Soul delivery have never framed themselves around momentum or outcome. The band emerged slowly, through university classes and informal jam sessions, without a fixed plan or commercial pressure. That absence of urgency shaped not only their sound, but their internal dynamic. Playing together was never about “making it” – it was about enjoyment, trust, and staying present. Even now, as they think more seriously about sustainability, they describe that early sense of fun as something to protect rather than outgrow.

That mindset still defines how their music takes shape. Writing begins with atmosphere and tone, long before structure. When a jam feels honest and everyone is locked into the same moment, the band says the right parts tend to reveal themselves naturally. Songs are recognised collectively, not dissected or forced into shape. It’s an instinctive process that values shared listening as much as performance.

The contrast between their two albums reflects the changing environments around them. FOODCOURT was created during the pandemic, shaped by isolation and remote collaboration. Peninsula Park, by contrast, grew out of travel – particularly a formative period in London surrounded by like-minded artists. That shift brought wider collaboration, more space in the arrangements, and what the band describe as a sense of “room and maturity” that listeners can hear across the record.

Movement between Seoul and London has also sharpened their perspective on scenes and infrastructure. The freedom of the UK jazz community – its openness to genre, experimentation, and intergenerational support – left a lasting impression. It reinforced their belief that music thrives when diversity and cultural infrastructure are in place, not when artists are boxed into rigid categories.

Despite operating outside the idol system, multiple Korean Music Awards nominations marked a turning point. Recognition brought new audiences, older listeners, and a growing sense of responsibility – not just to their own work, but to the wider scene. For Soul delivery, depth comes first. Their belief is simple: if the work deepens honestly, its own scale will follow.

Read on for our in-depth interview with Soul delivery about jamming, community, and building a scene beyond categories.

Soul delivery began through university classes and informal jams rather than a planned band. Looking back, what did that slow, unintentional beginning give you that a more structured start might not have?

I think it really comes down to not carrying too much pressure. We didn’t start with some grand business plan in mind; we just came together because playing in that moment was fun. Without the obsession of “we have to make it,” the team actually became more flexible and, in a way, stronger. I believe doing what you genuinely want to do is quite essential in pursuing happiness in life. We found real happiness simply in jamming together as four. Building music on that sense of fun led to results that feel more natural, more honest, and more true to who we are. It’s shaped not just the sound, but also a much healthier mindset toward working as a band.

We’re now thinking seriously about how to make that fun sustainable. If you want to keep doing something you love, it does take real effort. Still, for us, the joy of continuing has always mattered more than conventional ideas of “success.” Finding the balance between what we truly want to do with the parts that don’t always come as naturally has become a meaningful journey in itself. And in a way, that process is another form of enjoyment for us right now.

Jamming still sits at the centre of how you write. What do you listen for in a jam before you decide it should become a finished song?

For us, if the jam is honest and everyone is truly locked in, the good parts tend to surface on their own. After playing, when we talk about it, we usually realize we were drawn to the same moments.

A lot of it starts with the sound decisions we make before we even begin playing. If the tone and the atmosphere already feel right, and the jam holds that focus, there’s often a moment where we all sense that this could grow into a finished piece.

FOODCOURT and Peninsula Park were both built from jam sessions, yet they feel very different. What changed between those two periods of your life?

First off, the environment changed completely. FOODCOURT was made in the middle of the pandemic, so it was hard to meet people in person. Most of the features were done remotely.

For Peninsula Park, on the other hand, we traveled to London with a group of like-minded artists, letting the energy of the trip shape the music as we jammed together. For us, it’s not just about doing well ourselves. We want the amazing talents around us to be seen and heard more, too. A solid community is what makes the music scene diverse, and I hope other creatives get inspired by us and find the courage to take their own risks. That’s why Peninsula Park has a wider range of features.

Another thing is that we’ve grown up a bit. If we were green and naive during FOODCOURT, the failures we faced releasing that album and the personal ups and downs of life have made us tougher. We learned to let go a bit more, and that brought more consideration and space into our playing. It’ll be a fun experience for listeners to try and catch that shift in "room and maturity" between the two albums.

Your Bandcamp description compares your music to cooking and sharing food. Why does that idea of “delivery” still matter to you now?

