SONG연지 (Song Yeon Ji)
bOHEmiAN
Gwangju
May 29, 2026
(Jisu Sheen recently moved from New Haven to Gwangju, South Korea, where she’s covering local arts and culture for the New Haven Independent and Midbrow.)
Teen guitar phenom Song Yeon Ji took the underground indie rock stage this past weekend to perform a crowd-stopping rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” And Toto, I’m holding all four paws as I say this: we were not in Kansas anymore.
Another night, another soundproofed basement venue. At this one, little tables were gathered against black brick. Song’s set was third in a lineup that included the night’s host, Neinomz, a band called Degenz, and a group of college musicians called Orphe.
Song started on solid ground, warping the piece within the realm of possibility—for now. She was kind enough not to break our brains just yet. We heard the familiar refrain, a girl’s wistful daydreams of a fantasy land.
Then we took a trip to that place. Song infused the piece with undeniable style, gliding through quick trills like butterflies on a hazy day. This wasn’t Judy Garland’s “Somewhere”; it was the glammed-out guitar version by Connecticut’s own Chris Impellitteri.
Song hinted at some runs. It was almost scary how casual she was about them.
Between pieces, Song spoke a few words into the mic, explaining how the crowd could find her on YouTube. A lot of people share her name, she said, so to make her channel easier to find, she wrote her surname in English, stylized in full as SONG연지.
You can also just type “연지 기타” (Yeonji guitar), she added. She was too humble to say why, so I’ll say it: She’s gotten pretty famous in her past several years documenting her progress in her online rock community niche.
Song is 17 years old. She’s been uploading her guitar covers on YouTube since she was in elementary school. She has an Ozzy playlist and covers ranging from Steve Vai to NewJeans. The videos have no fluff, often no intro or explanations. Just pure appreciation for the power of guitar.
In Song’s “Somewhere,” harmonics rang out from the heavens. She was summoning sounds from beyond this mortal coil.
At the end of her set, the lead singer of Neinomz encouraged Song to say something to the audience.
“Can it be short?” she asked. The answer was yes. She’d spoken odes already with her guitar.
Her message was quick and full of awe for the stage. “To be honest,” she said in Korean, “I feel like I have a bit of a way to go before I can really stand here. But I’m really grateful for the opportunity.”
Listen, I think the opportunity should be grateful for her.
When she returned to the refrain for the third time, the electric guitar was acting not just as a reflection of the human voice but as a metallic creature all its own. It whined in glorious stretches, breaking free of whatever we expected the piece would—or could—sound like. Song hit impossible runs, travelling up and down the fretboard like she was getting frequent flyer miles for it.
Song played the two-note lead-in back to the start, but this time she paused, shifting to a series of notes beyond even the Oz universe—yet somehow we understood exactly why they were there. She had laid the groundwork. Song mused on the new motif, leaning into the distortion. It was a mini opera in six strings.
We were on this abstract journey together. To follow along, we had to let go of needing to know “how” and embrace “what was.”
Then Song landed us back in the iconic rainbow melody for the final time. There was no pretending anything was the same as before. We knew what was out there; we had seen that technicolor world.
Song ended the piece with a killer trill-harmonic-vibrato combo, and, for the first time since the piece began, cracked a small smile.
