“Ted Park is in the building!”
As a local K-town celebrity, Ted Park can’t enter any club without his name announced over the speakers. Terracotta was no different, even though his presence came as no surprise. This was an establishment that he frequented for business and pleasure.
Ted Park stood 5’11” with a sturdy build, though his designer shoes usually made him look taller. Red lights flashed in his face, highlighting an appearance that is reminiscent of a hamster. The 27-year-old looked rather youthful thanks to his plump cheeks and positive (almost carefree) demeanor.
Most people were scantily clad to avoid overheating as they danced to altered sounds, but Ted arrived dressed in layers. Comfort is often sacrificed for fashion in this space.
He wore Dior B23 high-top sneakers (costing a meager $1,200), a Burberry checkered coat (which is only slightly pricier than his shoes), light-wash jeans, and a white turtleneck that served as a backdrop for his stack of necklaces.
Underneath a beige cap, his hair was less flashy than usual. Wherein past Ted wore long braids, a shaved head, or brightly dyed tresses; only half of his naturally black hair was an eye-catching red.
You simply can’t miss Ted Park when he walks in a room. And that was deliberate, because he wanted—needed—to be seen.
Every move he made was calculated, from his endlessly racing mind all the way down to his shoes. Ted Park couldn’t leave his home without three major necessities: his constantly ringing cellphone, his inhaler, and his stack of diamond-encrusted chain necklaces, one of which conspicuously spelled out his name.
The flashy jewelry that he wore wasn’t just for show. They caught the light and the gaze of onlookers, serving as a middle-finger to the people who told him he’d never make it.
A single watch encircled his wrist. It served entirely as decoration, as the young man mistakenly tossed the timepiece in the washing machine and altered its ability to properly function. But the gold and diamonds still gleamed, which is all that the accessory truly needed to do.
Ted had the familiar aura of a class clown. And just like the one we all knew growing up, he risked everything for our entertainment. Nothing changed since high school for the drop-out, because he still desperately needed that attention.
But the stakes were much higher.
Considering Ted Park’s meager beginnings, many people doubted that he’d make it this far in a music career.
Chapter One: Veni
Watching just one interview with Ted Park will inform you of two facts: (1) that he is from Madison, Wisconsin and (2) that he made it out the dirt.
His hometown isn’t a fun fact so much as it is a mantra, reminding fans and listeners alike that it pays off to follow your dreams. While most rappers boast about growing up in the slums and ghettos of menacing cities, Ted proudly announces his starting point in life.
One scroll through visitmadison.com will inform you that a park is always within a ten-minute walk (environmentally and kid friendly), that it is home to the University of Wisconsin (Go Badgers!), and that (wouldn’t you know it) Madison isn’t even the largest city in Wisconsin.
Rappers usually rely on appearing intimidating. But then again, Ted was never like most rappers. The mere sound of his voice set him apart, since it was always a few octaves above his peers.
It’s no wonder that he loved Wisconsin; where he was born and raised by Korean immigrant parents, David and Marsha Park. Madison is where Ted’s dream first started to become realized; where he would stand on many stages, start networking, and eventually move on to bigger things.
Ted Park seemed to be born to entertain, born to make people feel something.
During his short, miserable, stint living in Korea as a middle schooler, Ted realized that he had a dream; a dream so unconventional and downright unrealistic that most people didn’t believe in him.
Ted Park wanted to be a rapper.
He always loved music, but he came to rely on it much more at age 13. As an American-born Korean, he was rejected by his native peers and turned to music as a form of comfort. To take out frustration, Ted would write his own song lyrics.
He saw the praise and acceptance that rappers received, and it fascinated him. Through music, he hoped to find that same acceptance. Melodic words scribbled out on paper served as a gateway to the glitters and golds of a dreamland where he was adored and embraced by others.
One day, he hoped to bring that world to life.
He and his mother would eventually move back to the states while his father stayed in Korea to continue work as an English teacher. That meant Marsha was solely tasked with keeping the young man in line, a challenge since Ted was admittedly a bad son.
As a young teen, Ted Park started a work process that would change his life forever.
While attending West High School he had a set routine; it didn’t include actually attending class, but it was a rigid routine nonetheless.
