SOLE & THAMA 2025/12/19

Anticipation.

Perhaps it is the proximity of Christmas, but a sense of warmth hangs in the air throughout the audience. Waiting for the artist to appear feels not unlike awaiting the arrival of the holiday itself. With photography, recording, and filming strictly prohibited, this anticipation carries a subtle tension — a restrained longing. Yet it is precisely this limitation that heightens the experience, making those seated in the room feel uniquely present. What unfolds becomes a gift reserved solely for those who are here, in this exact moment.

In 2017, SOLE illuminated the Korean music scene with “RIDE,” a collaboration with THAMA. Despite having worked together across multiple tracks, this marks their first performance in Taiwan. Dressed in coordinated black, the duo move in quiet synchronicity, their distinctive, full-bodied voices articulating the romance and attitude that define K-R&B — confident, intimate, and unmistakably their own.

A subtle restlessness ripples through the audience. Suppressing their affection for SOLE and THAMA, the crowd prepares to enter a world where music and rhythm intertwine into intimate lovers’ whispers.

THAMA takes the stage first. Dressed in a black jacket, he stands calmly as his voice—steady yet piercing—cuts through the space with the opening lines of “Zack.” As the lights fade, the room is instantly transported to a rainy afternoon, echoing the song’s quiet question to an absent lover: “Can you find me without making promises?”

After a brief pause, light pours in from behind him as the intro to “Wind” begins. The afternoon rain dissolves into a midnight murmur, softly confessing, “No matter when or where, you will always be there.”

The moment the intro of “Real Thing” drops, the atmosphere shifts instantly. THAMA seems to cast aside every lingering worry, freely addressing the audience with a simple yet powerful message: “I’m enjoying this moment. This is the real thing.” The band moves in unison, swaying with ease, as if marking the end of a heartbreak narrative—reminding the world that despite life’s countless imperfections, the sunlight still shines.

Carrying forward the brightness of “Real Thing,” “I’m Chill” introduces hip-hop elements that reveal another facet of THAMA’s creative identity. With a deeper and more forceful vocal tone than in the earlier songs, he delivers his lines through rap, turning the performance into a declaration. From its lyrics to its arrangement, the song fully showcases his vocal range and artistic confidence, positioning “I’m Chill” not merely as a track, but as a manifesto in sound.

After finishing four songs, THAMA picked up the microphone once again to greet the audience in Chinese. Reading carefully from the text on his phone, he radiated a shy yet sincere charm—one that reflected his attentiveness even to the smallest details. The crowd, made up almost entirely of devoted fans of both SOLE and THAMA, naturally began responding in Korean, catching THAMA pleasantly off guard. It was one of those moments of warmth and quiet magic that can only exist in the immediacy of a live performance.

The mysterious groove of “Cityboy” foregrounds THAMA’s observations of urban life. Built upon a foundation of bass and drums, the song constructs a cityscape in sound, while the guitar interrogates that structure—posing questions much like one does when faced with the dense accumulation of everyday details. Answers remain elusive, yet the impulse to keep asking “why” becomes inescapable.

“Have I Asked You” follows as a natural continuation, though its live arrangement departs notably from the recorded version. Instead of the familiar bass intro, the performance opens with a groovy rhythm laid down by drummer SHINDRUM, as if the questions posed to the city in the previous song are carried forward into this one. THAMA then steps in to respond, articulating the emotional state of living within the city itself.

Both tracks are collaborative projects with SHINDRUM—one reflecting on the city as an entity, the other giving voice to the inner landscape of those who inhabit it. Together, they reveal a harmonious path woven through urban space, shaped by the duo’s shared movement and musical dialogue within the city.

“Be Mine,” released last month as a collaboration between THAMA and Jay Park, appears as the penultimate song of the set. Its slow, measured tempo feels like completing a full circuit of the city and allowing oneself to ease into the walk home—permitting moments of pause along the way. In doing so, the music suggests the possibility of encountering new scenery, perspectives that only reveal themselves when one slows down.

With a crisp and clearly defined rhythm, “Do It For Love” follows, shifting the atmosphere back into an intimate space where emotions are addressed directly to a lover. Framed by buoyant melodies and lively grooves, the song brings this chapter of the performance to a close, letting feeling resolve itself through lightness and motion.

After THAMA leaves the stage, SOLE steps forward at an unhurried pace, carrying a quiet yet assured presence. With the opening notes of “ore ore,” she invites the audience into a vast grassland, running freely beneath an open sky. Her signature voice—sweet, rounded, and full-bodied—infuses the venue with a sense of gentleness that is simultaneously grounded and resolute.

Under SOLE’s guidance, the grassland becomes a space where anything is possible: singing, dancing, simply existing. Her magic takes hold the very moment she begins to sing.

