Made in Hong Kong: Studies in Popular Music 9780367226985

Citation preview

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Made in Hong Kong

Made in Hong Kong: Studies in Popular Music serves as a comprehensive and thorough introduction to the history, sociology, and musicology of twentieth-​and twenty-​first-​century popular music in Hong Kong. The volume consists of essays by leading scholars in the field, and it covers the major figures, styles, and social contexts of popular music in Hong Kong. Each essay provides adequate context to allow readers to understand why the figure or genre under discussion is of lasting significance. The book is organized into four thematic sections: Cantopop, History, and Legacy; Genres, Format, and Identity; Significant Artists; and Contemporary Cantopop. Anthony Fung is Professor in the School of Journalism and Communication, and Co-​Director of the Institute of Asia-​Pacific Studies at The Chinese University of Hong Kong. He also holds an appointment as Professor in the School of Arts and Communication at Beijing Normal University, China. Alice Chik is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Educational Studies and a core member of the Faculty of Human Sciences Multilingualism Research Centre at Macquarie University in Sydney, Australia.

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Routledge Global Popular Music Series Series Editors:  Franco Fabbri, Conservatorio di Musica Arrigo Boito di Parma, Italy, and Goffredo Plastino, Newcastle University, UK

The Routledge Global Popular Music Series provides popular music scholars, teachers, students, and musicologists with a well-​informed and up-​to-​date introduction to different world popular music scenes. The series of volumes can be used for academic teaching in popular music studies, or as a collection of reference works. Written by those living and working in the countries about which they write, this series is devoted to popular music largely unknown to Anglo-​American readers. Made in Japan: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Tōru Mitsui Made in Brazil: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Martha Tupinambá de Ulhôa, Cláudia Azevedo and Felipe Trotta Made in Latin America: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Julio Mendívil and Christian Spencer Espinosa Made in Korea: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee Made in Sweden: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Alf Björnberg and Thomas Bossius Made in Hungary: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Emília Barna and Tamás Tófalvy Made in France: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Gérôme Guibert and Catherine Rudent Made in the Low Countries: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Lutgard Mutsaers and Gert Keunen Made in Turkey: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Ali C. Gedik Made in Australia and Aotearoa/​New Zealand: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Shelley Brunt and Geoff Stahl Made in Greece: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Dafni Tragaki Made in Taiwan: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Eva Tsai, Tung-​Hung Ho, and Miaoju Jian Made in Poland: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Patryk Galuszka Made in Hong Kong: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Anthony Fung and Alice Chik

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Made in Hong Kong Studies in Popular Music

Edited by

Anthony Fung and Alice Chik

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First published 2020 by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 Taylor & Francis The right of Anthony Fung and Alice Chik to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Fung, Anthony Y. H. editor. | Chik, Alice, editor. Title: Made in Hong Kong : studies in popular music / edited by Anthony Fung and Alice Chik. Description: New York : Routledge, 2020. | Series: Routledge global popular music series | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019057013 (print) | LCCN 2019057014 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367226978 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367226985 (paperback) | ISBN 9780429276439 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Popular music–China–Hong Kong–History and criticism. Classification: LCC ML3502.H85 M3 2020 (print) | LCC ML3502.H85 (ebook) | DDC 781.63095125–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019057013 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019057014 ISBN: 978-​0-​367-​22697-​8  (hbk) ISBN: 978-​0-​367-​22698-​5  (pbk) ISBN: 978-​0-​429-​27643-​9  (ebk) Typeset in Minion Pro by Newgen Publishing UK

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Contents

List of figures  Series Foreword  Acknowledgments 

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Introduction: Mainstreaming Hong Kong Popular Music  ANTHONY FUNG AND ALICE CHIK Part I:  Cantopop, History, and Legacy 

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Mapping Sociopolitical and Cultural Changes through “The Daughters of Hong Kong”: From Anita Mui to Denise Ho  VICKY HO AND MIRANDA MA

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Once upon a Time in Hong Kong Cantopop: 1984  YIU-​WAI  CHU

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Pax Musica and Mnets: Cantopop–​Kpop Convergences and Inter-​Asia Cultural Mobilities  KAI KHIUN LIEW AND MEICHENG SUN

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Voices Shaped by the People and for the People: Cantopop and Political Crisis from the Colonial to Postcolonial Era  STELLA LAU AND IVY MAN

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Part II:  Genres, Format, and Identity 

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The Symbolic Sound of Cantopop: Relistening to “The Fatal Irony” (1974)  TING YIU WONG

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Rethinking Chineseness in the Cantopop of Sam Hui  BRENDA CHAN

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Alternative Music, Language, and “Hong Kong” Identity: The Use of Metaphor in the English Lyrics of Hong Kong Independent Music  LOK MING ERIC CHEUNG v

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vi   •   Contents

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Covers and “One Melody, Two Lyrics” Songs  JOHNSON LEOW

Part III:  Significant Artists 

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Love Songs from an Island with Blurred Boundaries: Teresa Teng’s Anchoring and Wandering in Hong Kong  CHEN-​CHING  CHENG

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Remembering Hong Kong as a Queer Metaphor: Leslie Cheung’s Queer Performativity and Posthumous Networked Fandom  HONG-​CHI  SHIAU

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Hong Kong is (No Longer) My Home: From Sam Hui to My Little Airport  MILAN ISMANGIL

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MC Yan and his Cantonese Conscious Rap  ANGEL M. Y. LIN

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Part IV:  Contemporary Cantopop 

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Snapshots of Multilingualism in Hong Kong Popular Music  PHIL BENSON AND ALICE CHIK

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Our Little Twins Stars: Conglomerate-​Catalyzed Cross-​Media Stardom in the New Millennium  KLAVIER J. WANG AND STEPHANIE NG

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Performing the Political: Reflections on Tatming Meeting George Orwell in 2017  YIU FAI CHOW, JEROEN DE KLOET, AND LEONIE SCHMIDT

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The Politicization of Music through Nostalgic Mediation: The Memory in “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies”  JESSICA KONG AND ANTHONY FUNG

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Coda 

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The Globo-​Regional and the Local in Hong Kong Popular Music  C. J. W.-​L. WEE

Afterword 

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Cantopop Is Always Hybrid: A Conversation with Serina Ha 

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Notes on Contributors  Index 

214 217

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Figures

14.1 A YES! card with the stars’ faces on the front and the lyrics of a song on the back  14.2 Bundled gifts and coupons included in Twins album boxes  15.1 The 2017 Tatming concert  15.2 The 1Q84 moon  15.3 Video image of Tobias Gremmler during the show 

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162 163 170 174 175

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Series Foreword

Popular music studies have progressed from the initial focus on methodologies to exploring a variety of genres, scenes, works, and performers. British and North American music have been privileged and studied first, not only for their geographic and generational proximity to scholars, but also for their tremendous impact. Everything else has been often relegated to the dubious “world music” category, with a “folk” (or “roots” or “authentic”) label attached. However, world popular music is no less popular than rock ’n’ roll, R&B, disco, rap, singer-​ songwriters, punk, grunge, Britpop, or nu-​gaze. It is no less full of history and passion, no less danceable, socially relevant, and commercialized. Argentinian tango, Brazilian bossa nova, Mexican reggaeton, Cuban son and timba, Spanish and Latin American cantautores, French auteurs-​ compositeurs-​interprètes, Italian cantautori and electronic dance music, J-​pop, German cosmic music and Schlager, Neapolitan song, Greek entechno, Algerian raï, Ghanaian highlife, Portuguese fado, Nigerian jùjú, Egyptian and Lebanese Arabic pop, Israeli mizrahit, and Indian filmi are just a few examples of locally and transnationally successful genres that, with millions of records sold, are an immensely precious key to understanding different cultures, societies, and economies. More than in the past, there is now a widespread awareness of the “other” popular music; however, we still lack access to the original sources, or to texts to rely on. The Routledge Global Popular Music Series has been devised to offer scholars, teachers, students, and general readers worldwide a direct access to scenes, works, and performers that have not been much, if at all, considered in the current literature, and at the same time to provide a better understanding of the different approaches in the field of non-​Anglophone scholarship. Uncovering the wealth of studies flourishing in so many countries, inaccessible to those who do not speak the local language, is now no less urgent than considering the music itself. The series website (www.globalpopularmusic.net) includes hundreds of audiovisual examples which complement the volumes. The interaction with the website is intended to give a well-​ informed introduction to the world’s popular music from entirely new perspectives and at the same time to provide updated resources for academic teaching. The Routledge Global Popular Music Series aims ultimately to establish a truly international arena for a democratic musicology through authoritative and accessible books. We hope that our work will help the creation of a different polyphony of critical approaches and that you will enjoy listening to and being part of it. Franco Fabbri Conservatorio di Musica Arrigo Boito di Parma, Italy Goffredo Plastino Newcastle University, UK Series Editors

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Acknowledgments

We are thankful to all local and overseas scholars who have contributed to this volume, the series editors, Franco Fabbri and Goffredo Plastino, and our research assistant and PhD graduate from The Chinese University of Hong Kong, Yiyi Yin, who has made the publication of Made in Hong Kong possible. We also would like to express our sincere gratitude to all musicians, artists, producers, and audiences who have supported and valued our Hong Kong popular music or Cantopop in all these years. Anthony Fung & Alice Chik November 2019

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Introduction

Mainstreaming Hong Kong Popular Music Anthony Fung and Alice Chik

Made in Hong Kong is perhaps the first project where local and international scholars have systematically documented and narrated the history of Hong Kong popular music and largely Cantopop. As this is a short book, it is not possible to write a comprehensive chronological history of Hong Kong pop music. Thus, we have chosen to highlight the crucial moments, artists, and songs of Cantopop that we believe are important for both Hong Kong and its people. With the intention of appealing to a wide international audience, we intend to create an informative yet critical volume on Hong Kong pop music and how it is connected to Hong Kong’s society and history. By doing this, we are making a statement—​namely, that this book is more than just a conscious effort of world scholars to jointly organize an academic exercise. For us, Made in Hong Kong is also a form of politics written about from the perspective of cultural studies, a politics where we attempt to undo a double underrepresentation. First, if the politics of culture is mainly about representation, then Cantopop has always been underrepresented. Second, it is precisely in this underrepresented text that the voices of the underrepresented musicians and audiences of Cantopop are etched and stored. This academic project, we believe, serves as a manifesto that calls for the reevaluation and mainstreaming of the cultural significance of Hong Kong pop music. Despite the cultural prominence Cantopop has enjoyed over the last 40 years or so, it has been neither systematically examined nor recognized in academic works or government documentation as a vital cultural product. In the music departments of Hong Kong universities, where ethnomusicology and the study of pop music should be housed, courses that deal with Hong Kong pop music or Cantopop studies do not exist. As Cloonan (2005) argued, pop music studies should enjoy status in its own right. The study of pop music is not only about research but also a prescription for wider participation with and for audience, with the implication that pop music studies can advocate for radical social change. As editors who come from and are based in Hong Kong, we believe that Hong Kong people display a collective idiosyncrasy when using culture itself—​including the use of pop music to forge collective symbolic discourses that are both critical and creative—​to tackle the social and political issues that beset Hong Kong. This is especially the case in recent historical junctures where we have witnessed how people act, perform, and organize, such as during the 2014 Occupy movement or the two-​million-​strong protests against the 2019 Extradition Bill. Within the specific sociopolitical context of Hong Kong, and beyond representation, signification, and discursive meanings, pop music is an integral aspect of political practice (Currie, 2009) that is separate 1

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to other practices of social resistance. The parallelism of musical and cultural research, together with the study of formal (often official) histories, more clearly reveals the “Enlightenment” of the people of Hong Kong and the social problematics of the place. Returning to the question of pedagogy, owing to the general neglect, if not marginalization, of pop music in Hong Kong’s academies, there are few systematic works contributing to the study of Cantopop. One such work, however, is a study by Chi Wah Wong (2018), a music critic who explored the relationship between Canton (or South China) culture and the early formation of pop music. Stephen Chu (2017) has focused on the study of Cantopop lyrics. Despite the fact that Cantopop started around the 1960s and 1970s, it was not until 2007 that the Hong Kong Cultural Heritage Museum and The Chinese University of Hong Kong curated the first exhibition of Cantopop. This was perhaps the first formal documentation of the history of Cantopop as well as the first acknowledgment of its status. As a consequence of the exhibition, Anthony Fung (Fung, 2009; Fung & Shum, 2012) edited and authored two books on selected histories of Cantopop. In addition to this, we value the academic articles on Hong Kong pop music that make some “noise” in the local and international communities. We are glad that the authors of these articles are also contributors to this volume. One important missed opportunity in the pedagogy of Cantopop is its alignment with Hong Kong’s sociolinguistic development. Music reflects not only the sentiment of a generation, but also its use of language. The beauty of Cantopop in relation to sociolinguistic development is, first and foremost, due to its portrayal of the changing pronunciation of Cantonese across the South China region as well as the development of a Hong Kong variety of Cantonese over time. The lyrics and the artists’ enunciation of Cantonese trace the historical development of Hong Kong as a metropolis as well as its distinctive characteristics. In addition, Cantopop covers languages other than Cantonese: It also includes Mandarin, English, Japanese, Korean, and numerous other languages. Throughout its different eras, Cantopop has evidenced the impact of globalization, regionalization, and localization on Hong Kong culture and society. Even though the heyday of Cantopop has passed, it is not too late to piece together reminiscences of its development. Recently, there has been debate over whether Cantopop is dead and whether it should be revitalized to ensure that the people of Hong Kong continue to take pride in it. For scholars studying Hong Kong pop music, it is not merely about rejuvenation. Narrating the local relevance and meaning of Cantopop is also important. During the old days, at the apex of Cantopop’s development, it accounted for an important cultural export overseas, and public discussion often focuses on the supremacy of Hong Kong pop music in conquering Chinese and overseas markets. However, public discourse seldom returns to the specificity of its cultural meanings to the local people. Officials have occasionally acknowledged the importance of Cantopop, and the presence of Cantopop in academic research into Hong Kong’s culture is recognized as demonstrating the inclusiveness of the affiliated institution. However, in relation to cultural significance (e.g. the allocation of resources in society; the merit and excellence attributed to Cantopop in academic evaluations), we witness a willful forgetting of the importance of Cantopop. As most articles in this volume suggest, Cantopop reflects Hong Kong people’s identities, preserves social memories, and voices the anxieties and bubbling gaieties of youth. If the government’s discourse of the past glorious history of Cantopop is an official account of “the history of Hong Kong,” the history of Hong Kong pop music is “the other history of Hong Kong”—​ an alternative and more complex cultural history of Hong Kong when read alongside its social

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 Introduction   •   3

history (Herbert, 2003). The latter speaks of sensitive issues that the authorities want to evade, including the dark aspects of Hong Kong’s society, its trauma and the painful experiences that official histories tend to play down. It is also reflective of the highly commodified Hong Kong society that music practitioners might feel shy speaking about the daily life of Hong Kong people who are in love, in joy, and in pain. Thus, in this volume, we echo DeNora’s (2000) notion of aesthetic and affective agency, meaning that: first, pop music is in itself the raw material through which local people exercise their subjectivity, make meanings, and appropriate identities; and, second, pop music, including its lyrics and accompanying performance, has agency in itself. To reiterate our earlier point, this project is not meant as a comprehensive charting of pop music history. Rather, in the four sections of this book, authors identify agency-​as-​music performed and created by the musicians, lyrics, and artists we choose to highlight. From early to contemporary history, from songs to artists, and from genres to functions, we attempt to examine Hong Kong pop music in relation to its audience and social context. Admittedly, the limited space here does not enable us to discuss every aspect of Hong Kong pop. First, the financial contribution Hong Kong pop music has made to Hong Kong’s economy is not fully discussed in this volume. Without any external support, Hong Kong pop music performed a financial miracle: The industry worked in tandem with Hong Kong’s media, film, and other creative industries to create a successful entertainment industry that led to the export of Hong Kong’s cultural products to China, South Korea, Japan, and communities in Southeast Asia. Second, we have no intention of one-​sidedly heralding the view that all Hong Kong pop music makes solemn political statements. Many Hong Kong songs are also outlets for emotion, anger, and frustration—​nickel-​and-​dime stuff for leisure and entertainment, love ballads for young people, affection-​imbued songs for karaoke, cultural products for the music industry, and media products for financial revenue. To describe our approach simply, from examining the stardom of Alan Tam and Leslie Chuen in the 1980s to the Four Heavenly Kings in the 1990s, and aside from the specificities of meanings of songs in relation to social contexts, in general, we hold that pop music culture is nothing more than the dissipating youthfulness of musical historicity in the domains of love and emotion. There is no need to overinterpret Cantopop’s overtone. Third, we also realize that central to the Cantopop scene, apart from its songs, performers, and creators, are the audiences and fans. For some songs, particularly in the early years, fan clubs and fandom ensured their popularity. For the majority of the chapters in this book, the authors were unable to include interviews with these fans from the old days, so as to cover their interactions with these songs in detail. Thus, to summarize, this book is more about mainstreaming the uncharted history, if not the contested histories, of Hong Kong pop music, and it highlights the cultural values of its sounds and lyrics. Different from other volumes in this series that eulogize the importance of a country’s folklore, melodies, and music for the country itself, this anthology addresses the political task of reinstating the importance of Hong Kong pop music in the wake of the discourse about the politics of disappearance of Hong Kong (Abbas, 1997). We want to explore how Hong Kong pop music is an expression of the people; reminisce about the society and social history of Hong Kong; and explore the political sentiments of Hong Kong before and after its return to China. With the recent rise of Hong Kong identity and academics’ (re)discovery of Hong Kong studies, clearly, Hong Kong pop music is still, and will continue to be, relevant. Yet, “Cantopop” has become a term that is self-​fulfilling and self-​refining. No one doubts Cantopop’s ability to survive, and it quite often possesses the aura of Hong Kong culture. But we also know that Cantopop

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is barely audible and only occasionally creates noise. Shouldn’t we, as academics, be content then with the iconology of Cantopop that is used as a shorthand for justifying its existence? The “misplaced” Hong Kong pop has to be mainstreamed in curricula, industry, and society and truly integrated into formal considerations of the city of Hong Kong. The coupling of Cantopop with Hong Kong is always evolving. At this particular historical juncture, Made in Hong Kong portrays this unique significance. Finally, we would like to take this opportunity to pay tribute to all the artists and musicians who have contributed to Hong Kong pop music. They are the cultural heroes of our time. Without them, the remarkable history of Cantopop would not have existed. References Abbas, A. (1997). Hong Kong: Culture and the Politics of Disappearance. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Chu, S. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Cloonan, M. (2005). What is popular music studies? Some observations. British Journal of Education, 22(1),  77–​93. Currie, J. (2009). Music after all. Journal of the American Musicological Society, 62(1), 145–​203. DeNora, T. (2000). Music in Everyday Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fung, A. (Ed.) (2009). Gechao. Xiyun: Xianggang yueyuliuxingqu de fanzhan 《歌潮．汐韻：香港粵語流行曲的發展》 [Riding a Melodic Tide: The Development of Cantopop in Hong Kong]. Hong Kong: Subculture Press. Fung, A., & Shum, S. (2012). Youyang. Yiji: Xianggang yin gonghe fazhanshi 《悠揚．憶記： 香港音樂工業發展史》 [Melodic Memories:  The Historical Development of the Music Industry in Hong Kong]. Hong Kong: Subculture Press. Herbert, T. (2003). Social history and music history. In M. Clayton, T. Herbert, & R. Middleton (Eds.), The Cultural Study of Music (pp. 146–​156). New York: Routledge. Wong, C. W. (2018). Qingmi yueyuge 《情迷粵語歌》 [Loving Cantonpop]. Hong Kong: Feifan Publishing.

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PART

I

Cantopop, History, and Legacy

The history of Cantopop, or Hong Kong pop music, reflects sociopolitical changes in Hong Kong, and it has continuously included references to the West and China. Like all popular music in the world, Hong Kong Cantopop reflects both a cultural memory of the past and a rendition of history (Bennett & Janssen, 2015). The intrinsically nostalgic properties of music, the artists who perform it, its texts and images as well as its consumption are footprints, or representations, of social narratives, political events, and cultural legacies. These footprints are precisely what this book attempts to rediscover. This is particularly meaningful for Hong Kong because according to official records, its history usually consists of colonialism and the consequences of China’s Opium War. The voices of Hong Kong people are seldom heard or considered in official historical accounts. The problem addressed by this book concerns the fundamental question of historical authenticity in connection to power. If we believe that people who live in their motherland narrate their history differently than official chronicles do, then cultural histories, including histories of popular music cowritten by musicians, critics, and intellectuals, offer a pluralistic view of history that is in stark contrast to the often linear, partial, and one-​sided views recorded in official history. In its decades-​long colonial history, the authorities did not intervene in Hong Kong, perhaps because its culture was considered trivial and insignificant. The history of popular music in Hong Kong presented in this book offers an authentic, genuine, uncensored, spontaneous record of the past from the colonial period to Hong Kong’s political transition to a Special Administrative Region of China. Embedded in the narratives of Hong Kong popular music are colonial symbols of the Orient and a symbolic place where East meets West. Hong Kong gained a spotlight in world politics when its sovereignty was handed over to China in 1997. Recently, the city has been a site of ideological struggle between views of Hong Kong as a free, democratic, and capitalist metropolis or as an emerging socialist regime governed by China as the dominant authority. As explained in the introduction to this book, it is not intended to be a recollection of all major versions of the cultural history of Hong Kong, nor is it a comprehensive account of Hong Kong popular music. The chapters in this book are focused on selected moments that mark and index Hong Kong popular music in significant contexts. In the first chapter of the book, Vicky Ho and Miranda Ma offer a historical summary of Cantopop, which is followed by a discussion of the golden days of Cantopop in the 1980s. Ho and Ma share with us—​and probably with the other scholars who have contributed to this book—​the view that Hong Kong popular music is more than a cultural form that reflects aesthetic values. Their chapter emphasizes the social connotations and discursive formations of Cantopop and discusses Cantopop stars as cultural representatives of Hong Kong. In their example, the Daughters of Hong Kong perform and 5

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release albums that are connected to the political situation of Hong Kong. The “daughters” are Anita Mui (梅艷芳), who was probably the first diva of Cantopop in the 1980s, and Denise Ho (何韻詩), who was a fan of Anita Mui and later worked with her as a vocalist. These two female Cantopop artists and their political participation across 30 years of change are representative of intergenerational history and the differences and similarities in ideals and strategies that led to Hong Kong’s political situation. Crowned the “daughter of Hong Kong” after her death in 2003, Anita Mui is publicly regarded as an exceptional woman who rose from being a street performer to a superstar in the 1980s through her own determination and persistence. In the eyes of Hong Kong people, her spirit, combined with her elegant performances and extravaganzas, embodies what we call the “Hong Kong ethos” nowadays. Mui had many apprentices, including Denise Ho, who would also be called a daughter of Hong Kong during the Umbrella Movement in 2014. Returning to the question of the relationship between music and politics, as suggested by John Street (2012), Ho and Ma highlight Anita’s and Denise’s enthusiastic support and exuberant involvement in major pro-​democracy movements and protests during their music careers. Anita Mui composed protest songs, and she was one of the leading figures supporting Beijing students during the Tiananmen Incident in 1989. Denise Ho played an active role in organizing, supporting, performing at, and promoting events where local democrats protested against Beijing regarding democratic development in Hong Kong, eventually leading to the Umbrella Movement. The chapter discusses in detail the ways in which the two artists related to these movements through actions such as writing protest songs, marching alongside the protesters, or being involved in other activities. Ho and Ma highlight the differences between the political orientations of these two “daughters” by comparing the narratives of the old and new “Lion Rock spirit,” which exemplifies of the ethos of Hong Kong, as represented by the two daughters and their two generations. Anita Mui’s neoliberal sensibility led her to work hard, take responsibility, and “pull herself up by the bootstraps,” representing the experience of Hong Kong’s economic boom in the 1980s and 1990s. After 1997, however, the changing political realities brought by China’s rule over Hong Kong have shaken fundamentally embedded local values, such as civil engagement, democracy, and autonomy. Thus, the daughter of today, Denise, has sought another route to respond. Similar to many other Hong Kong people, her music career is integrated with her persona and symbolizes the pro-​democracy movement in Hong Kong even at the expense of her popularity in the mainland Chinese market. The chapter concludes by emphasizing that both Anita and Denise, though having different strategies, personify specific conjunctural practices. Anita Mui’s approach was consistent with the conventional logic of developmentalism. Denise Ho chose an erratic path with foreseeable obstacles, and she manifested a shift in the Hong Kong ethos toward alternative post-​materialist values and ideals. Despite the different paths taken by different artists, the role of Cantopop and Cantopop artists have contributed to the formation and transformation of the Hong Kong ethos. However, Cantopop has not always been problematic. In former years, particularly in the 1980s, there was a burgeoning diversity of artists and music genres. In Chapter 2, Yiu-​Wai Chu illustrates this “golden time” in the history of Cantopop. He suggests that 1984 was a pivotal year in the history of Cantopop and that, in addition to 1974, this could be considered the “start of a new chapter for Cantopop.” Thus, he first provides a brief overview of Cantopop history from around the 1970s, highlighting that 1984 was a special year for Cantopop. He focuses on two aspects:  the emergence of Cantopop superstars and the changes in musical style through the hybridization of music, formats, genres, and lyrics.

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 Part I: Cantopop, History, and Legacy   •   7

Key to Hong Kong popular music in the 1970s, Cantopop was closely allied with the film and television industry. Inspired by cross-​media and cross-​cultural exchanges as well as the development of infrastructure both outside and inside the music industry, the stage was set for a pivotal year in Cantopop history. In addition to the music, Chu discusses the importance of the infrastructural development. Multiple awards, such as those offered by the Asian Music Contest, and other shows, organized by Television Broadcast Limited and other media channels, paved the way for the creation of hitherto unseen Cantopop superstars. Other media outlets, such as print magazines and music video clips, also boosted the Cantopop industry both in Hong Kong and internationally. A monumental infrastructure, the Hong Kong Coliseum, which was built in 1983, became the premiere stage for Cantopop stars to confirm their status as “gods” of Cantopop. The diverse record labels and song or lyric writers provided a creative impulse that led to an even greater diversity of musical styles and song topics beyond the predominant topic of love in Cantopop. Regional cultural flow also played an important part. This era saw the rise of superstars such as Alan Tam and Leslie Cheung, who were the two most important Cantopop stars in the 1980s. These superstars, like many other Cantopop musicians, were highly influenced by musical elements in Japan. It seems inevitable that these two stars, as well as other Cantopop artists, found success in the early stages of their careers by producing covers of Japanese pop songs. According to Chu, 1984 was a critical year for Cantopop because of the convergence of internal and external factors. First was the development of infrastructure both inside and outside the music industry, with Hong Kong’s premiere concert venue, publication venues, and different media outlets finding their stride around this time. Second, the influences of national and international music converged to provide Hong Kong artists with a vibrant ground for creating a unique blend of hybrid pop music in Cantonese. These factors provided the pathways for superstars such as Alan Tam and Leslie Cheung to achieve success in Cantopop. The influence of Cantopop has declined since the 2000s, which the industry alleged was due to the piracy of music online. Cantopop faced a difficult regional challenge. In addition to the rise of Mandopop in Taiwan and the emergence of mainland Chinese popular music as well as independent music, a major challenge is Korean-​pop, or K-​pop, a music genre that has eclipsed the popularity of Cantopop in Hong Kong. Elucidating the prevalence of K-​pop, Kai Khiun Liew and Meicheng Sun begin Chapter 3 by describing an episode of the South Korean television drama Reply 1988 (2015). Situated in Korea in the 1980s, the episode involved a scene of everyday life in which cultural consumption in Korea was shown with explicit references to the Hong Kong movie and Cantopop star Leslie Cheung in the period before the emergence of K-​pop. Paradoxically, it could be said that Hong Kong popular culture now has been reduced to a nostalgic history of Korea. Hong Kong people can now reminisce about their culture intermittently through viewing television shows produced in Korea about Korean popular culture. It is likely that most people interpret such dramas as ironic narratives of the remains of Hong Kong popular culture. However, Liew and Sun examine the rise of K-​pop and its relationship to Cantopop from an alternative angle. Liew and Sun argue that rather than considering Cantopop or K-​pop as separate phenomena, we should consider them border-​crossing cultural influences in today’s globalized world. In illustrating inter-​Asian music flows between Hong Kong, Korea, Taiwan, and Japan since the 1970s, Liew and Sun argue that the decline of Cantopop reflects a Chinese proverb, “the wheel of fortune changes,” which implies that there are both good times and bad times in a day. Cantopop

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was predominant in Asia in its golden years from the 1970s to the 1990s, but now it is K-​pop’s turn to experience success. Second, in theoretical terms, this saying refers to the unnoticed yet continuous cultural flows and acculturation among the various Asian regions, driven by media capital. These flows continue to influence all forms of popular culture, including those discussed in Chapter  3—​music and cinema. Liew and Sun point out that the Cantopop music industry was already aware of Korean music during its golden years, and this inspired the production of cover versions of K-​pop songs as well as other musical tributes. Today, the inspiration of K-​pop has become the imitation of K-​pop as the Hong Kong music industry has sought to reengage with a new, young audience. Such imitation has been the case since 2003 when different Hong Kong-​based artists began to draw on K-​pop to reinvigorate their music. Liew and Sun refer to two new pop groups that emulate the Korean style: the all-​female As One and the all-​male JJCC. The authors argue that the various changes in these groups are emblematic of the changes in Cantopop. Regarding Cantopop’s musical repertoire, Hong Kong has also proven to be a staging ground for K-​pop bands to gain access to mainland Chinese audiences, thus further combining the industries in the two places both musically and infrastructurally. Finally, the authors reiterate that one should look at culture from a historical perspective. For example, instead of simply stating that Cantopop artists today are mimicking K-​pop, one should analyze the connections between the two, which have always been present in one form or another. In Cantopop’s golden years, K-​pop served as an inspiration—​a situation that has been reversed because K-​pop seemingly is now leading the way. By uncovering the convergent and communally circulatory media ecologies that have transcended the geo-​linguistic boundaries in Asia from the perspective of “transnational media ecology,” Liew and Sun call for a deeper understanding of the “rise and fall” of Cantopop and K-​pop. Furthermore, Cantopop–​K-​pop interactions require a sustained account of intercultural references, cultural borrowing, commercial collaborations, and historical retrospection. Such cultural circulations constitute the dynamic and fluid transnationality of inter-​Asian popular music culture. Understanding Cantopop from a broad historical perspective indicates that this expression of Hong Kong’s culture is not necessarily in decline even though its bona fide cultural impact and commercial competitiveness in Asia has faded. The previous chapters could lead us to conclude that these authors celebrate the optimistic view that Cantopop continues to evolve, enriching itself in terms of cultural, political, and musical elements and absorbing the cosmopolitan qualities of other countries. Moreover, the diversity and plurality of Hong Kong popular music might even reach an unprecedented level (Fung & Shum, 2012). Ostensibly, political values are crucial elaborations in the Cantopop of contemporary Hong Kong in the face of its movement for democracy. Chapter  4 supports Vicky Ho and Miranda Ma’s earlier argument that Cantopop not only reflects values and functions in Hong Kong’s political history but also extends them. Stella Lau and Ivy Man discuss how Cantopop has embodied and expressed the popular sentiment of Hong Kong people in the wake of political crises. For example, in the 1980s when Hong Kong’s future was uncertain, Sam Hui performed the song “Bauhinia” (洋紫荊), or city flower, which refers to Hong Kong. The song optimistically reassures the confidence of Hong Kong people in their ability to survive political uncertainty. In the 1990s, Dayou Lo’s (羅大佑’s) “Queen’s Road East” (皇后大道東) evoked feelings of anxiety regarding the upcoming changes caused by the political handover in 1997. Recently, “Holding Up an Umbrella” (撐起雨傘), which was performed by various artists during the Umbrella Movement in 2014,

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 Part I: Cantopop, History, and Legacy   •   9

was written to communicate the pressing demand for change and solidarity with the democratic movement in the future. After the Umbrella Movement, there was a stagnant stage in which the pace of political democracy of Hong Kong came to a complete halt. The independent artists The Chung Brothers (鍾氏兄弟) composed “Blossoms” (未種的花), which articulates discontent and dissent in response to the authorities. From Hong Kong in the 1980s to contemporary Hong Kong, Cantopop, as a vehicle of political and social expression, has changed radically. Cantopop has shifted from cultural texts that convey a positive spirit and hope to tempestuous protest songs that are circulated as symbols of resistance. In addition to popular music with political overtones, Lau and Man’s chapter indicates the existence of a new trend in the development of Hong Kong popular music. As a by-​product of political movements in contemporary Hong Kong, in some political songs, indie music and mainstream music have converged. In the process of production and promotion, new technologies have enabled different funding mechanisms, providing artists with greater financial and creative autonomy. In addition, the mainstream Cantopop produced by major pop labels in this period is expected to decline. The dual effects of self-​censorship and commercial logic restrict freedom of production because these labels are aimed at the vastly larger mainland Chinese audience. At the other end of the polarized spectrum, independent artists are still writing political songs, sometimes leading to collaboration with mainstream artists, as demonstrated by songs about the Umbrella Movement. Regardless of whether it is judged as good or bad, we are certain that Cantopop continues to change in accordance with the mood of the city. Local musicians, artists, and intellectuals value such songs because they represent the feelings of Hong Kong people at the present moment. References Bennett, A., & Janssen, S. (2015). Popular music, cultural memory and heritage. Popular Music and Society, 39(1), 1–​7. Fung, A., & Shum, S. (2012). Youyang yiji: Xianggang yinyue gongye fazhanshi 《悠揚．憶記：香港音樂工業發展史》 [Melodic Memories:  The Historical Development of the Music Industry in Hong Kong]. Hong Kong: Subculture Press. Street, J. (2012). Music & Politics. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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Mapping Sociopolitical and Cultural Changes through  “The Daughters of Hong Kong” From Anita Mui to Denise Ho Vicky Ho and Miranda Ma The Cantopop singer Denise Ho Wan-​sze (何韻詩) was named as one of 100 inspirational and influential women around the world in 2016 by the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation). Known for her active participation in the Umbrella Movement in 2014 in Hong Kong, Denise Ho has since then become Hong Kong’s singer-​turned-​democracy-​icon. Ho’s outspokenness is not unlike that of her mentor, the late Anita Mui Yim-​fong (梅艷芳). Anita Mui’s artistic success as both a singer and an actress has been widely acclaimed (Witzleben, 1999, pp. 247–​248). She was also an active supporter in the pro-​democracy movement in Hong Kong in the late 1980s. After she died at the age of 40 in 2003, Hongkongers named her the “daughter of Hong Kong” to mourn their loss. According to Lei (2014), Hongkongers’ desire to search for a symbolic daughter of Hong Kong in 2003 reflected a sense of anxiety and uneasiness in a chaotic time; Mui’s life trajectory represented the psychological anchor much needed by Hongkongers at the time. A decade later, after the Umbrella Movement, some critics crowned Mui’s apprentice Denise Ho the “new” daughter of Hong Kong. Apparently both Mui and Ho embody a daring and uncompromising attitude as they step up for a noble cause and stand against injustice. But at the same time, the symbolic meaning of “daughter of Hong Kong” is not exactly the same in Mui’s and Ho’s versions. In this chapter, we hope to map out how the shifting legend of the Daughter of Hong Kong can be illustrative of certain changes in the larger sociopolitical and cultural contexts in Hong Kong. Anita Mui and Denise Ho as “Daughters of Hong Kong” As the winner of the first New Talent Singing Championship in 1982, Anita Mui rose to become the top Cantopop diva in the mid-​1980s. Mui is known for her versatility, as shown in the well-​ known expression “Mui Yim-​fong of a hundred changes.” Her ability to constantly break boundaries and surprise the audience has also won her the title “Madonna of the East.” Mui had stepped down at the peak of her singing career for a brief period in the early 1990s, yet she was still influential when she came back. In 1998, she was awarded the Golden Needle Award by RTHK (Radio Television Hong Kong), which is one of the highest levels of recognition in the local music industry. While Anita Mui fought for and enjoyed the fruits of her success, she was also generous and supportive to younger artists. Over the years, she took in a number of young singers as her apprentices. She would give advice and also provide opportunities for them to perform and 10

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 Mapping Sociopolitical and Cultural Changes   •   11

gain exposure. Anita Mui’s apprentices included, for instance, The Grasshoppers (草蜢) (a male dance/​singing group), Andy Hui (許志安), and of course Denise Ho. Denise Ho started her singing career after winning the 15th New Talent Singing Championship in 1996. Anita Mui was not only one of the judges, also presenting the final prize at the singing competition, but also Denise Ho’s longtime idol. Denise Ho became Anita Mui’s apprentice in 1999 and has been known as Mui’s one and only female apprentice. Like her mentor, Denise Ho’s persona deviates from the “fair, sweet girl” prototype common among local female singers. She is capable of a wide repertoire and often infuses social messages into her songs. In 2006, she received the Best Female Singer Gold Award in Commercial Radio’s Annual Music Awards, which at times makes edgier music choices than other local music awards. Denise Ho often addresses how she is indebted to Anita Mui. For example, she mentioned in an interview: “If my idol hadn’t been Anita Mui, I might not have become the Denise Ho that is me today” (Fang, 2015). In 2003, two heroines were recognized as daughters of Hong Kong. One of them was Dr Joanna Tse Yuen-​man, the first public hospital doctor to die from the SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome) infection, following her voluntary service on a SARS ward when Hong Kong was battling with the deadly virus in 2003. Both shocked and saddened by her death, the mass media and local citizens commemorated Tse as the daughter of Hong Kong for her professionalism and self-​sacrificing spirit. By the end of 2003, Hongkongers were grieved by the death of the pop diva Anita Mui, whom they also named a daughter of Hong Kong. Hongkongers were impressed by Mui’s positive attitude and strong will when she revealed her diagnosis of cervical cancer in September 2003, and were shocked at her death three months later. After Mui’s death, the funeral committee honored her with the title “Daughter of Hong Kong,” and local media soon picked this up. In various media commentaries and editorials, the title was used to commemorate Mui because she was born and raised in Hong Kong and embodied the qualities and spirit that Hongkongers regarded as core. For instance, in a commentary titled “Goodbye, Daughter of Hong Kong” in Ming Pao Daily, the following was written: Like most Hongkongers, Mui endured the tough times growing from the grassroots and wrote a bright chapter in her career with her talent and perseverance. Yet the most important [thing] is her noble spirit. She stood up for democracy even though she had to give up the mainland market. She devoted her efforts to charity … all for the minority groups in society. (Ngai, 2004; original in Chinese) In July 2014, Mui’s fan club erected a bronze statue on the Star Avenue at Tsim Sha Tsui, Hong Kong, in honor of Mui. On the statue was engraved: “Daughter of Hong Kong, Mui Yim-​fong.” In September of the same year, a large-​scale street-​occupation movement to press for genuine universal suffrage emerged in Hong Kong, later termed the Umbrella Movement. As an entertainment celebrity, Denise Ho was exceptional in her active participation in the Umbrella Movement. Since then, some critics and bloggers (e.g. Tang Siu Wa 鄧小樺, @RobinWildeHK 老駱) have also hailed her as a daughter of Hong Kong, or referred to her as the “new” daughter of Hong Kong. Unlike the tribute paid to Mui, Ho has not been given unanimous credit, given the increasing political polarization in Hong Kong society after the Umbrella Movement. As the supporters and opponents of the Umbrella Movement were divided into the so-​called “yellow ribbon” and “blue ribbon” camps, the former would applaud Ho and give her credit for sharing Mui’s uncompromising spirit, while the latter would criticize her and call her a disgrace to Mui. Commentaries

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crediting Ho as a daughter of Hong Kong tended to appear on citizen journalism platforms and the blogosphere, such as Polymer and Hong Kong Peanut, rather than most mainstream media, which are increasingly aligned with the pro-​China ideology in post-​handover Hong Kong (Fung, 2007). In an interview in 2015, when asked about becoming the daughter of Hong Kong for a new generation, Ho did not seem to express strong feelings. It’s not up to me to comment. I just wish to try my best to do whatever I can in my capacity. As for what positive or negative comments it would bring, it’s not within my concerns at the moment. (Radio Television Hong Kong, 2015) Shifting Political Orientations: From Nationalism to Localism Various examples from history and around the world show that pop musicians can at times become politically involved and use their music to voice their political views or support particular causes. However, this in fact happen less often than is assumed, as Street (2012) reminds us. After all, these professional entertainers earn a living through their careers in the performing arts by selling recorded or live music; they do not enter the industry to make political statements. Thus, when and how these performers feel obliged to engage in political matters becomes a curious question (Street, 2012, p.  45). In Hong Kong, entertainment celebrities rarely involve themselves in political events, mainly because of the general political apathy in the colonial period and the concern for marketability in China nowadays. However, both Anita Mui and Denise Ho actively involved themselves in significant political events. As such, we are intrigued by the shifting circumstances that have driven these two singers’ political participation in colonial and postcolonial Hong Kong, respectively. We observe that a change in political orientation has taken place in Hong Kong, as reflected by the political ideologies behind the two social movements that Mui and Ho participated in. Hong Kong people had been generally thought of as politically apathetic until 1983, the year leading to the Sino-​British Joint Declaration, when they realized that the sovereignty of the city would be transferred from the United Kingdom to the People’s Republic of China on July 1, 1997, without public consensus. Hong Kong citizens became more politically conscious despite being powerless in the face of the political uncertainty. According to Lee (1992, p. 131), this was one of the reasons why Hong Kong people realized they had to seize the opportunity to take political action; and when a large-​scale student pro-​democracy movement broke out in China in 1989, Hong Kong people did not hesitate to show their support. In May of 1989, one million Hongkongers came out to march in support of the student protest in Beijing. By doing so, Hong Kong people believed they were playing a role in the pro-​democracy movement in China and that they could contribute to building a stronger and freer China. Since then, the pro-​democracy movement in Hong Kong has also become strongly aligned with and backed up by a patriotic discourse. Unfortunately, the student movement eventually ended with the June 4 crackdown. According to American journalist William Stewart’s (1989) report at the time: The grief and fury felt in Hong Kong are the latest expression of a startling change in the colony’s view of itself …. [S]‌ince the student movement blossomed in Beijing last April, Hong Kong has been galvanized. It has found an identity at last, and it is Chinese.

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 Mapping Sociopolitical and Cultural Changes   •   13

For three weekends in a row, a million people, almost 20% of the population, have poured into the crowded streets to show solidarity with the students in Beijing. What began as a display of support soon became an affirmation of Hong Kong’s own desires for democracy and self-​rule. Then the violent suppression in Tiananmen Square woke Hong Kong to the fear that the fate of the students could be its own. […] What the people of Hong Kong discovered they want is democracy for Chinese everywhere, Hong Kong included. The Hong Kong entertainment industry also came together in solidarity to support the student protesters in 1989. According to McIntyre, Cheng, and Zhang (2002, p. 236), the mid-​to late 1980s can be classified as a “pro-​democracy period” of Cantopop. In May of 1989, Hong Kong singers joined together in the recording project “All for Freedom” (為自由), and over 150 entertainment artists joined the 12-​hour-​long Concert for Democracy in China to raise funds to support the student movement. According to the Hong Kong Alliance in Support of Patriotic Movement in China, US$ 1.9 million was raised by this concert. “All for Freedom” marked the first time in Hong Kong’s history that Cantopop was a political rallying force (Lee, 1992, p. 135). The singers also toured the United States and Canada to stage fundraising concerts. Anita Mui was one of the leading figures who stood up for the democratic cause. Not only did she enthusiastically join Hongkongers in the rally and perform in the fundraising concerts, she also specially invited her composer Anthony Lun (倫永亮) to dedicate a song—​“Four Seas in One Heart” (四海一心) (1992)—​to show support for the pro-​democracy movement. As the Chinese idiom goes, “we are all brothers within the four seas”; the song emphasizes that ethnic Chinese around the world are connected in the same spirit and should support each other. The lyrics go: “You and I are thousands of miles apart /​yet we share this mark in our blood /​Forever shall we share the pain and sorrow” (我與你遙隔幾千里 /​ 血裡卻共有這刻記 /​ 永遠共分享痛悲). In dedicating this song in the Concert for Democracy in China, Mui delivered a sentimental speech: This song is not only dedicated to Hong Kong audiences here, but also your friends and relatives in Beijing. Though we are far apart from each other, we are brothers and sisters. We are all Chinese and we share the same spirit! (Original in Chinese) In fact, Cantonese and Mandarin pop songs which capture a strong passion for the identity of ethnic Chinese, such as “Brave Chinese” (勇敢的中國人) (1982), “I Am Chinese” (我是中國人) (1982), and “Descendants of the Dragon” (龍的傳人) (1978), were repeatedly sung at the rally and the fundraising concerts. Anita Mui was also one of the singers who led the crowd in singing “Brave Chinese” as a motivating song during the rally. These nationalistic songs were emblematic of the underlying sentiment of Hong Kong’s pro-​democracy movement in 1989. A strong connection between the identity of Hong Kong and that of the motherland was evident in the lyrics of these songs. Pro-​democracy Hongkongers at the time embraced their Chinese identity and the vision to share a more democratic, thus better, future with the Chinese people within China. In other words, the movement in Hong Kong back then was strongly driven by a democratic vision that was projected to an imagined community (Anderson, 2006) of Chinese. This tight bonding can be vividly illustrated when Mui confessed her ethnic identity during a 1990s

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concert before performing the famous rallying song “Blood-​ Stained Glory” (血染的風采) (1990): “When people used to ask me ‘where do you come from?,’ I would say ‘I am a Hong Kong person.’ Now I reply ‘I am a Chinese person’ ” (in Chinese) (Witzleben, 1999: p. 250). In contrast, the political concern for democratization and the political identities of Hong Kong people have significantly altered with the 2014 Umbrella Movement. Instead of embracing the belief in and hope for liberating China to be a freer country, in the Umbrella Movement Hong Kong citizens demonstrated a keener concern with the pace of democratization in Hong Kong’s own political system. In fact, after the handover of sovereignty in 1997, Hong Kong people had been expecting progress towards democratization, no matter how slow, as the Basic Law clearly stated that the method for selecting the Chief Executive shall be specified in the light of the actual situation in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and in accordance with the principle of gradual and orderly progress. However, these hopes for a democratized political system were fading away in 2014 when the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region government released a White Paper asserting that the Chinese central government would have comprehensive jurisdiction over the city. Moreover, it emphasized that the promise stated in the Basic Law for a high degree of autonomy for Hong Kong came along with significant limitations in regard to the political rights of the population and that the Chinese government would have the final decision over any political reforms. Compared with the pro-​democracy movement in 1989, which accentuated patriotic discourse and national identity, the Umbrella Movement aimed for a more self-​determining Hong Kong and to defend the city from the influence of mainland China. Calling for a “genuine universal suffrage,” it demanded reform of the Chief Executive election to ensure it is free from the intervention of the Chinese government. Although the 1989 movement remains a vital part of Hong Kong protesters’ collective memory, there was obviously a rise in anti-​Chinese sentiment and localism during the Umbrella Movement, especially among the young protesters. The majority of young protesters, perceiving themselves as having much stronger local identity as a “Hong Kong person” or “Chinese Hongkonger,” seemed to distance themselves from the older generation (Hong Kong Transition Project, 2014). Different forms of localism arose in the Umbrella Movement. Some of the participants were progressive and aimed at a postcolonial Hong Kong identity, distinct from but not directly against the mainland, while some were more xenophobic and accused mainland immigrants and tourists of exploiting Hong Kong’s resources (Rühlig, 2016, p. 61). Their desire to connect with mainland China was clearly diminishing, if not disappearing. During the 79-​day street occupation, Denise Ho was one of the few Hong Kong singers who declared support for the movement. Ho mentioned in an interview that she had not cared about politics until 2012 when she came out to strive for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) rights at the fourth annual Hong Kong Pride Parade. She saw the government system as unfair in its voting down of a motion merely to launch a public consultation on LGBT discrimination (Griffiths & Luu, 2017). A similar political awakening came again two years later when she witnessed the police firing tear gas at the young pro-​democracy protesters of the Umbrella Movement. She took to the streets herself and joined the occupation in Admiralty (a major business district occupied by the protesters), becoming one of the most engaged celebrities and outspoken supporters in the movement. Interestingly, one of the widespread slogans of the movement—​“Being born in times of upheaval entails a type of responsibility” (生於亂世 /​ 有種責任)—​actually came from Denise Ho’s song “Glamorous” (艷光四射) (2005), a song originally written to pay tribute to Anita Mui. Originally the song expressed Ho’s view that she has a responsibility to uphold Mui’s spirit as an

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 Mapping Sociopolitical and Cultural Changes   •   15

entertainment artist. No one would have thought a lyric of the song would be appropriated to signify civil citizenship in the tough political context of 2014. Ho was also the first Hong Kong entertainment celebrity to be arrested for her participation in the civil disobedience movement. On December 11, 2014, she was one of the last occupants in Admiralty to be hauled off by police in the clearance action. To show support to the Umbrella Movement, Denise Ho took a somewhat leading role in recording the movement anthem, “Raise the Umbrella” (撐起雨傘) (2014), with fellow Cantopop singers like Anthony Wong Yiu-​ming (黃耀明), Kay Tse (謝安琪), and Deanie Ip Tak-​han (葉德嫻). Upon receiving the song from the young composer Lo Hiu-​pan (羅曉彬) (also known as Pan), Ho and her colleagues managed to revise the lyrics and arrange and record the song within 48 hours (Rühlig, 2016, p. 65). Instead of addressing a remote, imagined community of “fellow Chinese,” the song highlighted the solidarity among protesters in the here and now of Hong Kong. It opens by articulating the anxiety felt by the protesters: “Sitting in the crowd, you and I are not unafraid; we’d fear about what’s next after this” (靜坐人海／你我非不怕／會畏懼這樣下去怎辦). The connotation of “you and I” here is different from that in the movement songs in 1989. Here it refers to the Hong Kong people who were there at the Occupy movement. Having illustrated the fear and struggles of the protesters in the verse, the song moves on to its chorus: “Raising our umbrellas together, raising our hands to support, let’s fight for what we deserve with courage, aren’t we scared? Let the rain pour, it won’t drown our faith, umbrellas blossom like flowers, they will never wither nor fade away” (一起舉傘  /​ 舉起手撐 /​ 一起為應得的 /​ 放膽爭取 /​ 怕嗎 /​ 任暴雨下  /​ 志向未倒下  /​ 雨傘是一朵朵的花  /​ 不枯也不散). The yellow umbrella carried a strong symbolic meaning of hope and solidarity in the movement. It was because the protesters had nothing but umbrellas to protect themselves from the tear gas and pepper spray used by the police on September 28, 2014. The Chinese word “撐” carries a double meaning in the lyrics: it both describes the action of raising the umbrella, as in “撐傘,” and refers to an act of support in Cantonese slang. As such, the metaphor of raising the umbrella in the song concludes that fear is overcome by solidarity when protesters are there for each other. What’s more, the kind of solidarity celebrated here is built on the shared experiences of the protesting community in the local pro-​democracy movement, rather than an imagined togetherness with the wider Chinese community in past generations. This song was voted “Favorite Song of the Audience” in Commercial Radio’s Annual Music Awards in 2015. Besides showing support with her music, Denise Ho made daily excursions to the main protest camps in Admiralty. To support the movement, she started the group “Hong Kong Shield” with other cultural practitioners, including local media professionals, intellectuals, and artists. As explained by Ho in a press interview: We established the cultural group “Hong Kong Shield” to support the movement because it’s more than just a student movement. These students are not fighting for lollipops for themselves.  … Students are fighting for genuine democracy, they are fighting for Hong Kong people, for the democracy that Hongkongers have been pursuing for decades. (South China Morning Post, 2014) While finding continuity with the pro-​democracy movement in Hong Kong in past decades, the statement also emphasizes the battle for Hong Kong people. More recently, Ho’s retrospective remark about the Umbrella Movement at the Oslo Freedom Forum in 2019 might best sum up

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16   •   Vicky Ho and Miranda Ma

the strong orientation to a local as opposed to national identity: “For the first time in our dictated history, we have finally come to our own definition of who we are. We are neither Chinese nor British. We are Hongkongers” (Ho, in Oslo Freedom Forum, 2019). As of the writing of this chapter in 2019, Denise Ho continues to be outspoken for the social movements of Hong Kong. Shifting Social Values: From Developmentalism to Post-​Materialism Another significant shift in Hong Kong society is the change in values towards post-​materialism (Ma, 2011). According to Ma, although neoliberal ideology had been dominant in Hong Kong since the 1980s, as people believed in “equal opportunities” and the upward mobility it promised, the post-​1997 economic crisis and related job insecurity has shaken trust in the neoliberal regime. More Hong Kong people came to question the fairness of the neoliberal system as opportunities for upward mobility decreased. Furthermore, the SARS outbreak which took hundreds of lives in 2003 led Hong Kong people to reconsider their priorities in life. Various surveys and indicators showed that many people’s concerns shifted to non-​material aspects of life in post-​SARS Hong Kong (see Ma, 2011). This kind of value change has found expression in various environmental and heritage protection movements which seek a recovery of Hong Kong identity and, at the same time, express strong discontent towards the business-​dominated regime. As evident in the rise of the New Preservation Movement in 2006 (Chen & Szeto, 2015), urban developmentalism is no longer the overriding value in the city. What Chen and Szeto call the New Preservation Movement is a range of protests, involving Hong Kong people from all walks of life, against the demolition of local historical landmarks under massive urban renewal projects, showing their desire to preserve collective memories, local history, and community ties. The shifting social values are marked in the articulation of the two versions of the daughter of Hong Kong. The legend of Anita Mui as the daughter of Hong Kong is often linked with the narrative of how she grew from a humble background to become a legendary success through a lot of hard work and persistence. This narrative can be regarded as quite consistent with the conventional discourse of Hong Kong’s very own success story. The conventional discourse could also be illustrated through the so-​called “Lion Rock Spirit” embraced by Hong Kong people during the period from the 1970 to the 1990s. Lion Rock is an iconic hill overseeing Hong Kong. Ever since the popular local television drama series Below the Lion Rock (獅子山下) in 1973, the Lion Rock Spirit has come to symbolize the “can-​do” attitude of Hong Kong people. It was generally believed that no matter how tough the environment, Hongkongers could work hard together to strive for the betterment of livelihoods. During the economic blooming stage from the 1970s to the 1990s, Hong Kong people were proud of the myth that they built Hong Kong from a fishing port into one of the most vibrant cities in the world. The Lion Rock Spirit was generally shared and upheld by the baby boomer generation, born in the 1970s, as they witnessed and benefited from this strong developmental drive. Anita Mui’s story certainly echoes this Lion Rock Spirit. Her career path to superstardom was never easy. She was raised, together with her three siblings, in a single-​parent family. To help her family, she had to perform as a professional singer in local nightclubs when she was only 8 years old. In the local media, Mui was commonly framed as an urban legend who manifests Hongkongers’ core values of persistence, hard work, and upward mobility through one’s capabilities (Hong Kong Economic Times, 2003; Apple Daily, 2003; Hong Kong Daily News, 2003). Former Chief Executive Tung Chee-​hwa praised Anita Mui as a “typical example of success in Hong Kong” because she brought her career to a peak with “her own efforts,

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 Mapping Sociopolitical and Cultural Changes   •   17

creativity and perseverance” (Hong Kong Commercial Daily, 2003). This shows that Mui’s story is highly consistent with the official and neoliberal discourse of the core values of Hong Kong. However, the Lion Rock Spirit took on a new layer of meaning with the Umbrella Movement in 2014 when a group of protesters hung a banner with the demand “I want real universal suffrage” on Lion Rock. A  local group of climbing enthusiasts named The Hong Kong Spidie claimed responsibility for the act, which declared a new interpretation of the core values of Hong Kong. We think the spirit of Lion Rock isn’t just about money … the people fighting for real universal suffrage all over Hong Kong have shown great perseverance. This kind of fighting against injustice, strength in the face of troubles, is the true Lion Rock Spirit. (Lo, So, & Tsang, 2014) Aligned with these shifting values, Denise Ho’s persona since the Umbrella Movement has tended to articulate more alternative, post-​materialistic values. This is evident in the cultural project Reimagine Hong Kong (18 種香港), which she initiated in 2015. The Chinese name of the project literally means “18 ways of life in Hong Kong”; this celebrates the diversity and unique personalities of various neighborhoods in the local community (as symbolized by the 18 geographical districts of Hong Kong). The project advocates that economic development need not be the only goal or measure of the city’s strength. Defying the monolithic logic, it attempts to reimagine the potential in communities, rediscover human connections, and redefine the core values of Hong Kong. At the Reimagine HOCC Live 2015 concert to kick off the project, Denise Ho gave an introduction. I’ve always believed there’s a huge power as long as we are connected. Shall we go out to every corner of this place that we have so much love for, and try to replant some human touch, to replant a power that belongs to Hongkongers in this era? Let’s fight for it together. (Original in Chinese) Throughout the year, Ho and her project team explored various local neighborhoods and organized different forms of activity to engage the citizens. Activities were not limited to the live performances in various community spaces like heritage sites, industrial buildings, trams, and small concert halls; they also tried out different forms, such as a craft market, social experiment, picnic and camping, community walking tour, and so on, with the aim to connect and empower people in the community. Ho also launched a theme song for the project: “There’s a Type of People” (是有種人) (2015). The phrase “a type of people” in the song title and the lyrics is again a double entendre, which could refer to a type of people or, in Cantonese slang, a person/​people with guts. Consistent with Reimagine Hong Kong project, the song draws attention to alternatives to the mainstream developmental and instrumental discourse: “Dreams don’t exist in the materialistic world only” (不只 花花世界孕育美夢); “There isn’t just one benchmark to measure value” (不需一把尺去辨別 有用); “One doesn’t have to live a certain way just because you’re born here” (不必長於這裡就 是這樣). The “type of people” being stressed are those who pursue their passions wholeheartedly regardless of reward or recognition. They may be off the radar in terms of mainstream values, but they are what makes the city unique. Indeed, as the chorus articulates: “There’s a type of people [optional: with guts] who purely love planting, a type of personality that has never been discovered.

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18   •   Vicky Ho and Miranda Ma

Living with a free spirit, feeling excited simply for being alive” (是有種人純粹熱愛耕耘  /​ 有種個性從未曾被發掘 /​ 自自在活過 /​ 為活著便已興奮). The music video for the song further illustrates this idea by featuring various local practitioners and hobbyists of traditional and modern arts and crafts, ranging from printing and carpentry to flower craft, leather craft, knitting and indie music. As Ho (2015) writes in her column: They are all blood and flesh Hongkongers who are working hard to find their own ways within this system which prioritizes the economy. They face the same issues as do you and I, and they are working very hard to insist their ways every day …. I wish one day my city will learn that success should not be defined by quantifiable productivity and effectiveness only. Focusing to work on your specialty is what makes you exceptional in a subtle yet long-​lasting way. (Original in Chinese) Since the Umbrella Movement, Denise Ho’s political stance has jeopardized her career in the mainland China market, and even some of the Hong Kong offices of brands with business operations in China cancelled work arrangements with her. No longer working with a record label, she became an indie musician in 2015. In this capacity, Ho’s pursuit proves that a strong commercial backup is not the only viable option in postcolonial Hong Kong. For instance, when the cosmetics brand Lancôme cancelled a gig featuring Denise Ho, she was able to turn the incident around by organizing an outdoor gig on the same day at the same location of the original Lancôme show, drawing a crowd of over 3,000 (Lin, 2016). This move clearly shows an edge of spontaneous and authentic expression over capitalistic logic (Lau, 2018, p. 61). Her mega 2016 concert, HOCC in HK Coliseum, staged in the hallmark concert venue Hong Kong Coliseum, further subverts corporate logic. Without major corporate sponsorship, the concert was crowdfunded by around 300 units, including individuals and local enterprises. Many of the backers were local and community-​based businesses, ranging from the neighborhood bakery, grocery store, garment and fashion businesses and learning center to the craft shop, pet shop, creative boutique, citizenship press, and so on—​all of which shared the values advocated by Ho. This further suggests that solidarity among Hong Kong citizens who share post-​materialistic values could possibly back up Ho’s music career. In the concert booklet, the crowdfunding mode was described as “collective sole sponsorship”; this testifies to ways of breaking the old model of corporate sponsorship, showing individuality among plurality: “What’s important is, we could do an experiment through this concert with the collective sole sponsorship mode, so that the supporting and the supported could greet each other as they are standing on the same line” (original in Chinese). Among entertainment celebrities in Hong Kong today, Denise Ho has indeed taken the path less travelled. Cultural critic Siu Wa Tang (2015) asserts that Denise Ho’s move to become an independent artist and her commitment to creation are emblematic of the “agency” that was advocated in the Umbrella Movement: [She] illustrates the deepest yet repressed wish of the mass in the current Hong Kong; that wish is: I can create a pleasant way of life for myself. Awakened and reborn out of the nightmare, independent and willing to learn, creating with agency all along, Denise Ho has indeed walked this path with Hong Kong. She is an outstanding daughter of Hong Kong. (Original in Chinese)

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 Mapping Sociopolitical and Cultural Changes   •   19

As such, we can see that Anita Mui’s and Denise Ho’s versions of the daughter of Hong Kong each highlight the social values and attitudes prevalent or much needed by local citizens of Hong Kong in their respective times. “Daughters of Hong Kong”: Uncompromising in Changing Times To conclude, there are both continuities and changes in Mui’s and Ho’s versions of the daughter of Hong Kong. Both of them embody an uncompromising attitude in the pursuit of justice. They uphold their ethical principles and stand by the oppressed. Nevertheless, the contexts in which Mui and Ho were recognized as the Daughters of Hong Kong have changed over time. As we have discussed, in terms of political orientation, Hongkongers who joined the 1989 pro-​ democracy movement held a stronger nationalistic identity and orientation, while the protesters of the Umbrella Movement in 2014 displayed a keener concern with the fate of local Hong Kong. The ways that Mui and Ho participated in these two pro-​democracy movements are indicative of these political orientations, respectively. In terms of social values, Mui’s version of the Daughter of Hong Kong tends to be consistent with the conventional logic of developmentalism which has been prevalent in Hong Kong since the colonial period, whereas Ho’s version manifests a shift towards a set of alternative, post-​materialist values. Overall, we have illustrated the shifting contexts in Hong Kong society and the values that Hong Kong people embrace in the changing times by juxtaposing Ho’s version of the Daughter of Hong Kong with that of Mui. References Anderson, B. (2006). Imagined Communities:  Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London and New York: Verso Books. Apple Daily (2003). “Genu chushen yuewei tianhou douzhi jiaoren” 《歌女出身躍為天后 鬥志驕人》 [Becoming queen from a showgirl: The respective fighting will]. Apple Daily, December 31. A05. Chen, Y. C., & Szeto, M. M. (2015). The forgotten road of progressive localism: New Preservation Movement in Hong Kong. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 16(3), 436–​453. Fang, W. (2015). “He yunshi tan mei yanfang shifu yidu shi wo de xinmo” 《何韻詩談梅艷芳 師父一度是我的心魔》 [Ho talking about Mui: Mentor was my nightmare once]. Next Magazine, March 26. Retrieved from www.nextmag. com.tw/​realtimenews/​news/​1705820. Fung, A. Y.  H. (2007). Political economy of Hong Kong media:  Producing a hegemonic voice. Asian Journal of Communication, 17(1), 159–​171. Griffiths, J., & Luu, C. (2017). “How Denise Ho went from Cantopop queen to democracy fighter.” CNN, June 27. Retrieved from https://​edition.cnn.com/​world. Ho, D. (2015). “Gei wo cheng zhong momo zai duanlian zhe dipin yu chenwen de youzhong renmen” 《給我城中, 默默在鍛煉着低頻與沉穩的有種人們》 [The city is challenging the quiet people with guts]. Apple Daily, July 28. C07. Hong Kong Commercial Daily (2003). “Meili xianggang chuanqi Amei jingshen kejia” 《美麗香港傳奇 阿梅精神可嘉》 [The beautiful Hong Kong legend: The respective Mui spirit]. Hong Kong Commercial Daily, December 31. A02. Hong Kong Daily News (2003). “Xi xi ge aichu chengjiu bukao waibiao ping zaoyi xuezhe Amei shi xianggang maidangna” 《細細個捱出成就 不靠外表憑造詣 學者:  阿梅是香港麥當娜》 [Working hard and not depending on appearance. Scholars: Mui was the Hong Kong Madonna]. Hong Kong Daily News, December 31. A06. Hong Kong Economic Times (2003). “Dashidai xiaorenwu xiaoshimin daouxiang” 《大時代小人物 小市民大偶像》 [Small people in big time, small citizens and big idol]. Hong Kong Economic Times, December 31. A02. Hong Kong Transition Project (2014). Constitutional Reform:  Confrontation Looms as Hong Kong Consults. Retrieved from http://​hktp.org/​list/​constitutional-​reform.pdf.

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20   •   Vicky Ho and Miranda Ma Lau, D. (2018). Reframing celebrities in post-​handover Hong Kong: Political advocacy, social media, and the performance of Denise Ho. Hong Kong Studies, 1(1),  51–​65. Lee, J. C. Y. (1992). The rise of patriotic/​pro-​democratic popular music in Hong Kong in response to the Chinese student movement. In R. Garofelo (Ed.), Rockin’ the Boat: Mass Music and Mass Movements (pp. 129–​147). Boston, MA: South End Press. Lei, C. (李展鵬) (2014). “Xunzhao nuer de xianggang meiyanfang suo daibiao de gangshi wenhua” 《尋找女兒的香港－梅艷芳所代表的港式文化》 [Hong Kong in search of her daughter: Hong Kong culture represented by Anita Mui]. In Chin-​pang Lei (李展鵬) & Cheuknaam (卓男) (Eds.), Zuihou de manzhushahua: Meiyanfang de yanyi rensheng 《最後的蔓珠莎華：梅艷芳的演藝人生》 [The Last Cluster Amaryllis:  Anita Mui’s Art and Life] (pp. 231–​242). Hong Kong: Joint Publishing HK. Lin, G. (2016). “In pictures: 3,000 fans and supporters attend Denise Ho Concert after controversial Lancôme cancellation.” Hong Kong Free Press, June 20. Retrieved from www.hongkongfp.com/​2016/​06/​20/​in-​pictures-​3000-​fans-​ and-​supporters-​attend-​denise-​ho-​concert-​after-​controversial-​lancome-​cancellation/​. Lo, C., So, P., & Tsang, M. (2014). “Pro-​democracy banner hung from Lion Rock has officials scrambling.” South China Morning Post, October 23. Retrieved from www.scmp.com/​news/​hong-​kong/​article/​1622971/​climbers-​hang-​giant​banner-​lion-​rock-​calling-​real-​universal-​suffrage. Ma, N. (2011). Value changes and legitimacy crisis in post-​industrial Hong Kong. Asian Survey, 51(4), 683–​712. McIntyre, B. T., Cheng, C. W.  S., & Zhang, W. (2002). Cantopop:  The voice of Hong Kong. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication, 12(2), 217–​243. Ngai, Y. F. (2004). “Bieyi xianggang de nuer juedai fanghua shi meng ru hua xiayi jiahua” 《別矣香港的女兒 絕代芳華 似夢如花 俠義佳話》 [Goodbye, daughter of Hong Kong]. Ming Pao Daily, January 9. C04. Oslo Freedom Forum (2019). Under the umbrella: Creative dissent in Hong Kong. June 5, 2019. Retrieved from www. youtube.com/​watch?v=uDfTPTxzRZs. Radio Television Hong Kong (2015). “Xingqiwu zhuchang wenhua jianbao chengyuan heyunshi” 《星期五主場：文化監暴成員何韻詩》 [Battlefield on Friday:  Denise Ho, the cultural violence monitor]. February 5. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​watch?v=LU7fwv0HECM. Rühlig, T. (2016). Do you hear the people sing “Lift your umbrella?” Understanding Hong Kong’s pro-​democratic Umbrella Movement through YouTube music videos. China Perspective, 2016/​4,  59–​68. South China Morning Post. (2014). Hong Kong Pop Singer Denise Ho: Occupy Central Students Inspire Me (November 7, 2014). Retrieved from: www.scmp.com/video/scmp-originals/1626638/hong-kong-pop-singer-denise-ho-occupycentral-students-inspire-me.” Stewart, W. (1989). “Communism: Fear and anger in Hong Kong.” Time, June 19. Retrieved from http://​content.time.com/​ time/​subscriber/​article/​0,33009,957965,00.html. Street, J. (2012). Music & Politics. Cambridge: Polity Press. Tang, Siu Wa (2015). “Xianggang de nuer heyunshi” 《香港的女兒何韻詩》 [Denise Ho, the daughter of Hong Kong]. Sing Tao Daily, June 29. E07. Witzleben, J. L. (1999). Cantopop and Mandapop in pre-​postcolonial Hong Kong: Identity negotiation in the performances of Anita Mui Yim-​fong. Popular Music, 18(2), 241–​258.