Ted would trick his mom into thinking he was headed to school in the morning by preparing a backpack and pretending to leave for the day. Once he was certain Marsha was gone and he had the apartment to himself, young Ted would unplug the telephone and head into the basement. There he would record rap covers on Audacity using a USB microphone.
The finished tracks would be posted on MySpace and Facebook. Most of his listeners were friends, who thought the music was… uh… cool. But not necessarily good.
Then came a big opportunity.
As a sophomore in high school, Ted was contacted by a promoter in search of Asian performers. A Korean guy named Dumbfoundead and friend Breezy Lovejoy (now known as Anderson Paak) were touring, and they were looking for Asian talent to open the concert.
Ted eagerly accepted the offer.
He remembered watching clips of Dumbfoundead battle rapping while he was attending school in Korea. To share the stage with a talented role model was the perfect opportunity. And when the 16-year-old had a chance to speak to Dumbfoundead himself, he told the man some brazen but prolific words:
“You’ll see me one day.”
Confidence at an all-time high, Ted Park stood on a much larger stage in front of a much bigger audience than he was used to. He performed a semi-original track (created using a free beat off Youtube) and he freestyled. The experience was so inspiring that it immediately left him wanting more.
The alluring call of fame rang in Ted’s ears.
The young rapper continued to chase the high of performing. In order to get his next fix, he did something that seemed foolish.
Ted Park decided to drop out of high school.
See, Madison didn’t have a bustling hip-hop scene. Its most notable features were its platinum-level certification as a biking city and its yearly World Dairy Expo. Of course, there was also the university. But Ted wasn’t interested in nor qualified for a formal education.
If the amateur musician wanted to make it big in the music industry, he had to leave his hometown.
After hearing of Ted’s plan, David hopped on a flight back to Wisconsin with the goal of talking his son out of his dream. The family’s distinct lack of money and non-existent connections to anyone in the music industry meant that Ted was bound to suffer. His uncertain ascent to the top would be difficult, almost impossible. Furthermore, Mr. Park worried that his son was in it for the wrong reasons, that he was chasing fame and everything that came with it.
But once he saw the determination in Ted’s eye and the passion that his son had for making music, David caved.
And ith that, 19-year-old Ted Park set off for New York.
From the very start, Ted struggled.
Madison and New York are starkly different. One is a green, almost sleepy, city while the other is a concrete jungle where dreams go to wither and die. Ted had virtually no money—though he was rich in optimism—and rented a basement apartment that he shared with five other (much older) men for only $100 a month.
Regardless, Ted remained fascinated with the culture and pace of the big city. It seemed like this would be the perfect place for him to chase his dreams.
But his father’s fears rang true. David was right in pointing out the family’s lack of connections in the music industry.
Lightning hardly strikes. Sometimes talent and hard work are not enough. In order to make it big in the entertainment industry, you need to know someone who can vouch for you. Take for example Tyler the Creator, who went viral after getting a shout-out from Kanye West, or Chloe and Halle Bailey, who gained attention after signing to Beyonce’s own label.
Ted Park had no Kanye or Beyonce to lean on.
His connections were made by networking in hotel parties and dark clubs. Ted was discovered by his soon-to-be manager and business partner, Saho, under such circumstances.
Saho was the first one to believe in Ted and invested his own money in the young man’s career. He would buy Ted his first and favorite chain. It was a silver plug encrusted with diamonds. The pendant had a deeper meaning and represented the plug (connection or person) that makes dreams come true.
Ted quickly immersed himself in New York’s hip-hop culture, attending open mics in the underground rap circuit. The cost of studio time and promotional frees emptied his and Saho’s pockets. Pretty soon Ted couldn’t afford to pay rent and was kicked out of his shared living space.
Nevertheless, Ted stayed hungry—figuratively and literally.
At times when he had nowhere to sleep, Ted took to the subway. The benches of public transit became his temporary bed. He rode the subway back and forth all night to get some sleep before starting his grind all over again in the morning. All the while, he wouldn’t speak to his parents.
There were times when he wanted to give up. But he couldn’t. He threw so much away just to pursue music. Plan B meant moving to Korea and getting his GED, but that wasn’t the life he wanted.
Ted Park vowed to be seen.
Slowly his music gained some traction; his listenership was already budding and growing. He just needed an extra push to make his way into the limelight.