“Ivory” follows, opening another conversation—this time with a lover who is not physically present. The melody glides like a hang glider past the beloved, suggesting that only this absent figure can rescue her from the threat of falling. Beyond the literal lyrics, SOLE’s performance seems to ask: “Where am I now? Would you still follow me? Even if we part someday, you remain in my heart.” In this moment, salvation belongs solely to the lover.

During her talking segments, SOLE greets the audience in Chinese as well, aligning herself with the local culture and further narrowing the distance between stage and floor. Her unhurried stage presence keeps the atmosphere relaxed and open, allowing laughter and casual exchanges to flow naturally. When she switches back to Korean, her sweet smile reveals a deeper layer of professionalism and courtesy beneath the warmth.

As “GONE” begins, hip-hop elements are woven into the arrangement, expressing the stubborn desire to want more in the aftermath of heartbreak. It is a tug-of-war between pride and love—a sorrowful “don’t stop me,” where perhaps the words left unsaid are carried instead by the song’s highest note. Seamlessly, the brief intensity of “GONE” gives way to “Still LOVE,” which feels like a best friend cheering you on after a breakup, using hip-hop and soul as encouragement. There is no hardship that cannot be overcome; with patience and perseverance, love becomes a path toward calm and freedom.

Midway through “Same,” THAMA—SOLE’s collaborator on the track—returns to the stage to sing alongside her. What had once been an open-ended question addressed to an absent lover suddenly finds its answer in real time. As their voices move back and forth, the scene recalls the iconic spaghetti moment from Lady and the Tramp: a harmony so natural it suggests that, as long as the other is present, anything is possible.

Yet love in the city is rarely that simple. As “Situationship” unfolds, the performance acknowledges the ambiguity that often defines modern relationships. Through their intertwined vocals, SOLE and THAMA articulate every longing and frustration that love can entail. THAMA’s vocal turns, in particular, tug at the heart, filled with tension and unresolved emotion—over and over again. As their voices overlap, it becomes clear that many things in love remain beyond one’s control.

With Christmas approaching, “warm christmas” finds its way into the setlist. Carried by SOLE’s gentle voice, the warmth of the season reaches the audience, offering comfort like a timely ember in the cold. There is something inherently soothing in her tone, a quiet reassurance that settles into the room. This flows naturally into “still beautiful,” returning once more to the intimacy of a private space. Through the clarity and reach of her voice, the addressee shifts—from a lover back to herself. Though the lyrics declare, “because of you, my life shines,” the “you” she sings to in this performance feels like her own self: resilient, yet tender.

The narrative then returns to the city. Amid the constant rush of traffic, the chorus of “Slow” moves like water—reminiscent of a bathtub filling in the stillness of night. Within that gentle flow, one reflects on the path taken to arrive at the present self, offering a quiet embrace and the reminder that there is no need to hurry; moving slowly is a rhythm in itself. Recharged, “Stay With Me” follows, her angelic and full-bodied voice guiding the audience back to the most innocent and joyful chapter of love. Every sweetness and hint of sourness is savored. The guitar carries a melancholic yet playful edge, the drums fall into step, and the scene feels like running home after school, exchanging laughter and glances along the way. In that moment, the angel delivers her purest wish—an emotion that lingers, unmatched, long after the song fades.

“RIDE!”—the moment SOLE announces the next song, the audience erupts in cheers. THAMA returns to the stage, and together they sing the track to its completion. The scene feels like riding a bicycle on a sunlit afternoon: the air cool, the mood equally refreshing, making it a perfect song with which to bring the main set to a close.

Before leaving the stage, SOLE pulls a playful face and mischievously signals to the audience to be sure to call for an encore, revealing a charmingly impish side of her personality. True to expectation, the encore brings both artists back once more, this time for THAMA’s “2G Love.” Like an echo at the end of the performance, the song reopens the lovers’ questions and quiet reflections.

Just as the audience believes the night has drawn to its conclusion, one final surprise emerges. SOLE and THAMA offer a cover of “Close To You,” ending the concert in a gesture more romantic than any love letter. It is a tender full stop to a dialogue that, throughout the evening, belonged only to lovers.

As the performance comes to an end, a fan immediately steps forward with a physical copy of SOLE’s imagine clubalbum, asking for her signature. After the final bows, the lights come up and the crowd begins to move. The rain, the afternoon light, the late night, the bathtub—those images summoned by the music are not taken away with them; they are simply gathered and kept, each in their own place.

That sense of “anticipation” does not disappear when the show ends. It merely changes form and continues to exist.

Like a Christmas gift, once the wrapping paper is removed, what remains is a quiet emotion—resting there, unannounced, yet deeply felt.