Discography Ho, Denise (2005). Glamorous. Glamorous. Hong Kong: East Asia Music (Holdings) Ltd. Ho, Denise (2015). There’s a Type of People. www.youtube.com/​watch?v=PCF8idD6l4c. Mui, Anita (1990). Blood-​stained glory. Anita Mui in Concert 90. Hong Kong: Capital Artists Music Limited. Mui, Anita (1992). Four seas in one heart. The Legend of the Pop Queen. Hong Kong: Capital Artists Music Limited. Various Artists (1989). All for Freedom. Various Artists (2014). Raise the Umbrella. www.youtube.com/​watch?v=C_​23GElzJFo.

Filmography Wong, Wah-​kei (director) (1973). Below the Lion Rock. (Director) Hong Kong: Radio Television Hong Kong.

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2

Once upon a Time in Hong Kong Cantopop 1984

Yiu-​Wai  Chu

A Significant Year The year 1984 was an important one in the history of Hong Kong. A taxi strike, during which angry drivers “occupied” main roads to protest against proposed steep increases in registration and license fees, triggered a night of riot in Mong Kok, the busiest district in Hong Kong, on January 13. It was arguably the first major riot since 1967 in the former British colony. In fact, social unrest plagued the territory and had been brewing for years. The early 1980s was a time of uncertainty for the city and its people, as their future after 1997 was still under negotiation. The infamous tumble of Margaret Thatcher (then Prime Minister of the United Kingdom) on the steps of the Great Hall of the People after her meeting with Deng Xiaoping (then leader of the People’s Republic of China) in Beijing on September 24, 1982 was seen as presaging the fall of British governance in Hong Kong. The people’s confidence in the city’s future hung by a thread, and subsequently stock and property markets plummeted to rock bottom. The Sino-​British Joint Declaration was formally signed by the People’s Republic of China and the United Kingdom on December 19, 1984, and Hong Kong people finally faced the inevitability of the then British colony returning to its motherland in 1997. And the rest was history. The year 1984 was terrible for Hong Kong but productive for Cantonese popular songs (Cantopop). Thatcher’s slip—and Deng Xiaoping’s firm stance on resuming Hong Kong’s sovereignty in 1997—may have ended Hong Kong people’s hope for extension of British rule after 1997, but the gloomy social atmosphere might have been what triggered a burst of positive energy in the cultural industries. Despite the anxiety throughout the year about the future, Ackbar Abbas’s famous notion about Hong Kong—“doom and boom” (“the more frustrated or blocked the aspirations to ‘democracy’ are, the more the market blooms”; Abbas, 1997, p. 5)—was perfectly applicable to the development of Hong Kong popular culture back then. While it is widely argued that 1974 was the watershed in the history of Cantopop (e.g. Wong, 2003; Chu, 2017), this chapter chronicles the critical year of 1984 as the start of a new chapter for Cantopop. There is arguably no more critical year in Cantopop’s history than 1984, because the events of this year would have a lasting influence on its development throughout the late 1980s and the early 1990s. In addition to the industry’s success, it was also a pivotal year for new Cantopop megastars Alan Tam (譚詠麟) and Leslie Cheung (張國榮). Major music award ceremonies—the Top Ten Gold Song Awards (Radio Television Hong Kong; RTHK) and the Jade Solid Gold Best Ten

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22   •   Yiu-Wai  Chu

Music Awards (Television Broadcasting Company; TVB)—will be used as examples to show how different dispositions converged at that particular juncture. This chapter also endeavors to twist the dystopian take of George Orwell’s 1984, arguing that it is possible to imagine a new future by reflecting on this important year in the history of Cantopop. As Orwell said, “Who controls the past controls the future” (1949[2000], p. 37). Having said this, it is necessary to note that this is not an attempt to look back at 1984 and find a successful model for Hong Kong Cantopop which may be adopted to revitalize the declining industry. The city of Hong Kong and its mediascape have changed significantly over the years, and it is simply impossible to replicate the success of the megastars. As noted by Tai-​lok Lui (2015, p. viii), the old Hong Kong model is no longer applicable given the changes in the past two decades, and what is pertinent for Hong Kong people and society is how to go beyond the old framework. Localization with Global Characteristics The year 1984 is often seen as the best year in global popular music (Light, 2014). While megastars such as Michael Jackson, Prince, Bruce Springsteen, Boy George and Madonna shone brightly, the thriving atmosphere meant that different music styles flourished: “New Wave, R&B, hip-​hop, mascara’d hard rock and ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic all crossed paths on the charts while a post-​‘Billie Jean’ MTV brought them into your living room” (Ganz et al., 2014). It was therefore a critical juncture for Asian popular music to develop. While a J-​Pop (Japanese popular songs) boom was sweeping across Asia, Hong Kong took the opportunity to step up as the center of Chinese popular music in the region as well as the world. Fortune always favors the well prepared. In the previous decade, Cantopop had gradually gathered momentum before its spectacular surge in Asia in 1984. As I argue in Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History, 1974 was a watershed in the development of Cantopop (Chu, 2017, p.  8). Since then Cantopop, which was generally seen as fundamentally inferior to English and Mandarin popular songs, began to develop into the dominant music genre not only in Hong Kong but also in Chinese communities across the world. It is commonly thought that the received grassroots image of Cantopop of the 1950s and 1960s was transformed by Sam Hui (許冠傑) and Sandra Lang (仙杜拉) in 1974 when their “Games Gamblers Play” (鬼馬雙星; on his album bearing the same title, 1974) and “A Love Tale between Laughter and Tears” (啼笑姻緣; on her album Luckily It’s Sunday Again (好彩又到 Sunday, 1974)) met with success out of the blue. However, it is necessary to note that in 1974, Sam Hui was still focusing on English popular songs on his album The Morning After (1974). In the same year, Joseph Koo (顧嘉煇) won the first Hong Kong Popular Song Contest, organized by TVB, with his “Shau Ha Ha” (Lang 1975) sung by Sandra Lang in English and Mandarin; and the runner-​up was an English song “L-​O-​V-​E Love” (1975) (sung by The Wynners; melody and lyrics by James Wong [黄霑]). The winner of the second Hong Kong Popular Song Contest in 1975 was Chelsea Chan’s (陳秋霞’s) English song “Dark Side of Your Mind” (Chan 1975), and most other entries were English pop songs as well. The International Federation of the Phonographic Industry Hong Kong introduced the first Gold Disc Award Presentation in 1977, in which only 4 of out the 16 gold discs were Cantopop albums—The Private Eyes (半斤八兩, 1976), Jumping Ash:  Original Soundtracks (跳灰), G-​Men 75 (猛龍特警隊, 1976), and Happy Every Year (歡樂年年, 1977); the others were 2 Mandapop and 10 English albums.

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 Once upon a Time in Hong Kong Cantopop   •   23

It was true that the rapid economic development in the early 1970s in Hong Kong “led to the rise of a local popular culture expressed in film, music and television shows,” and “[m]‌any local people became proud of Hong Kong’s hybrid status” (Carroll, 2007, pp.  168–​169). However, the localization of Hong Kong popular music—the rise of Cantopop being sung in the mother tongue of most Hong Kong people—can also be seen as a creative hybridization of different music cultures; thus it was a localization with global characteristics. Alan Tam, who started his career with the local band The Wynners and later became Cantopop King in the 1980s, is a good example (see below). The hybridization of Cantopop was further boosted by cross-​media synergies. For example, “Games Gamblers Play” (Hui 1974b) and “A Love Tale between Laughter and Tears” (Lang 1974) were the theme songs of film and television programs bearing the same titles. The immense popularity of television theme songs directly triggered the craze of Cantopop in the mid-​1970s, whereas in the film industry, the Hong Kong New Wave, generated by young directors who had first developed their career in the television sector, sparked widespread enthusiasm for songs from films. Michael Kwan’s (關正傑’s) “An Extra in Life” (人生小配角; on an album by various artists, Extras茄喱啡, 1978) and George Lam’s (林子祥’s) “Butterfly Murderers” (蝶變; on George Lam’s album The Passenger抉擇, 1979), among others, are good examples of theme songs from the Hong Kong New Wave films. Record companies found that they had an exceptional opportunity in the late 1970s to test new stars in the swiftly expanding market. Danny Chan (陳百強) and the legendary Leslie Cheung were among the success stories in a generation of ascending Cantopop stars. The film Encore (喝采) (1980), featuring the two rising stars (although Leslie Cheung did not have the chance to fully showcase his talents until a few years later), is a perfect example of the creative synergies of film, Cantopop, and the rise of teen idols. Simply put, Cantopop picked up momentum in the late 1970s, and different dispositions converged to bring it to an unparalleled height in 1984. The rise of Cantopop in the 1970s was “a result of its increased hybridity”: “the use of cover versions, the hybridization of Chinese and Western elements, the coexistence of Cantonese, classical, and modern Chinese in its lyrics, and the crossover of genres … changed its soundscape” (Chu, 2017, p. 68). In other words, Cantopop was enhanced by multiple hybridities generated by the creative hybridization of different media genres and musical cultures. These hybridities, as I will argue in the next two sections, were vital elements behind many Cantopop singers’ meteoric rise to stardom. Cross-​Media Synergies: New Discursive Spaces Thanks to the groundwork laid in the 1970s, Cantopop had moved on to an upward trajectory by the early 1980s. The fresh and vigorous cross-​media and cross-​cultural exchanges in the 1980s provided the right ambiance for the rise of Cantopop stars. These stars brought unprecedented success to the industry, developing it into a highly profitable cross-​media industry: film, television, commercials and idol worship. With the synergies among different media, megastars like Alan Tam, Leslie Cheung, and Anita Mui (梅艷芳) had more energy and power to shine brightly in Chinese communities across the world. As well as being important factors behind Cantopop megastars’ success, cross-​media synergies enhanced the creative hybridization of their songs. I will focus on the synergies before moving on to discuss the creative hybridization. In 1984 the television songs craze continued, although it was gradually replaced by that of songs from film. Alan Tam’s “Who Can Change?” (誰可改變; on his album Root of Love

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愛的根源, 1984b), Leslie Cheung’s “Finally You’ll Get Good Luck” (始終會行運) and “Once upon an Ordinary Girl” (儂本多情; both on his album Leslie, 1984) were theme songs of TVB dramas. Alan Tam’s “Illusion” (幻影; on Fog of Love 霧之戀, 1984a) and “Root of Love” (the title track of Root of Love) were the theme songs from the films Esprit d’amour (陰陽錯, 1983) and The Other Side of a Gentleman (君子好逑, 1984), respectively, in which Alan Tam was the male lead (Chu, 2017, pp. 76–​78). In the towering album Leslie, the song co-​sung by Leslie Cheung and Anita Mui, “Behind the Yellow Line” (緣份; on Leslie Cheung’s album All Because of You: Summer Hits 全賴有你夏日精選, 1985), was the theme song of the 1984 romantic film bearing the same title, starring Leslie Cheung, Anita Mui, and Maggie Cheung (張曼玉). Other film songs included Samantha Lam’s (林志美’s) “An Encounter” (偶遇; on her 1984 album bearing the same title), Julie Sue’s (蘇芮’s) “Any Empty Wine Bottles for Sale” (酒幹倘賣無; on her 1983 album Papa Can You Hear Me Sing? Original Soundtrack 搭錯車：電影原聲大碟, 1983), and Sam Hui and Jenny Tseng’s (甄妮’s) “Love Is Invincible” (無敵是愛; on Sam Hui’s 1984 album Love You Most 最喜歡你)—from the film A Family Affair (全家福, 1984). In sum, on the lists of Top Ten Gold Song Awards and Jade Solid Gold Best Ten Music Awards were, respectively, four and five film songs. Thanks to the rapid growth of the film market, Cantopop found extra discursive space in Hong Kong cinema. The synergy between images and songs, which was further enhanced by music video (Chu, 2017, p. 74), contributed significantly to charismatic images of idols such as Alan Tam and Leslie Cheung. Cantopop also found additional space to reach the audience through various media in 1984. TVB’s flagship music program Jade Solid Gold, which premiered in October 1981, began to put more emphasis on Chinese popular songs. As noted above, the first Jade Solid Gold Best Ten Music Awards was held in January 1984, and at the 1984 version (held in January 1985) the first awards for most popular male and most popular female singers were presented. In January 1984, TVB also launched a new music video program, Your Choice on Sunday (changed to Your Choice on Saturday in 1989). Thanks to the swiftly growing market, new record labels flocked to the Cantopop industry. Besides new labels supported by large corporations, such as DMI and Continental King Lung, there were also small labels such as B & W and IC Records, contributing to a greater diversity of music styles. For example, IC Records issued the first album by the band Island (小島) in 1985, triggering a wave of bands and groups in the latter half of the decade. Within the mainstream music industry, master of lyrics Jimmy Lo (盧國沾) launched an unofficial “non-​love-​ songs campaign” in 1983. Since its advent in the mid-​1970s, the Cantopop industry had been dominated by romantic pop songs, and owing to the small market size when compared to the West, the mainstream was so overriding that other subject matters and genres could scarcely survive. In the midst of sentimental love ballads that had overwhelmed mainstream Cantopop for years, Jimmy Lo decided to force producers to take one “non-​love song” for every four songs they asked him to write (Chu, 2017, p. 88). Alan Tam’s “Unyielding” (傲骨), one of Lo’s non-​love songs released in 1984, was a big hit alongside his romantic ballads on the album Fog of Love. In addition to Lo’s non-​love masterpieces, the campaign was echoed by RTHK in 1984 with a Non-​Love Lyrics Writing Contest (Wong, 2015, p. 113). The winner of the contest, Lin Xi (林夕, a.k.a. Albert Leung), later became one of the most influential lyricists not only in Hong Kong but also in Chinese communities across the world. These showed that, notwithstanding the unabashed commercialization of Cantopop, there was still discursive space for non-​mainstream endeavors which, interestingly, have made significant contributions to the mainstream in the long term.

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 Once upon a Time in Hong Kong Cantopop   •   25

When the time came, the Cantopop wind began to blow and things seemed to follow it. The inauguration of the Hong Kong Coliseum in 1983 provided an unforeseen opportunity for the entertainment business to develop further (Chu, 2017, pp. 82–​83), paving the way for Cantopop to usher in the new era in 1984. Originally designed as a sports facility, the Coliseum turned into the venue for Cantopop concerts. After Sam Hui held the first ever concerts at the Hong Kong Coliseum from May 5 to May 7, 1983, the venue quickly became the shrine of Cantopop, where singers were “fully baptized into stardom” (Chow & de Kloet, 2013, p.  111). And 1984 was the year when Alan Tam held his record-​setting Hong Kong concerts. From August 4 to August 9, he hosted six concerts at the Hong Kong Coliseum, reportedly setting an attendance record of 72,000, thanks to the four-​sided stage design—a megastar was born.1 Emulating the success of Japanese concerts at first, these “musical-​like concerts” effectively added local elements and became one of the unique features of the Hong Kong popular music scene (Bernstein, Sekine, & Weissman, 2007, p. 219). The appearance of new music magazines was also good evidence of the thriving market. In 1975, just one year after the 1974 watershed in the history of Cantopop, the inaugural issue of Good Time Magazine (好時代雜誌) was published. The first issue mainly included news about The Wynners and Chelsea Chan, as the publisher, Pato Leung (梁柏濤), was their manager. In 1984, a new magazine was founded. The first issue of New Time Magazine (新時代雜誌) signaled a new era of Hong Kong popular music. After a decade, Good Time Magazine had developed into a leading music magazine covering a variety of news related to Hong Kong popular music, but New Time Magazine sought to outdo this famous enemy with the use of full-​color printing. In the heat of the J-​Pop wave, Kyoko Koizumi (小泉今日子) was selected to grace the cover of New Time Magazine’s inaugural issue.2 Last but not least, the first Cantopop compact disc for commercial release, Capital Artists Laser Top Picks Vol. 1 (華星雷 射首選猛碟第一輯), was issued in November 1983 (Wong, 2017, p. 229). It was a collection of the greatest hits of Leslie Cheung, Anita Mui, Agnes Chan (陳美齡), and Eliza Chan (陳潔靈). In 1984, predating the era of dominance of compact discs, they became more popular in Hong Kong, opening up new possibilities for the industry. All in all, the flourishing of new media and multiple discursive spaces greatly boosted creative hybridization and multimedia stardom in the Cantopop industry. Cross-​Cultural Hybridization: J-​Pop and Others The hybridization of local and global music elements were also behind the phenomenal rise of Cantopop in 1984. Not unlike Alan Tam and Leslie Cheung, the other music award winners were also deeply influenced by foreign popular music. Sam Hui, Michael Kwan, George Lam, and Danny Chan all started their singing careers with English popular songs. Jenny Tseng, Julie Sue, and Sally Yeh (葉蒨文) sang Mandapop (Mandarin popular music) before turning to Cantopop. The early 1980s was also a time when the impact of Japanese popular songs was intensely felt in Hong Kong. “Associated with a yearning for a middle class lifestyle which was in line with Japanese popular cultural products” (Stevens, 2008, p. 29), J-​Pop was well received in Hong Kong, and its Cantonese renditions successfully broadened Cantopop’s fan base. Many of Alan Tam’s and Leslie Cheung’s golden hits of the year were cover versions of J-​Pop. In 1999, RTHK masterminded the Song of the Century contest for fans to vote for the top ten songs of the twentieth century, and Alan Tam’s “Fog of Love” (1984a) and Leslie Cheung’s “Monica” (Cheung 1984)—two of the “songs of the century”—were both J-​Pop cover versions (of “For You  …” [たかはし まりこ]

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and “Monica” [モニカ], sung by Mariko Takahashi [高橋真梨子] (Takahashi 1982)  and Koji Kikkawa [吉川晃司] (Kikkawa 1984), respectively). Out of the 11 songs on Fog of Love, only 2 were cover versions—of Kisaburo Suzuki’s (鈴木喜三郎’s) ­melodies—while 1 was Taiwanese pop and the other 8 were originally written by local composers; and out of the 10 songs on Root of Love, 5 were Cantonese renditions of J-​Pop (1 by Italian songwriter Pierluigi Giombini, 1 by Korean songwriter Hojoon Lee, and the other 3 originally written by local composers). Out of the 12 songs on Leslie, 5 were cover versions of J-​Pop. The use of cover versions is an effective means to meet fast-​rising demand (Bernstein et al., 2007, p. 253; Chu, 2017, pp. 94–​95). While it is reasonable to say that “a Japanese melody line offered the right balance of newness and familiarity” (Ogawa, 2004, p. 147), it is equally important to note that although Cantopop was profoundly influenced by J-​Pop, as perceptively argued by James Wong (2003, p. 175), the Cantopop industry was able to assimilate elements and styles from different music cultures. Alan Tam and Leslie Cheung, among others, successfully localized these genres with new arrangements and Cantonese lyrics. Moreover, although they sang a lot of J-​Pop cover versions, their English popular song backgrounds gave them the advantage of being able to localize different cultures. In short, cross-​cultural hybridization provided the impetus for the rapid growth of Cantopop at that important juncture. The influence of foreign music cultures was not limited to J-​Pop. During the late 1970s and early 1980s, there was a wave of city folk songs generated by the Taiwanese modern folk songs campaign across the strait, and these songs created an atmosphere for the emergence of Hong Kong city folk songs. Some Cantopop talents, such as Samantha Lam, with her folk songs on the album Hong Kong City Folk Songs (香港城市民歌) (1981), attracted the limelight. She later entered the music industry thanks to the popularity of her folk-​pop “Kite” (風筝) and “Episodes of Love” (感情的段落), collected in Hong Kong City Folk Songs Encore (香港城市民歌Encore, 1982). Although the craze of folk songs slowed down quickly in 1983, the sensitivity towards the city had already exerted an impact on mainstream Cantopop. There emerged a wave of local bands, carried forward in the late 1980s by bands such as Beyond and Tat Ming Pair (達明一派). Besides underground group Blackbird’s (黑鳥’s) East is Red/​Generation 1997 (東方紅/​給九七代) and Cicada’s On the Big Road (大路上), there was an important collection entitled Xiang Gang (香港, a.k.a. Hong Kong Guitar Competition Compilation [香港結他比賽冠軍精英集]) (Various artists 1984) published in 1984. This self-​funded album, produced by the music journal Guitar, collected works by the winning groups from the Guitar Players Festival held the previous year, at which Beyond and Tats Lau (劉以達) of Tat Ming Pair had showcased their talents to the music industry. With the benefit of hindsight, 1984 was also an important year because Hong Kong popular songs officially entered the mainland; this was only possible due to the “open-​door policy” in 1976, which initiated a new era of modern China. Ming-​men Cheung (張明敏), recognized in Hong Kong for his Mandarin patriotic songs, was invited by China Central Television (CCTV) to perform at its Spring Festival Gala—arguably the most influential show in China. According to the director, the 1984 event impressed him the most: “When Ming-​men Cheung sang this song on the show, everyone there welled up with tears. And next day, everyone was humming the song” (Sun, 2012). Even though Ming-​men Cheung was singing a Mandarin song—“My Chinese Heart” (我的中國心) (on his 1983 album bearing the same title; melody by Fu-​ling Wang (王福齡) and lyrics by James Wong)—it was indeed “a milestone to have a Hong Kong singer on the stage

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 Once upon a Time in Hong Kong Cantopop   •   27

of CCTV’s Spring Festival Gala at that time” (Sun, 2012). As underscored by the lyricist of “My Chinese Heart,” Hong Kong popular music entered an era of “two sides of the Strait” (Wong, 2003, p. 7) in 1984. At first, Hong Kong was the center of Chinese popular music in this new era. Since then there have been more and more interactions between the mainland and the former British colony. Without a crystal ball, no one could have foreseen at that time that in less than 20 years the mainland would become the most coveted market for Chinese popular music. In a nutshell, that Cantopop rose to an unrivalled position as the leader in Chinese popular music across the world can be attributed to the creative hybridization of different musical and cultural elements, including, among others, cover versions of Western as well as Asian popular songs, alternative music genres, cross-​media synergies, and other related activities such as concerts and music award ceremonies. These factors spurred market growth, enabling the emergence of non-​mainstream styles such as city folk and band songs, which exerted positive impacts in terms of diversification in mainstream popular songs. These factors also facilitated the rise not only of many Cantopop stars, but also, perhaps more importantly, of megastars like Alan Tam, Leslie Cheung, and Anita Mui, who captured and enthralled Chinese music fans across the world and reached unprecedented levels of popularity. Starry, Starry Year As discussed in the previous section, it was in 1984 that the Cantopop industry witnessed the dawning of a new era with two rival megastars: Alan Tam and Leslie Cheung. Alan Tam started his music venture with The Wynners, focusing mainly on English songs at first. He later developed his career as a television and film actor in Hong Kong and Taiwan, before moving his base back to Hong Kong after the tremendous success of the 1983 album Spring … The Late Spring (春 … 遲來的春天) (Tam 1983). Alan Tam’s album Fog of Love was released on January 28, 1984, just two weeks after the night of violence in Mong Kok. This album “not only turned a new page in his career but also a new chapter in the history of Cantopop” (Chu, 2017, p. 78), as 7 out of the 11 songs entered the pop charts. His background in Western music, band culture, and Taiwanese media, together with his cover versions of English, Japanese, and Korean songs, contributed to a creative hybridization of different musical and cultural elements in his Cantopop and, hence, his upward momentum. For example, “The Late Spring”—title track of Spring … The Late Spring— was a cover version of Inaba Akira’s (因幡晃’s) (Akira 1976) Japanese popular song “Thanks Summer” (夏にありがとう). In 1984 Tam’s career, if not the Cantopop industry as a whole, gathered momentum even more. His album Root of Love, released in July 1984, was even more popular than his previous one, with seven out of the ten songs flying up the pop charts. Root of Love also relies heavily on cover versions: Japanese, Korean, and Italian. At that time, there were two major popular music awards presentations:  the government broadcaster RTHK’s Top Ten Gold Song Awards and TVB’s Jade Solid Gold Best Ten Awards. Alan Tam had two Gold Song awards (“Love in Late Autumn” (愛在深秋) and “Root of Love”; both on Root of Love) in the former and three in the latter (“Love in Late Autumn”, “Root of Love,” and “Illusion” (1984a))— becoming the biggest winner of the year. TVB, the market leader in the television industry, formally christened him a new megastar by presenting him its first ever Most Popular Male Singer award at the Jade Solid Gold Best Ten Awards in 1984 (held in January 1985). This was TVB’s second music awards ceremony, and there had not been any “popular singer” awards in the first

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ceremony (held in January 1984). In other words, it was later on in 1984 that TVB decided to launch the “most popular singer” awards, which continued until 2017. Meanwhile, Leslie Cheung, who would come to rival Alan Tam, entered the entertainment business after winning the second prize in the Asian Music Contest held by Rediffusion Television (RTV) with his interpretation of Don McLean’s “American Pie” in 1977. The subscription cable station RTV was founded in 1957 and turned to free-​to-​air broadcasting in 1973. RTV always lagged behind the market leader TVB in terms of viewer ratings. Starting his career with the underdog in the television market, Leslie Cheung had a steep mountain to climb. His first releases in 1977 were both English: the single “I Like Dreamin’” and the album Leslie—Daydreamin’. In 1979 he released his first Cantopop album, Lover’s Arrow (情人箭), the title being drawn from the theme song of one of RTV’s martial arts dramas. Out of the 12 songs on this album, 5 were theme songs from RTV dramas. As RTV was much less popular than TVB, it was not surprising that, despite Leslie Cheung’s talent, the album was not well received. However, he did achieve eye-​ catching performances in the film sector with appearances in, among others, Job Hunter (失業生) (1981) and Nomad (烈火青春) (1982). Still, as a teen idol in the early 1980s, he had to develop his entertainment career in the shadow of Danny Chan. The wind began to change when he moved to TVB and Capital Artists records in 1982 and released a highly popular song, “The Wind Continues to Blow” (風繼續吹)—a cover version of Momoe Yamaguchi’s (山口百惠’s) classic J-​ Pop “The Other Side of Goodbye” (さよならの向こう側)—on an album bearing the same title in 1983. Leslie Cheung released his career-​changing album Leslie in August 1984, from which the massive hit “Monica” turned him into the rival of Alan Tam throughout the rest of the decade. The much-​rumored competition between the two megastars created a positive atmosphere for the development of the Cantopop industry. As their popularity continued to rise, Cantopop reached its highest glory, with fans across the world. In a 1989 talk show co-​hosted by James Wong, one of the godfathers of Cantopop, Leslie Cheung made it clear that he had thought in 1983 that he could win an award with “The Wind Continues to Blow,” but in the end he had been greatly disappointed (Cheung, 1989). It was fortunate for Hong Kong music fans that, the next year, he turned his bitter disappointment into a defining stage in the Cantopop industry. After the spectacular performance of his award-​winning “Monica” at the Jade Solid Gold Best Ten Awards in 1984, Cheung—unlike other award winners who sang another new song—chose to sing “The Wind Continues to Blow.” And the wind did continue to blow, even after he committed suicide after a long struggle with depression, plunging to his death from the 24th floor of the Mandarin Oriental Hong Kong on April 1, 2003. From his heightened charisma has emerged a posthumous fandom known as “Hou Rongmi” (後榮迷, or the post-​April 1 Leslie fandom) (Wang, 2007, p. 333). Besides the two megastars, other old and new stars also stars shone in unfettered splendor. Given the limited scope of this chapter, I will focus on the two music award ceremonies mentioned above as examples. While the Cantopop diva Jenny Tseng received awards in both ceremonies for “Love is Over” (再度孤獨; on her 1984 album The Charming Month of May迷人的五月), Anita Mui shone as the new Queen of Cantopop, albeit actually crowned a year later, with the theme song of the 1984 film Homecoming (似水流年), also winning at both ceremonies. The other two songs that won awards in both ceremonies were Michael Kwan’s “Voice from Heaven … Star River Legends” (天籟 … 星河傳說; on his 1983 album Voice from Heaven天籟) and Samantha Lam’s “An Encounter.” The former was a philosophical reflection sung by a veteran singer, whereas the

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 Once upon a Time in Hong Kong Cantopop   •   29

latter was the theme song of the 1984 film A Certain Romance (少女日記). The emotions of this teenage love story were utterly different from those brought about by other romantic ballads, showing that Cantopop had a fairly broad fan base. This was further demonstrated by the other winners, who included Sam Hui (who co-​sang a song with Jenny Tseng), George Lam, Danny Chan, Sally Yeh, and Julie Sue. Sam Hui and George Lam were well-​known veteran singers, Danny Chan a highly popular idol among young fans, and Sally Yeh a rising songstress who later succeeded Anita Mui to become the most popular female Cantopop singer in Hong Kong. Taiwanese songstress Julie Sue won an award with her Mandapop “Any Empty Wine Bottles for Sale.” Meanwhile, Danny Chan’s Gold Song award-​winning “Reaching for the Stars” (Chan 1984) was the theme song of the anti-​drug campaign designed by the Narcotics Division of the Security Bureau of Hong Kong. These illustrate the diversity of mainstream Cantopop in that year. If 1984 were a night sky, to put it succinctly, it would be a majestic one that contains many stars shining alongside the two brightest ones. We Still Believe … In the history of Hong Kong Cantopop, 1984 was one of those rare years when the industry witnessed a paradigm shift on several fronts:  cross-​ media and cross-​ cultural hybridization, the idol business, and the concert industry. Unlike the premise of Orwell’s classic book, the 1984 of Cantopop was a pivotal year for the industry, when it came to set the trend for Chinese popular music across the world, continuing to do so into the next decade or so. It was perhaps not sheer coincidence that Alan Tam’s “Root of Love” inspired new Hong Kong film directors in the 2010s. The original Chinese title of Adam Wong’s (黃修平’s) film She Remembers, He Forgets (哪一天我們會飛; 2015) was reportedly Root of Love. While the main theme of the film was to remember one’s original intention, the chorus of the theme song, “We Almost Fly” (差一點我們會飛; on She Remembers, He Forgets:  Original Soundtracks 哪一天我們會飛：電影原聲大碟, 2015), highlights the importance of imagination:  “We still believe there are new imaginations in this city.” Interestingly enough, the first line of “Root of Love”—“The sky besides the meteor is my home”—has begged many questions about its mysterious meaning over the years. The lyricist Andrew Lam (林敏驄) explained in his own special collection LMCC (2009) that actually the line was simply a Chinese translation of the English phrase “once upon a  …” (the Cantonese pronunciation of the first line being similar to “once upon a sky”); but the meaning remained baffling nonetheless. Despite this, “once upon a  …” inspired Theatre Ronin, a Hong Kong theatre company dedicated to creating productions imbued with local cultural characteristics, to produce a play entitled Once Upon a Time (殞石旁的天際) in 2016 (the Chinese title being the first line of “Root of Love”), based on Alan Tam’s album. Once upon a time in Hong Kong, thanks to the countless possibilities of new imaginations, Cantopop began to flourish not just in the city but also in Chinese communities across the world. But, as mentioned in the introduction, 1984 is not presented here as a successful model for Hong Kong Cantopop that can be adopted to revitalize the declining industry. What matters is the reconsideration of how creative hybridization was possible in that particular context. Inspired by Ping-​Kwan Leung’s large-​scale project on Hong Kong literature and culture in the 1950s, this chapter traces the disposition and momentum of Hong Kong Cantopop by focusing on 1984, the year when the wind began to blow. As clearly spelt out in the “General preface” of the book series that stemmed from Leung’s project:

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Based on the studies of literature and culture, [this series] crosses boundaries of various disciplines of arts, endeavoring to show readers how to understand the creative transformation via inheritance and transmission of traditional Chinese as well as modern art and literature … an in-​depth study of the relationship. (Leung, 2013, pp. i–​ii; translation mine) In a similar vein, the reexamination of Hong Kong Cantopop—the voice of the city—in 1984 contributes to the understanding of the creative and vibrant transformation of not only Cantopop but also the city itself. Notes 1 Jenny Tseng held seven concerts from May 11 to May 17, though with smaller audiences owing to the three-​sided stage. 2 For details of these two issues, refer to the Facebook page “Hong Kong old comics:  Collective memories of the 1970s and the 1980s”:  www.facebook.com/​224780794781790/​photos/​pcb.301475237112345/​301472620445940/​ ?type=3&theater.

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 Once upon a Time in Hong Kong Cantopop   •   31 Wong, H. P. (黃夏柏) (2017). Manyou bashi niandai: ting guangdongge de haorizi 《漫遊八十年代：聽廣東歌的好日子》 [Roaming in the 1980s: The Good Old Days of Listening to Cantopop]. Hong Kong: Fei Fan Book. Wong, J. (黃湛森) (2003). Yueyu liuxingqu de fazhan yu xingshuai:  xianggang liuxing yinjue yanjiu 1949–​1997 《粵語流行曲的發展與興衰：香港流行音樂研究1949–​1997》 [The Rise and Fall of Cantopop:  A Study of Hong Kong Popular Music 1949–​1997]. PhD dissertation, The University of Hong Kong.

Discography Akira, Inaba (1976). As Forgot to Say It, Please Know. Tokyo: Disco Mate. Chan, Chelsea (1975). Dark Side of Your Mind. Hong Kong: Polydor. Chan, Danny (1984). Danny Chan 1984. Hong Kong: Warner Music. Cheng, Adam & Wang, Lisa (1977). Happy Every Year. Hong Kong: Fung Hang Records. Cheung, Leslie (1977a). I Like Dreamin’ [Single]. Hong Kong: Polydor. Cheung, Leslie (1977b). Leslie—​Daydreamin’. Hong Kong: Polydor. Cheung, Leslie (1979). Lover’s Arrow. Hong Kong: Polydor. Cheung, Leslie (1983). The Wind Continues to Blow. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Cheung, Leslie (1984). Leslie. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Cheung, Leslie (1985). All Because of You: Summer Hits. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Cheung, Ming-​men (1983). My Chinese Heart. Hong Kong: Wing Hang Records. Hui, Sam (1974a). The Morning After. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1974b). Games Gamblers Play. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1976). The Private Eyes. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1984). Love You Most. Hong Kong: Contec Sound Media. Island (1985). The Legend of the Island. Hong Kong: IC Records. Kikkawa, Koji (1984). The Summer When the Parachute Falls. Tokyo: SMS Records. Kwan, Michael (1983). Voice from Heaven. Hong Kong: Philips. Lam, Andrew (2009). LMCC: Lam Man Chung Collection. Hong Kong: Universal Music (Hong Kong) Limited. Lam, George (1979). The Passenger. Hong Kong: EMI. Lam, Samantha (1984). An Encounter. Hong Kong: CBS Sony. Lang, Sandra (1974). Luckily It’s Sunday Again. Hong Kong: Crown. Lang, Sandra (1975). Cuties Parade. Hong Kong: House Records. Sue, Julie (1983). Papa Can You Hear Me Sing? Original Soundtrack. Taipei: UFO Group. Takahashi, Mariko (1982). For You. Tokyo: Invitation. Tam, Alan (1983). Spring … The Late Spring. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1984a). Fog of Love. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1984b). Root of Love. Hong Kong: Philips. The Wynners (1975). Let’s Rock. Hong Kong: Philips. Tseng, Jenny (1984). The Charming Month of May. Hong Kong: CBS Sony. Tsui, Paula (1976). G-​Men 75. Hong Kong: Wing Hang Record. Various Artists (1976). Jumping Ash: Original Soundtracks. Hong Kong: Bang! Bang! Various Artists (1978). Extras. Hong Kong: Bang! Bang! Various Artists (1981). Hong Kong City Folk Songs. Hong Kong: Sony Music. Various Artists (1982). Hong Kong City Folk Songs Encore. Hong Kong: Sony Music. Various Artists (1983). Capital Artists Laser Top Picks Vol. 1. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Various Artists (1984). Xiang Gang (a.k.a. Hong Kong Guitar Competition Compilation). Hong Kong: A Guitar Journal Record. Various Artists (2015). She Remembers, He Forgets: Original Soundtracks. Hong Kong: Media Asia Music Limited.

Filmography Choi, Clifford (director) (1980). Encore. Hong Kong: Fu Shun Production Co. Ford, Clarence (director) (1981). Job Hunter. Hong Kong: Art Centre Productions.

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32   •   Yiu-Wai  Chu Lam, Ringo (director) (1983). Esprit d’amour. Hong Kong: Cinema City Film Productions. Lam, Ringo (director) (1984). The Other Side of a Gentleman. Hong Kong: Always Good Film Co. Shek, Dean (director) (1984). A Family Affair. Hong Kong: Cinema City Film Productions. Tam, Patrick (director) (1982). Nomad. Hong Kong: Century Motion Picture & Dist. Co. Wong, Adam (director) (2015). She Remembers, He Forgets. Hong Kong: Media Asia Film. Wong, Taylor (director) (1984). Behind the Yellow Line. Hong Kong: Shaw Brothers Studio. Yim, Ho (director) (1984). Homecoming. Hong Kong: Bluebird Movie Enterprises Ltd. Yon, Fan (director) (1984). A Certain Romance. Hong Kong: Far-​Sun Film Co.

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3

Pax Musica and Mnets

Cantopop–​Kpop Convergences and Inter-​Asia Cultural Mobilities Kai Khiun Liew and Meicheng Sun

Introduction: Inter-​Asia Cultural Mobilities In the opening episode of the South Korean TV drama, Reply 1988 (응답하라 1988)  (2015), alongside the macro historical narratives of hosting the Olympics and scenes of public demonstration against the then authoritarian government, were micro memories of popular fashion and entertainment in the innocently portrayed “Age of Analog.” Concluding the introduction to the eventful year, in which the narrator talks about a movie that the youth of that generation had all loved, the scene changes to a small television set in a bedroom, playing a segment from John Woo’s (吳宇森’s) A Better Tomorrow II (英雄本色 II) (1987). Mesmerizing the teenagers in the room is the segment where the character “Brother” Mark (Chow Yun Fat) is holding a dying Kit (Leslie Cheung), who is making his last call to his wife from the public phone. Adding to the nostalgic mood is the theme song “Run to the Future Days” (奔向未來日子) (1987), sung by the late Leslie Cheung (張國榮). As in many Asian metropoles, inspired by the distinctive highly synchronized dance choreographies of Korean pop (or Kpop) groups, local amateur dancers such as the popular LynX Dance HK have taken to the streets of Hong Kong with Kpop cover dance performances in different parts of the city (LynX Dance HK, 2018). Meanwhile, South Korea’s media has also been paying tribute to the late Cantopop star Leslie Cheung and to 1980s Hong Kong cinema and Cantopop. This included a tribute cover song, by Kim Dong Wook, of Cheung’s “In the Sentimental Past” (當年情) (1986), the theme song for John Woo’s A Better Tomorrow (英雄本色) (1986). Posted onto the YouTube channel of one of South Korea’s main broadcasters, KBS (KBSKpop, 2014), the song was received emotionally, with comments written in Chinese, English and Korean attesting nostalgically to Cantopop’s heyday. Given such exchanges between the two locations, this chapter seeks to unearth the Inter-​Asia interactions in popular music texts and artistes between South Korea and Hong Kong. While unprecedented for an otherwise pop culture periphery until recently, the Korean Wave, or Hallyu, should not be treated as ahistorical, but linked to Asia’s broader transnational media-​ecology. We seek to draw out and weave together otherwise scattered instances of Cantopop–​Kpop exchanges and referencing to deepen the historicity of such initiatives and convergences. In the face of hardening borders, these practices and exchanges collective made the East Asian mediascapes dynamically porous and aesthetically distinct.

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Pop Culture Mobilities: From “Rise and Fall” to Shifting Centres Cantopop commanded a strong regional and transnational presence from the late 1970s to the early 2000s, when the city rose to become a centre for the Chinese entertainment industry. Embodying the “global” Western–​Japanese contemporary musical aesthetics along with local Cantonese sensibilities, Cantopop possesses a distinctive hybridity as an urban musical genre (Ho, 2003) that garnered regional popularity outside Chinese markets. The markets included South Korea, where singers like Leslie Cheung, Faye Wong (王菲) and Leon Lai (黎明) became familiar names to a generation of Koreans during this period. However, a mix of rampant proliferation of pirated copies in the 1990s, regional competition from Taiwan’s Mandopop and, more recently, Kpop have seemingly eroded Cantopop’s transnational influence. The shifting of Hong Kong’s talents to the Putonghua-​based burgeoning market coupled with declining investments in new blood reduced Cantopop’s visibility further (Chow, 2007; Chow, 2018; Wong, 2003). Two decades later, Korean popular music is now defining Asia’s regional pop culture flows; Cantopop’s spread seems to have receded. However, rather than assuming a “rise and fall” narrative (Chow, 2018; Chu, 2017; Wong, 2003), this chapter seeks to position the regional media convergences and flows across ethnolinguistic boundaries of contemporary nation states. Such regional media ecologies have been critically detected and acknowledged as integral to the multidimensional nature of globalization (Chua, 2001; Iwabuchi, 2010; Wee, 2012, 2016). Shin (2009a) proposed the concept of the “CosmoAsian” in framing such cultural interactions. Encompassing a more fluid subjectivity against the fixity of “national” cultures and pop globalism’s Eurocentrism, the CosmoAsian acknowledges and contributes to the broadening of transnational Asian networkings and identities. Rather than being mutually exclusive, the CosmoAsian sees popular culture as an integral and layered mix of local, national, regional and global (Western) popular culture texts and references. The linguistic geo-​cultural trajectories for such foundations are both fluidly pervasive and imaginational, with the songs of one locality able to be affectively absorbed and appropriated by another. One such example is been the appeal of Cantopop and Mandopop that started for overseas Chinese communities in Southeast Asia before diffusing into the rest of the population. Hence, being CosmoAsian means being aware of the multiplicities of being Asian. Here, amidst the shifting pop culture centres between Hong Kong and Seoul, also exist the mutual adaptive practices of musical textual borrowings and referencing, transnational performances and collaborations as well as nostalgic retrospection and tributes. The patterns of adaptation and adjustment by the two different pop music genres are part of what will be discussed here as “pop culture mobilities” that produce more dynamically cosmopolitan and trendy transnational popular culture aesthetics and engage the imagination of the CosmoAsian. In this respect, by punching above their otherwise limited geo-​linguistic markets and demographics, Cantopop and Kpop embody pop culture mobilities that are critical in sustaining the currency of such cultural evolutions and interactions. Periodizing Cantpop–​Kpop Convergences within “Changing Feng Shui” The discussion of the periodization of Cantopop and Kpop can be framed under the Chinese idiom “Fengshuilunliuzhuan” (風水輪流轉) or “shifting geomancy of feng shui,” which implies the changing of the wheel of fortune for peoples and places. Such has described, to some extent, the pop culture shifts between Hong Kong and South Korea in the past two decades. Discussions

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of Cantopop–​Kpop convergences can be periodized into two segments based on the confluence of geopolitical and technological factors, which demonstrates the fluidity of transnational popular culture nodes in the Asia-​Pacific region (Liew, 2004, 2010). The first stage is set from the 1970s to the early 2000s with the advent of Hong Kong’s entertainment culture, particularly radio and television (Curtin, 2007; Lee, 2009; Liew, 2015; Ma, 1999; Wong, 2009). We call this period the “Pax Musica,” based on the music event in 1984 involving Cantopop’s most popular singer Alan Tam (譚詠麟) and his counterparts from Korea, Cho Yong Pil (조용필), and Japan, Sinjin Tanimura (谷村新司). This period comes gradually to a close with the growing awareness and recognition by Cantopop of the rise of Kpop and the Korean Wave in general, as seen in the more visible and direct incorporation of Korean elements into the music and Hong Kong’s popular culture by the early 2000s. We would like to mark the end of this period with the sudden suicide of Leslie Cheung on April 1, 2003 (Wood, 2018). Unlike the conventional marker of 1997 to characterize the decline of Cantopop with the handover of Hong Kong to China, for the decline of Kpop interactions, Cheung’s death probably was the end of an era, particularly for Korean audiences that would subsequently identify nostalgically with Cantopop. As Cantopop started to recede from the Chinese and regional markets from the late 1990s (Tsang, 1999), the second stage can be marked by the shifting of the transnational pop culture centre to Seoul from the mid-​2000s. The subsequent decade saw the proliferation and high turnover rates of Kpop boy and girl groups associated with the visually spectacular fashion and meticulously choreographed dances from the newly energized post-​1997 financial crisis Korean culture industries (Chung, 2013; Kwon, Rhee & Suh, 2004; Ryoo, 2008; Shim, 2006; Shin, 2009a). Contrasting this was the low turnover of the Cantopop industry, enervated by rampant intellectual piracy and the accompanying decline of investment in the entertainment business after a buoyant decade in the 1980s (Ho, 2000). Against the fresh faces of constantly new Kpop groups appealing to the international youth audiences were those of Cantopop’s veterans. Although the grounds have been recentred, the Cantopop industry continues the adaptive practices of adjusting its music styles to Kpop aesthetics and styles. Through collaborative initiatives with its Korean counterparts, several companies and artistes have attempted to cultivate home-​grown “made in Hong Kong” Kpop groups. Meanwhile, away from the industry there is an organically evolving young generation of Kpop-​inspired amateur cover dance groups in Hong Kong with more independent social networks. Also taking place, concurrently, Hong Kong has hosted CJ Entertainment and Media’s Mnet Asian Music Awards (MAMA) since the event was brought from South Korea to other Asian cities in 2009. Another milestone in the role of Hong Kong in convergence of Kpop was the engagement by the auction house Sotheby’s of Kpop artiste T.O.P. from the industry’s then most popular group, Big Bang, to “guest curate” its sale entitled #TTTOP (Sotheby’s, 2016). With earnings of US$17.4 million, the project exceeded pre-​sales estimates by attracting the emerging market of younger Asian buyers (Chow, 2016). As Kpop moves into new grounds, Cantopop shows signs of age, with retrospective nostalgic tributes coming in from South Korean media. Cantopop’s Pax-​Musica-​ing Seoul (1980s to 2003) Little attention has been paid to the post-​war popular culture interactions between South Korea and Hong Kong. The most evident presence was perhaps in the involvement of Korean film-​maker Shin Shang-​Ok in the 1960s and 1970s in the transnational Shaw Brothers movie industry that

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was operating between Taiwan and Hong Kong for predominately overseas Chinese audiences (Lee, 2012). In the meantime, the genesis of what is understood as contemporary Cantopop music emerged with Cantonese theme songs from television drama programmes and pop songs from a new generation of young Hong Kong artistes. Departing from their radical predecessors, who were associated with the tumultuous Maoist-​inspired riots of 1967, Cantopop is influenced more by contemporary Western and Japanese rock and roll and electronic music that is adapted to fit into themes of modern romance and urban lifestyle (Ernie, 2007; Chew, 2009; Witzleben, 1999). With its politically deodorized non-​Communist, non-​Japanese and non-​Western identities, Cantopop, like its Taiwanese counterpart in Mandopop, had probably bypassed the authoritarian regime and passed seamlessly into the hearts of South Korean society by the early 1980s. Cantopop singers like Leslie Cheung, Alan Tam and Faye Wong, together with their Taiwanese counterpart Teresa Teng (鄧麗君), became part of the South Korean popular music-​scapes in the 1980s and 1990s. Hong Kong artistes like Alan Tam and subsequently Sammi Cheng (鄭秀文) had also appropriated some Korean pop songs into Cantopop as part of the broader pop culture borrowings from the then burgeoning industry of mainly Japanese and Western pop songs. Tam had already started to form a close relationship with Korean and Japanese pop singers Cho and Tanimura through the Pax Musica performance in 1984 (Comeback to Love, 2014). His songs “Love in Autumn” (愛在深秋) (1984) and “Fiery Beauty” (火美人) (1985) were Cantonese covers of Cho’s “Dear Friend” (친구여) (1983) and “Short Hair” (단발머리) (1980). Topping Hong Kong’s music chart in 1984, and subsequently becoming one of the more popular songs in Tam’s four-​decades-​long music career, “Love” can in fact be considered as the prominent example in the early beginnings of the contemporary intersections between Kpop and Cantopop. Over a decade later, in expanding her repertoire of techno-​based dance songs, Sammi Cheng covered Kpop techno pop star Lee Jung Hyun’s (이정현’s) “Wa” (와) (1999) and “Change” (바꿔) (1999) into both Cantonese and Putonghua as “The Exclusive Audition” (獨家試唱) (2000) and “Colourful Dances” (眉飛色舞) (2000). The use of cover songs in Cantopop has been evident, with direct borrowings of song compositions from mainly English and Japanese popular songs. Whereas such practices were commonly subjected to accusations of blatant copying, they have been recognized retrospectively as part of the creative adaptability and hybridization of Cantopop (Chan, 2009; Chu & Leung, 2013; Otmazgin, 2014; Yau, 2012). In fact, in 2003 one of Cheng’s tracks, “The Big Runaway” (大暴走), moved away from the cover song format by engaging five Korean breakdancers from the Group of World Championships between 2001 and 2003 for her music video (Sina, 2003). They were known as “Nilson,” “Pop Kun,” “Dusty,” “Gom” and “Jo-​T” (Timeless Tiandie, 2018). At around the same time, two decades after Pax Musica, collaborative projects were also initiated by hip hop artistes in East Asia. Playing the connecting role, DJ Tommy and MC Yan’s Hong Kong rap collective LMF, or LazyMuthaFuckers (Cheuk, 2018), initiated two joint rap tracks with regional counterparts DJ Meta and Joosuc from South Korea, Dwagie from Taiwan, and K-​One, MC Ill and Jaguar from Japan on Respect for Da Chopstick Hip Hop in 2001 (DJ Tommy-​Topic, 2014; Lin, 2008). The same practices were seen subsequently as Cantopop tried to adjust to Kpop’s cultural ascendency in the 2010s. However, until the last decade, visibility and knowledge of the origins of these Korean pop songs remained poor (Lin & Tong, 2008). Hence, while Cantopop, alongside Hong Kong cinema, captured South Korea’s popular imagination, the residents of the then British colony knew little about Kpop, thus engendering a largely asymmetrical circulation between the two regions.

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From Cover Versions to Kpop-​ish Productions (2003 to Present) The tide started to turn, coincidentally, around the year 1997 with the historic handover of Hong Kong to China and the disruptive Asian Financial Crisis. A newly democratized South Korea was about to unleash creative energies increasingly financed by the emerging cultural industries that were subsequently instrumental in globalizing Korean entertainment, now known as the Korean Wave. Aside from the screening of Korean television dramas in gradually commercialized Chinese television, Kpop saw its early regional influence through the popularity among Chinese youths of boy bands like H.O.T. and Sechkies (Chua & Iwabuchi, 2008; Jin & Yoon, 2017; Kuwahara, 2014; Shin, 2009b). At around the same time, Cantopop seemed increasingly sidelined by competition from the resurgent Taipei-​based Mandopop, also from newly democratized post-​martial law Taiwan. The presence of Korean popular entertainment was felt significantly in Hong Kong with television dramas like Dae Jang Geum [Jewel in the Palace] (2003) and its accompanying theme songs in the mid-​2000s (Kim, Agrusa, Chon & Cho, 2008; Lin & Tong, 2008). In fact, in Hong Kong, which was hosting a World Trade Organization (WTO) event in 2006, the song was sung by Korean anti-​WTO demonstrators in an attempt to appeal to the local populace (Leung, 2009). A Cantonese cover version of the theme song was sung by Kelly Chen (陳慧琳) in 2005 with the title changed to “Hope” (希望), and the official music video featured Chen wearing the Korean traditional costume (hanbok) in her performance (sawasdee88cup88pui, 2006). Other Cantopop covers of Korean television drama theme songs included Kay Tse’s (謝安琪’s) “Touched by Generous Love” (大愛感動) (2010) (dramatomyProduction1, 2010) from the historical drama serial Dong Yi (동이) (2010) and the more informal Cantonese rendition of the theme song “You Are My Everything” from the popular drama Descendants of the Sun (태양의 후예) (2016) by Deng Yingting (鄧英婷) (Akira, 2016). At around the same time, Cantopop’s hold in China and Southeast Asia was also being significantly weakened by Kpop that systematically leveraged the social and digital media revolution to push forward a new generation of Kpop groups (Jin, 2016; Lee & Nornes, 2015) like Girls Generation (also known as SNSD), 2PM and Super Junior. Such trends were, however, not evident in the Cantopop scene, where the “unofficial” distribution of content was still regarded as intellectual piracy. In contrast, Cantopop seems to continuously rely on veteran artistes associated with the heyday of the industry; namely, the “Four Heavenly Kings” (四大天王)—Aaron Kwok, Andy Lau, Leon Lai and Jacky Cheung. This can be attributed to uncertainty due to Kpop’s influence, which was becoming increasingly regarded as a cultural “threat” as was evident in the cases of anti-​Hallyu sentiments across Asia (Ainslie, Lipura & Lim, 2017; Ito, 2014; Chen, 2018). In Hong Kong, the most visible displeasure was with Jackie Chan’s (成龍’s) lament of the treatment of Chinese celebrities in South Korea compared to the lavish media attention their Korean counterparts received in China (Deseretnews, 2005; Sohu, 2005), and with Nicolas Tse’s (謝霆鋒’s) advice to aspiring male singers in a Chinese audition show not to follow the trends of “effeminate” Kpop stars (DailyKpopnews, 2018). However, the market responses on the ground were more tuned in to the changing realities and shifting centres. Adjusting to its inverse relationship with Kpop’s regional dominance, the Cantopop industry responded with the conventional practice of appropriating Kpop aesthetics and dance choreographies. It has also partnered with Korean entertainment agencies to form Kpop groups comprising Hong Kong and Korean singers, with groups like Super Girls and As One producing songs in both Cantonese and Korean. Hong Kong was once a pop culture centre

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for an international pool of aspiring overseas Chinese artistes (Liew, 2010). This role has now been overtaken by Kpop, even with several Hong Kong singers in the genre, including Vivi Wong Kar Hei (黃珈熙) from Loona, Lucas Wong Yukhei (黄旭熙) of NCT U, Elkie Chong (莊錠欣) of CLC and Jackson Wang (王嘉爾) of GOT7. Unlike their predecessors, the new generation of singers are more intent on leveraging Kpop to gain international limelight. Cantopop’s desire to bend into Kpop and ride its popularity can be perhaps seen in Korea-​ inspired, and even Korea-​trained, Cantopop girl groups like Super Girls and As One as well as the boy group JJCC, established by Jackie Chan’s Korean-​based entertainment business, the Jackie Chan Korean Group. They resemble their Kpop counterparts in terms of the bubble-​gum candy pop music compositions and dance choreographies. Indeed, Hong Kong-​based Sun Entertainment Culture’s As One presented itself as indistinguishable from Kpop groups in the South Korean entertainment circuit. As One (known in South Korea as AS1) was a Hong Kong female group, managed by Sun Entertainment Culture, that debuted in June 2012 in Hong Kong. The make-​up of the group was very unstable. It initially consisted of four members—Shin, Oli, Elfa and Nata—but two quit later on. Two new members joined from 2014 to 2015. In 2015, the four members of the group were trained and the group debuted in Korea. As One was the first Hong Kong female group to do so. The other Kpop girl group, Super Girls (named Icon Girls from 2010 to 2012), has been managed by Stars Shine International Ltd. from 2012 to 2013, Eric Tsang’s entertainment agency in 2014, and JamCast Management (Hong Kong) Ltd. from 2015 to the present. Now the group is made up of five young Chinese women—Jessica, Aka, Cheronna, Yanny and Heidi—hailing from Hong Kong, Macau and the USA. In contrast to the girl groups, JJCC is composed of seven male group members from diverse backgrounds. Among them are five Koreans (E.co, Yul, Zica, Simba and Sancheong), one Korean American (Eddy) and one Chinese Australian (Prince Mak). JJCC debuted in Korea in March 2014 with the single “At First” (첨엔 다 그래) (2014). With the global awareness of Jackie Chan, the group received attention around the world from the start (Mak, 2017). This Kpop model departs from that of predecessor Cantopop groups, which were either organically formed guitar-​ based rock bands like Beyond and Taichi (太極) or dance groups like Grasshoppers (草蜢), who rose to prominence while performing for then Cantopop singer Anita Mui (梅艷芳). However, unlike their counterparts under the more prominent Korean production houses like SM, YG and JYP, to date none of these groups have managed to make a visible presence in the global Kpop industry. AS1 has even ceased updating their social media, and the group members have moved on to individual careers. While the “Hong Kong-​ness” of these groups and artistes was not the most visible under the broad umbrella of Kpop, they did add to Cantopop’s musical repertoire. Similar to predecessors appropriating Western and Japanese pop songs to produce Cantonese cover versions, the Cantopop industry has tried to leverage Kpop’s musical styles, though immediately facing the similar criticism that it is merely copying songs. While Sammi Cheng’s covers of Lee Jung Hyun’s songs are now considered to be Cantopop’s techno classics, the same practice by Joey Yung (容祖兒) with “Seeing Differently” (另眼相看) (2013) was immediately called out for its resemblance to Kpop Lee Hi’s “1, 2, 3, 4” (2012) (Su, 2013). Unlike the direct acknowledgement of Korean origins in Sammi Cheng’s songs, “Seeing Differently” made no reference in its music composition to the supposed Kpop origins.

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Despite not gaining the ideal global popularity of major Kpop groups, the Hong Kong counterparts did produce Cantopop version of songs that were popular in the city. For example, Super Girls mainly sing in Cantonese and have gradually released more ballads than dance music. Of their music videos released on YouTube, six are dance music and nine are ballads. In its dance music, this group has shown a strong influence from Kpop visuals including costume and dance movements, especially when it initially debuted. Meanwhile, the ballad “Maid” (女僕) (2017) shows a visual style similar to Kpop. Other aspects of Super Girls’ dance music still reflect Cantopop style; see, for instance, “Be My Love” (2012), “Flash On” (鎂光燈下) (2014), “I Belong To U” (2014), “Black Suit” (黑色西裝) (2015) and “Something Happened” (有事發生) (2016). Super Girls ballads are mainly Cantopop in terms of the music and the visuals; see, for instance, “Blossom” (蓓蕾) (2015) and “Close to You” (一拍即愛) (2015). The Kpop-​based younger Hong Kong artistes are also gaining recognition from their older Cantopop counterparts. Sammi Cheng, who was instrumental in introducing contemporary Korean pop in the form of Cantopop cover versions, recently collaborated with Jackson Wang to feature a new song, “I Believed in Myself ” (2018). Adapted from the original, “Creo En Mi,” sung by Natalie Jimenez Sarmiento (2015) (Lindsay, 2018), the song signifies intergenerational convergence and collaboration between Cantopop and Kpop. Hong Kong’s position as a more autonomous postcolonial city under the “one country, two systems” policy has also made it a favourable politically neutral staging ground for the Kpop industry (Fedorenko, 2017). Hallyu made its first forays into China in the early 1990s. However, its presence has been entangled with political hiccups, such as Beijing’s unofficial ban on Korean entertainment over the deployment of American THAAD (Terminal High Altitude Area Defense) missiles in South Korea (The Korean Times, 2016). Unlike the other Chinese cities, the ban did not extend to Hong Kong. The city has been the venue for the Kpop-​fronted MAMA, organised by CJ Entertainment and Media, consecutively from 2012 to 2018. At the peak of the unofficial ban, the eighth MAMA ceremony in 2016 went ahead in Hong Kong without any interruptions (Jang, 2012; Kim, 2016). Disruptive bilateral relations between China and South Korea have also underscored the importance of non-​Koreans in Kpop groups. When Kpop groups ceased their activities in the mainland, Chinese members of those Kpop groups continued their activities in the mainland as individual celebrities. Reply to a Better Tomorrow: Hallyu’s Cantopop Nostalgia Hong Kong cinema and its accompanying popular culture has been acknowledged for its role in inspiring and shaping South Korean cultural imagination, taking references from the city’s popular aesthetics (Hyun, 1998; Lee, 2006). Nostalgic and collective memories accompany the growing influence of Hallyu and rise of Korean cinema, alongside the fading presence of the Hong Kong counterparts. During the 2010s, there was a stream of nostalgic references within the Korean culture industry, harking back to Cantopop and the Hong Kong popular culture that captured Korean imaginations in the 1980s. The 18th Busan International Film Festival in 2013 paid tribute to the tenth anniversary of the death of Cheung with the screening of the films he had starred in. In social media, particularly YouTube, countless postings of Cheung’s songs and interviews by Koreans also sustain the collective memories and cultural currency of Cantopop. For a culturally confident South Korea that witnessed not just the localization but the

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40   •   Kai Khiun Liew and Meicheng Sun

global projection of its own popular entertainment in Hallyu, the elevation of Woo’s film and Cheung’s theme song, both representative of a generation, can be seen as a tribute to Hong Kong cinema and Cantopop. Here, on both traditional and social media platforms, popular culture mobilities take on a temporal dimension in Cantopop–​Kpop convergence by an older generation of CosmoAsians. Conclusion: Convergent Cantopop–​Kpop Cantopop’s regional influence may be currently overshadowed by Kpop. However, in retrospectively unearthing links, we wish to underline the significance of a legacy of cultural inter-​ referencing within the Cantopop–​Kpop media ecologies. Underlining the critical contrasts between Cantopop’s geo-​cultural slide and Kpop’s ascendance is not only about measuring the strengths and weaknesses of each industry. More importantly, the Kpop connections mirror those of the trajectory and narrative of Cantopop. In cover songs, co-​productions and appropriations, the interactions between the two music genres point toward a transnational circulatory media ecology of intertextual referencing and cultural adaptations. Such inter-​Asia convergence has taken place amidst the shifting of cultural centres between Hong Kong and Seoul as the once subordinated Kpop took centre stage over Cantopop. What such activities and trends have demonstrated is that fluid pop culture mobilities continue to give the two otherwise separate genres greater convergence and currency in developing the more dynamic CosmoAsian ideals (Shin, 2009b) of inter-​Asia pop culture. References Ainslie, M., Lipura, S., & Lim, J. (2017). Understanding the potential for a Hallyu “backlash” in Southeast Asia: A case study of consumers in Thailand, Malaysia and Philippines. Kritika Kultura, 0(28), 63–​91. Akira, K. (2016). “Descendants of the sun you are my everything, Cantonese version.” April 17. Retrieved from www. youtube.com/​watch?v=bCgUljrHrSM. Chan, B. H. S. (2009). English in Hong Kong Cantopop: Language choice, code‐switching and genre. World Englishes, 28(1), 107–​129. Chen, L. (2018). Chinese Fans of Japanese and Korean Pop Culture: Nationalistic Narratives and International Fandom. London and New York: Routledge. Cheuk, M. K. C. (2018). The “lazy” element: LMF and the localization of hip hop authenticity. In J. S. Polley, V. Poon, & L. Wee (Eds.), Cultural Conflict in Hong Kong: Angles on a Coherent Imaginary (pp. 149–​166). Singapore: Palgrave. Chew, M. (2009). The subversive sociocultural meanings of Cantopop electronic dance music. Chinese Sociology & Anthropology, 24(2),  76–​93. Chow, Stephen Yiu-wai. (2007). Before and after the Fall: Mapping Hong Kong Cantopop in the Global Era. Hong Kong: David C. Lam Institute for East-West Studies. LEWI Working Paper Series no 63. https://repository.hkbu.edu.hk/ cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1009&context=lewi_wp Chow, V. (2016). “K-​Pop star T.O.P.  helped Sotheby’s break records in Hong Kong this week.” Art Market, October 7.  Retrieved from www.artsy.net/​article/​artsy-​editorial-​k-​pop-​star-​t-​o-​p-​helped-​sotheby-​s-​break-​records-​in-​ hong-​kong-​this-​week. Chow, V. (2018). “The rise and fall of Canto-​pop and, with it, Hong Kong’s cultural identity.” South China Morning Post, January 5.  Retrieved from www.scmp.com/​comment/​insight-​opinion/​article/​2126956/​rise-​and-​fall-​canto-​pop-​and-​ it-​hong-​kongs-​cultural-​identity. Chu, Y. W. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chu, Y. W. & Leung, E. (2013). Remapping Hong Kong popular music: Covers, localisation and the waning hybridity of Cantopop. Popular Music, 32(1), 65–​78. Chua, B. H. (2001). Pop culture China. Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography, 22(2), 113–​121.

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 Pax Musica and  Mnets   •   41 Chua, B. H. & Iwabuchi, K. (Eds.) (2008). East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chung, P. (2013). Co-​creating Korean Wave in Southeast Asia:  Digital convergence and Asia’s media regionalization. Journal of Creative Communications, 8(2–​3), 193–​208. Curtin, M. (2007). The globalization of Hong Kong television. In M. Curtin (Ed.), Playing to the World’s Biggest Audience: The Globalization of Chinese Film and TV (pp. 109–​132). Berkeley: University of California Press. DailyKpopnews (2018). “Nicholas Tse is tired of the trendy Korean style!” KPop Daily News, July 17. Retrieved from www.dkpopnews.net/​2018/​07/​nicholas-​tse-​is-​tired-​of-​trendy-​korean.html?fbclid=IwAR2cgO8_​I4f66kDUStmr1 9FuCvuhb2OKa4LwDMktQkPlulRKvbSSEoz9aWI. Deseret News (2005). “Jackie Chan denies reports that he is anti-​South Korean.” Deseret News, October 13. Retrieved from www.deseretnews.com/​article/​615156509/​Jackie-​Chan-​denies-​reports-​that-​he-​is-​anti-​South-​Korean.html. DJ Tommy-​Topic (2014). “Respect 4 DA Chopstick Hip Hop.” September 25. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=YOe_​avbGR3E&list=PLVGBBLAtOP0HhiTZWool6hn8L3XlyL8jF. Dramatomyproduction1 (2010). “Xie Anqi—Daai gandong MV” 《謝安琪—大愛感動MV》 “同伊” 香港版主題曲 [Kay Tse—Touched by Generous Love MV (theme song of Dong Yi, Hong Kong version)]. October 24. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​watch?v=ljVdafN_​85w&fbclid= IwAR2XV61HD0MY0K-​ TMfFChh6ufvEAKsE0VB4N1ehluxbOO0AAg9RUB1pImUg. Ernie, J. (2007). Gender and everyday evasions in Hong Kong. Paper presented at the International Communication Association 2005 Annual Meeting, May, 2005, New York, NY. Fedorenko, O. (2017). Korean-​Wave celebrities between global capital and regional nationalisms. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 18(4), 498–​517. Ho, W.-​C. (2000). The political meaning of Hong Kong popular music: A review of sociopolitical relations between Hong Kong and the People’s Republic of China since the 1980s. Popular Music, 19(3), 341–​53. Ho, W.-​C. (2003). Between globalisation and localisation: A study of Hong Kong popular music. Popular Music, 22(2), 143–​157. Hyun, D. (1998). Hong Kong cinema in Korea: Its prosperity and decay. Asian Cinema, 9(2), 38–​45. Ito, K. (2014). Anti-​Korean sentiment and hate speech in the current Japan: A report from the street. Procedia: Environmental Science, 20, 434–​443. Iwabuchi, K. (2010). Globalization, East Asian media cultures and their publics. Asian Journal of Communication, 20(2), 197–​212. Jang, S. H. (2012). The Korean Wave and its implications for the Korea-China relationship. Journal of International and Area Studies, 19(2), 97–113. Retrieved from “http://www.jstor.org/stable/43107242” www.jstor.org/stable/43107242. Jin, D. Y. (2016). New Korean Wave:  Transnational Cultural Power in the Age of Social Media. Urbana:  University of Illinois Press. Jin, D. Y. & Yoon, T.-​J. (2017). The Korean wave: Retrospect and prospect. International Journal of Communication, 11, 2241–​2249. KBSKpop (2014). “HIT. 불후의 명곡2-​JK김동욱 (JK Kim Dong Wook)—당년정. 20130824” [HIT. Immortal Songs 2—JK Kim Dong Wook (JK Kim Dong Wook)—In the Sentimental Past. 20130824]. October 15. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​watch?v=eU7BMYU6hdQ. Kim, J.-​H. (2016). “MAMA in Hong Kong goes on despite China’s ban on South Korean actors and singers.” South China Morning Post, November 28. Retrieved from www.scmp.com/​news/​hong-​kong/​article/​2049712/​ mama-​hong-​kong-​goes-​despite-​chinas-​hallyu-​ban. Kim, S. S., Agrusa, J., Chon, K., & Cho, Y. (2008). The effects of Korean pop culture on Hong Kong residents’ perceptions of Korea as a potential tourist destination. Journal of Travel & Tourism Marketing, 24(2), 163–​183. Kuwahara, Y. (2014). Introduction. In Y. Kuwahara (Ed.), The Korean Wave: Korean Popular Culture in Global Context (pp. 1–​9). New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Kwon, S.-​H., Rhee, D.-​K., & Suh, C.-​S. (2004). Globalization strategies of South Korean electronics companies after the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis. Asia Pacific Business Review, 10(3–​4), 422–​440. Lee, A. (2009). Hong Kong television and the making of new diasporic imaginaries. In Y. Zhu & C. Berry (Eds.), TV China (pp. 183–​200). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Lee, H.-​S. (2006). Peripheral encounter: The Hong Kong film syndrome in South Korea. Discourse, 28, 98–​113. Retrieved from www.jstor.org.ezlibproxy1.ntu.edu.sg/​stable/​41389754.