Ted made plans to link up in Wisconsin with an old friend known as DJ Pain 1. They first met when the rapper was just 14, but this would be their first time collaborating on a single.
The two locked themselves in an amateur studio and got to work. There was no budget. Ted had to record his vocals on broken headphones, but the passion was there. It took just three hours to write the lyrics, record, and finish the project.
The result was “Hello (Who Is This?).”
The catchy hip-hop track was posted to Spotify and didn’t garner much immediate attention. For a month it sat at about 1,000 views. Then something magical happened. That illusive lightning struck.
The song blew up.
It climbed in listens, slowly working its way up to the Spotify viral chart. It caught the attention of record labels and celebrities alike. This one song managed to kick start Ted Park’s ascent to stardom.
In one year, the track would pull one million streams on Spotify.
The success of “Hello (Who is this?)” ignited a new spark in the artist. He started working on more records, trying to top his previous success. In a couple months came another single titled “Me Love,” which was just as catchy. This time around, Ted no longer used faulty equipment and he recorded in a professional studio. The song remained somewhat imperfect, however, since the young man decided not to mix-master (aka adjust and fix) the vocals on the track.
“Me Love” fared better in terms of immediate views, since more eyes were already on Ted Park.
Random people and viral pages started sharing the song on Twitter, and bigger artists and producers began reaching out to him.
But with the increase in attention, so came the increase in scrutiny.
While “Hello (Who is This)” had to wait for a music video, “Me Love” had the budget for one right away. With the help of friends, the music video was filmed and edited. It featured Ted Park accompanied by a black model, both dressed in all yellow. He opted for long braids and a durag. The heavy influence from the black community was evident in his visual choices, spurring accusations of cultural appropriation.
Next came the racist jokes.
Ted never wanted to be identified as an “Asian rapper,” he wanted to be a dope rapper who just so happened to be Asian. To everyone else, it looked like he was having a major identity crisis.
An Asian kid running around in a space run by black artists was an anomaly.
Most comments under the video cracked jokes at Ted’s ethnicity and appearance, even when they were attempting to compliment him. Others straight-up called the song and video cringey. Regardless of backlash or scrutiny, this song too reached viral status.
“Me Love” was making so many waves that it eventually drew the gaze of Korean hip-hop legend and CEO of AOMG (Above Ordinary Music Group), Jay Park.
Ted was sitting in the studio one day in 2018 when he received a life-changing direct message from Jay:
You’re mad talented. We should link up.
Meeting the idol seemed like a great idea, but Ted never thought it would actually happen. It felt too surreal, like everything in his life was finally falling into place. In that moment, Ted thought, “Oh, I’m becoming a rapper.”
And it was only the beginning.
Shortly after, Ted Park took a seemingly innocent trip to Korea. There he held his first concert in Korea and worked on visuals. But in the background, he was making big moves.
Unbeknownst to fans, Ted met one-on-one with Jay Park at AOMG studios. This wasn’t just an innocent meeting between friends. Jay had an idea to pitch.
Jay Park and Cha Cha Malone, a major producer in Korea, wanted to create a music label that would bridge the cultural gap between the States and Korea. It would be the first collaborative label between the US and Korea, serving as a collection of unique hip-hop artists from all around the world.
And Jay wanted Ted to be a part of it.
But the budding new star was already busy hustling with his own crew in New York. These were people who believed in him from the beginning, people who took risks alongside him just to see him succeed.
So, naturally, Ted hesitated to accept the offer.
Hesitated.
Chapter Two: Vidi
Just a few months later, at a SXSW (South By Southwest) concert, Jay Park made a major announcement to the attendees. To a cheering crowd, the CEO declared that Ted Park had signed to his newest label, H1GHR Music. In commemoration, Jay Park "chained" Ted by bestowing him with a piece of jewelry.
The 14k gold, pyramid-shaped necklace (engraved with an A and the words “H1GHR Music” spelled out in diamonds) cost just over five thousand dollars. It immediately took center stage in Ted’s stack of bling.
All artists signed to H1GHR wore the piece to show off their affiliation with Jay Park. It was meant to show that they had finally made it, that they were stamped and certified by perhaps the biggest name in Korean hip-hop.
