D-Day in Concert: A Breakdown of the Artist

Words by Karenna Blomberg
Photos by Uma Snow

One of the most intriguing things about Min Yoongi’s discography has always been his thorough exploration of different concepts of identity. Both his songs as SUGA of BTS and his robust solo career as Agust D are full of reflections that hit with a gutpunching earnestness. And out of all of his forays into the topic, the 2023 Agust D D-Day concert tour was the most revelatory into his views on art and its relation to the self.

Each show of the D-Day tour welcomed its crowd with the eerie, yet calming sound of a rainstorm. When I saw the concert on both of its Oakland dates, I distinctly remember the wave of silence that jolted through the 18,000 conversations of eager concertgoers at every intermittent roll of thunder. Then, the actual show began with the lights dimming and the sound of a skidding car, an enormous crash, and a pyrotechnic explosion mimicking the traumatic motorbike crash (and resulting shoulder injury) Yoongi experienced while still a BTS trainee, that would continue to affect his life and music for years to come. There is no opening act or pre-show playlist to hype up the crowd before Yoongi takes the stage—just the somber sound of the rain. It makes the show feel all the more personal, like being ripped from reality and into a painful memory. 

Making sense of pain and trauma—and more specifically, the different versions of yourself pain and trauma can create—was the key theme of the D-Day tour. VCRs in between sets show SUGA, Agust D, and Yoongi as three separate entities, undermining and competing with one another. These three clashing personalities each try to destroy the other two, while at the same time, all three seem to be running from something bigger that they cannot fully face. To complement this idea, Yoongi would introduce himself at the top of the show as “SUGA . . . but you can call me Agust D . . . or Yoongi.” From this to the tour’s glitch-like doubled logo and blue-orange color scheme, the concept of injured, warring parts of the same united whole runs deeply through the concert’s symbolism. 

Furthering this theme is the concert’s wildly contrasting setlist. We begin with four of Agust D’s more popular songs, “Haegeum,” “Daechwita,” “Agust D,” and “Give it To Me.” The latter of the three are all about similar things—a charismatic flaunting of Yoongi’s success due to his enduring hard work (we’ll get to “Haegeum” in a moment). Then, we flip to the longing, lonely, and melancholy: “Trivia: Seesaw” is played on an acoustic guitar under a single spotlight, followed by the comforting “SDL.” He returns to the cocky and cynical with songs like “Moonlight” and “Burn It,” as well as several snippets of his SUGA verses from BTS songs such as “Cypher Pt. 3” and “Ddaeng.” Then he moves into grief with the ways of the world, its polarity and its unfair rules, with songs like “Polar Night” and “Snooze.” The “last song” of the concert (“Amygdala”) all the way through to the final encore song (“The Last”) gives a sense of assuredness and hope for the future.

As we travel through these varying emotions in this carefully crafted setlist, and the VCRs that underline the multi-identity struggle, the thing that hits Yoongi’s complex messaging home the hardest is the stage setup. At first appearing as a simple, single stage, as the concert goes on, even that reveals itself to be hiding many parts. Throughout the show, various pieces of the stage “break off” and rise into the ceiling, sometimes revealing new setpieces beneath, such as a TV set and couch, where Yoongi descends the stage to sing “SDL,” and a piano, where he comes down again to ground level to sing the comforting “Life Goes On.” By the end of the concert, only one platform is left, and then even that is lifted away so that the encore takes place on the ground with no stage at all.

The most important thing that connects the themes of both D-Days (the album and the concert) is, I believe, the idea of confrontation. The different “identities” of SUGA/Agust D/Yoongi must confront, fight, and eventually accept one another. The song “Amygdala”—a promoted B-Side from the album and the last song before the encore—also deals with the idea of confronting your own memories and trauma. But I think an overlooked motif in D-Day (and in BTS’ oeuvre, in general) is that of breaking down exactly what it means to be an artist. Yoongi’s shoulder injury occurred while he was working a second job to help pay his bills before he debuted. Since then, he has used the accident as a metaphor in his music many times for the amount he has sacrificed to “earn” his dream-come-true life. But in songs like “Snooze,” Yoongi seems to both contend with and deeply lament the idea that someone would have to go through as much pain as he did just to get the chance to call themselves an artist. 

If you have seen a D-Day concert performance, whether live, in theaters, via livestreaming, or on video, you may know where I’m coming from when I say the concert feels like just one piece of an intricate work of performance art. Yoongi is carried onstage by some of his dancers, limp as if dead, and laid down on the floor. He rises to perform “Haegeum”—a song about wanting to be able to liberate himself and others from both the self and societally-imposed rules that hold them back. As the stage pieces rise, he ends up isolated, on a single platform in the middle of the area, with nowhere else to go, and he sings “Amygdala.” After this, he collapses onto the ground again, and his dancers come to carry him off the stage, somber and sturdy, like pallbearers. When I first saw this, I was struck by the idea that artists will pour themselves out onto every page of their work, build up a new self or a dozen new selves, and drain them too. Is that not the point of it all—the contradiction?

For D-Day, Yoongi comes to life, briefly, to perform. He pours out his conflicts and his agony over the things he doesn't understand, cannot change, cannot fathom. He drains himself entirely in and for the art. And when the performance is “over” and he comes out for his encore, full of new determination, he has no stage. He stands on the ground, eye to eye with the audience. Wires and equipment are visible. Gaffer’s tape marks off the places where it is safe to stand away from the pyrotechnics. Cameras are trained on him from every angle, and as the crowd roars, he cries out, asking: “Who else would do as much as I do?”