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42   •   Kai Khiun Liew and Meicheng Sun Lee, S. J. (2012). The genealogy of pan-​Asian big pictures and the predicament of the contemporary South Korean film industry. Transnational Cinemas, 3(1), 93–​106. Lee, S. J., & Nornes, A. M. (Eds.) (2015). Hallyu 2.0: The Korean Wave in the Age of Social Media. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Leung, L. Y. M. (2009). Daejanggeum as “affective mobilization”: Lessons for (transnational) popular culture and civil society. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 10(1), 51–​66. Liew, K. K. (2004). Limited pidgin type patios? Policy, language, technology, identity and the experience of Canto-​pop music in Singapore. Popular Music, 22(2), 217–​233. Liew, K. K. (2010). Symbolic migrant workers: Southeast Asian artistes in the East Asian entertainment industry. In D. Shim & A. Heryanto (Eds.), Pop Culture Formations across East Asia (pp. 181–​208). Seoul: Jimoodang. Liew, K. K. (2015). Cultural polysemy and vernacular cosmopolitanism in the theme songs of Hong Kong television dramas. In G. Turner & J. Tay (Eds.), Television History in Asia (pp. 338–​366). London and New York: Routledge. Lin, A. (2008). “Respect for da Chopstick Hip Hop”: The politics, poetics, and pedagogy of Cantonese verbal art in Hong Kong. In S. Alim, A. Ibrahim, & A. Pennycook (Eds.), Global Linguistic Flows: Hip Hop Cultures, Youth Identities, and the Politics of Language (pp. 159–​177). New York: Routledge. Lin, A. & Tong, A. (2008). Re-​imagining a cosmopolitan “Asian us”: Korean media flows and imaginaries of Asian modern femininities. In B. H. Chua & K. Iwabuchi (Eds.), East Asian Pop Culture: Analysing the Korean Wave (pp. 91–​125). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Lindsay (2008). “Sammi Cheng and Jackson Wang Say ‘Creo en Mi’ in New Collaboration.” KMusic, August 27. Retrieved from http://​officiallykmusic.com/​sammi-​cheng-​jackson-​wang-​say-​creo-​en-​mi-​new-​collaboration/​. LynX Dance HK (2018). “Lyn X Dance HK.” October 28. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​channel/​UC_​ eX8dEHD5a-​QpCvSQdkl7g. Ma, E. (1999). Culture, Politics and Television in Hong Kong. London: Routledge. Mak, H. P. (2017). “Why I  stopped being a KPOP IDOL.” November 18. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=QRm1teeG8Qk. Otmazgin, N. (2014). A regional gateway: Japanese popular culture in Hong Kong, 1990–​2005. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 15(2), 323–​335. Ryoo, W. (2008). The political economy of the global mediascape: The case of the South Korean film industry. Media, Culture & Society, 30(6), 873–​889. Sawasdee88cup88pui (2006). “Kelly Chen Kelly Chen—Hope.” November 27. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=tT3rVZwak9s. Shim, D. (2006). Hybridity and the rise of Korean popular culture in Asia. Media, Culture & Society, 28(1),  25–​44. Shin, H. (2009a). Have you ever seen the rain? And who’ll stop the rain? The globalizing project of Korean pop (K-​pop). Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 10(4), 507–​523. Shin, H. (2009b). Reconsidering transnational cultural flows of popular music in East Asia: Transbordering musicians in Japan and Korea searching for “Asia.” Korean Studies, 33(1), 101–​123. Sina (2003). “Zheng xiuwen yu han HipHop gaoshouhezuo hese luqizhuang xiu xinggan” 《郑秀文与韩HipHop高手 合作 黑色露脐装秀性感》 [Sammi Cheng collaborated with Korean Hip Hop masters showing sexiness with black crop top]. Sina, July 18. Retrieved from http://​ent.sina.com.cn/​2003-​07-​18/​0934172792.html. Sohu (2005). “Chenglong jijiang fanghan hanguo meiti guanqie ta ‘fan hanliu fayan’ ” 《成龙即将访韩 韩国媒体关切他 “反韩流发言”》 [Jacky Cheung is about to visit South Korea, Korean media care about his “anti-​Hallyu statement”]. May 10. Retrieved from http://​yule.sohu.com/​20051005/​n227127743.shtml. Sotheby’s (2016). “#TTTOP.” October 3. Retrieved from www.sothebys.com/​en/​auctions/​2016/​tttop-​hk0701.html. Su (2013). “Joey Yung’s new song under fire for plagiarism.” Jaynestars, May 13. Retrieved from www.jaynestars.com/​ music/​joey-​yungs-​new-​song-​under-​fire-​for-​plagiarism/​comment-​page-​1/​. The Korean Times (2016). “China’s ban on Hallyu.” Korean Times, November 23. Retrieved from www.koreatimes.co.kr/​ www/​news/​opinon/​2016/​11/​202_​218799.html. Timeless Tiandie (2018). “Sammi Cheng Sammi Cheng—Big Runaway.” March 27. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=eTlEZsshk2k. Tsang, A. (1999). The Cantopop drop. Billboard, February 27, 111(9). Wee, C. J. W. L. (2012). Imagining the fractured East Asian modern: Commonality and difference in mass-​cultural production. Criticism, 54(2), 197–​225. Wee, C. J. W. L. (2016). East Asian pop culture and the trajectory of Asian consumption. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 17(2), 305–​315.

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 Pax Musica and  Mnets   •   43 Witzleben, J. L. (1999). Cantopop and Mandapop in pre-​postcolonial Hong Kong: Identity negotiation in the performances of Anita Mui Yim-​Fong. Popular Music, 18(2), 241–​258. Wong, C. H.-​Y. (2009). Globalizing television: Chinese satellite television outside Greater China. In Y. Zhu & C. Berry (Eds.), TV China (pp. 201–​220). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Wong, J. S. (2003). The Rise and Decline of Cantopop: A Study of Hong Kong Popular Music (1949–​1997). Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Hong Kong. Wood, C. (2018). “Leslie Cheung’s suicide: How the king of Canto-​pop’s death shook Hong Kong 15 years ago.” South China Morning Post, March 29. Retrieved from www.scmp.com/​magazines/​post-​magazine/​short-​reads/​article/​ 2139425/​leslie-​cheungs-​suicide-​how-​king-​canto-​pops-​death. Yau, H.-​Y. (2012). Cover versions in Hong Kong and Japan: Reflections on music authenticity. Journal of Comparative Asian Development, 11(2), 320–​348.

Discography Chen, Kelly (2005). Hope. Eternal Sunshine. Hong Kong: Go East Entertainment. Cheng, Sammi (2000a). Colourful dances. Colourful Dances Mandarin Compilation. Hong Kong: Warner Music Hong Kong Ltd. Cheng, Sammi (2000b). The exclusive audition. Love is …. Hong Kong: Warner Music Hong Kong Ltd. Cheng, Sammi (2003). The big runaway. Completely Yours …. Hong Kong: WEA Records. Cheng, Sammi & Wang, Jackson (2018). I believed in myself. Believe in Me. Hong Kong: Media Asia Music. Cheung, Leslie (1986). In the sentimental past. Fire of Love. Hong Kong: Capital Artists Ltd. Cheung, Leslie (1988). Run to the future days. Virgin Snow. Hong Kong: Cinepoly Records Co., Ltd. Cho, Yong-​Pil (1980). Short hair. The Woman Outside the Window. Seoul: Jigu Records Inc. Cho, Yong-​Pil (1983). Dear friend. Cho Yong Pil 5th Album “Flowers in the Mountain, Woman’s Love, Han River.” Seoul: Jigu Records Inc. Hi, Lee (2012). 1, 2, 3, 4. First Love. Seoul: YG Entertainment. JJCC (2014). At first. At First. Seoul: The Jackie Chan Group KOREA. Lee, Jung Hyun (1999a). Change. Let’s Go to My Star. Seoul: HS Media. Lee, Jung Hyun (1999b). Wa [와]. Let’s Go to My Star. Seoul: HS Media. Sarmiento, Natalie Jimenez (2015). I believed in myself. I Believed in Myself. Miami, FL: Sony Music Latin. Super Girls (2012). Be my love. Be My love. Hong Kong: Stars Shine International Ltd. Super Girls (2013). I belong to you. I belong to U. Hong Kong: Stars Shine International Ltd. Super Girls (2014). Flash on. Blossom. Hong Kong: JamCastManagement. Super Girls (2015a). Black suit. Black Suit. Hong Kong: JamCastManagement. Super Girls (2015b). Blossom. Blossom. Hong Kong: JamCastManagement. Super Girls (2015c). Close to you. Close to You. Hong Kong: JamCastManagement. Super Girls (2016). Something happened. Something Happened. Hong Kong: JamCastManagement. Super Girls (2017). Maid. Maid. Hong Kong: JamCastManagement. Tam, Alan (1984). Love in autumn. Root of Love. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1985). Fiery beauty. Love Trap. Hong Kong: Philips. Tse, Kay (2010). Touched by generous love. Second Home. Hong Kong: Cinepoly Records Co., Ltd. Various Artists (2001). Respect 4 da Chopstick Hip Hop. Respect for da Chopstick Hip Hop. Hong Kong: Warner Music Hong Kong Ltd. Yung, Joey (2013). Seeing differently. Little Day. Hong Kong: Emperor Entertainment Group Limited.

Filmography Lee, Byung Hoon (director) (2003–​2004). Jewel in the Palace (대장금) (Dae Jang Geum). MBC-​TV Korea. Lee, Byung Hoon (director) (2010). Dong Yi (동이). MBC-​TV Korea. Lee, Eung Bok & Baek, Sang Hoon (directors) (2016–​2017). Descendants of the Sun (태양의 후예). KBS2. Shin, Won Ho (director) (2015–​2016). Reply 1988 (응답하라 1988). TVN. Woo, John (director) (1986). A Better Tomorrow. Cinema City/​Film Workshop. Woo, John (director) (1987). A Better Tomorrow II. Film Workshop.

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4

Voices Shaped by the People and for the People

Cantopop and Political Crisis from the Colonial to Postcolonial Era Stella Lau and Ivy Man

Political Crisis and Cantopop in Hong Kong Having been a British colony for over 150 years, Hong Kong is well known for its “East meets West” characteristics (Lau & Kuan, 1995). It is a place which lends great versatility to the handling of various situations, including the production of Cantonese popular songs—Cantopop. Culturally speaking, while Chinese Confucian beliefs and Buddhist philosophical ideas are in the heart of many Hong Kong people, the westernized democratic values and freedoms still exert indispensable influence. From a political point of view, more than 20 years after the return of sovereignty to China, Hong Kong, under the principle of “one country, two systems” stipulated in the Joint Declaration, still has different political and capitalist economic systems as well as judiciary functions independent from China. Subject to the interpretation of the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress, autonomy, civil rights and freedoms are still protected in the Hong Kong Basic Law. Focusing on crucial political crises experienced in the past few decades in Hong Kong— namely, the Sino-​British negotiations in the 1980s, the transformation of sovereignty in the 1990s and the pro-​democracy Umbrella Movement in 2014—the discussion attempts to reveal how Cantopop has hybridized cultural references to a changing political situation as well as adding to its repertoire in relation to the political changes with its local culture and musical sentiments. Special attention will be paid to the relationship between the local popular music scene and sociopolitical culture. An interdisciplinary approach will be adopted for the following discussion. Despite the fact that Cantopop became widely accepted in the 1970s, the 1980s was the most active decade in its history in terms of political crisis. In fact, Hong Kong entered a turbulent decade when the British and Chinese governments began negotiation on Hong Kong’s future in 1982. Musical and sociopolitical approaches will, therefore, be used to map out a number of important musical and ideological developments that have taken place in Hong Kong from the 1980s up to the postcolonial era—specifically, the Umbrella Movement, a 79-​day pro-​democracy street occupation protest in 2014. Textual analysis will be used to explain the local popular music culture with reference to the political milieu during this period. Examples, which vividly symbolize the ethos

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 Voices Shaped by the People and for the People   •   45

of Hong Kong and sentiments of Hong Kong people during the period in question, were rigorously selected to reflect how Cantopop corresponds to changes in Hong Kong’s political climate. Indeed, Cantopop songs echoed the feelings of the general public and/​or the youth in Hong Kong during all these years of provocation. The 1980s: Singing the Unpredictable Future Hong Kong underwent a decade of political transformation in the 1980s, and this was one of the most active periods in the history of Cantopop production. Politically speaking, official talks on Hong Kong’s return to China commenced in early 1982. Expecting the conclusion of the colonized Hong Kong in 1997 (15  years away), the talks focused on the transfer of Hong Kong to Chinese sovereignty. The prolonged negotiations resulted in the subsequent signing of a Joint Declaration in 1984. As agreed in the Joint Declaration between Britain and China, Hong Kong would become part of China, but with lifestyles and laws remaining mostly unchanged for at least 50  years after the return of sovereignty. There were in fact various feelings among Hong Kong people. Since the transfer of power was negotiated in conditions of secrecy, only by representatives of the two governments, the general public felt ever more concerned about their cultural identity, as this issue was believed to be directly related to the state of autonomy of Hong Kong. While the Joint Declaration was signed by delegations of Chinese and British governments without there having been any consultation of the general public during the negotiation process, this prospect filled the Hong Kong people with anxiety. In addition, the outbreak of the June 4 Movement in Beijing in 1989 further increased the level of uncertainty and anxiety towards the inescapable changes. These feelings were underpinned by a fear that conflict would result from the incompatibility between the capitalist system in Hong Kong and the socialist government in Mainland China. Justifiably, there were confused emotions regarding the issue among Hong Kong people, and citizens remained passive, helpless onlookers during these processes that were vital to the future of Hong Kong. To echo the political environment, a number of Cantopop songs were composed to express the uneasy sentiments of local Hong Kong people in that period. Sam Hui’s (許冠傑’s) “Bauhinia” (洋紫荊) (1983), the name of the flower that represents Hong Kong—which dealt with local people’s voice on the political situation as conveyed through analogy—added to Cantopop’s repertoire on this theme. Bauhinia From a lyrical point of view, the song implicitly expresses the irreplaceable value and advantages of living in Hong Kong: Growing from a “fishing island” and later becoming a prosperous city where “all business flourishes,” Hong Kong has undergone “various vicissitudes.” Although Hong Kong is only a small place, it is “unique” and “of good reputation” in the world. Being a “glittering pearl” in the East, it is hoped that Hong Kong, “your and my hometown,” can be a “gorgeous bauhinia” that “flourishes everywhere.” Indeed, in view of most Hong Kong people in the 1980s, Hong Kong should be a place where one can live peacefully and with stability for a lifetime. The beginning of the negotiations between the two governments, however, resulted in public nervousness as Hong Kong had already taken very different economic and political routes of development from China in past decades. In fact, many people would have preferred colonial

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rule to continue; some others started to worry about the future of Hong Kong and foresee that “difficulties and disturbances” would do harm to the flourishing economy. Despite all of the fears, the songwriter still optimistically encourages the listeners that Hong Kong “will be a paradise tomorrow” and Hong Kong people will be able to see “the dawn.” While Hong Kong continued to experience the various frustrating stages of Sino-​British negotiation about its future, the post-​1982 fear was echoed by a wave of emigration in the 1980s. Out of the negotiation between the two government delegations emerged the Joint Declaration on the future of Hong Kong, in which it was stated that the People’s Republic of China would resume the exercise of its sovereignty over Hong Kong with effect from July 1, 1997. Hong Kong would become a Special Administrative Region. Anxiety increased among the general public, since Hong Kong’s state of autonomy was uncertain. Since then, Cantopop has added to its repertoire of possible themes relating to local people’s feelings about the political situation. It is noted that “Bauhinia” was one example among many of Cantopop’s reflection on changes in the political climate. Others include Tat Ming Pair’s (達明一派’s) “Splendor Starlight Tonight” (今夜星光燦爛) (1987), “Do You Still Love Me” (你還愛我嗎) (1988) and “All for Freedom” (為自由) (1989) by various Hong Kong artists. In fact, five albums addressing the issue of 1997 and the wave of emigration were released from December 1989 to January 1990 (Lee, 1992). The musical style of these songs was indistinguishable from that of the mainstream. Also, the attractiveness of these songs was enhanced, as they echoed the mixed feelings of the general public toward the Chinese and British governments in the frustrating years since the 1980s. The insecurity was further complicated by the tragedy of the suppression of the democratic movement in Beijing in 1989. It is a fact that political lyrics used to be uncommon for the genre. However, having been inspired by the changing political situation, many Cantopop songs responded to the political events in the 1980s in different ways, whether metaphorically or explicitly. As the 1990s approached, consciousness grew of the time for Hong Kong’s return to the Chinese Motherland, and the trend towards various political commentaries continued into the new decade. The 1990s: Facing the Inevitable Return of Chinese Sovereignty According to the research on the music industry conducted by the Hong Kong International Federation of the Phonographic Industry (SRH, 1995), Cantopop in the 1990s had reached its summit and experienced a boost in album sales. In this decade, Cantopop stars also brought the Hong Kong popular music scene to a new peak of marketing, packaging and production sophistication. Politically speaking, the uncertainty continued to affect Hong Kong people. On July 1, 1997, Hong Kong became a Special Administrative Region of China. However, in the aftermath of the June 4 Movement in 1989 the confidence of Hong Kong people was severely shaken in relation to the intention of China and its sovereignty. Negotiations between Hong Kong, China and Britain, as a result, were delayed for almost a year after the suppression of this democratic movement. Hong Kong people became even more nervous about the future. In the Hong Kong Annual Report, the government estimated that over 40,000 people would leave the territory and that the emigration rate would likely rise even higher in this decade (Hong Kong Government Information Service, 1990). Meanwhile, Cantopop songs addressed the political future and the trend towards emigration. “Queen’s Road East” (皇后大道東) (1991) was one example.

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Queen’s Road East “Queen’s Road East” (1991) symbolizes the changing of road names, using this as a motif to describe the feeling of helplessness among Hong Kong people who have to stay in the city to face an unfamiliar and confusing future after the signing of the Joint Declaration in 1984 and the June 4 movement in 1989. Echoing Hong Kong’s history as a British colony, many roads in Hong Kong are named after significant people and/​or well-​known places in Britain. Queen’s Road is unquestionably one of those. In fact, Queen’s Road was named after the UK’s Queen and is one of the famous landmarks in central Hong Kong. Not only does the road have a colonial history, it is located at the most influential and high-​cost area of the Central Business District in Hong Kong. Similar to mainstream Cantopop, the song is set at quadruple time in ballad style, a musical style that has been well-​received among listeners. Although the lyrics were on the surface light-​ hearted in tone, they portrayed, indirectly, the key issue of confused sentiments that Hong Kong people were facing. According to the song, “the Queen,” standing for British rule, used to be a friend of Hong Kong people; “noble,” “kind,” “everlasting,” “beautiful” and “honorable” images were mentioned as well as “accomplishments.” In fact, under the sovereignty of the British government, the economy of Hong Kong had flourished and prospered in the 1990s. However, since it had been confirmed in the Joint Declaration that Hong Kong’s sovereignty would soon pass to the “comrades” (a satirical word denoting Communist followers in China), Hong Kong’s future had become unclear. The idea of “one country, two systems,” for example, was a new and never-​ before-​heard-​of concept, and people were reasonably unsure how it could be operated successfully and effectively in Hong Kong after 1997. In addition, people were unsure whether all the names of places and roads that reflected the British rule would need to be changed. Worse still, if the routes were to be renamed, transport systems and operators, including “railways,” “buses,” “taxis,” etc., were likely to be thrown into confusion. Again, as the “dear friend says goodbye and then departs from this metropolis city,” the insecurity caused by uncertainty over Hong Kong’s future continued to lead to emigration. However, the reality was that only those who were rich with “ready money” were eligible to “become citizens of a large country” such as Britain. Faced with the departure of the British government and “the Queen,” who Hong Kong people considered as their “friend,” the general Hong Kong public seemed helpless. The only thing that Hong Kong people could do was “to applaud” at the celebrations on the day of transition. Lastly, as the songwriter suggests, since British sovereignty would end in 1997, the Buddhist philosophical idea “everything visible is empty; empty is everything visible”—implying that since whatever belongs to you or presents itself in front of you will be gone eventually, leaving you with nothing—seems to be practical and realistic advice. The wise approach is to believe that one has nothing originally and should continue to live happily and freely. For Hong Kong people, the British government, which seemed to be such a good friend of the territory for over a hundred years, would overnight become an irrelevance. One way to continue to enjoy a happy life in Hong Kong was to start believing that Britain was not, after all, Hong Kong people’s friend. In this way, the difficult feelings would be lessened. As already mentioned, the relationship between Hong Kong and Britain would be over after 1997. Although there was a widespread wish to preserve the status quo, the signing of the Joint Declaration destroyed the dreams of many. Negotiations and talks prior to 1997 only restated how little Hong Kong people were able to influence their own future. Needless to say, the Hong Kong general public had never possessed the right of abode in Britain, despite the new British

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Nationality (Hong Kong) Act (The National Archives, 1990) stipulating that 50,000 households in Hong Kong could be recommended as British citizens. However unwillingly, the general public, having no other alternative, had to remain to face the reality of returning to Chinese sovereignty. In the meantime, the 1990s saw an increase in the production and popularity of Cantopop songs addressing political issues and emigration in Hong Kong. The examples discussed above are only a few containing references to the sentiments and feelings of Hong Kong people. They also tell of a tacit, however reluctant, public reception of the inevitable series of political events. The immediacy with which the lyrics reflect contemporary events and make cultural references to a changing society underlines the historical as well as the cultural value of Cantopop throughout the period. The 21st Century: Encountering Political Pressure after the Handover—the Umbrella Movement in 2014 The Umbrella Movement was a 79-​day pro-​democracy street occupation in Hong Kong, from September to December in 2014. During the 2014 student protests in Hong Kong, many Cantopop songs were written to communicate a sense of hope and solidarity for the future; the most well-​received is “Holding up an Umbrella” (撐起雨傘) (2014) sung by various artists from Hong Kong. This song will be discussed in detail later in this section because it is emblematic of the movement given its success at a leading music awards show in Hong Kong in 2015 when it was voted “The Most Favorite Song of the Year.” Blossoms Even in the “post-​Umbrella” era, The Chung Brothers (鍾氏兄弟) wrote the song “Blossoms” (未種的花) (2015). In the song, a flower is metaphorically compared with a youth cultivated with hopes for liberty. In terms of musical features, it is guitar-​driven and adopts a basic rock song structure (Verse/​Chorus/​Verse/​Chorus/​Bridge/​Chorus), authentically candid in style as the lyrics deliver the message of hope directly without sounding overly pretentious. This song is chosen here as an example because it encapsulates the hope for true freedom in Hong Kong even after the Umbrella Movement. The Chung Brothers are a duo from Hong Kong who won three music awards from the Composers and Authors Society of Hong Kong at their prestigious annual awards show in 2014. The duo had been releasing musical works under their own independent record label, Chimes Music, since 2009. They were commissioned by The Chinese University of Hong Kong to write the song for a school event, the Bo Qun Flower Festival in 2015. The composer stated that the organizers were aware that the students generally felt very disappointed after 2014 (the year of the Umbrella Movement), and so the duo was commissioned to write a song (personal communication, October 26, 2018). It is worth mentioning that another song written by The Chung Brothers, “The Anti-​Establishment Blues” (時代的顛覆者) (2014), was well known for its anti-​ establishment undertone in the context of the pressures of political crisis in Hong Kong in the 21st century, be it the proposal to implement Article 23 of the Basic Law or a controversial national education programme. On the surface, a flower is a symbol of beauty in itself, but in “Blossoms” it is also used as a metaphor to allude to a young person characterized by charm and hope for the future. The

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songwriter compares a flower with a youth filled with hopes for liberty in the future: “The starting point is now left with debris /​The young man remains unchanged with a desire /​Keep on keeping on /​The original small seed is evolving /​Have no fear, facing the difficult challenge.” The first line, “The starting point is now left with debris,” is reminiscent of Harcourt Road—the location of the start of the Umbrella Movement; the road was filled with the debris of tear gas bombs used by the police on September 28, 2014. In spite of his disappointment in the movement, the young man still looks to the future with hope, as the small seed of freedom is still growing in his heart in spite of difficult challenges. The lyrics connote a sense of encouragement for young people experiencing disillusionment after the Umbrella Movement. On the other hand, the song refers to the concept that students can be nurtured and grow like a beautiful flower, through the process of education. However, if we interpret this from another perspective, it can be taken as being emblematic in the “post-​Umbrella” era. “Blossoms” and other songs by The Chung Brothers were made popular by social media, without major support from promotional networks of mainstream media or record companies. Therefore, it can be seen that local indie acts like The Chung Brothers still enjoyed relative freedom in conveying discontent towards the government and its political agenda after the handover. When compared to mainstream artists who are still, to a large extent, constrained by the protocols of traditional media and major record companies, they can exercise creative or even political autonomy through popular music. Holding up an Umbrella During the 2014 student protests in Hong Kong, the very popular Cantonese song “Holding up an Umbrella” (2014), sung by various artists, communicated a hope for change and solidarity for the future. This offers a good illustration of the breakdown of divisions between “pop” and “indie,” as both mainstream singers and non-​mainstream artists collaborated on the song, which was awarded “The Most Favorite Song of the Year” in 2014 by one of the leading radio stations in Hong Kong, Commercial Radio, in their annual music awards show, the Ultimate Song Chart Awards Presentation. The melody and lyrics of the song were originally written by Pan, a freelance demo song writer from Hong Kong. Pan took part in the protest in 2014 and was inspired to write the song after he witnessed the use of tear gas bombs by the police on September 28, 2014—the first day of the Umbrella Movement. Filled with frustration and disillusionment, he wrote the line “Umbrellas are like flowers /​Never die, never separate” to convey his hope for solidarity amongst Hong Kong people in the movement. Pan shared his song on social media, including on the fan page of Denise Ho (何韻詩), a well-​known Cantopop singer. Ho appreciated the song greatly and turned Pan’s demo into a professional production. She collaborated with renowned lyricist Albert Leung (林夕) and Cantopop singers such as Anthony Wong (黃耀明), Kay Tse (謝安琪) and Deanie Ip (葉德嫻) as well as indie acts such as GDJYB (雞蛋蒸肉餅) and Yukilovey (勞嘉怡). The song became a hit in late 2014. During an interview, Pan claimed that the production process of “Holding up an Umbrella” was very different from those of mainstream pop songs because there was interaction between the composer, lyricist, producer and singers. The style of the song is not epic, but mellow. Pan claimed that he did not believe that the song would help the Umbrella Movement come to an end with immediate effective results (Lau, 2015).1

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Cantopop and its Fate: The Voices of Hong Kong People The handover of Hong Kong to mainland China in 1997 is often cited as the turning point for the downfall of Cantopop in terms of economic success, characterized by declining record sales. The handover, however, motivated Hong Kong popular artists to embrace the concept of “harmony” and use music to spread the political message of joy over reintegration with the [People’s Republic of China]. Hong Kong people consent to this publicly expressed message promoting patriotism in their songs, a message which is operational and measurable through the SAR’s control of market forces and other public institutions. (Ho, 2000: 250) As Ho suggests above, mainstream pop artists or songwriters may be under political pressure to avoid politically sensitive topics. Creative freedom in Cantopop is increasingly stifled by the rising political pressures faced by Hong Kong people, and music industry practitioners avoid touching on sensitive topics related to political and social situations so that their songs can have more exposure through traditional mass media. In the classic creative work A Tale of Two Cities (1902) by Charles Dickens, it is written: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. The contrasts between “best” times and “worst” times, “light” and “darkness,” and “hope” and “despair” can be applied to the relationship between popular music and the political situation in Hong Kong. When there are bad times, darkness and despair in the course of political development, there are good times, light and hope in the local popular music scene in the form of quality creative musical works. It is hoped that the above discussion on Cantopop and the political situation in Hong Kong over the past 40 years has shed some light on how popular music can be a beacon of hope for Hong Kong people, conveying voices shaped by the people and for the people in times of political and social instability. Note 1 “Genuine” universal suffrage.

References Dickens, C. (1902). A Tale of Two Cities. Oxford: James Nisbet & Company Ltd. Ho, W. C. (2000). The political meaning of Hong Kong popular music: A review of socio-​political relations between Hong Kong and the People’s Republic of China since the Eighties. Popular Music, 19(3), 341–​353. Hong Kong Government Information Service (1990). Hong Kong Annual Report. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Government Publishing. Lau, H. (2015). “Chengqi yusan chuangzuoren pan:  xiangxin ziji xunhui chuzhong” 《撐起雨傘創作人 pan：相信自己，尋回初衷》 [Umbrella Movement—Pan: Believing in yourself, returning to original purpose]. Inmediahk, January 31. Retrieved from www.inmediahk.net/​node/​1031108b.

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 Voices Shaped by the People and for the People   •   51 Lau, S. K., & Kuan, H. C. (Eds.) (1995). The Ethos of the Hong Kong Chinese. Hong Kong: The Chinese University of Hong Kong Press. Lee, J. (1992). Canto-​ pop songs on emigration from Hong Kong. In Yearbook for Traditional Music Vol. 24. New York: International Council for Traditional Music. SRH (1995). Research on the Music Industry in Hong Kong. Hong Kong: IFPI (Southeast Asia) Ltd. The National Archives (1990). British Nationality (Hong Kong) Act 1990. Retrieved from www.legislation.gov.uk/​ukpga/​ 1990/​34.

Discography Hui, Sam (1983). Bauhinia. A New Start. Hong Kong: Contec Sound Media Ltd. Lo, Dayou (1991). Queen’s Road East. Queen’s Road East. Hong Kong: Music Factory. Tat Ming Pair (1987). Splendor starlight tonight. I am Waiting for You to Come Back. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Tat Ming Pair (1988). Do you still love me. Do You Still Love Me. Hong Kong: PolyGram. The Chung Brothers (2015a). The anti-​establishment blues. Edge. Hong Kong: Universal Records. The Chung Brothers (2015b). Blossoms. Edge. Hong Kong: Universal Records. Various Artists (1989). All for freedom. All for Freedom. Hong Kong: EMI Studio. Various Artists (2014). Holding up an Umbrella. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​watch?v=C_​23GElzJFo.

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PART 

II

Genres, Format, and Identity

Although Cantopop is familiar to both music listeners and scholars, there is little consensus on what constitutes this genre of popular music. The four chapters in this section attempt to define Cantopop and provide much-​needed guidelines for understanding it, not by advocating clear definitions but by summarizing the important elements in the text that constitute the meaning of Cantopop today. Regarding the definition of Cantopop, these authors suggest that it could be understood not only by reading the lyrics of the songs, which are written in Cantonese, but also by the sound, the use of language, and how the language is mixed with English or juxtaposed with Mandarin. These characteristics of Cantopop are often unnoticed. In his rereading and reinterpretation of the meaning of “The Fatal Irony” (啼笑因緣) (1974), Ting Yiu Wong emphasizes the sound aspect of Cantopop, thus differing from the other chapters in the book, which are focused on the lyrics, meanings, and social discourses associated with the genre. The classic song “The Fatal Irony” is generally considered a “watershed” in Cantopop, after which it became a legitimate music genre in Hong Kong (Wong, 2003). In the analysis, the author begins by briefly discussing the commonplace perceptions and definitions of Cantopop, which leads to Wong’s specific definition of the genre: Cantopop was a brand-​new genre that belonged to and was constituted by all Hong Kong inhabitants at the time. To understand this definition, Wong addresses the long-​forgotten sounds and melodic elements of “The Fatal Irony” and calls for a new understanding of Cantopop from the perspective of soundscape, or sound studies, which he argues is as important as lyrics in contributing to Cantopop culture. “The Fatal Irony” was popular in the 1970s, when the production of sound was connected to the production of a movie and television series with the same title. Wong argues that the movie and television series are emblematic of Hong Kong’s hybrid identity. In discussing the novel, songs, movie, and television series, their production history, and the major personnel involved, Wong considers how and why certain musical choices were made at this particular historical and commercial juncture. In particular, Wong analyzes the instrumentation and musical content of these productions, in which bowed (stringed) instruments and Chinese instruments were used. Wong’s analysis reveals that cultural production is the direct or indirect consequence of the social context, need, and background of the sound. In concluding, Wong considers the deep meaning of “The Fatal Irony.” The fatal irony is the de facto historical reality of Hong Kong in the 1970s. Wong argues that the hybridized mixing of sounds in “The Fatal Irony”—​in which musical elements, musicians, media production, and promotion reflect the way that Hong Kong people, who comprise a population than is more diverse than Han-​Chinese or locally born Chinese—​reflects the hybridized culture of colonial

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Hong Kong. This hybridization was not simply an amalgamation of traditional Cantonese culture, British rule, and legacy of Chinese immigrants in exile. The new sound in “The Fatal Irony,” which is now called Cantopop, mirrored the new Hong Kong culture and identity emerging in the 1970s despite its inevitable historical and political destiny. This song symbolizes that Hong Kong culture is always open to interpretation and creation by all who listen to it. In Hong Kong today, the essence of the fatal irony is particularly meaningful. In the context of the impasse, paradox, and challenge of Hong Kong identity, “The Fatal Irony” reminds us of the dynamic and transformative vigor of Cantopop and Hong Kong culture. Both are uniquely articulated by cultural and social flows in the production and release of local sound. Following Wong’s analysis of the birth of the Cantopop genre, Brenda Chan discusses the first superstar of Cantopop, Sam Hui, and in doing so, connects Chineseness and Cantopop. Echoing Wong’s argument in the previous chapter, the format or genre of what we call Cantopop is intrinsically bound with Hong Kong identity. Chineseness, if not at the core, was definitely an indispensable constituent of Hong Kong identity during its formation. In the history of Cantopop, Sam Hui is considered the “God of Song” in more than colloquial Cantonese. In her chapter, Chan argues that there is more to Sam’s performances than meets the eye. Analyzing several of his songs, which are categorized as “sentimental ballads that contain philosophical musings about life,” Chan argues that Sam’s enduring popularity and relevance in both Hong Kong and abroad extends beyond his ability to write about everyday issues, which were often highlighted in the Hong Kong media. Instead, through some of his songs, Sam speaks to a particular form of “ancient” or traditional Chinese culture in which certain values that resonate with ethnic Chinese listeners worldwide are embedded. The chapter begins with an overview of Cantopop and then concludes with Chan’s argument that in the historical context, Cantopop is a modern literary form in which intellectuals, including Sam Hui and other educated Chinese motivated by missions and ideals, express their sentiments, record their social observations, and aim to unite the people. Chan provides three examples: “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot” (天才白痴夢) (1975), “From the Heart of a Loafer” (浪子心聲) (1976), and “When Will We Meet Again” (何日再相逢) (1979), analyzing the lyrics and linking them to famous historical Chinese poetry and literary traditions. Drawing on the Tang dynasty poet Li Bai (李白) and writer Li Gongzuo (李公佐), Sam writes songs with wide appeal, speaking to an audience beyond Hong Kong. The second part of this chapter focuses on two songwriters from Malaysia and Singapore who composed songs in a completely different historical context and locale but continued to extend Sam’s legacy of embedding Chinese values in a popular music genre. Chan shows that Sam wrote songs that drew upon shared Chinese experiences, with which most ethnic Chinese would be at least slightly familiar. Sam, both a singer and a songwriter, was more than “quintessentially Hong Kong.” According to Chan, Singaporean-​Chinese songwriters have recontextualized Sam’s songs to reflect the Singaporean context, which demands more than a cultural understanding of hybrid or mixed identity. There is a normative meaning embedded in Sam’s songs that points toward positive Chinese values, such as righteousness and relationships beyond Hong Kong, which continue to be relevant today. The third chapter in this section investigates the use of metaphor in the English-​language lyrics of independent Hong Kong music by Eric Cheung. Indirectly, the chapter also addresses a unique language issue that is inherent in Cantopop:  the lyrics are never written solely in Cantonese. Although Cantonese, which is the vernacular language in Hong Kong, is used in daily commercial activities, in some institutions, such as the entertainment and music industry,

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English remains one of the two official languages (the other being Chinese) in Hong Kong. In popular music, the key issue is language choice: how Cantonese might be blended with English or Putonghua in popular music is always connected to strategies of music recording and the market for and consumption of Hong Kong’s popular music. Before 1997, while Hong Kong was still under colonial rule, the occasional insertion of English words or phrases was considered cool or chic, conveying modernity. This phenomenon of code-​mixing or code-​switching between Cantonese and English has been studied by Hong Kong scholars (e.g. Fung, 2003), particularly in independent music (Lin, 2009). Since the early 1990s, as Hong Kong artists started to target the market in mainland China during a period in which importing and performing Cantopop in China became legitimate and legal, “The Four Heavenly Kings” were forerunners in the rush to enter the mainland Chinese market. However, in this chapter, the language issue in Hong Kong popular music is considered differently. Specifically analyzed are English lyrics, the use of which is an alternative trajectory in the development of Hong Kong popular music. Major record companies rarely promote new artists, which might account for the dearth of local independent Hong Kong songwriters using English. Furthermore, in Chinese society, it is also true that few English-​language singer-​songwriters exist, which does not mean that in Hong Kong songs in English do not have a place. The relevance of English is established in the lyrics by writers who share a hybrid Hong Kong identity. Many children in Hong Kong began their English-​language education in primary school. Under postwar colonial rule, English was required to pass the major university entry examination, the Hong Kong Certificate Examination (relaunched after World War II), and the Hong Kong Certificate of Education Examination (since 1974). It was common for well-​off or middle-​class parents to send their children to English-​speaking countries for further studies. Only a few local universities, such as Hong Kong University and The Chinese University of Hong Kong, were recognized until the 1980s, which was the legacy of the British elite’s education policy. The influence of the colonial period is apparent if we consider that before 1997, civil servants were subsidized to send their children to England for their education. Therefore, the English language used in Cantopop carries a specific meaning. Inspired by the approaches of Cheung and others, we coin the term “language as method” to refer to the cultural meaning of Hong Kong texts, including the lyrics of Hong Kong popular songs. Currently, it goes beyond a hybrid Hong Kong cultural identity, as discussed earlier. It is not only a cultural concern of East meets West or China meets Hong Kong. The use of English language and English metaphors in Hong Kong cultural texts is the result of multiple cultural practices, which are either imposed (e.g. in education policy) or deliberate attempts to choose to perform using both English and Chinese. The deconstruction of this binary could lead to a new, hybrid form of identity. If it remains a binary that is expressed in specific ways, then English could be a political practice to counteract Chinese. The binary is even more complex if we consider the context and socioeconomic background of the musicians who perform this practice. We could presume that the English songs analyzed in this chapter were written by people born and raised in Hong Kong when English was a major medium of instruction. Because some Hong Kong people grew up, and were educated, overseas, they returned to Hong Kong with different sociocultural and education values. Their concern about Hong Kong and its future is based on the wide spectrum of cosmopolitan identities that are reflected in Hong Kong’s popular music. Regarding methodology, Cheung uses a quantitative and qualitative approach to examine the nature of these English-​language pop songs. First, in searching the Hong Kong English Popular

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Music Lyrics Corpus database, which includes songs written in English in Hong Kong from 2000 to 2010, Cheung noticed that Hong Kong English writers, although (or perhaps because) English was their second language, are strong writers and users of metaphor. Based on the findings extracted from the database and the conceptual framework of metaphor as rhetorical, conceptual, and grammatical, he discusses the role of metaphor in terms of time and space (time, world, and sky), emotions, and personal relationships (love, tears, and loss) in these songs. The second part of the study focuses on four interviews with local independent musicians who explored English as a linguistic medium for songwriting. Cheung found that all the musicians interviewed attributed their choice of English to their respective backgrounds. For example, one was educated abroad in England and another had been interested in English from a young age, even reading English literature and poetry. Most important was their view that writing Chinese lyrics was more difficult because of the diction and compact meanings in Chinese. The precision and brevity of Chinese was restraining, whereas English allowed for freer associations, enabling the audience to interpret the lyrics in their own terms. These findings were interpreted in conjunction with the lyrics written by the interviewed artists, revealing how their words were reflected in their songs. As previously discussed, when English was the colonial language, it was symbolically used as the counterpart of Chinese. These songs constitute a form of resistance against China by conveying nostalgia and by referring to the colonial past. Contemporary Hong Kong is seen as conservative and mundane, and English is used to hark back to older, simpler—​but perhaps fictional—​times. The chapter concludes with the argument that the use of English metaphor is the musician’s deliberate choice as well as a strong statement that they are “self-​reflective,” which is an alternative way to assert their independent identity in the realm of Hong Kong popular music. In the last chapter of this section, Johnson Leow continues the textual approaches used in the previous chapters to understand Cantopop. However, in this chapter, the approach is used to discuss Cantopop in a broad Chinese context. The name Cantopop reflects the use of the Cantonese dialect, a variation of the Chinese language, in the lyrics. In this regard, there is a natural intertextuality with other Chinese music genres, including Mandopop. Although Cantopop has been the dominant Chinese music genre in Hong Kong, it has also had a strong appeal in mainland China, Taiwan, and many Chinese communities across the world. The golden days of Hong Kong popular music were not only in the 1980s and 1990s. The Hong Kong music industry also targets Mandarin-​speaking populations, mainly in Taiwan, where Mandopop is the mainstream. Thus, Hong Kong’s music industry started to produce Mandopop for the Taiwanese market. Cantopop stars, such as Alan Tam (譚詠麟), Leslie Cheung (張國榮), and Anita Mui (梅艷芳), all released Mandopop albums as they embarked on the Taiwanese market. In this chapter, Johnson Leow focuses on a specific industry operation in conjunction with this Hong Kong cultural export. Leow uses the term “one melody, two lyrics” (OMTL) to describe this phenomenon. The producers of popular music in Hong Kong use the same melody to produce one basic version, which is usually in Cantonese, followed by a cover version in Mandarin. In short, the aim is for OMTL songs to become the Mandopop that is popular in the Taiwanese market. In this chapter, Leow focuses on Eason Chan’s (陳奕迅’s) OMTL songs in the 2000s. Discussing the intertextuality of two pairs of Eason Chan’s OMTL songs, Leow argues that Cantopop and Mandopop have much to learn and gain from each other, and they should be used to inspire instead of compete. Compared with previous studies of intertextuality in “two-​lyric-​songs,” Leow pairs certain songs together. Earlier songs, by Sam Hui, for example, also featured intertextuality, but the original song was the “base.” In Sam’s case, a passive subject was referenced or parodied. In

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Chan’s case, because both songs were his, he created a rich bridge between the two. Both songs are constructed as part of a larger textual (lyrical) universe. Leow’s examples of such pairs are “Red Rose” (紅玫瑰) and “White Rose” (白玫瑰), and “Better Not to Meet” (不如不見) and “Long Time No See” (好久不見). Going beyond the textual connection, Leow also briefly explores how online audiences interpret these songs. In line with postmodernist theory, Leow suggests that it is not important to determine which is the original and which is the copy. Instead of regarding the production of OMTL songs as quick and easy practices by which local music industries (re)produce Mandarin songs from Cantopop, in a call to embrace diversity, Leow draws on Weinstein’s (2010) concept of stereophonic listening to analyze Chan’s cover songs. In terms of stereophonic listening, OMTL songs are co-​active and co-​present. When Cantopop is juxtaposed with Mandapop, we should understand that they are expressions of two dialects in the same melody. Different as they may be, the lyrics are always intertextual. Following Stephen Chu’s (2017) argument, Leow suggests that we should let both genres of Chinese language inspire and encourage each other to new heights so that they can blossom together. He encourages audiences to listen to both versions stereophonically to uncover the intertextual strands between them and between Taiwan and Hong Kong. Because Eason Chan is an artist, he has also modeled a new creative practice that prompts listeners to extend their emotions, empathies, and understanding to new terrain. The last chapter of this section explores the intertextuality between Cantopop and Mandopop, finding that that Cantopop is surviving in the large realm of Greater China, or pan-​China. Cantopop is unique but its intertextuality with other Chinese popular music connects it to music in other pan-​China-​inhabited regions. Although Leow does offer a conclusion at the end of this chapter, his text indirectly indicates that in the phenomenon of OMTL that has emerged since the 1980s, the OMTL formula will apply to the increasingly dominant Chinese market in the coming decades. The history of Cantopop shows that that this genre was the origin from which Chinese popular music spread in the 1980s to other Chinese regions but that the Chinese popular music performed in China in Putonghua eventually overtook Cantopop. Now China’s own Chinese popular music is becoming dominant in the nation’s territory. More importantly, the metaphor of “one melody, two lyrics” foreshadows the upcoming challenge of “one country, two systems.” Do the two systems compete with each other? Or is it the opposite true? Are they interconnected, supplementary, and mutually inspiring? Only time will tell. References Chu, Y. W. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Fung, W. M. (2003). The Use of English in Canto-​pop in Hong Kong. Unpublished master’s thesis, University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong. Lin, A. (2009) Xianghang hip hop yinyue de bentuhua: yueyu liuxingque de yingxizang yu wenti hunzhong 《香港Hip Hop 音樂之本土化：粵語流行曲的影響與文體混種》 [Localization of Hong Kong hip hop music:  The influence of Cantonese songs and code-​mixing]. In Fung, A. (Ed.), Gechao xiyun: Xianggang yueyu liuxingque de fazhang 《歌潮．汐韻：香港粵語流行曲的發展》 [Riding a Melodic Tide:  The Development of Cantopop in Hong Kong]. Hong Kong: Subculture Press. Weinstein, D. (2010). Appreciating cover songs: Stereophony. In G. Plasketes (Ed.), Play it Again: Cover Songs in Popular Music (pp. 243–​251). Ashgate Popular and Folk Music Series. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Wong, J. (黃湛森) (2003). Yueyu liuxingqu de fazhan yu xingshuai:  xianggang liuxing yinjue yanjiu 1949–​1997 《粵語流行曲的發展與興衰：香港流行音樂研究1949–​1997》 [The Rise and Fall of Cantopop:  A Study of Hong Kong Popular Music 1949–​1997]. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong.

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5

The Symbolic Sound of Cantopop

Relistening to “The Fatal Irony” (1974) Ting Yiu Wong

Academic studies on Cantopop, including lyrics studies, cultural studies, media and marketing studies, started to develop around the 1990s, roughly 15 years after Cantopop became popular in Hong Kong. However, musical elements or the sound of Cantopop has always been a neglected area of study. This chapter attempts to focus on some sounds we could listen to, from one of the Cantopop songs which is said to have led the popularization of Cantopop in 1974—​“The Fatal Irony” (啼笑因緣) (1974). It was the theme song of a TV drama sharing the same title (1974). The TV drama, which was adapted from the novel Fate in Tears and Laughter (Zhang, 2011), is a love story between three girls and one man. I argue that the sound we hear from popular songs could be symbolic to the era it belongs to. In this chapter, the soundscape of Hong Kong before 1974 is illustrated by four movies adapted from Fate in Tears and Laugher. The sound makers of, and some musical instruments on, “The Fatal Irony” are discussed to show that the hybridity of this song originated from the sound existing in Hong Kong previously. What is Cantopop? The term “Cantopop” is said to have first been used by Hans Ebert, in an essay in Billboard, to describe Hong Kong singer Sam Hui’s Cantonese songs in the 1970s (see Ebert, 2017). It was first named “Canto-​rock,” the term later being refined to Cantopop (Lee, 1992). Ho (2003, p. 146) suggested that “Cantopop was developed in the early 1970s with the demand from Hong Kong audiences for popular music in their own dialects, Cantonese,” which meant that Cantopop covered many kinds of Cantonese popular songs in the 1970s, not only those of Sam Hui. I wonder if the term “popular” used by Ho refers to Cantonese songs that existed before 1974, not necessarily just those hit songs sung in Cantonese that were welcomed by teenagers. Wong (2014) gave another possibility for defining Cantopop. His research on two popular Cantonese songs from the 1930s, “Triumph Song” (凱旋歌) and “Anti-​Japanese Invasion Song” (抗日歌), takes the term “Cantopop” back 40 years before the 1970s. Hence, the term “Cantopop” could be understood in a narrow sense, as the Cantonese songs produced in the 1970s (sometimes narrowing this down to only Sam Hui’s productions), or in a wider sense, as all popular songs sung in Cantonese.

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In this paper, I am using the term “Cantopop” in the wider sense, including all kinds of popular songs sung in Cantonese language without boundaries of time and place. It could help us widen the discussion of Cantopop to include songs made before 1974 and those popular in overseas Chinese/​Cantonese communities such as Singapore, Malaysia, and even the USA. In some cases, songs from Cantonese opera, popularized individually outside of the full opera, could be viewed as Cantonese “popular songs.” A Brief Literature Review of Cantopop Studies In the past 20  years, the most popular element in Cantopop that concerns scholars has been the lyrics. After Stephen Chu Yiu-​Wai published his works connecting lyrics to culture and the background of the lyric writers (see Chu, 1998), more lyrics studies or lyrics-​related books on Cantopop can be found between 2003 and 2016. These studies and books include interviews with, or explanations by, lyrics writers, or analysis taking a literacy approach. Another approach to the study of Cantopop is historical analysis. Jum-​sum Wong’s (2003) dissertation is a famous example. This dissertation mainly discusses popular songs in Hong Kong in the 20th century and focuses on the rise and decline of Cantopop from 1974 to 2003. Cantopop as a music industry has also gained scholars’ attention. Fung (2004) studied how images of singers are commercially planned in response to the market. Other research has taken different directions: Hong Kong Policy Viewers (1994) studied the meaning of Chinese pop or Cantopop lyrics that were awarded prizes; Witzleben (1999) used Hong Kong singer Anita Mui to study the ambiguous identity of Hongkongers in China and Hong Kong before 1997; Fung and Xie (2001) looked at the connection between Cantopop lyrics and the personal experience of listeners; Liew (2003) looked at how Cantopop could enhance diverse identities under Singapore’s policies; Li (2010) studied rap and hip-​hop music in Hong Kong, which are not mainstream musical genres in mass media; similarly, Ma (2001) studied the non-​mainstream music group, LMF; Law (1996) and Ng (2007) both wrote on Sam Hui, a leading figure in Cantopop; Ng (2007) further investigates Hong Kong city and culture through the study of Sam Hui; Chow and de Kloet (2013) discussed Chineseness in lyrics and music videos in Hong Kong pop music in recent decades, as well as the establishment of locality through performance venue, and they suggest, as a new method, studying “fans”; Yu (2001) explored different music cultures, both “secular” and “sacred” music in Hong Kong. It was not until recently that the musical elements of Cantopop and its composition have been given attention. J. J. Wong (2003), as a Cantopop lyrics writer, investigated the methods used in composing these songs, such as forms, keys, modulation, and symmetrical features; Yu (2013) interviewed composers of Cantopop who were active from the 1980s to the 2000s in order to find out what kind of musical, educational, and working experiences affected their Cantopop musical works. Yang and Yu (2013) suggested that the reader could try to understand popular music through its melody, form, and accompaniments, and they emphasize that the appreciation of Cantopop should take into account both lyrics and musical elements. Discussing the musical creativity in Hong Kong pop, Tsui (2018) analyzed Hong Kong pop songs, including Cantopop and Mandopop, produced in the 1970s and the 1980s in terms of intertextuality, arrangement of duet, making use of classical Western and Chinese musical elements, composing the music after the lyrics, the use of reciting and pre-​recorded sound, and the “song cycle.”

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Sound Studies Approach to Cantopop Studies This chapter suggests a new perspective, sound studies, or the concept of listening carefully to sound, to understand Cantopop. Under the concept of soundscape, sound includes not only the physical properties but also the feelings of the listener (Schafer, 1977). Inspired by Murray Schafer (1977) and other scholars on sound, this chapter attempts to listen carefully and analyze “The Fatal Irony” in relation to the sound makers (silent sound elements) and instruments (audible sound elements) used. Referring to previous scholars’ work on Hong Kong local identity in the 1970s, the sound of “The Fatal Irony” could be as symbolic as objects that we see and read to the community and specific period of Hong Kong. I suggest that sonic elements are as important as, if not more important than, the verbal and visual parts of pop music or Cantopop. One of the often-​ neglected reasons for the popularity of “Fatal Irony” is its combination of musical elements, which was unique in that era and made it stand out from contemporary Cantopop trends. It combines the soundscape of Chinese musical instruments in Shanghai pop culture and Cantonese culture, Western musical instruments from Shanghainese popular songs, and US pop. Musical Legacy of “Fatal Irony” As noted above, “Fatal Irony” is the theme song from The Fatal Irony (a TV drama on Television Broadcast Limited) that was originally based on the novel Fate in Tears and Laughter (啼笑因緣), written by Zhang Heng-​shui (張恨水) in the early 1930s and published chapter by chapter in a Shanghai newspaper. The story was set in Beijing in the period of the Republic of China during the first half of the 20th century. It focuses on the main male character, Fan Jia-​shu (樊家樹), who was admired by three female characters: a singing girl, Shen Feng-​xi (沈鳳喜); Guan Xiu-​ gu (關秀姑), who came from a martial arts family; and He Li-​na (何麗娜), who was from a rich family. Although Fan Jia-​shu loved Shen Feng-​xi very much, he seemed to be with He Li-​na at the end of the story. Just before Fan Jia-​shu and He Li-​na got together, Shen Feng-​xi married a warlord. She suffered “insanity” and was sent to a mental hospital. No doubt, the significant sound or musical parts come from the singing girl Shen Feng-​xi, who performed the narrative musical genre Drum Song (大鼓 or 京韻大鼓). Here is an excerpt from Fate in Tears and Laughter: That guy who plays the three-​stringed (snake-​skin-​covered) lute (sanxian三弦) took two drum sticks and a set of clappers from a blue cloth bag and gave them to a young lady Shen Feng-​xi (沈鳳喜). The lady took the drum sticks …. After a while, the lady started to play the drum and clappers and let the three-​stringed lute play an interlude. Then the guy on three-​stringed lute stood up and said: “… now let her sing a verse from Daiyu’s ‘Sadness for the Autumn’ (黛玉悲秋) from the Dream of the Red Chamber (紅樓夢). I dare not say she is singing it well, but she will perform with the right taste.” (Zhang, 2011) We can see how Shen Feng-​xi performed the Drum Song with the drum accompanied by the sanxian (三弦) (three-​stringed snake-​skin-​covered lute). Indeed, the Drum Song could also be accompanied by a combination of drum, clappers (板), sanxian, sihu (four-​stringed Chinese fiddle), and pipa (琵琶) (pear-​shaped lute). In another chapter of Fate in Tears and Laughter,

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Shen Feng-​xi played a tune on the yueqin (月琴) (moon-​shaped lute). Hence, the yueqin would also be one of the sound elements in Fate in Tears and Laughter. Fate in Tears and Laughter was later adapted into at least four films—​in Cantonese and Shanghainese—​in Hong Kong between 1949 and 1974 (Welsh, 2015), and then it was extended to the TV drama The Fatal Irony. While the Cantonese producers made use of Cantonese operatic style in the production of the music score, the Shanghainese teams used either a relatively original Beijing style or composed new popular songs for the films. Although the four films were adapted from the same fictional work, and the singing scenes looked familiar, the sounds were not the same. The information we get from the sound settings of these four films helps us to understand the unique cultural identities of the Cantonese-​speaking group and the non-​Cantonese-​speaking group in Hong Kong during 1949–​1974, the era preceding the birth of the popular “The Fatal Irony.” Other than musical elements, it is worth mentioning that language is important here. While the Cantonese productions used the Cantonese language, which sounds more like a Hong Kong or a Southern China language, the Shanghainese productions used Mandarin, which sounds more like a “Chinese national” language or could be viewed as one less local to Hong Kong. Production of “The Fatal Irony” (1974) The local production of The Fatal Irony on TV marked a turning point. First, the medium played a role in crystallizing the so-​called Hong Kong identity in the 1970s because watching TV was the major leisure activity in Hong Kong at that time. Second, it also happened that the year 1971 was the first year in which as much as 50 percent of the people in Hong Kong were born locally (Liu, 2016). A mass media production with a theme song in the local language, Cantonese, naturally becomes symbolic of local identity, although admittedly during those days nobody realized or publicly discussed the formation of local identity. According to an interview with Wong Tin-​lam (王天林), the director of the TV drama The Fatal Irony, he thought of the composer Joseph Koo first when he needed to make a theme song for the TV drama. However, the budget provided by TVB for music production was much lower than Joseph Koo would usually be offered. But Joseph Koo proposed that he would bear all the expenses for the production of the theme song and find a record company to publish the song(s) for him. It was not easy to find a record company to publish Cantonese songs, but Joseph Koo had a good relationship with one company. He told the record company that he agreed to bear a part of the production cost. As a result, the Cantonese song “The Fatal Irony” was able to be released (Wong & Sheng, 2007). In an interview with Joseph Koo, we find similar information and a further understanding of how he gained Wong Tin-​lam’s support to produce a Cantonese theme song although TVB had asked for one in Mandarin. We can also see that Joseph Koo’s sharing of the production cost was an important factor in the release (Chu, 2011). It should be noted that there were overt difficulties of producing Cantonese songs independently as a commercial operation in Hong Kong at that time, but having the song released on TVB would get around this problem. The only concern in terms of the production would be the profit. Without a precedent for the success of a theme song, it was expected that the Cantonese song would not bring a huge profit. Without concrete evidence, I would guess the sense of belonging to Hong Kong developed by Wong Tin-​lam—​originally a Shanghainese—​was the reason behind

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his decision. Once the commercial concern had been solved, the more complex sound of “The Fatal Irony” could then be produced. When the issue of investment was taken care of, sound designers and producers had greater freedom to produce the sound of “The Fatal Irony.” Sound designers are those who design the settings of the sound; they include composers, sound engineers, post-​production, lyrics writers, and musicians who do the improvisation. Sound producers are those who produce the sounds directly, including the singers and instrumentalists. Quite often, an exchange process between sound designers and producers can be observed before the sound is produced. The sound designer of “The Fatal Irony” was Joseph Koo, and the sound producers were the singer Sandra Lang (仙杜拉), lyric writer Yip Siu-​tak (葉紹德), and erhu (二胡) (Chinese two-​stringed fiddle) player Chen Ji-​geng-​xin (陳自更新). Because of the limited length of this chapter, their backgrounds will not be discussed in detail. Suffice it to say, Sandra Lang provided a soft and relaxing Cantonese singing voice; Yip Siu-​tak provided a more classical and Cantonese operatic choice on the words in Cantonese; and Chen Ji-​geng-​xin provided a modern erhu sound as a signal in the song. Instrumentals involved mixing of Western and Chinese sounds: the AABA form of song popular in 1930s US pop music and the Chinese musical instruments erhu and yueqin are featured in the song (Wong, 2003). This gives a sense of hybridity in “The Fatal Irony” in terms of instruments, language, and pronunciation of language. Cantopop as Hybrid Sound In sum, the purpose of examining the process of making sound in “The Fatal Irony” is to explore whether it symbolically reflects the essence of local cultures and identities and their transformation into Hong Kong culture and identity. With the soundscape as evidence, I argue that the Hong Kong identity that formed as a result of the hybridization of musical elements in “The Fatal Irony” did not exist before. We have heard the public discourse that generations of Chinese have grown up with in Hong Kong after 1949 that Hong Kong was then a place of hybridity (Chan, 2005). But what existed before “The Fatal Irony” (including the previous Cantopop, Mandarin pop, and English pop, which were produced in Hong Kong) could not be symbolic in the way that “The Fatal Irony” was for this new era, because it did not possess the new or newly hybridized quality of Cantopop which was not just about the use of language, but also the sound. Similarly, officially the Hong Kong population was composed of Chinese, mostly immigrants, from all regions; and of course it also included British and other non-​Han-​Chinese people in the old days. But that mixture had not been constituted or discussed under the term “Hong Kong people” with its own identity. To give birth to a local identity, the people have to agree with and accept the “fatal irony” that they are people brought up in Hong Kong and that they are the consequence of a kind of 1970s hybridity culture. Hybridity in this sense is a mixing of existing materials to produce brand-​new objects. The sound of Cantopop was new. So was Hong Kong identity. In my previous research (Wong, 2017), I demonstrated how Cantonese musicians made use of Shanghai traditional and jazz/​ballroom dance sound elements in their music and created their own new, seemingly hybrid, sound. At one point in the early 20th century in China it was called “Cantonese music.” But it was soon abandoned by teenagers in the 1970s in Hong Kong. The point that the case of “The Fatal Irony” makes is that a new hybridity of objects such as sound, apart from transforming society, is fostered by and involved with local listeners. This is the same

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in all popular music. Pop music or Cantopop would not be pop music if we are not listening to it. People who listen to the sound matter. References Chan, K. C. (陳冠中) (2005). Wo zhe yidai xianggang ren 《我這一代香港人》 [Hong Kong People of My Generation]. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Chow, Y. F., & de Kloet, J. (2013). Sonic Multiplicities: Hong Kong Pop and the Global Circulation of Sound and Image. Bristol and Chicago: Intellect. Chu, Y. W. (朱耀偉) (1998). Xianggang liuxing geci yanjiu:  qishi niandai zhongqi zhi jiushi niandai zhongqi 《香港流行歌詞研究：七十年代中期至九十年代中期》 [A Study of Hong Kong Popular Lyrics:  From the Mid ’70s to the Mid ’90s]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing. Chu, Y. W. (朱耀偉) (2011). “Huiyao xiangjiang ban shiji” 《煇耀香江半世紀》 [Lights on Hong Kong for a half century]. Mingpao Monthly, July 1. Retrieved from https://​mingpaomonthly.com/​%E7%85%87%E8%80%80%E9%A 6%99%E6%B1%9F%E5%8D%8A%E4%B8%96%E7%B4%80-​%e3%80%80%EF%BC%88%E6%9C%B1%E8%80% 80%E5%81%89%EF%BC%89/​. Ebert, H. (2017). “Canto pop and why Hong Kong needs the next Sam Hui.” December 15. Retrieved from https://​hans-​ ebert.com/​2017/​12/​15/​canto-​pop-​and-​why-​hong-​kong-​needs-​the-​next-​sam-​hui/​#more-​107. Fung, A. (馮應謙) (2004). Xianggang liuxing yinyue wenhua: wenhua yanjiu duben 《香港流行音樂文化：文化研究讀本》 [Hong Kong Popular Music Culture: A Reader in Cultural Studies]. Hong Kong: Wheatear. Fung, A., & Xie, A. S. (馮應謙，謝傲霜) (2001). Yinyue mingan didai 《音樂敏感地帶》 [Music Sensitive Zone]. Hong Kong: Wheatear. Ho, W. C. (2003). Between globalization and localization: A study of Hong Kong popular music. Popular Music, 22(2), 143–​157. Hong Kong Policy Viewers (1994). Baquan zhuyi xia de liuxing wenhua: Pouxi zhongwen jinqu de neirong ji yiyi yanjiu 《霸權主義下的流行文化：剖析中文金曲的內容及意義研究》 [Popular Culture under Hegemony: A Study of Hong Kong “Gold” Songs]. Hong Kong: Policy Viewers. Law, K. (羅卡) (Ed.) (1996). Xu Guan Jie 《許冠傑》 [Sam Hui]. Hong Kong:  Ming Chuang Chubanshe You Xian Gong Si. Lee, J. C. Y. (1992). Cantopop songs on emigration from Hong Kong. Yearbook for Traditional Music, 24, 14–​23. Li, W. C. (李慧中) (2010). Xianggang raoshe ji xiha yinyue chu tan 《亂噏? 嫰up! 香港 Rap及Hip Hop音樂初探》 [Speaking in Mess, Speaking for Young People: Rap and Hip Hop Music in Hong Kong]. Hong Kong: International Association of Theatre Critics. Liew, K. K. (2003). Limited pidgin-​type patois? Policy, language, technology, identity and the experience of canto-​pop in Singapore. Popular Music, 22 (2), 217–​233. Liu, S. Y. (劉蜀永) (2016). Jianming xianggang shi 《簡明香港史》 [A Brief History of Hong Kong]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing. Ma, E. (馬傑偉) (Ed.) (2001). Chu mai LMF 《出賣LMF》 [Selling LMF]. Hong Kong: Ming Chuang Chubanshe. Ng, C. H. (吳俊雄) (2007). Cishi cichu:  Xu Guan Jie 《此時此處：許冠傑》 [Here and Now:  Sam Hui]. Hong Kong: Enrich Publishing. Schafer, R. M. (1977). The Tuning of the World. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Tsui, W. C. (徐允清) (2018). Xianggang liuxing qu:  Xuanlv yu shici de chongji 《香港流行曲:  旋律與詩詞的衝擊》 [Tunes and Verses in Mutual Impact: Hong Kong Popular Songs]. Hong Kong: Infolink. Welsh, F. (2015). Xianggang shi: cong yapian zhanzheng dao zhimin zhongjie 《香港史:  從鴉片戰爭到殖民終結》 [Hong Kong History: From the Opium War to the Terminal of Colony]. Hong Kong: Commercial Press. Witzleben, J. L. (1999). Cantopop and Mandapop in pre-​postcolonial Hong Kong: Identity negotiation in the performances of Anita Mui Yim-​Fong. Popular Music, 8(2), 241–​258. Wong, A.L., & Sheng A.Q. (黃愛玲, 盛安琪) (Ed.) (2007). Huang Tian Lin 王天林 [Wong Tin-lam]. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Film Archive. Wong, C. W. (黃志華) (2003). Xianggang ciren cihua 《香港詞人詞話》 [Hong Kong Lyricists Talk]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing.

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C. W. (黃志華) (2014). Yuanchuang xianfeng:  yuequ ren de liuxing qudiao chuangzuo 《原創先鋒：粵曲人的流行曲調創作》 [Pioneers:  Popular Songs Composed by Cantonese Opera Writers]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing. Wong, J. J. (黄湛森) (2003). Yueyu liuxingqu de fazhan yu xingshuai:  Xianggang liuxing yinyue yanjiu (1949–​1997) 《粤語流行曲的發展與興衰: 香港流行音樂硏究 (1949–​1997)》 [The Rise and Decline of Cantopop: A Study of Hong Kong Popular Music (1949–​1997)]. PhD dissertation, University of Hong Kong. Wong, T. Y. (黃廷堯) (2017). Guangdong xin yinsheng:  Guangdong yinyue zai shanghai de fazhan (1909–​49) 《廣東新音聲: 廣東音樂在上海的發展 (1909–​49)》 [New Cantonese Sounds: The Development of Cantonese Ensemble Music in Shanghai (1909–​49)]. Master’s thesis, The Chinese University of Hong Kong. Yang, H. L., & Yu, S. W. (楊漢倫，余少華) (2013). Yueyu gequ jiedu:  tuibian zhong de xianggang shengyin 《粤語歌曲解讀: 蛻變中的香港聲音》 [Interpretation of Cantonese Songs: The Changing Hong Kong Sound]. Hong Kong: Hui Zhi Chu Ban You Xian Gong Si. Yu, S. W. (余少華) (2001). Le zai diancuo zhong: xianggang yasu yinyue wenhua 《樂在顛錯中：香港雅俗音樂文化》 [Out of Chaos and Coincidence: Hong Kong Music Culture]. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Yu, Y. Y. (于逸堯) (2013). Xianggang hao shengyin 《香港好聲音》 [Good Sound of Hong Kong]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK). Zhang, H. S. (張恨水) (2011). Tixiao yinyua 《啼笑因緣》 [Fate in Tears and Laughter]. Taipei: Unitas.

Discography Cheung, King-​sin (1938).Triumph Song. Hong Kong: EMI Hong Kong. Lang, Sandra (1974). The Fatal Irony. Hong Kong: Crown Records Limited. Siu, Tit-​Hung (1938). Anti-​Japanese Invasion Song. The theme song of Stage Lights.

Filmography Wong, Tin-​lam (director) (1974). The Fatal Irony. Hong Kong: Television Broadcasts Limited.

