comfort that I can’t personally take responsibility for. So rather than saying, “Everything will be okay,” I’d rather tell people, “If you feel like you’re about to fall apart, maybe it’s okay to fall apart.”
I think people often try to suppress their emotions because they want relief as quickly as possible. But when those feelings keep piling up inside, the collapse that eventually comes later can become much more dangerous. If you’re hurting, maybe it’s better to completely break down now instead of forcing yourself to endure it.
Whether or not you eventually overcome those emotions or memories comes afterward. Before anything else, I think there first needs to be a moment of collapsing. Trying to look away from your feelings or pretending you’re okay in order to “move on” eventually becomes a kind of lie to yourself. First, you should allow yourself to exist exactly as you are. What comes after that — how you stand back up again — can be different for everyone.
A lot of pop music tends to revolve around messages like “be stronger” or “you can overcome this.” Your approach feels quite different from that.
DAMONS YEAR: I think lyrics like that are often directed toward “the masses” rather than toward an individual person. And honestly, I feel like words aimed at the masses usually contain at least a little bit of a lie.
Of course, I’m not trying to reject those kinds of messages completely. But to me, they sometimes feel similar to drinking alcohol and immediately falling asleep — words that temporarily help you forget something, rather than truly face it.
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The Influence of Shunji Iwai: Creating Dreams Because Reality Cannot Be Resolved
In a previous interview, you mentioned Shunji Iwai as an influence, which really stood out to me. What is it about his films that resonates with you so deeply?
DAMONS YEAR: What fascinates me about Shunji Iwai’s films is that they make you emotionally experience things you’ve never actually gone through yourself, almost as if they were your own memories.
For example, with PiCNiC, I’ve never been locked away inside a psychiatric hospital like the characters in the film. But I do understand the feeling of wanting to escape somewhere, or the sensation that the entire world — except for yourself and maybe a very small number of people — feels like hell.
Those emotions overlapped with the situations inside the film, which made it affect me even more deeply. The dialogue especially left a strong impression on me. It felt almost like hearing words I had personally needed to hear.
When you say “words you needed to hear,” do you mean something close to comfort or reassurance?
DAMONS YEAR: Yes, I think it was a form of comfort. In PiCNiC, the protagonist Tsumuji lives while carrying guilt over a sin committed during childhood. Watching that made me think deeply about the idea of “sin” itself.
Human beings create societies, and societies define good and evil through laws. That’s where guilt comes from too. In the film, Coco says something to Tsumuji that basically feels like, “If the world ends tomorrow, then your sins disappear too.” It’s such a simple line, but it felt like an enormous form of comfort to me.
I also went through a period where I suffered for a long time from guilt over hurting someone else. So when I heard that line, it felt almost as if it were speaking to me from somewhere outside this world itself. It felt like a kind of “divine comfort.”
When I write lyrics myself, I’m drawn less to complicated or intellectual expressions and more toward words that are simple, but still leave you thinking afterward.
Shunji Iwai’s films often feel as though emotions and problems that cannot be resolved in reality are somehow sublimated or transformed within the world of the work itself. Do you feel your music shares something similar?
DAMONS YEAR: I think so. Lately, because I already know certain things can’t truly be resolved in reality, I’ve started feeling more drawn toward creating something closer to a “dream” shaped the way I wish things could be.
Shunji Iwai has many admirers in Korea as well. Why do you think his work resonates so strongly there?
DAMONS YEAR: I think people and societies are fundamentally similar everywhere, and there are simply a lot of people who feel lost.
On the surface, many people may seem completely fine, but deep down they’re running away from their emotions, their past, or even from themselves. For people like that, I think Shunji Iwai’s films can resonate very deeply.
