KCM is one of the male vocalists closely associated with the Korean ballad tradition that flourished in the 2000s. He began his recording career in 2004 with the album Beautiful Mind and its title track Black and White Photo, gradually developing a style built around a powerful upper register, strong projection, and emotionally direct singing.
In 2020, he released Like a Habit, Counting to Three (Beo-reut-cheo-reom Se-seul Sen-da, 버릇처럼 셋을 센다), a song he wrote and composed himself. Running close to six minutes, it takes its time with a simple idea: a relationship has ended, but some of the habits connected to it have not.
Media & Copyright Note: This article features an official YouTube video embedded through the YouTube player. K-POP CHRONICLES does not host or re-upload the video or audio. Full lyrics are not reproduced; the song’s meaning and emotions are explained through original editorial commentary and summary.
When the Relationship Ends but the Habit Remains
Like a Habit, Counting to Three does not describe heartbreak through one dramatic event. It focuses instead on the smaller behaviors that remain after the other person is gone.
Counting to three, closing the eyes, remembering familiar places, or mentally returning to moments that once felt ordinary become signs of a relationship that has ended in real life but continues inside memory.
That makes the idea of “counting to three” more than a decorative title.
The song is less interested in the immediate shock of a breakup than in the routine that survives it. A person may try to continue with daily life, only for an insignificant gesture to bring the memory back again.
That kind of lingering melancholy has long been part of Korean music, especially ballads that place large emotions inside small, recognizable moments.
KCM Does Not Begin at Full Power
KCM is known for a voice capable of reaching very high notes, but this song does not begin as a vocal showcase.
The opening stays relatively restrained. He sings as though he is telling the story first, holding back much of the force his voice can eventually produce.
That changes the role of the high notes later in the song.
By the time the vocal begins to expand, the listener has already spent several minutes inside the memory the song is describing.
The tension accumulates slowly.
Near the final stretch, KCM’s voice gains weight while the accompaniment grows around it. His characteristic upper register finally arrives as part of that build rather than as an isolated display.
The effect feels closer to an emotion that can no longer remain contained at the same volume.
A Song That Allows Itself to Take Time
Like a Habit, Counting to Three runs for more than five minutes, a substantial length compared with much contemporary pop.
It does not seem eager to reach the climax.
That extra time allows ideas to return while the arrangement expands gradually. In that sense, the structure begins to resemble the person inside the song: someone trying to move forward but repeatedly arriving at the same memory.
This slower development also helps explain a familiar feature of Korean ballads.
Rather than revealing the biggest vocal moment immediately, many songs in the genre save their greatest intensity for the final section. The emotional scale widens over several minutes before the voice is fully released.
KCM works naturally inside that format.
Orchestra and an Older Korean Ballad Tradition
The arrangement follows a style long associated with Korean ballads: the vocal remains clearly at the center while the instrumentation gradually increases the emotional space around it.
Release materials also highlighted the use of a 14-piece orchestra in the version connected with the music video.
That kind of arrangement suits KCM’s voice because it leaves room for him to begin relatively quietly and then move into a much larger space as the song approaches its climax.
The orchestra is not simply there to make the song louder.
It creates a background that can expand with the voice. Early on, KCM occupies most of the emotional foreground. Later, the instrumentation broadens and his upper register begins to fill a much wider sonic space.
It is a form of progression strongly associated with the Korean ballad sound of the 2000s, the period when KCM established much of his musical identity.
Why the High Notes Matter
For listeners discovering KCM for the first time, his upper register will probably be one of the first things to stand out.
But listening only to the climax misses much of what makes this performance effective.
The more revealing contrast is between the voice in the opening minutes and the voice near the end.
At first, there is still restraint. KCM keeps the melody within a relatively controlled space and does not force every phrase toward a dramatic resolution.
As the song progresses, that restraint begins to loosen.
His voice grows stronger, and the high notes arrive only after the song has accumulated enough tension to support them. Their impact therefore comes from more than vocal difficulty.
The note matters because the story has already travelled far enough to reach it.
A Song Written by KCM Himself
Another important detail is that KCM did not only perform the song.
He is credited as both lyricist and composer, while Kim Jae-hyun and Choi Il-ho (IRO) participated in the arrangement.
That does not mean the song should automatically be treated as an autobiographical confession. There is not enough evidence to claim that it describes a specific breakup from KCM’s own life.
What can be heard clearly is how well the composition suits his voice.
The restrained opening, extended development, and concentration of higher notes toward the end create a structure designed around the qualities he uses most effectively as a singer.
The production also avoids competing with him. As the song moves forward, the accompaniment grows around the vocal instead of pushing it out of the center.
A Doorway Into Another Side of Korean Music
For many international listeners, the most visible image of Korean music is still connected to idol groups, choreography, and large-scale pop production.
But South Korea also has a deeply established ballad culture built around singers who can carry several minutes of emotional weight almost entirely through the voice.
KCM belongs to that tradition.
Like a Habit, Counting to Three offers a clear way into it. The song does not rely on choreography or a complicated visual concept. Its impact comes from a long melodic arc, a voice that gradually changes in intensity, and an emotion that takes time to reach its peak.
The most revealing part of the song may not be its highest note.
After the climax has passed, the central image is still remarkably small: someone continuing to count because a habit can survive even after the relationship that created it has ended.
The breakup is over.
The habit remains.
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