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Rethinking Chineseness in the Cantopop of Sam Hui Brenda Chan

Sam Hui and the Rise of Cantopop No historical account of Cantopop is complete without Samuel (Sam) Hui (許冠傑). Hailed as the “God of Song” and “Father of Cantopop,” the singer-​songwriter has been credited for elevating the status of Cantonese popular music in the 1970s, up until when Hong Kong had been dominated by Euro-​American pop music and Mandarin pop songs. The latter were either from the “Shanghai popular song” tradition1 or imported from Taiwan, while Cantonese popular songs were generally regarded as an inferior, lowbrow form catering to the working class (Chu, 2017).2 Sam Hui was born in 1948 in China, but moved to Hong Kong with his family at the age of two (Chu, 2006). Like many of the Hong Kong youth in the 1960s who were influenced by Euro-​ American pop and folk rock, he was part of a local band, called Lotus, that mainly performed English songs. When he sang the Cantonese song “Eiffel Tower above the Clouds” (鐵塔凌雲)3 in 1972 on a television show hosted by his brother (Michael Hui), Sam—as an attractive young man and a university graduate4—was able to lift Cantonese popular music out of its association with the lower-​income segments of society to give it a more trendy, “cool,” and fashionable image (Chu, 2006, p. 34; Chu, 2017, p. 50). Sam Hui subsequently composed several witty, humorous hits in colloquial Cantonese that expressed the struggles of working-​class people against the rise of the cost of living in a booming urban economy. In the 1970s, he released three albums in Cantonese that achieved “album sales figures (that) were unprecedented in Hong Kong”: the 1974 soundtrack of the film Games Gamblers Play (鬼馬雙星), which sold 150,000 copies; the soundtrack for the film The Last Message (天才與白痴) in 1975, which sold 200,000 copies; and then the 1975 movie soundtrack for The Private Eyes (半斤八兩), that sold 350,000 copies (Hong Kong Institute of Education, n.d.). The popularity of Sam Hui’s Cantopop hits coincided with the rise of a strong local cultural identity among a new generation of Hongkongers born or raised in the territory (Chu, 2017; Erni, 2007), which, as a British colony, was then economically and politically separated from the “motherland” (Communist China). As a popular culture icon in 1970s Hong Kong, Sam Hui is associated with qualities such as “East–​West Fusion” and “local Chineseness,” the latter characterized as “an ‘alternative’ Chineseness … that has combined past and present, East and West” (Mak & Chan, 2013, pp. 163–​164).

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Sam Hui’s cultural positions can be broadly divided into three categories: (1) “comedic songs” written in vernacular Cantonese and reflecting upon the everyday realities and social problems of living in Hong Kong; (2) love songs that are heavily influenced by Cantonese opera and ditties in terms of musical style and lyrics; and (3) sentimental ballads that contain philosophical musings on life. Songs in the first category are celebrated for their significance in projecting a local Hong Kong identity (Erni, 2007), while those in the second category are sometimes criticized for their conservative outlook and lack of originality in lyrics (Wong, 2003, pp.  118–​119). In this chapter, I propose to examine the lyrics of three songs from the third category; namely, “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot” (天才白痴夢) (1975), “From the Heart of a Loafer” (浪子心聲) (1976), and “When Will We Meet Again” (何日再相逢) (1979). These songs feature a mixture of colloquial and literary Chinese as well as referencing classical Chinese texts, particularly poetry. I argue that the lyrics of these songs allow us to rethink the “Chineseness” of Hong Kong, going beyond the discourses of hybridity (Chow & de Kloet, 2010) and materialism (Lilley, 1998) that tend to dominate the discussion of Hong Kong identity. The difficulties in articulating Hong Kong identity lie in the territory’s historical experience as a British colony for more than 150 years. Hong Kong was ceded to Britain by Qing dynasty China in 1842 after the latter’s defeat in the First Opium War, and it was only returned to Chinese sovereignty in 1997 (Levine, 2019). As Kwai-​Cheung Lo has illustrated in his theorizing of the contingent and contradictory nature of Hong Kong’s Chineseness, the city—despite being “westernized through colonialism”—is able to retain strong Chinese characteristics, particularly in the form of traditional Chinese culture (2005, p. 10). In fact, Hong Kong used to be a place where foreign visitors were able to see the display of Chinese culture “when the ‘real’ China could not be accessed” (Lo, 2005, p. 3) during the latter’s isolation as a socialist state. Traditional Chinese culture, on the other hand, had been severely “damaged by political turmoil in the mainland” (Lo, 2005, p. 11) as a result of the Cultural Revolution (1966–​1976) in the People’s Republic of China, during which there was a campaign to destroy the “ ‘four olds’—old ideas, old habits, old customs and old culture” (Phillips, 2016). Unlike the nationalistic or patriotic songs that emerged in Hong Kong in the 1980s (such as Cheung Ming-​man’s (張明敏’s) “My Chinese Heart” (我的中國心) (1982) and Liza Wang’s (汪明荃’s) “Be a Brave Chinese” (勇敢的中國人) (1988)), the Chineseness in Sam Hui’s “philosophical songs” does not entail an explicit declaration of an ethno-​national Chinese identity linked to the Chinese state. It is, instead, premised upon identification with the literary and philosophical traditions in ancient China that are passed down through the generations and still shared by ethnic Chinese communities living outside mainland China, such as those in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore, and Malaysia, as I shall illustrate with the examples of three songs in the next section. “Chineseness” in Sam Hui’s Songs: Three Examples “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot” is a sub-​theme from the 1975 film The Last Message, directed by Michael Hui. Composed by Sam Hui with lyrics coauthored by Sam Hui and Sit Chi Hung, the song mocks the way people (day)dream of becoming rich and successful without realizing that life in the dreamworld is bittersweet and happiness short-​lived, just like the vicissitudes of real life. The lyrics are an obtuse exhortation to listeners that one should pursue goals in real life, arguing that: “Heaven has endowed us with talents that we can use /​We don’t have to be in a

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dream to spread our wings and fly [i.e. to achieve success]” (天造之才 /​ 皆有其用 /​ 振翅高飛 /​ 無須在夢中). The aforementioned lines in the lyrics are actually adapted from a famous quote in Li Bai’s (李白’s) poem “Let’s Drink” (將進酒), which reads “I am endowed with talents that must be put to use; A  thousand pieces of gold squandered—but return they would, the whole lot” (天生我才必有用，千金散盡還復來) (Ho, 2015, p. 22). Li Bai (born 701 AD) is arguably the most famous and prolific poet in Chinese history, widely regarded by posterity as the “God of Poetry” and well known for his love of wine. “Let’s Drink” was written when Li Bai failed to secure a position as a court official in the capital during the Tang dynasty; hence, the poem was born out of his frustration that his talents were not being appreciated. He expressed his desire to drown his sorrows in wine as he constantly urged his two friends to continue drinking along with him. However, despite this setback, Li Bai remained optimistic in the belief that someday his talents would certainly be recognized, thus displaying a positive attitude and self-​confidence in the midst of his depressive emotions (Chen, 2011; Li, 2014). If wine is the motif in Li Bai’s poem “Let’s Drink,” then for Sam Hui’s “Dream of a Genius-​ Idiot,” it is the word “dream” that recurs most frequently, being repeated more than ten times in the song. After the chorus, the line “That long dream under the southern branch /​Everything is lost when the dream is gone” (南柯長夢 /​ 夢去不知所蹤) is yet another reference to an ancient Chinese literary text—a short story written by Li Gongzuo (李公佐) during the Tang dynasty, titled The Story of the Governor of the Southern Branch (南柯太守傳), which was later adapted into an opera by Ming dynasty playwright Tang Xianzu. Although few Hongkongers might have read the original text by Li or the opera script by Tang, the story has been passed down through the Chinese idiom “a dream of the southern branch” (南柯一夢), which refers to a short-​lived or futile pursuit. The narrative is about a military officer, Chunyu Fen, who falls into a dream after getting drunk. In the dream, Chunyu Fen marries the princess of a certain Huai An Kingdom, gets conferred as the Governor of Nanke (Southern Branch), and later rises to become a prime minister, enjoying immense wealth and power. But after the death of the princess, the extravagance and lustful excesses of Chunyu’s life incur the wrath of the king, and he is banished from the kingdom. Chunyu wakes up to find that all he has experienced was merely a dream (Luo, 2015, p. 166). In fact, Sam Hui’s song recounts the ending of the story in the same stanza, saying that “One day when the drunk man awakes, will he still be riding a dragon and phoenix [i.e. enjoying high social status and success]?” (醉翁他朝醒覺  /​ 是否跨鳳乘龍). Here again, Sam Hui’s song emphasizes the emptiness of dreams and admonishes the listener to “treasure the present” (珍惜此際) instead. It is almost a call for one to seize the day and act in the real world; hence, the song ends by asking: “Why bother to seek after dreams?” (何必尋夢?). A common trope in the lyrics of Chinese-​language popular songs is that “life is like a dream,” but “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot” goes beyond this to extol the importance of achieving one’s goals while remaining grounded in reality. This pragmatic stance is later repeated in another song composed by Sam Hui, titled “Get a New Job” (搵嘢做) (1980), which calls upon an idle man to look for a job: “Find a job quickly /​for one must realise that one can be useful to society /​Don’t expect to be rewarded if you don’t work hard” (拿拿聲即刻走去搵嘢做 /​ 人必須知道自己嘅用途 /​ 唔去奮 鬥你咪望有酬勞). Both songs underscore the belief that one should work hard in real life rather than dreaming of getting rich but not doing anything to achieve this; however, the latter song is written entirely in colloquial Cantonese, whereas “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot” blends in quotations and stories from classical Chinese literature.

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Out of the three songs analyzed in this chapter, “From the Heart of a Loafer” is arguably the best known and one of the most popular works of Sam Hui. The song is from the soundtrack of the 1976 film The Private Eyes, directed by Michael Hui. The melody was composed by Sam Hui, with lyrics cowritten by Sam Hui and Peter Lai. The song is a critique of people who pursue wealth and fame without realizing that someday “the mansion made of gold might crumble” (金屋變敗瓦), and it emphasizes the far greater importance of being righteous and charitable in life. The most famous and memorable line that most Cantopop listeners would remember from this song is: “What you are destined to have will be yours one day /​do not insist upon something that does not belong to you” (命裡有時終須有 /​ 命裡無時莫強求). This lyric encourages people to make peace with themselves when they are unable to obtain or attain something that they desire in life. It resonated particularly well with Hong Kong listeners, especially when the song was released in the 1970s—at a time when Hong Kong was undergoing rapid industrialization and there was a pervasive obsession in its capitalistic society with making money. It is actually a quotation from the book Extended Worthy Aphorisms (增廣賢文) (see Huang & Huang, 2014, pp. 92–​93), a collection of common Chinese sayings compiled during the Ming and Qing dynasties and used in ancient China as a children’s textbook (Lu & Lu, 2013). Most of the sayings in this book are still widely used and circulated in everyday speech and media discourse in ethnic Chinese communities, including in Hong Kong. Over time, however, and owing to the massive popularity of the song, Cantopop audiences have come to associate the above quotation with “From the Heart of a Loafer” rather than Extended Worthy Aphorisms. Nevertheless, the lyrics of “From the Heart of a Loafer” caution against hypocrisy in society and human avarice, echoing themes similar to some of the precepts in Extended Worthy Aphorisms. For example, the opening line of the song warns that “It’s hard to distinguish between truth and falsehood; people can be dangerous liars” (難分真與假 /​ 人面多險詐), which is reminiscent of a quote in Extended Worthy Aphorisms that reads “畫虎畫皮難畫骨，知人知面不知心” (Huang & Huang, 2014, p. 86), translated into English as “Painting a tiger’s skin is easy, but not so with the bones. You may know a person’s face but not their heart.” (Huang & Liu, 2014). Similarly, the last line before the instrumental interlude of the song says that “When one’s heart is righteous and pure, doing kind and charitable deeds will bring us greatest joy” (心公正白璧無瑕 /​ 行善積德最樂), which reiterates another tenet in Extended Worthy Aphorisms that states that “The greatest joy comes from doing good, evildoers will not get away so easily” (為善最樂，為惡難逃) (Huang & Huang, 2014, pp. 106–​107). “From the Heart of a Loafer” is widely regarded as an evergreen Cantopop classic, and many Hongkongers who grew up listening to Sam Hui’s music are able to remember its lyrics. Besides the catchy melody, part of the song’s popularity may be attributed to the fact that its lyrics incorporate philosophical values and virtues that have been passed down through the centuries in Chinese culture. And in a materialistic society such as Hong Kong, Sam Hui’s song speaks to the disillusionment of the have-​nots, offering a sense of solace in the value of being contented with what one has in life. The most obscure of the three songs analyzed in this chapter is “When Will We Meet Again,” which describes the sadness of parting with a good friend. The lyrics, cowritten by Sam Hui and Peter Lai, draw upon the metaphor of wild geese in Su Shi’s “Responding to Ziyou’s Poem: Remembering Mianchi” (和子由澠池懷舊). Su Shi (蘇軾) (1037–​1101) was a renowned poet in the Song dynasty, and Ziyou (子由) was the courtesy name of his brother. On their journey to sit for the imperial examinations, Su Shi and Ziyou lodged briefly at a temple in Mianchi

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County (in present-​day Henan province, China). Several years later, Su Shi had already become a government official, and on his way to taking up his new appointment, he passed by Mianchi again. Upon receiving a poem from Ziyou, Su Shi then wrote another poem in response to his brother, relating that the monk who used to host them in the temple had passed away and that the monastery walls had fallen into ruins—such that the poetry that Su Shi and Ziyou had previously written on them could no longer be seen (Barnstone & Chou, 2005, p. 248; Wang, 2014, p. 525). In witnessing these changes, Su Shi mused in his poem that life could be compared with tracks left behind by wild geese treading in the snow (“人生到處知何似，應似飛鴻踏雪泥”)—here today but gone tomorrow, for “the wild goose does not care where to fly” (鴻飛那復計東西) (Chang, n.d.). Just as Su Shi’s poem highlights the ephemeral quality of life, Sam Hui’s song highlights the uncertainty of meeting and parting with friends or loved ones in life. When will we meet again? /​Our jovial meeting was regretfully brief … (Chorus) Like the solitary wild goose, each flying its own way, please take care /​for we know not where we will go /​The tracks we leave will be forgotten /​Oh, how painful it is to part with a good friend! 何日再相逢 /​  暢聚惜匆匆 … (Chorus) 孤鴻各飛盼自重 /​ 那復計西東 /​ 點點指爪不堪記 /​良朋惜別痛 Although during 1974 to 1979 lyricists touched on a broader range of themes, such as celebration of nature, Hong Kong identity, anti-​war sentiments, and so on (Wong, 1990), the subject of romantic love always dominated the lyrical content of Cantonese popular songs, especially at the height of its popularity, in 1984 to 1993 (Hong Kong Policy Viewers, 1994). Cantopop songs about friendship were few and far between, except for notable examples such as Alan Tam’s (譚詠麟’s) “Friends” (朋友) (1985) and Roman Tam’s (羅文’s) “A Friend” (朋友一個) (1986). In 1979, when Sam Hui’s “When Will We Meet Again” was released on the album ’79 Summer Songbook, such a theme was uncommon. With its referencing of Su Shi’s poem, the song reminded one of ancient Chinese poets who penned verses to express their emotions when sending off their good friends, such as Li Bai’s “Seeing Meng Haoran off at Yellow Crane Tower” (黃鶴樓送孟浩然之廣陵) and “Farewell to a Friend” (送友人), as well as Bai Juyi’s “Farewell on an Ancient Meadow” (賦得古原草送別).5 Although Sam Hui’s songs are usually read as “quintessentially Hong Kong,” they are nonetheless etched with traces of “ancient China,” be it from folk or literary traditions. During an interview on a television program, Pop Up Canto Pop:  Sam Hui Special by Radio Television Hong Kong (RTHK), Sam Hui mentioned that his favorite subject in high school was Chinese Literature and that he also likes poetry from the Tang and Song dynasties very much. “Hence I would quote some lines from such poetry in my songs,” he explained (author’s translation from Cantonese). At the same time, the popularity of Sam Hui’s Cantopop hits has made him a “trendsetter in not only Hong Kong but also other Chinese communities” (Chu, 2017, p. 51). While this observation by Yiu-​Wai Chu was not further elaborated in his 2017 book about the history of Cantopop,

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the next and final section in the chapter hopes to fill this gap by exploring how Sam Hui’s works have been adapted and recontextualized in songs by musicians from Singapore and Malaysia. Influence of Sam Hui on Songwriters from Singapore and Malaysia I argue that it is the embedding of traditional Chinese culture in the lyrics of Sam Hui’s songs that gives his music a pan-​Chinese appeal beyond Hong Kong, so much so that Sam Hui’s music has also influenced ethnic Chinese singer-​songwriters from Singapore and Malaysia who compose Mandarin songs. In this chapter, I will illustrate this with two songs, by Liang Wern Fook (梁文福), a Singapore citizen, and Malaysian-​born Eric Moo (巫啟賢)—both key figures in a short-​lived Mandarin popular music movement in Singapore in the 1980s. Being a Singaporean researcher who has witnessed and listened to songs in this music movement, as well as an avid consumer of Cantopop in my youth, places me at a vantage point to explore the connections between Sam Hui’s Cantopop hits and the works of these two songwriters who started their musical careers in Singapore. Like Hong Kong, Singapore was formerly a British colony. She joined the Federation of Malaysia briefly in 1963 before becoming an independent country in 1965. Singapore’s resident population of about 4 million is made up of 76.1 percent Chinese, 15 percent Malay, and 7.4 percent Indian and other ethnic minorities (Strategy Group, Prime Minister’s Office, 2017, p.  18).6 The ethnic Chinese community in Singapore was a diverse community made up of immigrants and their descendants, originally hailing from the southern provinces of Fujian and Guangdong in China, who spoke various dialects that were mostly unintelligible to one another. The major Chinese dialect groups in Singapore included the Hokkiens, Teochews, Cantonese, Hainanese, Hakkas, and so on. Films and television dramas imported from Hong Kong could be broadcast in their original Cantonese dialogue till the late 1970s; for instance, The Private Eyes (1976), starring Sam Hui. In 1979, however, the Singapore government launched the Speak Mandarin Campaign, promoting Mandarin as the common spoken language among the ethnic Chinese while explicitly discouraging the use of Chinese dialects. The concomitant measures in support of this campaign included severe restrictions of Chinese dialects in film and broadcast media. For instance, Cantonese films and television dramas from Hong Kong had to be dubbed in Mandarin before they could be screened, pop songs were banned from airplay if they were deemed to carry too much dialect in the lyrics, and so on (Kuo & Chan, 2016). Ironically, despite the implementation of the Speak Mandarin Campaign, Cantopop flourished in Singapore in the 1980s—at the same time that it experienced a commercial boom in Hong Kong—given that Singapore was already a major consumption location for Hong Kong popular culture products. Although Chinese dialects were suppressed in the mainstream broadcast media in Singapore, avid viewers of Hong Kong television dramas could still access the latest Cantonese serials on videocassette through rental stores. Cantopop listeners were able to purchase audiocassettes of albums by Cantopop artistes in music stores, and Cantopop stars continued to hold concerts in Singapore, supported by the “vibrant fanclubs” of that time (Liew, 2003, p. 222). In fact, when Cantopop was at the peak of its popularity in the early 1990s, “Cantopop clubs and discos mushroomed all over the island, such as Pub 1997, Thunderstorm, Club Triple Seven, The Live House and Canto” (Lim, 2015). Even today, long after the “fall” of Cantopop (since the late 1990s),7 veteran Cantopop stars have continued to stage extremely successful concerts in Singapore, attracting nostalgic Singaporean fans who had grown up with Cantopop. In the case

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of Sam Hui, he played to 5,000 spectators during his concert in the Singapore Indoor Stadium in 2014 (“Smooches from singer Sam Hui,” 2014), and he also had a sellout concert partnering with Alan Tam in 2018 (Tay, 2018).8 Given this context, it is without doubt that Sam Hui and the rise of Cantopop in the 1970s and 1980s exerted an impact on Liang Wern Fook and Eric Moo as young listeners, and subsequently songwriters, growing up in that era. Both Liang and Moo were pioneers in the xinyao movement in Singapore from 1980 to 1990, during which ethnic Chinese students in local secondary schools and pre-​university institutions wrote, performed, and subsequently published Mandarin songs (Koh, 2014, p.  1; Kong, 1996, p.  107). According to Kong (1996, pp.  107–​109), xinyao stands for “xinjiapo nianqingren chuangzuo de geyao” (songs composed by Singaporean youth). These songs are characterized by simple melodies, accompanied by piano and guitar, with lyrics that revolve around the themes of nostalgia for childhood, youth concerns, and social commentaries. Both the songwriters and performers of xinyao, as well as its main audience, were Mandarin-​ speaking youth in Singapore; hence, the xinyao songs attracted a more niche following and were not known among the non-​Chinese listeners and the English-​speaking Chinese in the republic (Dairianathan & Chia, 2010).9 However, xinyao went into decline after 1990 as its songs became increasingly commercialized and integrated into the sounds of mainstream Mandarin pop. Prior to the rise of xinyao, the ethnic Chinese community in Singapore was mainly listening to Chinese-​language songs imported from Taiwan and Hong Kong, or English-​language Euro-​ American pop music. As such, the xinyao movement was in some way similar to the campus folk song movement in 1970s Taiwan—it was born out of a desire by Singaporean Mandarin-​speaking youth to sing their own songs. Nevertheless, in interviews with various early xinyao practitioners, Dairianathan (2012) found that their musical influences came from various sources, such as campus folk songs from Taiwan, theme songs from Hong Kong dramas, American folk songs by singers such as Bob Dylan, and so on (pp. 330–​331). Born and educated in Singapore with Cantonese ancestry, Liang Wern Fook is one of the earliest and most prolific xinyao songwriters, adept in both composing melodies and writing poetic lyrics (K. Y. Kong, 2010b; Huang & Xu, 2002, p. 321). Like Sam Hui, he wrote not only romantic ballads but also several songs that contained satirical lyrics portraying various social issues and problems. The “social commentaries” in his musical works included the “rat-​race in Singapore and its effects on people; the lack of freedom; delinquency; Westernization; and the development of Singapore as a nation and society” (Kong, 1996, p. 112). For instance, “Too Much” (太多太多) (1988) describes the pressures of schoolwork faced by students in Singapore’s punishing education system as well as Singaporeans’ obsession with the pursuit of material wealth. In the late 1980s to 1990, Liang attempted to inject more of a local Singaporean identity into his xinyao songs. In “Singapore Pie” (新加坡派) (1990) he “documents” the developments in the Singapore nation from the 1960s to the 1990s, with each stanza of the song representing a different decade. After the first stanza, about the 1960s, an instrumental version of a verse in “From the Heart of a Loafer” is played in the musical interlude as a “transition” to the second stanza, that describes events and popular culture in Singapore during the 1970s. The same format is adopted as the song moves towards the third stanza, but with vocal covers of one or two lines from three songs that were popular in Singapore in the 1980s, namely Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I  Love You” (1984), “We Are the World” (1985) recorded by various American artistes, and “Tomorrow Will Be Better” (明天會更好) (1985), a Mandarin charity song recorded

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in 1985 by various Taiwanese pop singers, which was modelled after “We Are the World.” In “Singapore Pie,” Sam Hui’s song doesn’t just function as a “temporal marker” to signify the era of the 1970s. It represents both space (Hong Kong) and genre (Cantopop), standing in contrast with the two English songs (from the United States) and the Mandarin song (from Taiwan) as one of the three sources of popular music most widely consumed by the ethnic Chinese community in Singapore in the 1970s and 1980s. Compared with Liang Wern Fook, Eric Moo has a more complex identity in that he is a Malaysian who was born in Perak but grew up in Singapore from the age of nine. After starting out as a xinyao singer-​songwriter (as part of the campus band Underground Express), Eric Moo later became a professional recording artiste and managed to penetrate the Mandarin pop market in Taiwan, first by being a protégé of Taiwanese pop star Liu Wen-​cheng under Liu’s record label and then finally gaining fame with “You Are My Only One” (你是我的唯一) in 1988 (Kong, 2010a, pp. 1–​2). He had another successful Mandarin album in 1993, Red Dust Comes to a Dream, in which there was a song titled “Life Is a Dream” (人生如夢), composed by Eric Moo with lyrics cowritten by Eric Moo and Wang Yuyu. This is a lively number that carries a philosophical theme, expressing the thoughts of someone who realizes, after experiencing trials and tribulations, that “just as dreams resemble life /​life is also like a dream” (夢如人生人生如夢). The song quotes the opening line (in Cantonese) from Sam Hui’s “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot” in its chorus: “Everyone seeks dreams, everything seems uncertain in our dreams” (人皆尋夢 /​ 夢裡不分西東). However, Sam Hui’s music is appropriated differently in the two Mandarin songs by Liang Wern Fook and Eric Moo. In “Singapore Pie,” it serves as a symbol of popular culture consumed by Chinese Singaporeans in the 1970s (though ironically imported from Hong Kong), whereas Moo’s song provides an oppositional response to Sam Hui’s piece. Sam Hui’s song questions the pursuit of ephemeral unrealistic dreams and calls for one to cherish the lived present, but Eric Moo contends that since everybody wants to pursue their dream and we are living in a mortal world, one should dare to dream without fear: “We love in the mortal world /​And hate in the mortal world /​Why don’t we just enter into dreams without restraint?” (愛在紅塵中 /​ 恨在紅塵中 /​ 何不瀟灑入夢). Although “Life Is a Dream” is not the title track of the album on which it is published, Moo often performs this song in variety shows on Taiwanese television, possibly owing to its upbeat tempo. By then Moo had already established himself as a Mandarin pop artiste in Taiwan, so inserting a Cantonese refrain from a classic Cantopop hit into a Mandarin song might seem a little strange, but could possibly be a precursor to Eric Moo’s plans to enter the Hong Kong market at that time. As a news article in the South China Morning Post reported, Eric Moo tried to break into the Hong Kong pop market in March 1994, and soon his songs “enjoyed tremendous success on the charts” (Chung, 1994). Apart from commercial considerations, there is no doubt that Cantopop did exert a significant influence upon Eric Moo in his youth, for he has revealed in an interview that he was inspired to compose his first song after listening to a song by the late Hong Kong pop star Danny Chan (陳百強) (Kong, 2010a, p. 1). Therefore, it is little surprise that Moo would reference a classic hit from the Father of Cantopop, Sam Hui, in his song “Life Is a Dream.” It could perhaps be an oblique tribute to Sam Hui and to the role of Cantopop in motivating Moo’s earliest foray into music, albeit adopting a different philosophical stance from Hui’s lyrics in “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot.”

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Revisiting the Legacy of Sam Hui Most of the existing English-​language literature about Sam Hui tends to focus on how he has successfully hybridized Western musical genres with local Hong Kong sensibilities and how he has championed the voice of the everyman through songs written in colloquial Cantonese. While Sam Hui’s songs are widely perceived to represent and embody the “Hong Kong spirit” (香港情懷), I have attempted to provide a more in-​depth analysis of three songs by Sam Hui to illustrate that his discography includes songs that are imbued with a strong sense of Chineseness which is not attached to any particular political regime, but derived from classical Chinese literary traditions. His songs do not simply express “a ‘confused’ cultural identity mix of Hong Kong and China which provides … precarious references insufficient for self-​reflection”; nor do they merely mock the Hong Kong subject’s pursuit of capitalism that was “successful but unsatisfying” (Lau, 1998, p. 31). Instead, Sam Hui’s “philosophical” ballads have been trying to caution against Hongkongers’ relentless pursuit of materialism by highlighting positive cultural values passed down through the centuries in China, such as contentment, righteousness, avoidance of avarice, value of human relationships (such as friendship), and so on. As such, Hui’s songs have resonated with ethnic Chinese audiences beyond Hong Kong; in this chapter, I  have explored how Sam Hui’s works have been adapted by Liang Wern Fook and Eric Moo from Singapore and Malaysia, respectively, in their Mandarin songs written in the early 1990s. Such is the influence and legacy of Sam Hui, which is worth revisiting in this day and age, after the Cantopop industry has (unfortunately) entered into decline. Notes 1 According to Chen (2005), the term “Shanghai popular songs” refers to the earliest form of modern Chinese popular music that emerged in Shanghai in the early 1930s. This was a hybrid genre that was heavily influenced by American jazz and Tin Pan Alley songs while also retaining characteristics of traditional Chinese folk music, such as the adaptation of Chinese folk melodies in some songs, and vocal delivery (dominated by female singers) using a high-​pitched, girl-​like voice. Shanghai popular songs, which were performed in Mandarin, were typically accompanied by a Western band, although some of the songs incorporated Chinese instruments. This genre was popular from the 1930s to the 1940s, appearing in the songs of Chinese films and performed in the cabarets of Shanghai. After the Communist Party took power in mainland China in 1949, many people moved to Hong Kong to flee the regime, because Hong Kong was a British colony at that time. Among the mainland émigrés in Hong Kong were composers and singers who continued producing Mandarin songs that carried strong influences from the style of Shanghai popular songs, through to the 1960s. 2 Mandarin Chinese is based on the pronunciation of Beijing dialect and is the most widely spoken form of Chinese in mainland China (“Mandarin language,” 2019), whereas Cantonese is a dialect that originates from Guangdong province in China. Besides its widespread usage in the Guangdong and Guangxi provinces of China, Cantonese is the most commonly spoken language in Hong Kong and Macau. Mandarin and Cantonese are mutually unintelligible, but share the same Chinese script in their formal written form. Therefore, a Mandarin speaker who does not understand Cantonese will still be able to discern the meaning of a Cantonese song by reading the lyrics. 3 The song was composed by Sam Hui, with lyrics penned by his brother, Michael. 4 Sam Hui read psychology in The University of Hong Kong. Very few people in the Hong Kong entertainment industry at that time had a university education (Chu, 2017, p. 50). This played an important role in changing the public’s biased perception of Cantonese songs as an inferior cultural form (Dunn, 2006, p. 26). 5 For English translation of the full poems, see Ho (2015, pp. 28, 41, 155). 6 Singapore has four official languages: English is used for government and business, while Mandarin, Malay, and Tamil are designated as “ethnic languages” corresponding to the major ethnic groups in the population. Malay is the national language, but mainly plays a symbolic and ceremonial role, being used in the national anthem, military commands, and so on.

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 Rethinking Chineseness in the Cantopop of Sam Hui   •   75 7 Sales for Cantopop began to decline drastically from the mid-​1990s. Henceforth, record companies and Hong Kong artistes turned their focus towards producing Mandarin pop for Mandarin-​speaking markets in mainland China and Taiwan (Chu & Leung, 2013). See Chu and Leung’s (2013) paper for a more detailed analysis of the various factors that contributed to the decline of the Cantopop industry. 8 After an entertainment career of more than 20 years, Sam Hui held a series of farewell concerts in 1991 and 1992 before retiring from showbiz. From 2004 onwards, Sam Hui saw that the morale of Hong Kong society was very low after the outbreak of SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome) and the deaths of prominent Cantopop stars such as Leslie Cheung and Anita Mui. So he decided to emerge from retirement and has been making concert tours in various parts of the world in the hope of generating positive energy and happiness (Chow, 2004; Wright, 2016). 9 Singapore’s ethnic Chinese community is bifurcated into those who speak English as their master language and those who tend to converse in Mandarin and/​or Chinese dialects. This is because in the 1960s to 1970s the majority of Chinese students attended schools that used Chinese as the main medium of instruction, whereas the elite went to English-​medium schools (Ng, 2014, p. 369). In 1987, the government implemented a policy to make English the primary language of instruction for almost all subjects in all schools (Zhao & Liu, 2010, p. 244).

References Barnstone, T., & Chou, P. (2005). The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry: From Ancient to Contemporary, The Full 3000-​Year Tradition. New York: Anchor Books. Chang, E. C. (n.d.). “Shi Poems of the Song Dynasty.” Retrieved from www.poetry-​chinese.com/​30.html. Chen, H-​Y. (陳宣諭) (2011). Li Bai shige hai yixiang 《李白詩歌海意象》 [The Imagery of the Sea in Li Bai’s Poetry]. Taipei: WanJuanLou Books. Chen, S-​W. (2005). The rise and generic features of Shanghai popular songs in the 1930s and 1940s. Popular Music, 24(1), 107–​125. Chow, T. (2004). “Sam Hui to sing again.” South China Morning Post, April 19. Retrieved from https://www.scmp.com/ article/452635/sam-hui-sing-again. Chow, Y. F., & de Kloet, J. (2010). Blowing in the China wind: Engagements with Chineseness in Hong Kong’s zhongguofeng music videos. Visual Anthropology, 24(1–​2),  59–​76. Chu, Y.-​W. (2006). The transformation of local identity in Cantopop lyrics (1970s to 1990s). Perfect Beat, 7(4),  32–​51. Chu, Y.-​W. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chu, Y.-​W., & Leung, E. (2013). Remapping Hong Kong popular music: Covers, localisation and the waning hybridity of Cantopop. Popular Music, 32(1),  65–​78. Chung, W. (1994). “Silly sound of success.” South China Morning Post, December 10. Retrieved from www.scmp.com/​ article/​99272/​silly-​sound-​success. Dairianathan, E. (2012). Urbanity and ethnomusicology: A perspective from Singapore. Urban People, 14(2), 323–​346. Dairianathan, E., & Chia, W. K. (2010). Shuo Chang (说唱): Giving voice to and through Xinyao (新谣), a musical practice in Singapore. Journal of Multi-​Disciplinary Research in the Arts, 2(1). Retrieved from https://​repository.nie. edu.sg/​handle/​10497/​4242. Dunn, E. M. (2006). Rendering the Regional: Local Language in Contemporary Chinese Media. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Erni, J. N. (2007). Gender and everyday evasions: Moving with Cantopop. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 8(1), 86–​108. Ho, C. K. (Trans.) (2015). Tang Poems in Original Rhyme: An Innovative Translation. Hong Kong: The Commercial Press Limited. Hong Kong Institute of Education (n.d.). “Hong Kong pop history.” Retrieved from https://​home.ied.edu.hk/​~hkpop/​ music/​hkpophistory.html. Hong Kong Policy Viewers (1994). Baquan zhuyi xia de liuxing wenhua: pouxi zhongwen jinqu de neirong ji yiyi yanjiu 《霸權主義下的流行文化：剖析中文金曲的內容及意義研究》 [Popular Culture under Hegemony: A Study of Hong Kong “Gold” Songs]. Hong Kong: Policy Viewers. Huang, B., & Huang, F. (黃秉泽, 黃昉) (Eds.) (2014). Sanzijing, Baijiaxing, Qianziwen, Zengguangxianwen 《三字經，百家姓，千字文，增廣賢文》 [Three Character Classic, Hundred Family Names, Thousand Character Classic, Extended Worthy Aphorisms]. Wuhan, China: Chongwen Publishing House. Huang, M., & Xu, N. (2002). Xinjiapo huawen wenxueshi chugao 《新加坡華文文學史初稿》 [A Preliminary Study of the History of Singapore Chinese Literature]. Singapore: Department of Chinese Studies, National University of Singapore; Global Publishing.

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76   •   Brenda  Chan Huang, W., & Liu, J. (2014). “A little knowledge can go a long way.” China Daily Africa, June 27. Retrieved from http://​ africa.chinadaily.com.cn/​weekly/​2014-​06/​27/​content_​17619312.htm. Koh, J. (2014). “Xinyao:  Made in Singapore.” Retrieved from https://​eresources.nlb.gov.sg/​music/​Media/​PDFs/​Article/​ 49873991-​cb87-​4dd0-​a274-​99dd6ed2a54c.pdf. Kong, K. Y. (2010a). “Eric Moo (巫启贤): From peak to peak.” Retrieved from https://​eresources.nlb.gov.sg/​music/​Media/​ PDFs/​Article/​07759cf9-​c3cd-​4d4b-​bf18-​22c137539e3b.pdf. Kong, K. Y. (2010b). “Liang Wern Fook (梁文福): The singing academic.” Retrieved from https://​eresources.nlb.gov.sg/​ music/​Media/​PDFs/​Article/​0f13a675-​35dd-​405a-​88db-​8406641d5dfd.pdf. Kong, L. (1996). Making “music at the margins”? A social and cultural analysis of Xinyao in Singapore. Asian Studies Review, 19(3), 99–​124. Kuo, E. C. Y., & Chan, B. (2016). Singapore Chronicles—Language. Singapore: Straits Times Press. Lau, J. K.  W. (1998). Besides fists and blood:  Hong Kong comedy and its master of the eighties. Cinema Journal, 37(2),  18–​34. Levine, S. (2019). Hong Kong’s return to China. In Encyclopaedia Britannica [online]. Retrieved from www.britannica. com/​topic/​reversion-​to-​Chinese-​sovereignty-​1020544. Li, X. (2014). Global subjects of poetry: Power and discourse in poetry. Mosaic, 47(2), 85–​102. Liew, K. K. (2003). Limited pidgin-​type patois? Policy, language, technology, identity and the experience of Canto-​pop in Singapore. Popular Music, 22(2), 217–​233. Lilley, R. (1998). Staging Hong Kong: Gender and Performance in Transition. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Lim, P. (2015). 10 things to know about the 90s. The Straits Times, June 4. Retrieved from www.straitstimes.com/​lifestyle/​ 10-​things-​to-​know-​about-​the-​90s. Lo, K-​C. (2005). Chinese Face/​Off: The Transnational Popular Culture of Hong Kong. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Lu, P., & Lu, N. (2013). Dizi Gui, Zeng Guang Xian Wen, Shenglü Qimeng, Youxue Qionglin [Standards for Being a Good Student and Child, Extended Worthy Aphorisms, Rhythm Enlightenment, The Children’s Knowledge Treasury]. Chengdu, China: Sichuan Literature and Art Publishing House. Luo, M. (2015). Literati Storytelling in Medieval China. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Mak, R. K.  S., & Chan, C. S. (2013). Icons, culture, and collective identity of postwar Hong Kong. Intercultural Communication Studies, 22(1), 158–​173. “Mandarin Language” (2019). In Encyclopaedia Britannica [online]. Retrieved from www.britannica.com/​topic/​ Mandarin-​language. Ng, C. L. P. (2014). Mother tongue education in Singapore: Concerns, issues and controversies. Current Issues in Language Planning, 15(4), 361–​375. Phillips, T. (2016). “The Cultural Revolution:  All you need to know about China’s political convulsion.” The Guardian, May 11. Retrieved from www.theguardian.com/​world/​2016/​may/​11/​the-​cultural​revolution-​50-​years-​on-​all-​you-​need-​to-​know-​about-​chinas-​political-​convulsion. “Smooches from singer Sam Hui” (2014). The Straits Times, June 10. Retrieved from www.asiaone.com/​showbiz/​ smooches-​singer-​sam-​hui. Strategy Group, Prime Minister’s Office (2017). Population in Brief 2017. Singapore: Strategy Group, Prime Minister’s Office, Singapore Department of Statistics, Ministry of Home Affairs, Immigration and Checkpoints Authority, Ministry of Manpower. Retrieved from www.strategygroup.gov.sg/​docs/​default-​source/​default-​document-​library/​ population-​in-​brief-​2017.pdf. Tay, A. (2018). “Sam Hui and Alan Tam signed off on an unforgettable night of Cantopop hits—gig report.” Bandwagon Asia, December 8.  Retrieved from www.bandwagon.asia/​articles/​sam-​hui-​and-​alan-​tam-​signed-​off-​on-​an-​ unforgettable-​night-​of-​cantopop-​hits-​gig-​report. Wang, K.-​Y. (王國瓔) (2014). Zhongguo wenxueshixinjiang 《中國文學史新講》 [A New Approach to the History of Chinese Literature]. Taipei, Taiwan: Linking Books. Wong, C. W. (黃志華) (1990). Yueyu liuxing gequ sishi nian 《粵語流行歌曲四十年》 [Forty Years of Cantonese Popular Music]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing. Wong, J. S. (黃霑) (2003). Yueyu liuxing gequ de fazhan yu xingshuai:  xianggang liuxing yinyue yanjiu (1949–​1997) 《粵語流行歌曲的發展與興衰：香港流行音樂研究 （1949–​1997）》 [The Rise and Decline of Canto Pop: A Study of Hong Kong Popular Music (1949–​1997)]. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, The University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong.

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 Rethinking Chineseness in the Cantopop of Sam Hui   •   77 Wright, A. (2016). “In pictures: Canto-​pop superstar Sam Hui turns 70.” South China Morning Post, October 21. Retrieved from www.scmp.com/​culture/​music/​article/​2038717/​pictures-​canto-​pop-​superstar-​sam-​huis-​40-​years-​limelight. Zhao, S., & Liu, Y. (2010). Chinese education in Singapore: Constraints of bilingual policy from the perspectives of status and prestige planning. Language Problems and Language Planning, 34(3), 236–​258.

Discography Cheung, Ming-​man (2002). My Chinese heart. Best Hits: Chinese People with Chinese Hearts. Hong Kong: Wing Hang Record Trading Co. Ltd. Hui, Sam (1974). Eiffel Tower above the clouds. Games Gamblers Play. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1975). Dream of a genius-​idiot. The Last Message. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1976). From the heart of a loafer. The Private Eyes. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1979). When will we meet again. ’79 Summer Songbook. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1980). Get a new job. Remembering Your Charm. Hong Kong: Polydor. Liang, Wern Fook (1988). Too much. The Name of Love. Singapore: Touch Music Publishing Pte Ltd; Compass. Liang, Wern Fook (1990). Singapore pie. Singapore Pie. Singapore: Touch Music Publishing Pte Ltd; Compass. Moo, Eric (1988). You are my only one. Eric Moo’s Life with Personality Album. Taiwan: Fame Production Co. Ltd. Moo, Eric (1993). Life is a dream. Red Dust Comes to a Dream. Singapore: EMI. Tam, Alan (1985). Friends. The Goddess of Storm Lorelei. Hong Kong: Polygram Records. Tam, Roman (1987). A friend. A Friend. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Various Artists (1985a). Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow Will Be Better. Taiwan: B & W. Various Artists (1985b). We are the world. USA For Africa. USA: Columbia Records. Wang, Liza (1988). Be a brave Chinese. Love and Passion. Hong Kong: Crown Records. Wonder, Stevie (1984). I just called to say I love you. The Woman in Red: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack. USA: Motown Records.

Filmography Chow, R. M. W. (producer) & Hui, M. (director) (1975). The Last Message. Hong Kong: Golden Harvest. Chow, R. M. W. (producer), Hui, M. (director), & Woo, J. (director) (1976). The Private Eyes. Hong Kong: Golden Harvest.

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7

Alternative Music, Language, and “Hong Kong” Identity

The Use of Metaphor in the English Lyrics of Hong Kong Independent Music Lok Ming Eric Cheung

Examining Language Choice in Hong Kong English Songs: Beyond Linguistic Investigations This chapter arose from a research project (Cheung, 2010) reporting on a linguistic study of song lyrics by Hong Kong musicians who composed in English. The study aimed to reveal the use of metaphor, both as a rhetorical technique and a linguistic phenomenon, in a small lyric database I compiled. The motivation of the project was both a linguistic and an educational one, in that the awareness of metaphor may improve language learners’ reading comprehension and capacity to produce creative writing (e.g. Cardoso, 2005; Hashemian & Nezhad, 2007). That said, the original study did not address the broader topic of how the musicians, many of whom have English as a second language (ESL), position themselves in what Benson and Chik (2012) refer to as the “language question” in the Hong Kong popular music scene. Specifically, the language question refers to how language choices—Cantonese, Mandarin, English or a blend of these—potentially influence production and consumption of Hong Kong popular music. While English is one of Hong Kong’s official languages and the main medium of instruction in tertiary education, as well as in English-​medium primary and secondary schools, Cantonese remains the de  facto language among the locals across everyday and institutional contexts, including the entertainment and music industry. In view of this, it would be necessary to investigate the factors contributing to their choice to use English, perhaps as a strategic move away from the “mainstream” music scene. In the following, I first explain briefly how language choice might be influenced by the development of Hong Kong popular music. This is followed by an explanation of the concept of “metaphor” and its relevance to an understanding of the language question. I then report on the findings from a corpus study of metaphor in English lyrics in Hong Kong independent (or “indie”) music and those of a recent qualitative study in which indie musicians were interviewed and their lyrics examined. To conclude the chapter, I discuss the significance of the two studies in understanding how Hong Kong ESL users shape their identities through language. I also point to three potential directions for future research on Hong Kong independent music.

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 Alternative Music, Language, and “Hong Kong” Identity   •   79

The Language Question: In Search of Alternative Identities The major force motivating language choice in Hong Kong popular music is the success of Cantonese popular music (or Cantopop) due to the rise of Hong Kong TV dramas and movies since the 1970s (Benson & Chik, 2012). The dominance of Cantopop songs was also due to the emergence of Cantopop stars across three decades, such as Alan Tam (譚詠麟) and Anita Mui (梅豔芳) in the 1980s, Aaron Kwok (郭富城) and Leon Lai (黎明) in the 1990s, and more recently Joey Yung (容祖兒) and Twins in the 2000s. The pervasiveness of Cantopop, fueled by mass media coverage and its influence in the Asia-​Pacific regions such as Japan, suggests that the formula for commercial success would be to write hit songs in Cantonese (Taylor, 1997). This implies the cost of star-​making in Hong Kong is too great to risk writing songs in languages other than Cantonese, since the success of a Cantopop song is determined by whether it can be sold to karaoke box chains to compensate for ever decreasing record sales (Chow, 2014). This might, therefore, limit language choice in songwriting:  other than occasional code-​switching with English, Mandarin or Japanese in Cantopop songs (Chan, 2012), writing solely in English seems a less welcome option. The success and dominance of Cantopop also makes the nurturing and promotion of the alternative music scene difficult. The price of being indie musicians includes putting in more effort to gain exposure in exchange for autonomy and creative freedom. In addition, the lack of government support also leads to their struggle to find performance venues and practice space (Leung, 2014). Striving for recognition would mean following the standardized “successful” formula, as in Cantopop, and writing Cantonese hit songs that would win airtime on mass media and popularity at karaoke boxes. In recent years, the more successful Hong Kong music groups, such as Dear Jane, Mr., Supper Moment and Rubberband, make their hits predominantly in Cantonese and frequently appear at sold-​out performances and award ceremonies. This corroborates the waning hybridity with the restricted use of Cantonese and the “localization” movement (Chu & Leung, 2013), as opposed to the expectation that original music will be supported. As a result, the discursive space for diversity, especially for the alternative scene in which some may write songs in other languages, is further stifled. In addition, from a linguistic perspective, Hong Kong’s diglossic environment does not apparently encourage creativity in English. While both English and Chinese (Cantonese and Mandarin) are the territory’s official languages, Cantonese remains a language for everyday communication. Although Hongkongers show more acceptance of English and embrace it as a means to establish a prestigious identity (Chan, 2002), they are yet to fully identify with the language and the English-​ speaking culture (Chan, 2012): English is still regarded as a “value-​added language” (Li, 1999) or an “out-​group” communication in the workplace or academic settings (Chan, 2012). Therefore, using English for artistic purposes is not a major concern in the pedagogy of English language at school. For those who wish to communicate creatively in English, one might need to be in control of his or her own English learning (Benson, 2013). For example, they might engage with sociocultural processes outside of the school settings that expose them to the English-​speaking culture. This includes reading Western literature and listening to Western music, through which they can acquire rhetorical devices such as metaphor—the focus of the present study. Before describing how English metaphorical language is operationalized in Hong Kong alternative music, the next section briefly explains the notion of metaphor as a figurative language and a cultural and conceptual schema as well as a grammatical construct.

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80   •   Lok Ming Eric Cheung

Metaphor: A Figurative Device, a Conceptual Tool and a Linguistic Construct The concept centering this chapter is that of “metaphor,” traditionally referred to as using one expression to mean another as a rhetorical device (e.g. Richards, 1964). In the following, I attempt to provide brief descriptions of two alternative notions of metaphor, those of conceptual metaphor (e.g. Deignan, 2005; Lakoff & Johnson, 2008) and grammatical metaphor (e.g. Halliday & Martin, 1994; Halliday, 2004). These descriptions are not definitive, yet they provide useful theoretical and analytical frameworks in support of the present study of metaphor in English lyrics in Hong Kong independent music. Metaphor, according to Lakoff and Johnson (2008), is a pervasive feature in every language. Originally considered as a rhetorical technique for inviting figurative reading in literary texts, metaphor can be found in other non-​literary discourses. From Lakoff and Johnson’s seminal work on conceptual metaphor, the human’s understanding of the physical world and more abstract thought is systematically mapped onto language use. One example involves expressions for human emotions, inherently connected with physical movements; for example, (un)happiness is related to upward movements (“cheer up,” “uplifting,” “being on cloud nine,” etc.) or downward movements (“being let down,” “head drooping,” etc.). Such expressions assigning direction or spatial orientation are termed as “orientational” metaphors. Another type, namely “ontological” metaphors, involves endowing abstract concepts with qualities as if they were tangible objects. For instance, “time” is regarded as a concrete entity which one can “spend,” “waste” and “invest” like money, or “save,” “keep” or “lose” like commodities. The above examples, especially the second one, are often influenced by the cultural frame that determines what is valued (e.g. going up is good; time is precious) or detestable (e.g. going down is bad; wasting time is a bad virtue). The use of conceptual metaphor can, therefore, allow structuring of thoughts, conveying of knowledge, representation of abstract language, grounding of physical experience and construing of ideologies (Deignan, 2005). In other words, metaphor is not confined to its figurative sense but deeply engraved in human language across various contexts. Metaphor can also be understood from a grammatical perspective (e.g. Halliday, 2004; Halliday & Martin, 1994). One canonical type of “grammatical metaphor” involves converting a sentence into a noun group through a process of “nominalization.” For example, a sentence such as “two cars collided on the highway” congruently reflects our perception of the world, with a verb (“collided”) corresponding to an action or a process in an event, nouns (“two cars”) as participants, adverbs (“on the highway”) as circumstances, etc. When the sentence is nominalized (e.g. “the collision of two cars on the highway”), the meaning construed in a clause is “compressed” into a noun group. Through nominalization, the originally concrete representation of the world becomes abstract, in that actions are re-​presented as entities and, therefore, “metaphorized.” While this kind of grammatical metaphor is more common in scientific discourse, nominalization can also appear in other kinds of discourse, even in song lyrics. For example, in Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” “satisfaction” is regarded as a tangible object which the persona can(not) acquire, instead of the more typical expression of emotion in the adjectival form (i.e. “I am not satisfied”). In other words, grammatical metaphor liberates the typical function of a grammatical class to construe meaning originally realized by another class. It also represents sophistication in language use, as nominalization is an ongoing motif in schooling, in which learners are readily taught to organize, generalize and label experience into abstract phenomena (e.g. Christie & Derewianka, 2010).

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The three notions of metaphor—rhetorical, conceptual and grammatical—reveal how human beings can manipulate language for creative freedom. Metaphor allows the language user to extend the meaning of a word, or a combination of words, for an infinite number of symbolic meanings. How metaphors are consistently used in a society or culture provides snapshots of how its members shape their identities. Its usage is not limited in a figurative or aesthetic sense. On the contrary, it signifies the capacity of human beings to find the “adjacent possible” (Kauffman, 2008): searching for alternative functionalities in the existing language resources for reconstruing the new, unknown realms of the world. Therefore, a linguistic investigation of metaphor in song lyrics introduces another perspective on understanding the language question in Hong Kong popular music (Benson & Chik, 2012) and on identities which the local musicians seek to assert. In the following sections, I report on the findings from the two studies I conducted in 2010 and 2018, respectively, focusing on the use of English in Hong Kong independent music lyrics. The first study primarily adopted a quantitative, corpus-​linguistic approach (e.g. Sinclair, 2004), to find out the linguistic patterns construing conceptual metaphor. The second study aimed to complement the first by adding a qualitative perspective through detailed textual analysis and musician interviews. Investigating the Use of Metaphors in Hong Kong English Independent Music Lyrics The study reported in this section (Cheung, 2010) was motivated by the scarce body of research on Hong Kong popular songs written solely in English, and the notion by Knowles and Moon (2004) that rock and pop song lyrics contain a good source of rhetorical or conceptual metaphors. The study hypothesized that the users of ESL were competent in deploying metaphor in creative writing. The hypothesis was tested through investigating the Hong Kong English Popular Music Lyrics Corpus (HKEPLC). The HKEPLC was compiled by the author and contained 391 songs (approximately 57,100 words) dating from 2000 to 2010. Collection was mainly through voluntary contributions by Hong Kong indie musicians and extraction from their musician websites. The compilation of the small-​scale specialized corpus was to explore “the underlying attitudes [towards] mak[ing] explicit various persuasive devices” (Deignan, 1999, p. 179). The examination of the patterns of metaphorical expressions serves to substantiate the author’s assumptions about the ESL musicians’ capability to deploy metaphors for creative purposes. The HKEPLC corpus was first examined with WordSmith Tools 5.0 (Scott, 2008), a multipurpose computer corpus analysis toolkit. The toolkit generated a list of keywords by comparing the HKEPLC with a larger reference corpus, the Hong Kong component of the International Corpus of English (ICE-​HK), with a total of approximately one million words. The keyword list functioned to reveal the frequently occurring words that characterize the HKEPLC. After omitting pronouns, prepositions, conjunctions, proper nouns (names) and non-​words (e.g. oh, whoa, ah, etc.), the top 20 lexical keywords, as categorized in Table 7.1, were selected for further analysis. These lexical words are related to time, space, emotions, behaviors, perceptions and human body parts. From Table 7.1, the most common of the top 20 lexical words in the HKEPLC are those about time and space (time, world, sky), as well as emotions and relationships (love, cry, lost). Based on the online interactive database of conventional linguistic metaphors, called METALUDE (Goatly & LLE Project, 2005), the keyword list was further refined: the items that were most frequently related to metaphorical expressions were identified. The list is re-​presented in Table 7.2, which

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82   •   Lok Ming Eric Cheung Table 7.1  Distribution of the top 20 lexical words in the HKEPLC Lexical keywords in HKEPLC

%

Time/​place/​space time, life, world, day, sky

25

Emotion/​experience/​relationship love, feel, mind, soul, cry, lost

30

Activity/​movement come, try, walk, waiting, leave, let

30

Perception see

5

Human body part heart, eyes

10

Total

100

Table 7.2  Lexical words in the HKEPLC frequently associated with metaphorical expressions Word

Occurrence (N)

Metaphorical use (N)

Metaphorical use (%)

Time

4,990

1,943

39

Love

4,815

1,751

36

Mind

2,522

507

21

Soul

1,366

262

19

Sky

1,278

245

19

World

2,592

280

11

Eyes

1,751

35

2

indicates that the two nouns “time” and “love” were the words most frequently associated with metaphorical use (39 percent and 36 percent, respectively). Following the search of key lexical words in the HKEPLC, the words “time” and “love” were selected for examination of how they co-​occur with metaphorical expressions. The examination of metaphorical language in the lyrics adopted Lakoff and Johnson’s (2008) notion of conceptual metaphor. The main point of interest was the kinds of meanings preferred when the keywords were used in the lyrics. In the case of “time,” the word per se does not evoke any figurative meaning, in that it is used to stand for something else, contrary to more classic metaphorical symbolism such as “rose” symbolizing romance. However, the concept of time is often culturally associated with valuable resources, such as manpower, money or other tangible commodities, which can be quantified, given values, serve purposeful ends and become exhausted (Lakoff & Johnson, 2008, p. 66). Regarding time as tangible entities was common in the HKEPLC; for example, “I’m creeping back to my life /​I don’t mind wasting my time /​just sleeping a while,” appearing alongside concepts about possession, consumption and so on. These preferences are summarized with examples in Table 7.3. As with “time,” “love” as an abstract affectual idea is often compared to valuable commodities. Alternatively, it can be seen as a container with liquid into which someone can fall or immerse

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 Alternative Music, Language, and “Hong Kong” Identity   •   83 Table 7.3  Preferences for conceptual metaphors associated with time in the HKEPLC Meaning preference

Associated words

Examples from HKEPLC

Possession

my, your, take, have, seize

Your time is limited; seize your time by tough mind

Consumption

spend, waste, kill, pissed away

Spending time with her every day; time is running out

Length Journey

eternal, long travel, going back, turn back, freeze, faster than, pass

Down the tunnel of eternal time If you have to try to freeze the time; I wonder how time brushes past

Table 7.4  Preferences for conceptual metaphors associated with love in the HKEPLC Meaning preference

Associated words

Examples from HKEPLC

Possession

my, your, their

Spread my love and blessings

Offering

give, share, brought, show, make, spread

Give all your love to me

Immersion

in, fall in, lake

I’m so in love for now; when we fell in love; in the lake of love

Decoding

key, answer

The key is love; love is the answer

Sensory qualities

white, soft, glow, blurred

Waiting for their love to glow; love has gone blurred; love is white/​soft

himself/​herself. These metaphorical concepts associated with love also occurred frequently in the HKEPLC, alongside other concepts such as comparison of love to a tool that deciphers codes or opens locks. These meaning preferences are categorized with examples in Table 7.4. There are two interesting notes regarding the metaphorical associations with “love” in the HKEPLC. The first relates to association with more novel metaphorical expressions than is the case with “time.” While the more typical conceptual metaphors such as valuables or journeys are expressed alongside time, those about love possess more sensory qualities (e.g. white, soft, glowing), making the concept of love even more tangible or “visible.” The second is related to how love and time, being metaphorically referred to as valuable entities, are involved in antonymic relationships regarding verb choice. From the corpus, “love” is associated with actions of offering (e.g. give, share, show, spread); meanwhile, time is often consumed and exhausted (e.g. spend, waste, kill). This seems to suggest that love is affinitive to more positive qualities, apparently in line with Nhung’s (2018) study of lyrics by Ed Sheeran, a successful UK singer-​songwriter, in that the concept of love is associated with affection, security and closeness as well as tangible entities such as food and sources of warmth. Also, the metaphorical use of “time” also corroborates studies by Johansson (2016) and Lestari (2017), which found that time is typically related to commodities to be consumed or, in a more resentful sense, being wasted or symbolizing death (“death is the night time”). The investigation of metaphor in Hong Kong English song lyrics in this study shows that the local ESL songwriters develop metaphorical knowledge in English in similar ways as those in other countries. However, many instances shown above suggest traces of creative metaphor use, possibly due to an extension of concepts from the mother tongue towards English; that is, the

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songwriters exploited their local cultural knowledge in order to make novel metaphors. Whether their metaphorical knowledge demonstrated similarity or deviation compared to songwriters from other countries, the findings suggest that the local songwriters extended their use of English beyond institutional or educational use towards an everyday usage as cosmopolitan citizens to achieve intercultural affiliation and reflection (Guilherme, 2007; Jackson, 2011). In addition, their extended English use might demonstrate the songwriters’ learning autonomy, in that they sought alternative ways to learn the language in order to suit their creative purposes. In view of the arguments above, it would be worthwhile to investigate beyond the actual language use in the lyrics in order to gain understandings about how songwriters make their choices when writing English lyrics, and how such choices might construct identities “independent” from the “mainstream” culture and music industry. Exploring Local Musicians’ Attitudes towards Writing English Lyrics In addition to the need for understanding the songwriters’ preferences for using metaphor in their English songs, the second study (presented in the following) was conducted for two main reasons. Firstly, the materials in the second study serve as an update to those collected and examined in the first. Throughout the eight or nine years since the first study, there have been vast changes in Hong Kong, in the mainstream and independent music scene as well as in the social and political movements. More recent studies have included comprehensive discussions on the consumption, distribution and management of independent music (e.g. Chow, 2014; Chu & Leung, 2013; Leung, 2014; Wang, 2018); however, the focus of these studies remains on the Cantopop-​oriented independent music scene and its impact on the mainstream Cantopop market. Local music written in English still receives very little attention, and therefore further research is needed to provide a fuller picture of the Hong Kong popular music scene. Secondly, the so-​called boundary between mainstream and independent music has become increasingly obscure. Within the Cantopop-​dominant music market, Hong Kong independent music written in English often struggles for exposure. However, in recent years, it has found its arena on the Internet via social media platforms such as Facebook and Instagram or music platforms such as KKBox, SoundCloud and Spotify. Many of these musicians find their audiences outside Hong Kong, gaining popularity there before they receive more attention locally. One of the notable examples is Chochukmo (觸執毛), the five-​piece alternative rock group that received critical acclaim from TIME magazine (Fitzpatrick, 2010) and CNNGo (Li, 2009). They perform original songs only in English, which secure places in local music charts. Their popularity also increases their exposure among the local public, as the group often appear in advertisements and promotional events as well as collaborating with Cantopop stars such as Denise Ho (何韻詩) and Andy Hui (許志安). This example seems to differ from the local musicians’ reflection on writing English lyrics in Benson and Chik’s (2012) research project. While some musicians reflected that English lyrics might reach a wider audience, the alternative music and language choice does not necessarily distance them from the mainstream music industry. It would, therefore, be worthwhile understanding more about how these musicians embrace changes in the dynamics between mainstream and independent music scenes while maintaining their unique identities as competent English users in the Cantonese-​dominant society. In order to explore the sociocultural contexts motivating the musicians to use English, including the creative and metaphorical use of English, in their song lyrics, the second study

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 Alternative Music, Language, and “Hong Kong” Identity   •   85 Table 7.5  Brief profile of the musicians interviewed Name

Date of interview

Affiliation

Recent releases (2018)

Jabin Law

October 11, 2018

• Unsigned • Stranded Whale (lead vocal/​songwriter/​ guitarist) • Solo singer-​songwriter

Solo album: But Tonight, The Boulevard Is Mine (2018) Stranded Whale’s album: Revival (2018)

Jing Wong

October 11, 2018

• Self-​signed singer-​songwriter • Record label: Mr Nightingale

Jesper Mok

October 18, 2018

• The Benefactor (lead vocal/​songwriter/​ guitarist) • The Bonkers (lead vocal/​songwriter/​ guitarist)

Singles: • I Marshmallow You (2018) •Y  ou Don’t Know Me So You Love Me (2018) The Benefactor’s album: Belle Époque (2018)

Winston Or October 18, 2018

• The Benefactor (lead vocal/​songwriter/​ guitarist)

adopted qualitative approaches:  interviewing local independent musicians and examining their English lyrics through close text analysis. The musician interviews were conducted in two modes: face-​to-​face and email interviews. Four musicians were invited to be interviewed individually, summarized in a brief profile in Table 7.5. They all write lyrics mostly in English and had released albums and singles in 2018. The interview data was supplemented by analyses of song lyrics produced by the musicians, in order to examine their language choice—particularly the use of metaphorical expressions, including figurative, conceptual or grammatical metaphors (see a brief discussion of the three theoretical notions of “metaphor” in “Metaphor: A Figurative Device, a Conceptual Tool and a Linguistic Construct”). Through investigating the interview and lyrics data, this study sought to explore three major topics: language choice, audience, and the identit(ies) the musicians wished to establish through their lyrics. Language Choice for Writing Lyrics All four musicians attributed their language choice in lyric writing to their upbringing with Western music and literature as well as their educational backgrounds. They all pointed out their main influences from British music across the 1960s and 2000s, from The Beatles to Radiohead and Coldplay, alongside other influences from the US such as Bob Dylan and Nirvana. Aside from music, Jing received tertiary education in London and grew up with English poetry, while Jabin was an extensive reader of literary and philosophical works in English. Both of them pointed out the difficulties in using Chinese (or Cantonese) as the medium for songwriting. Jing argued that writing Cantonese lyrics requires a lot of techniques, including precise diction. Meanwhile, Jabin held a similar view on precision, as Chinese lyrics often require brevity; according to him, “a whole story can be told only through four [Chinese] words.” They both stated that writing in English freed them from these concerns and allowed more space for audiences to use their imaginations. Also, Winston and Jesper received training in English teaching and taught at secondary schools.

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Their music influences and backgrounds suggest that their choice of English in songwriting was natural and that they seemed to have more freedom of expression through English. Style-​wise, the musicians unanimously indicated that metaphor is one of the major rhetorical devices adopted in their lyrics. While they did not seek to overload their lyrics with figurative language, metaphorical expressions in the lexical and grammatical senses can be identified in their works. In “Floating City is Sinking” (Belle Époque, 2018), “happiness” is presented conceptually as a tangible entity, which “[w]‌e always fail /​fail to hold on [to].” Similarly, abstract ideas are often associated with concrete, visible objects in Jabin’s “You Can Walk Along” (The Suns, 2016): “Misery /​Is the only thing that lasts”; “The sum of chances /​Is bigger than I thought.” On the other hand, personification, the rhetorical technique of endowing animals or inanimate objects with human characteristics, can be found in “English Summer Sun” (The Benefactor EP, 2015): “Albert Dock—seagulls singing the sonnet for my love to you.” The personae in Jing’s “I Marshmallow You” are also figuratively referred to as “Mr and Mrs Spy,” the “secret agents” that share “secret codes.” Interestingly, the noun “marshmallow” is manipulated to grammatically substitute the possible verb choice “love” or “desire.” Making nouns function as verbs is also a kind of grammatical metaphor (such as “to google something or to back up one’s device”), expanding the words’ meaning potential through finding new grammatical functionalities for alternative usage. In all, the metaphorical language in the lyrics, as illustrated above, facilitates a more vivid portrayal of abstract concepts through comparisons with more concrete entities or concepts, allowing more room for interpretation. Lyrical Choice and Audience The language and stylistic choices in the lyrics can reflect the musicians’ expectations for their ideal target audience. Although all the interviewees claimed that their listeners might focus less on their lyrics, the musicians would expect them to identify themselves with the songs regarding their depiction of emotion or imagery. Jing exemplifies this with the metaphor “white room” in “If I Were a Magician” (How To Disappear—EP, 2015), representing an impression of a hospital room (“But something’s always missing /​the white room where we were living”). He would expect the audience to be able to recognize the metaphor, which would be “too explicit to miss.” On the other hand, The Benefactor’s songs are inclined towards sincerity and truthfulness through more straightforward songwriting. According to Winston, he “never intentionally made the lyrics more oblique than the situation called for,” and Jesper would not utter “a word or phrase which [he] cannot identify [himself] within.” However, they would still occasionally deploy figurative language (e.g. metaphor, rhyme, alliteration, vague references, etc.) to “showcase lyrical dexterity” and leave it to the audience to decide on and reconstruct the imageries in the songs. Therefore, the eloquent use of metaphor suggests sophistication and proficiency in English among the songwriters, in turn building an expectation that their listeners would be capable of “deciphering” the messages in the songs. The musicians also anticipated that their songs could transcend the music to have some “therapeutic” effects. As the primary function of songs is self-​expression through a combination of music and lyrics, the musicians were surprised on learning how the audience could be emotionally impacted. For example, Jabin recalled that a musician friend, suffering from selective amnesia, was still able to remember everything about one of his songs, including the lyrics, the chords and the musical arrangement, as if “it were her song.” Jing also reflected that the imagery

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and emotions portrayed in “If I  Were A  Magician” were channeled to the audience, some of whom might tell him that the song meant a lot to them. Similarly, Winston stated that “most feedback [he got was] about the songwriting, overall sound and arrangements,” but sometimes The Benefactor’s songs could create some “emotional resonance” and, to his delight, people would tell him how “they find the songs meaningful to them.” The above accounts suggest that the musicians’ choice of language in songwriting seems to be consciously determined by the audience they aim to engage, who resonate with their messages; commercial success was less of a concern for them, so they were not trying to cover a wider segment of the public. As experienced songwriters, they were able to find the “metaphorical” turn so that the songs could exert “healing” effects, as the audience would be able to read past the contexts of the songs to apply their own interpretations. Establishing Identit(ies) through Lyrics Contrary to the belief that using Cantonese is a way to protect Cantonese culture and assert one’s local identity (Lai, 2011), the musicians argued that using English could also accurately reflect their identities as Hongkongers. Jabin gave a poignant comment on this issue, saying that he did not “believe in this bullshit, just as one does not have to be black to play blues.” Instead, using English felt more natural to him and adequately represented his more individualistic identity as an “indie” musician. Jing, on the other hand, asserted that writing in English as a non-​native user could even highlight his identity as a citizen of Hong Kong, a postcolonial city with Chinese and English as official languages. This assertion also identifies him more precisely as a sophisticated, educated person with an edge in that he is biliterate and trilingual. Such individualistic identities also resonate with those who are more “rebellious,” as they are going against the dominant trend of using Cantonese in Hong Kong popular music. Jesper saw writing of English lyrics as a “way out,” to “uphold, explore or even abuse” his “freedom or boundlessness as an independent musician” in the “conservative, mundane and formulaic subtropical city.” Winston referred to his language choice more overtly as “a form of resistance” and “a way of recalling colonial nostalgia in Hong Kong.” The musicians’ narratives, presented above, suggest an interesting mix of identities at various levels. At the personal level, they wished to be recognized as educated individuals who have a linguistic edge to exhibit personal freedom of expression. As musicians, they still put great effort into distinguishing themselves from the mainstream Cantopop industry. At the territorial level, these musicians agreed that their linguistic preference has to do with their identities as biliterate Hongkongers growing up in the colonial era. Such findings have similarities to Benson and Chik’s (2012) findings regarding the motives for using English, including difficulties in writing Cantonese songs, preferred musical styles having strong association with English, and the desire to reach a wider audience beyond the local listeners. The mix of “sophisticated” and “rebellious” identities expressed through songs written solely in English is, however, not dissimilar from those written in a blend of Cantonese, English and even Mandarin, such as Hong Kong hip-​hop music (Lin, 2012). Both represent hybrid identities established from binary oppositions—mainstream versus subculture, local versus global, rebellion versus suaveness—though such binaries need not be mutually exclusive. As the independent musicians continue to gain coverage and popularity, such hybrid identities will be embraced by the equally hybrid, globalized and multicultural local audience.

