Joshua of SEVENTEEN at Seoul’s Night Market: Solo Ambitions, Acoustic Roots and Life Between Tours

On a rainy evening in Seoul, Joshua led Billboard through a fish market that looks like a spill of neon and gutted silver on the sidewalk. He moved with a quiet ease—hands in pockets, rain beaded on his hair—and talked like someone who still carries Los Angeles in his vowels. The scene was equal parts local ritual and cinematic backdrop: vendors under tarps, an after-hours crowd drinking at plastic tables, and the no-nonsense practicality of choosing seafood and then walking it to a nearby restaurant to be turned into a meal.

The footage does the obvious thing and lets the market be a character. Joshua samples a sliver of raw fish, tries a dab of wasabi, and laughs when the heat hits. There’s a charming, ordinary intimacy to those moments. At one point someone off camera asks, is that the prettiest man in South Korea even when it’s raining? He answers simply, I’m good. It’s the sort of exchange that undercuts the theatricality of K-pop life: he is both star and neighborhood regular.

JOSHUA: You have to try this with the wasabi.

That domestic quality is central to Joshua’s appeal and to why his off-stage musical tastes matter. He’s a member of SEVENTEEN, a group known for synchronized choreography and engineering-grade staging. But Joshua’s musical compass points elsewhere—toward acoustic guitars, indie textures and quieter songwriting. He has talked publicly about growing up in L.A., and it surfaces in his phrasing and the kinds of covers and intimate performances that have circulated online. Those viral moments—less spectacle, more vulnerability—have helped him cultivate a dual identity: one foot in the polished machine of a boy band, the other in singer-songwriter territory.

That tension—between an individual sensibility and a group brand—is something many K-pop solo projects navigate. For Joshua, it feels like an extension rather than a rebellion. He speaks about wanting more involvement in production, about dream collaborations that would pull him into new sonic neighborhoods. That ambition is notable because SEVENTEEN is already structured around member participation; its members write and produce. For Joshua to pursue production work signals a move from contributing to the group’s sound toward authoring his own.

Watching him in the market, you can imagine how that trajectory matters. The intimacy of an unplugged track fits the image of someone who would pick his own fish and find a quiet corner to eat it. It’s not a PR conceit—it reads like a person whose creative instincts bleed into everyday life. He doesn’t have to shout to be heard; his quieter performances online have accrued attention precisely because they cut through the usual K-pop gloss.

There’s also a pragmatism in Joshua’s demeanor that reflects how SEVENTEEN operate as a unit. He speaks easily about the group’s tour life, dropping little anecdotes about late-night meals and backstage routines. Those details matter because they frame his solo leanings not as escape but as diversification. SEVENTEEN is a collective that lets its members grow, and Joshua’s exploration feels like a chapter rather than an exit. That’s significant in an industry where solo moves can be framed as internal rifts.

Outside the market, the interview touches on seasons and price—how seafood can spike with demand, how some stalls stay open 24/7 for the night-owl crowd. These logistical observations, minor as they are, also serve as metaphors for the career Joshua is carving: availability, adaptability, knowing how to read a market. He’s aware of timing; he’s aware of audience appetite.

There’s a broader industry implication to watch here. As members of massive groups mature, the question becomes how labels and managers balance group output with individual artistry. SEVENTEEN has so far handled that negotiation in a way that allows members to pursue outside projects while maintaining the group’s momentum. Joshua’s interest in production and indie textures suggests a next wave of hybrid careers for K-pop artists—ones that straddle global pop machinery and more niche, globally minded singer-songwriter circles.

For fans this is encouraging; for the industry it’s strategic. The old script—idol debuts, group sells records, members stick to scripted roles—has loosened. Artists like Joshua who can translate homegrown musical taste into credible solo work benefit from existing platforms while also expanding how K-pop is perceived abroad. The fish market scene is a small proof: he can be casual, human, and still be artistically interesting.

There’s no manifesto in the footage, no grand pronouncement about leaving or changing lanes. Instead there are gestures: a shared bite of food, a laugh at the burn of wasabi, a line about being able to come here anytime. Those gestures add up to something clear enough—Joshua is a K-pop star who wants to make quieter music, and he already has the audience for it. How he moves from candid market moments to concrete releases will determine whether this remains an appealing aside or becomes a meaningful new phase in his career.

In the meantime, the market keeps selling dinner, rain keeps falling, and Joshua keeps moving between worlds—Los Angeles and Seoul, the small stage and the stadium. That in-between space is where a lot of interesting work happens. For an artist who has spent years performing with precision, the slower take is worth watching.