In her past life, Lee Sang Eun had a striking image. Wearing her hair in boyish short cut and drowning in an absurdly oversized black coat, Lee was nothing if not distinctive.

At the time, her look was more significant than her hit song, an upbeat dance track called "Damdadi."

The year was 1988, and you have to give Lee credit, the song didn't have a lot going for it, but she was really selling it.

The childish energy of the young girl bopping up and down singing with a grin couldn't be further away from the self-possessed artist that Lee would eventually become.

Since that first pop hit, the singer has quietly carved out a distinguished career, releasing 15 albums of her own material. She's worked in earnest to shed her teen pop image, and in its place, she's cultivated an aesthetic that's simultaneously embodies a shadowy mood and earthy gravitas.

Lee's song "Bird" finds itself nestled neatly in between Kate Bush's synthetic dreamworld and the harmonic language of traditional Korean music.

The instrumentation, for the most part, is spare: gently rolling piano and a softly accentuated keyboard create an invitingly intimate palate. Dubby bass and ancient-sounding flutes round out the sound - there's no beat to bop to, but it somehow moves by virtue of its own understated momentum.

Compared to the larger-than-large explosions that K-pop is often associated with, "Bird" seems content in its own modest, almost miniature stature.

It takes its time to unfold, too: a tasteful piano solo in the song's middle eight alludes to a Keith Jarrett-esque patience.

At times, "Bird" seems to be all shadow - not without substance, but bearing a somewhat elusive quality.

What saves it from nearly evaporating is the Eastern-sounding melody that punctuates the song's structure. First expressed on flute, the melody is later doubled by piano and Lee's voice.

It's this gesture that adds a much-needed percussive quality to "Bird," contributing subtle grit and bite.

While the supernatural energy that runs throughout the song indicates that Lee may indeed have been a Kate Bush fan, her vocal presence is much less bombastic than the UK chanteuse.

Like Bush, Lee gives a wounded-sounding performance with the experienced sound of world-weariness. Perhaps it is the sound of a one-time pop star whose been run through the hype machine.

At the close of "Bird" Lee evokes the Kate Bush classic "Hounds of Love," unfurling a tapestry of intertwined vocal melodies.

It's only there that Lee allows herself to shake off the withdrawn quality of the song's verses. But she retains the same sensitivity, which requires a real artistry to pull off.

All pop music has its time and necessity: some music is geared towards particular audiences and needn't be subjected to certain kinds of scrutiny. However, Lee's trajectory is really worth some respect and accolades.

She did her thing as a youngster. But even then, (look at that old video) she looks like a cross between David Byrne, k.d. lang and Harry Potter! Her idiosyncrasies were always there, but it's to her credit that she followed her muse to the dark, expressive vibe embodied by "Bird."

Check out Lee Sung Eun's "Bird" RIGHT HERE

Jeff Tobias is a composer, multi-instrumentalist, and writer currently living in Brooklyn, New York. Most recently, he has been researching the history of tuning systems and working on his jump shot.