The British music industry, ever eager to canonise anything that smells faintly of sweat and tears, has this week hailed K-pop sensation Le Sserafim for their ‘resilience’ in overcoming band tensions. One almost expects a knighthood for survival, or at least a commendation from the Queen. The narrative, spoon-fed to a gullible public, is that these young women have ‘shown the trolls’ and emerged stronger, a modern parable of virtue overcoming vice. Let us pause, however, for a splash of cold water.
Band tensions are nothing new. The Rolling Stones thrashed about like angry cats for decades. The Gallagher brothers turned sibling rivalry into a global brand. And yet, we are meant to applaud Le Sserafim for doing what any functional professional ensemble does: suppress petty grievances and deliver the product. The trolls? Oh, the trolls! The faceless cowards of the internet, hurling insults from their mother’s basement. Le Sserafim have ‘overcome’ them. How? By ignoring the noise and focusing on their craft. Revolutionary.
What this story truly reveals is the intellectual decadence of our age. We have reduced resilience to a marketing strategy. The band’s management, no doubt, saw a PR opportunity in the dust-up. A few leaked whispers of discord, a carefully curated Instagram story about unity, and voilà: a redemption arc worthy of a Dickens novel. The British press, desperate for a narrative that reinforces its own values of stoicism and pluck, gobbles it up. But where is the actual substance? The music? The artistry?
Le Sserafim’s ‘resilience’ is a product, packaged and sold to a generation that craves validation over art. It is a symptom of a culture that prizes emotional management over genuine expression. We have forgotten that great art often emerges from friction, not from polished conflict resolution. The Beatles nearly killed each other making ‘Abbey Road’. Does anyone remember the ‘tensions’? No, they remember the harmonies. Le Sserafim, by contrast, offer a sanitised version of struggle, one that poses no real threat to the machinery of pop. It is resilience without risk, triumph without teeth.
The irony is thick: in hailing their ability to ignore trolls, we have elevated the trolls to co-authors of their story. The narrative now belongs as much to the haters as to the artists. The ‘trolls’ become the antagonist in a morality play that ends with a hug on The Graham Norton Show. This is not resilience; it is surrender to the theatre of conflict.
History teaches us that enduring cultural value is rarely born from overcoming trolls. It is born from obsession, friction, even self-destruction. Van Gogh was not resilient against critics; he was consumed by his demons. Le Sserafim, by contrast, are consummate professionals. And that is fine. But let us not mistake professionalism for heroism. Let us not confuse a well-managed PR crisis with the triumph of the human spirit.
So by all means, celebrate Le Sserafim’s music. But spare me the hagiography of resilience. The trolls will move on to their next target. The band will sell their albums. And the British music industry will find another parable to soothe its own anxieties. It is all so very predictable, so very modern, so very hollow.