Doors started opening left and right for Ted Park.
He went on to collaborate with big names in Korean music. Once again, he crossed paths with Dumbfoundead and in 2018 the two toured together.
When Ted signed with H1GHR, he knew he would be making waves in a place that never embraced him (not even during his short time living there as a child). Though he didn’t physically move to Korea as an adult, a great deal of his audience shifted and grew there.
The bridge that H1GHR built brought a great deal of Korean eyes onto Ted Park and his music.
This was the capital of plastic surgery and conservatism, where K-pop and censorship were king. Korean fans simply had a different way of thinking. Even though Ted is Korean himself, he was still considered an outsider due to his American upbringing.
The Korean hip-hop circuit strayed from this convention, sure, but not entirely. Most successful artists (like Jay Park, Zico, and G-Dragon) fit an image that artists like Ted simply did not. American hip-hop is about the unpolished and gritty—the antithesis to Korean media.
While rappers in the states tend to be gang affiliated, many Korean rappers are former boyband members.
Korean hip-hop artists were generally conventionally attractive. Fans expected them to be musically gifted as well as physically. These men often graced the cover of magazines and were extended invitations to high fashion runway shows like Chanel and Dior. Conversely, haters thought Ted had the kind of face you wouldn’t ever see on the cover of a magazine.
Simply put, Ted Park faced more scrutiny for things that were beyond his control. Not because of the sound or quality of his music, but because of his appearance.
Previously, he wore whatever stood out the most and he did pretty much whatever he wanted. But after signing to H1GHR Music, that did not fly. Though his management was mostly hands-off, that didn’t mean that the Korean audience was.
Ted Park was an unstoppable force, but Korea was an immovable object.
Jay urged Ted to worry about his image more, saying he had to uphold a certain aesthetic. That advice often went in one ear and out the other. But perhaps public scrutiny did influence the young man. He traded in his long braids and durag for shorter locks, the bright colors were replaced by a soft and permed shade of brown.
His fashion and hair weren’t the only thing to see a noticeable shift.
Fans were quick to catch on to a change in the visuals of his music videos. Toning down meant more than just fashion and hair. The darker skin tones that fans became accustomed to faded and all but disappeared from his imagery.
But the music itself didn’t change. In fact, the lyrics became more meaningful. Ted’s songs started to reflect the struggles that he faced.
From all angles, people were trying to change him—some for the better. The then 24-year-old reacted by shutting down. He became exceptionally stubborn; blind and deaf to any attempts to alter or adjust him.
Some of the kindest, best-meaning critics thought he’d be so much more successful if he just rapped in Korean.
But that wasn’t what Ted Park wanted. It was never what he wanted. He didn’t want to fit into the Korean market (or any market for that matter); he wanted to redefine. Ted’s goal was to pave the way for the underdog and make music that uplifted those who were often ignored or stepped on—people just like him.
Ted Park didn’t release music for six months before dropping “Ugly.” It was branded his most honest and vulnerable song ever. The melody shifted from his usual up-beat style to a melancholy tune. The lyrics lamented about being bullied and an outsider. Shortly afterward came “They Don’t Know,” which served as a response to his growing base of haters.
If only they would listen to the lyrics and feel something. If only they would read between the lines and understand what was going on in his life.
But Ted was rapping in English, a language that his most ruthless condemners were deaf to.
Both music videos were littered with hateful comments about his appearance, some comments accused him of not really being Korean. Whether or not he was signed to the most progressive label in Korea, the audience would always be the issue.
You wouldn’t be able to tell, though, because he always put on a positive front in interviews. Though he was fidgety and his eyes tended to cast down, Ted ended each sentence with a joke or a smile.
The H1GHR chain sparkled under the light but Ted’s grin particularly drew admiration. His lips were relatively small, but his grin took up nearly his entire face. The expanse of his cheeks curled up and narrowed his eyes in pure happiness, contagious to anyone watching.
For fans who often struggled to find a reason to smile, Ted’s unwavering one served as a source of strength. Commenters admired his outward positivity in the face of so much negativity. His Cheshire-like grin led fans out of the abyss of hardship and dark thoughts. It was a headspace that he wanted to save others from, but one that he secretly could not escape.
When facing difficulty, fans turned to Ted Park.