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Conclusion and Future Directions for Investigating Hong Kong Independent Music The two studies I conducted in 2010 and 2018 illustrate an alternative picture of the Hong Kong independent music scene with regard to the language question proposed by Benson and Chik (2012). The studies show that English has been a common medium for songwriting in the Hong Kong independent music scene alongside a growing number of musicians and bands gaining higher exposure and commercial success by performing in Cantonese. The English lyrics are creative and able to vividly depict abstract concepts through rhetorical techniques such as metaphor, the focus of study in this chapter. Therefore, the findings suggest that English use in Hong Kong goes beyond its status as a lingua franca and a major medium of instruction in schooling. On the other hand, the musicians’ narratives in the second study resonate with Benson et al.’s (2003) and Benson’s (2013) discussions on autonomy within individual language learners. The interviewees, who received schooling in Hong Kong, were keen readers of literary works in English as a way to cultivate “individual learning spaces” within homogeneous literacy education contexts. Their reflections display authentic concerns in that they had strong emotional affiliations to English and saw the need for communicating more effectively through the language. They were also self-​reflective, making individual decisions within learning situations with less personal control. Moreover, their decisions to use English for artistic purposes were coherent with their sociocultural backgrounds in that they were able to establish independent identities which still had ties with their native identities, both linguistically and culturally. In all, it would be necessary to interview more musicians to draw a richer picture of how language learner autonomy impacts language choice for writing lyrics. To conclude this chapter, I  would like to recommend three future directions for investigating Hong Kong English popular music, which might interest sociological, linguistic or music researchers. The first refers to the linguistic landscapes of the independent music scene across districts. For example, the language preferred by musicians or show organizers on Hong Kong Island may be different from that favored in Kowloon. Especially with the emergence of the practice of busking, it would be interesting to investigate the factors motivating choice of songs. The second involves how language choice for songs influences musicians’ commercial success (e.g. ticket sales for shows, album sales, chart positions and overall exposure), although it is often taken for granted that Cantopop or Mandopop singers have more solid fan bases and greater exposure. The third is related to the ways lyrics of different music genres help shape the identities of musicians or music groups. These research directions would offer a more comprehensive picture of the ever-​growing Hong Kong music scene, which is both musically and linguistically rich and sophisticated, and deserves more scholarly attention. Acknowledgments I would like to thank the musicians, Jabin, Jing, Jesper and Winston, for letting me interview them and use their materials for this chapter. References Benson, P. (2013). Drifting in and out of view: Autonomy and the social individual. In P. Benson & L. Cooker (Eds.), The Applied Linguistic Individual: Sociocultural Approaches to Identity, Agency and Autonomy (pp. 75–​89). Sheffield, UK: Equinox.

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 Alternative Music, Language, and “Hong Kong” Identity   •   89 Benson, P., & Chik, A. (2012). English as an alternative language in Hong Kong popular music. In J. S. M. Lee & Andrew Moody (Eds.), English in Asian Popular Culture (pp. 15–​34). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Benson, P., Chik, A., & Lim, H.-​Y. (2003). Becoming autonomous in an Asian context:  Autonomy as a sociocultural process. In D. Palfreyman & R. C. Smith (Eds.), Learner Autonomy across Cultures (pp. 23–​40).  Houndmills, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Cardoso, G. L. (2005). Reading Song Lyrics: Co-​construction of Metaphorical Expression by EFL Learners. Unpublished master’s dissertation, Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina, Brazil. Chan, B. (2012). English in Cantopop:  Codeswitching, pop songs and the local identity of Hong Kong Chinese. In J. S.  M. Lee & Andrew Moody (Eds.), English in Asian Popular Culture (pp. 35–​59). Hong Kong:  Hong Kong University Press. Chan, E. (2002). Beyond pedagogy: Language and identity in post-​colonial Hong Kong. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 23(2), 271–​285. Cheung, L. M. E. (2010). A Lexico-​Grammatical Analysis of Metaphors in Hong Kong English Popular Music Lyrics by Non-​Native English Users. Unpublished master’s dissertation, Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong. Chow, P. Y. A. (2014). How true is the famous Hong Kong popular saying “There is only entertainment circle in HK, no music scene” today? An articulation of the production, consumption and regulations of a HK pop song. Cultural Studies@ Lingnan, 38(1), 6. Christie, F., & Derewianka, B. (2010). School Discourse: Learning to Write across the Years of Schooling. London: Continuum. Chu, Y.-​W., & Leung, E. (2013). Remapping Hong Kong popular music: Covers, localisation and the waning hybridity of Cantopop. Popular Music, 32(1), 65–​78. Deignan, A. (1999). Corpus-​based research into metaphor. In L. Cameron & G. Low (Eds.), Researching and Applying Metaphor (pp. 177–​199). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Deignan, A. (2005). Metaphor and Corpus Linguistics (Vol. 6). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing. Fitzpatrick, L. (2010). “Loose canon.” Time, February 5.  Retrieved from content.time.com/​ time/​ magazine/​ article/​ 0,9171,1958731,00.html. Goatly, A., & LLE Project (2005). “METALUDE—Metaphor at Lingnan University Department of English.” Retrieved from www.ln.edu.hk/​lle/​cwd/​project01/​web/​home.html. Guilherme, M. (2007). English as a global language and education for cosmopolitan citizenship. Language and Intercultural Communication, 7(1), 72–​90. Halliday, M. A. K. (2004). The Language of Science (The collected works of MAK Halliday Vol. 5). London: Continuum. Halliday, M. A. K., & Martin, J. R. (1994). Writing Science: Literacy and Discursive Power. London: Routledge. Hashemian, M., & Nezhad, M. R. T. (2007). The development of conceptual fluency and metaphorical competence in L2 learners. Linguistik Online, 30(1). Jackson, J. (2011). Cultivating cosmopolitan, intercultural citizenship through critical reflection and international, experiential learning. Language and Intercultural Communication, 11(2), 80–​96. Johansson, A. (2016). Conceptual Metaphors in Lyrics by Leonard Cohen. Unpublished bachelor’s dissertation, Umeå University, Sweden. Kauffman, S. A. (2008). Reinventing the Sacred: A New View of Science, Reason, and Religion. New York: Basic Books. Knowles, M., & Moon, R. (2004). Introducing Metaphor. London: Routledge. Lai, M. L. (2011). Cultural identity and language attitudes—into the second decade of postcolonial Hong Kong. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 32(3), 249–​ 264. Lakoff, G., & Johnson, M. (2008). Metaphors We Live By. Illinois: University of Chicago Press. Lestari, W. (2017). Metaphors in the Song Lyrics of Green Day. Unpublished bachelor’s thesis, Syarif Hidayatullah State Islamic University. Leung, P. Y. (2014). Selling Out Indie Music? Re-​examining the Independence of Hong Kong Indie Music in the Early 21st Century. Unpublished master’s dissertation, Hong Kong Baptist University. Li, D. C. (1999). The functions and status of English in Hong Kong:  A post-​1997 update. English World-​Wide, 20(1), 67–​110. Li, Z. (2009). “What’s that sound? Chochukmo.” November 26. Retrieved from http://​travel.cnn.com/​hong-​kong/​play/​ who-​are-​they-​chochukmo-​271595/​. Lin, A. M. Y. (2012). The hip hop music scene in Hong Kong: Hybridity and identity in youth culture. In J. S. Lee & A. Moody (Eds.), English in Asian Popular Culture (pp. 59–​ 74). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press.

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90   •   Lok Ming Eric Cheung Nhung, Đ. T. T. (2018). Conceptual metaphors of love in lyrics by Ed Sheeran. Unpublished master’s dissertation, Vietnam Academy of Social Sciences, Hanoi. Richards, I. A. (1964). The Philosophy of Rhetoric: A Galaxy Book. New York: Oxford University Press. Scott, M. (2008). Developing WordSmith. International Journal of English Studies, 8(1), 95–​106. Sinclair, J. (2004). Trust the Text: Language, Corpus and Discourse. London: Routledge. Taylor, T. (1997). Global Pop: World Music, World Markets. New York: Routledge. Wang, S. (2018). Music, social media and public pedagogy: Indie music in the post-​Cantopop epoch. Asian Education and Development Studies, 7(1), 42–​52.

Discography Law, Jabin (2016). The Suns. Hong Kong: Jabin Law. Law, Jabin (2018). But Tonight, The Boulevard Is Mine. Hong Kong: Sweaty & Cramped Records. Stranded Whale (2018). Revival. Hong Kong: Stranded Whale. The Benefactor (2015). The Benefactor EP. Hong Kong: The Benefactor. The Benefactor (2018). Belle Époque. Hong Kong: The Benefactor. The Rolling Stones (1965). (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction. Netherlands: Decca. Wong, Jing (2015). How to Disappear—EP. Taiwan: Love Da Music Taiwan. Wong, Jing (2018a). I Marshmallow You. Hong Kong: Frenzi Music Limited, Sony/​ATV Music Publishing Ltd. Wong, Jing (2018b). You Don’t Know Me So You Love Me. Hong Kong:  Frenzi Music Limited, Sony/​ATV Music Publishing Ltd.

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Covers and “One Melody, Two Lyrics” Songs Johnson Leow

Covering, the musical activity of performing pre-existing songs, has always been an important practice within popular music. For instance, it functions as a form of training for up-​and-​coming artists to develop their skills and styles (Horn, 2000, p. 30). It also functions to extend the life of the pre-existing song and introduce it to a new generation of listeners. Despite its importance, however, the amount of academic scholarship on cover songs has been relatively small. The number of book-​length and issue-​length publications can be counted on one hand and includes, for instance, Plasketes’ edited collection Play it Again: Cover Songs in Popular Music (2010) and the special issue of Popular Music and Society from May 2005. The majority of the discussions in this field are concerned with how artists create new meanings in the cover and how the cover invites intertextual interpretations from the listener (Burns & Woods, 2004; Griffiths, 2002; Malawey, 2014; Steinskog, 2010). Another often seen topic is the categorization of cover songs (Mosser, 2008) or the consideration of different cover types, such as mixes and edits (Everett, 2010) or mash-​ups (Boone, 2013). Most of these discussions, however, are confined to Anglo-​American popular music; the practice of covering in other popular music cultures has received relatively little attention. Attention is much needed, as even though cover songs occur widely, different music cultures have different types of covers and different relations with these covers. In this chapter, I will focus on cover songs in Cantopop and discuss one particular type that has occurred frequently from the 1980s till the early 2000s: the “One Melody, Two Lyrics” (一曲兩詞) song (hereafter abbreviated as OMTL): a song for which there exists both a Cantonese and a Mandarin version. More specifically, I will discuss the OMTL songs of Eason Chan from his 2006 album What’s Going On …? and his 2007 album Admit It (認了吧). Chan’s unique conceptualization of these two albums has created a strong intertextual dimension between them. This chapter will analyze this intertextuality and discuss the consequences in terms of the general characteristics of cover songs. However, I will start with a short note on the terms cover song and intertextuality, and give a brief overview of the role of cover songs in the development of Cantopop. A Note on Cover Songs and Intertextuality Even though the word cover, or cover song, is in widespread use, its definition is not entirely uniform across scholars. In this chapter, I define it as the performance of a pre-existing song whereby

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this performance can differ from the pre-existing song by featuring, for instance, different instrumentation, orchestration, lyrics, or language. Note here that the artist of the cover and the artist of the pre-existing song may or may not be the same. Moreover, the pre-existing song might be a cover itself. As such, it is unwise to use the term original song to refer to the pre-existing song. Instead, following Mosser (2008), I will refer to the pre-existing song, on which the cover is based, with the term base song or base. Compared with the definitions of other scholars, my definition has a broader scope. Lacasse, for instance, defines a cover as a “rendering of a previously recorded song that displays the usual stylistic configuration of the covering artist.” If it is simply an imitation of the base, it is not a cover but a copy (Lacasse, 2000, p. 46). Cusic (2005, p. 174) has a similar definition but uses the term cover record instead of copy. My definition is also different from Weinstein’s, where recognition of the base song from the listener is required; otherwise, it is just a recording and not a cover (Weinstein, 2010, p. 243). Lacasse’s and Weinstein’s definitions display a strong conviction in a close relationship between the cover and the base; the cover is an interpretation of the base and displays the distinctive style of the covering artist, and the listener generates the cover’s meaning through an intertextual reading of both songs. However, as we shall see, many cover songs in Cantopop from the past were based on foreign songs and were completely stand-​alone; there was little intention on the part of the artist to make connections with the base song beyond borrowing its melody for its proven success in its home market, and many Cantopop listeners did not know or care about the base song. As such, I have opted for a definition with a broader scope which is more suitable for the Cantopop context. When there is a close relationship between the cover and its base, the dynamics underlying this relationship are best discussed through the concept of intertextuality.1 This term is widely credited to cultural and literary theorist Julia Kristeva.2 In her studies on texts and languages, which combine the linguistic and literary theories of Saussure and Bakhtin, Kristeva argues that a text does not have a stable meaning. Instead, its meaning is always generated, or filtered, through the reader’s or the author’s knowledge of other texts. These other texts are not only literary texts but also social texts, the discourses and ideologies that circulate in society. The interrelationship between texts that underlies this process of meaning formation is generally referred to as intertexuality. And it is this definition of intertextuality that I will use when I speak about the intertextuality between two songs in the following sections. From Covers to “One Melody, Two Lyrics” Songs Already in the early days of Cantopop there were Cantonese cover songs. In the 1950s, for instance, as Hong Kong saw an influx of cultural workers and intellectuals from mainland China, locally produced cultural products became more stylistically hybridized, and within this environment Cantonese covers of foreign songs started to emerge. For instance, the song “View on the Sea” (海上風光) (1956) was based on a Filipino folk song, while “Teddy Boy in the Gutter” (飛哥跌落坑渠) (1958) was based on Frank Sinatra’s “Three Coins in the Fountain” (1954) (Chu, 2017, p. 27). In the 1960s, cover songs also appeared in Hong Kong teen musicals as they were cheaper to produce than original songs. Despite their low production values when compared to Mandarin songs or English songs, these Cantonese covers were popular among the new generation of locally born youngsters (pp. 35–​36). Around the same time, in 1965, Singaporean singer Seong Koon Low-​Won’s (上官流雲’s) “Walk Faster Please” (行快啦) and “Thinking of My Lovely

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Beauty” (一心想玉人)—Cantonese covers of Beatles songs “Can’t Buy Me Love” and “I Saw Her Standing There,” respectively—generated a rock wave in Hong Kong (p. 200). The most significant impact of cover songs on the development of Cantopop, however, came in the 1970s and 1980s. In the 1970s, the popularity of Sam Hui’s (許冠傑’s) Cantonese covers of Western popular songs, especially the songs of Elvis Presley, helped to elevate Cantopop to mainstream popular music (Chu & Leung, 2013, p. 68). And in the 1980s, the golden age of Cantopop, the practice of covering not only kept the industry growing, but also led to musical diversity within the genre, which was central to its success. As Chu notes: One of the reasons for using cover music in the rapidly growing music industry in Hong Kong was the hunger for the success formula of those megahits with proven popularity. Cover music was also used to fill in the gaps in the production process, when local record companies found it hard to cope with the speed of producing megahits. Record companies used cover music as a quick and easy way to produce profit-​making popular music. Another important factor was that production costs could be kept to a minimum; Hong Kong music companies only had to pay the copyright fee to the original composer/​music company and the cost of rewriting the lyrics …. Hybridity was an unforeseen side product of the operation of the music industry, but in the end it was the key element of Cantopop’s success in its heyday. (2017, p. 64) Cantonese covers of Japanese songs were especially popular in the 1980s. Notable examples include Leslie Cheung’s (張國榮’s) “Monica” (1984), which was adapted from Koji Kikkawa’s (吉川晃司’s) “Monica” (1984); Priscilla Chan’s (陳慧嫻’s) “Thousands of Songs” (千千闕歌) (1989), which was adapted from Masahiko Kondo’s (近藤真彦’s) “The Song of Evening Glow” (Yuyake No Uta) (1989); and Jacky Cheung’s (張學友’s) “Li Xianglan” (李香蘭) (1990), which was adapted from Koji Tamaki’s (玉置浩二’s) “Don’t Go” (Ikanaide) (1989). Despite their foreign origins, these songs were (and are) considered Cantopop songs due to the Cantonese lyrics, and many of these songs have also become Cantopop classics. As such, their cover status is seldom explicitly mentioned, and for many listeners the base song often does not play a role in their listening experience of the Cantonese cover. Often, it merely serves as background information. The prominence of cover songs continued into the 1990s. Chu and Leung illustrate this by noting that in 1992, seven of the ten winning songs at the annual Radio Television Hong Kong Ten Gold Songs Awards were Cantonese covers of foreign songs (2013, pp. 68–​69). Starting from the mid-​1990s, however, the number of cover songs quickly decreased. One major factor in this development was the decision of Commercial Radio Hong Kong’s Channel 2 to only air original songs in a campaign to promote locally produced original works. Being one of the few radio stations in Hong Kong, it had significant influence on the musical landscape and the local music industry. However, looking back at this campaign, Chu argues that this rejection of cover songs has not improved creativity in the industry, but has, ironically, contributed to the decline of Cantopop. The void left by the abandonment of cover songs could not be filled locally, as the industry simply lacked local talent. Moreover, the costs of producing original songs were much higher than for cover songs, which meant that record companies only wanted to invest in low-​ risk high-​return artists and familiar songs to keep the profits up. As a result, Cantopop became less diverse and started to lose audiences (Chu, 2017, pp. 139–​141). Up till now, Cantonese cover songs have remained scarce as original compositions are favored.

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The “One Melody, Two Lyrics” Song One type of cover song that gained prominence since the 1980s is the “yiquliangci (一曲兩詞)” song; a term which can be translated as the “one melody, two lyrics” song. The original Chinese term predominantly appears in the online world, where it is generally used by Chinese-​speaking netizens to refer to songs for which there exists both a Cantonese and a Mandarin version. Both versions have the same melody but different lyrics. Although the two versions might also have different instrumental arrangements or performers, they mostly remain the same, and the majority of examples mentioned in this chapter will be of this type. A few remarks can be made about this definition. Firstly, OMTL songs do not necessarily have to be original compositions; they can be covers as well. An example of this is Faye Wong’s (王菲’s) “Fragile Woman” (容易受傷的女人). Released in Cantonese in 1992 and in Mandarin, with the same title, in 1994, the song was a cover of Naomi Chiaki’s (ちあきなおみ’s) 1977 song “Rouge.” Secondly, I am not the first person to have come up with an English translation for the term 一曲兩詞 in an academic context. Chu has come up with the description “one-​tune-​two-​version” in his book on the history of Cantopop (2017, p. 94). However, he only mentions it once as he prefers to use the term cover instead. As such, I will continue to use my own term as it better reflects the importance of the lyrics and language as the main differentiating factors between the two versions. Thirdly, within the broader context of Chinese popular music, the term “one melody, two lyrics” is also often used to refer to songs for which there exist two versions in any Chinese dialect. Finally, in the case that multiple versions exist, which may not necessarily include a Cantonese or Mandarin version, netizens will also use the term “one melody, multiple lyrics” (一曲多詞) to refer to these songs. An example of such a “one melody, multiple lyrics” song is the above-​mentioned Masahiko Kondo hit “The Song of Evening Glow” (Yuyake No Uta) (1989). This song has led to at least three Cantonese, one Mandarin, and two Hokkienese versions (Baidu, 2018). Priscilla Chan’s “Thousands of Songs” and Anita Mui’s (梅艷芳’s) “Song of the Sunset” (1989) (夕陽之歌) are the best-​known versions and are in Cantonese. How did these OMTL songs emerge? In the 1980s, although Cantopop was the dominant genre within the Hong Kong popular music industry, it was also recognized that there was an enormous Mandarin-​speaking population around the world who preferred to listen to Mandopop. Consequently, the music industry started to produce Mandopop for overseas consumption, and Taiwan was the first major Mandarin-​speaking market that it tried to capture. Popular Cantopop artists such as Alan Tam (譚詠麟), Leslie Cheung, and Anita Mui all released Mandarin albums as they attempted to break into the Taiwanese market. However, in order to save production costs, the majority of the Mandarin songs on these albums were cover versions of existing Cantopop songs. These covers were easy to produce as only new lyrics were needed in addition to the clearing of copyrights; there were seldom changes made to the instrumentation or arrangement. Together with the Cantonese versions, these songs formed a pair of OMTL songs. This practice, however, occurred less frequently from the mid-​1990s. With advances in information technology and the rise of the internet, audiences started to become aware of the cover status of the Mandarin songs (Chu & Leung, 2013, p. 76). Together with an increase in competition from Mandopop artists from Taiwan and Southeast Asia, and the emergence of the mainland Chinese music industry, the Hong Kong music industry was forced to increase production values. Mandarin albums would subsequently feature more original songs and fewer OMTL songs. In general, the Cantonese and Mandarin versions of a pair of OMTL songs can be considered independent of each other, even though they might share common themes or topics, as they

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target different audiences. As such, audiences who listen to the Cantonese version might not even know (or care) about the existence of a Mandarin version of the song, and vice versa. For instance, Beyond’s 1990 Cantonese song “Glorious Years” (光輝歲月) has gained such widespread popularity among the general public that it will probably come as a surprise to contemporary listeners to know that there exists a Mandarin version with the same name which was released in 1991. There have been exceptions, however. In the 2000s, a number of OMTL songs by Hong Kong singer Eason Chan (陳奕迅) became very popular and gave rise to online discussion about the lyrics and comparison between the two versions among fans. What makes Chan’s OMTL songs so special is that a number of these songs seem to exhibit intertextual references to each other and that Chan seems to have done this deliberately. This is most clearly exemplified by Chan’s 2006 album What’s Going On …? and his 2007 album Admit It; these two albums were originally planned as a collection of intertextual OMTL songs whereby What’s Going On …? would feature the Cantonese versions while Admit It would feature the Mandarin versions (Lücha, 2007; Xiao Nuo, 2007). Although this conceptualization was abandoned in the end due to commercial considerations, both albums still contain a great number of OMTL songs with a strong intertextual dimension. Eason Chan’s “One Melody, Two Lyrics” Songs Eason Chan is one of the few Hong Kong artists of the new millennium to have found success not only in Hong Kong, but also in mainland China and Taiwan. Entering the music industry after winning the New Singing Talent Award in 1995, Chan released his first Mandarin album within just half a year of his first Cantonese album. He managed to break into the Mandarin-​ speaking markets of Taiwan and mainland China in the early 2000s and has remained a popular artist in these regions ever since. His success in the Mandarin-​speaking world is demonstrated by his multiple wins of the prestigious Taiwanese Golden Melody Award for Best Male Mandarin Singer in 2003, 2015, and 2018; Best Mandarin Album in 2009; and Best Album in 2003 and 2018. Chan remains the only Hong Kong male artist to achieve this feat and only the second Hong Kong male artist after Jacky Cheung to win the award for Best Male Mandarin Singer. Chan’s first three Mandarin albums in the late 1990s consist almost exclusively of original compositions. His Mandarin albums from the 2000s, however, are often a mixture of OMTL songs and original songs. Starting from the 2008 album Don’t Want to Let Go (不想放手), however, Chan’s Mandarin albums predominantly feature original songs. Of all of Chan’s Mandarin albums, Admit It contains the most OMTL songs. Released in 2007, it contains the Mandarin version of eight OMTL songs, the Cantonese versions of which were released in 2006 on the Cantonese album What’s Going On  …? Except for two songs, all the other OMTL songs have identical instrumental arrangements for the Cantonese and Mandarin versions. In an interview, Chan noted that he originally wanted to produce an album featuring five pairs of OMTL songs with the Cantonese and Mandarin versions of each song explicitly responding to each other. However, due to market reasons and the upcoming award season, Chan was forced to release a Cantonese album first, and this became What’s Going On …? Half a year later when he wanted to release the corresponding Mandarin album, Chan discovered that for a number of songs the lyrics were already written. As a result, he could not produce an album which fully satisfied his initial conceptualization and he had to “admit” failure; hence the title of the Mandarin album (Lücha, 2007; Xiao Nuo, 2007; “Da Zui,” 2007).

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Despite these production problems, the majority of the OMTL songs on these two albums still display a degree of correspondence and intertextuality. For instance, the Cantonese song “The Last Hippie” (最後的嬉皮士) and its Mandarin counterpart “The First Yuppie” (第一雅皮士) describe the lifestyles of their titular characters, while the Cantonese song “Cantonese Old Movie” (粵語殘片) and its Mandarin counterpart “White Trainers” (白色球鞋) describe the recollection of one’s first love after finding an old personal item; in “Cantonese Old Movie” it is a school uniform with a ketchup stain, while in “White Trainers” it is, expectedly, a pair of white trainers. A  more interesting song pairing that moves beyond thematic correspondence and exhibits a strong intertextual dimension is the Cantonese “Better Not to Meet” (不如不見) and Mandarin “Long Time No See” (好久不見). This song by Taiwanese singer-​songwriter Salsa Chen (陳小霞) was actually composed after Taiwanese lyricist Shi Li (施立) had written the Mandarin lyrics. The Cantonese version, with lyrics by Albert Leung (林夕), was created afterwards (Xitong de xiaoxi fa xiaoxi, 2018). Even though the two versions have different lyricists, there is a high degree of correspondence between them. “Long Time No See” tells the story of a man visiting the city of his old love. He wanders through familiar streets and places and recollects their time together in the past. He hopes that he might encounter her in a cafe around the corner and that he is able to just simply say, “long time no see.” “Better Not to Meet,” on the other hand, tells the story of a man who does manage to meet up with his old love. This meeting, however, is a disappointment as both persons have changed. They discover that they don’t have anything in common anymore and that there is nothing to talk about. As such, it was “better not to meet.” These two songs present two different scenarios on the same premise: hoping to see a lover from the past again. While each song can be experienced independently, the parallels in the narrative and similarities in musical performance invite the listener to interpret the songs in conjunction with each other. In the case of “Long Time No See,” the disappointing outcome of the meeting in “Better Not to Meet” imparts an emotive layer of consolation to the Cantonese version, resolving some of its sadness; as if to comment that even though it is sad to be unable to meet your old love again, this might be a good thing as the meeting might disappoint. Conversely, in the case of “Better Not to Meet,” the feeling of hope and the romanticization of the past in “Long Time No See” amplifies the feeling of disappointment in the Mandarin version once the realization comes that both persons have changed and that the past cannot be relived. Another pair of OMTL songs which displays a remarkable intertextual dimension is the Cantonese “White Rose” (白玫瑰) and Mandarin “Red Rose” (紅玫瑰). The lyrics for this pair of songs were written by Francis Lee (李焯雄), a Hong Kong-​born lyricist who is based in Taiwan and who writes both Cantonese and Mandarin lyrics. When he was told that the two lyrics should represent two different perspectives on the same subject matter, Lee turned to Eileen Chang’s (張愛玲’s) novella Red Rose, White Rose (紅玫瑰與白玫瑰) (2007) for inspiration. This novella takes place in the 1930s and tells the story of a man and his relationship with the two titular women after he returns to Shanghai from his studies in England. He first meets Red Rose, the wife of a friend whose place he is staying at. He becomes infatuated with her and they begin a passionate love affair. Later, when she decides to divorce her husband to be with him, he rejects her and leaves. He later meets White Rose, a pure and naive young girl who recently graduated from university and is the complete opposite of Red Rose. Although he marries her, he feels nothing for her, and their marriage gradually breaks down. The characters Red Rose and White Rose form the two types of women that every man desires; the passionate lover and the pure and spotless ideal wife. Yet, once a man fulfils his desires and gets what he wants, he is unable to

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cherish what he has and eventually becomes bored with it. This theme is captured by the novella’s famous lines: Marry a red rose and eventually she’ll be a mosquito-​blood streak smeared on the wall, while the white one is “moonlight in front of my bed”. Marry a white rose, and before long she’ll be a grain of sticky rice that’s gotten stuck to your clothes; the red one, by then, is a scarlet beauty mark just over your heart. (Chang, 2007, p. 255) Greatly inspired by these two lines, Lee focuses on the theme of obsession in “White Rose” and on the theme of fatigue in “Red Rose” (Lee, 2010; Li, 2010). Together, the two songs provide two different but interconnected perspectives on love. More specifically, “White Rose” describes the obsession with a pure and elegant woman who does not return the advances of the protagonist. She remains cold, distant, and self-​protective despite the protagonist’s complete devotion and surrender to her. The more he is unable to obtain her, the more precious he finds her. “Red Rose,” on the other hand, describes the protagonist’s dying romance with the woman that he is currently with. As time passes by, no matter how passionate they were at the beginning, he starts to get bored and begins to neglect her. What once was “a scarlet beauty mark” becomes “a mosquito-​ blood streak,” and he starts to long for someone else. Although the two songs never make explicitly clear who the women are, and while Lee has indicated that he did not make special effort to faithfully adopt the characters from the novella (Lee, 2010; Li, 2010), it is not unlikely that they are indeed the respective titular characters. From this perspective, one could interpret these two songs together as describing a man whose romance with Red Rose has died down and who longs for a new romance with the pure and elegant White Rose. However, as the lyrics are highly poetic and possess a strong degree of ambiguity, other interpretations are possible. Chu (2009), for instance, sees more correspondence between the titular characters of the songs and their character descriptions in Chang’s novella. But even though his interpretations are slightly different, they are still generated by the intertextuality between the two songs and the recognition of their literary origin, which highlights the inseparability of the two versions in the process of meaning making. Challenging the Cover Song The examples of the previous section challenge a number of the general characteristics of cover songs. Firstly, the central premise of covering, which is the same across all definitions, is that there can only be a cover when there is a base, and that the cover is produced after the base. However, given the production history and the way in which many of Chan’s OMTL songs complement each other, it is difficult, if not impossible, to determine which version is the cover and which version is the base. For instance, while the Cantonese “Better Not to Meet” was released first, the Mandarin “Long Time No See” was written first. And in the case of “White Rose” and “Red Rose,” the lyrics were written at the same time. Moreover, given the uncertainty of when the Cantonese and Mandarin versions were recorded and whether by the time of the recording Chan had already processed the lyrics of both versions, it is almost impossible to designate either version as cover or base. Secondly, from the perspective of intertextuality, although for listeners who have listened to both versions the experience of the cover will be influenced by the experience of the base, and

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vice versa, this is not the case for the producers. That is, in general, the production and performance of the cover will be influenced by the artist’s experience of the base, but not the other way around. As such, it is often expected that the cover is not merely a copy of the base, but that it is an original interpretation (Miller, 2010, p. 233). Chan’s OMTL songs, however, suggest an alternative relation with the base: complementing it so that cover and base form one whole. Indeed, “White Rose” and “Red Rose” could be interpreted as two complementing parts of one complete story, while “Better Not to Meet” and “Long Time No See” could be seen as two complementing perspectives on the same story. An example worth mentioning to further illustrate this point is the Cantonese song “Small City, Big Event” (小城大事) from 2004. This song gave rise to a Mandarin version, titled “Big City, Big Event” (大城大事) (2004), and a second Cantonese version, titled “Big City, Small Event” (大城小事) (2005). The Cantonese base and the Mandarin cover were sung by Miriam Yeung (楊千嬅), while the Cantonese cover was sung by Leon Lai (黎明). The lyrics of all three versions were written by Albert Leung, and they describe the breakup of a couple from three different perspectives. The base song describes the breakup from the perspective of the woman who is being abandoned and wants to commit suicide, while the Cantonese cover follows the man who is leaving her. The Mandarin version, however, takes the perspective of the male protagonist’s new lover, who discovers that she has an uncanny resemblance to the female from the Cantonese base song. A tour de force in writing by Leung, his metaphorical lyrics encourage listeners to develop interpretations in conjunction with each other as the songs present a complex interconnected narrative. In the closing chapter of the book Play it Again:  Cover Songs in Popular Music (Plasketes, 2010), Weinstein argues for the practice of stereophonic listening as the key to appreciating covers. It is a distinctively postmodern and non-​romantic experience constituted by the play of differences between the original and the cover. Both are consciously co-​present and co-​active, leading to shifting emphases on one or the other, or the (mediated) gap between them. (2010, p. 246) As this chapter has demonstrated, stereophonic listening is also very much the key to enjoying Chan’s OMTL songs. In particular, although OMTL songs have often been considered a lazy and cheap practice for quickly producing Mandarin songs, Chan has shown how to creatively work with this practice to create songs whose sum is more than the individual parts; songs which invite the listener to listen stereophonically to uncover all the intertextual strands. Notes 1 For a general definition and historical development of the concept of intertextuality, see Allen (2000) or Barker (2004). 2 Kristeva introduces the notion of intertextuality in the late 1960s in her essays “The Bounded Text” (Kristeva, 1980, pp. 36–​63) and “Word, Dialogue, and Novel” (pp. 64–​91).

References Allen, G. (2000). Intertextuality. The New Critical Idiom. London: Routledge.

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 Covers and “One Melody, Two Lyrics” Songs   •   99 Baidu (2018). “Xiyang zhi ge (Jinteng Zhenyan yanchang de gequ)” 《夕陽之歌 (近藤真彦演唱的歌曲)》 [The song of evening glow (Masahiko Kondo Song)]. Retrieved from https://​baike.baidu.com/​item/​夕阳之歌/​16183784. Barker, C. (2004). The SAGE Dictionary of Cultural Studies. London: SAGE Publications. Boone, C. (2013). Mashing:  Toward a typology of recycled music. Music Theory Online, 19(3). Retrieved from www. mtosmt.org/​issues/​mto.13.19.3/​mto.13.19.3.boone.php. Burns, L., & Woods, A. (2004). Authenticity, appropriation, signification:  Tori Amos on gender, race, and violence in covers of Billie Holiday and Eminem. Music Theory Online, 10(2). Retrieved from www.mtosmt.org/​issues/​ mto.04.10.2/​mto.04.10.2.burns_​woods.html. Chang, E. (2007). Red rose, white rose. In Love in a Fallen City. New York: New York Review Books. Chu, Y. W. (朱耀偉) (2009). Baimeigui”《白玫瑰》 [White rose]. In C. W. Wong & Y. W. Chu (Eds.), Xianggang geci daochang 《香港歌詞導嘗》 [Guided Interpretation of Hong Kong Lyrics] (pp. 248–251). Hong Kong: Infolink. Chu, Y. W. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chu, Y. W., & Leung, E. (2013). Remapping Hong Kong popular music: Covers, localisation and the waning hybridity of Cantopop. Popular Music, 32(1),  65–​78. Cusic, D. (2005). In defense of cover songs. Popular Music and Society, 28(2), 171–​177. Everett, W. (2010). “If you’re gonna have a hit”: Intratextual mixes and edits of pop recordings. Popular Music, 29(2), 229–​250. Griffiths, D. (2002). Cover versions and the sound of identity in motion. In D. Hesmondhalgh & K. Negus (Eds.), Popular Music Studies (pp. 51–​64). London: Arnold. Horn, D. (2000). Some thoughts on the work in popular music. In M. Talbot (Ed.), The Musical Work: Reality or Invention? (pp. 14–​34). Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Kristeva, J. (1980). Desire in Language: A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art. New York: Columbia University Press. Lacasse, S. (2000). Intertextuality and hypertextuality in recorded popular music. In M. Talbot (Ed.), The Musical Work: Reality or Invention? (pp. 35–​58). Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Lee, Y. L. (2010). “An interview with Li Zhuoxiong.” Retrieved from www.asymptotejournal.com/​interview/​an-​interview-​ with-​franci s-​li-​zhuoxiong/​. Li, Z. X. (李焯雄) (2010). “Fang Liang Qiaobo (Shang)” 《訪梁翹柏 (上)》 [Interview with Kubert Leung (Part 1)]. Retrieved from www.lizhuoxiong.net/​?p=  8135. Lücha (2007). “Chen Yixun:  Wo laopo hen weida bushi baijinnü” 《陳奕迅:  我老婆很偉大不是拜金女》 [Eason Chan: My wife is not a material girl]. iFeng, May 22. Retrieved from http://​ent.ifeng.com/​idolnews/​200705/​0522_​ 8_​121968.shtml. Malawey, V. (2014). “Find out what it means to me”: Aretha Franklin’s gendered reauthoring of Otis Redding’s “Respect.” Popular Music, 33(2), 185–​207. Miller, R. (2010). Artist intentions: A case for quality covers. In G. Plasketes (Ed.), Play it Again: Cover Songs in Popular Music (pp. 231–​239). Ashgate Popular and Folk Music Series. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Mosser, K. (2008). “Cover songs”: Ambiguity, multivalence, polysemy. Popular Music Online, 2. Retrieved from https://​ ecommons.udayton.edu/​cgi/​viewcontent.cgi?referer=&httpsredir=1&article=1023&context=phl_​fac_​pub. Plasketes, G. (Ed.) (2010). Play it Again: Cover Songs in Popular Music. Ashgate Popular and Folk Music Series. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Steinskog, E. (2010). Queering Cohen: Cover versions as subversions of identity. In G. Plasketes (Ed.), Play it Again: Cover Songs in Popular Music (pp. 139–​152). Ashgate Popular and Folk Music Series. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Weinstein, D. (2010). Appreciating cover songs: Stereophony. In G. Plasketes (Ed.), Play it Again: Cover Songs in Popular Music (pp. 243–​251). Ashgate Popular and Folk Music Series. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Xiao Nuo. (2007). “‘Da zui’ Chen Yixun ti yijian huiying zhuanji ‘tou gong jian liao’” 《“大嘴”陳奕迅提意見回應 專輯“偷工減料”》 [“Big mouth” Eason Chan makes suggestions and replies on “cutting corners” of album]. Sohu, May 21. Retrieved from http://music.yule.sohu.com/20070521/n250133980.shtml. Xitong de xiaoxi fa xiaoxi (2018). “Renleba: Dadie jieshao Chen Yixun” 《認了吧: 大碟介紹陳奕迅》 [Admit It: Album Introduction]. Retrieved from www.bilibili.com/​video/​av29670529/​.

Discography Beyond (1990). Glorious years. Party of Fate. Hong Kong: Cinepoly. Beyond (1991). Glorious years. Glorious Years. Hong Kong: Cinepoly.

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100   •   Johnson  Leow Chan, Eason (2006). What’s Going On …? Hong Kong: Cinepoly. Chan, Eason (2007). Admit It. Hong Kong: Cinepoly. Chan, Priscilla (1989). Thousands of songs. Forever Your Friend. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Cheung, Jacky (1990). Li xianglan. Summer Dream. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Cheung, Leslie (1984). Monica. Leslie. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Chiaki, Naomi (1977). Rouge. Rouge. Japan: Nippon Columbia. Kikkawa, Koji (1984). Monica. Japan: SMS Records. Kondo, Masahiko (1989). The Song of Evening Glow (Yuyake No Uta). Japan: CBS/​Sony. Lai, Leon (2005). Big City, Small Event. Long Lasting Love, Hong Kong: Amusic. Liu, Chi-​wai (1956). View on the sea. Dance Songs. Hong Kong: South Voice Records. Mui, Anita (1989). Song of the sunset. In Brasil. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Seong Koon, Low-​Won (1965a). Thinking of my lovely beauty. Cantonese Songs. Hong Kong: Horse Brand. Seong Koon, Low-​Won (1965b). Walk faster please. Cantonese Songs. Hong Kong: Horse Brand. Sinatra, Frank (1954). Three Coins in the Fountain. Los Angeles: Capitol Records. Tamaki, Koji (1989). Don’t Go (Ikanaide). Japan: Kitty Records. Tang, Kee-​chan, Cheng Big Ying, Pauline, & Bo-​ying, Lee (1958). Teddy Boy in the Gutter. The Beatles (1963). I saw her standing there. Please Please Me. UK: Parlophone. The Beatles (1964). Can’t buy me love. A Hard Day’s Night. UK: Parlophone. Wong, Faye (1992). Fragile woman. Coming Home. Hong Kong: Cinepoly. Wong, Faye (1994). Fragile woman. Faye Best. Hong Kong: Cinepoly. Yeung, Miriam (2004). Big City, Big Event. Electric Girl, Hong Kong: Gold Label. Yeung, Miriam (2004). Small City, Big Event. Electric Girl, Hong Kong: Gold Label.

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III

Significant Artists

Among significant artists of the Hong Kong popular music scene, some are discussed very fondly and some have disappeared into obscurity. Taylor (2003) defined social imaginaries as “the ways people imagine their social existence, how they fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations” (p. 23). Many of the early Hong Kong social imaginaries were created through TV dramas in the 1970s and 1980s. The early TV dramas were effectively teaching moments on how to be a Hongkonger and what it means to be called a Hongkonger (Ma, 1999). The discussion of a Hong Kong identity is inevitably shaped by the dramas and theme tunes of the 1970s and early 1980s, which centered on people seeking a better economic and social life. In these dramas, new migrants to Hong Kong were taught to integrate, but they were also taught that they were different simply because of their migrant status. Many of these TV theme songs were performed by the most popular artists of the time: Roman Tam (羅文), Adam Cheng (鄭少秋), Michael Kwan (關正傑), Johnny Yip (葉振棠), Jenny Tseng (甄妮), and Liza Wang (汪明荃). These artists are part of the early collective memory of Hong Kong people. Their songs saw us through many dinners and evenings in the 1970s and 1980s. In their songs, the concept of national identity was frequently expressed in blurry references to ancient Chinese culture through period martial art dramas, such as those adapted from Louis Cha’s (金庸) novels. During the colonial period, there was no specific government directive to consolidate a unique Hong Kong identity or, needless to say, to cultivate a Chinese national identity. The local educational curriculum (e.g. Chinese History and Chinese Language subjects) presented ancient Chinese history and culture in much greater detail and for many students, the teaching of Chinese history finished with the overturn of the Qing dynasty by Dr. Sun Yat-​sen (孫中山) and the Revolution of 1911. Hong Kong people’s idea of a Chinese identity was more closely related to an abstract past than the contemporary China of Mao Zedong (毛澤東), Zhou Enlai (周恩来) and Deng Xiaoping (鄧小平). In pop music, these early significant artists sang of a glorious China with its 5,000 years of history and culture. They sang about being the descendants of the Yellow Emperor (炎黃子孫) and the Imperial Dragon (龍的傳人). But such ideas did not necessarily help with Hong Kong people’s identity construction. The findings of the People’s Ethnic Identity surveys conducted by the University of Hong Kong Public Opinion Programme between 1997 and 2019 persistently showed that respondents preferred two categories of ethnic identity:  Hongkonger and Hongkonger in China. In the most recent poll (in June 2019), over 50 per cent of respondents prioritized “Hongkonger” as their preferred ethnic identity (Hong Kong University Public Opinion Programme, 2019). As Chu (Chapter  2) shows, a number of significant artists have 101

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contributed to our social imaginaries of being Hongkongers. We are first the people of Hong Kong and then descendants of an abstract ancient Chinese culture, a trait that could possibly unite every other Chinese-​speaking person. A distanced and historical Chinese identity was not only a safe option for the then colonial Hong Kong, but also a safe marketing space for Chinese-​ singing artists. The first and foremost exponent of Chineseness was the iconic Teresa Teng (鄧麗君). Teng was a Taiwan-​born singer but achieved fame throughout Asia during the 1970s and 1980s. Her popularity in China was legendarily phrased as “Listen to Old Deng (Deng Xiaoping) during the day, listen to Little Teng (Teresa Teng) at night” (白天聽老鄧, 晚上聽小鄧). Cheng (Chapter 9) argues that Teng strategically positioned herself as a Hong Kong artist to build a quasi-​Chinese identity. In her album Light Exquisite Feeling (淡淡幽情), the use of classical Chinese poems as lyrics meant a reach back in time to an abstract affiliation with a literary and mythical China. This helped her to project an identity that was a safe and acceptable resource for people in China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and other overseas Chinese diasporas to draw on for constructing a Chinese identity. The ambiguous Chineseness of Teresa Teng either disguised Hong Kong people’s yearning for a national identity or reflected the harmless affiliation of ancient Chinesesness. Before the handover in 1997, a pro-​Chinese identity could be a sensitive subject. For those who wanted a tailored and localized Hong Kong identity, Sam Hui (許冠傑) had already filled the void. As Ismangil (Chapter  11) succinctly argues, Hui’s own tale of rags to riches is an inspirational tale for the postwar baby boomers. Hui’s collective work of Cantonese songs over the years, especially during the 1970s and early 1980s, detailed the everyday experiences of an oppressed worker trying to find his upward mobility. This was in stark contrast to Hui’s earlier billing as an English-​singing university student, with his band Lotus and his own TV show. Singing in English gave Sam Hui his break into the mainstream media, hosting the Star Show on Radiffusion in late 1967. But it was Hui’s Cantonese songs that sealed his supreme position in Hong Kong pop music history. Similar to Hui’s works on ordinary workers, Roman Tam’s Below the Lion Rock (獅子山下) is hailed as the anthem of Hong Kong. The song was not only performed by the legendary Roman Tam, it was also written by two giants of the local pop music scene—​music by Joseph Koo (顧嘉輝) and lyrics by James Wong (黃霑). This theme song from a social realist drama produced by Radio Television Hong Kong, which explored everyday grassroots stories and struggle, became the anthem of the city. The song reminds Hong Kong people from all backgrounds that we are united by our geographical locale, the Lion Rock, and not necessarily by our heritage. We all strive in Hong Kong, the land of ample opportunities for all. Among the grassroots success stories, we saw the rise of Anita Mui (梅艷芳)—​the fairytale of a fairground singer winning a TV singing contest, then becoming the iconic diva of the 1980s. Anita Mui’s attraction is not only a matter of her magnetic and melancholic voice, but also her hyper-​sexualized image. She was the “Bad Girl” (壞女孩) and the “Temptress” (妖女) with “Red Flaming Lips” (烈燄紅唇). Mui was also dressed by Hong Kong fashion designer, the one and only Eddie Lau (劉培基), like an ever-​changing mannequin. She dressed as an Egyptian queen, then changed into a disco girl, a dancing queen, a Vogue dancer in power suits, a Samba queen … and the images went on and on like colorful handkerchiefs coming out of a magician’s hat. Mui was our Madonna—​only better, because she was ours. Mui was our Marlene Dietrich, our heroine who had looks to kill in an evening dress or pantsuit. Mui was among the first local Hong Kong artists who embraced an androgynous image. She desired and was desired. Like Dietrich, Mui

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had an unwavering support for democracy and was immortalized as our “daughter of Hong Kong” (香港的女兒). In contrast to Anita Mui, we also had the beautiful boys (漂亮的男孩) in the 1980s—​Leslie Cheung (張國榮) and Danny Chan (陳百強), the glam princes of Hong Kong pop music. They were the beautiful ones who bewitched thousands of fans all over Asia. Very different from Anita Mui, Cheung and Chan came from middle-​class backgrounds and studied overseas before returning to Hong Kong for a career in pop music. They began their careers by releasing English songs—Leslie Cheung is forever associated with Don McLean’s American Pie, and half the songs on Danny Chan’s first album, First Love (1979), were in English. Both Cheung and Chan signaled a new generation of pop idols—​charming, elegant, beautiful, fashionable, overseas educated, and bilingual. This, however, did not mean they were singing different types of songs—both Cheung and Chan were serenading young girls and women all over Asia. But many of their songs were now cover versions of Japanese tracks. This was the new century of Asian pop. The 1980s were not only a new era of Japanese pop in the local music scene, but also an era of sexual ambiguity. Though these beautiful boys sang love songs, they were never involved with girls. They were fantasy boyfriends. They were unreachable. They were heterosexual in their screen and music personae, but they could also have been homosexual. Leslie Cheung and Tony Leung (梁朝偉) created the most entangled couple in Wong Kar Wai’s (王家衛) Happy Together (春光乍洩) (1997). As cinemagoers, we went on the roller coaster of their turbulent relationship and were heartbroken by the ending. Yet we did not have to believe that Cheung and Leung were really in a relationship; they were just incredible actors. But Shiau (Chapter 10) shows that fans interpreted Cheung’s role in Chen Kaige’s (陳凱歌) Farewell My Concubine (霸王別姬) (1993) as his personal coming out statement. Neither Leslie Cheung nor Danny Chan came out, and both remained ambiguous in their sexual orientation regardless of fans’ speculation. The concept of being gay was unthinkable in the 1980s and 1990s. The option was not, and still is not, a sustainable one in the music industry. The only acceptable option is what happened on screen in Leslie Cheung’s 1994 film He’s a Woman, She’s a Man (金枝玉葉) in which he agonized about falling in love with a man who in fact was a young woman who was cross-​dressing in order to win a pop idol competition. Homosexuality is acceptable when it is understood as a mix-​up and if there is a heterosexual happy ever after. In the history of Hong Kong pop music, only a small number of artists have chosen to come out:  Chet Lam (林一峰), Pong Nan (藍奕邦), Anthony Wong (黃耀明), Denise Ho (何韻詩), and Ellen Loo (盧凱彤). All these artists have their spots in the local music scene, just not necessarily the brightest spots. The overtly conservative approach to personal relationships is not limited to sexual orientation. Artists could only date secretly, not openly showing their intimate partners. Artists from different eras regarded personal relationships as poisonous to career advancement. Although Alan Tam (譚詠麟) and Andy Lau (劉德華) were both married, they were never photographed together with their wives. It was also a long time before they even admitted that they were married, and even then their children were still hidden away. Many of these artists maintained the unrealistic expectation of idols, not relevant to the everyday experience of their fans. Only Jacky Chueng (張學友) and Sam Hui were forthcoming about their relationships and marriages, like every other Hongkonger. It was the childish masquerade of a forever Prince Charming that slowly alienated these artists from a new generation of pop music listeners. Their fans grow up, date, get married, and have a family. Their idols remain “single and untouchable.” Their fans grow up, have a reality check, and send many of these glittery empty idols into a dusty memory.

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The Hong Kong of the 1990s yearned for more than glitz, and we were given LMF (Lazy Mutha Fucka大懶堂). The music of LMF was not what the Hong Kong audience was used to at the time—​hip-​hop, rap, nu metal. The members were not poster boys of Cantopop—​they put swear words in their lyrics, they questioned the government, they questioned the pop music culture, and they explored the identity of Hongkongers. MC Yan, LMF’s lead vocalist, became a central figure in the indie music scene by setting a new music career path that was not paved with candy-​coated glitzy pop. Lin (Chapter 12) shows that MC Yan introduced hip hop and rap music as a critical tool for reflexive citizenship and social activism. The local development of Cantonese conscious rap is aligned with the international movement of political hip-​hop. MC Yan’s unique contribution is the use of Cantonese in his rap lyrics. When Sam Hui was heralded as among the first pop stars to use Cantonese (廣東話), not the customary Standard Written Chinese (白話文), in his popular hits, its use was restricted to his humorous songs (Chu, 2017; Chik, 2014). The social critiques of Hui’s Cantonese songs were mainly restricted to a superficial level, such as complaining that “the world is not fair” and daydreaming “of winning the lottery.” There was no international perspective. Yet this may not be a particularly fair comment as Sam Hui’s significance lies in his giving us the imaginative possibility of using pop songs to talk about everyday life and its challenges. This was exactly what the people needed in the 1970s. In Chapter 15 (Part IV), Chow, de Kloet, and Schmidt discuss the collective work of Tat Ming Pair (達明一派) as a questioning of a Hong Kong identity in relation to its colonial past and present. MC Yan looks beyond Hong Kong. MC Yan’s lyrics are angry—​angry at the local injustice, angry at injustice and atrocities overseas, angry at our inaction and indifference. The anger took a new form in indie music with artists like My Little Airport and GDJYB (雞蛋蒸肉餅). It is a new wave of anger—the Sisyphean expectations in life for and of the educated young people. My Little Airport is a duo—​Ah P and Nicole; their music style is eclectic but their lyrics are rebellious. They rebel against their education as university graduates and the social expectations of getting a job, buying a flat, and getting married. My Little Airport represents a new generation of millennials who care about their quality of life—a life that is not just defined by the location and size of an apartment. Ah P and Nicole sing in Cantonese, English, and French. They sing about friendship, study, work, travel, money, career, sex, and politics. In Chapter 11, Ismangil argues that the concerns expressed by My Little Airport are the new index of Hong Kong everyday life. Their music and lyrics aptly represent how the millennial generation is alienated and becoming less and less hopeful due to the oppression of existing economic, social, and political structures. It is through the discontent in their lyrics that they give voice to the millennials who are not satisfied with simply following the rules and living out their lives in boxes. GDJYB is an all-​female band, and their music is described as Math-​Folk. They sing in Cantonese, English, and Mandarin. Their songs similarly deal with the anger of the millennial generation over the inequality of the social, economic, and political system. They shout “Why Don’t You Kill Us All?” (2018) because “When someone lives so greedy /​Hunger of power, money, violence /​They don’t care who’s innocent.” Their “Hong Kong Family Story” (2018) gives a raw and vivid account of domestic violence and its tragic ending. It is a topic not discussed in mainstream music. This honesty breathes new freshness to the local music scene. The indie music scene has become a new and alternative space for artists to talk about something more than a shallow romantic relationship. A new generation of significant artists shift the introspective lens to Hong Kong—this time, it is used to expose the darker side. For listeners, it is no longer the constant obsession with romance that gives us the social imaginaries of Hong Kong.

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Sure, a new generation of sugar pop artists are still selling their Princess and Prince Charming happy-​ever-​after or forever-​heartbroken tales, but indie artists who give us the hard-​to-​swallow truth may be the last ones standing. References Chik, A. (2014). The Cantonese of Cantopop:  Voices of the citizens. In E. K.  T. Man (Ed.), The Politics of Language: Heterogeneity and Diversity (pp. 95–​113) [in Chinese]. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Chu, Y. W. S. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Hong Kong University Public Opinion Programme (2019). Categorical Ethnic Identity (Per Poll). Accessed August 15, 2019. Retrieved from www.hkupop.hku.hk/​english/​popexpress/​ethnic/​eidentity/​poll/​eid_​poll_​chart.html. Ma, E. K. W. (1999). Culture, Politics and Television in Hong Kong. London, UK: Routledge. Taylor, C. (2003). Modern social imaginaries. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Discography Chan, Danny (1979). First Love. Hong Kong: EMI. GDJYB (2018a). Hong Kong family story. Squarecle. Daymaker Creatives Limited. GDJYB (2018b). Why don’t you kill us? Squarecle. Daymaker Creatives Limited. McLean, Don (1971). American pie. American Pie. United Artists. Mui, Anita (1985). Bad girl. Bad Girl. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Mui, Anita (1986). Temptress. Crazy Love. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Mui, Anita (1987). Flaming lips. Flaming Lips. Hong Kong: Capital Artists. Tam, R. (1979). Below the Lion Rock. Good Songs for You. Hong Kong: EMI.

Filmography Chan, Peter (director) (1994). He’s a Woman, She’s a Man. United Filmmakers Organisation. Chen, Kaige (director) (1993). Farewell My Concubine. Miramax Films. Star Show (1971). Hong Kong: Radiffusion. Wong, Kar-​wai (director) (1997). Happy Together. Kino International.

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Love Songs from an Island with Blurred Boundaries Teresa Teng’s Anchoring and Wandering in Hong Kong Chen-​Ching  Cheng As an immigrant society, Hong Kong has experienced unique and profound Chinese–​Western cultural exchanges and gatherings. The diversity of cultural features in Hong Kong might have provided the fertile soil that nurtured Teresa Teng’s music. Teresa Teng (鄧麗君) (1953–​1995) was viewed as one of the most influential singers in Asia during the Cold War period (1947–​1991). She became famous in the 1960s in Taiwan, and in 1971, at the age of only 18, shifted the focus of her career from Taiwan to Hong Kong. This decision would become the most important chapter in her music career, as she was to live in Hong Kong for nearly 20 years. Her particular preference for Hong Kong is notable by the fact that she released two singles, “Night of Hong Kong” (香港之夜) (1982) and “Hong Kong, Hong Kong” (香港香港) (1989), which she recorded specifically for her fans in Hong Kong. She recalled that as a second-​generation migrant from China to Taiwan, she frequently perceived the discrimination of the Taiwanese towards her. Because she could not always get rid of the sense of being a stranger, she found her harbour in Hong Kong‘s immigrant society (Jiang, 2013). This chapter offers an analysis of how Teresa Teng became the most influential singer across Asia and Chinese-​speaking areas by stepwise taking advantage of Hong Kong’s political, economic and cross-​cultural features as well as Hong Kong’s popular culture platform in the context of the Cold War. The primary focus of the chapter is on the hybrid songs in the series of albums titled Island Love Songs (島國之情歌), produced when Teresa Teng was hired by PolyGram Music in Hong Kong, another two albums in Cantonese, and the album Light Exquisite Feeling (1983) with the concept of “imagined China,” in order to reflect the colonial modernity of the landscape of Hong Kong. The Development of Teresa Teng’s Music Career in Hong Kong Teresa Teng was born into a family that migrated from Hebei province in China to the county of Yunlin, Taiwan, in 1953. Her father was a Kuomintang soldier who fled to the island after the end of the Chinese Civil War. In 1964, at the age of 10, Teresa Teng won first prize in a singing competition sponsored by TTV (Taiwan Television). In 1967, she signed a contract with Earth Records (宇宙唱片), an independent Taiwanese record company, releasing her first album at the age of 14. When she was 15 years old, she received an invitation from TTV to perform on stage. However, although Teng’s popularity rose in Taiwan, her position as an important pop singer in 107

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Southeast Asia was not established until she began to work for Life Records (麗風唱片), a Hong Kong-​based record company, and was invited by Singapore’s first lady, Yeo She Geok, to a charity performance at the Singapore National Opera House in 1970 (Jiang, 2013). In the same year, she also achieved the honour of performing at the Far East Ten-​Star Charity Performance, held by the authorities in Singapore (Dou, 1998; Shi & Zhao, 2005). Hong Kong marked a pivotal stage in Teng’s growth from a Taiwanese local singer to stardom in Asia. In 1975, Teng started her collaboration with the PolyGram Record Company of Hong Kong. Her album Island Love Songs: Goodbye My Love (島國情歌第一集) (1975) won her the Ten-​Star Prize and the opportunity to feature in a movie musical of her own. In 1976 Teresa Teng held her first Hong Kong concert, which was a tremendous success and encouraged her to continue performing in concerts over the next five years, with the popularity of these concerts remaining at a high level throughout this time. Her first Cantonese album, Antagonist (勢不兩立), became a bestseller in 1980, its popularity surpassed only by her second Cantonese album, Walking Down the Road of Life (漫步人生路), released in 1983. She became a household name in Hong Kong in the early 1980s, when she performed at both the Elizabeth Stadium and the Hong Kong Coliseum. Her monumental concert, rightly named Applause from a Billion Chinese (十億個掌聲), was performed in both Taiwan and Hong Kong in 1983, in honour of her 15th year as a performer. One year later, PolyGram Hong Kong awarded her a special medal as a tribute to her success in having sold more than five million copies in Hong Kong. Teresa Teng’s reputation in Southeast Asia was higher than in her own country. Among the key reasons for this was that she used the cultural and geographical features of Hong Kong rather effectively and viewed Hong Kong as the base for the development of her singing career. The time at which she developed her career in Hong Kong coincided with the critical stage of transition from localization of the music industry to its internationalization, and it was one of the earliest places to enter the transnational music market in the Asian region. Teresa Teng, unlike other Taiwanese singers, took the early opportunity to be part of this internationalization of the Hong Kong music industry. The Nostalgia of the Chinese Diaspora Hong Kong was still under British rule in the mid-​1970s, which significantly decreased the Taiwan government’s control over Teresa Teng’s career, as she had become a long-​term resident of Hong Kong. With her participation in PolyGram Hong Kong in 1974, her musical career formally stepped onto the international stage. Teresa Teng was not only the first Taiwanese singer but also the first female singer in Hong Kong to sign a contract with PolyGram Hong Kong, a company that brought more detailed and specialized music planning and production ideas to Hong Kong (Wong, 2003). The major difference in the situation between Hongkongers and those Chinese diaspora residing in Singapore and Malaysia was that the former did not need to share an “imagined community” as the latter did due to national policies and the social atmosphere of China’s exclusion. Even though many Hongkongers had some associations with Chinese provincial areas, they did not form or “enter” a state of an imagined community of nationhood (Wu, 2014). Teresa Teng, a singer from the Chinese political remnants of Taiwan’s Nationalist Party, the Kuomingtang (KMT), entered the music market of Hong Kong, a British colony. Under the overall album planning and market packaging of a transnational record company (PolyGram),

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her music reflected those complicated cultural features of overseas Chinese in the Southeast Asia region. During her cooperation with PolyGram Hong Kong (1975–​1992), she released a total of 38 albums, including 21 albums in Mandarin, 2 in Cantonese, 1 Hokkien album, 4 in Japanese, 2 in English, 5 “greatest hits” collections and 3 live concert recordings. The linguistic variety in these records alone highlights the mixed features of the multiple music scenes in Hong Kong. Of the 21 Mandarin albums, 10 were in the Island Love Songs series. The producer of the Island Love Songs series at the time, Ricky Fung (2015), said that during the planning stage, the music market territory set for Teng was not restricted to Hong Kong, but included Chinese audiences all over Southeast Asia. Therefore, the song tracklists on the albums had to be diversified and take into account the reception of different Chinese populations in Southeast Asia. The largest proportion of the tracks in the Island Love Songs series were Japanese covers (approximately 60%), followed by songs adapted from Southeast Asian folk songs (approximately 20%) and new original Chinese songs and English covers (approximately 10%). The term “island” in the series title implied that the songs were from the local music culture of three islands—Japan, Taiwan and Hong Kong; however it did not make explicit reference to a “specific country.” Under the guidance of love songs from an “island of no country,” fans in Southeast Asia obtained a more abstract image of the concept of “hometown.” The hometown concept developed by Teng’s fans in Hong Kong through her Island Love Songs was not based on the image of a nation similar to that described in Imagined Communities by Benedict Anderson (1983). He suggested that the mechanism for development of an imagined community has to rely on the resources and sustenance provided through systematic expositions, such as the official writing of history and the creation of cultural symbols. However, before the handover of Hong Kong to China, the British Hong Kong government-​led educational system did not provide Hong Kong residents with sufficient or systematic Chinese historical discourse (Law, 2016), and this led to the uncertainty about national identity among many Hong Kong residents. Even though the target audiences identified by the production team of the Island Love Songs series were the overseas Chinese in Southeast Asia, the differences in their historical and social contexts were significant. In addition, the populations, family structures, places of residence and even personal diaspora experiences of Chinese expatriates were different, reflecting a complicated and heterogeneous nostalgia. In viewing their nostalgia based on the Island Love Songs series as a return to Chinese cultural identity, the “nostalgia complex” of a “lack of hometown” for Chinese expatriates in Southeast Asia is excessively simplified (Wang, 2006). This chapter, however, suggests that the reason why Teresa Teng’s Island Love Songs series could meet the nostalgia needs of overseas Chinese in Southeast Asia was because the series imitated and replicated a quasi-​Chinese culture which emphasized the principles of “no country,” redeveloped a concept of “de-​Chinesed ethnicity” and emphasized a “quasi-​Chinese cultural identity” which put stress on the daily life of overseas Chinese. The concept of a fragmented and scattered population hidden within the word “diaspora” should be not ignored. Diaspora is always a complicated state and cannot be glossed over by inferring from it an “imagined community.” As Rice (2003) reminded us, popular music should view the fields and spaces of different levels (individual, family, country, area and the whole world) as the focus of the investigation of musical experiences. A  musical phenomenon can be endowed with meanings drawn from multiple cultural fields. The cultural expression exhibited by these meanings in a specific space and time does not necessarily establish a collective identity, but it does meet the various needs of individuals or populations in different fields and spaces. The release of the Island Love Songs

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series, viewed as a musical phenomenon of Teresa Teng in the Southeast Asian market, is an empirical example of the idea emphasized by Lu (2011)—“music as a diasporic social space,” meaning music that matches experiences expressed by fans from different cultural backgrounds and located in different cultural fields, even though they might also share similar cultural roots. Moreover, there was a large number of cover songs in Island Love Songs. The main reason why they could meet the various nostalgic needs of the Chinese diaspora was that Teresa Teng’s performance style for these cover songs could create extensive and multiple diffused meanings. Originally, the term “cover songs” referred to the reinterpretation and reproduction of copyrighted popular songs in the music market before they are rereleased. However, the cover songs in Island Love Songs were not simply a reinterpretation of original songs but, to a certain extent, involved their re-​creation. Teresa Teng’s Island Love Songs series turned into concept albums, with the effect of producing a “Translational Sinophone Identity” (Lu, 2011) through the collection of a large number of cover versions of Japanese and South East Asia songs, as well as Chinese songs with a nostalgia complex, such as “Story of a Small Town” (小城故事) (Island Love Songs Vol. 6, 1979), “If I Were Real” (假如我是真的) (Island Love Songs Vol. 7, 1981) and “The Natives” (原鄉人) (Island Love Songs Vol. 8, 1984). A “translational identity” developed under the exchanges of languages and culture was the inheritance and deconstruction of the former Chinese identity in the ongoing and constant process of identity establishment. This Translational Sinophone Identity tended to develop new power and identity inference, and essentially was a process of “de-​Chinesification.” Because other ethnic groups in Southeast Asia could not immediately understand Chinese, the island of no country in the Island Love Songs series reflected the Chinese diaspora’s attitude to the legacy of Chinese dialects and sovereignty over private fields in their own Chinese space, enabling the Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia to engage in a diasporic identification and negotiation of space between different ethnic groups. In other words, although Teng’s albums in the Island Love Songs series perhaps evoked some collective experiences and memories of the Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia, the policy of appeasing the “island of no country” silently transformed these collective experiences into an active and aggressive power to enable the Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia to establish relationships with the mainstream population, and even contend with the local culture. In addition, the music of different countries covered in the Island Love Songs series belonged to the music scene of different areas, which could effectively remind the overseas Chinese to construct their own population and political landscape: a unique Chinese social space where the diaspora could obtain what they needed had been developed through Teresa Teng’s singing voice and the impact on people’s emotions through and with her songs. The State of Return to a/​the Hometown, Remembered in History In the early 1980s, although Teng gradually shifted her career focus from Hong Kong to Japan and reduced the number of performances in Hong Kong, in 1983, she released her most critically acclaimed Chinese album, Light Exquisite Feeling (淡淡幽情). This album was the first for which Teng herself was involved in the planning. It was not merely an album with a complete planning concept, but also the only one of all her albums in Mandarin Chinese to include entirely new songs, without any covers. Light Exquisite Feeling included a total of 12 songs. All of the lyrics were taken from ancient poems from the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period (897–​979 AD)

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and the Southern Song dynasty (960–​1279 AD) in China, and were set to contemporary music. The composers were the best-​known songwriters in Hong Kong’s and Taiwan’s popular music scenes. The advertisements for this album even emphasized that fans could “preserve the forgotten Chinese Culture” (保存被遺忘的中國文化) by listening to this album of “classical and modern conversations” (古典詩詞與現代音樂的對話). However, the meaning of the Light Exquisite Feeling album was different from its name, as it was neither light nor exquisite. On the contrary, it was an album with a heavy theme and was associated with the “imagining of China.” The intention of the album was not what it seemed to be; it was not simply restricted to the purity of appreciation of the beauty of Chinese classical poems. The selection of lyrics coincidentally reflected the heavy burden of the country’s future. The lyrics of 3 of the 12 songs on the album were the work of Li Yu (李煜) (937–​978); these were “Alone in the West Tower” (獨上西樓), “How Much Melancholy?” (幾多愁) and “Rouge Tears” (胭脂淚). Li Yu was the last emperor of the Southern Tang dynasty, and his empire was overthrown by Zhao Kuang-​Yin (趙匡胤), who initiated the Song dynasty, which lasted for more than 300 years after the Southern Tang dynasty was terminated. Li Yu was captured by his Song enemies and eventually died of sadness. These three poems were written by him after he had been captured. They reflect a strong sense of sorrow and regret. In addition to these three “songs of national doom,” in the Light Exquisite Feeling album, there were also poems by five famous poets of the Song dynasty. In history, the borders of the Song dynasty were frequently invaded by different ethnicities in the north. It failed to fight back and eventually moved its capital from the original Bianjing (now Beijing) in the north to Linan (now Hangzhou City) in the south. Linan in Chinese means “a temporary place to settle,” the hope being that the people could one day recover their lost territory in the north. The five poems collected in Light Exquisite Feeling were Su Shi’s (蘇軾’s) “Wishing We Could Last Forever” (但願人長久), Ouyang Xiu’s (歐陽修’s) “Pandemonium of Millions of Rustling Leaves” (萬葉千聲), Fan Zhong-​ Yan’s (范仲淹’s) “Ruthless Grass” (芳草無情), Xin Qi-​Ji’s (辛棄疾’s) “I Have Something to Say Yet I  Say Nothing” (欲說還休) and Li Zi-​Yi’s (李之儀’s) “Thinking about You” (思君). These five poems all depicted the poets’ worries about their country’s future while they served as local officials in remote areas. In ancient times, civil officials in China tended to express their love and loyalty to their emperors by writing poems which were quite similar to romantic poems. As promotional slogan for the Light Exquisite Feeling, PolyGram Hong Kong used only:  “The beauty of the combination of ancient Chinese poems with popular music” (結合中國古典詩詞與流行音樂之美). This marketing strategy did not reflect the political flavour of the album at all. However, if the album is examined in the historical context between mainland China and Taiwan in the 1980s, it was an album with an unmissable strong political metaphor. First, Li Yu’s “How Much Melancholy?” was included in the Chinese textbook for junior high schools in Taiwan prior to being included in the Light Exquisite Feeling. The KMT used Li Yu’s poem as a historical reminder of the national hardship in order to remind the young generation in Taiwan of the shame and sorrow of the so-​called “national doom” (which refers to the KMT’s loss of sovereignty over mainland China). Second, the history of the Song dynasty was used as a historical reflection for “self-​healing” by the KMT:  the emperor of the Song dynasty always intended to recover the lost territory in the north, a situation that was similar to the KMT’s temporary residence in Taiwan and its plan to recover sovereignty over mainland China. The themes of the poems, written by well-​known literati in the Song dynasty, were mainly worries about the

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national situation and indignation over invasion by other ethnicities, which could be used as metaphor for the KMT’s regret over the loss of sovereignty in China and resentment towards the Communist Party of China. It is noteworthy that Light Exquisite Feeling also included one poem written by a famous female poet in the Song dynasty—Chu Shu-​Chen’s “We Were to Rendezvous after Twilight” (人約黃昏後). Chu Shu-​Chen (朱淑真) (1135–​1180) was a descendant of a notable family. However, her fate was troubled; her husband was a philistine who idled about all day, and their marriage was unhappy. The concept of Light Exquisite Feeling was to skillfully imprint upon historical memories of ancient times in China the themes of regret of national doom, fear and indignation of different ethnicities, loyalty to the emperor, individual emotional drift and the fickleness of the world. This not only enabled listeners to associate their personal emotions with national feelings, but also sought to use metaphors of the past to enlighten the present. The poem whose verses were turned into a song for the album was written by a female poet who had experienced an unsuccessful marriage, similar to Teresa Teng’s situation; thus the latter became associated with the public affection for Chinese history. As a result, among all of her works, Light Exquisite Feeling became the album that most strongly reflected “the nature of Chineseness.” The nature of Chineseness of Teresa Teng gradually developed into an imagining and a perception about her by fans in Chinese-​speaking areas. For example, a famous Hong Kong lyricist, Wong Jim, pointed out that the “Chinese flavor” in her singing voice was the best cure for the homesick Chinese who were working abroad. He said, When I  worked abroad, I  had no place to comfort my weary soul after coming off work. I  yearned deeply to listen to her songs at that moment, so my colleagues and I  rushed to a Chinese restaurant to listen to her songs carefully. Her singing voice was able to soothe our emotions, and revealed an indescribable Chinese flavor. Even though Teresa Teng was a modern woman, she presented the charm of ancient Chinese women when she sang. It seemed that there was passion hidden in her silent and shy appearance. (Wong, 2003, p. 38) Comments similar to those quoted above were pretty standard from the current Chinese diaspora when they recalled Teresa Teng. However, when did her singing voice first reveal a nostalgic feeling that could only be perceived by the Chinese? Wong suggested that her singing voice revealed the charm of ancient Chinese women. However, according to his description of Teresa Teng’s singing (“It seemed that there was passion hidden in her silent and shy appearance”), it is difficult to find specific evidence of any “Chinese flavor” in her voice. If we make a careful comparison of the characteristics of her singing voice and those of other female singers in Taiwan in the same period, it is still very difficult to determine why there was a perception that the quality of her sound held distinctive Chinese flavour when there was less or no perception of Chinese flavor when it came to her counterparts. I argue that this perceived Chinese flavour in the singing voice of Teresa Teng was caused by the mutual influence of historical construction and self-​construction. The release of the Light Exquisite Feeling album confirmed the construction of the nature of Chinese imagery in Teresa Teng’s songs. When the Chinese diaspora in Hong Kong faced the situation of having to regain their Chinese identity, Teresa Teng obtained dual advantages: she was able both to interpret the living situation of Chinese expatriates and to become the focus of consolation in the nostalgia of the overseas

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Chinese. These advantages enabled her music to resonate with the Chinese identity to which Hong Kong people had to readapt. The China that Teresa Teng represented was gradually accepted by her fans in Hong Kong and the Chinese-​speaking diasporas in Southeast Asia. First, after her career developed in Hong Kong, she gave large-​scale concerts in Hong Kong and various places in Southeast Asia almost every year, and thus her fan base increased. In 1976, she held her first personal concert at Lee Theatre in Hong Kong, appearing there again in 1978, 1981 and 1982. The location of her American tours included the Performing Arts Center of Los Angeles County, the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts and Caesars Palace in Las Vegas (where she gave a series of performances in 1983); she was the first Chinese singer to give concerts in these places (Jiang, 2013; Shi & Zhao, 2005). In 1984, she started her 15th anniversary tour, One Billion Claps (十億個掌聲), representing that she had more than one billion fans. This series of concerts also became an important consolidation of her diva status in the Chinese music scene. Sugarman (2004) suggested that the collective memory of music can be regarded as “mediated music” which provides the opportunity to create a new form of subjectivity. This newly arising subjectivity usually does not specifically refer to the identity establishment experience of a general self or of the community, but the continuous negotiation between multiple communities and a hometown identity through music. This process is similar to the argument proposed in the nostalgia theory of Svetlana Boym (1995, 2002): diaspora populations tend to create common cultural symbols through mutual intimate experiences, and continuously recall returning routes to establish subjectivity and a new home. Moreover, they regain the lost identity in diaspora space and time (Boym, 1995, 2002). Since the 1980s, Hong Kong had been forced to face the political situation of its return to China, which also led the popular music scene start to respond to issues concerning the concept of “China.” The nature of China in Teng’s music and image enabled the Chinese diaspora to consistently experience a state of returning to a/​their hometown. However, her music and political stance both also conformed to the social situation of Hong Kong at the time, jointly establishing a new subjectivity and a new home to facilitate the separation and negotiation of the handover to China. References Anderson, B. (1983). Imagined Communities: Reflections on Orgins and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Boym, S. (1995). Post-​Soviet cinematic nostalgia: From “elite cinema” to soap opera. Discourse, 17(3),  75–​84. Boym, S. (2002). The Future of Nostalgia. New York: Basic Books. Dou, Y.-​T. (竇應泰) (1998). Xiangcao meiren Deng Lijun 《香草美人鄧麗君》 [Sweet Grass and Artistic Beauty: Teresa Teng]. Harbin: Northern Literary Publishing. Fung, R. (2015). Hong Kong Music Stories 10. Headlines, 256,  23–​28. Jiang, J. (姜捷) (2013). Juexiang—Yongyuan de Deng Lijun 《絕響—​永遠的鄧麗君》 [Swan Song: Unforgettable Teresa Teng]. Taipei: Readingtimes Publishing. Law, S. L. (2016). The perfect dictatorship of “one country, two systems” [Wan mei du chai xia de yi gou liang zhi]. The Reporter. Lu, H. C. (2011). Music as diasporic social space: Constructing soundscapes and ethnoscapes in a Burmese Chinese community in Jhong-​he, Taiwan. Journal of Chinese Ritual, 171,  1–​53. Rice, T. (2003). Time, place, and metaphor in musical experience and ethnography. Ethnomusicology, 47(2), 151–​179. Shi, Y.-​G., & Zhao, J. (師永剛, 昭君) (2005). Deng Lijun quanzhuan:  Deng Lijun shizhounian diancang jingdianban 《鄧麗君全傳:  鄧麗君逝世十周年典藏經典版》 [Teresa Teng’s Biography:  Teresa Teng’s Tenth Memorial Anniversary Collector’s Edition]. Hong Kong: Ming Bao Publishing.

