Breaking Borders: What J-Pop Can Learn from K-Pop’s Global Playbook

Japan is the second-largest music market in the world, a distinction it has held for decades. Even as CD sales collapsed globally, Japan remained one of the few places where physical media didn’t just survive, it thrived. In 2023, over 70% of music revenue in Japan still came from physical sales, a statistic that would baffle executives in Los Angeles or London. J-Pop and J-Rock dominate domestic airwaves and charts, creating a homegrown ecosystem so self-sufficient that, in many ways, it doesn’t need the rest of the world to be profitable.

And yet, that insularity is precisely the problem. Beyond Japan’s borders, the country’s music has only a light footprint. Yes, there are exceptions that prove the potential is there:

• YOASOBI’s “Idol” becoming a global streaming hit thanks to its tie-in with the Oshi no Ko anime, breaking into the Billboard Global 200 top ten.
• BABYMETAL carving out a niche in Western markets with their unlikely fusion of metal riffs and idol pop, selling out London’s Wembley Arena and touring the U.S. extensively.
• Hikaru Utada’s international recognition driven largely by the Kingdom Hearts video game soundtracks and occasional English-language releases.

These are important moments - but they’re outliers, not a sustained pattern. For every Japanese act making noise overseas, there are hundreds with extraordinary domestic success who remain almost entirely unknown abroad.

The paradox is striking: Japan produces world-class music, with songwriting, production, and performance standards equal to any major market, but has not translated that into consistent global presence. It’s a music industry built for domestic dominance, treating the rest of the world as optional - while neighbouring South Korea, with a market a third the size, has spent the last 20 years building an export machine.

The first time I visited Japan was in 2001, and it was my first real glimpse into a music market that operated on entirely different rules. Fans weren’t just loyal - they were completists, the way a serious jazz collector in the West might be. Every edition of every single or album, every photo card, every T-shirt - nothing was optional. The city itself felt like an extension of the record store: giant billboards, music blaring from shops, even sound systems built into the streets, all relentlessly promoting artists I’d never heard of before. That week, I discovered Hitomi’s Love Life album - a record I would play obsessively for the next year - and encountered one of the first K-pop artists to gain real traction outside of Korea, BoA. Her single “Double” felt like it had taken the best production elements from American pop, R&B, and hip-hop, but reframed them with a completely fresh sensibility. I was hooked - and also baffled that no one back home seemed to know this music even existed.

So, is it possible to be this good at making music and yet be largely invisible outside your own borders? Absolutely - if you never make global reach part of the business plan.

Lessons from K-Pop’s Global Rise

K-pop’s dominance didn’t just happen, it was engineered. What we see now is the product of structural choices, strategic patience, and a willingness to adapt for global markets, starting in the late 1990s.

When South Korea was hit by the 1997 Asian financial crisis, policymakers looked for new engines of growth. Cultural exports - music, drama, film - were identified as strategic industries. The Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism still treats them that way today, co-funding a $1 billion Hallyu investment fund, running Korean Cultural Centres in dozens of countries, and subsidising overseas showcases. Music is both an art form and a national export strategy.

Industry mirrored policy. From the late 2000s, Korean labels embraced YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook not as side channels, but as their primary means of reaching the world. This was long before Western majors fully understood their potential. They uploaded full music videos, subtitled in multiple languages, and posted behind-the-scenes content designed to feed international curiosity. By 2016, 80% of K-pop YouTube views were coming from outside Korea - an intentional outcome, not a lucky accident.

Artist development was recalibrated for global readiness. The trainee system - long criticised for its intensity - also meant idols emerged not just with performance polish, but with language skills, media training, and an understanding of cultural nuances. Many groups were built with multi-national line-ups from the outset: Chinese, Japanese, Thai, and Western members serving as cultural bridges to their home markets.

The music itself evolved with export in mind. Collaborations with Western songwriters and choreographers were common; genres shifted to align with global trends while keeping a Korean core. Visuals - from music videos to stage costumes - were built to match the spectacle expected on international stages.

And then there’s fandom mobilisation. Korean agencies didn’t just cultivate fans - they trained them. Fans were encouraged to coordinate streaming campaigns, organise voting drives for award shows, and translate content for other fans. The result: a global promotional army that could rival the marketing budgets of major labels.

Acts like BTS, BLACKPINK, and Stray Kids are now not just competing in Western markets, they’re leading them. And crucially, they operate in an industry ecosystem where global ambition is assumed from day one.