When Ted Park faced difficulty, he turned to the pen.
He constantly worried about the quality of his music and about his future. Ted complained to the twitterverse one night in April of 2019, “People sleep on me including my friends and that’s ok. Imma keep proving myself this year. Believe that.”
Ted Park had the fans, the backing of a Korean hip-hop legend, and a tight team. But it wasn’t enough.
Not yet.
He didn’t feel truly successful. He was constantly plotting the next track that would be his biggest hit ever.
It seemed like Ted’s life was moving at a break-neck pace. From the moment he signed to H1GHR, he was constantly traveling and performing. In 2019, he performed at the K-town Night Market. Before his time-slot, Ted held a meet-and-greet where he sold merchandise and spoke face to face with fans.
Standing in line, dressed in neon green mesh and black, was Mulan Thomas. A painting inspired by Ted’s first viral hit was clutched in her shaking hand. She stayed up late the night before working on it just for him.
Mulan was finally meeting the celebrity who had lent an ear to her when she needed one. This should have been a happy moment for her, but she was extremely nervous. Communicating with Ted Park virtually was easy for the long-term fan. But seeing him in person would be the real challenge. Mulan worried about living up to Ted’s expectations, about not being cool enough for the rap star.
But when her eyes locked with Ted Park, the artist whose music practically saved her life, Mulan was taken aback to see recognition in his eyes.
“Thank you for actually coming!”
To Mulan’s surprise, Ted remembered everything about her. He knew her name and he recalled the conversations they had months before. She gifted Ted with her artwork, receiving an infectious grin in return.
Mulan’s anxiety melted away, replaced by feelings of comfort. Though it was their first meeting, it felt as if she was reuniting with an old friend. From that point onward, she vowed to support Ted and his music, no matter what.
Ted Park’s dedicated fan base is made up of people just like Mulan. They stood in the crowd at performances and knew the lyrics to all of his songs (no matter how new). When Ted performed on stage that summer day, he looked down at his fans with familiar adoration.
“All I’m saying is, if I can do some shit no one thought I could… you can too.”
From the outside looking in, Ted Park was an inspirational success story, a kid from Wisconsin who made it big in the rap game.
It seemed like things couldn’t get any better for the rapper, the underdog who signed with a groundbreaking hip-hop label. People looked forward to seeing him take over the Korean market. It only seemed like a matter of time before he became a star on par with Jay Park himself.
That is, until he decided to leave.
Chapter Three: Vici
The gold pyramid disappeared from around his neck, which served as the biggest clue that Ted had left H1GHR Music. His chest returned to being adorned solely by his favorite plug necklace.
He pulled himself out of the murky waters of chasing fame in Korea but stayed trapped in a negative mindset. Mid-November, he would tweet in bursts about missing his parents. At 12:29 a.m. Ted typed away, “Trying not to fall asleep so I don’t have to fight my demons at night.”
Ted never shared what those demons looked like. This was yet another battle he faced alone.
But late 202, pen at the ready, he set off on another journey with something new to prove.
Yeah, he was signed to a big label. That stamp of certification from Jay Park himself was valid, sure, but he didn’t need it. Simply put, H1GHR Music just wasn’t meant for him.
Ted Park always had a great work ethic, anyway. He was never just a rapper. Behind the scenes he was always working. Now he wanted everyone else to acknowledge his hard work as he transitioned from working with a label to making music independently. The new challenge was for people to see not just him, but his sheer dedication to his craft.
COVID locked him in his home? No sweat, he’d just put 100% of his focus on music.
The shutdown led to all of his shows getting canceled? Not a problem, he could perform virtually.
He goes flat broke? Ha! That was just more inspiration to get to work.
Obstacles were speedbumps in the road to success for the rising star. Any accusations that he fell off was met with more effort, more work, more music.
More.
More.
More.
But making money during the pandemic was hard for everyone, especially musicians. His finances became abysmal, but Ted kept his chains and smile shining on social media.
He continued a never-ending cycle. When at his highest, Ted Park would ice out unassuming G-Shock watches and live it up with his buddies. At his lowest, he would disappear from social media and ghost his friends and family.
It seemed like he didn’t want anyone to see him unless he was smiling and doing well.
