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When Korean hip-hop trio Epik High released their debut album, Map of the Human Soul, in 2003, the world seemed completely different.

“Can you believe we didn’t have smartphones? I can’t imagine, I can barely remember,” says  Epik High frontman Tablo over a video call from Seoul. 

Yet, those are the years the group aimed to recall in their first mixtape, Pump. Musing on their beginnings, the trio — also composed by Mithra Jin and DJ Tukutz — breaks free from their usual formulas in favor of fluid and raw tracks, as can be seen in the single “Antihero.” 

“We wanted to create like we were rookies again,” Tablo says. “We didn’t want to think about the path too much, although we did make references to certain songs from early albums because it’s fun.” 

Released in June, Pump is a testament to Epik High’s ability to reinvent themselves. Over 10 studio albums, four EPs, and a handful of special releases , they remained a pivotal group in South Korean music. Through chart-topping hits like “Fan,” “Fly,” “It’s Cold” with Lee Hi, and “Born Hater” featuring rappers Beenzino, Verbal Jint, B.I, Mino, and Bobby, they helped popularize hip hop and rap in a country dismissive to those genres. Their insightful and honest lyrics encouraged larger discussions about mental health and social issues, inspiring artists such as BTS and B.I. And Their message and music led to global acclaim as well: In 2016, Epik High became the first major South Korean act to perform at Coachella; they would perform again in 2022. 

To celebrate another year of growing success, the band recently embarked on a world tour. After crossing Asia and Australia, they kicked off the first out of 23 shows in North America on Aug. 22, in Vancouver, British Columbia, and are set to play in Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago, Orlando, Boston, and other U.S. cities throughout September.

Ahead of the tour, GRAMMY.com caught up with Tablo to chronicle this distinct moment in their careers, how to maintain longevity as a band, and living a life worthy of a K-drama.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

Epik High just released their first mixtape. In previous interviews, you’ve defined ‘Pump’  as a mixtape because, sonically, it’s very different from your studio albums and EPs. Why are you exploring this format 20 years into your career?

We felt kind of lost as we were leading up to our 20th year, which is ironic. On the surface, it looked like we had it all together, because we were doing our 20th tour and we had a movie [showcasing the group’s 20th anniversary concert] out, but it’s a scary number. It was scary when we hit 10, but hitting 20 — when a human hits 20, they’re like, I’m an adult. Now, what do I do with my life?

Epik High turned 20, and we [started wondering], What would we do if we were back to our first year and no one knew us? If we didn’t know how to make music the way we know now? What kind of album would we create? We [thought], A mixtape, just free flowing and doing whatever we want, and breaking all the rules. Not music rules, but Epik High rules, because we’ve developed some of them over the years.

What are some of these rules?

Well, it’s not necessarily rules. What I said to my members was, “I think our biggest weakness is that we know too much.” Over the years, we’ve gained so much experience and our skill level has gone up to the point where we know exactly how to craft a hit, and we know exactly what kind of songs will speak to what kind of audience. Knowing all of this typically would be a good thing, but for us, it’s our disadvantage — because we will immediately go to those decisions, instead of exploring something new or risky.

It took [the members] a while to accept that. I had to drag it in, and then they came to me, “You know, you’re right. We do feel like that.” And I was like, “Let’s write these things down that we don’t want to do.” All of them were things that we usually do, like, let’s not just go to a famous feature, because that’s such an easy thing that we know how to do. Let’s not make big melody hooks that we know will work. And then we just went with that, which in itself is very risky, because we didn’t know how the audience would react.

Judging by our streaming, usually hit songs spike like crazy in the first couple days, and then fall off because a lot of people only listen once or twice. And then there are songs where less people listen because it’s not commercial or it’s not catered to everyone, but they listen over and over again, and that’s what we’re seeing with this album. It’s a very interesting phenomenon, and something that actually makes us very happy.

I noticed that ‘Pump’ is quite different from the music that you have been doing lately. You need to spend some time with it to understand what’s going on and to find its magic. It’s not an album of easy hooks, like you said. Do you think you guys were revisiting the Epik High of 20 years ago, or that you were rewriting that era, doing what you wish you had done?

There’s both. We wanted to create like we were rookies again; we didn’t want to think about the path too much, although we did make references to certain songs from early albums because it’s fun. 

But we don’t ever regret things, or wish we could go back to a certain era, because there was a lot of good stuff, but there were also a lot of terrible things that we don’t want to ever revisit. So, we’re more focused from today on.

Thinking back to 20 years ago, what are some of the changes you witnessed, either in music or in yourselves?

Literally, the entire world has changed. When we started, people were still dropping cassette tapes. Now, cassette tapes are something fun that artists do as a collector’s item. We didn’t have streaming. We didn’t have social media. I’m sure some people who are reading this interview can’t even fathom, but we did live in a world without any of that.

The downside is that it was very, very difficult to get our music to audiences. To get one listener was almost an impossibility, so we were forced to go out and perform. Back then, hip-hop was not accepted at all [in Korea]; it was just not a genre that people liked. And because we didn’t have any stages to go on, we performed at a zoo, we performed at clubs with 13 people in there, we just had to do that because that was the only way to get our music out.

And the huge upside, though, is that, because we developed our skills performing to an audience that was either confused by us or didn’t like us, we had to make them understand the music and make them vibe. We developed a very specific skill set that is really hard to attain. I think that’s why, 20 years later, we’re still able to headline festivals and to do these big tours, and people have a really good time at our shows.

Nowadays, a lot of times musicians will feel satisfied with their streaming numbers, or with their social numbers. They might not feel that it’s necessary to get out there and to perform in front of 10 people. I’m sure none of them will perform at a zoo.