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114   •   Chen-Ching  Cheng Sugarman, J. (2004). Diasporic dialogues: Mediated musics and the Albanian transnation. In T. Turino & J. Lea (Eds.), Identity and the Arts in Diaspora Communities (pp. 21–​38). Warren, MI: Harmonie Park Press. Wang, C. (2006). Re-​examining global networks of Chinese diaspora:  A spatial perspective. Overseas Chinese History Studies, 2,  22–​30. Wong, J.-​S. (黃霑) (2003). Yueyu liuxingqu de fazhan yu xingshuai: Xianggang liuxing yinyue yanjiu (1949–​1997) 《粵 語流行曲的發展與興衰:  香港流行音樂研究 (1949–​1997)》 [The Rise and Decline of Cantopop:  A Study of Popular Music (1949–​1997)]. PhD thesis, The University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong. Wu, R.-​R. (2014). The Lilliputian dream [Guanwu xianggang minzuzhuyi de sikao biji]. In Hong Kong Nationalism (pp. 77–​98).

Discography Teng, Teresa (1975). Island Love Songs: Goodbye My Love. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Teng, Teresa (1979). Island Love Songs Vol. 6: The Story of Little Town. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Teng, Teresa (1981). Island Love Songs Vol. 7: If I were for Real. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Teng, Teresa (1983a). Light Exquisite Feeling. Hong Kong: Polydor Records. Teng, Teresa (1983b). Walking Down the Road of Life. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Teng, Teresa (1984). Island Love Songs Vol. 8: Love Messenger. Hong Kong: PolyGram.

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10

Remembering Hong Kong as a Queer Metaphor

Leslie Cheung’s Queer Performativity and Posthumous Networked Fandom Hong-​Chi  Shiau

The theme of my performance is this: The most important thing in life, apart from love, is to appreciate your own self … I won’t hide, I will live my life the way I like and under bright light. (Cheung’s speaking part in the 2000 Passion Tour live concert) The 2000 concert at which Leslie Cheung (張國榮) made the above announcement continues to be discussed on social media, in particular how the event climaxed with Cheung sensually dancing to a ballad and surprising the audience with an emotional testimony that corresponded to his previous heartfelt thank you to his lifelong beloved friend Tong Hok-​tak (唐鶴德) in 1997, both of which were rhetorical maneuvers to “come out” without using the common term “I am gay and I  am proud.” YouTube videos showing footage from that famous evening continue to attract thousands of visits from across the greater Chinese region, and they are reviewed and discussed by fans, many of whom were not yet born at the time of the concert. Posts retrieved from the YouTube videos noted that it was daringly “queerific.” As same sex marriage law was passed in May 2019 in Taiwan, on social media fans tossed the electronic fireworks and roses at these videos. As one noted, “thank you, my Gege (哥哥). I wish you were here. It is a shame that we jump on a marching band on the pride parade without your companionship.” It was indeed a queerific performance—he wore a distinctive costume that transgressed gender boundaries, which was tailor-​made by French master fashion designer Jean-​Paul Gaultier. While the rhetoric surrounding Leslie Cheung’s memory is important for queer scholars, few have attempted to explore how collective social memories become not only the province of powerful, normative forces and institutions but also strategic rhetorical resources for marginalized groups on social media across the greater Chinese region. In the 1990s when the LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer) movement rose in Taiwan, coming out had never been a choice for celebrities who had gained stardom. Although Tsai Kang-​Yuan (蔡康永) came out in the early 2000s, few decided to follow. In particular, homosexuality is still considered to be a pathology in mainland China, the largest audiovisual market in the world. Cheung’s de  facto coming out in the late 1990s was courageous, as the impact on his career might have been enormous. As such, this chapter will first present an overview of the history of queer performativity and the ways in which Leslie Cheung has posthumously reshaped the conventions and genre of the “coming out” narrative online. 115

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Leslie Cheung took his own life by jumping from the 24th floor of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Hong Kong on April 1, 2003. Only 46 years old at the time of his death, Cheung was an internationally acclaimed and well-​established singer and film star with more than 40 bestselling music albums and 56 films to his credit. Cheung’s suicide was attributed to severe clinical depression, and the public responded with an overwhelming wave of shock and grief. The public had a long-​held fascination with this man who had tried to keep his private life out of the public gaze. Eulogies are not difficult to come by; they continue to pour in through both print and social media fan sites, especially every April 1. His 26-​year career has been credited as “a testament to Hong Kong’s transformation” and a marker of the city’s years of glory (Leung, 2008). In recent years, Cheung’s suicide continues to be framed as a traumatic blow to Hong Kong in the sense that it has increasingly alluded to Hong Kong’s losing its sovereignty. Analysis of eulogies retrieved from various social media platforms shows that along with comments on the unexpected nature of his passing, Cheung was also praised for his courage in being open about his sexuality. It was unprecedented in Hong Kong for the death of a public figure to simultaneously prompt such an outpouring of affection for that figure and so much positive commentary on their sexuality (Leung, 2008). Prior to the emergence of a contested queer identity, or tongzhi (同志) identity, in Hong Kong, gay men in the greater Chinese region negotiated their unnamed homoerotic experiences predominately by performing a heterosexual lifestyle in public while keeping their same-​sex relationships hidden in private. Tongzhi is the contemporary Chinese word for a member of what Westerners might call the LGBTQ community. Originally a Chinese translation of “comrade,” tongzhi literally means “same will” (Leap, 2013). The word’s political import evolved in the early 20th century when Sun Yat-​Sen, the founding father of the Republic of China, used it to call upon citizens to continue the revolution. By mid-​century, the Communist Party had adopted tongzhi as a genderless, classless term of address, evoking a shared vision of the collective good. Subsequently largely abandoned in favor of Western honorifics (like Mr./​Ms.), the term re-​emerged in 1989 when LGBT activists appropriated it as a marker of collective identity. Historically, Hong Kong has always struggled to simultaneously negotiate indigenous identity and Western values, and a similar conflict has existed between “same will” and individual expression. Before the 1990s such hidden practices resulted not just in a network of “unnamed” strangers, acquaintances, friends, and lovers, but also created in the gay community a sort of “counter-​public”—self-​conscious of its own subcultural status. Although Cheung was credited as an “icon of transgression” (Chan, 2005: 144), in actuality he never explicitly identified as gay in public—his acknowledgment of his lover is veiled as a “lifelong very good friend” (this was his declaration at the concert where he sang “The moon represents my heart” (月亮代表我的心, 1997)). The fact that Cheung made only one vague public declaration of his non-​normative sexual orientation had caused considerable controversy among queer/​tongzhi audiences at the time. However, the posts from the fandom recontextualized this ambivalence. Leung (2008) unpacked such a paradox, suggesting that Chueng’s ambivalence about his sexuality also spoke to the ambivalence of Hongkongers in the face of their loss of sovereignty to a rising China in the postcolonial era. Chueng embodied the everyday sexual-​political performance of Hongkongers. The concert was held only three months after the handover to China. During his lifetime, Cheung never responded to press questions about his sexual identity. However, the sense of ambivalence created by this stance nevertheless saw Cheung posthumously rendered as a gay icon and enshrined in the pantheon of the queer movement. The shared memories of the greater Chinese community I try to focus on in Taiwan, Hong Kong and diaspora Chinese communities on Facebook point to how a fandom selectively

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retrieved a sense of transnational Chinese queer connectedness, producing an identity that disrupts a narration of sexual identity. One major difference between the dominant Anglo-​Saxon, post-​Stonewall representation of being gay and the East Asian representation of being gay lies in the process of coming out and the social mapping of family and kinship (e.g. Berry, 2000). Unlike in most Anglo-​Saxon, post-​Stonewall cultures, in which coming out involves a process of leaving the blood family and joining alternative communities, in most neo-​Confucian Asian cultures, the process of coming out surfaces as a problem within the networks of kinship and associated obligations that make up the blood family that contains the individual (Tan, 2011; Shiau, 2014). This study focuses on vernacular discussions on social media as forms of queer/​tongzhi manifestation. The vernacular social media memories thus become a dynamic, multiple, and simultaneous site where Leslie Cheung is remembered among queer/​tongzhi communities across the greater Chinese region. To understand what and how fans write in this fan community and to gain relevant insights, this ethnographic study depended mainly on Facebook fan sites dedicated to Cheung. Fan-​writing about Cheung features shared memories retrieved from his film, television, and other media texts. Notably, the form of writing focuses on imaginative identification not only with Cheung as he existed in popular culture, but also with the community of co-​readers and co-​writers (Cumberland, 2003). Such writing can be considered “semiotic guerrilla warfare,” a subversive process for producing meaning in which the “ideological norms of the original media material are replaced with utopian queer possibilities” (Jenkins, 1992:  206). Culturally marginalized queer fans fought a semiotic battle in which they ceased to be powerless and instead became active producers and manipulators of meaning (Jenkins, 1992). The research data used in this chapter is drawn from three popular Facebook pages based in Hong Kong and Taiwan: “Leslie Cheung; Reflections of the Man and Artiste”; “Leslie Cheung international fan club” (張國榮國際歌迷會); and “Leslie Cheung.”1 The first is based in Hong Kong, with posts predominantly in English or Cantonese, while the latter two are operated chiefly by Taiwanese or Hong Kong fans with some posts from mainland China. This chapter thus connects to the practice of multi-​sited ethnography by following the everyday life practice of commemoration of Leslie Cheung, which moves unpredictably rather than linearly and in a structured way (Marcus, 1995). Moreover, new articulations based on the cultural icon are transformative, as occurs in the transformation of that icon into new contexts (Ringrose & Coleman, 2013). Cheung will thus be analyzed as open and fluid with no given or fixed meaning, as a performative force that enables those posting on social media sites to channel their desires and that offers spaces for new realities. The analyzed posts are seen as texts formulated by active agents, that make diverse interpretations visible. The data can be synthesized according to three major interrelated themes, as follows: first, nostalgia and the fleeting presence of Cheung with other Hong Kongese; second, posts of reproduced paratexts; and third, emerging queer and Asian imagination. Nostalgia: Cheung on Stage with Other “Authentic Hong Kongese” This video clip shows us how good it was then  … when Leslie and Anita Mui Yim-​fong (梅艷芳) were there singing for us. It was a time when Hong Kong was full of life!!! Wow … you can see Cherie Chung (鍾楚紅), Maggie Cheung (張曼玉) and Leslie Cheung on the same screen … it was so ’90s, when Hong Kong was still Hong Kong. (Fan comments posted beneath video clips; translated by author)

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The social media posts retrieved as part of this study increasingly related Hong Kongese identity to Cheung vis-​à-​vis mainland China. This is illustrated by the two posts above, in which fans select and discuss movie clips where Cheung costarred with famous celebrities (in particular actresses like Anita Mui and Cherie Chung). Prior to the handover in 1997, Hong Kong was Asia’s Hollywood, and fans writing on social media, many of them millennials, recall the Hong Kong-​bred superstars of that era as “authentic” Hong Kong stars. Cheung was a Chinese singer “made in Hong Kong” who is considered a Hong Kong star as well as singer. Through his close association with divas such as Anita and Sandy Lam (林憶蓮), Cheung stimulates nostalgia. While fan social media platforms are seemingly nonpolitical spaces, by selectively recognizing the honored past—a time when some of those posting on the sites had not yet been born—these sites express the tangible ambivalence around Hong Kong’s political situation that has become part of everyday life in the territory. Erni (2007) argues that identity negotiations manifested in Cantopop point to the poignant social and political imagination of ambivalence that seems to be shaping everyday life in Hong Kong. After Leslie Cheung’s death, the self-​image of Hong Kong was tarnished and decayed. In postcolonial Hong Kong, the act of remembering represents a reconstructive force that separates personally and collectively meaningful instances from legitimated narratives regarding the past. Leslie Cheung as a celebrity symbolically retrieves the repertoire of the past, commemorating the figures symbolic of pre-​handover Hong Kong, an act which empowers attempts to disrupt this process of coercive integration with China. Seeking a refuge outside of Hong Kong but encountering a similarly inhospitable environment in the West, the collective memories of Hong Kong’s gay communities continue to be plagued by past and present patterns of abusive authoritarian power. Paralleling tongzhi attempts to resist Hong Kong’s colonial past and begin anew, the sense of Hong Kongese is of a hybrid culture equally alienated by both its mother country and the British colonizers occupying that country. The rise of Cheung’s fandom also seizes these transitional connections between diasporic media and queer identity formation while exploring the cultural circuit of Farewell My Concubine (霸王別姬) (dir. Chen Kaige 陳凱歌, 1993) and Happy Together (春光乍洩) (dir. Wong Kar-​wai 王家衛, 1997). The Paratext of Leslie Cheung’s “Floating” as Pan-​Asian Struggle I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We’ve been together, haven’t we? It is not enough. It should be a lifetime. Not one year, one month, one day, one second less. (Transcribed from Farewell My Concubine) A fan adds a line beneath the original text of Farewell My Concubine, adamantly explicating the queerific attachment, lamenting how elusive it is to utter the word “lifetime” nowadays. Footage of the above excerpt from Farewell My Concubine demonstrates such paratexts—the borrowing, commenting on Chueng’s pioneering work and offering reflection related to existing texts. Instead of hoping for an identity to emerge as a result of trans-​Asian cultural traffic, these comments, presented as paratexts, illustrate the shared collective public spaces, as suggested by Morris (2004), demonstrating that trans-​Asian cultural traffic is a new space of circulation which can use relations of subtle unlikeness while engaging in liberating experiences of recognizing shared similarities.

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At the outset of Farewell My Concubine starring Leslie Cheung, the film affords an aesthetic space for performative agency, consistent with the suggestion of Judith Butler (1993) to examine how the tension between the personal and the sociopolitical plays out. Meanwhile, it is imperative to discuss the queer subjective agency in Farewell My Concubine in a premodern tradition (Hsu, 2012) and how the fans framed the film as part of the discourse around homophobia in the context of an emerging Chinese diasporic queer viewership. While Cheung is undoubtedly a major icon for Hongkongers who came of age in the 1980s, fans on social media also relate his life trajectory as a public persona to the notion of “transgression” or the “pride” of the queer/​tongzhi community (Leung, 2008). Subsequently, the relationship between diasporic media and diasporic queer formation can be best exemplified by examining the cultural circuit in which Cheung participates in Happy Together. In this film, the travel metaphor becomes a search for “home” and “identity” through the (individual and collective) quests of the three male protagonists; but Leslie, along with two other protagonists, on the one hand establishes the narrative function implied by the space of the destination, but on the other hand problematizes the space of the destination through his hyperbolic performance (Yue, 2000). Notably, Leslie’s performance uncannily narrates the destination as an auto-​referential space represented and reproduced by the diegetic tropes of the spaces of “the south,” “Argentina,” and “Taiwan.” The narrative of gayness in Happy Together eludes diasporic Asian queer visibility through the displacement of the action from Hong Kong to Argentina, and articulates another selfhood outside of a heterosexual one (Yue, 2000). In the 1990s, Leslie Cheung seemed to interpellate Hong Kong as an interface for articulating an emerging diasporic queer identity across greater China. Leslie has thus become an interface as a subject of pan-​Chinese imagination and focus of pride for the queer/​tongzhi networked communities across the greater Chinese region. Fans from Taiwan recalled how their identity influenced their school experiences and described the larger social environment—including families or school settings—mostly as rigid, gendered spaces where they had “two rigid options”—to perform male or female roles. Notably, the LGBTQ millennials in Taiwan, Hong Kong, and China shared their experiences of being excluded from the school environment, the difficulties they faced in realizing personal success, and in some cases how they nevertheless channeled their energies to achieve academic success. Because of the challenges they faced due to the existing binary perception of gender, these fans often encountered hostile school environments and shared memories of being vulnerable to bullying and violence in schools. Cheung became a surrogate mentor who helped to make schools safer environments, as his public coming out scene tacitly recognizes and respects that it is probably “OK” to be “different” and there exist possibilities of surviving the heteronormative environments in Taiwan and Hong Kong. In some threads, these fans discuss the possibility of fan sites becoming a space hospitable to increased and open interstitial dialogue about gender norms and gender expressions and identities. Cheung’s eventual suicide, which fans are reinterpreting as being due to struggle with his sexuality, rather than depression, resonated particularly with young fans who had themselves experienced times when they were not ready to use language or gender expressions that would make society and their families comfortable. Such fans saw in Cheung’s persona, including his intimate relationship with Mr. Tong Hok-​tak and his relationships with their two respective families, a mirror reflecting the relationship challenges they faced in their own lives. Four fans who were interviewed, all of whom faced predicaments in their personal lives, also expressed feeling empowered and enlightened by how Cheung’s site of commemoration had been transformed into a space for gender empowerment. They further talked of how they integrated their online discussions and their physical-​world gatherings—for

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example, attending concerts, taking to the streets in October to participate in Taiwan’s gay pride parade, and designing various events to intervene in and challenge the gender status quo. Global LGBT Chinese Diasporic Connections Since Cheung’s death, tongzhi visibility has echoed scholars’ recent advocacy for the necessity of a richly textured and unique local Hong Kong identity. Few would cast doubt on gay and lesbian identities being first and foremost products of Western liberal emancipatory politics, but Cheung’s presence across social media illustrates variations in such sexualized subject positions in other places, that are nonetheless informed by local specificities. This re-​contextualization emphasizes how various forms of sexual identity are informed by, but also differ from, the international signifiers of “gay” and “lesbian.” Following this strand of transnational queer studies, the notion of queerness emerged in Farewell My Concubine. To Cheung’s fandom, this film was an attempt to reappropriate the reinterpretation of a Chinese vernacular tradition with a modern sensibility, and in a sense foreshadowed the subsequent rise of tongzhi movies that featured self-​ identified homosexual characters and carried an explicit political agenda. Farewell My Concubine does not register explicit political awareness of sexual dissidence. Queerness must be considered in affective terms, as the queer sensibility of these fans is a hybridized mixture of modern sexual politics and the Chinese folklore tradition. Meanwhile, in the greater Chinese region, particularly Hong Kong and Taiwan, tongzhi culture was often commercialized in the context of neocolonialism. Consumption of “pink capitalism” in Hong Kong was based on pre-existing colonial influences, as the West continued to co-​opt traditional Chinese values to serve its economic and political gains after the handover. When Cheung committed suicide in 2003, the tongzhi community hastily placed him in a political narrative of mainstream acculturation and tongzhi stardom. This took the form of declarations of “pride” and “bravery,” and this empowerment was shared by many Taiwanese activists in remembering and celebrating how Cheung ambiguously crafted his public sexual persona (Hsu, 2012). Cheung never openly identified as tongzhi and only gradually came out as bisexual, publicly acknowledging his partner Daffy Tong Hok-​Tak. Nevertheless, Hong Kong’s Mandarin Oriental Hotel (東方酒店), through its association with Cheung, has become the first stop in Hong Kong’s LGBTQ history. Tongzhi identity tends to maintain a uniquely Sino-​centric position while adopting assimilatory practices ironically similar to those in Westernized, homonormative culture. Queers/​tongzhi throughout Greater China have begun to question and challenge the universal claims of Anglo sexual identities. The existence of this Sino-​centric queer identity raises the question of whether Chinese “queer theory” is merely a translation of pre-existing Chinese scholarship and histories. Chinese queer theorists posit that queer theory needs to be expanded, supplemented, and revised by what is “Chinese.” The term tongzhi serves to problematize the dominance of the English language in non-​Western queer historiography. By examining the emergence of tongzhi identity and its connotations and context, we may challenge and expand our use of terminology in (g)localized sexuality histories. The normalizing fantasies of official memory shape queer memories and the ways in which “queer” becomes inscribed into our cultural memory. In Farewell My Concubine, the cultural memories shared by the viewers affect their own corporeality and also are related to sexuality. Those affects also influence the narration of queer cultural memory. Some fans made Cheung into an idol who was always on their side to, on one hand, renounce the individualistic and countercultural politics of the Western LGBT movement and, on the other hand, affirm instead an

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indigenous queer identity of their own that upheld traditional Chinese values such as family and social harmony. In the context of waning colonial rule and an emerging autonomy, tongzhi identity in Hong Kong has evolved in tandem with the region’s own dynamic and evolving cultural and political context. Between the 1991 decriminalization of homosexuality in Hong Kong and the 1997 handover of the territory, how have sexual politics intersected with colonialism, mainland sovereignty, globalization, and (g)localization? How might scholars of sexuality reframe queer theories given local histories of same-​sex sexuality? Conclusion Cheung has remained a charismatic figure over the 15  years since his death. Notably, a large portion of Cheung’s online fandom is located across the border in mainland China, and some were still in their childhood when Cheung died. On the Facebook fan page entitled “Forever elder brother,” fans commented that Cheung was especially attractive after he turned to a more androgynous persona. In queer communities, Cheung has symbolized how individuals with nonconformist gender identities can draw strength from his “spirit of being true to oneself.” While many gay celebrities enjoyed fame in the greater Chinese region but remained closeted, Cheung demonstrated how to be positive, bright and worthy of respect, something that became an important theme of discussion on his fan sites. The commemoration of Cheung goes beyond the cybercommunity. On Facebook pages dedicated to Cheung, fans discussed travel itineraries for visiting Hong Kong from mainland China or Taiwan to mourn their icon. LGBTQ fans shared thoughts and experiences relevant to the difficulties associated with being different in school settings and the complexity of navigating their upbringings. These fans were concerned because they were also aware that LGBTQ fans, akin to living in a live-​stream drama, had to perform and negotiate their identities across many different cultures and times. Because of Cheung, they came to understand and appreciate their own identities as unique and different, not new or abnormal. These fans described feeling inspired by Cheung’s versatility in “performing gender,” which gave them confidence that their own gender identity and expression could be similarly fluid— some even used words like “floating,” “shifting” and “switching” to describe their experiences of gender, highlighting its variability depending on situations, time, and people in their lives. In this context, this chapter reflects on the aforementioned testimony in an attempt to explore how Cheung’s legacy has formulated the online commemoration of Leslie Cheung, shaping a collective queer identity in the pan-​Chinese queer communities and subsequent queer social movement. Cheung’s queer performativity shows how the instabilities associated with both queer and Asian identities are critically deployed using hyperbole. Cutting into the power of representation such that it draws on and covers the codes and conventions that it undermines, such a practice exposes (Asian gay and lesbian) stereotypes by turning the object into the subject in its moment of (queer and Asian) self-​articulation. As an emergent cultural formation constituted in mobility and belonging, Queer and Asian representations disrupt dominant (Asian, mainstream, diasporic, and heteronormative) ones to highlight the practice of identity constituted in the politics of self-​enactment and self-​representation. This chapter maintains that the transnational Chinese queer connectedness produces an identity that disrupts the Anglo-​Saxon Western model of coming out as a narration of sexual identity. As Berry (2000) and Liu (2010) noted, one of the major differences between the dominant Anglo-​Saxon, post-​Stonewall gay representation and an East Asian gay representation lies in the process of coming out and the social mapping of family and kinship. Unlike most Anglo-​Saxon, post-​Stonewall cultures, where coming out

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involves leaving the blood family and joining alternative communities, in most neo-​Confucian postcolonial Asian cultures, coming out surfaces as a problem within the networks of kinship and associated obligations that make up the blood family and in which the individual is contained. Here, visibility appears as something that is lived in marginal spaces, which for the most part are not alternative but mobile communities. The widely discussed cinema text Happy Together was an upfront renaissance tale of two “sticky rice queens” clasping each other’s hands, tailored to provide comfort to an Asian crowd. The chance for the audience to catch their icon, Leslie Cheung, in homoerotic action, was merely an added bonus. Fans also celebrated as homeboys who enjoyed hanging out together and feeling at home on social media across the Chinese region. Wong Kar-​wai’s marginal outside-​of-​kinship characters resonate with fans because they live visibly gay lives in a marginal space, akin to the experiences of many gay men floating in the Chinese gay diaspora. As familiar faces are encountered outside of the Chinese region, acquaintances renewed, and new contacts made, audiences and fans experience an overwhelming sense of pride in being Asian and out. In this space, queer is imagined not through an alternative community, but through time and through shared networks and connections between places, people, and stories. In this instance, a semiotic guerrilla provoked a cybernetic-​like grid that reorders the tropes of the Asian family. The film narrates the story of becoming queer and Asian through the characters’ periods of being outcast and their subsequent homecoming. Additionally, in the rereading, rewriting, and rearticulating of the media text, a mobile community emerges across the borders, which affords a space for transformation and formation of belonging. A synthesis of articulation occurs across the different time zones that comprise the entire Asian diaspora, from Buenos Aires to Hong Kong, China, Taiwan, and Australia, and a transnational immigrant space stakes its place. The crossover fans express how diasporic media interpellates diasporic formations of being simultaneously queer and Asian. Informed by Appadurai’ s (1996) ideas regarding global cultural flow, crossover fans represent an emergent mediascape that critically deploys “queer” and “Asian” identities, and that is unsettlingly consistent with the sense of Hong Kongese. The recent urban visibility of gays and lesbians in Hong Kong and Taiwan, as well as other urban Chinese regions, attests to a transnational Asian queer connectedness. The rising interest in Cheung’s persona strategically challenges pan-​Asian heteronormativity to narrate new aspirations that simultaneously inscribe both “sticky rice”—Asian men in love—and transnational imaginations. Note 1 The hyperlinks for the sites are www.facebook.com/​Lesliestar912/​, www.facebook.com/​groups/​lcifc/​, and www. facebook.com/​groups/​1088699657831603/​, respectively. The three selected sites are representative of popular sites commemorating Leslie Cheung. Their members organize commemorative and other events, mostly on April 1, the date Cheung passed in 2003. As of November 19, 2018, the sites have 4,600, 4,500, and 5,000 followers, respectively. While there is considerable discussion of Cheung beyond these sites, this study focuses its textual analysis on public posts on these three.

References Appadurai, A. (1996). Modernity at Large:  Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis:  University of Minnesota Press.

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 Remembering Hong Kong as a Queer Metaphor   •   123 Berry, C. (2000). Asian values, family values: Film, video and gay and lesbian identities. Journal of Homosexuality, 40(3–​ 4), 211–​231. Butler, J. (1993). Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of “Sex.” New York: Routledge. Chan, N. (2005). “Nansheng nuxiang, cihong tongti:  Zhang Guorong de geshan wuying yu meijie lunshu” 《男生女相，雌雄同體：張國榮的歌衫舞影與媒介論述》 [Queering body and sexuality:  Leslie Cheung’s gender representation in Hong Kong popular music]. Meijie yixiang 《媒介意象》 [Envisage: Journal of Chinese Media Studies], 3, 144. Cumberland, S. (2003). Private use of cyberspace: Women, desire, and fan culture. In D. Thorburn & H. Jenkins (Eds.), Rethinking Media Change: The Aesthetics of Transition (pp. 261–​279). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Erni, J. N. (2007). Gender and everyday evasions: Moving with Cantopop. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 8(1), 86–​105. Hsu, J.-​H. (2012). Queering Chineseness: The queer sphere of feelings in Farewell My Concubine and Green Snake. Asian Studies Review, 36(1),  1–​17. Jenkins, H. (1992). Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture. London, UK: Routledge. Leap, W. (2013). Globalization and Gay Language (pp. 560–​561). Malden, MA: Wiley-​Blackwell. Leung, H. H.-​S. (2008). Queer memory: Leslie Cheung (1956–​2003). In Undercurrents: Queer Culture and Postcolonial Hong Kong (pp. 84–​103). Canada: UBC Press. Liu, P. (2010). Why does queer theory need China? Positions, 18(2), 291–​320. Marcus, G. E. (1995). Ethnography in/​of the world system: The emergence of multi-​sited ethnography. Annual Review of Anthropology, 24, 95–​117. Morris, M. (2004) Participating from a distance. In K. Iwabuchi, S. Muecke, & M. Thomas (Eds.), Rogue Flows: Trans-​ Asian Cultural Traffic (pp. 249–​261). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Ringrose, J., & Coleman, B. (2013) Looking and desiring machines: A feminist Deleuzian mapping of affect and bodies. In B. Coleman and J. Ringrose (Eds.), Deleuze and Research Methodologies (pp. 125–​144). Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Shiau, H. C. (2014). The use of celebrity scandals and sensational news for identity negotiations: Analyzing gossip among the queers within Taiwanese families. Chinese Journal of Communication, 7(2), 230–​250. Tan, C. K. (2011). Go home, gay boy! Or, why do Singaporean gay men prefer to “go home” and not “come out”? Journal of Homosexuality, 58(6–​7), 865–​882. Yue, A. (2000). What’s so queer about Happy Together? a.k.a. Queer (N) Asian: Interface, community, belonging. Inter-​ Asia Cultural Studies, 1(2), 251–​264.

Discography Chueng, Leslie (1997). The moon represents my heart. Crossing 1997 Concert. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=yIfdFNMLIBg.

Filmography Chen, Kaige (director) (1993). Farewell My Concubine. Miramax Films. Star Show (1971). Hong Kong: Radiffusion. Wong, Kar-​wai (director) (1997). Happy Together. Kino International.

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11

Hong Kong is (No Longer) My Home

From Sam Hui to My Little Airport Milan Ismangil

Whose Hong Kong? “Is Hong Kong still our Hong Kong?” (究竟香港仲係唔係我哋嘅香港), the lead singer of the all-​woman independent band GDJYB (鷄蛋蒸肉餅) asks in “Durian What What What” (榴槤乜乜乜). Released in 2015 after the apparent failure of the pro-​democracy Umbrella Movement in Hong Kong, this song represents a changing relationship with Hong Kong among young people. Standing in direct opposition to this sentiment is the song “Together in the same boat” (同舟共濟) (1990), released 20 years earlier. This song by Sam or Samuel Hui (許冠傑) was made to lift up the spirits of Hong Kong after the tragic conclusion of the Tiananmen demonstrations, which garnered much sympathy in Hong Kong. Hui describes Hong Kong as “heart … my home” (香港是我心 … 香港是我家) and a “place of happiness.” In this chapter, I argue that the relationship Hui has to Hong Kong, one of optimism, hope, and development, is rooted in the past, and a new generation of artists have voiced their difference, expressing feelings of alienation, pessimism, and change. The first part of the chapter is about Sam Hui, Hong Kong’s first “God of song,” and how his songs have conceptualized the character of Hong Kong since his rise to fame in the 1970s. Hui was a major driving force behind Cantopop’s development, as his uniqueness lies in sensing the mood of Hong Kong’s people and finding ways, through song, to express solidarity, sympathy, nostalgia, or hope for the future. The second part contrasts the experiences of Hui with a new generation of artists and their changing relationship to the city. Focusing on two bands from the “post-​1980s generation,” a generational gap will become apparent as the character of Hong Kong has become one of unfamiliarity and alienation, due to political, social, and cultural changes. My Little Airport (MLA) and GDJYB, which form part of the independent bands movement, symbolize a new way of making music for the digital publishing age. I argue that these musicians are representative of a changing relationship to Hong Kong and have taken over from Hui in terms of representing Hong Kong sensibility. Sam Hui: Voicing Hong Kong An alumnus of the University of Hong Kong, Hui was a rarity in the developing Cantopop scene. Having started out with English songs, he only truly came into his own after adopting colloquial

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Cantonese in his music, propelling him to Cantopop stardom (Ng, 2007). A musical chameleon, Hui throughout his career has adopted a variety of styles that mark the changing times. From Beach Boys-​style band music in his earlier work (The Lotus, “I’ll be Waiting,” 1967), ballads utilizing Chinese instruments (“Paper Boat” 紙船, 1982), and even ska-​influenced songs (“Aces Go Places” 最佳拍檔, 1982). Hui is one of Cantopop’s most important and influential artists, having been there at its beginning and still going strong 40-​odd years later. In a study of Hui’s lyrics, Chu (1998, p. 118) notes Hui’s stance towards Hong Kong has changed since the start of his career, further stating that his texts give “voice to the local senses of the small-​town city dweller” (小市民的地道口味). Widely known (and studied) for his satirical or critical songs in the 1970s and 1980s, which championed the working class (Ho, 2003; Chu, 2017), his more recent work is more inspirational and hopeful in nature as Hong Kong has entered uncertain times. Chu (1998), in his seminal study of Cantopop lyrics, broadly categorized Hui’s career into an early, middle, and late period. The early songs were mainly satirical/​comical (鬼馬系列), concerned with the philosophy of life (人生哲理). The middle featured many love songs (情情愛愛), and in the later period, Hong Kong took center stage (香港製造). This mapping by Chu shows how Hui reformulated his role as an artist to position himself as a beacon for Hong Kong. A responsibility fitting for one of Cantopop’s megastars, even if not the first, Hui was dubbed the first “God of song.” I will now discuss five of Sam Hui songs from 1974 to 2007 that signify the change in Hui’s work. Hong Kong Life: From Working Hard to a Nostalgic and Hopeful Hong Kong Hui’s early period features many songs that comment on the local realities of Hong Kong people. In “Looking for a Job” (搵嘢做) (1980) and “Conserving Water” (制水歌) (1974), for example, we see Hui as a daytaler, an everyday man reflecting the working-​class reality of Hong Kong people in the 1970s. Hong Kong is a place of opportunity in which a clever man can subvert societal luck through grit and a bit of luck to make a living. As Hui asks in “Looking for a Job”: “How can I  become rich? Wong Tai Sin [a famous temple in Hong Kong] might have the answers” (如何有法變得富豪，望黃大仙能預告). Hui, in his lyrics, marries local practices of divination and the capitalist logic of a Hong Kong on the cusp of a major financial boom, harboring an economic mentality (Abbas, 1997, p. 13). Three years after “Looking for a Job,” Hong Kong is shown as a place of belonging in “Hong Kong Bauhinia” (洋紫荊) (1983).This song could easily be used for tourism purposes with shots of key locations and people walking about. The lyrics themselves are embedded with both symbolic and literal references to Hong Kong as “pearl of the east,” “home,” “city of freedom,” or “continuously developing” (在東方有粒珍珠 … 家鄉香港自由都市 … 不斷地發展). After the boom, uncertainty entered the city as the failure of the Tiananmen movement put the 1997 handover of the city to China on edge. Chu (1997), discussing Hui’s “Hong Kong-​ization” (香港性), states that as Hong Kong people faced increasing crisis, his satirical approach made way for a more optimistic style of song showcasing Hui’s feeling of societal responsibility as the “God of Song” that speaks to the heart of Hong Kong people. To quote Hui: “During that period I was feeling very troubled, ’97 was approaching quickly and I couldn’t bear to part with Hong Kong” (那時候性情好亂，剛好九七又快要到，很捨不得香港) (Ng, 2007, p.  185). “Hong Kong Orchid” was written in a period of boom; “Together in the Same Boat” (同舟共濟) (1990), however, was written in a period of uncertainty after Tiananmen. The song opens simply with “Me

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and you are sitting together in this boat” (我與你同坐這一條船). In this song, Hong Kong is characterized as Hui’s “heart and home” (香港是我家 … 香港是我心). These songs came out of a growing need for a Hong Kong identity, demarcated against the mainland Chinese one (Fung, 2008; Chu & Leung, 2013). For instance, Hui sings in “Hong Kong Orchid” of “this unique society of Hong Kong” (這獨特社會香港). The final two songs—“Keep Smiling” (繼續微笑) (2004) and “Goodbye Bell” (鐘聲響起) (2007)—are from Hui’s latest albums. These were written during a period of increasing discomfort with Chinese interference in Hong Kong’s political and social dynamics as well as the 1997 Asian financial crisis and the SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome) crisis in 2002, among other events. Writing in 1997, Chu states that as Hong Kong people increasingly faced crises, Hui moved to a more optimistic style of song, showcasing Hui’s feeling of societal responsibility as the “God of Song” that speaks to the heart of Hong Kong people. Optimism is the main theme of “Keep Smiling,” with solidarity and optimism being recurring themes. Hui tells us to “keep smiling through the hardships” (繼續微笑從使悲傷往事忘不了) and that “things are not as bad as they might seem” (您會發掘重要事原是渺小). In “Goodbye Bell,” the theme is about welcoming change. This song is about Queen’s Pier, which was demolished for land reclamation in 2008, a decision that angered a mainly younger generation (SCMP Reporter, 2007). “Goodbye Bell” features little of the tensions; rather, it is celebratory in tone, highlighting its history rather than its destruction. The opening and closing shots of the video show Queen’s Pier during the protests with “don’t demolish,” and “don’t part” protest banners visible next to the signboard. Change is not inherently bad and can even lead to good things, the song seems to say. As before, everyday themes such as work pressure or low wages are present, but despite these difficulties Hong Kong is “still a good place to live” (其實香港唔錯), where one can make a living with a bit of luck and hard work. The “old feelings have not changed” (不過舊情依然不變), Hui tells us. For Hui, Hong Kong is a place of familiarity, warmth, and home. It is a place of opportunity and development where hard work, some luck, and wit can take you far. Yes, it is also a place of crisis and anxiety, but through solidarity, as Hui implores us, we can pull together. This is in contrast to songs that I will discuss in the next section, as Hong Kong is never presented as a negative space by itself. Hong Kong is welcoming, and change is seen in a positive light. While the satirical songs in his early period deftly criticize society’s injustices, it is never Hong Kong itself which is to blame, as is evident in the video for “Conserve Water.” Under circumstances of extreme water rationing, Hui will simply use Hong Kong itself and wash in the strait. Hong Kong, to quote Hui in “Goodbye Bell” a final time, “will keep flourishing” (香港繼續繁榮). Hong Kong Cantopop Today: Living through a Changing Hong Kong Hong Kong used to be a beautiful place … When all is said and done, is Hong Kong still our Hong Kong (香港 曾經係一個美好嘅地方 … 究竟香港 仲係唔係我哋嘅香港). (“Durian What What What”) (GDJYB, 2015) The above lyrics are from GDJYB, a Hong Kong-​based independent band known for writing topical songs, especially after the pro-​democracy Umbrella Movement in 2014. The song itself is from an album titled 23:59 Before Tomorrow, a reference which could go either towards a new beginning or to the famous doomsday clock, which signals the end of civilization. GDJYB are

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part of a new trend of local artists. While not enjoying the massive popularity of groups from the golden age of Cantopop (insofar as this is possible due to likely censorship in the mainland market), they do provide a spark of creativity which has, as noted in the first section, been found lacking in the twilight of Cantopop (Chu & Leung, 2013; Wong, 2003). Cantopop since the handover has been undergoing a transformation. James Wong, a well-​ known lyrics writer and Cantopop scholar, famously described 1997 as the end point of the “rise and fall of Cantopop” (Wong, 2003). Other scholars have termed the period following this as the “post-​Cantopop Epoch” (Wang, 2018). Rather than dying, I would argue that the character of Cantopop has changed. Locality (hybridity) in Cantopop in terms of arena-​filling superstars has been diminished; but in its place, independent artists have found new ways to articulate their locality and hybridity as Hongkongers. This new generation of Hong Kong musicians is critical, like Hui before them, as “their” city is undergoing changes which, aside from employment or traffic jams, seem more ephemeral in nature. As noted in the first part of the chapter, this movement coincides with the rise of a Hong Kong identity, especially among young people (see Chan & Fung, 2018, and Kwan, 2016, for an overview of what has been termed “civic nationalism,” referring to values of freedom and tolerance associated with this new movement) who, having been born and having grown up in Hong Kong, bear witness to change in “their” city under threat. While pessimism, looking backwards instead of forwards (Chu & Leung, 2013), seems to be the overwhelming trend when discussing Cantopop, there are signs of hope (Kit & Chan, 2015). In the 2010s, new artists have emerged. While not rising to the same levels of stardom as bands in the golden days, they have carved out a space in Cantonese music, adopting local slang and colloquial language and not being afraid to engage with political topics. MLA and GDJYB are part of a wider movement of independent bands who, with the availability of new distribution platforms (e.g. social media), have carved a space for themselves in Hong Kong’s music landscape. MLA are part of the “post-​1980s generation” and known for their lyrical style being at times whimsical, incessant, and dreamlike (Leung, 2014). Their songs make frequent use of Hong Kong as a background, directly referencing places in Hong Kong, idiosyncrasies, and local experiences in their songs. Since the Umbrella Movement they have also released songs that are more political in nature, calling people to take action and change society for the better; one example, as discussed by Leung (2014), is “Female Otaku, go out into the Streets” (宅女，上街吧), a song written to protest the (recently finished) train line between Guangzhou and Hong Kong. “Midnight Plane to Amsterdam” (阿姆斯特丹夜機), released in 2018, is about detachment and alienation from Hong Kong. “Hong Kong has nothing to do with me” (香港無我嘅事), MLA sings at the end of this song. The video and music underline this point with ethereal synthesizers and hallucinatory images creating an otherworldly feel. Another song, “To the People in the Admiralty Train Department” (給金鐘地鐵站車廂内的人), released in 2010, is an allegory of the different generations in Hong Kong. Using the metaphor of departing or alighting the metro platform, this song criticizes the older generation:  “history won’t forgive them, shitheads!” (歷史不會原諒你們, 渣滓). The song mentions “those who lose their ideals and take an early exit, thinking only of themselves and sacrificing others for one’s own gain” (你發覺搭兩個站無謂入咁深 所以站近門邊諗住容易d走人, 不再前行為他人犧牲). This can be interpreted as a critique of the ruling political class in Hong Kong, which is often criticized for kowtowing to the mainland government. It could also be interpreted as a critique of

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a (business) elite that considers Hong Kong only as a playground in which to do business; they are ready to leave if this playground is no longer profitable, a possibility unavailable to many. GDJYB is an all-​female indie band that has a penchant for writing about political topics and Hong Kong. Their singles “Hong Kong Family Story” (2018) and “Why Don’t You Kill Us All” (2018) both discuss (hidden) domestic abuse, while the second can also be interpreted as a general allegory against oppression, authoritarianism, and capitalism. They describe themselves as a “band from Hong Kong” and “play songs in Honglish” (GDJYB n.d.), denotating their attachment to a Hong Kong identity. I  will analyze two of their songs—“Durian What What What” and “The Loving Mothers” from their 2015 debut album 23:59 Before Tomorrow. The first song, released around one year after the pro-​democracy Umbrella Movement, is a pessimistic take on the events. The video is a microcosm of the critical movements of the 2014 demonstrations. There are two groups, one in yellow, symbolizing the iconic yellow umbrella of the movement, and the other being the police in blue raincoats, both with their faces obscured, although the blue group is seen wearing wolf masks. Absurd and sudden use of force is shown, echoing the experiences during demonstrations. For example, the video shows sudden use of pepper spray, absurd police signs such as “stop eating apples or we will use force” (a parody of police signs used during the movement, such as “stop charging or we will use force”), and a high-​profile event with seven policeman beating up one handcuffed protester (BBC, 2017). The lyrics are cynical in tone:  “Independence, Right or Wrong, Democracy, Individualism, so What?” (民主乜乜乜社會乜乜乜 政府乜乜乜 良心乜乜乜 良知乜乜乜 立法會乜乜乜 個社會乜乜乜). The song opens with a disarming, childlike use of their self-​described Honglish describing how the police (“blue”) are corrupt, bought with “greenies” (i.e. money) as well as Chinese interference (the “red sis”): “We dived into the yellow Searching for future … The blue came Brought with the greenies Also the red sis They Yelling at me.” “The yellow” is a reference to the Umbrella Movement, which prominently features a yellow umbrella in its imagery, which is still being used as a protest/​rallying symbol, during the 2019 protests in Hong Kong. The use of family metaphors to describe relations to China (“red sis”) is present in “The Loving Mothers” as well. In this song, the theme is the justification of violence against dissidents. Taking the perspective of authority, Soft, the vocalist, sings: “In the name of justice I’ll crack you down on knee. You’re the bad cell in the brain.” Discourses of progress are subverted. While for Hui, progress was a source of opportunity, here it is used to legitimize a regime of violence: “You’re the stasis in the city … I am doing this for our city I am doing good for you.” The singer frames himself as the righteous one, knowing better than the dissidents: “I am the justice I am the hero I am the justice I am the hero Your loving mother Your caring mother.” The video shows the drumset in grayscale, on which videos of the Umbrella Movement are projected. Now, unlike in the previous video, the metaphor is stripped away, and we see the actual footage of pepper spray being used and police abuse. For these artists, Hong Kong either is changing or has changed into something different. Values relating to immateriality, which have become increasingly important in Hong Kong, are emphasized. This adherence to values such as freedom (of expression), tolerance, and popular sovereignty in Hong Kong has been referred to as civic nationalism (as mentioned above). Just as the “post-​1980s generation” sought to demarcate and defend their own locality and identity against a Chinese mainland influence they perceived as demolishing Hong Kong’s spirit, the newer artists have adopted the values of civic nationalism as part of their local identity (Chan & Fung, 2018).

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This can further be observed during the Umbrella Movement in 2014 where one of the narratives was of a new and old “Hong Kong spirit.” The old one was aligned with values of hard work and a can-​do attitude, coinciding with Hong Kong’s economic boom in the 1970s. This is the Hong Kong of Hui, one where unending growth and opportunities seem possible. The new Hong Kong spirit, on the other hand, is less concerned with materialism and more with civic values such as freedom of speech which have come under threat post handover. It is in this context that we can frame these different generations of artists. To quote Ah P, one of the founding members of MLA, in an interview in 2018: “the political climate in the past two years has gotten even worse, I probably have reached a point where I feel too hopeless about the situation to even write about it anymore” (Wu, 2018). Whereas for Hui, Hong Kong is ever a place of hope, dreams, and home, for the other artists discussed here, it represents a place of change and an increasing feeling of alienation with one’s home. This demonstrates a fracture between the Hong Kong spirit and the reality of things. Conclusion: Optimism over Despair In this chapter, I have used the allegory of the character of Hong Kong to trace two contrasting themes that describe the character of Hong Kong. Focusing on Sam Hui and comparing his works to a new (post-​1980s) generation of artists, I have argued that Hong Kong is articulated differently. Change for this newer generation is not a booming economy or increasing opportunities, but rather destruction of heritage, possibilities, and livelihoods. Chu, in his 1997 work A Study of Hong Kong Popular Lyrics, had already made note of Hui’s “Hong Kong-​ization,” as, in a growing politically polarizing environment, Hui took it upon himself to call for solidarity and hope. More than 20 years later, political upheavals show no sign of abating any time soon, especially with the 2014 Umbrella Movement fresh in Hong Kong’s collective memory and, at the time of writing in August 2019, months of protesting against a proposed Extradition Bill to China. The rapidly changing environment (though when has change not been rapid in Hong Kong?) since the 1990s has seen a new post-​1980s generation make a different kind of music about Hong Kong. This new generation feels the need to demarcate a Hong Kong identity, having been born and raised in Hong Kong. MLA shows us how a new generation formulates a different relationship to Hong Kong, different from that of Hui, which is seemingly ever positive. Hui’s earlier work championed the working class, and, as often written, there is an underlying love for Hong Kong as a place of warmth and opportunity, no matter the external circumstances. In contrast, MLA describe their changing relationship to a city whose own essence is changing from within. Hong Kong itself has changed or is changing, outside circumstances notwithstanding. This change is also seen in Cantopop’s loss of its edge due to its approaches to the mainland market, which favors apolitical music; in doing so, Cantopop has been unable to speak for Hong Kong. What made Hui and early Cantopop unique was not just hybridity, but also the idea of place, locality, and situatedness only being possible in Hong Kong. Nowadays, since the 2000s, the torch has been taken over by the likes of MLA and GDJYB, who maintain their locality but without compromise. Compromise to other markets stifled Cantopop’s attachment to Hong Kong itself, which in essence provided it with its uniqueness and vibrancy. Nathan Law, one of the leaders during the Umbrella Movement, in an interview in 2019 said that, regarding the friction between his parents and the idea of “being Chinese,” “Hong Kong never felt fully theirs the way it

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feels like it is ours” (cited in Fan, 2019). Looking at this statement from a longer-​term perspective, I argue that the sentiment is an extension of one expressed earlier by Sam Hui, in 1977: “We say we are Chinese, but are actually Hongkongers” (雖然我們説自己是中國人，其實就是香港人) (cited in Ng, 2007). In the first statement, the ties to mainland China have been separated, while in the second, there is still a consideration of the mainland through which their Hong Kong identity is negotiated. If Hong Kong has a soul, then, at its present juncture, it is a conflicted one. Currently, there exist two Hong Kongs: the Hong Kong of Sam Hui’s generation—one of optimism, boom, and development, one in which the circumstances might change but the essence of the city is still the same; then there is the Hong Kong of MLA and GDJYB—one in which Hong Kong itself has changed, or is to blame. Compared to the newer generation of artists discussed here, Sam Hui does not provide a systematic critique of Hong Kong, but rather stays at a surface level, voicing the difficulties of the working class through comedy, satire, and parody but still keeping a positive tone. This could be framed as nostalgia, with Hui drawing on the past to provide positivity while perhaps ignoring the political reality. The new generation, comprised of artists such as GDJYB and MLA, on the other hand, cut deeper, focusing more on changing political realities and negative emotions of anger, betrayal, and irony. In the introduction I asked why we should still care about Sam Hui, who, a critic might argue, fails to see the reality of things. In this chapter, I  have shown how Sam Hui made a move to articulate hope when there seemed to be little. Perhaps this is why Hui’s songs still spark something in the hearts of Hong Kong people. Pessimism is all too easy nowadays. Perhaps the most poignant comment that can be made about why Hui shifted to more optimistic and hopeful songs is that posted by a fan on a YouTube video of the 2004 song “Keep Smiling”: “Thank you Sam Hui [sic]. For Hong Kong people, 2003 is (one of) the most unhappy years. Releasing this song makes people feel warm and righteous” (多謝Sam Hui, 係香港人2003年最唔開心既一年, 出左一首令人感覺十分正氣同溫暖既歌). The ability to provide hope and perspective in any situation, however dark, might just be Sam’s greatest achievement as the “God of Song” of his beloved Hong Kong. References Abbas, M. A. (1997). Hong Kong: Culture and the Politics of Disappearance. Public Worlds. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. BBC (2017). “Hong Kong police officers jailed for beating protester.” BBC, February 17. Retrieved from www.bbc.com. Chan, C. K., & Fung, A. Y. H. (2018). Disarticulation between civic values and nationalism: Mapping state nationalism in post-​handover Hong Kong. China Perspectives, 3, 41–​50. Chu, Y. W. (朱耀偉) (1998). Xianggang liuxing geci yanjiu:  qishi niandai zhongqi zhi jiushi niandai zhongqi 《香港流行歌詞研究：七十年代中期至九十年代中期》 [Studies of Hong Kong Popular Music Lyrics: From Mid-​1970s to Mid-​1990s]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing. Chu, Y. W. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chu, Y. W., & Leung, E. (2013). Remapping Hong Kong popular music: Covers, localisation and the waning hybridity of Cantopop. Popular Music, 32(1), 65–​78. Fan, J. (2019). “Denise Ho confronts Hong Kong’s new political reality.” The New  Yorker, January 14. Retrieved from http://​newyorker.com. Fung, A. Y. H. (2008). Discourse and cultural identity: Towards a global identity for Hong Kong. In D. Wu (Ed.), Discourses of Cultural China in the Globalizing Age (pp. 189–​202). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. GDJYB (n.d.). About page. Retrieved on April 18, 2019, from www.facebook.com/​pg/​gdjyb/​about/​?ref=page_​internal.

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 Hong Kong is (No Longer) My Home   •   131 Ho, W. (2003). Between globalisation and localisation:  A study of Hong Kong popular music. Popular Music, 22(2), 143–​157. Kit, C., & Chan, D. (2015). “Guangdong Liuxingqu” 《廣東流行曲》 [Guangdong pop songs]. Cultural Studies @ Lingnan, 45(13), 26–​45. Kwan, J. P. (2016). The rise of civic nationalism: Shifting identities in Hong Kong and Taiwan. Contemporary Chinese Political Economy and Strategic Relations: An International Journal, 2(2), 941–​973. Leung, P. Y. (2014). Selling Out the Indie Music? Re-​examining the Independence of Hong Kong Indie Music in the Early 21st Century. Unpublished MPhil thesis, Hong Kong Baptist University, Hong Kong. Retrieved from https://​repository. hkbu.edu.hk/​etd_​oa/​114. Ng, C. H. (吳俊雄) (2007). Cishi cichu:  Xu Guangjie 《此時此處：許冠傑》 [At This Time, at This Point]. Hong Kong: Enrich Publishing. SCMP Reporter (2007). “Pier protesters stage hunger strike.” South China Morning Post, July 28. Retrieved from www. scmp.com/​article/​602150/​pier-​protesters-​stage-​hunger-​strike. Wang, S. (2018). Music, social media and public pedagogy: Indie music in the post-​Cantopop epoch. Asian Education and Development Studies, 7(1), 42–​52. Wong, J. S. (黃霑) (2003). Yueyu liuxingqu de fazhan yu xingshuaui:  Xianggang liuxing yinyue yanjiu 《粵語流行曲的發展與興衰：香港流行音樂研究 1949–​1997》 [The Rise and Decline of Cantopop: A Study of Hong Kong Popular Music (1949–​1997)]. Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong. Wu, C. (2018). “The weirdos, the anguished poets and the romantics:  Meet local indie band My Little Airport.” Honeycombers. Retrieved from https://​thehoneycombers.com/​hong-​kong/​my-​little-​airport-​hong-​kong-​indie-​ band-​interview/​.

Discography GDJYB (2015a). Durian what what what. 23:59 Before Tomorrow. Hong Kong: Redline Music Limited. GDJYB (2015b). The loving mothers. 23:59 Before Tomorrow. Hong Kong: Redline Music Limited. GDJYB (2018a). Hong Kong Family Story. Retrieved on April 24, 2019, from www.youtube.com/​watch?v=4yB4SMKnl7A. GDJYB (2018b). Why don’t you kill us all? 23:59 Before Tomorrow. Hong Kong: Redline Music Limited. Hui, Sam (1974). Conserving water. Games Gamblers Play. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1980). Looking for a job. Missing You. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1982a). Aces go places. Unforgettable, Paper Boat. Hong Kong: Polygram. Hui, Sam (1982b). Paper boat. Unforgettable, Paper Boat. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (1983). Hong Kong bauhinia. A New Beginning. Hong Kong: Contec Sound Media Ltd. Hui, Sam (1990). Together in the same boat. Hong Kong Feelings. Hong Kong: Polydor. Hui, Sam (2004). Keep smiling. The Song God and You Continue to Smile ’04. Hong Kong: EMI Records. Hui, Sam (2007). Goodbye bell. Life is Good! Hong Kong: East Asia Music (Holdings) Ltd. My Little Airport (2010). “Female Otaku, go out into the streets!” Retrieved on April 24, 2019, from www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=ZY_​jT0QbTnw. My Little Airport (2011). To the people in the Admiralty train compartment. Hong Kong Is One Big Shopping Mall. Hong Kong: Harbour Records. My Little Airport (2018). Midnight plane to Amsterdam. You Said You Will Find Me After. Hong Kong: Harbour Records. The Lotus (1967). I’ll be waiting. The Lotus. Hong Kong: Diamond Records.