Where J-Pop Holds Itself Back

Japan’s music industry is a masterclass in craft and consistency, but when it comes to global reach, its most impressive structures can also be its greatest constraints.

The first - and perhaps most damaging - is digital access. For years, Japanese kept music videos off YouTube entirely or uploaded only ninety-second previews. Streaming adoption lagged years behind global trends, and even now, large swathes of catalogue content remain incomplete or geo-blocked. For a domestic fan in Tokyo, that’s barely noticeable. For a potential fan in São Paulo or Stockholm, it means you can’t discover the artist at all unless you actively hunt for them. In the age of passive discovery, that’s a fatal flaw.

Then there’s the comfort of a market that doesn’t require international expansion to remain profitable. Unlike South Korea, which has to look outward to grow, Japan’s industry can hit its numbers without ever leaving home. It’s the musical equivalent of being a championship team that never plays away games - the home record is perfect, but the away stats don’t exist.

Language and branding add another barrier. Most J-Pop releases are fully in Japanese, with little adaptation for non-Japanese-speaking audiences. Branding often assumes familiarity with domestic pop culture, which charms local fans but can be impenetrable abroad. And the idol system - so finely tuned to Japan’s internal fandom economy - doesn’t train its stars for international media, touring schedules, or cross-cultural performance demands.

This isn’t a question of artistic ability. Japan produces extraordinary music and artists capable of captivating the world. But in an era when music discovery is borderless, every decision that leans towards a domestic-only audience is a decision that limits global potential.

Short-Term Tactical Wins

The most encouraging part of this conversation is that Japan could start closing the gap almost immediately - without dismantling its existing systems. There are quick, targeted moves that labels and management companies could roll out this year to create measurable impact abroad, especially in markets where the cultural groundwork is already laid.

The first is deceptively simple: open the vaults. Make full music videos, live performances, and back catalogue singles globally available, with English metadata and subtitles as standard. When K-pop agencies began subtitling videos in multiple languages in the early 2010s, their international engagement numbers spiked almost overnight. Japanese acts like YOASOBI or Aimyon lose nothing artistically in translation - but they lose half their potential audience when discovery relies on a fan stumbling onto an unlabelled clip or an unofficial upload.

Second, treat collaborations as strategic entry points, not occasional novelties. A deliberate feature with a Western pop artist, or even a co-release with a rising K-pop group, creates a bridge into streaming playlists and media channels that J-Pop rarely accesses. BABYMETAL’s collaborations with Rob Halford and Bring Me The Horizon opened doors to rock festivals that idol groups would never have touched otherwise.

Touring also offers untapped potential. Japanese acts already have latent fanbases abroad thanks to anime, gaming, and fashion’s cultural pull. Markets like France, Brazil, and the Philippines host some of the largest anime conventions in the world, and yet J-Pop acts are often absent from their stages. A strategically routed tour through these hotspots, with targeted local promotion, could turn passive fandom into committed followership.

Finally, social media needs to become an extension of the performance, not an afterthought. The most successful K-pop idols use TikTok and Instagram as creative stages - offering playful, behind-the-scenes moments that humanise the polished image without undermining it. Japanese artists could adapt this approach to their own aesthetic, creating a steady stream of shareable content that travels well beyond Japan’s borders.

None of these steps require policy reform, massive budgets, or cultural overhaul. They require a shift in mindset - from seeing the world as “out there” to seeing it as part of the same stage.

Long-Term Structural Shifts

Tactical tweaks will get Japan noticed. Structural change will keep it there. If the goal is to match K-pop’s sustained presence on the global stage, the industry will need a longer-term commitment that brings policymakers, trade bodies, and major market players into alignment.

The most powerful lever is a coordinated export strategy at the national level. South Korea’s Hallyu framework works because it fuses funding, cultural diplomacy, and marketing into a single effort. Japan has initiatives like the Cool Japan Fund, but music has rarely been given the same sustained priority as fashion, cuisine, or film. A dedicated music export programme - with grants for overseas showcases, touring support, and international promotion - would signal intent and provide the scaffolding for growth.

Artist development also needs a recalibration. Preparing artists for international audiences means integrating language training, media coaching, and cultural literacy into their early careers. That way, when a Japanese act gains traction abroad, they are equipped to build on it rather than retreating to familiar domestic markets. Perfume’s brief U.S. push in the early 2010s showed the limitations of treating overseas promotion as a one-off campaign rather than a long-term investment.

