Isn’t it strange how we—Gen Z—call ourselves the most globally connected generation, but we continue to have a narrow understanding of what counts as “credible” music? We pride ourselves on our ability to discover underground indie artists, curate playlists with songs that no one has heard of, and “gatekeep” underrated favorites as if obscurity equals credibility. Yet, when it comes to music in different languages—Mandopop, J-rock or even something more underground—it’s as if the same open-mindedness to music evaporates. Suddenly, it’s not “credible” music. Suddenly, it doesn’t count. 

It’s not that people openly hate music in foreign languages. It’s more subtle than that: an assumption that unless the words are in English, they’re not as important. And if a song comes from an obscure genre, or a less familiar culture, it’s often reduced to something that is not worth active listening. This bias isn’t new, but it is frustrating in an age where streaming has supposedly “altered” the discovery of music. We willingly cry over the beauty of French cinema and the complexities of international literature, but we somehow overlook the emotional depth in Japanese pop and the sincerity of Mandarin rock ballads.

I saw this firsthand as a devoted K-pop fan during the 2020 quarantine. I found comfort in the music, despite the language barrier. But the moment I shared my interest, it quickly diminished. My appreciation was labeled as juvenile, my taste in music was questioned, and my enthusiasm was discredited. There was this relentless belief that fans of foreign music, especially K-pop during that time, are obsessive teenagers with no taste in music. These stereotypes and the insistence that it was just a phase became too exhausting. So I stopped, not because the music lost its likeability, but because I was tired of constantly having to justify its worth.

And in that process, I realized how deeply ingrained these biases are. They aren’t just aimed towards Korean music, but against any sort of music that doesn’t fit the Western’s notions of what is defined as credibility. This is especially true for music from East Asia, where biases and historical xenophobia play an influential role in shaping public perspectives. East Asian media, whether it’s anime, C-pop, K-dramas, are often infantilized or dismissed, while European art and cinema is celebrated. 

Much of this is the result of how we are taught to perceive music. We identify authenticity with familiarity. Anything outside of the framework of Western music is viewed with skepticism. Even K-pop, with its massive popularity and reach, has had to prove itself over and over to be seen as more than just a fleeting trend. The assumption that our appreciation for music outside of the mainstream will not last infiltrates our collective awareness. The real problem lies not just in what we listen to, but how we judge others for what they listen to.

Yet, the numbers contradict these biases. In 2025, foreign-language music accounted for a growing share of total music consumption in the U.S. Latin, Afrobeats and other global genres saw a record-breaking surge in streaming numbers. This rise of international collaborations and viral hits from foreign artists proves that listeners are becoming more open to music from different languages. Despite this, in casual conversations, people still hesitate to adapt to foreign music. If non-English songs are resonating with millions of people, why do we still continue to label it as a niche interest?

Music is meant to be a deeply personal experience. It reflects identity, culture, and emotion. If someone finds comfort or meaning in a foreign-language ballad, who are we to dismiss its credibility? Our generation has fought against the notion of “guilty pleasures” by proudly embracing offbeat films, unconventional music, and niche internet subcultures. So then why are we acting as if music from non-mainstream, non-English-speaking cultures requires justification?

I often think about how music connects us to our histories, identities, and emotions. We must acknowledge that music, in all its forms and languages, holds power that transcends our narrow definitions of what is “credible.” We’ve spent so long categorizing music into what’s popular or valid and what isn’t, but the real beauty of music is in its diversity.

Underrated music doesn’t need to be defended. It doesn’t need validation from society in order to be meaningful. The real challenge isn’t in convincing others that foreign-language music is worthy. It is unlearning the biases that made us doubt their worth in the first place. Because music is spoken through more than just words—it also carries feelings and vulnerabilities.

We must realize that beauty in music lies not in the language in which it is sung but also in the feelings that it invokes within us. We have to stop filtering what we hear through outdated standards and start listening without limits. Then we might be able to appreciate music in its truest form, regardless of how it is written.