A lot of what we play comes from moments shared around food — eating, drinking, talking, and spending time together. Those experiences naturally shape the way we play, and sometimes the memories of a good meal or a meaningful moment even become the raw ingredients for a song.

So delivery isn’t just a metaphor for us. We think of music as a way of carrying 넋(Soul) and offering it to people beyond where we are. Just like cooking and sharing food, it’s about reaching out, connecting, and passing something meaningful along.

The band describes itself as based across Seoul and London. How does moving between those cities affect your sound or creative mindset?

London—especially the UK jazz scene—was a huge source of inspiration for us. What really stood out was how free the musicians are. They’re not confined by the idea of jazz as a genre; they blend in afrobeat, grime, electronic music—very naturally. And that there is the essence of Jazz; it’s an experimental attitude in itself. Inspired by that, we’ve tried to take a bolder approach to our sound.

The UK jazz scene also has incredibly healthy communities. Senior musicians actively support the next generation, and those younger artists grow up to feed the scene back again—it’s a really solid structure. Although not perfect, the aspiration to sustain the communities and the scene is well backed by government funding, music industry, and non-artists with huge respect to diversity. Witnessing this gave us a lot of confidence in the way we create. It made us want to share this approach and attitude with more creatives, and see how far it could travel beyond us.

We want to connect that kind of energy between Seoul and other cities. We imagine a scene in Korea where artists with similar sensibilities support and inspire each other, and where anyone can enjoy experimental sounds without prejudice. We truly believe that when cultural infrastructure and diversity are in place, that’s when music can finally show its real power.

Playing spaces like Ronnie Scott’s Upstairs and later venues in Japan exposed your music to new audiences. What did performing outside Korea teach you about how your music travels?

For us, being present in each moment and place really matters. Playing in unfamiliar environments and cultures always brings a sense of freshness, and those experiences naturally influence how we play.

What we keep learning is that even when language and culture are different, music allows us to connect almost immediately. Each time we perform abroad, it reassures us that our music can travel beyond where it was made, not through words, but through shared feeling and sound. Being able to experience that connection and share it with new audiences is something that genuinely makes us feel happy.

You’ve been nominated multiple times at the Korean Music Awards without operating inside the mainstream K-pop system. Did that recognition change how the industry sees you, or how you see yourselves?

Soul delivery Being nominated for the Korean Music Awards was something none of us ever imagined. At the time, we hadn’t fully grasped what that recognition really meant. But simply being nominated gave us a clear reason to keep making music as this band. After that, we met a vinyl label who told us they were deeply moved by our first album, which led to our first-ever vinyl release. Also, we met listeners from an older generation—true music lovers—who would say, “We’ve been waiting for music like this.” We were given more opportunities to perform, and more people began paying attention to what we say and play on stage, documenting and remembering those moments.

For the first time, we began learning what responsibility on stage really means. As that sense of responsibility grew, we also started thinking more deeply about the scene we belong to. That led to new convictions—standing up against unfair treatment and creating our own spaces to perform if none existed.

HAEUN Through the Korean Music Awards, conversations with industry professionals, and interactions with people working in mainstream K-pop, I’ve realized that the closer we get to the mainstream, the more I feel we’re not actually that different. There is clearly a difference in capital, but one of the biggest realizations for me was that independent artists need a ‘system’ even more. For example, things like ticket and merchandise sales, or expressing gratitude to fans…

As the person in charge of Soul delivery’s marketing, I feel that we’re fortunate to be making albums and producing shows at a time when “K-” is receiving so much global attention. It’s been a valuable opportunity to learn from and apply aspects of the K-pop industry’s methods, from start to finish. At the same time, we believe our music is also part of the broader flow of “K-.”

Many international listeners first encounter Korean music through K-pop. How do you feel when Soul delivery is discovered through that pathway, even though your roots are elsewhere?

We see it as a positive trickle-down effect. There was a time when we said, “We’re not K-music!” but the truth is, we are Korean.

