Emerging from the emotional turbulence of his late teens, Korean-born artist and producer just Min steps into the spotlight with Molten—a soul-stirring debut EP that melds indie pop, alt-R&B, and raw storytelling into a cinematic experience. Drawing from a life lived between Seoul and Hong Kong, Molten is more than a coming-of-age project—it’s a sonic memoir forged in grief, heartbreak, and self-discovery. With over 600,000 streams and early acclaim from Wonderland and Notion, just Min is carving out space for quiet vulnerability in modern pop, offering listeners a moving soundtrack to transformation.
Sonically, ‘Molten’ moves between indie, bedroom pop, and soul. Who were your biggest musical influences going into this project?
Truthfully, I tried my best not to have any external musical influences going into this project. Some of these songs were among the first I ever fully produced, so I knew the only way I could make something honest was by not comparing myself to anyone else. Sometimes that meant literally not listening to any music for hours before producing. Just trying to be me—flawed, new, and learning—was the best way I knew how to combat the pressure of a “debut project.”
Which track evolved the most from its original version, and why?
Definitely the opening track, “Emotionally Unavailable.” I originally wrote it alone on my guitar, and for a long time, it lived in that raw, acoustic world. But over time, it morphed into something much more layered—I think the final version has over 40 tracks. I started adding things I wouldn’t normally reach for, like saxophone textures, sampled vocal chops, and folk-inspired drum sounds. It became this huge sonic journey, but it’s still rooted in the vulnerability of that first guitar take.
How do you know when a song is finished—especially when it’s tied to something so personal?
For me, a song feels finished when I start overdoing it. If I’m tweaking the gain of a guitar or vocal by less than a decibel for days, only to bring it back to where it started, that usually tells me I’ve said what I needed to say. Especially when the song is so personal, finishing it is also about letting go. It’s trusting that feeling in your gut—and accepting that the song won’t belong to you anymore. In a way, that’s the most fulfilling part.
Were there any sounds or techniques you experimented with that pushed you outside your comfort zone?
Absolutely. Four of the songs on Molten are self-produced, and they were some of the first I ever finished from scratch. I didn’t even fully understand what EQ or compression did when I started—I was learning everything as I went. I set out to make an EP because I knew it would force me to create a lot, make mistakes, and grow. Every track pushed me to confront the limits of what I knew about songwriting, mixing, and production, and that’s probably why they sound the way they do: raw and honest.
You write from “the in-between”—how has living between Seoul and Hong Kong shaped the way you understand identity and belonging?
Living between Seoul and Hong Kong made me feel like I was constantly floating—never fully fitting into one place or the other. That space can feel isolating, but it also shows you what sticks to you when everything else is shifting. That’s where I learned how to observe, how to adapt, and how to create. A lot of my music comes from that space—not belonging, but still trying to love the fragments.
What was the hardest song on ‘Molten’ to write, emotionally or technically?
Emotionally, “Awake” was the hardest. I wrote it during a deep depressive period, when I was living day to day with no hope. Writing it felt like holding up a mirror—I was finally seeing myself for what I really was at the time.
Technically, “High Speed” was the most challenging. It was tough vocally, and I went through over 60 different mixes to get it right. I recorded hundreds of takes to make everything sound clean—it took forever, but I think it was worth it.
You’ve gotten early praise from major outlets and hit 600,000 streams. How are you navigating this new attention?
It’s surreal and humbling. I still feel like the same kid making demos in GarageBand in my bedroom. The recognition means a lot, but I try not to get too caught up in the numbers. I’ve learned that stripping away ego is what allows you to grow and make your best art. Attention can come and go, but growth is the long game. If my music resonates with people, that’s the most fulfilling part.
How has your relationship with the people or events that inspired the EP changed since releasing it into the world?
Releasing these songs gave me closure I didn’t expect. Some of the pain feels more distant now—like it belongs to a different, older version of me. I held onto so much resentment for years—towards people who hurt me, and towards life itself. But Molten helped me let go. It helped me separate the wound from the present. I’ve moved on to a new stage in life, and Molten marks the end of a chapter.
What comes next after ‘Molten’? Do you see your future work continuing to process the past, or shifting into something new?
After Molten, I feel a sense of freedom—to explore other sides of myself, both emotionally and creatively. There will definitely be new sounds and more experimentation. I’ll always write from a personal place, but the next chapter feels lighter, happier, and more forward-facing. Molten was about surviving. What comes next is about living.
What do you hope someone going through their own emotional storm feels when they listen to ‘Molten’?
There’s a beauty to pain or struggle. It often shows up in our lives to help us grow and figure out who we really are. Timing is everything—you might not be ready to heal today, but maybe hearing the right song at the right moment helps you feel something instead of ignoring it. If Molten can be a safe place for someone going through it, then all of this was worth it.