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12

MC Yan and his Cantonese Conscious Rap Angel M. Y. Lin

Introduction A web/​video-​based introduction to the history of hip-​hop in Hong Kong (Hong Kong Hustle, 2019) starts with this comment: For a dense urban landscape similar to New York, you’d think that Hip Hop would be a natural fit. However, with some exceptions included below, Hong Kong seems to have a grasp of the swagger, but not the soul of the music. It goes on to ask: “Has Hong Kong ever truly understood Hip Hop?” In this chapter, I  attempt to offer a response to this question by way of an analysis of the unique poetics and politics of the rapping style of MC Yan, widely respected and recognized as “godfather of hip-​hop in Hong Kong.” MC Yan’s active years can be divided into three phases: the pre-​LazyMuthaFuckers (LMF) years (early to mid 1990s); the LMF years (late 1990s to early 2000s); and the post LMF/​indie hip-​hop years (mid 2000s to 2014). While MC Yan is made in Hong Kong, his music projects have been influenced by global protest music movements, and the origins of his own music influences were from hard-​core hip-​hop traditions to which he was exposed when he studied fine art in France in his formative years in the early 1990s. The first part of this chapter focuses on the music background of MC Yan. It is meant to be illustrative of the possible kinds of subcultures and countercultures that have influenced him and led him into a niche space as an indie artist engaging in non-​mainstream, non-​commercialism-​ driven modes of creative, countercultural production. The second part of the chapter focuses on the artist’s emotional energies and marginalized young people (Ma, 2002). The emotional energies of MC Yan and his associates are frequently witnessed in their artistic works and music but also in the way they talk—​for instance, in multiple informal interviews with the researcher spread across 2005–​2009, 2014–​2015, and 2017–​2018; that is, in a loud, angry voice, especially when talking about the mainstream music industry and institutions. One frequent term used by MC Yan is “the System” (he used the English-​language term). He clearly classifies himself as working, living, struggling, and fighting outside of the System. By “the System,” he meant the mainstream, capitalist society and institutions both in Hong Kong and across the world; for example, the government and the ruling elite of society as well as the middle classes with high-​ paid jobs and recognized social status. He sees himself as a public intellectual and his work as part of the leftist, anti-​capitalist, pro-​democracy, pro-​working-​class, and pro-​Muslim projects all 132

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over the world. He told me that he aligned himself with the anti-​US-​hegemony Muslim youth groups in the Middle East and maintained some relationship with them (I have not asked him for the exact names of these groups). This, however, does not mean that MC Yan and his associates (e.g. his apprentice rappers such as Chef, ADV, and Double T as well as Edison Chen who was his long-​term fan and sponsor) are anti-​government, but suggests that their emotional energies have partly arisen from being positioned (both by mainstream others and by themselves) as outside of the System (i.e. as non-​achievers academically, by choice or by circumstance, and thus also as non-​beneficiaries of the mainstream, capitalist institutions). In the final sections of the chapter, I analyze the poetics and politics of MC Yan’s unique rapping style through analysis of his song “War Crime” and sum up the unique artistic features in his Cantonese rap. Cantonese Verbal Play in MC Yan’s Raps: Cantonese Chou-​Hau (Vulgar Mouth) and Its Emotional Energies As a local, everyday language, colloquial Cantonese is often not highly valued in education and the “high” domains of society, yet it is a central, valuable medium in popular culture and the language of the lifeworld for the majority of working-​class children in Hong Kong. MC Yan’s rapping style embodies a great deal of creative work in the form of Cantonese verbal play. And this verbal play often capitalizes on the use of Cantonese chou-​hau (vulgar mouth or vulgar speech) and a few English slang expressions (e.g. “f* the police,” although he often uses the euphemism “rap the police,” replacing the f-​word, when he performs in public in China) to create a transgressive, subversive effect. Cantonese chou-​hau thus seems to be a usual linguistic marker of working class-​ness in Hong Kong. The mere uttering of a Cantonese vulgar word or expression constitutes a highly marked, transgressive act, violating middle-​class etiquette and sensibilities, often (supposedly) rousing unease and contempt from the mainstream middle-​class audience. While swearing and cursing have constituted a legitimate research topic overseas and there has long existed a research literature on English slang and cursing (e.g. Jay, 1992), the research literature on Cantonese chou-​hau is extremely limited. It should be noted that Cantonese chou-​hau is much more socially taboo in Hong Kong than the English word “slang” suggests (and chou-​hau is not the same as slang). While “slang” in English usually refers to colloquial expressions or jargon of specific social groups, Cantonese chou-​hau is seen as highly vulgar, conjuring up explicit sexual images, and is highly taboo in mainstream society in Hong Kong. It is perhaps due to the taboo nature of this topic that only two academic publications by Western scholars can be found: those by Bolton and Hutton (1995, 2005). In their 1995 article, Bolton and Hutton studied triad language (the language of the “triad society,” a criminal syndicate in Hong Kong) and related it to anti-​languages and taboo language. As Bolton and Hutton (1995) pointed out, so far, any serious official attention paid to the study of Cantonese vulgar speech is mainly for the purposes of social control and censorship (e.g. legal enforcement, to censor court witnesses). However, it seems that Bolton and Hutton themselves do not want to stereotype Cantonese vulgar speech; in their insightful words: “All societies have taboos. … What makes a society modern in this context is therefore not the absence of linguistic taboos, but debate about those taboos in the context of debates about free speech and censorship” (2005, p. 10). Similarly, Paul Willis observed that with working-​class youths in Britain, there seems to be “work … in their play” (1990, p. 2). Cantonese verbal play thus seems to be a kind of folk symbolic creative work and implicit ideological critique through mocking laughter and transgressive

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play (Bakhtin, 1981) to subvert mainstream linguistic taboos and social norms. And the use of chou-​hau in this verbal play adds to the transgressive quality. While the government and mainstream middle classes in Hong Kong have made the everyday speech of the working classes taboo in the society’s public spheres (e.g. TV, radio, newspapers, books), clever cultural critics and artists will always find a playful, mocking way to transgress these social linguistic norms. In MC Yan’s words, his use of Cantonese vulgar words is both deliberate and natural: I want to test the boundary of free speech … these are the liveliest expressions … this is the language of working-​class people; this is the way we speak every day; we don’t want to pretend to be those gentle-​people; this is who we are; we just want to be ourselves! Using Cantonese vulgar words in his playful lyrics, MC Yan seems to be deliberately trying to shout out with a working-​class voice about everyday working-​class reality. It is the aim of this chapter to bring to the fore samples of the kind of Cantonese creative work characteristic of MC Yan’s rapping style. MC Yan is among a small group of indie hip-​hop artists in Hong Kong who perform this kind of verbal art despite lack of fame and commercial success—​never wanting to “sell out” to the mainstream commercial music scene in Hong Kong. These indie artists, such as MC Yan, Chef, ADV, and the group 生番 (literally, “barbarians”; the group does not have an English name), seem to have found in this trans-​local music genre and subculture the powerful symbolism to express their emotional energies (Ma, 2002) and defiant working-​class voices to mainstream society. Through Cantonese-​language rap, these indie artists, and MC Yan in particular, express their sharp critique of society, of the education system, and of what they see as mainstream hypocritical practices and political injustice. Using Cantonese vulgar speech in their artful and inventive rap lyrics, they construct alternative discursive spaces where their defiant voices and sharp social critiques can be heard when they perform their raps, which are both poetic (aesthetic) and political. In the next section, I  shall draw on interviews conducted with MC Yan and analyze the Cantonese verbal art of his hip-​hop lyrics. Cantonese Slang Verbal Art in MC Yan’s Hip-​Hop Lyrics Little attention has been paid to the Cantonese verbal art that is displayed in much of the lyrical work of Hong Kong MCs. A key element of hip-​hop is personal ownership of lyrics—​you “rap your own shit”—​the choice of language is very much part of an individual MC’s lyrical style. MC Yan was the main rap vocalist in LMF, writing the hooks for many of the songs; other songs were based on the heavy metal and rock styles inherited from the band members’ former underground rock bands before they came to form LMF. In what follows, I want to draw mainly on MC Yan’s works, as he is by far the most respected and widely recognized first-​generation Cantonese MC in indie hip-​hop circles in Hong Kong. MC Yan has written and rapped many songs, and in his words, they were songs “with a message.” His works (lyrics and rap) appeared in songs such as: “Respect for Da Chopstick Hip-​ Hop” (DJ Tommy, 2001, track 9), “New Opium War” (DJ Tommy, 2001, track 6), “Big City Night Life” (DJ Tommy, 2001, track 3), “War” (Chen, 2004, track 12), “Beautiful Skin” (Chen, 2005, track 10), and “Hong Kong Place” (Chen, 2004, track 8). The album Respect for Da Chopstick Hip-​ Hop is worth noting, as it is a trans-​regional collaboration among Japanese, Korean, and Hong

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Kong artists. MC Yan told the author that the album was meant to foster alliance of hip-​hop artists from East Asia, especially from Japan, Korea, and Hong Kong. As chopsticks are used in all three places, they called their album Respect for Da Chopstick hip-​hop. The album has only a niche audience (i.e. it is not part of the mainstream pop music scene). That is because independent or non-​mainstream hip-​hop is still a marginal practice in Hong Kong; and although some mainstream commercial Cantopop songs have appropriated some hip-​hop rap and musical styles, they are generally not regarded as “real” hip-​hop by independent or non-​mainstream hip-​hop artists. The later album Please Steal This Album (Chen, 2004) is often seen as part of the pop music scene, mainly because Edison Chen (陳冠希) is a Hong Kong Cantopop singer. The themes of the songs written by MC Yan usually convey some serious messages of social or political critique. Yan has written many songs on the theme of war. For instance, “War” conveys this theme in the context of the relentless tabloidization of mass media practices in Hong Kong. “Big City Night Life” offers a sharp observation and critique of the money-​oriented lifestyles of many Hong Kong people. “New Opium War” (DJ Tommy, 2001, track 6) offers a historical reminder of the British imperial invasion of China in the 19th century and reasserts a Chinese identity. The song “Respect for da Chopstick Hip-​Hop” (DJ Tommy, 2001, track 9), expresses the message of respect for and solidarity with the different cultures and music styles of East Asian hip-​hop artists. “Beautiful Skin” (Chen, 2005) is a tribute to women and praises the contribution of wives and mothers to humanity, which is not a pervasive theme in hip-​hop songs, whether Western or Eastern. In the next section, I focus on MC Yan’s indie hip-​hop song “War Crime” (戰爭罪行) (2003) because it is the song regarded by Yan himself as being the most representative of the recurrent themes in his songs. Through analyzing the poetic features of this song, I want to show the unique Cantonese verbal art of MC Yan’s rapping style. MC Yan made “War Crime” in his home studio with DJ Frankie. He started circulating songs like “War Crime” on the Internet after launching his own website in 2002.1 In the beginning, this just consisted of beats, and then in 2003 demos and full songs were released online. MC Yan also sent the song to his hip-​hop artist friends in the United States, who were doing a compilation of anti-​Gulf War songs at that time. MC Yan’s anti-​ Gulf War song (“War Crime”) was the only song from Asia in this compilation. The beats of “War Crime” were made by DJ Frankie, and the lyrics were created by MC Yan. He did the lyrics first and then chose the beats from Frankie’s creations. The idea of “War Crime” came from his anger about the Gulf War; as MC Yan described, “The song’s lyrics were inspired by the current affairs.” Both MC Yan and DJ Frankie thought that they should do something to voice their protest against the blatant injustices shown in the war. In Table 12.1, I present first my transcription of the Cantonese rap lyrics of “War Crime” (using the Yale system, which is a well-​established writing system for transcribing Cantonese in the linguistic literature) and then my English translation of the Cantonese rap lyrics. “I started to bring in this style of writing lyrics since the 1990s,” said MC Yan in an interview with the author. The “style” that MC Yan refers to is that of Zack de la Rocha, a rapper, musician, poet, and activist in the United States. Zack is best known as the former lead vocalist and lyricist of the rock band Rage Against the Machine, one of the most politically charged bands ever to receive extensive airplay on radio and television. Zack has become one of the most visible champions of left-​wing causes around the world. MC Yan said that from day one, both he and members of his former rock band (NT) were influenced by Zack. Yan first came into contact with Zack’s music when he was studying visual art in France in the early 1990s. (Yan did not make it in the competitive Hong Kong education system. After high school, he worked for a while and then went to

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136   •   Angel M. Y.  Lin Table 12.1  War Crime (lyrics and performance by MC Yan) Stanza 1 1. 依家 終於知撚道 yih-​gaa jung-​yu ji-​lan-​dou 2. 乜野叫做道理唔通講陰功, 公然當全世界 無到 mat-​yeh giu-​jouh “douh-​leih mh-​tung gong yam-​gung,” gung-​yihn dong chyuhn sai-​gaai mouh-​dou 3. 乜撚野叫做渣住雙重標準 黎做 mat-​lan-​yeh giu-​jouh jaa-​jyuh seung-​chuhng biu-​jyun laih  jouh 4. 乜野大恰細 乜撚野叫做 霸道 mat-​yeh daaih-​hap-​sai, mat-​lan-​yeh giu-​jouh baa-​douh 5. 人類 文明究竟去撚到邊撚度 yahn-​leuih mahn-​mihng gau-​ging heui-​lan-​dou bin-​lan-​douh Hook (2 times) (::: indicates lengthening of the final syllable) 1. 唔撚::: 知呢乜撚野叫做戰爭罪行 mh-​lan:::-​ji ne mat-​yeh giu-​jouh jin-​jan jeui-​hahng 2. 唔撚 想再相信新聞 mh-​lan:::-​seung joi seung-​seuin san-​mahn 3. 淨係覺得你條撚樣呢 就目中無人 jihng-​haih gok-​dak-​neih tiuh lan-​yeung ne, jauh muhk-​jung-​mouh-​yahn 4. 淨係見撚到你嚮度恰尻人 jihng-​haih gin-​lan-​dou neih heung-​douh hap-​gau-​yahn English translation of Cantonese rap lyrics Stanza 1 1. Now, I finally fucking know 2. What it means to say, “When (your action) is unreasonable, just say (you’re) miserable.” (The US is) publicly treating the (others in the) world as non-​existent 3. What it fucking means to have double standards in one’s actions. 4. What (it means to say) “Big boys bullying small ones,” (and) what “hegemony” means. 5. Human civilization is heading towards which fucking direction? Hook (2 times) (::: indicates lengthening of the final syllable) 1. don’t fucking::: know what is called War Crime. 2. don’t fucking::: want to believe in TV news any more. 3. only feel that in your fucking eyes there are no others. 4. only fucking see that you are bloodily bullying others. Notes: Yale transcription of original Cantonese rap lyrics (line numbers are added for easy reference). There are 16 lines in Stanza 1 and 12 lines in Stanza 2, but due to limited space, only the first 5 lines of Stanza 1 and the lines in the hook are shown here.

France to study visual art as tuition fees were cheaper in France.) At a rock concert in France, he witnessed the power of Zack’s music and was deeply impressed by his message. Since then, Yan has tried to infuse his lyrics with political messages by using puns or words that signify political events. Yan has also been under the influence of Western politically oriented “conscious rap” artists, such as Public Enemy. According to All Music Guide (an authoritative source of information on music artists), Public Enemy was the most influential and controversial rap group of the late 1980s, pioneering a variation of hardcore rap that was musically and politically revolutionary. With his powerful, authoritative baritone, lead rapper Chuck D rhymed about all kinds of social problems, particularly those plaguing black communities, often condoning revolutionary tactics

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and social activism. In the process, he directed hip-​hop toward an explicitly self-​aware, pro-​Black consciousness that became hip-​hop culture’s signature throughout the next decade.2 Another influence on Yan was the urban hip-​hop poet Saul Williams, who started the slam poetry movement in the United States. Yan frequently referred to the political messages of Saul in his urban poetry about different issues of racism and social and global injustice. We can see in the lyrics of “War Crime” that the message of anti-​US-​military-​invasion is expressed directly. Although no explicit reference to Iraq is made, “George Bush Airport” in Line 11 (Stanza 1) refers to Baghdad Airport in Iraq, which was renamed “George Bush Airport” after the US military action. In Line 11 (Stanza 1) the rapper asks which national flag is now “erected” at the George Bush Airport. According to Yan, this line invokes double layers of meaning and imagery. The first layer signifies the act of invasion by the US through invoking the image of US forces “erecting” the American national flag at Baghdad Airport and changing the airport’s name to “George Bush Airport”—​a blatant act of invasion and colonization of the territory of another sovereign country. The second layer invokes sexual connotations of “erection” of the male sexual organ in the act of penetration—​the “rape” metaphor/​image is invoked to refer to the military invasion of Iraq by US troops. In Cantonese slang usage, the phrase “che-​keih” (erecting a flag) is often used to refer to the sexual act of penis erection (connotating the male sexual act and male sexual power). The Cantonese vulgar word “lan” is used in almost every line of “War Crime” to express an angry voice in protest and condemnation of the US initiation of war on Iraq. In Cantonese vulgar speech, there are five monosyllabic sex-​related words frequently used to express anger or to intensify emotions: “diu” (to fuck), “gau” (penis), “lan” (penis), “chaht” (penis), and “hai” (vagina). Although four of these five words are nouns in their literal meaning, their word class status often changes in different contexts. In the context of the “War Crime” lyrics, the noun “lan” (literally meaning “penis”) is used not as a noun but as an emotion-​intensifier in most instances. For instance, in Line 1 of Stanza 1, “ji-​lan-​dou” can be translated roughly as “fucking knows.” “Ji-​dou” means “know” and inserting “lan” into the word (“ji-​lan-​dou”) does not change the basic meaning of the word but only adds a layer of strong emotional meaning—​for example, that of anger, frustration, condemnation, and so on (its meaning very much depends on the context). Almost every line of “War Crime” is emotionally intensified by the insertion of “lan” into key compound words in each sentence. Table 12.2 shows some more examples of the emotion-​intensifying usage of the vulgar word “lan” in the “War Crime” lyrics. Table 12.2  Examples of the use of the Cantonese vulgar word “lan” (撚) as an emotion intensifier Examples from stanza 1 知道ji-​dou (know) 知撚道ji-​lan-​dou (fucking know) (Line 1) 乜野mat-​yeh (what) 乜撚野mat-​lan-​yeh (what fucking) (Lines 3 & 4) 去到heui-​dou (go to) 去撚到 heui-​lan-​dou (go fucking to) (Line 5) 邊度bin-​douh (where) 邊撚度bin-​lan-​douh (where fucking) (Line 5) 卑鄙bei-​pei (despicable) 卑撚鄙bei-​lan-​pei (fucking despicable) (Line 10) 至大ji-​daaih (the biggest) 至撚大ji-​lan-​daaih (the fucking biggest) (Line 15) 自大 jih-​daaih (self-​important) 自撚大 jih-​lan-​daaih (self-​fucking-​important) (Line 16) Examples from the hook 唔知mh-​ji (don’t know) 唔撚:::知mh-​lan:::-​ji (don’t fucking know) (Line 1) 唔想mh-​seung (don’t want) 唔撚:::想mh-​lan:::-​seung (don’t fucking want) (Line 2) 見到gin-​dou (can see) 見撚到gin-​lan-​dou (can fucking see) (Line 4)

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MC Yan said that the use of Cantonese chou-​hau adds to the “fo” (a Cantonese word literally meaning “fire”) or force of the song. He said the frequent use of English slang in Western hip-​hop has encouraged him and made him bold enough to use Cantonese chou-​hau in his songs—​to be more lively, to speak in the real voice of “siu-​shih-​mahn” (literally, “little-​city-​people,” in everyday usage, this expression refers to the underprivileged and powerless people in society). The liberal use of Cantonese vulgar words thus adds to the defiant tone and mood of the song, expressing the voice of the working classes and the marginalized. It should be pointed out that the theme of the song is the Gulf War, not a local issue in Hong Kong; in making this song, MC Yan is not targeting local audiences. In an informal conversation with the author (2007), Yan said he made this song to participate in the global network of conscious artists protesting the war crimes of the United States. Apart from conveying the attitude of the rapper, the insertion of the Cantonese vulgar word “lan” into bi-​syllabic/​bi-​morphemic compound words to form tri-​syllabic/​tri-​morphemic compound words (e.g. jih-​lan-​dou, mat-​lan-​yeh, heui-​lan-​dou, bin-​lan-​douh) also serves poetic and musical functions. The resulting tri-​syllabic units synchronize well with the recurrent three-​ beat drum patterns of the music. This is a conscious poetic strategy employed by MC Yan to tightly integrate the rap with the music. Yan deliberately makes use of the special features of the Cantonese morpheme: every morpheme is realized phonologically as one syllable with one of six different tones (i.e. six different pitches, which can form a melody; tones differentiate meaning in the Cantonese language). Yan said he consciously makes the different words (with different tones) function like the musical beats made by an instrument such as the piano or drums. For instance, when he spits out the words “ji-​lan-​douh,” the three-​syllable unit fits well with the three-​beat drum rhythm of the music. We can see that in the first five lines of Stanza 1, there is a high density of such three-​syllable units (see Table 12.1): “jih-​lan-​dou, mat-​lan-​yeh” (2 times), “heui-​lan-​dou, bin-​lan-​douh.” The Cantonese vulgar word “lan,” apart from serving as an emotion intensifier, also serves as a central rhyming pillar of the three-​beat drum pattern; that is, X-​lan-​Y. This contributes to the overall assonance of the first five lines. This rhyme tactic is similar to that found in the lyrics of American rapper Pharoahe Monch, as discussed by Alim (2003, p. 63): for example, “rhymes to spit” and “dimes to git.” Another example which is similar to this pattern can be found in the frequently used phrase in the 1996 movie Yi-​bo-​laai Behng-​Duhk (The Ebola Syndrome):  “Diu-​gau-​neih, hap-​gau-​ngo!” (Fuck you! (You’re) fucking bullying me!). The pattern is: X-​gau-​Y. Again, the vulgar word “gau” serves as a rhyming pillar in each of these three-​beat  units. Adding “lan” in the hook in “War Crime” also serves another musical function. The word “lan” in the first two lines of the hook are phonologically stressed and lengthened. This fits with the rhythmic pattern of the music for the hook. If “lan” is not inserted, the first word, “mh” (don’t), as a phonologically non-​salient syllabic nasal, cannot be stressed and lengthened. Inserting “lan” after “mh” to form “mh-​lan:::” (don’t fucking:::) serves the need for a stressed/​lengthened syllable in the second position of the line while also providing a repeated forceful phrase (don’t fucking:::) to start off the first two lines of the hook. In this connection it is important to analyze the intertextuality between the lyrical text of “War Crime” and other colloquial media texts. For instance, the final line of the song, “Diu-​gau-​ neih, hap-​gau-​ngo!” was actually a sampling of speech (Pennycook, 2007) from Anthony Wong,

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a popular Hong Kong movie star who plays a social underdog in The Ebola Syndrome (made by famous Hong Kong movie director Herman Yau early in his career). This dark movie was about an ex-​prisoner and a social outcast who perceived himself as being constantly bullied by others. In each instance of perceived bullying, the male character responded by defiantly spitting out the line “Diu-​gau-​neih! Hap-​gau-​ngo!” MC Yan said this line is familiar to most working-​class males in their thirties in Hong Kong now. In this short line of merely six monosyllabic words, two of the five powerful Cantonese vulgar words—​“diu” (fuck) and “gau” (penis)—​appear three times. The emotional force of this utterance is very strong; the defiant tone is intensified by a high concentration of Cantonese vulgar words within a short utterance. By ending “War Crime” with the sampling of this utterance from Anthony Wong in the movie, it pushes the defiant “fo” of the song to the limit. Apart from the use of Cantonese slang verbal art, lyrical euphony (i.e. harmony of sounds in the lyrics) in the song “War Crime” is achieved linguistically at several levels simultaneously: through phonetic, lexical, and syntactic units which are structurally parallel. In English-​language hip-​hop, a lot of rappers mobilize the strategies of homophony, metonymy, and both sentence internal and sentence final rhymes (Perry, 2004). For a comprehensive list, Geneva Smitherman’s eight features of signification in rap lyrics are often cited in rap lyrics research: indirection, circumlocution; metaphorical-​imagistic; humorous/​ironic, rhythmic fluence and sound; teachy but not preachy; directed at person or persons usually present in the situational context; punning/​play on words; and introduction of the semantically or logically unexpected (as cited in Perry, 2004, p. 62). Alim’s (2003) fascinating analysis of the complex internal rhymes of Pharoahe Monch’s Internal Affairs lyrics uncovers the highly sophisticated rhyme tactics that US hip-​hop rhymers have mastered (e.g. compound internal rhymes and chain rhymes, back-​to-​back chain rhymes and mosaic rhymes). In MC Yan’s lyrics, we see another level of sound and word play that capitalizes on the special tonal and syllabic features of the Cantonese language. Cantonese is a monosyllabic, tonal language. Every character is pronounced as one syllable with a tone (i.e. each character has the following syllabic structure: (C) V (C) + pitch) (Bauer & Benedict, 2011). Every character is usually also a morpheme that combines with other characters (morphemes) to form two-​, three-​, or four-​syllable/​character words. These multisyllabic/​morphemic words or phrases have their own tonal patterns; for instance, “mh-​lan-​seung” (don’t fucking want) (tonal pattern: 4-​2-​2), which is identical in its tonal pattern to “tiuh-​lan-​yeung” (that fucking asshole) (both phrases appear closely together in the lines of the hook in “War Crime”; see Table 12.1). These two three-​syllable phrasal units have the same tonal pattern (4-​2-​2), share the same central pillar (lan), and have the same rhymes in the last syllable (eung). MC Yan calls this “double rhyme” or “three-​dimensional rhyme,” meaning that several levels of phonetic parallelism can be drawn upon to create a multilevel rhyming aesthetic; for example, rappers can use words with same vowels (rhyming), same consonants (alliteration), same sounds (homonyms), same number of syllables, and same or similar syllable-​pitch (tone) patterns for multisyllabic words. The aesthetic appeal in “War Crime” is partly constructed through different ways of creating a large number of two-​or three-​syllable words or phrasal units that have similar phonetic features (e.g. same or similar verbs, rhymes, and tonal patterns). This kind of multilevel rhyming is similar to what Alim (2003) calls “a multi-​rhyme matrix” in US hip-​hop and the “moraic assonance” patterns (i.e. the rhyming of the “moras”—​syllable-​like units) in Japanese rock (Tsujimura, Okamura, & Davis, 2007, p. 223). For

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instance, Pharoahe’s multi-​rhyming tactic is shown in a string of quadruple rhymes throughout the verse in Alim’s analysis (2003, p. 62): Feel

in

the

flow

Drill

in

the

hole

Kill

in

the

show

Grill

in

the

dough

Will

in

to

blow

Feelin’

’em on

the

low

Similar quadruple but partial rhymes can also be found in MC Yan’s “War Crime” lyrics, as shown in Table 12.3. Apart from using different multisyllabic rhyming tactics, to create a contrastive effect, MC Yan also employs pairs of multisyllabic words which differ only in the tone value of one syllable and yet convey totally different meanings. For instance, look at lines 15 and 16 in Stanza 1: 15. 全世界至撚大 應該係聯合國 cheuhn sai-​gaai ji-​lan-​daaih, ying-​goi haih lyuhn-​hahp-​gwok 16. 唔撚係你 自撚大 阿美利堅 合眾帝國 mh-​lan-​haih neih jih-​lan-​daaih aa-​meih-​leih-​gin hahp-​jung-​dai-​gwok 15. In the whole world, the fucking biggest (organization) should be the United Nations. 16. It’s not you who are self-​fucking-​important—​the American Imperialist Empire. By putting two similar tri-​syllable units that differ only in the tone of the first syllable in parallel syntactic positions in the two sentences, the meaning of the two words are put in sharp contrast: “ji-​lan-​daaih” (tones: 3-​2-​6; the fucking biggest) versus “jih-​lan-​daaih” (tones: 6-​2-​6; self-​fucking-​important). In fact, this kind of contrastive lexical play is a characteristic of MC Yan’s lyrical style; for example, “dan ngoh wah-​neih-​ji” (tones: 5-​6-​2-​1; let me tell you), “ngoh wah-​ji-​ neih!” (tones: 5-​6-​1-​2; I couldn’t care less about you!). Apart from the abovementioned verbal play, MC Yan also mobilizes metaphors, metonyms, and word puns to connote different levels of political meaning. For instance, as discussed earlier, the Cantonese rape metaphor (“che-​keih”—​erecting the flag) is used to refer to the US occupation of Iraq’s territory. And in Line 10 of Stanza 2, “Sitting inside the planes and cannons (trucks), you depend on the fucking TV (screen),” the word “screen” has a double reference. On the literal level, it refers to the control screen of the military gear (e.g. inside the planes or cannon trucks). On another level, as MC Yan pointed out to the author, it refers to the screens of people’s television sets at home. The whole notion of war, in contemporary times, is shaped and constructed by mass media practices through the screen, and here MC Yan mentioned to the researcher that the screen (the media) has shaped and determined people’s consciousness about the Gulf War—​people’s idea of the war has largely been shaped by mainstream media discourse (the “screen”). These are the double meanings that MC Yan wants to express through the lyrics in Line 10 of Stanza 2. By “keeping it real” in the Hong Kong context—​drawing on Cantonese chou-​hau as a confrontational, transgressive lyrical style and defiant voice of the underprivileged—​MC Yan can be said to have appropriated the spirit of many “conscious hip-​hop” (Forman, 2010) artists worldwide (who also do not shy away from using slang to voice the plight and everyday reality of the marginalized) and sown the seeds of conscious hip-​hop in Hong Kong. While Yan’s lyrics in the

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 MC Yan and his Cantonese Conscious Rap   •   141 Table 12.3  Partially rhyming four-​character clausal, phrasal, and lexical units with similar tonal patterns Tone pattern

English translation

Four-​character clausal units 順你者昌seuihn neih je cheung

6-​5-​2-​1

… those who obey you will live

逆你者死yihk neih je sei

6-​5-​2-​2

… those who disobey you will die

堂堂大國tohng tohng daih gwok

4-​4-​6-​3

… a big country

合眾帝國hahp jung dai gwok

6-​3-​3-​3

… the imperialist empire

人道主義yahn douh jyu yih

4-​6-​2-​6

… humanism

帝國主義dai gwok jyu yih

3-​3-​2-​6

… imperialism

干預主義gon yyuh jyu yih

1-​6-​2-​6

… interference-​ism

Four-​character lexical units

Note: The six tones in Cantonese are marked by numerals: 1 = High Level, 2 = High Rising, 3 = Mid Level, 4 = Low Falling, 5 = Low Rising, 6 = Low Level.

LMF days mainly centered on voicing the feelings of the underprivileged working-​class youth in Hong Kong, in the song “War Crime,” Yan has, in his words to the author, “evolved from talking about just social injustice in Hong Kong to talking about social injustice in the world.” MC Yan told the author that his lyrical style has evolved as he has read more books and learnt more things about the world. “I want to self-​educate and invite other Hong Kong people to self-​ educate, by learning about what’s happening in the world, and we cannot just sit there and do nothing!” Yan readily defines himself as a public intellectual, and he says he will keep doing what he thinks is the right thing to do, although he remains in the margins of the mainstream music scene in Hong Kong. His debut album, also his last, Judge By Self, was released in 2014 by Clot Media Division funded by Edison Chen. The songs on this album were distributed freely on the Internet. Yan did not seem to care about its reception and pushed forward to do what he thinks is the right thing. The songs and lyrics encouraged Hong Kong people to exercise their critical judgement. In his latest WhatsApp exchanges with the author (August 2018), he indicated that he is retiring soon and not making any new rap. In his words, “I do SOUND, NOT music.” Yan seems, in recent years, to have morphed into a Daoist mystic sound maker. Like wine that has mellowed, Yan’s angry Cantonese chou-​hau rap style is not so much “in your face” now. However, to return to the question of Hong Kong Hustle, quoted at the beginning of this chapter—​“Has Hong Kong really understood Hip Hop?”—​I think at least MC Yan (and a small group of indie artists) has, and he has also made a good contribution to creating a unique indie Cantonese conscious hip-​hop style of rap, a distinctive legacy that was made in Hong Kong. Acknowledgments The author is indebted to MC Yan for sharing his lyrics and his time in numerous formal and informal research interviews in the past 12 years. This chapter is a revised and updated version of the author’s earlier work:  “Respect for da Chopstick Hip Hop”:  The politics, poetics, and pedagogy of Cantonese verbal art in Hong Kong. In Alim, H. S., Ibrahim, A., and Pennycook, A. (Eds.), Global Linguistic Flows: Hip Hop Cultures, Youth Identities, and the Politics of Language (pp. 159–​177). London/​New York: Routledge,  2008.

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Notes 1 His website, www.chinamantaggin.org, is no longer in operation. 2 See: www.allmusic.com/​artist/​public-​enemy-​mn0000856785.

References Alim, H. S. (2003). On some serious next millennium rapishhh: Pharoahe Monch, Hip Hop poetics, and the internal rhymes of internal affairs. Journal of English Linguistics, 31(1),  60–​84. Bakhtin, M. M. (1981). The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Austin: University of Texas Press. Bauer, R. S., & Benedict, P. K. (2011). Modern Cantonese Phonology. New York, NY: De Gruyter. Bolton, K., & Hutton, C. (1995). Bad and banned language: Triad secret societies, the censorship of the Cantonese vernacular, and colonial language policy in Hong Kong. Language in Society, 24(2), 159–​186. Bolton, K., & Hutton, C. (2005). A Dictionary of Cantonese Slang. Singapore: National University of Singapore Press. Forman, M. (2010). Conscious hip-​hop, change, and the Obama era. American Studies Journal, 54. doi: DOI 10.18422/​ 54-​03. Hong Kong Hustle (2019). “Hong Kong hip hop history—​in videos!” Retrieved from www.hongkonghustle.com/​music/​ 993/​hong-​kong-​hip-​hop-​history-​s cene-​g roups-​b ands-​music-​rapper-​mc-​jin-​yan-​dj-​tommy-​lmf-​24-​herbs-​ mastamic-​fama-​bfd-​goldmountain-​sam-​lee/​. Jay, T. (1992). Cursing in America: A Psycholinguistic Study of Dirty Language in the Courts, in the Movies, in the Schoolyards and on the Streets. Philadelphia, PA: John Benjamins Publishing. Ma, E. K. W. (2002). Emotional energies and subcultural politics in post-​1997 Hong Kong. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 3(2), 187–​190. Pennycook, A. (2007). Language, localization and the real:  Hip-​hop and the global spread of authenticity. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 6(2), 101–​115. Perry, I. (2004). Prophets of the Hood: Politics and Poetics in Hip-​Hop. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Tsujimura, N., Okamura, K., & Davis, S. (2007). Rock rhymes in Japanese hip-​hop rhymes. Japanese/​Korean Linguistics, 15, 222–​233. Willis, P. (1990). Common Culture: Symbolic Work at Play in the Everyday Cultures of the Young. Cambridge, UK: Open University Press.

Discography Chen, Edison (2004). Please Steal this Album. Hong Kong: EEG Music. Chen, Edison (2005). Beautiful skin. Hazy: The 144 Hour Project. Hong Kong: EEG Music. DJ Tommy (2001). Respect for da chopstick hip hop. Respect for Da Chopstick Hip Hop. Hong Kong:  Warner Music Hong Kong. MC Yan (2003). War Crime. Independent single released in 2003 on MC Yan’s website: www.chinamantaggin.org (now defunct). Monch, Pharoahe (1999). Internal Affairs. New York: Rawkus Records/​Priority Records.

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Contemporary Cantopop

Cantopop was for a time a synonym for Hong Kong. Cantopop was Hong Kong. In this sense, Cantopop reflects the multilingual and multicultural character of the metropolis. The contemporary music of Hong Kong Cantopop is one of assemblage. Not just Cantonese, or Mandarin, or English, but a strange and beautiful assemblage of languages and cultures. Tracing the historical development of popular music in Hong Kong from the 1920s through to the present, Benson and Chik (Chapter 13) demonstrate that multilingual performance was the norm of the postwar period. In the 1950s, Mandarin shi dai qu (時代曲) coexisted with Cantonese popular songs. The main star of shi dai qu, Grace Chang (葛蘭), was the face of youth in the Hong Kong cinema while singing Carmen in Mandarin and English in her powerful voice or a Calypso number in a playful voice. The rise of English-​singing youth bands and artists in the 1960s, like The Lotus, Teddy Robin and the Playboys, Joe Junior and the Side Effects, and D’Topnotes, painted the music of youth as English-​only. However, many of these English-​singing young stars morphed into the Cantopop stars of the 1970s. Cantopop has come a long way from being just songs in Cantonese to being multilingual performances. It is simply not possible to find one Cantopop star who performs exclusively in Cantonese. Overseas markets dictate the use of additional languages as well as Cantonese. From the 1980s onwards, Cantopop stars have released tracks and albums in different languages—​Mandarin, Cantonese, Taiwanese, Japanese, Korean, Malay, and English—​ to satisfy local and overseas market demands. Whether the song is sung in Cantonese or not, it is the musical style and production that identifies its genesis (Wong, 2007). It can be said that Cantopop is more of style of music produced in Hong Kong than necessarily to do with the language of the song. Cantopop has always been about cross-​platform marketing as well. In the 1950s, Cantonese opera stars like Yam Kim Fai (任劍輝) and Bak Sheut Sin (白雪仙) were superstars with presences on the stage, in the cinema, on records, on radio, and later on TV. The darlings of the 1960s—​ Josephine Siao (蕭芳芳) and Connie Chan (陳寶珠)—were first and foremost teenage movie stars, then pop stars who sang the movie theme tunes. Siao and Chan were also teenage female idols who went on adventures and fell in love, yet still maintained the girl-​next-​door image. However, as teenage idols, they never endorsed commercial products. Of course, in the 1960s, that would have been an innovative concept. In this way, then, the female duo Twins, Gillian Chung (鍾欣潼) and Charlene Choi (蔡卓妍), were following their predecessors. But Twins also pushed the boundaries of cross-​platform marketing to a new level. At the height of their career, their product endorsements might have been at a record high as well. As Wang and Ng (Chapter 14) argue, the rise of Twins in the 2000s was a shrewd marketing campaign rather than the merit of

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pure talents. The on-​screen and off-​screen omnipresence of the Twins and the careful planning of their public personae meant their songs were complementary to their manufactured star personae. The smart marketing also bombarded a new generation of Cantopop audiences with consumer products and advertising, but in this round, Twins were endorsing brands that were for everyday consumption and products that teenagers could afford. The focus of tailoring a pop star to fit into the everyday prospect of a teenager’s life opened up new spaces for creating stars. As Wang and Ng point out, Twins were products of streamlined conglomerate enterprise. As stars for the masses, Twins sold us the dreams of young people, teenage romance, growing up, concerns about study, and friendship. Twins were the feminine figures who sang about their little worlds and their everyday problems, but ultimately Twins represented the nostalgia of lost youth. Eventually the audience graduated from the bubblegum pop of Twins. Mainstream Cantopop has a small space for artists who sing about more than romance. Before the factory-​manufactured Twins, two bands stood out: Beyond and Tat Ming Pair (達明一派). Both bands came to prominence in the 1980s band scene and sold us romance and something more. It is the something more that makes the audience still nostalgic for both bands. That something was social awareness and reflexivity, and the music of both Beyond and Tat Ming Pair gave us the continuous construction of social imaginaries that were built from the 1970s Cantopop. If Sam Hui’s work gives us the Hong Kong identity project 1.0, then it is possible to say that, collectively, Tat Ming Pair’s and Beyond’s work is the Hong Kong identity project 2.0. They urged us to be critical of our Hong Kong identity and to see it as more than mere everyday toil. Tat Ming Pair were political from the start, and many of their songs referenced the political events that were important to Hong Kong people during the late 1980s and 1990s. The duo Tats Lau (劉以達) and Anthony Wong (黃耀明) released their first album in 1986 and were among the first group of musicians who explored gender fluidity and sexual orientation. The duo also used their songs to express political discontent. After their disbandment, Lau and Wong took different directions in their solo careers. Lau took on a stronger movie screen presence and worked in music production. Wong became more involved in social movements, especially in pro-​democratic and LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) activism. Chow, de Kloet, and Schmidt (Chapter 15) examine the preparation for the duo’s most recent reunion concert in 2017, showing us a rare glimpse of the stages and steps in aligning a concert production with political messages. Other than Denise Ho’s (何韻詩) live performances, Tat Ming Pair’s reunion concerts could possibly be the only venue for the political performance of Cantopop on stage. Beyond is the other band that lives well in the collective memory of Hong Kong people, especially during difficult times. However, with the passing of Beyond’s main creative force, Wong Ka Kui (黃家駒), in 1993, the band members went their own different ways. One song, “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” (海闊天空) (1993), captured the local imagination. This song is a standard number for annual commemoration of the June 4 Movement and July 1 protest. During the 2014 Umbrella Movement, this song again surfaced as one of the anthems. This song has frequently been branded as the natural selection to protest against oppressive governance, especially among the generations who experienced the political events of 1989. There is nostalgia about the song. But using interviews with participants in the Umbrella Movement, Kong and Fung (Chapter 16) show that the song did not necessarily resonate with a new generation of protestors. While older protestors could build a continuous connection of the song with other protests and social movements in the last two decades, younger protestors did not see the same connection, especially with the Umbrella Movement.

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A new generation of protestors wanted and needed a new protest song for their social imaginaries of Hong Kong. This preamble was written at the time of the 2019 Hong Kong anti-​ Extradition Bill protests, when some of the reflective work on the 2014 Umbrella Movement was still fresh and still struck a chord with many Hong Kong people. With fresh atrocities faced by protestors, music has played an even more important role. Protestors’ 2019 choices of protest music were surprising, but these choices projected an international outlook. The English version of “Do You Hear the People Sing?” from the 1980 musical Les Misérables is probably the song most commonly performed by protestors in 2014 and 2019. Contemporary Cantopop protest music has moved from a regional pan-​Chinese outlook to the creation of a social imaginary (Taylor, 2003) that linked the young protestors with the French Revolution. However, there is a marked difference between the 2014 and 2019 representations. The 2014 Umbrella Movement produced one local original song—“Umbrella Revolution” (撐起雨傘). In October 2014, the official song “Umbrella Revolution” was released with music and lyrics written by Pan and Lin Xu (林夕) and sang by popular Cantopop stars including Denise Ho, Anthony Wong, Yiu Ming (黃耀明), Ellen Loo (盧凱彤), Kay Tse (謝安琪), Deannie Ip (葉德嫻), and RubberBand. This locally written Cantonese song embraced the many facets of Hong Kong pop music—​the coming together of stars from different eras, and the mainstream and indie music scenes. The song also follows another Cantopop tradition, being sung in Cantonese with lyrics written in Standard Written Chinese. The use of Standard Written Chinese allows the possibly of a wider reception among all audiences who understand Chinese (not just Cantonese). This appeal to a pan-​Chinese audience is also extended to the rendition of “Do You Hear the People Sing?” In 2014, people of Hong Kong began to use the English version of “Do You Hear the People Sing?” during the Occupy Central Movement and Umbrella Movement. In May 2014, a Cantonese version, “Who Has Yet to Speak?” (問誰未發聲), began to circulate on the Facebook page of Occupy Central with Love and Peace. The Cantonese version asked the Hong Kong people to take up the rightful duty to “defend our city” (試問誰還未發聲 /​ 都捨我其誰衛我城) for truth and for our conscience, for the future and freedom of the city. The lyrics explicate the moral responsibility of Hong Kong people as the natural and rightful defenders of Hong Kong, having the responsibility, and the freedom, to determine our future (人既是人 /​ 有責任有自由決定遠景). The tone is proud, strong, and defiant. The Cantonese version was not attributed to any known lyricist, but the lyrics immediately struck a chord among the protestors and different renditions became popular. The circulation of the Cantonese version led to various recorded versions on YouTube, the most popular one being sung by a little girl. Other popular renditions included a music video by a group of Academy of Performing Arts graduates (including actor Anthony Wong Chau-​sang 黃秋生 and singer Hin Cheung 張敬軒), and a collage video of self-​submitted videos by news commentators. Of course, an intriguing observation is that both the English version and the Cantonese cover version were simultaneously sung by protestors. However, in order to understand the moral justification and obligation to stand up and protest, as explicated in the Cantonese version, one has to understand Cantonese and Standard Written Chinese. The Cantonese rendition limits a social imaginary that is only available to the Cantonese-​speaking Hongkongers. Protestors of 2019 have not revisited the Cantonese version to the same extent as the English version (SBS News, 2019). The English version has a simple and direct message that seems to resonate with the protestors: “Do you hear the people sing?/​Singing a song of angry men? It is the music of a people/​Who will not be slaves again!” The direct reference to the musical, the Victor

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Hugo novel and the historical event linked the imaginaries of young protestors to their French counterparts who, in times gone by, revolted against an oppressive and inefficient government. The English lyrics “It is the music of a people/​Who will not be slaves again!” project the same sentiment as the first line of the Chinese anthem “March of the Volunteers” (義勇軍進行曲)—​ “Arise! Ye who refuse to be slaves!” (起來！不願做奴隸的人們！). Though the sentiment might have been similar, the deliberate language choice points to a broader affiliation of a globalized audience and encourages global news reporting. A quick Google news search of “do you hear the people sing Hong Kong” yields more than 59,000 results. Ironically, the 2019 protest has also claimed a Christian hymn, “Sing Hallelujah to the Lord,” (written by Linda Stassen-​Benjamin) as an anthem. The irony is not just that a contemporary Christian hymn was used, but that the song as sang in English has become the go-​to protest song. The hymn became an anthem because protestors utilized the nature of the song to redefine their gathering as being religious, thus exempting it from police permit under Hong Kong’s Public Order Ordinance. The simplicity of the hymn, with the repetition of only one line—​“Sing Hallelujah to the Lord”—​encourages choral singing and allows everyone to join in regardless of their proficiency in English. The use of this English hymn is not only an open opposition to the Chinese state atheism, but also a nod to a colonial language of English. “Sing Hallelujah to the Lord” is a prayer song, and Christians in Hong Kong turned the song into a prayer for what they believe to be a better Hong Kong. The use of a hymn also signals a wider participation of the church, when churches were opened to protestors to rest and heal. The unlikely marriage of a hymn and a citywide protest movement creates new soundscapes and social imaginaries. In late August and early September, a new song, “Glory to Hong Kong” (願榮光歸香港) was first uploaded to YouTube; then began its rapid circulation on various social media platforms. This Cantonese marching song became the new protest anthem for flash mob protests in different shopping malls all over Hong Kong. These flash mob events frequently drew thousands of citizens of all ages and from all walks of life. The song lyrics gave a narrative of protestors’ voices and provided the moral platform for the movement (BBC News, 2019). The anthem is a call to action to defend freedom and democracy in Hong Kong. First, the Chinese lyrics were translated into English and subtitled on YouTube videos. Soon, a full orchestra and choir performance of the song attracted close to 1.5 million views on YouTube in less than five days. Versions sung in English and Japanese were also released for a global reach. The protest songs will have come to a full circle when one song is imprinted onto the collective memory of Hong Kong people. The soundscapes of 2019 showcased the diversity of the Hong Kong music scene and soundscapes. The TV and radio stations are churning out pop songs in Cantonese and Mandarin, and the people on the street are chanting protest songs in English. We may not know how the social movement will develop, but we know that the contemporary music scene of Hong Kong will continue to be multilingual. Cantopop is the spirit of the work, but it does not dictate the language. References BBC News (2019). “Glory to Hong Kong: How the protesters got a new song.” BBC News, September 14. Retrieved from www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​asia-​china-​49661135. SBS News (2019). “ ‘Do you hear the people sing?’: Hong Kong students sing in protest at school assembly.” SBS News, September 5.  Retrieved from www.sbs.com.au/​news/​do-​you-​hear-​the-​people-​sing-​hong-​kong-​students-​sing-​in-​ protest-​at-​school-​assembly. Taylor, C. (2003). Modern social imaginaries. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Wong, C. C. (2007). Hong Kong’s Pop Soundscape. Hong Kong: Hong Kong SAR Government.

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Snapshots of Multilingualism in Hong Kong Popular Music Phil Benson and Alice Chik

Introduction Questions of language choice in the globalization of popular music have largely been framed within a dialectic between English as the “language of global pop” (Hesmondhalgh, 1998, p. 165) and its local and regional counterparts (Berger & Carroll, 2003). Discourses of “cultural imperialism” emphasizing the role of local languages in resistance to the domination of English-​language popular culture have largely given way to discourses of “cultural flow,” which attach greater value to multilingual practices in local contexts. Yet we still know relatively little about how language choices play out in specific popular music scenes at specific historical moments. This chapter addresses this issue in the context of Hong Kong from the early 1900s to the 2000s, where we find one of the most highly developed, multilingual urban music scenes in East Asia. Language choice has become particularly important in East Asian popular music, which is now dominated by genres such as J-​pop (Japanese), K-​pop (Korean), Mandapop (Mandarin Chinese), and Cantopop (Cantonese) that are defined as much by language as they are by musical style. The regional circulation of these genres, in the form of originals and local language covers, has led to complex patterns of multilingualism in the domain of popular music consumption. In the domain of production, Cantopop dominates Hong Kong popular music, but Mandarin and English are also widely used, by both independent and mainstream Cantopop artists. Multilingualism in popular music, in part, reflects multilingualism in the broader society, from its British colonial past to its transition to a Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China in 1997. Hong Kong is primarily a Cantonese-​speaking city, but census data point to high levels of multilingualism. In the 2016 by-​census, 96.7 per cent of the population reported that they knew Cantonese, 51.9 per cent knew English, and 50.6 per cent knew Mandarin, although English and Mandarin were the “usual language” of only 4.3 per cent and 1.9 per cent, respectively (Hong Kong Government, 2017). The census data reflects self-​reported data by Hong Kong residents on their competence in Cantonese, Putonghua (Mandarin), and English, and it does not reflect ethnicity. This suggests that most Hong Kong people know enough Cantonese, Mandarin, and English to enjoy songs in all three languages. Language Choice and Popular Music Two main approaches to the analysis of language choice in East Asian popular music can be identified, based on the notions of “cultural imperialism” and “cultural flow.” Cultural imperialism 147

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approaches assume that American popular culture is either replacing local cultures around the world or reducing them to vapid imitations of American forms. In the early days of popular music studies, Frith (1991, p.  268) argued for “a postimperial model of an infinite number of local experiences of (and responses to) something globally shared.” Language and authenticity are linked in Mitchell’s (2003, pp. 14–​15) observation that the overall global trend in hip-​hop and pop is towards the use of local languages as “resistance vernaculars” to the dominance of English. Such comments suggest that cultural imperialism approaches persist mainly in the assumption that local languages are preferred over non-​local languages in the production of popular music. Alternatives to the cultural imperialism stance often cite Appadurai’s (1990) work on cultural flow, which as Slobin (1992, p. 5) describes it, envisages a “planet in flux” in which “there is no overall sense to the system, no hidden agency which controls the flow of culture.” Lull’s (1995) model of transcultural flow emphasizes the “deterritorialization” and “reterritorialization” of global popular culture, leading to its “hybridization” and “indigenization” in local settings around the world (pp. 155–​156). Applied to Hong Kong popular music, Lull’s model would account for the de/​reterritorialization and hybridization/​indigenization of both Anglo-​American and East Asian (Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean) genres. In this chapter, we avoid a priori distinctions between local (Cantonese) and foreign (Mandarin and English) languages, or endogenous (Cantopop) and imported (Mandarin and English) genres in Hong Kong popular music. We start with the concept of places of production, as the records we examined were all published in Hong Kong. It is partly informed by Gitlin’s (2002, p. 30) observation that English-​language popular culture does not so much “supplant” local cultures as activate “a certain cultural bilingualism,” although we prefer to think in terms of cultural multilingualism in the Hong Kong context. Similar arguments can be made for Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean pop, which implies thinking about language choices in Hong Kong popular music not only in terms of an “East–​West” dialectic, but also in terms of the circulation of music and languages within the East Asia region (Chua, 2004; Shin, 2009). The complexity of language choices in the production of Hong Kong popular music, therefore, calls for an account that foregrounds historical factors and looks more closely at the ways in which global, regional, and local phenomena have interacted to produce increasingly complex layers of language choice since the early 20th century. Behind this complexity lie four major “language shifts” in the history of Hong Kong popular music. Language Shifts in Hong Kong Popular Music: 1920–​1970 The Rise of Cantonese Opera Very little has been written on Hong Kong popular music in the early 20th century, and what we do know has to be interpreted in the light of the fact that Hong Kong remained a young city with a largely transient population until the 1930s. Local recordings were made as early as 1903, but Yung (2006, pp.  46–​48) suggests that performers were mostly recruited from Guangzhou. The local form of Cantonese opera that developed in the late 1920s was, therefore, the first documented popular music genre that can be described as being endogenous to Hong Kong. Guangdong opera was sung not in Cantonese, but in a dialect known as “stage guanhua” (官話), which was unique to the Cantonese opera stage (Ferguson, 1988). Cantonese was not used systematically until Cantonese opera developed as a form of popular entertainment in Hong Kong

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theatres in the late 1920s. Among the influences on this language shift were Cantonese versions of popular arias (known as yeut kuk, 粵曲or Cantonese songs) performed by female artists in teahouses, restaurants, and brothels, which found their way back to the opera stage. Cantonese opera was the popular music from the late 1920s through to the early 1960s. According to Yung (1989, pp.  32–​33), the main Hong Kong theatres staged two five-​hour performances of Cantonese opera daily during the 1930s, with occasional all-​night shows, and at one point the 2,000-​capacity Taiping Theatre (太平戲院) was producing a new opera weekly. Hong Kong’s first radio station, ZBW, established in 1928, mainly broadcast Cantonese opera (Yung, 2006, p. 118), and around 50 Cantonese opera films were produced before World War II (Gouneau & Amara, 2006). American popular music and “social dancing” also had an impact on the popularization of Cantonese opera. Yu (2005, p. 268), for example, explains how contact between Cantonese opera musicians and Western musicians hired to accompany silent films in theatres that doubled as cinemas led to the incorporation of Western instruments into Cantonese opera. Other non-​ Chinese elements included Western harmonies, dance rhythms, plots from literature and movies, costume styles, well-​known melodies, and an occasional use of English words (Chik, 2010). The main linguistic impact of globalization was felt, however, not in the use of foreign languages, but in the use of Cantonese itself, which marked Hong Kong opera as a “modern” form of popular entertainment unique to urban Hong Kong. Shi Dai Qu (時代曲) During the 1930s, a rather different form of popular music emerged in Shanghai, which would later have a considerable impact on language choices in Hong Kong popular music. Larger and more cosmopolitan than Hong Kong, Shanghai had both a vibrant internationalized nightlife scene and a well-​established recording industry, centred on the EMI-​Pathé (百代唱片) company, with an annual production of more than 5 million discs in 1932 (Jones, 2001, p. 165). The origins of this music lie with Li Jinhui (黎錦暉), founder of the Bright Moon Song and Dance Troupe (明月歌舞團), a female group that fostered the careers of several singers who would become icons of Hong Kong popular music in the 1950s, including Zhou Xuan (周璇), Bai Hong (白光), and Yao Lee (姚莉). Li’s music was a pastiche of Chinese opera and folk song, American pop, and European classical elements, but the music that developed out of it, often described as Shanghai jazz or pop, was closer in sound and conception to American popular music than anything produced in pre-​war Hong Kong. Shanghai pop did not develop in the local Shanghainese dialect, but in Mandarin Chinese, marking a language shift in Chinese music that was later exported to Hong Kong. Chen (2005, p. 113) notes that Shanghai pop was often called “new” or “of the times,” and it was under the name shi dai qu (時代曲, music of the times) that it developed in Hong Kong in the 1950s. Following the Communist takeover of Shanghai in 1949, artists, composers, and film-​makers moved to Hong Kong en masse, and within a short period EMI-​Pathé had relocated its record production and manufacturing facilities. Before long, Mandarin was established as the second language of Hong Kong popular music. During the 1950s, Mandarin shi dai qu benefited from EMI-​Pathé’s greater capacity for investment, superior production facilities and techniques, and access to wider Southeast Asian markets. EMI-​Pathé did not record Cantonese artists, who appeared only on local labels with limited regional impact, and as a result shi dai qu became the dominant genre. The higher price

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of EMI-​Pathé’s records also meant that their Mandarin output had to be aimed at middle-​class audiences, leading to the development of more “artistic” styles. But in the late 1950s, shi dai qu and Mandarin film both moved away from a nostalgic attachment to pre-​war Shanghai towards more positive and energetic Hong Kong themes and styles, represented in youth movies and the songs of Grace Chang (葛蘭), one of the first popular second-​generation Mandarin singers in Hong Kong. From this point on, Mandarin popular song and film, which were products of isolation from, rather than domination by, mainland China, became integral elements in a multilingual Hong Kong popular culture. English Pop Like many other parts of the world, Hong Kong popular music experienced the “British invasion” of the early 1960s, symbolized in popular memory by the arrival of the Beatles in 1964. English had entered the local music scene somewhat earlier in the work of second-​generation or local Mandarin singers, such as Mona Fong (方逸華), Rebecca Pan (潘迪華), and Kong Ling (江玲), who developed multilingual repertoires for the higher end of a burgeoning late 1950s nightclub scene. These singers mainly performed in Mandarin and English (with a smattering of Japanese, Malay, Spanish, and French), and only occasionally in Cantonese. In the early 1960s, they were joined by, mainly Filipino, nightclub acts such as The Fabulous Echoes, D’Topnotes, Danny Diaz and the Checkmates, and the Reynettes, who catered for younger audiences and performed almost exclusively in English. These acts were followed in turn by Anglo-​American-​ style pop groups, such as Anders Nelsson and the Kontinentals, Joe Junior and the Side Effects, The Menace, Teddy Robin and the Playboys, and The Lotus, who also performed in English. This new wave of pop groups, who came from the multicultural milieu of Hong Kong’s growing population of English-​medium secondary students, briefly established a local popular music scene in which Cantonese and Mandarin played no role at all. Although they were later joined by musicians from the nightclub scene, their fan base came initially from school and church hall dances and afternoon “tea dances” held between mealtimes in popular Chinese restaurants. Many of these artists recorded for the locally based Diamond Records, which displaced EMI-​ Pathé as the leading record company in Hong Kong, largely because of its superior recording and production values and modern advertising and distribution methods. By the end of the 1960s, Mandarin shi dai qu and Cantonese opera were viewed as old-​fashioned, and in spite of sporadic production of Cantonese and Mandarin versions of Anglo-​American pop hits, no local Cantonese or Mandarin counterpart to the English pop scene emerged (Wong, 2000). At this point, the local songwriters and lyricists were mostly writing old-​fashioned Cantonese popular songs (粵語流行歌曲), which had not gained enough popularity among the young people who were educated in English-​medium schools (Wong, 2000). The Rise of Cantopop The fourth language shift in Hong Kong popular music was more fundamental than its predecessors in that it displaced Mandarin and English from the mainstream music scene for more than a decade (Chu, 2017). By the beginning of the 1980s, Mandarin and English had moved to the margins of the mainstream music industry, where they remain today in spite of their growing importance in recent years. This shift was all the more comprehensive for the fact that

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many of the established Mandarin and English-​language artists of the 1970s had switched over to Cantonese by the end of the decade. The new Cantopop is the product of the rising localized media industry and the maturing of the local record industry. The rise of Cantopop was one element in the emergence of a strong local identity in Hong Kong popular culture in the 1970s, alongside the rise of Cantonese TV drama and the revival of a Cantonese film industry that had gone into decline during the 1960s (Chu, 2006). Early Cantopop hits were first heard on TV entertainment shows (e.g. “Tower Ballad” 鐵塔凌雲 (1974) by Sam Hui 許冠傑 and Michael Hui 許冠文, performed on the Hui brothers’ show in 1970) or as drama theme songs (Sandra Lang’s 仙杜拉’s “Marriage of Laughter and Tears”啼笑因緣 in 1971), or in the case of Sam Hui’s landmark album Games Gamblers Play (鬼馬雙星) (1974) as a movie soundtrack. Although the 1970s is often seen as the decade in which Cantonese took over the local recording industry, the more popular artists either released English and Cantonese albums alternately (Sam Hui released four English and four Cantonese albums) or first established themselves as English or Mandarin performers and then switched to Cantonese. Among the leading Cantopop stars of the 1980s, Chelsia Chan (陳秋霞), Leslie Cheung (張國榮), George Lam (林子祥), and Alan Tam (譚詠麟, formerly of The Wynners溫拿) had earlier released English albums, while Paula Tsui released more than 20 Mandarin albums before her first Cantopop recording. From the beginning of the 1980s, however, the major labels had virtually ceased production of English and Mandarin recordings. The rise of Cantopop can be explained by a number of factors, including an increase in the locally born and Cantonese-​speaking proportions of the population (the latter rising from 79 per cent in 1961 to 96 per cent in 1991) and rising living standards, which combined to create a sense of belonging to Hong Kong that found voice in the convergence of Cantopop, TV drama, and film. The entry of the multinational PolyGram, which acquired Diamond Records in the 1970s, was also an important influence in the development of a mass market recording industry. The growth of this market was, ultimately, the most important factor behind the rise of Cantopop. The late 1970s, in fact, represented a peak for sales of English albums, by artists such as Chelsia Chan, The Wynners, and Teresa Carpio (杜麗莎); but at a time when a successful Cantopop album could sell more than ten times as many copies as an English album by the same artist, the shift to Cantonese made good economic sense. Although sales figures for records are unreliable, concert attendance figures give some idea of the size of the local market in the 1980s. In the 12,000-​ capacity Hong Kong Coliseum theatre (opened in 1983), using the latest arena technologies, top Cantopop artists regularly played 20 or more consecutive nights. In 1989, 1,350, 271 tickets were sold for 129 nights by ten Cantopop artists (Choi, 1990); and in 1992, Paula Tsui set a record for performances of 43 nights (representing a total audience of around 500,000), followed by Sam Hui with 41 nights and Anita Mui (梅艷芳) with 31 nights (Wong, 1997). Although commercially successful, Cantopop involved a loss of both musical and cultural diversity as the popularity of TV led to an emphasis on solo artists and image. One of the marked achievements of Cantopop was the elevation of Cantonese popular song from its earlier status as a “bad taste” counterpart to shi dai qu to a form that could be regarded as a legitimate site for the construction of Hong Kong identity within the domain of popular culture (Chu, 2006; Wong, 2000). Stylistically, Cantopop has been strongly influenced by Anglo-​American and Japanese pop, with the repertoire including numerous Cantonese versions of English and Japanese songs. The use of Cantonese language may, in this sense, be its only defining characteristic (Choi, 1990; Ho, 2003). It is worth noting, however, that the usual language of Cantopop is not, strictly

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speaking, Cantonese but a form based on written Chinese, which sounds quite different to colloquial Cantonese when spoken (McIntyre, Cheng, & Zhang, 2002). Although Sam Hui’s use of “street Cantonese” in the 1970s forms part of the mythology of Cantopop as an exponent of a Hong Kong identity, colloquial Cantonese is now seldom heard in mainstream Cantopop (Chu, 2009). Cantopop is, nevertheless, a distinctive Hong Kong product performed in a language that the majority of the population understands, with locally based lyrics. What stands in need of explanation, therefore, is how and why, after a period in which Cantonese dominated local production, Mandarin and English have returned to play important roles in an increasingly multilingual local music scene. Multilingualism in Contemporary Hong Kong Popular Music The 1980s and early 1990s represent both the heyday of Cantopop and a brief period during which Hong Kong popular music was largely monolingual. Subsequently, Cantopop production and sales went into a decline—from which the industry has not yet recovered—that has been accompanied by a return to multilingualism in both the mainstream and independent music scenes. The most important factor prompting this return to multilingualism in the mid-​1990s was the opening up of mainland Chinese and Taiwanese markets as well as markets among Chinese diaspora in North America, Europe, and Southeast Asia. In conjunction with declining sales in Hong Kong, the opening up of these markets led a number of artists to experiment with Mandarin albums. In the 1980s, the popularity of Cantopop in mainland China was mainly based on circulation of pirated cassette tapes of Cantonese originals, but in the early 1990s a number of artists held concerts in China, including Alan Tam, Leon Lai (黎明), Sandy Lam (林憶蓮), Sally Yeh (葉倩文), and Grasshopper (草蜢), opening up a market for imported Cantonese CDs (Fung, 2003; Ho, 2000, 2003; Wong, 1997). Major Cantopop artists also began to release Mandarin CDs for mainland and overseas markets, which were often not released in Hong Kong. The strategy of major artists releasing roughly one Cantonese and one Mandarin album per year has continued into the 21st century: Andy Lau (劉德華) had released at least 23 Mandarin albums by 2009; Joey Yung (容祖兒) released 9 Mandarin albums between 2001 and 2018; and Eason Chan (陳奕迅) released 16 between 1996 and 2018. Although the use of Mandarin by Cantopop artists is strongly motivated by a drive to compete in regional and world markets, it has also led to a renewal of interest in Mandarin songs in Hong Kong. The use of Mandarin by Hong Kong-​based artists appears to be more and more acceptable to local audiences. Artists often include one or two Mandarin songs on their Cantonese albums, and one singer-​songwriter, Khalil Fong (方大同), has become popular locally by singing mostly in Mandarin. Record companies have also experimented with English albums for overseas markets, a practice that dates back to the 1970s when a version of Sam Hui’s Cantonese album The Contract (賣身契) (1978) was released in Taiwan with one Cantonese side and one English side. During the 1990s, Alan Tam, Sandy Lam, Alex To (杜德偉), Emil Chou (周華健), Anthony Lun (倫永亮), and Jacky Cheung (張學友) all released English-​language albums. Again, while these albums were produced for sale in Taiwan and Japan and are not well known in Hong Kong, the more recent trend has been towards the use of English for the Hong Kong market. Since the early 1990s, Cantopop artists have frequently covered English songs as B-​sides or album tracks, or included them in their concert repertoires. In the 1960s and 1970s, English cover songs were

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usually selected by record companies, but the trend since the 1990s has been more towards interpretations of artist-​selected songs, such as Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” and Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” (by Faye Wong 王菲, 1999, 2004), Madonna’s “Material Girl” and the Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me” (by Anthony Wong 黃耀明, 2000, 2004), or Radiohead’s “Creep” and Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” (by At17, 2006a, 2006b). Khalil Fong has recorded several covers of Stevie Wonder songs as well as Mandarin originals that show the influence of Stevie Wonder’s vocal style. Some people might anticipate that the handover in 1997 would prompt a total return to Cantonese-​and Mandarin-​oriented music production. However, music production can only reflect the historical development of the city. The post-​2000 generation of Cantopop artists, many of whom are fluent in English, having been born or educated overseas, has expanded the range of English recordings. In addition to covers, there are also original English compositions in English, such as Fiona Fung’s (馮曦妤’s) “My Pride (Proud of You)” (2008), Pong Nan’s (藍奕邦’s) “I Don’t Think He’s Coming” (2004), Janice Vidal’s (衛蘭’s) “Morning” (2009), Eason Chan’s “Nothing Ever Happened” (2009), and several compositions by Ivana Wong (王菀之). Janice Vidal has recorded an English version of Leon Lai’s Cantopop hit “Unspoken Love” (情深說話未曾講, under the title “Long Distance”) (2005), while Joey Yung recorded Cantonese and Mandarin versions of “My Pride” (2003), leading Fiona Fung to repackage her English original as a karaoke hit. Several Cantopop artists have released albums entirely in English or with a mixture of English and Cantonese or Mandarin songs, including Janice Vidal’s Morning (2009), Chet Lam’s (林一峰’s) Camping (2006) and Back to the Stars (2010), Soler’s X2 (2007) (one English disc and one Cantonese disc), and Khalil Fong’s Timeless (2009) (English, Cantonese and Mandarin). Unlike earlier English releases, these albums were aimed at multiple markets, including Hong Kong. It was possible that the local music industry was simply experimenting with both English and Chinese releases to maximize the targeted audience. As mentioned above , the list of artists leading the inclusion of English tracks in their music repertoires were frequently those returning from overseas, which would be part of the image packaged to the audience. So, in this sense, it is not surprising for the audience to hear a higher proportion of English in their music. Alongside the mainstream Cantopop industry, there is now also an active independent music scene made up of bands and singer-​songwriters who are worth mentioning in this chapter because a high proportion of them write and perform songs in English (Wang, 2018). Independent music production in Hong Kong has experienced several peaks (in the mid-​1980s, early 1990s, and early 2000s), but has never really reached a point of commercial viability where artists could survive by making music alone. Although the independent music scene has always supported multilingualism, earlier recordings were mostly in Cantonese. Since the turn of the century, however, most independent recordings have been in English (Benson & Chik, 2012). Two of the more critically acclaimed acts, The Pancakes and My Little Airport (who have both produced ten CDs), have produced a considerable body of English songs. There is still pressure upon artists to record in Cantonese if they want to be successful, but the decline of Cantopop is such that the gap between potential sales for Cantopop and independent releases has lessened considerably. Several of the multilingual artists mentioned above (Khalil Fong, At17, and Chet Lam) straddle the mainstream and independent scenes, which may well encourage linguistic experimentation within mainstream Cantopop. Lastly, English has also established a presence in Cantopop itself. Cantonese–​English code-​ switching, the inclusion of English songs on CDs, English titles for Cantonese songs, and English

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text on CD covers and in publicity materials have become common practices (Chan, 2009; Chu, 2006; Lin, 2009). Surveying Cantopop lyrics from the early 1970s to 2003, Chan (2009) observes that code-​switching has become more significant over time and has developed from the insertion of isolated words to include longer phrases and verses. English also appears to be used more frequently than colloquial Chinese in post-​1990 Cantopop lyrics. Artists including Eason Chan (“Because You’re Good to Me”) (2001), Candy Lo (盧巧音) (“Dancing All the Way” 站站舞) (2004), Fiona Sit (薛凱琪) (“Happy Till Dawn” 快樂到天亮) (2005), and Kary Ng (吳雨霏) (“Mountain Song” 山歌) (2007) have included English raps or choruses in Cantonese songs. These developments in the direction of multilingualism have also taken place in the context of stylistic diversification that has made it increasingly difficult to pin down exactly what the word “Cantopop” means. Cantopop is primarily identified by the use of Cantonese lyrics, but no major Cantopop artist has recorded exclusively in Cantonese and some have been highly experimental in their use of languages. Andy Lau, for example, has recorded not only in Cantonese and Mandarin but also in English, Japanese, Korean, Malay, and Taiwanese. Eason Chan has also recorded in Taiwanese, and during live performances he entertains fans by speaking in English, with British and Hong Kong accents, and Mandarin. Wong (2007, p. 111) thus makes the point that the stylistic and linguistic diversity of Cantopop is such that it might better be renamed “HK-​Pop.” Conclusion This chapter has described four language shifts in the history of Hong Kong popular music since the early 20th century, which led to the introduction of Cantonese, Mandarin, and English into the local music scene and the revival of Cantonese in the 1970s. It has also described the period since the 1990s as one in which multilingualism is increasingly becoming the norm. Our argument is, essentially, that this history does not support an account of language choices in locally produced popular music that emphasizes oppositions between languages of foreign domination and local resistance, or more broadly between the global and the local. Instead, it suggests that language choices are the product of specific historical and cultural developments associated with the impact of globalization on Hong Kong, which are not necessarily predictable in their linguistic consequences. On two occasions, this impact, primarily in the form of technological developments and concepts of modernity interacting with local demographic and social changes, favoured Cantonese. On two other occasions, Hong Kong’s contact with the world favoured Mandarin and English. At present, it is multilingualism, rather than one particular language, that is in vogue. References Appadurai, A. (1990). Disjuncture and difference in the global cultural economy. In M. Featherstone (Ed.), Global Culture: Nationalism, Globalism and Modernity (pp. 295–​310). London: Sage Publications. Benson, P., & Chik, A. (2012). English as an alternative language in Hong Kong popular music. In J. S. Lee & A. Moody (Eds.), English in Asian Popular Culture (pp. 15–​34). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Berger, H. M., & Carroll, M. T. (Eds.) (2003). Global Pop, Local Language. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Chan, H. S. B. (2009). English in Hong Kong Cantopop: Language choice, code-​switching and genre. World Englishes, 28(1), 107–​129.