Even though our foundation is rooted in Black music, jazz, and soul, we don’t think those genre labels are necessarily what spark curiosity for international listeners. Also, within the Korean music scene, the meanings and boundaries of Black music, jazz, and soul can be quite ambiguous. The jazz scene doesn’t really see us as jazz, and we don’t fully belong to pop either. That in-between space has made us want to define our own genre. Just as Miles Davis named and shaped cool jazz, we want to call our music 넋(NUGS)—our own term. To get there, rather than chasing after something or fitting into an existing category, Soul delivery’s identity needs to become even clearer and stronger. We see this as a process.

As K-pop grows globally, non-idol Korean scenes are becoming more visible too. Do you feel that global attention creates more space for bands like yours, or does it sometimes blur important differences?

HAEUN When Soul delivery went on our first tour in Japan, we met many local fans. Interestingly, a lot of them had started out as long-time fans of K-pop idols. Their love for K-pop grew into a broader interest in Korea, which eventually led them to find us. They were even incredibly fluent in Korean! Meeting them face-to-face made me realize how meaningful it is to introduce them to high-quality instrumental music and show them how fun it can be.

In a way, it sometimes feels like domestic listeners are less interested in the local (underground/indie) scene. That might sound a bit pessimistic, but the domestic market outside of K-pop is quite small, and people tend to follow trends rather than exploring their own personal tastes. That’s exactly why we are working so hard to create more opportunities to go abroad.

Collaboration seems natural to you, whether with SOLE, THAMA, or musicians abroad. What makes a collaboration feel meaningful rather than forced?

Our reason for valuing collaboration is simple. Humans aren't meant to exist alone, and we believe we get closer to being 'whole' when our strengths make up for each other's weaknesses.

Look at what ‘The Soulquarians’ created at Electric Lady Studios back in the late 90s. It wasn't just a technical combination; it showed the huge synergy that sparks when artists come together with one heart. That kind of energy is really hard to find in modern, efficiency-focused workflows.

That’s why Soul delivery puts 'naturalness' above 'planning.' We’ve worked with all kinds of creators—of course musicians, but photographers, visual artists, designers also—and we see that process itself as our true output. It’s not always easy, though. As we get busier, it’s easy to lose sight of the essence. But we always remind ourselves that real, meaningful results come from trust, affection, and the effort to truly understand each other

Soul delivery has expanded beyond music into festivals, parties, and cultural spaces. How do you decide when the band should lead something, and when it should simply support a wider scene?

SHINDRUM This expansion wasn't born from some grand master plan, but rather from a desperate sense of 'survival' and 'thirst.' To get personal for a moment: when I started activity as SHINDRUM in 2016, the biggest wall I hit was the lack of spaces and systems that could fully capture our vibe. To break free from the limited framework of 'jazz clubs,' I launched the brand 'Rhythm Desire Love (R.S.S)' to explore artist sustainability. Those efforts accumulated into what is now 'RSS HOUSE.' My hope is for this space to be an artist residency and a 'sanctuary' where musicians can escape the logic of capitalism and experiment with their most authentic sounds.

A year ago, I ran the RSS MUSIC FESTIVAL with over 100 local musicians. The reason I fought to keep that event going, even while bearing financial losses, is my belief that the 'scene' itself must be healthy for our music to endure. So, to answer your question about the criteria for when we lead versus when we support—honestly, I am still in the process of figuring that out. However, one thing is certain: all our activities are directed not towards our own solitary success, but towards the sustainability of the bigger community.

When you think about Soul delivery’s future, do you imagine growth in scale, or growth in depth?

Outside of Soul delivery, we are already fully experiencing flows of 'massive scale.' From large concerts with tens of thousands of people to tour sessions, we’ve seen the allure of the system with giant market driven by merchandise and viral marketing up close.

When we started this team, we just enjoyed doing whatever we wanted. But as time passed, we felt the weight on our shoulders growing. We wanted to achieve both scale and depth simultaneously, but the reality of the market was sometimes harsh. The public often reacted more immediately to visible scale rather than essential depth, and I admit I sometimes felt a deep sense of skepticism during that process.

Nevertheless, our conclusion is clear: We must go deeper. We believe that instead of simply chasing the market’s definition of scale, if we deepen ourselves smartly and creatively, people who resonate with that depth will gather to create our own new scale. Moving forward, Soul Delivery aims to gather people in a wiser way, deepening together to deliver a weighty message to the world. You can look forward to the massive wave that our depth will create.