KANO MIYU’s 1999 Seoul fan meeting: an afternoon of photographs, conversation and guitar

On the afternoon of January 18, 2026, KANO MIYU held her 1999 fan meeting in the fifth-floor gallery of ㅎㄷ Café in Hongdae, Seoul. It followed the previous evening’s concert at Hongdae STAGE. This time, music did not come first. Fans shared everyday photographs, asked questions and watched a gift draw before she picked up a guitar. For those at the concert, it was an afternoon continuing from that stage; conversation and song took turns filling the room.

FAN MEETING2 TRACKS

Selected acoustic songs from the Seoul fan meeting

Selected repertoire · not in performance order

• Password 486
• Futari no Sekai

The distance between artist and audience was short. Without imposing staging or strong lights, a comment on a photograph immediately brought laughter or a reply. Expressions while looking at pictures, pauses over questions and greetings between segments all happened close by. Audience reactions prompted brief additional exchanges.

Stories beginning with Taiwan photographs

Rather than take up her guitar at the start, she brought out photographs from daily life. Scenes in transit, gaps between performances and apparently ordinary images became openings for memories. She shared time through moments left by living, rather than a polished expression prepared for the stage.

Some pictures came from Taiwan. She laughed about encountering an electric insect-swatter racket for the first time and finding its crackle when a mosquito touched it surprising. Hearing that Korea had them too brought another surprised look. When Japanese fans said they did not have them in Japan, she wondered if safety might be the reason. Artist and audience exchanged familiarities and surprises around an everyday object.

Next came Taiwan at night. She had expected warmth, but found evenings much colder than anticipated. A sleeping photograph secretly taken by her manager softened the room further. Curled up with nearly all the blanket, she laughed that only then had she realised how untidily she slept. She explained that the hotel had just one blanket, which they had shared. Laughter and recognition followed.

Each explanation drew laughter or nods; a remark from the audience prompted another reaction from her. The pictures offered more than scenery. An unfamiliar tool, unexpected cold and a sleeping pose discovered afterward each supplied a story. Fans first acquainted with a singer onstage could hear what she noticed and how she responded while travelling.

If she had not become a singer: questions from the room

Once the pictures had relaxed the atmosphere, the gathering moved into questions written by fans at the venue rather than a preset interview. They ranged from music to everyday curiosity, and she did not brush them aside. Even a short question could bring an upward glance and a pause to select her words. The care itself conveyed how she regarded the encounter.

One memorable question asked what work she might have done without singing. She smiled and mentioned her parents: both were bank employees. Without a particular turning point, she thought she might have become an ordinary office worker too. Rather than invent another grand ambition, she recalled her family’s work. A question momentarily outside music connected naturally with the environment in which she grew up.

Asked about support from Korea, she nodded and said that the fans who kept encouraging her and attending concerts made it possible to continue. It was thanks addressed to people filling the room after the previous night’s show. Instead of explaining Korean activities from afar, she was answering those who actually watched and attended them.

There was not enough time for every question. After a few answers, the programme had to move on, drawing regretful sounds mixed with laughter. Where the photographs were stories she offered, this segment let the audience ask directly. Each answer made the next possible question more intriguing, leaving a sense of unfinished conversation.

Her responses were not simply ready-made answers delivered on cue. She looked up, thought and chose words. Photograph commentary and replies to the room moved at different speeds. The family story and thanks to Korean fans each emerged from a particular question. There were not many answers, but viewers could see which questions made her pause and how she continued.

A favourite number, six, and six draws

The question segment gave way to a gift draw inspired by her favourite number, six. Six gifts she had prepared brought smiles to the room. The procedure was simple but unhurried: drawing one numbered slip, checking the winner and looking across the audience created small intervals of reaction and laughter.

Most gifts were clothes she had actually worn, personally signed. Items that might look familiar from performances or photographs emerged in shopping bags, reportedly with short handwritten letters inside. Fans first saw the item and then looked for the winner. Even while awaiting results, they shared the process of introduction and handover.

One handover briefly changed course. Looking at a winning fan, she realised they already had the same garment and smilingly substituted another item. She explained that they seemed to own the matching clothes already. It was her recognition, not an initial request from the recipient, that prompted the switch. A short conversation and confirmation entered the numbered draw, with the audience watching.

The segment drew participation differently from the questions. While a slip was drawn, people awaited a number; once it was checked, attention moved to someone in the seats. Each of the six draws included an introduction and handover. The explanation for the substituted gift brought shared laughter. Even within a planned programme, room remained for conversation.

Taking requests, then returning to the guitar

When she finally picked up the guitar, the place used for pictures, answers and number-checking became a listening room again. Unlike the previous night at Hongdae STAGE, this was a close acoustic setting. The conversational voice carried into song, letting music inherit the time shared in words.

The choices felt less like a fixed setlist than selections made in the room. She took suggestions and chose some songs herself because they seemed right for the mood. “Password 486,” sung with guitar, was particularly familiar to Korean fans and drew immediate recognition. “Futari no Sekai,” requested by a fan, also seemed well suited to a fan meeting.

The contemporary account remembers roughly three songs and lists “TERMINAL” among them. However, that original record explicitly says the count and order were unclear, so it cannot establish a complete setlist. What remains definite is the process: audience requests and her own choices kept the music going. The earlier exchanges over photographs and questions became an exchange through song selection.

Applause continued after the music. The same audience had laughed at pictures, left questions and awaited numbers before settling into songs. Participation changed with each segment rather than following one format throughout. Coming after repeated conversation, the final performance felt like a closer greeting at the end of that shared movement.

Support continuing after the songs

The close was not reduced to a prepared speech. Encouragement and applause rose naturally from different parts of the room. Without an imposed order, those voices felt especially unadorned. She listened, nodded and offered calm thanks.

Looking across the audience, she thanked them for being there. A little more time for comments and replies followed the songs. From the first picture to the final applause, listening to the audience’s response kept recurring: laughter, questions, requests and encouragement returning in different forms.

The previous night’s concert and this gathering were distinct encounters under the name 1999. At the concert, fans heard songs; here, they heard stories and saw photographs of the person singing them. The return of the guitar connected the two days more naturally than explanation could. The person talking with them began singing in the same place.

Those small transitions preserve the Hongdae afternoon: a comment attached to a picture, a pause over a question, laughter while checking a number and a request from the seats. Rather than look at a distant performer, people returned reactions and helped make the programme. After the last applause, the conversations remained alongside the sound of the guitar.