In 18th-century Jeolla Province, twelve madang were sung. Five survive today.
Three centuries
The road pansori has traveled.
1754
The earliest record
Yu Jin-han sets Chunhyangga down in Chinese verse — the oldest surviving record of pansori.
19th c.
The golden age
Eight great masters vie in song, and Shin Jae-hyo sets the scattered librettos in order.
1902
Onto the stage
Hyeomnyulsa, the first indoor theater, opens — and changgeuk, pansori sung by a cast, is born.
1930s
The gramophone era
The sound rides phonograph records into homes across the country.
1964
National heritage
Pansori is designated National Intangible Cultural Heritage of Korea.
2003
UNESCO
Proclaimed a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity.
In one sitting
Four things happen at once.
Sori
The song. It runs over three hours.
Aniri
The speech. The song pauses and turns to storytelling.
Ballim
The gesture. A single fan becomes a river, then a sword.
Chuimsae
The calls from drummer and audience. Without them, it isn't a pan.
Try it yourself
The singer never works alone.
Press and hold
EolssiguJotaGeureochi
What you just did is chuimsae. In pansori, the audience is not there merely to listen. The singer draws strength from these calls and paces the next passage by them.
The five badang
Seven of the twelve madang lost their music. The five that remain are called badang.
01
춘향가
Chunhyangga — the song of waiting. The longest of the five, and the most often sung.
02
심청가
Simcheongga — a blind father and his daughter. The hall falls silent as she leaps into the sea.
03
흥보가
Heungboga — poverty and a gourd seed. It makes you laugh, then suddenly ache.
04
수궁가
Sugungga — the hare and the terrapin. 'Beom Naeryeonda (Tiger Is Coming)' lives inside it.
05
적벽가
Jeokbyeokga — the song of war. Dead soldiers call out their names in one passage.
The seven that lost their sound
Only the titles remain; the music was never passed down.
Singers train alone in the mountains, shouting at a waterfall until the voice breaks — and keep going until it opens again. This solitary discipline is called dokgong.
The voice earned this way is called deugeum. Not a smooth voice, but one whose cracks and grain can carry feeling.
수리성
Suriseong — the husky, weathered timbre. Pansori prizes this rough sound above all.
이면
Imyeon — the sound must fit the scene. Sad passages sung sadly, urgent ones urgently.
더늠
Deoneum — a passage a master polishes into their own, laying a life over the song a teacher handed down.
Schools
The sound split along the Seomjin River.
SEOMJIN RIVER, DAWN
동편제
Dongpyeonje — east of the river. Thick and straight. Unadorned.
서편제
Seopyeonje — west of the river. Fine and plaintive. The endings stretch long.
중고제
Junggoje — Gyeonggi and Chungcheong. The oldest grain survives here.
Five minutes for first-time listeners
It's fine not to know. Everyone started that way.
I can't understand a word.
That's because the lyrics are archaic. Theaters run subtitles, and videos have captions you can turn on. Even if you miss the words, you still hear the voice — it tells you the emotion first.
Can I call out chuimsae anytime?
Slip it in where the singer finishes a passage and catches a breath. If your neighbor goes first, just follow. Nobody minds if you get it wrong — singers welcome a responsive crowd far more than a silent one.
How does anyone sit through six hours?
Six hours is the full-length wanchang; most performances run one or two. Many shows perform a single passage. If it's your first time, start with the Sugungga passage that contains 'Beom Naeryeonda.'
The pan still opens today.
The National Gugak Center and the National Theater hold sori gatherings all year round. Single-passage evenings, and six-hour wanchang too.
The images and video on this site were generated with AI. I wrote an article on how AI can help share a cultural heritage — the thinking and the process behind this site.