Partnerships across Japan’s cultural sectors could also create multiplier effects. The cross-promotional potential is enormous: anime theme songs launching chart campaigns, gaming collaborations introducing artists to global fanbases, fashion brands anchoring overseas music events. These sectors already have proven international reach - music could be the connective tissue that ties them together.

Most importantly, the industry mindset needs to shift from viewing international growth as an optional experiment to treating it as a parallel track to domestic success. South Korea didn’t replace its local market to go global - it built two models that ran side by side. Japan can do the same, preserving the domestic ecosystem while creating an export-ready infrastructure that ensures its artists are as visible in Berlin or Buenos Aires as they are in Shibuya.

Change at this level won’t happen overnight. Government budgets move slowly, trade bodies are cautious, and legacy systems resist change. But if the groundwork starts now, Japan could enter the 2030s not as a music market with occasional overseas sparks, but as a global force whose influence matches its homegrown excellence.

Policy Shift in the K-Pop Engine Room

Just when it seemed Korea’s export runway was at full strength, a new push emerged to further power its music industry. Five of South Korea’s leading music organizations - including the Korea Music Label Industry Association and Recording Industry Association of Korea - issued a united statement calling on the government to extend tax breaks and dedicated financial support to small and medium-sized record production companies. Until now, sectors like video and webtoons have received such benefits - but music, they argued, has been left out, even when K-pop singles like BTS’s “Dynamite” achieve global milestones valued on a similar scale.

This isn’t just corporate lobbying - it’s a plea for institutional fairness and strategic foresight. Record labels, especially smaller ones investing hundreds of millions of Won into debuting new acts, still must bear high investment risk - without the policy infrastructure that cushions and encourages growth. The organizations proposed a new fund to reduce financial strain and foster creative, globally competitive production. In their words, “K pop is not only a future industry of Korea, but also a strategic asset that drives diplomacy and the economy.” To truly secure that future, they argued, tax support and guarantee systems for the music industry must be in place.

As I mentioned before, South Korea didn’t stumble into a global music powerhouse; it built systems for it. Now, the industry itself is pushing to expand that system deeper, from cosmetic exports to structural investment. If Japan were to take note, it wouldn’t be to imitate. It would be to recognise how long-term institutional support isn’t just a consolation prize; it’s the scaffolding that sustains global ambition.

Controversial but Necessary Conversations

Some of the most effective changes Japan could make will also be the hardest to sell - not because they’re unwise, but because they touch on deep-seated habits and structures that have served the domestic market well for decades. The challenge is that the same rules that protect the home market are the ones limiting its reach abroad.

The first is loosening control over online content. For years, the fear of piracy kept Japanese labels from releasing full music videos or complete catalogues on global platforms. In a streaming-first world, obscurity is a far greater risk than piracy. Arashi’s decision to finally put their back catalogue on streaming in 2019 was met with an explosion of international fan activity - proof that demand had been there all along, just locked out by distribution policy.

Partnerships with experienced overseas agencies are another friction point. Korean acts like BTS and TWICE built their global profiles through co-management deals with Western labels, which provided distribution, media access, and localised promotion. Japan could do the same without losing creative control - but it requires accepting outside influence, something the industry has historically resisted.

Fan club exclusivity is also ripe for change. Many J-Pop fan club perks - from limited-edition merchandise to concert tickets - require a Japanese address or in-person sign-up. For international fans, this is an impenetrable wall. Restructuring these systems for cross-border transactions would not only generate significant revenue but turn passive admirers into active, loyal supporters. BABYMETAL’s tiered global fan club is one example of how this can be done without alienating the domestic base.

Finally, there’s the idea of recruiting non-Japanese members into certain acts. Done without sensitivity, this risks feeling tokenistic; done thoughtfully, it creates cultural bridges that help music travel faster. K-pop has shown how a Thai or Japanese member in a Korean group can spark interest in their home markets while making the act more accessible to new audiences. Japan doesn’t need to abandon its identity - but it could use it more strategically.

Handled with respect for tradition, these shifts wouldn’t dilute what makes J-Pop unique. They would amplify it, building the infrastructure it needs to thrive globally.

Japan doesn’t need to become Korea, and it shouldn’t try. What it can do is decide that its music deserves to be heard on the same stages as its games, its anime, and its fashion - not as a side note, but as a headliner. The artists are ready. The songs are ready. The question is whether the industry is ready to make the leap. Because the moment Japan does, the rest of the world won’t just listen - it will wonder how it ever lived without this music.