Wu Bai (伍佰) never seems to tire of changing styles, looks or sounds. Such restlessness from a pop artist can easily backfire, but Taiwan’s “King of Rock” has consistently shown a knack for following his creative whims without alienating his audience.
His latest album, Spacebomb (太空彈), should be no exception. It’s fun, fresh rock ’n’ roll that satisfies both the mind and spirit. Inspired by Robert Charles Wilson’s science fiction novel Spin, Wu Bai cast himself and his band China Blue as space travelers from the year 2406. In search of a new world to inhabit “so mankind can survive,” they ponder the shortcomings of the world they left — the subject of many of the songs.
The album, sung entirely in Mandarin, opens with the title track, setting the space exploration theme with a funky drum beat and laser synthesizer sounds. The vibrato effects from the tremolo bar on Wu Bai’s guitar and robotic-sounding vocal refrains do the 1980s proud. The song has some of the playfulness of early Talking Heads, which is offset by Wu Bai’s bravado delivery of the chorus hook, Watch out for my spacebomb! (小心我的太空彈). Depending on your mood, you might find it funny in an almost Spinal Tap kind of way — or you’ll be bobbing your head and pumping your fist in the air. Either way, the tune is catchy.
The other nine tracks offer ample variety, from the cool, reflective mood of Sunny Day (天晴時刻) and its tasteful guitar work to the cosmic swamp jams of Shining Wizard (閃光魔術) and the eerie News Show (新聞秀). With the rich palette of electric guitar and synthesizer sounds and solid, tight grooves, there’s never a dull moment throughout Spacebomb. Credit goes to China Blue, Wu Bai’s band of nearly 20 years, for bringing his sonic vision to life.
The cinematic feel and pacing of the album come from the pop star in Wu Bai, who wants to entertain most of all, and on his terms. He has certainly accomplished those goals here.
— DAVID CHEN
If there were a sound track for Taiwan’s geek-chic set, often called the “artsy youth” (文藝青年) in Mandarin, it would likely be music from the pop-rock band 1976. Their latest album Asteroid 1976 (1976這個星球) is a new milestone for the group because they have signed with Sony BMG, marking their first relationship with a major label. The four-piece also adopted a new songwriting approach, writing many of their songs and fleshing them out in the recording studio instead of developing them at live shows.
Fans worried about 1976’s indie street cred can relax. The group has stuck with what they do best, crafting Mandarin songs housed in Brit-pop beats and mod-rock style, and this seventh release shows a band in fine form. The rhythm section, consisting of drummer Warren Lin (林雨霖) and bassist Lin Tzi-chiao (林子喬), is tight; and guitarist Zac Chang (張崇偉) does an impressive job in shaping the songs with deft technique and versatility. Chang has a good sense of rhythm and texture that brings out the emotional core of songs like Non Adult March (發光的孩子) and the anthemic Knut (努特).
Vocalist Chen Ray-kai (陳瑞凱), who goes by the name Ah-kai (阿凱), has a syrupy voice that seems to nod to Morrissey and The Cure’s Robert Smith, with its angst-tinged and mopey leanings. One thing to appreciate about Ah-kai’s singing is his near-whimsical delivery, which favors mood over pop aesthetics. In the cheeky In Clubbing We Trust (撒野俱樂部), he sings the catchy chorus with pleasing precision but belts out the verse with a devil-may-care attitude.
The album’s production values are slick enough to help 1976 win a wider audience in the Mandarin-speaking world. While the band may be reluctant to embrace full mainstream exposure, their left-of-center pop fills a void in Taiwan music scene for music of both style and substance.
— DAVID CHEN
Singapore-born Jing Huang (黃靖倫) was one of the highlights of the third season of the CTV’s One Million Star (超級星光大道) pop idol pseudo-reality show. His androgynous voice, shyly humorous demeanor and clever way with words won him a huge following, particularly after he scored something of a triumph with his rendition of Cheng Yi’s (鄭怡) Here Comes the Rain (小雨來的正是時候), a campus song (校園歌曲) classic. After that the variety shows simply couldn’t get enough of him, making much play of his strong command of falsetto. Everyone wanted to get him to sing like a woman. This is slightly less than he deserved, for although a long way from being a huge musical talent, his voice and style are not without interest. With Jing-Jing’s Note (倫語錄), his debut album, the producers have done their usual trick of stripping his voice of most of its personality and given him songs that make him sound like Karen Mok (莫文蔚) on a bad day. The opening track, titled A Phrase a Day (每日一句) is the only exception and is almost worth the price of the album. The clever lyrics play off the album’s Chinese title, which makes a playful reference to the Analects of Confucius (倫語), and the song is packed with cliches, from shoo-bi-doo-bi-doo transitions to the kind of electric guitar solo that would have sounded dated in the 1980s, but all is managed in a playful way that elicits smiles rather than sneers.
