polymorphism

Music is universal. People speaking different languages find a shared language in music. It can be personal and also private, as well. Music is different, just like people are different. The Mainland, Taiwan, and Hong Kong are often referred as “Two Shores, Three Places,” because they’re divided by the Taiwan Strait and three different systems. The music in these “three places” is interlaced yet also unique to their region.

The Taiwanese music industry has consistently produced the finest pop music in the past three decades and talent seems to pass down to younger generations. In my opinion, they’re the best in female vocal music accompanied on the piano. Yet more importantly, many Taiwanese musicians don’t see music as a business, but as an art form to express themselves, and a media to record the dramatic changes in Taiwan. They have done it so gracefully and faithfully that I can feel a sense of historical responsibility and an inherent urge to seek higher wisdom in some of their music. Musician Luo Dayou is a good example; he combines keen observational social issues with his musical skills.

Luo Dayou was a brain surgery physician. The best brain surgery he did was not on a patient but on Taiwan itself. His first album “Zhi Hu Zhe Ye,” released in 1982, was the most significant album in Taiwanese music history. Among “The 100 Greatest Albums of Taiwan (1975 – 1993),” this album was ranked number one. Luo’s second album “The Protagonist of the Future” is even more mature and its lyrics were later included in school textbooks. Luo was controversial and was called a “protestor.” But his third album “Home” was a surprising return to his roots. Home, homeland, and parent’s love have been a structural theme throughout his music since then.

Under too many demands from supporters and attacks from the other side, Luo left Taiwan and moved to New York in 1985 and then settled in Hong Kong in 1987. Living abroad made him not only think about Taiwan but also the entire Chinese race. He came back with one of his best albums, “Comrade Lover.” Luo established his studio Music Factory and released a string of more ambitious albums, “Queen’s Rd East,” “Yuan Xiang (Original Land),” and “Capital.” These albums coincidently used three geographic terms in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the Mainland as their title. They touched upon China’s history, reality and destiny. They’re not as successful as Luo’s early works in term of commercial and artistic values, but they’re a bold experiment and valuable records for everyone who lived in that era.

Luo is no longer as prolific as before. But he can always give his followers a surprise. I consider his newest 2-CD album “Beautiful Island” to be his third best album. And his performance with friends in this year’s New Year Gala, the most watched show in China every year, brought back a lot of happy memories for the audience.

Mainland’s music development came later than Taiwan’s. Their music is much harder and stronger. Like Taiwan, the Mainland has many singers who use their guitar and voice to document what they see and how they think. But their approach is noticeably different from their Taiwanese cousins. While Taiwanese singers observe and tell people’s stories, the Mainlanders often tell their own stories to reflect the society. They are extremely candid, more involving and more personal. This creates a warm feeling. By listening to their music, you simply know them. Luo Dayou is a master, while Mainland rock musicians are heroes.

To understand more on Mainland music movement, please read my previous article “The Origins of Chinese Rock Music”.

Hong Kong is the most Westernized place among the three. Meanwhile it has become the stronghold of Cantonese culture. The best voice from Hong Kong is Faye Wong. I find it impossible to describe her character. If I had to choose one word to explain what attracts me, I would say “longing” – her longing for something that is so beautiful and precious that it can’t exist in the mundane world. She’s a little mysterious, barely talking about her feelings in the media. She’s extremely popular but doesn’t want to be bothered by others. She’s a little rebellious but not very much, because she doesn’t care about the absurd and ironic outside world after all. She’s happy for small things and doesn’t ask for more, even when she deserves much more. Should I say her life is wasted, or ultimately a healthy attitude to deal with real life? No matter. She can’t be judged.

That longing can only exist when one is living an illusion where nothing is real and nothing lasts. Maybe even Faye herself is an illusion. I can’t tell if what we see in her is her true self or a carefully manufactured persona. But does it even matter? Why don’t we just listen to her songs and enjoy the love in her music.

Faye was a Beijing girl. She moved to Hong Kong when she was 18. The most important man in her life was Dou Wei, her musical partner and first husband. When she moved back to Beijing and lived with Dou Wei in 1996, entertainment reporters from Hong Kong discovered that Faye, the superstar, was living in an old traditional alley that didn’t even have private toilets! There was a pretty woman with a beautiful voice and an attractive man with great talent, who had sacrificed anything for their love. Weren’t they a perfect couple? Faye and Dou Wei had one daughter; but then they later divorced. Dou Wei, a once prominent rock musician, has switched to a totally different domain: traditional instrumental music. Faye married a boring actor and formed a happy family. How interesting.

Taiwanese music is culture. Mainland music is heart. Hong Kong music is illusion. I don’t mean to stereotype them, for they cannot be stereotyped. They salute and enrich each other.