The EPIKASE Song Battle
Yoon Haein: “This has gotten way out of hand.”Summer, 2026. The three members of Epik High were filming a YouTube segment where they give advice to fans when they got into a heated debate over who’s the most popular in the group. Things escalated when DJ Tukutz threw down the gauntlet, claiming he could out-rap TABLO and Mithra Jin—and just like that, the three ended up in a song battle, each writing their own. The stakes: six months as leader and center, plus the other two have to call the winner hyung, the respectful term for older brother. (Worth noting: TABLO, technically the oldest, doesn’t actually get called hyung by the other two anyway, so it really is quite the prize.) TABLO brought in BANG YEDAM on featured vocals, while Mithra—trying his hand at singing rather than rapping—turned to the band NELL. Tukutz, meanwhile, somehow wrangled GroovyRoom, Crush, and 3RACHA—Stray Kids’ rap subunit—all onto the same song. Epik High, now 23 years into their hip hop journey and boasting 1.9 million YouTube subscribers, is deep in their own song battle. Like TABLO said, things really have gotten out of hand.
The way Epik High keeps letting things get out of hand basically sums up how the group operates. TABLO, a self-confessed talker, heads off to take a vow of silence at a temple for inspiration, and ends up with a string of sitcom-worthy stories and a song that hits impossibly hard. Mithra sneaks off to see the band NELL behind the others’ backs, gets a track, writes lyrics for their subscribers, and powers through a grueling recording session with NELL’s Kim Jong Wan without a word of complaint. Tukutz, for his part, picks out an absolutely stacked list of names for the song battle. He’s the producer behind the hit “BORN HATER,” but decides his own beats are too heavy and goes to GroovyRoom instead. Not long after, while writing lyrics, he goes into crisis mode—how’s he supposed to out-rap rappers who’ve “done nothing but rap for over 20 years”? With a brutal dose of self-awareness and good judgment, he immediately recruits Crush. Still stuck on coming up with the rap, he reaches out to Stray Kids subunit 3RACHA. He’s quick to accept the reality of his situation (with some amount of bellyaching) but he does everything he can. From writing to recruitment, his whole process for a song literally themed around “TUKUTZISM” ends up being the purest possible demonstration of TUKUTZISM itself. And when you remember that Tukutz has actually been the member in charge of landing featured artists for Epik High all along, it’s exactly the choice you’d expect from this producer 23 years into the game. Tukutz may have enjoyed less time in the spotlight in legacy media since he’s not the frontman, but things like this show exactly what kind of role he plays within the group. Throughout the song battle, Epik High messes with each other for the sake of a good bit, but when it comes to the music, the respect is real. That’s Epik High for you—shuttling between that ride-or-die energy and genuine musicianship like true professionals, breathing new life into the group all over again.
Epik High’s been around over 20 years, and they caught an amazing second wind through YouTube. Then, just as they felt people would pressure them with comments telling them it’s “time to do your main job,” they naturally kicked off another round of YouTube videos. Maybe an artist can’t run exclusively on youthful vigor or the hip hop spirit alone, but this YouTube song battle’s already spilled over into gathering votes on their individual Instagram accounts, not to mention new songs. And soon, the results of that vote will loop right back into YouTube. Maybe this is what Epik High 3.0 was always meant to be about. Like TABLO said, it doesn’t matter what the three of them make, as long as they’re making something. Epik High—creators till the end.
“Old Fantasy” (CIFIKA)
Kim Doheon (music critic): The real me, true to self, genuine self-expression—these are the kind of labels of authenticity you’ll hear all around the pop music scene today. Plenty of musicians claim to be authentic, baring their hearts and going it alone to live up to that label. But creative people need time. Before they can speak to solidarity and solace, they need enough lived experience of isolation, pain, and the things they see and feel as a result. For young artists, that kind of waiting doesn’t come easy. Either they haven’t found the words to fully turn what they’ve lived through into art, or their skill at translating an imagined world into sound hasn’t caught up with their desire yet. The ability to push through that gap with sheer will is a virtue of youth. And looking back on that time to figure out what you really want to say and knowing what you can actually pull off—that process is what we call maturity.
We can take comfort in how pop music is shaping up in Korea in 2026, where young creators are closing out one era and gearing up to ride the wave of the next, and CIFIKA’s EP “Old Fantasy” is a part of that current. Marking the 10th anniversary of her debut, CIFIKA wrote, composed, and produced everything alone for the first time, completely upending the collaborative approach that had defined her work until now. Where dozens of people once came together to help build around CIFIKA’s vision, now it’s the hundreds, maybe thousands, of CIFIKAs living inside her who play the virtual instruments and sing together as one. Out of the greater variety of sounds she wanted to capture, she kept only the ones she could pour real feeling into, and cut the rest without looking back.
With a minimalist electronic orchestra of one, CIFIKA sheds her old skin and reclaims the mindset of an artist who just debuted. The EP kicks off with “Who,” where sleepless nights after the December 3 martial law crisis force her to confront a version of herself that’s both ominous and vulnerable. Her newfound resolve is evident, and from there she musically explores fragments of herself, revisiting her first love on “Mine” and delivering a studio recording of “Passing a gossip,” a song she’s played live often. Looking back feels lonely on “Lullaby,” and stacking up memories on “HEX” is painful. Out of an old fantasy that condenses introspection, confrontation, and awareness, CIFIKA finally finds freedom—the freedom to no longer need metaphors for anything, to decide for herself whether she needs help from others, and to speak and sing in a language that’s hers alone.
“After Annie” (Anna Quindlen)
Kim Boksung (writer): As soon as you open the book, Annie Brown, devoted friend, mother, wife, and worker, dies without warning. She was only in her 30s, and everyone around her depended on her goodwill.
Her husband, Bill, barely knows what to do with himself. Her best friend, Annemarie, falls back into addiction. Her oldest child and only daughter, 13-year-old Ali, becomes an adult and de facto head of the household overnight. Annie touched the lives of everyone she knew, including the residents at the nursing home she worked at. She was a beacon of light to the end, even with all the curveballs life kept throwing at her.
In the year following her sudden death, we learn about Annie through these three main characters. The departed was almost saintlike, but the characters she leaves behind are heart-wrenchingly realistic. Still, “After Annie,” while very sad and sentimental, isn’t sappy. It isn’t exciting, it isn’t generally uplifting, but it is an accurate portrayal of how people grapple with grief and find a little hope. Author Anna Quindlen’s character-driven drama shows how the power of love can keep someone alive in your heart, and how their voice stays in your head to guide you along.