In true Ted Park fashion during the COVID shutdown, he typed out ambiguous tweets about dark thoughts and sent them out to the void of the internet. The performer is not usually vague unless he’s talking about his personal struggles. Then you’ll have to do mental gymnastics to guess what he’s trying to get at.
“It’s okay not to be okay. I was in a dark place and didn’t wanna crawl out. Sometimes you feel sad and want to give up. But you remember all the people who loved and support you and remember you are here for a reason. I’m focused and im boutta fuck shit up soon. 1 Love.”
Every vulnerable word was punctuated with hope for the future. He perpetually waited for his music to blow up again—but bigger this time—and prove everyone who doubted him wrong.
It was just a matter of time.
Things slowly seemed to improve as Ted started looking like his old self again. He made a move from New York to New Jersey, a fresh start during the bleakest of times for everyone in the world. Fans were pleased to see the return of black models in his music videos, almost in full force. The visuals for “Freezer” saw him surrounded by stunningly beautiful black women of differing shades, sizes, and styles.
But something was still missing.
Ted Park quickly realized that his problem wasn’t the ability to make music; that came easy, almost too easy. He’d been making a song a day since age 13. The problem was defining himself and his own brand.
Who is Ted Park?
His fans characterized him as genuine and true to himself. Ted Park was a source of strength and inspiration, a ball of pure positive energy. He was original, unconventional, and irreplaceable.
Ted Park defined himself as a hard worker, almost too hard of a worker; someone who was so deep in the rap game that he’d come to wonder if he lost himself.
His sound constantly evolved. The stack of bling around his neck changed over time. (His latest addition was a custom necklace spelling out his name in diamonds.) Ted’s hair style and color didn’t remain the same for long either. And he never lived in one place for more than a few years.
In fact, Ted’s residence in New Jersey came to an end when he realized he was too comfortable. He moved to Los Angeles at the end of 2021, a city that he knew had just the opportunities and change of pace that he needed.
Uprooting his life always seemed to precede success. Who knows? Maybe this is where he would truly make it big. Perhaps LA would serve as the backdrop and birth of his next big (like really big) hit.
In due time, Ted Park would become a household name.
Just watch.
One April night in 2022, Ted Park was scheduled to make a surprise appearance at his friend Justin Park’s Terracotta nightclub performance.
No one knew it, but Ted was sick. So sick that he was not supposed to speak for three to four days since returning from one of many back-to-back performances. This was a challenge that the man simply failed.
The ink had barely dried on his lease before his schedule became packed. Traveling to Texas, then Canada, back to Los Angeles, and then off to New York in only the span of a month exhausted him completely.
Ted started out 2022 headlining at a sold-out release party for eager fans. Not long after, he performed at a Clipper’s half-time game, and he even appeared on the cover of Lifted Asia magazine!
To say that he bounced back after the lows of the COVID lockdown would be an understatement.
Now Ted Park barely had time to breathe.
It was clear to anyone who knew him personally that he was bone-tired; the feeling evident on Ted's face. For the sake of his career, he often overlooked this exhaustion. The performer favored the high stress of a busy schedule over even a moment of nothingness.
That night an uncharacteristically serious expression was etched on Ted’s face. Though he stood in the dancing crowd with other Terracotta attendees, he couldn’t quite match their energy. When he was called to the stage, Ted climbed up on a platform next to the DJ booth.
He sang his heart out to the packed club even though his voice failed him at nearly every note. He rapped even though no sound escaped his lips after the first verse. Thankfully, no one noticed because the music was so loud that it blasted out the listener’s eardrums.
No one knew it at the time, but in the following days Ted Park’s presence on social media would slowly fade. Soon after the club performance, he would announce a short hiatus to focus on his mental and physical health.
Ted Park knew that Ted Park was lacking. Not as a musician, but as an individual.
He vowed to become better as a person, not just as a rapper. The 27-year-old spent so much of his life chasing fame in the rap game that he neglected his own character. Now he craved personal growth and hoped that it would make his music better.
But that was the harrowing future. In that moment, he focused on turning up with his friends.
Once the popular song came to an end, the performer stepped down from the platform. The feelings of sickness that Ted set aside hit him again, forcing him to take a seat.
Hanging his head, he thought about going home.
Ted Park's voice quieted to nothing.
Comments