For the rest, there are plenty of very correct Mando-pop ballads that are proficient enough to please the fans and have allowed Jing-Jing’s Note to hover in an out of the top five since it was released, but these are unlikely to make a lasting impression among anyone else.
— IAN BARTHOLOMEW
There are plenty of fun things about Passiwali (巴西瓦里) by Chalaw (查勞), who describes himself as a “young Pangcah man passionate about music.” His enjoyment of music is evident from the very first track, The Numbers Song (Sagalima 數數歌), a playful drinking song sung in the Amis language that mixes a vaguely Hawaiian vibe on ukulele with a Latin rhythm, bringing to mind scenes of iced mai tai on palmy beaches, hot skin, cool breezes, good friends and not much to do until tomorrow. It’s a wonderful introduction to an album of relaxed and playful tracks. Invention flags sometimes, as the good times blur into one another, but the music is never less than pleasant, and in almost all of the tracks, a little attention is often well repaid by an appreciation of Chalaw’s friendly, unassuming personality.
A simple song like How Are You? (你好嗎?), with its mix of Amis, Japanese, Chinese and English, works surprisingly well, and repeated listening reveals it to be less of a gimmick that it might first appear. Others, like Leave Me Alone (不要煩我), which elicits the mood of a pub rather than the seaside, are rather less successful, probably due to Chalaw’s desire to emulate an urban cool that sits uneasily with his natural rustic mood. This is a fault shared by the title track, which with its canned ocean sounds and other studio effects, feels over-produced and artificial. More successful are efforts such as The Old Man’s Schoolbag (老人書包), with its casual referencing of Those Were the Days, My Friend, hints of flamenco, and Chalaw’s own rough-edged fireside vocals. In Passiwali the rough is better than the smooth.
— IAN BARTHOLOMEW
Nov. 11 to Nov. 17 People may call Taipei a “living hell for pedestrians,” but back in the 1960s and 1970s, citizens were even discouraged from crossing major roads on foot. And there weren’t crosswalks or pedestrian signals at busy intersections. A 1978 editorial in the China Times (中國時報) reflected the government’s car-centric attitude: “Pedestrians too often risk their lives to compete with vehicles over road use instead of using an overpass. If they get hit by a car, who can they blame?” Taipei’s car traffic was growing exponentially during the 1960s, and along with it the frequency of accidents. The policy
Hourglass-shaped sex toys casually glide along a conveyor belt through an airy new store in Tokyo, the latest attempt by Japanese manufacturer Tenga to sell adult products without the shame that is often attached. At first glance it’s not even obvious that the sleek, colorful products on display are Japan’s favorite sex toys for men, but the store has drawn a stream of couples and tourists since opening this year. “Its openness surprised me,” said customer Masafumi Kawasaki, 45, “and made me a bit embarrassed that I’d had a ‘naughty’ image” of the company. I might have thought this was some kind
What first caught my eye when I entered the 921 Earthquake Museum was a yellow band running at an angle across the floor toward a pile of exposed soil. This marks the line where, in the early morning hours of Sept. 21, 1999, a massive magnitude 7.3 earthquake raised the earth over two meters along one side of the Chelungpu Fault (車籠埔斷層). The museum’s first gallery, named after this fault, takes visitors on a journey along its length, from the spot right in front of them, where the uplift is visible in the exposed soil, all the way to the farthest
The room glows vibrant pink, the floor flooded with hundreds of tiny pink marbles. As I approach the two chairs and a plush baroque sofa of matching fuchsia, what at first appears to be a scene of domestic bliss reveals itself to be anything but as gnarled metal nails and sharp spikes protrude from the cushions. An eerie cutout of a woman recoils into the armrest. This mixed-media installation captures generations of female anguish in Yun Suknam’s native South Korea, reflecting her observations and lived experience of the subjugated and serviceable housewife. The marbles are the mother’s sweat and tears,
RSS