This mixtape’s single, “Antihero,” approaches people’s perceptions and misconceptions about Epik High. When someone gets famous, they are either idolized or demonized — we see that a lot in the Korean music scene, specifically in K-pop, where fans even call artists “idols.” What do you think about that? Is this related to the message you wanted to convey?

“Antihero” is less “I’m an antihero,” and more “You see me as an antihero,” where you may like me, but you don’t fully like me. There’s always some flaw, or some weakness that you’re looking for, and that’s sort of the stance of the song. 

Epik High has had a lot of anti[fans] over the last 20 years, and at the same time, though, we provide a lot of entertainment to these antis. They would literally have nothing to do if we didn’t provide them with something to get angry about, or to harass us about. In a way, we’re sort of these twisted heroes to them as well.

That’s why, if you look at the music video, [there is] a hero part, and then a villain part, because those are the two sides of an antihero. But that’s also the two sides of any star, or any person, actually. Some people choose to see the good parts of you, but some people will choose to ignore all of that and see just the parts that seem dark. I think that the song is touching on all of that.

The lyrics to “K-drama” use Korean TV dramas’ vocabulary — like “dramatic reversal” and “OST” — to talk about real life. What do you think about the image that South Korea displays in these shows?

I’m a huge fan of K-dramas. It’s just very fun, and always has you at the edge of your seat. I don’t know if people outside [of Korea] think that, if you come to Korea, you’re immediately stepping into a K-drama. A lot of people get deluded and think, like, all Korean men are perfect. 

But just the same, a lot of people outside the U.S. think that, if you go to L.A., it’s going to be like a Dr. Dre music video, or a Snoop Dogg music video. And that’s just one depiction of one part of a very complicated, beautiful, and complex place.

There’s always truth in fiction, so you will discover elements of K-dramas when you come here. But if life was a K-drama… A lot of K-dramas are really tragic, the plot twists. Although I will say, I’ve been embroiled in the TaJinYo scandal [Editor’s note: Starting in 2010, Tablo was victim to a smear campaign that accused him of faking his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Stanford University. The school came forward multiple times to confirm his accomplishments, and eight TaJinYo members were sentenced to prison.], and there were actual directors, even overseas, who wanted to turn it into a drama or a movie. So, I guess I did live a life that’s like a K-drama, true with heroes, villains, and victims. It was crazy.

Why hasn’t it become a series or a movie yet? Do you plan on making something like that?

Well, it’s a very tricky story to tell. It’s a timeless story, because it’s about the internet, and it’s about hatred and idolization, but it’s not an easy thing to turn into a fictional story.

Do you feel like it would be weird to see your life depicted on screen? Or do you already feel that, since a good part of your life has been public?

I am very good at keeping myself and my family detached from our public persona. But I don’t mean to say that Tablo or Epik High are not an actual version of ourselves. It’s just that Epik High is different in that, when we come off stage, we don’t experience that huge drop off.

On stage we have a very specific goal, which is to make the audience have a great time. Nothing else is on our minds. And because of that, when we come off stage, there’s no high to come off. We finish the concert and we’re home 20 minutes later, doing dishes and vacuuming. I’m not kidding. Epik High is notorious for not having after parties, and we will just come home after a huge stadium concert and watch YouTube with our kids, or take out the garbage.

It keeps your ego in check.

Yeah. When we first became famous, we probably did have a period where we thought, This is about us. But very quickly we realized that, if this was about us, we were not going to have longevity, because that fades. But if you keep it about the audience, as long as they’re there, you know that it won’t change.

Since you talked about longevity, what are the most important things for a band to stay together and to still be relevant and innovative after 20 years?

Over the last couple of years, a lot of huge brands in Korea have invited me to speak to their companies. I think they look at us as a case study on the longevity of a brand, or how to stay connected for a long time. And I’ve declined, because speaking is not something I wanted to do, but it made me think, What is it?

First of all, you have to have no “yes men” around you.This is a very simple, but also extremely difficult thing to do, because people need an affirming environment, and that’s not a bad thing, right? It’s a very thin line between a supportive person, and a person who just tells you what you want to hear.

Epik High has absolutely zero of those people in our rooms. In interviews and stuff, the three of us almost seem like we hate each other. We’re never not fighting, and we’re doing it on screen, so imagine what we’re like off screen.

Also, our staff [is] a very dedicated group of people, and we’re all very, very honest — from our engineer to our art guy. Most of the people that we work with have been working with us for a long time, and none of them are scared to tell me, “Tablo, that outfit ain’t it. Your hair ain’t it.” Or, “Tablo, your voice sucks right now.” Or, “these lyrics are terrible.” We’re all very honest, and I think that’s key to longevity.

An artist’s career is sometimes destroyed by outside forces. But I tend to believe that, in a lot of cases, artists’ careers get destroyed by the artists themselves. It’s not their fault, but when you’re constantly told what you want to hear, instead of what you need to hear, it’s impossible to grow. If the people around you actually care for you, they will never prevent you from experiencing things, which is necessary for growth.

Looking ahead to the next 20 years, is there anything you want to do that you haven’t done yet?

We actually had this conversation lately: Wouldn’t it be really cool if there was a Korean hip-hop group who stayed together until they were grandpas? And we’re on stage with gray hair, but we’re still super good. And people will see us on TV or so, and will be like, “Those grandpas are dope!”

A lot of young artists tell us that they started music because they listened to Epik High. But later on, after they become big stars, they tell us that now we inspire them because we show that it’s possible to do [this] for over 10 years, 20 years, and still do what you want to do.

We never had that. We didn’t have anyone to look up to, any [groups] who stayed together and [kept making] music at the same level that they always did, so we were really scared. Hopefully, us becoming dope grandpas in the future will show people that it’s okay. It’s okay to just keep doing it.