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 Multilingualism in Hong Kong Pop Music   •   155 Chen, S. W. (2005). The rise and generic features of Shanghai popular songs in the 1930s and 1940s. Popular Music, 24(1), 107–​125. Chik, A. (2010). Creative multilingualism in Hong Kong popular music. World Englishes, 29(4), 508–​522. Choi, P. K. (1990). Popular culture. In R. Wong & J. Cheng (Eds.), The Other Hong Kong Report (pp. 537–​564). Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Chu, Y. W. (2006). The transformation of local identity in Hong Kong Cantopop lyrics (1970s–​1990s). Perfect Beat, 7(4),  32–​51. Chu, Y. W. (朱耀偉) (2009). Suiyue ruge: cihua xianggang yueyu liuxingqu 《歲月如歌：詞話香港粵語流行曲》 [Years as Songs: Lyrics in Hong Kong Cantopop]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing. Chu, Y. W. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chua, B. H. (2004). Conceptualizing an East Asian popular culture. Inter-​Asia Cultural Studies, 5(2), 200–​221. Ferguson, D. L. (1988). A Study of Cantonese Opera:  Musical Source Materials, Historical Development, Contemporary Social Organization, and Adaptive Strategies. Doctoral thesis, School of Music, University of Washington. Frith, S. (1991). Anglo-​America and its discontents. Cultural Studies, 5(3), 263–​269. Fung, Y. H. A. (2003). Marketing popular culture in China: Andy Lau as a pan-​Chinese icon. In C. C. Lee (Ed.), Chinese Media, Global Contexts (pp. 257–​269). London: RoutledgeCurzon. Gitlin, T. (2002). The unification of the world under the signs of Mickey Mouse and Bruce Willis: The supply and demand sides of American popular culture. In J. M. Chan & B. T. McIntyre (Eds.), In Search of Boundaries: Communication, Nation-​States and Cultural Identities (pp. 21–​33). London: Ablex Publishing. Gouneau, E., & Amara, L. (2006). Encylopédie du Cinema de Hong Kong. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Hesmondhalgh, D. (1998). Globalisation and cultural imperialism: A case study of the music industry. In R. Kiely & P. Marfleet (Eds.), Globalisation and the Third World (pp. 163–​183). London: Routledge. Ho, W. C. (2000). The political meaning of Hong Kong popular music: A review of sociopolitical relations between Hong Kong and the People’s Republic of China since the 1980s. Popular Music, 19(3), 341–​353. Ho, W. C. (2003). Between globalisation and localisation: A study of Hong Kong popular music. Popular Music, 22(2), 143–​157. Hong Kong Government (2017). Hong Kong 2016 Population By-​census Main Report: Volume 1. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Government Printer. Jones, A. F. (2001). Yellow Music: Media Culture and Colonial Modernity in the Chinese Jazz Age. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Lin, M. Y.  A. (2009). Englishization with an attitude:  Cantonese-​English lyrics in Hong Kong. In K. K. Tam (Ed.), Englishization in Asia (pp. 207–​217). Hong Kong: Hong Kong Open University Press. Lull, J. (1995). Media, Communication, Culture: A Global Approach. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. McIntyre, B. T., Cheng, C. W. S., & Zhang, W. Y. (2002). Cantopop: The voice of Hong Kong. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication, 12(2), 217–​243. Mitchell, T. (2003). Doin’ damage in my native language. In H. M. Berger & M. T. Carroll (Eds.), Global Pop, Local Language (pp. 3–​18). Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Shin, H. (2009). Reconsidering transnational cultural flows of popular music in East Asia: Transbordering musicians in Japan and Korea searching for Asia. Korean Studies, 33, 101–​123. Slobin, M. (1992). Micromusics of the West: A comparative approach. Ethnomusicology, 36(1),  1–​87. Wang, S. (2018). Music, social media and public pedagogy: Indie music in the post-​Cantopop epoch. Asian Education and Development Studies, 7(1),  42–​52. Wong, C. C. (1997). Making and Using Pop Music in Hong Kong. M.  Phil dissertation, Department of Sociology, The University of Hong Kong. Wong, C. C. (黃志淙) (2007). Liusheng 《流聲》 [Hong Kong’s Pop Soundscape]. Hong Kong:  Hong Kong SAR Government. Wong, C. W. (黃志華) (2000). Zaoqi xianggang yueyu liuxingqu (1950–​1974) 《早期香港粤語流行曲 (1950–​1974)》 [HK Cantopop in Early Times (1950–​1974)]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing. Yu, S. W. (余少華) (2005). Yue you ruci 《樂猶如此》 [Such are the Fading Sounds]. Hong Kong: International Association of Theatre Critics. Yung, B. (1989). Cantonese Opera: Performance as a Creative Process. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yung, S. S. (容世誠) (2006). Yueyun liusheng: Changpian gongye yu guangdong quyi (1930–​1953) 《粤韻留聲: 唱片工 業與廣東曲藝(1903–​1953)》 [Cantonese Opera from the Gramophone: A Cultural History (1903–​1953)], Hong Kong: Cosmos Books.

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Discography At17 (2006a). Creep. Sing Sing Sing: Live in Concert 2006. Hong Kong: People Mountain People Sea. At17 (2006b). Hallelujah. Sing Sing Sing: Live in Concert 2006. Hong Kong: People Mountain People Sea. Chan, Eason (2001). Because you’re good to me. It’s Me. Hong Kong: EEG Entertainment. Chan, Eason (2009). Nothing ever happened. 5/​F Blissful. Hong Kong: Cinepoly Records. Fong, Khalil (2009). Timeless. Hong Kong: Warner Music Hong Kong. Fung, Fiona (2008). Proud of you. A Little Love. Hong Kong: Sony BMG Music Entertainment. Hui, Sam (1974). Tower ballad. Games Gamblers Play. Hong Kong: Polydor Records. Hui, Sam (1978). The Contract. Hong Kong: Polydor Records. Lai, Leon (1996). Unspoken love. Perhaps. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Lam, Chet (2006). Camping. Hong Kong: LYFE Music. Lam, Chet (2010). Back to the Stars. Hong Kong: LYFE Music. Lang, Sandra (1974). Marriage of laughter and tears. Marriage of Laughter and Tears/​ Luckily it’s Sunday. Hong Kong: Crown Records. Lo, Candy (2004). Dancing all the way. 4 Seasons in One Day. Hong Kong: Sony. Nan, Pong (2004). I don’t think he’s coming. I Do not Want to be Loved by Everyone. Hong Kong: Sony. Ng, Kary (2007). Mountain song. Kary 18 Cuts. Hong Kong: Gold Typhoon Group. Sit, Fiona (2005). Happy till dawn. Me. Hong Kong: Warner Music. Soler (2007). X2. Hong Kong: K-​Town Music. Vidal, Janice (2005). Long distance. Day & Night. Hong Kong: Amusic. Vidal, Janice (2009). Morning. Morning. Hong Kong: Amusic. Wong, Anthony (2000). Material girl. Bright Daylight Anthony Wong Concert. Hong Kong: Universal Records. Wong, Anthony (2004). Don’t you want me. Anthony Wong Live 03. Hong Kong: Music Icon Record Limited. Wong, Faye (1999). Bohemian rhapsody. Faye HK Scenic Tour 98–​99. Hong Kong: EMI Records. Wong, Faye (2004). Heart of glass. Faye Wong Live. Hong Kong: Sony Records. Yung, Joey (2003). My pride (proud of you). My Pride. Hong Kong: EEG Entertainment.

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14

Our Little Twins Stars

Conglomerate-​Catalyzed Cross-​Media Stardom in the New Millennium Klavier J. Wang and Stephanie Ng

Introduction In line with the meaning of the word “star,” popular stars from different arenas are usually perceived as living far from ordinary lives while embodying qualities and values of fantasy as dazzling icons on the silver screen, fashion runway, and red carpet. However, the case of the Hong Kong “fallen star”—​Twins, a female duo that debuted in the summer of 2001—​is considered an exception. Are they an audacious deviance or envoys of the big boss? What did they do in Hong Kong, a city facing a cultural industry downturn at the time? Twins was officially formed in 2001. The members, Charlene Choi (蔡卓妍) and Gillian Chung (鍾欣桐), were both in their early twenties when Twins started. Their young, sweet, and energetic star image was the highlight of the group. From 2001 to 2004, the prime of Twins’ stardom, images of these two young girls were everywhere: MTV, albums, concerts, films, television shows, and commercials. Twins became a household name through cross-​media promotion. Before Twins, in the heyday of Hong Kong’s entertainment industry (the 1980s and 1990s), many popular stars were simultaneously Cantopop singers, film artists, and television actors, a phenomenon called cross-​media stardom. In Hong Kong, this cross-​media stardom is one of the most efficient ways to maximize revenue, because the audience base of a particular sector can be expanded through cross-​media promotion as fans of a singer are likely to watch movies starring this singer. Hong Kong has many successful cases of cross-​media stardom, achieved through rigorous cross-​media collaboration. This chapter focuses on Twins’ stardom from 2001 to 2004, with the rapid formation and growth of the “Twins effect” in Hong Kong, before their focus shifted to the mainland Chinese market. We explore the creation and reception of Twins’ cross-​media stardom by conducting in-​ depth interviews with 18 Twins fans and examining industry reports, entertainment magazines, and newspaper coverage. Stardom “Stars” are the result of contemporary cultural commodification. They are consumable and, more importantly, they generate profit. Stardom studies have stemmed from the Hollywood star phenomenon, which “consists of everything that is publicly available about stars” (Dyer, 2007, p. 85).

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In Dyer’s argument, a star’s image includes not only his/​her film work, but also his/​her promotional material, public appearances, press interviews, biographies, reviews, and even information about his/​her private life. This inscribes stars in a duality as “celebrities” and “ordinary” people (Ellis, 2007). On the one hand, stars are considered celebrities who are known to lead extraordinary lives—​ distant from the everyday routine of ordinary citizens, sometimes perceived as fairy tales, though full of deviance in many cases (e.g. drug abuse). On the other hand, according to stardom studies, fans are led to believe that they can learn more about their idols’ private lives (e.g. school life or hobbies) by reading gossip, interviews, and biographies, which generates equally important commercial value. This creates the duality of public and personal, showing fans that stars have similar feelings to ordinary people. Therefore, stardom is a mediated and represented project that, instead of being a static object, carries a polysemic social meaning. The social meaning of stars is closely related to the social context. One can never ignore the audience when studying stars. As suggested by Redmond and Holmes (2007), without consumption, stars’ practices, processes, and representations of fame could not exist with people’s identification with them. As public and personal, stars embody sociocultural values that are absent, rare, and desired by the masses. While one may presume a hierarchical idol–​fan relationship, this is in fact debatable. Fung’s (2009) ethnographic research showed that the well-​known Asian diva Faye Wong garnered her stardom both with a commonplace girlish image and as an independent urban woman. By appropriating Faye’s career breakthrough and life attitude as their own discourse resource, her fans demonstrate their desire for urban independence. Cross-​Media Stardom The practice of cross-​media stardom in Hong Kong dates back to the pre-​World War  II era when Cantonese opera performance was a dominant mass entertainment, and filmmaking, a then innovative technology, used Cantonese opera as one of its prevalent genres. In this system, many Cantonese opera actors also starred in films. Moreover, these opera stars, along with female teahouse singers, were the most sought-​after album recording singers (Ng, 2018). In the postwar era, well-​received movie stars featured in Cantonese or Mandarin films were also virtuoso singers who performed the theme songs. Similarly, popular singers were often invited to perform in films to attract a wider audience. In the 1990s, cross-​media stardom reached its peak because the repetition of media exposure helped stars gain massive attention from the audience, thereby maintaining their “big name” status (Leung, Cheng, & Tse, 2017). Although the cross-​ media performance of popular stars is generally managed by different companies, these entertainment companies usually establish partnerships to groom stars and maximize the stardom effect. For almost a century, cross-​media stardom has been cultivated in Hong Kong’s entertainment industry, distinguishing this East Asian popular cultural hub from its Euro-​American counterparts. In Hong Kong, people can easily name many cross-​media stars, from Sam Hui (許冠傑) to Anita Mui (梅艷芳) and Eason Chan (陳奕迅). These stars storm awards presentation ceremonies across different mediums. However, although stardom studies have stemmed from the Hollywood system (e.g. Dyer, 1998; Stacey, 1994), in the Euro-​American cultural industry, we can only identify a limited number of obvious cross-​media stars (e.g. Justin Timberlake, Jennifer

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Lopez). It is only in the last decade that movie stars have joined major TV productions, with the rapid development of video-​on-​demand platforms such as Netflix. Before, their cross-​media success was often achieved through giving celebrity endorsements in commercials, which is also a common practice in Hong Kong (Chan, 2010). Hence, given that celebrity endorsement is a universal strategy to increase stars’ public exposure, Hong Kong’s cross-​media star-​making system has crafted a crucial Hong Kong popular culture signature. Leung (2011) argued that the high degree of flexibility and the commercial nature of Hong Kong’s popular culture industry cultivate its idiosyncratic cross-​media stardom. In the Euro-​ American world, stars are usually trained and start their career based on their own professional tracks. In Hong Kong, while singers are usually discovered through auditions and singing contests, film and television performers come from various sources: actor training classes, beauty contests, auditions, and even singing contests. For a long time, with little government interference, Hong Kong’s popular culture was a profit-​making business rather than a shaper of “national culture.” This led to the emergence of cross-​media stardom, a practice that uses the fame and cultural influence of stars. However, the heyday of Hong Kong’s lucrative cross-​media business (the 1980s and 1990s) did not emerge out of nowhere. Instead, the prosperity of Hong Kong’s film and popular music industries ensured the enormous effect of cross-​media stardom. However, the entertainment industry experienced huge drawbacks after 1997 as the market share of Hong Kong films and Cantopop records dropped considerably (Chan, Fung, & Ng, 2009; Chu, 2017). The film sector experienced a recession, in terms of both production and box office revenue (the box office income of Hong Kong films dropped from US$159  million in 1992 to US$28.2  million in 2007). Even worse, record sales of popular music dropped from US$2.2 billion in 1997 to US$70 million in 2006 (Chu & Leung, 2013). Conglomerated Cross-​Media Stardom After the downturn in the entertainment industry, a new generation of cross-​media stars was introduced by conglomerates, among which Emperor Entertainment Group (英皇娛樂集團, EEG) was a forerunner. In the EEG system, novice star images are created to target underexplored local market niches, facilitated by the conglomerate’s cross-​media marketing strategies. Among them, Twins highlights the predicament of the Hong Kong entertainment industry (Chu, 2017; Funnell, 2014). At the threshold of the new millennium, after their first EP in the summer of 2001, Twins took the market and every billboard by storm. Traditional stardom studies have argued that stars are celebrities with exceptional charisma and skills. Yet, in the two novice female singers, Twins successfully introduced two unexceptional yet amiable idols to cross-​media stardom. EEG and the Creation of Twins In 1999, Hong Kong tycoon Albert Yeung (楊受成) founded his media empire, EEG. EEG started with Cantopop records, then moved on to music production, talent management, and concert activities. After that, EEG expanded its empire to the film industry, creating Emperor Motion Pictures (英皇電影, EMP) in 2000. Twins’ filmography and albums in the discussion below, a showcase of cross-​media stardom, are all EEG productions.

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Since its creation, EEG has recruited young talents for their long-​term development. Before joining EEG, Charlene and Gillian were models. Charlene had already earned her reputation in a youth television drama, Y2K. Gillian was scouted from a modeling agency. Twins formed in May 2001 and made their debut three months later in the summer of 2001 with their first EP, Twins (2001b), which went platinum in its first week of sales.1 Twins quickly became the most popular Cantopop music group. After that summer, Charlene and Gillian made their full-​length feature film debuts in Funeral March (常在我心) (2001) and U-​Man (怪獸學園) (2002), respectively. These two young artists became the most popular rising stars in 2002 (Kei, 2003) and the most productive artist group in the film industry in 2003 and 2004 (Tseung, 2004; Tseung & Akina, 2005). Amid this Twins storm, more than 300 Twins websites were created by their fans in a year (Wong, 2002). In September 2002, just one year after their debut, Twins gave their first concert at the Hong Kong Coliseum, a sacred temple coveted by every Cantopop singer. The successful Twins Ichiban concert attracted thousands of attendees. In addition, Twins became brand representatives for various products, such as restaurants, food, electric appliances, and cosmetics. Twins had undoubtedly become a Hong Kong household name. Girls Next Door Twins represents a positive idea able to energize Hong Kong after the 1998 Asian financial crisis. The group attracts both young people and adults with the cheerful, energetic, and healthy image of its singers. On the cover of Twins’ first EP, Twins, Charlene and Gillian wear vests under a sunny sky, suggesting young and carefree schoolgirls. These qualities are attractive to many Hong Kong teenagers. In addition, this EP was an AV EP that included three music videos. Visuals speak a thousand words. Their first music video, “Open Love, Secret Love, Tutoring Institute” (明愛暗戀補習社), featured Charlene and Gillian exuberantly playing and swimming in the sea.2 Instead of displaying sexy feminine features, Twins focuses on the generally effervescent persona of its singers. I could simply imagine them as my older sisters (instead of romantic fantasy), and my parents felt at ease even though they knew I loved Twins, because they felt that Twins projected cuteness rather than sexual attraction. That was important when I was still of primary school age. (Sanho) Twins’ energetic power was further enhanced by the strong beat and quick jump-​cut editing in the song “Open Love, Secret Love, Tutoring Institute.” By casually criticizing the dullness of school life while associating academic issues with romantic curiosities, the songs on this EP largely reflected teenage life without triggering parents’ antipathy. To increase the intimacy between Twins and its audience, close-​ups of their smiling faces were frequently used in their music videos. Twins’ next song, “Male Student in Girls’ School” (女校男生) (2001a), was a slow ballad. The song told the story of two good friends, starting with their twins-​like friendship. Although both had a secret crush on a male schoolmate, they kept it a secret from each other. The theme of the song emphasized that friendship triumphs over romance, yet hints at the fantasy of puppy love. Similar to the previous song, Twins struck a chord with Hong Kong teenage students suffocating under the pressure of the exam-​driven education system. Teenage students can easily relate to Twins’ songs of various genres.

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Little Twins Stars and Little Fans Twins’ fans are mainly teenagers and young people. In a 2004 survey, Twins was elected top idol by primary students in Hong Kong (Apple Daily, 2004). Most of our interviewees also reported that they became Twins fans when they were primary or lower secondary students. Back then, fans were usually attracted to the songs of the first album. These songs reached them via television, radio, stationery shops, or YES! stations. Products from YES! stations—​a specialty memorabilia chain store—​especially YES! cards (Figure  14.1) targeting teens, were important merchandising for students when they had limited pocket money to “possess” their idols. Most interviewees mentioned that they used to collect Twins YES! cards. Some of them even first encountered Twins through YES! Cards. I liked to draw cards at stationery stores after school. One day I drew a card of Twins, with their song lyrics printed at the back (“Male Student in Girls’ School”). I found the CD and listened to it. Then I listened to “Slam Dunking Love” (愛情當入樽) (2001a). I became their fan. (Ronnie) If the media can contribute to fans’ first encounters with their idols, the peer group effect helps people maintain a long-​term affiliation to stars. Twins shot their “Male Student in Girls’ School” music video at my school. Almost all students at the school were crazy about Twins and I also started to pay attention to them. By the way, before Twins, I  already spotted Charlene’s performance in Y2K television series. I  think I started liking her back then. (Kylie) Growing up with Twins Twins’ songs express the feeling of being young: Do I need to lose weight? Do I need to confess my affection to the boy next door? When will I find my first love? They are all based on everyday life and vividly represent our school life. Twins was my school life companion. (Joy) Twins’ repertoire about friendship, school life, and experiences of growing up is unique in Cantopop and has special meaning for their fans. Songs such as “Friendship Comes First” (友誼第一) and “Little Friends” (朋友仔) on Twins’ first album Our Souvenir (我們的紀念冊) (2002d) celebrate precious teenage friendship. The real-​life friendship between Gillian and Charlene, which is one of the promotional strategies of EEG, also significantly appeals to young fans. I really want to be Twins. They are energetic, giving me hope. I always wanted a friend who could share a long-​lasting friendship with me, like Twins do. (Hayley) In addition, graduation and separation of friends are memorable moments for teenagers. These feelings also featured on Twins’ first album. Patricia, an interviewee, saved her pocket money to

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Figure 14.1  A YES! card with the stars’ faces on the front and the lyrics of a song on the back

buy Our Souvenir and listened to the song of the same name repeatedly with her classmates. The reason was simple: the album was released in late May—​graduation season in Hong Kong—​and Patricia and her classmates graduated from primary school that year. Some interviewees also reported that they sang the song “Our Souvenir” (我們的紀念冊) at their graduation ceremony. The Twins Effect Twins’ songs can cover a wide range of subjects because Twins is a duo. Although the singers are not biological twins, they are often presented as twins in various mediums. In an advertisement, Charlene and Gillian dressed alike but in different colors, representing two models of the same product. In terms of film production, they usually had different roles in order to accommodate a wider spectrum of fan tastes, but sometimes they were cast individually. For instance, Charlene had active and amusing roles like Ah Hey in Diva … Ah Hey (下一站天後) (2003) and Ah Nam in Just One Look (一碌蔗) (2002), whereas Gillian represented a shy and tender girl as Ah Yew in Just One Look and as Wai Ching in Beyond Our Ken (公主復仇記) (2004) (Ho, 2002; Wong, 2002). Films starring the Twins members were box-​office successes. Their first film, Summer Breeze of Love (這個夏天有異性) (2002), grossed nearly HK$10 million (US$1.28 million). In addition to taking different roles in films, in many songs they sing different roles to enrich the narrative power. The “mirror situation” in the song “Losers on Valentine’s Day” (雙失情人節, 2004)  is a good example. The song outlines the dilemma of romantic relationships through singing parts. When they sing solo phrases, they describe their own story. When they sing in unison, they express their common grief and bitterness.

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My friend and I  were both fans of Twins. I  was skinny and boyish, like Charlene, and she looked more feminine, like Gillian. When we sang Twins songs together, it was an unspoken rule that I always played the Charlene part. That’s our sweet teen friendship. (Lynn) Live by Your Side For the first time in the Hong Kong stardom industry, people who consume records could possess more than a laser disc. EEG deliberately packaged Twins albums into extra-​large gift boxes. This innovative marketing strategy attracted a large number of teenage fans. Inside the album boxes, one could find a bundle of commercial coupons for Twins-​endorsed products. Although many interviewees in this study mentioned that they rarely used these coupons due to their limited pocket money, they collected them because of the cheerful faces of Twins, making the coupons less of an advertisement than a souvenir. In addition, a large variety of accessories were included in these album boxes, from photo albums to posters and paper figures of Twins (Figure  14.2). Some interviewees remembered how thrilled they were when unboxing every new album.

Figure 14.2  Bundled gifts and coupons included in Twins album boxes

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The aforementioned YES! cards were another efficient channel to expand the accessibility of Twins to fans. YES! cards cost HK$1 (US$0.13) per random draw. For many teenagers who were primary school students at the time, this was an acceptable price both for themselves and their parents. In addition, a large variety of Twins-​related accessories, either copyrighted or counterfeit products, were ubiquitous on the market. Most of these small souvenirs, such as pins, T-​shirts, and mugs, were as low-​priced as Yes! cards, catering to young fans. These Twins souvenirs not only represented fans’ collections, but were also markers of their teenage memories when they saved every penny to “possess” an idol and shared this hobby with friends. Their hobby of loving Twins reinforced their teenage friendships. For adolescent fans, the significance of Twins goes beyond their singing and acting skills to the point where Twins become part of their everyday lives. This everyday life experience with idols, in the case of Twins, is also related to teenage fans’ weekend activities. Unlike other superstars who mainly appear on stage in live performances requiring ticket purchases, Twins often organized free performances at shopping malls. In doing so, teenage fans had the chance to see them in person. The first time I  saw Twins’ live performance was at a shopping mall. We [the family] were passing by Tsing Yi shopping center … I saw that Twins were having an event there. I was so excited and I asked my parents’ permission to stay for the show. They agreed. (Sanho) By bundling “free gifts” with album boxes and holding free performances in public spaces, Twins successfully mingled with people’s everyday lives. They are especially popular among teenage students with limited consumption power, who are offered a “free” opportunity to meet and be with their idols. Products for Puberty Crafted as girls next door and young friends who are growing up with their teenage fans, Twins sing songs and star in films with anecdotes about “rites of passage”:  puppy love, friendship, and frustration over life transitions. Similarly, among the wide range of endorsed products, from office printers to restaurants, one remarkable series is of great importance. Some of our interviewees emphasized Twins-​endorsed products related to puberty. These products included skincare products, a portable music player, a mobile phone network service, and so on. Instead of endorsing luxury products, Twins appealed to teenage fans with products at affordable prices that met the needs of teenagers. Among these products, one facial skincare brand endorsed by Twins, “Clean and Clear,” is exceptionally popular among both male and female fans. I was in my senior primary year and I  started to have pimples. This is a big problem for teenagers because at school, classmates make fun of you if you have acne. During this crucial period, Twins’ “Clean and Clear” products struck a chord in my heart. I think Twins successfully hit a market niche. (Lynn)

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As the brand offered an affordable over-​the-​counter solution to teen skin problems, Twins’ endorsement created a new market niche that appealed to fans of different ages and consumption power. Among our interviewees, Ka Man bought a bottle of Coca-​Cola because Twins’ faces were on it; Sanho’s sister chose an MP3 player endorsed by Twins as her primary school graduation gift; and although Joy had little pocket money, she was happy when she saw massive commercials endorsed by Twins in chain stores. In other words, by endorsing a wide range of products, Twins heighten their public exposure beyond singing and acting. The daily encounters with Twins mentioned by the interviewees undoubtedly embody Twins’ stardom. Charlene and Gillian were part of their fans’ lives, as growing-​up companions, friendship witnesses, and puberty problem-​solvers. Conclusion Stars hold a duality as being both “public” and “personal” for the public. The contradiction and tension between these two poles explain the star–​audience dynamics. The case of Twins demonstrates this duality in stardom, as Charlene and Gillian are presented as superstars organizing grandiose concerts while also being part of people’s daily lives through music, films, and commercials. The latter shows that Twins is an exception in Hong Kong’s star-​making industry, as the singers are packaged and fashioned as being more “ordinary” than “extraordinary.” This deliberate presentation of girls next door is hardly a new practice in the popular music industry. Indeed, one of the dominant images is amiable songsters, like many folk song singers. But even in these cases, singers usually stand out in the field because of their superior skills; for example, a charming voice, virtuoso instrumental performance, or theatrical acting. However, Twins seem to be free from these features. The singers’ authentic ordinariness, even coarseness, especially in terms of singing skills, represents an alternative and successful marketing strategy, marking them as champions. Targeting a large yet unexplored fan group, teenagers, since 2001, EEG has packaged Twins not only as girls next door, but also as the schoolmates and growing-​up companions of their fans. This modest star image is associated with a wide range of marketing strategies, from album design to appearances on MTV and in films as well as commercial endorsement, mostly of affordable products/​activities, helping Twins gain enormous popularity. Admittedly, stardom rarely lasts forever. However, the way its power continues varies, and in the case of Twins, its influence has evolved over time. For most of our interviewees, their passion for Twins started to fade when Twins shifted attention from Hong Kong to mainland China in 2005 and, more importantly, the fans themselves were no longer teenagers. Chu (2017, p. 165) pinpointed that Twins were trapped by this teenager-​oriented strategy: when their teenage fans grew up and outgrew school-​life Cantopop, Twins failed to transform into mature singers drawing a wider audience. Although Twins have released albums depicting a more adult femininity since 2004, and EEG started to package them as two solo singers in 2007 with the album Twins Party (with a Charlene version and a Gillian version), teenage themes, such as “school friendship,” linger in Twins’ music. In addition, Gillian’s sex scandal in 2008 further prevented Twins’ image transformation. Nevertheless, according to our interviewees, Twins are part of their lives and this fact will never change, even though neither Twins nor the fans are still teenagers. Fans still support and consume Twins in karaoke bars, attending concerts, and cherishing albums/​souvenirs. Instead of

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considering Twins as a fleeting meteor, for fans, Charlene and Gillian are lifelong soulmates who experience joy and sorrow as rites of passage. Twins’ album productivity is much lower than before the 2008 scandal, yet in 2016, Twins started to stir up interest again. Twins Lol Live concerts were held in Hong Kong and around the world. The concert at the Hong Kong Coliseum was full, and the audience, critics, mass media, and music professionals praised it as a ceremony for the “collective memory of a whole generation” (Ming Pao, 2016). EEG, Twins, and many fans epitomize Hong Kong’s millennial popular culture. Notes 1 At the time, according to the rules of the International Federation of the Phonographic Industry (Hong Kong), a platinum disc represented more than 50,000 units sold. 2 See: www.youtube.com/​watch?v=n5rLwPZ1s3o. Special thanks to our interviewees (in order of interview): Ronnie PUN, Chole OR, Karin WONG, AU Ying Mei, Kylie SHEK, Man CHAN, SUEN Pui Hei, Anthony HUNG, Cissy SO, Fanny LEUNG, Hayley FU, Patricia CHAN and Austin LEE, Joy SO, Sanho CHUNG, KM LEE, Lynn WONG, and Eddie PANG. Special thanks to Ms. Patricia CHAN for her efforts in compiling the interview recordings and transcripts.

References Apple Daily (2004). “Xiaoxuesheng ouxiang, bangshou Twins” 小學生偶像榜首Twins [Top 1 idol for primary school students: Twins]. Apple Daily, April 5. A13. Chan, J. M., Fung, A. Y. H., & Ng, C. H. (2009). Policies for the Sustainable Development of the Hong Kong Film Industry. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Institute of Asian-​Pacific Studies. Chan, K. (2010). Youth and Consumption. Hong Kong: City University of Hong Kong Press. Chu, Y. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chu, Y. W., & Leung, E. (2013). Remapping Hong Kong popular music: Covers, localization and the waning of hybridity of Cantopop. Popular Music, 32(1), 65–​78. Dyer, R. (1998). Stars (new edition). London: British Film Institute. Dyer, R. (2007). Heavenly bodies. In S. Redmond & S. Holmes (Eds.), Stardom and Celebrity: A Reader (pp. 85–​89). Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore: Sage. Ellis, J. (2007). Stars as a cinematic phenomenon. In S. Redmond & S. Holmes (Eds.), Stardom and Celebrity: A Reader (pp. 90–​97). Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore: Sage. Fung, Y. H. A. (2009). Faye and the fandom of a Chinese diva. Popular Communication, 7(4), 252–​266. Funnell, L. (2014). Warrior Women: Gender, Race, and the Transnational Chinese Action Star. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Ho, W. K. (2002). “Zhege xiatian you Twins” 《這個夏天有 Twins》 [There is Twins this summer]. City Entertainment, 604, 49–​51. Kei, J. (2003, January 2–​15). 2002 Nian Wuda Gangchan Pian Xianchang 《2002年5大港產片現象》. City Entertainment, 619, 37. Leung, V., Cheng, K., & Tse, T. (2017). Celebrity Culture and the Entertainment Industry in Asia: Use of Celebrity and its Influence on Society, Culture and Communication. Bristol, UK and Chicago: Intellect. Leung, W. F. (2011). Multi-​media stardom, performance, and theme songs in Hong Kong cinema. Canadian Journal of Film Studies, 20(1), 41–​60. Ming Pao (2016). “Twins hongguan sao gouqi jiti huiyi” 《Twins紅館騷勾起集體回憶》 [Twins concert at Hongguan appealing collective memories]. Ming Pao, January 4. Retrieved from https://​goo.gl/​q3CteT. Ng, Y. W.  S. (吳月華) (2018). “Chengshi chuangyi:  yuequ yueju yu xin meiti de kuajie hudong” 《城市創意： 粵曲、粵劇與新媒體的跨界互動》 [Creativity of city:  The intermedia interaction of Yue Opera and new media]. In K. C. Chow (周光蓁) (Ed.), Xianggang yinyue de qianshi jinsheng—Xianggang zaoqi yinyue fazhan licheng 1930s–​1950s 《香港音樂的前世今生—​香港早期音樂發展歷程1930s–​1950s》 [The Life of Hong Kong Music: The Development of Hong Kong Early Music in the 1930–​1950s]. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing Co.

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Discography Twins (2001a). Slam Dunking Love. Hong Kong: EEG. Twins (2001b). Twins. Hong Kong: EEG. Twins (2002). Our Souvenir. Hong Kong: EEG. Twins (2004). Magic. Hong Kong: EEG. Twins (2007). Twins Party. Hong Kong: EEG.

Filmography Beyond Our Ken (2004). Hong Kong: Mei Ah Entertainment. Diva...Ah Hey (2003). Hong Kong: Mei Ah Entertainment. Funeral March (2001). Hong Kong: EMP. Just One Look (2002). Hong Kong: EMP. Open Love, Secret Love, Tutoring Institute (2001). [Music video] Hong Kong: EEG. Summer Breeze of Love (2002). Hong Kong: Media Asia. U-​Man (2002). Hong Kong: Century Creator. Y2K (2000). [TV series]. Hong Kong: TVB.

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15

Performing the Political

Reflections on Tatming Meeting George Orwell in 2017 Yiu Fai Chow, Jeroen de Kloet, and Leonie Schmidt

Tatming, Popular Music, and Politics One can trace a clear history of the alliances between popular music and politics, ranging from protest songs and Band Aid and Live Aid to, arguably, the other end of the political spectrum, national anthems (Street, 2012). In Hong Kong, despite its overwhelming capitalist logic, makers of pop music have established a tradition of political engagement, stretching from the post-​Tiananmen fury and fear and the anxiety towards the 1997 handover to the more recent articulations against increasing intervention of the Beijing regime, often dubbed its new colonizer after the old one of the British Empire (Chow, 1992). Such articulations are often linked to more indie genres; the local band My Little Airport, for example, preceded the Umbrella protests1 with their song “Donald Tsang, Please Die” (2009), riding on the popular discontent against the then Chief Executive of the city. Among the more mainstream entertainers, pop stars like Denise Ho (何韻詩) and Anthony Wong (黃耀明) aligned not only their music but also themselves explicitly to political movements, as in their intense involvement during the months-​long Umbrella protests in Hong Kong in 2014. Since then, both have been banned from China.2 In this chapter, we focus on Anthony Wong and Tatming Pair (達明一派), a duo Wong formed with Tats Lau (劉以達). Tatming Pair released its debut in 1986 and has since built a reputation with its extravagant aesthetics, electronic sounds, and engaged lyrics. Tatming’s decades-​long political engagement and concern with local issues did not go unnoticed. In his book on Hong Kong music bands, Stephen Chu (2000) discusses how Tatming reflects Hong Kong culture. Similarly, Esther Cheung (1997) has located feelings of pre-​handover anxiety in Tatming’s songs. In her book on Hong Kong popular culture, Lok Fung (1995) addresses the social consciousness of Tatming’s music. She describes how the sense of melancholia in their music was evocative of living in pre-​handover Hong Kong, or what she calls, “the fin de siècle city.” In 2017 Tatming staged a round of three reunion concerts in the Hong Kong Coliseum, the Tatming Pair 30th Anniversary Live Concerts. This was five years after their Round and Round tour. Both the 2012 and the 2017 concerts created a great buzz around the city of Hong Kong and were applauded for their political, musical, and aesthetic standards. In an earlier publication (Schmidt, Chow, & de Kloet, 2017), we analyzed the performative aesthetics of the 2012 performances and argued that they foreshadowed the upcoming political protests, “attesting to the close alliance between the cultural and the political. It shows how popular music, in word, sound and image, both reflects, as well as impacts on, the city of Hong Kong” (Schmidt et al., 2017, 168

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p. 119). For the 2017 concerts, we take a different path. By conducting interviews with Wong and his close collaborators, this chapter explores the production side of massive pop concerts, simultaneously reflecting on the tension between political motivations and commercial considerations, between engagement and entertainment. As made known during the promotional phase, the concerts took the classic novel 1984 by George Orwell as the lynchpin, referring to the increasing influence of authoritarianism in post-​ handover Hong Kong and the world at large. More specifically, our preliminary interview with Wong, generally seen as the main creative force of the duo and the concerts, informed us that the performance was structured into three themes and sections: surveillance, brainwashing, and suppression. From suppression, the performance morphs into resistance, then back to the harsh “reality” where the “failure of the Umbrella protests” is featured, lamenting on the people who are defeated, ultimately leading to the evocation of David Bowie’s persona and his songs “Under Pressure” (1981[2017], performed with guest Denise Ho) and “Heroes” (1977[2017]).3 While it is too sweeping, maybe, to claim that their latest reunion concerts are again foreshadowing street protests, the political ramifications of the performances are undeniable. In this chapter, we zoom in less on the aesthetics of the performance and more on the production of that spectacle. We will be drawing on production studies (Caldwell, 2008; Corner, 1999; Havens, Lotz, & Tinic, 2009; Mayer, 2011) to grasp the negotiations and tensions that take place behind the scenes in the making of an event that needs to sell 30,000 tickets, the most expensive of which costs HK$980 (US$125). We ask: How is the tension between the political and the commercial negotiated? How can the production avoid politics becoming too explicit (as this would run against the ambivalent aesthetics of the band, becoming too didactic, thus boring)? What kinds of considerations informed the use of costumes, dancers, visuals, the sequence of the songs? How does such a sonic spectacle come into being in the first place? And what have been the consequences of such a political engagement? Instead of analyzing in detail the different aesthetics mobilized to mark these different stages, we probe elsewhere and wonder what considerations, negotiations, tensions, controversies, and compromises underpin such narratives and aesthetics. As such, this chapter aims to unpack the making of a political pop spectacle in a city that is struggling for its future. The Context Hong Kong’s democracy struggle captured world’s attention when crowds of people started occupying different areas of Hong Kong in September 2014, launching the city’s pro-​democracy movement to new heights. The Umbrella protests might have taken the world by surprise, but these issues were not new to the city and its dwellers. Every year since the handover (July 1, 1997), Hong Kong citizens have occupied the streets on the anniversary to express their discontent against increasing corruption, unaffordable housing, and Beijing intervention in local affairs, as well as to urge for more democracy in Hong Kong and in mainland China (Schmidt et al, 2017, p.  122; de Kloet, 2017). While anti-​Beijing sentiments were—and still are—highly visible and palpable, it should be noted that the discontent and the issues taking local people to the streets are not necessarily connected to Beijing rule. For decades, Hong Kong has been a city with class and income inequalities, staggering real estate prices, limited respect for cultural heritage sites, and a lack of democratic rights (Poon, 2010). It is in this sociopolitical context of Hong Kong that we examine the production ethnography of the latest Tatming Pair concerts to shed light on how

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Figure 15.1  The 2017 Tatming concert Source: Jeroen de Kloet

cultural producers negotiate the tension between political engagement, aesthetic spectacle, and commercial interests (see Figure 15.1). In the 1980s, Simon Frith (1982) bemoaned the fact that students would rather sit in the library and study popular music in terms of the appropriate cultural theory rather than conduct ethnographic research which could highlight the complex negotiations involved in making and performing music (Cohen, 1993, p.  123). Almost four decades later, the literature on popular music is still lacking in ethnography and production analyses, particularly of (mass) concerts. The lack is especially evident when compared to the abundance of inquiries anchored on textual (e.g. Harsono, 2017) and fan (e.g. Jung & Shim, 2014) analyses of songs and pop stars, as well as more macro-​level industry research (e.g. Shin, 2017). Engaging with the production side of Tatming’s 2017 concerts also contributes to the study of popular music in East Asia, a region with a huge popular music market and rich musical cultures, which as a whole is underrepresented in international popular music studies (Shin, Mori, & Ho, 2013, p. 1). To analyze the tensions, negotiations, complexities and compromises that underlie the coming into being of Tatming’s 2017 political and aesthetic spectacle, we use production ethnography (Caldwell, 2008) as a method. In his book about the Hollywood film industry, John Thornton Caldwell (2008) makes visible how Los Angeles-​based film and video production workers negotiate and assess the industry, its politics, and its policies from their own point of view. Caldwell did so by interviewing those involved in the production of film and television:  the gaffers, assistants, post-​production editors, camera people, and others behind the scenes, which allows

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for innovative and perplexing perspectives. Caldwell notes that “practitioners constantly dialogue and negotiate a series of questions” (p. 26), which partly determine (the look of) the final cultural product. In this chapter, we investigate how on each level of the production (Corner, 1999), makers and creative workers negotiate the tension between creating an appealing aesthetic spectacle on the one hand while trying to convey a political message on the other. We will engage with the four key production levels distinguished by John Corner (1999), which interlock and together create a specific production at a specific time and place: historical contexts (the sociopolitical moment), institutional contexts (the media sector and flows of financing), production mentalities (ideological negotiations by makers), and production practices (concrete practices on the production floor—for instance, a designer opting for a particular costume) (Corner, 1999, p. 71). This also allows us to investigate how the context in which the concerts were presented matters. For instance, the concerts were produced by Universal Music alone without any financial sponsorship from the corporate sector—a departure from the usual practice. This was presumably because of the political sensitivity of Anthony Wong potentially causing complications for businesses, which do not want to risk angering mainland Chinese authorities and losing the mainland Chinese market. In addition to Corner’s four levels of production, we propose that there are three additional aspects that play a crucial role in the production of the concerts:  the contingent, the personal, and the calibrational. We draw on interviews with three people involved in the making of the concerts:  Anthony Wong (artist), Wallace Kwok (producer), and Duncan Wong (Universal Music). While the former two were known to us as the conceptual drive of the concerts, we included the managing director of Tatming’s record label in order to probe the commercial dimension of the production. Given our interest in the concert production, we decided not to interview Tats Lau, the other member of the duo, as he was primarily in charge of the musical side of the concerts. When the duo started producing their first albums, according to Anthony Wong, Tats was already primarily charged with song composition as well as the recording work, leaving the conceptual and visual aspects of their music under Anthony’s auspices. Later, such division of labour extended to concert production, including the concerts in the current study. Semi-​structured interviews with Anthony, Wallace, and Duncan were conducted in 2017 in Cantonese and English, here analyzed using discourse analysis (Abell & Myers, 2008).4 We supplement this main body of interview data with autobiographical reflection by one of the authors, Yiu Fai Chow, who has been writing lyrics for Tatming since 1988. Chow contributed the lyrics for the single that was the theme for the concerts under study—“1+4=14” (Tatming Pair, 2017a)—and talked with Wong throughout the concert production process. In this chapter, we do not want to trace the intention of the makers and then check if such intentions are finally realized. Rather, we aim at recuperating the considerations, negotiations, and complexities that underpin the production of Tatming’s political sonic spectacle. Our analysis of the interviews distills three key discourses that we find salient and helpful in furthering our understanding of a concert production. We call them the contingent, the personal, and the calibrational. They recur in the narratives of the three producers and are interwoven throughout the four production levels mentioned earlier. The making of such a show turns out to be a highly contingent affair in which many last-​minute twists and turns affect the final outcome of the show. Second, personal relations, cultivated over decades of working and socializing together, also clarify how and why the show has become what it is. Finally, there is a constant calibration of politics with pleasure, of displaying and hiding a political message, of dwelling in narratives

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of doom and gloom calibrated with moments of joy, release, and hope. All three discourses help explain the production logic of the show and underscore how complexity, ambivalence, and constant calibration and recalibration define the final stage performance. The Contingent We start with probably the most counter-​intuitive of the three discourses: the contingent. For a series of concerts of such a scale (catering to more than 10,000 people per show) and complexity (to be entertaining as well as engaging), one might expect a scenario of meticulous planning and seamless orchestration. We did hear that, but we also heard more. While we were impressed, indeed, by the hard work put into the preparation of the concerts, we were also surprised to find out how much was unprepared. Put differently, one logic we learned from the three key persons producing the Tatming concerts is paradoxically the lack of logic, and one needs to recognize and acknowledge the importance of the contingent, the ad hoc, in projects like this. How things just happen and rather haphazardly become something that may not appear haphazard at all—this was what we learned from the production interviews. This permeates various levels and stages of the production process. We also see Corner’s (1999) four levels of production interlocking in the production process. Take one major theme of the concerts as example: surveillance, which seemed to be the starting point of the stage design. There was actually no stage as such, but a long corridor, or “a road” according to Anthony Wong, stretching from one side of the Coliseum to the other and serving as the main space for performance to audiences on four sides of the venue. This atypical spatial arrangement (the typical being a centre stage with audiences seated on three sides of the venue) contributed to the panoptical effect of surveillance, that the performers were intensely exposed, extensively watched. However, contrary to our expectation that the stage setting was a consequence of key thematic deliberation, it was first and foremost a commercial consideration. According to Anthony Wong: “Having all four sides open was because we tried to sell as many tickets as possible. That’s one of the reasons … we did not think about surveillance yet. But I told the producer I want a road.” Universal’s Duncan Wong confirmed this when he told us the proposal to have the audience on four sides came to him shortly after the project started. “I believe it’s based on two reasons. First, they met with the production people and stage designer, and they said it’s possible. Second, they wanted to help the organizer sell more tickets.” The institutional context (Corner, 1999, p. 71)—that is, the commercial logic of the pop music sector and flows of financing—was thus an important factor in the stage setting. However, here, we want to clarify that we are not arguing for a form-​first or money-​first logic in this concert production; what we do want to foreground is the complexity with which a concert, both its form and content, is produced, and contingency is often part of this. Wallace Kwok offered us many instances of such contingency; for instance, regarding the rundown of the concerts. While we, as well as other audiences and critics, may continue to ponder why they opened with a sequence featuring a boy and a girl walking with a uniform(ed) “procession” or “march,” Kwok’s explanation was mundanely pragmatic. [Anthony] said why don’t we have a little boy and little girl … I think it is ok, so let’s settle it, but we have to make sure that that part is not too late. Because they have to leave the stage earlier according to the regulations of Hong Kong.

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It was true that the mobilization of children—in a sequence generally perceived as a comment on Beijing’s attempt to push forward patriotic education, some would say brainwashing, in Hong Kong—was Anthony Wong’s idea and creatively driven. However, their appearance and its specific timing, and thus the impact on the entire show, was determined by something external and uncontrollable: local laws concerning child labour. Here, four levels of production interlock to create this segment in the concerts: the decision to cast children (production practices), who as participants are restricted by labour laws (institutional context), the ideological consideration of using children to comment on patriotic education in Hong Kong (production mentalities), and all of this taking place and gaining significance in the current historical moment of Hong Kong (historical context). The parallel, if not paradox, of always preparing and always needing to respond to things that cannot be prepared for is a recurring motif of the three key producers of the Tatming concerts. Although Anthony and Wallace had thought of using 1984 as one major inspiration, they could hardly anticipate the resurgence of interest in the dystopic novel prior to their concerts. As Wallace said, “We use[d]‌the book 1984. After a while, after two to three months … Donald Trump got elected, … [and] 1984 became the bestseller on Amazon.” And at some point, Anthony told him his worry that the book had become too popular and that “it looks as if we are just copying!” In the end, they kept it in, but with the important supplement of 1Q84. Sometimes, it was not a big international event like the US presidential election that generated additional contingency that the production team had to deal with; other times it was something highly individual. For instance, the dazzling four-​minute animation accompanying the song “Undercurrents” (Tatming Pair, 2017b)—morphing from different body parts to thousands of replicas of Anthony’s and Tats’ heads—turned out to be less a controlled matter than a last-​minute rush characterized by surprises and a sense of helplessness and resignation. The production team only got to watch the rough cut of the clip two days before the concerts began, and, according to Wallace, The day that we watch[ed] [the finished version] [was] the day of the rehearsal in the Coliseum. So the first time we watched, it is not on the computer, it is already on stage. We are just … WOW … It is more than we expected. The most dramatic contingency we heard from the producers concerned another central symbol of the concerts: a massive ball hanging over the “road,” alluding to the moon imagery used in 1Q84 (see Figure 15.2). Like the animation, it almost failed to make it to the stage. As usual these days in Hong Kong, many props are ordered in mainland China for delivery to the city, for the speed, the lower price, and the wider spectrum of choice. This ball was no exception. It was supposed to be on its way to Hong Kong, but the delivery went missing as late as the night before the rehearsal. The production team was not able to track it. In the words of Wallace: “We contacted the company and the driver, who is supposed to have it delivered to the Coliseum on that day, is missing!” After much hassle and confusion, they found out the sad truth: “Somewhere on the highways of China, the driver is dead. … He is dead. So he is dead, with the ball in the back of the truck!” It took much effort and time to deal with this unfortunate turn of events, to the extent that when the ball finally arrived, it was already late into the first show day. “Then we don’t have the time to do the right rehearsal and all the sound check and everything!” And, as a consequence, the sound of the opening concert was bad. “But we can’t tell people about that because it is our fault … that someone died … the day the show started.”

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Figure 15.2  The 1Q84 moon Source: Jeroen de Kloet

This incident attests to the contingent character of the preparation of such a music spectacle; that what seems carefully planned and thought through often turns out the be the result of ad hoc planning and last-​minute decision-​making. The Personal When Wallace told us about the heavy delay of the animation clip, he was not really grumbling about or even upset at the waiting and waiting; at most, he had a hint of anxiety and probably a sense of amusement. To be able to maintain this kind of poise was not only a matter of Wallace’s experience in the pop music industry, but also something personal. After all, he and Anthony had known the animation video artist, Tobias Gremmler, for quite some time; they got to know each other when Anthony performed in Berlin two decades previously. It was not the first time they collaborated, and the production team knew how the artist might be late, but would always deliver (see Figure 15.3). This kind of rapport, understanding, and trust, a general sense that something personal counts more than anything calculating, controlling, and managerial, forms another important production logic, that we call the “personal.” When Anthony invited Yiu Fai Chow, one of the authors of this chapter, to write the theme song for the concerts, he hardly needed to offer any more briefing than the simple fact that the concerts would be loosely based on 1984. Knowing Anthony, and having collaborated with Tatming for decades, Yiu Fai relied on their mutual understanding to

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Figure 15.3  Video image of Tobias Gremmler during the show Source: Jeroen de Kloet

contribute to the creative process. Looking back on the concerts, Anthony reiterated how often he just left the tasks to the production team members concerned. “So maybe I was right in trusting the right people; they did deliver the goods,” he said. Even when Duncan, of Universal Music, had to think professionally and commercially about the concerts, he referred fondly to his personal relationship with Anthony and his respect for Tatming as the decisive factor in his support for the project. He called his decision “irrational,” considering all the risks involved, especially the probable impossibility of securing sponsorship given Anthony’s political stance. Duncan admitted he would still consider the “P&L” (profit and loss) prospect, but commercial consideration was always secondary. “It’s like seeing my own wish come true, to do the 30th anniversary concerts,” he said, going on to recall how happy he was listening to all those hit songs from the 1980s and the 1990s. And the personal connection was not only about Anthony or Tatming, but Duncan’s own biography in the field he joined years ago. Recalling his experience of the concerts, he said, All the beautiful memories of the entire recording industry or the music scene suddenly crashed into me. … It came to me that Tatming has been around for 30 years, and the fact that they had so many hit songs is touching to me. In this context, it is hardly surprising that the production process was characterized by trust. “We got to know of the rundown very late, the floor plan also very late,” Duncan said. However,

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as he has had years of relationship and collaboration with Anthony and Tatming, Duncan trusted their creative choices. “I was never worried,” he said. Anthony felt this way too. When we asked Anthony about Universal’s support, he could only speak of the unspoken, the tacit understanding that things were understood. He said: [Duncan] knew that I was sort of blacklisted in China. Sort of. Because it is never really official. So he knew that. … And he knew our other concerts or albums are quite political. So he knew that already. So … I didn’t really ask him. He was acting as if … he never mentioned [it]. While we are not assuming the importance of the personal in other productions, what we have observed time and again in this particular project—which, after all, was commemorating three decades of making music together—was the intimate way this group of colleagues, of friends, worked together. Sometimes, it was pragmatic, about how best to advance the project. Wallace, for instance, underlined his years of working with, and of knowing, Anthony, when he foregrounded the timing of their initial discussion surrounding the anniversary project. Wallace said, “You know Anthony, usually he functions very well after midnight.” And so on one such after-​midnight occasion, he initiated a “heart-​to-​heart talk” before they met anyone else. It is just Anthony and me, we sat down and said “Ok, we got the time slot from Hong Kong Coliseum, and Universal [are] willing to invest. But what shall we do? What [do] we want to talk about in this concert?” Sometimes, it was not only through the personal that the production was actualized; it was also through the production that the personal was celebrated and consolidated. The two seemed to feed into each other. Wallace was thrilled when he recalled how he and Anthony shared the same artistic taste and creative direction. “Anthony just mentioned that [we should] put 1Q84 in the concert too. I was so excited because I like that book a lot!” And finally, Wallace also got to know more about Anthony. When they were quite at a loss as to how to conclude the concerts, Anthony suddenly recalled he had written a letter to David Bowie.5 Anthony found the letter and read it to Wallace. Deeply touched, Wallace told Anthony, “It was so beautifully written.” And he knew how precious such a letter was. You know, Anthony seldom writes anything. He is not a man of words. Even though he is very articulate, it is so hard for him to sit down and write something. But he has written this letter with all his heart. … And I think, wow, this is so good. They knew they had found the perfect “final statement” to end the concerts. The Calibrational Amidst contingency, driven by long-​term personal connections, the concert came into being. Its political zeal was the result not just of the personal histories of the producers; it involved, above all, a careful process of checking and balancing pleasure with politics, which we term “calibration.” Acknowledging that this was above all a pop music spectacle, the makers were constantly trying to avoid portraying too direct a message in the show. We see here a careful negotiation of

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production mentalities (ideological considerations). As Anthony Wong was a key figure in the Umbrella protests, it was expected that he would include the visually spectacular imagery of the movement in the show. Not doing that would have been disappointing to the audience, if not considered an act of abandonment or even betrayal. At the same time, Anthony told us how hesitant he was about delivering the expected, stating the obvious. From his creative point of view, he came to approach the movement in a more indirect, opaque manner. You see the occupied areas [of the Umbrella Movement protests]. So we take that back from the fiction to the reality, and then you see the reality of failure. So that part is not the fiction anymore; it is the reality we are facing. The so-​called failure we are facing. That part is the failure or the fatalism of the city. What was shown during the concert was a video of nearly empty streets, devoid of life, with hardly any people. For the audience it will be clear these streets signify the end of the occupation, during which time the streets had been abundantly filled with people, students were camping there, and Anthony Wong was performing on the centre stage of the occupied area. In its indirectness, in its subtle manner of conjuring presence through portrayal of its very absence, the clip clearly avoids representing the protests directly and instead recalibrates towards a more opaque reference. Such ambiguity is in line with the aesthetics of pop that are characterized by a transient, intertextual, and multivocal opacity, in which meanings are always rendered ambivalent and under negotiation—in contrast to a rock aesthetic where meanings are generally more explicitly and more univocally articulated (de Kloet, 2010). Another example of such calibration between politics and pleasure related to the timing of the concert series, and thus the historical context (Corner, 1999). The concerts took place just before the election for a new chief executive in Hong Kong, an election that was considered a mockery of real democracy, one based on a system of voting so distant from most Western forms of democracy that, three years previously, it ignited the Umbrella protests. Such a coincidence of timing made it rather inconceivable not to integrate the election motif into the concert, but the production team decided differently, as Wallace Kwok explained: So when we are first given the time slot, because the last day is one day before the [chief executive] election, we thought that, wow there are so many elements in the [chief executive] election that we can use for the concert. But after a few sessions, when we kept on talking to Anthony, we thought: it is too easy. And it is so boring. I don’t want to see CY’s [C.Y. Leung, the Chief Executive at that point] photo on the screen ever again. Again, the producers opted for a more indirect, more opaque approach towards politics. This calibration was not only related to the way they navigated through the questions of representation; it also concerned the affective management of the concert. They were aware of the considerably gloomy framing of the concert, with its triple theme of surveillance, brainwashing, and suppression. Some affective calibration was required to make sure audiences would also have a good time. In the words of Anthony Wong: Even though it is very heavy, and you feel very emotional, … I think if you really get what I  mean, you will not feel like totally  … I  hope you get empowered. After seeing the show,

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you are empowered, and you don’t feel like you are beaten. That’s what we tried to convey in the end. This process of calibration also explains why, towards the conclusion of the show, it morphed into a quite unexpected tribute to David Bowie—it allowed Tatming to articulate a more hopeful ending, away from surveillance and control, as Anthony Wong explains: The song “Under Pressure” is the answer to all those frustration and fatalism. Then I  sing another David Bowie song. That part became a David Bowie tribute. It is like David Bowie has become the salvation. So it is really funny, it’s like music and art is our salvation. The tribute foregrounds music and art as a way to escape from the controlling society. In a time in which Hong Kong is moving through a gloomy period, struggling with the perceived failure of the Umbrella protests, witnessing its freedoms being encroached upon on a daily basis, music and art are celebrated as possible escape routes. Epilogue Our production analysis of the 2017 Tatming music extravaganzas revealed three recurring discourses—the contingent, the personal, and the calibrational—that help explain the production logic of the show and which we can add to Corner’s (1999) four levels of production as playing a crucial and defining role in how the concerts are produced. First, much was decided in a rather haphazard and ad hoc way due to the contingency of the production process. Video materials were only delivered at the last minute, the truck driver that carried the key prop for the show passed away on his way from mainland China to Hong Kong, children could not perform after a specific time slot—all these contingent factors shaped the end result profoundly. What at first sight struck us as a meticulously planned and executed spectacle turned out to be, at least partly, the outcome of a messy and highly contingent production process. Second, personal relations played a key role in the making of the show. It was the long and solid friendship between Wallace Kwok and Anthony Wong that guided them through the demanding fabrication of the narrative, visual, and sonic structure of the show. It was Duncan Wong’s fond memory of Tatming, memory that partly defined his past, that inspired him to engage his music company, Universal, into such a risky financial enterprise. Risky given that due to the ban on Anthony Wong, investors might not want to invest in the show—and indeed they did not. The political sensitivity of Anthony Wong also became clear during the design of the concert poster. Modelled on the iconic cover of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, it included figures deemed influential in contemporary Hong Kong, among which was the Taiwanese pop idol Jay Chou. The poster was soon taken off, and media reports pointed to Chou’s management as the reason. Allegedly—Universal never officially admitted it—Chou’s management considered the use of his portrait on the poster as copyright infringement and threatened legal action. Although, as Anthony told us, they had secured all the portraits involved in the poster design via proper channels, Universal decided to play safe and stop using this version of the poster.6 This incident testifies to how much the show and its promotion was like playing a tug of war between multiple interests and considerations. Finally, we have shown how the show involves

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a constant calibration between what to show and what not to show, often steering away from a direct articulation of politics towards a more opaque and ambivalent mode of performance. The calibration not only involves issues of representation, but also concerns affective management; a David Bowie tribute to conclude the show helped to evoke a more positive, upbeat, and hopeful ending. Salvation comes from music and the arts, culminating into forces of imagination that produce lines of flight out of the society of control that Hong Kong is increasingly morphing into. But such lines emerge, as we have shown, in a quite haphazard manner, driven by personal relationships and involving a constant calibration and recalibration of both form and content. To paraphrase John Lennon, music concerts are happening while people are busy making plans. Notes 1 The term was inspired by protesters using umbrellas against police pepper spray and, later, tear gas. 2 For a recent New Yorker feature on Ho, in which Wong was also interviewed, see: www.newyorker.com/​magazine/​ 2019/​01/​21/​denise-​ho-​confronts-​hong-​kongs-​new-​p olitical-​reality?fbclid=IwAR3t34q26VKoLvR9pSiGyjP2z Cw2mi7kvl-​NHU0akjd5NDJ82qdfBscpU6w. 3 The preliminary interview with Anthony Wong took place in March 2017, shortly after the concerts. 4 We conducted interviews with Anthony and Wallace in May 2017, and with Duncan in July 2017. 5 In 1997, David Bowie released a Mandarin version of the theme song for the film Seven Years in Tibet. The lyrics were written by Lin Xi, a long-​term collaborator of Anthony Wong, and the demo version was performed by Anthony. See:  www.youtube.com/​watch?v=V7RJAiE_​XKI. It was under these circumstances that he wrote the letter; David Bowie has been a major source of inspiration to Anthony. 6 A later version kept all the portraits but replaced the faces with Tatming’s face. For the poster incident, see: https://​ ol.mingpao.com/​php/​showbiz3.php?nodeid=1487255239913&subcate=latest&issue=20170216.

Acknowledgement We would like to thank Gordon So for his help in transcribing the interviews. This research is supported by a consolidator grant from the European Research Council (ERC-2013-CoG-616882ChinaCreative).

References Abell, J., & Myers, G. (2008). Analyzing research interviews. In R. Wodak & M. Krzyżanowski (Eds.), Qualitative Discourse Analysis in the Social Sciences (pp. 145–​159). New York, NY: Palgrave. Caldwell, J. T. (2008). Production Culture:  Industrial Reflexivity and Critical Practice in Film and Television. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Cheung, E. M.  K. (1997). “Huigui zhilv:  Bashi niandai yilai xianggang liuxingqu zhong de jiaguoqing” 《回歸之旅：八十年代以來香港流行曲中的家國情》 [The return trip:  Sentiments of home and nation in Hong Kong pop music since the 1980s]. In S. C. K. Chan (Ed.), Qinggan de shijian: Xianggang liuxing geci yanjiu 《情感的實踐：香港流行歌詞研究》 [The Practice of Affect: Studies in Hong Kong Popular Song Lyrics] (pp. 45–​74). Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Chow, R. (1992). Between colonizers: Hong Kong’s postcolonial self-​writing in the 1990s. Diaspora, 2(2), 151–​170. Chu, S. Y. W. (2000). Guanghui suiyue: Xianggang liuxing yueduizuhe yanjiu 《光輝歲月：香港流行樂隊組合研究》 [The Days of Glory: A Study of Hong Kong Popular Bands/​Groups (1984–​1990)]. Hong Kong: Infolink Publishing. Cohen, S. (1993). Ethnography and popular music studies. Popular Music, 12(2), 123–​138. Corner, J. (1999). Critical Ideas in Television Studies. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. de Kloet, J. (2010). China with a Cut—Globalisation, Urban Youth and Popular Music. Amsterdam:  Amsterdam University Press.

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180   •   Yiu Fai Chow, Jeroen de Kloet, and Leonie Schmidt de Kloet, J. (2017). Umbrellas and revolutions:  The aesthetics of the Hong Kong protests. In E. Peeren, T. Poell, J. de Kloet, & R. Celikates (Eds.), Global Cultures of Contestation: Mobility, Sustainability, Aesthetics & Connectivity (pp. 151–​170). London: Palgrave. Frith, S. (1982). British Popular Music Research. Working Paper No 1. IASPM. Fung, L. (1995). The Fin de Siècle City: A Study of Hong Kong Pop Lyrics. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Harsono, S. (2017). The representation of maritime culture in Indonesian folk songs. Advanced Science Letters, 23(10), 10033–​10035. Havens, T., Lotz, A. D., & Tinic, S. (2009). Critical media industry studies: A research approach. Communication, Culture & Critique, 2(2), 234–​253. Jung, S., & Shim, D. (2014). Social distribution: K-​pop fan practices in Indonesia and the “Gangnam style” phenomenon. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 17(5), 485–​501. Mayer, V. (2011). Below the Line: Producers and Production Studies in the New Television Economy. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Murakami, H. (2009–​2010). 1Q84. Tokyo: Shinchosha. Orwell, G. (1949). 1984. London: Secker & Warburg. Poon, A. (2010). Land and the Ruling Class in Hong Kong. Hong Kong: Enrich Professional Publishing. Schmidt, L., Chow, Y. F., & de Kloet, J. (2017). From handover to leftover: Tatming, umbrellas, and the postcolonial ruins of Hong Kong. Situations, 10(1), 119–​145. Shin, H., Mori, Y., & Ho, T. (2013). Introduction: Special issue—East Asian popular music and its (dis)contents. Popular Music, 32(1), 1–​5. DOI: 10.1017/​s0261143012000505. Shin, S. (2017). Niche, ethnic and global operations: Models of production and circulation of East Asian popular music. European Journal of East Asian Studies, 16(1),  5–​35. Street, J. (2012). Music and Politics. Cambridge: Polity Press.

Discography The Beatles (1967). Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. London, England: Parlophone Records. My Little Airport (2009). Donald Tsang Please Die. Hong Kong:  Author. Retrieved from www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=qiV0qSgfFeM. Tatming Pair (1977[2017]). Heroes. Tatming Pair 30th Anniversary Live Concert 2017. Hong Kong: Live performance in Hong Kong Coliseum. Tatming Pair (2017a). 1+4=14. Tatming Pair 30th Anniversary Live Concert 2017. Hong Kong: Live performance in Hong Kong Coliseum. Tatming Pair (2017b). Undercurrents. Tatming Pair 30th Anniversary Live Concert 2017. Hong Kong: Live performance in Hong Kong Coliseum. Tatming Pair & Ho, Denise (1981[2017]). Under pressure. Tatming Pair 30th Anniversary Live Concert 2017. Hong Kong: Live performance in Hong Kong Coliseum.

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The Politicization of Music through Nostalgic Mediation The Memory in “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” Jessica Kong and Anthony Fung

Music of any culture owns specific cultural and musical particularities, including melody, rhythm, tonality, lyrical narration, and style. For instance, when talking about music that is “made in Hong Kong,” one may relate to Cantopop that is produced in the glorious golden pop music era of the 1980s and prime one’s mental connection with pop ballad melodies and plain Cantonese lyrical narration of mundanity and love life. Yet when we think about the nature of the production and consumption of music, it involves not only the music and technology in the production and consumption processes, but also the emotion and memory that adheres naturally and organically to this cultural form (Hesmondhalgh, 2013). Music is distinguished among cultural forms because of its emotionality. It is rich in connecting with and producing memories and, therefore, powerful in generating emotional resonance. In this chapter, we propose that cultural memory—​to be more specific, nostalgia—​is a major form adhered to music that is significantly received and consumed, which should not be overlooked when studying music of a specific culture and understanding the process of the politicization of music. In particular, the concept of “nostalgic mediation” is proposed to understand the discursive and interactive nature of nostalgia in the process of the politicization of music. It is key to the process of formulating identity in a situation that is politically relevant, such as a protest, in that it activates the relationship between the self and the collective social past with political overtones, as the self is being situated in a musical and political retrospective frame. Building upon the concept of nostalgia (Wilson, 2005), we emphasize that nostalgia is not static; rather, it is a cultural form adhered to music which actively communicates and negotiates self-​identity within the collective whole. Regarding nostalgic mediation in the politicization of music, the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” (海闊天空) (1993)—​produced and sung by Wong Ka Kui (黃家駒), who is the vocalist of the local band Beyond—​is relevant in the context of Hong Kong. Beyond is a Hong Kong rock band formed in 1983; for the band, their band name means going beyond rock and roll. In other words, they play music that is alternative to popular rock. Since 1987, the band has won numerous awards; for example, at TVB’s Jade Solid Gold Best Ten Music Awards Presentation, Radio Television Hong Kong’s (RTHK’s) Top Ten Chinese Gold Songs Award

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Concert, Commercial Radio’s Ultimate Song Chart Awards Presentation, and Metro Radio’s Hit Awards. Considering the awards the band received (around 15 between 1987 and 1993 in the annual awards mentioned), it could be said that it was the most popular local band from the late 1980s to the early 1990s. Its target audience was young people who were born in the late 1960s and early 1970s. But what is highlighted in this chapter is that Beyond’s songs—​in particular, “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies”—​perpetuate an influence beyond this “older” generation. That song’s nostalgic legacy now creates new meaning for the current generation of young people, for whom Hong Kong’s political future is in flux. “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” is a ritualized protest song in Hong Kong, mainly because of its lyrical narration and symbolic meaning as well as the singer’s tragic early death. When consuming music, people are not only listening to the music itself, but also re-​experiencing the past in the present. In other words, nostalgic memories are mediating between the past and the present. Though some time has passed since “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” was recorded, when it comes to the Umbrella Movement in 2014, this piece of music is still being popularly consumed in a nostalgic way by a group of young people (in addition to those born in the 1960s and 1970s who grew up with Beyond). Through this piece of music, many mourn for the lost colonial British rule and the political participation and relative political openness that existed prior to the return of sovereignty to China in 1997. The good old days are remembered and re-​experienced in the music and connected to the present, both in personal and collective terms. It is not just the musical and symbolic meaning that is being contextually “made in Hong Kong,” but also the nostalgic mediation which anchors the political identity of people of a specific culture. “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” Undaunted and carefree I will forever sing out my song Walking thousands of miles1 “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” It is impossible to exclude Beyond’s “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” when talking about Hong Kong’s music in relation to popular and social movement culture (Gao, 2010). Perhaps because of its open and encouraging narration, the tune is popularly circulated where protests are held, including on the anniversary of the June 4 Tiananmen incident, on the resignation in five constituencies in 2009,2 and at the anti-​high-​speed-​rail campaigns in 2010. The lyrical narration implies striving towards one’s dream despite sacrifice. In the song, the hope for freedom is narrated as a dream, which is a utopian status strongly associated with happiness, expectation, and fantasy (Colman, 2009). Still, it is always challenging to have one’s dream come true. One may fall and fail in this process. In Wong’s lyrics, “chill,” “night,” “snow,” “rain,” and “winter” all give a sense of coldness. This implies encountering environmental difficulties when chasing one’s dream. However, adversity is not only environmental; it also exists in the psychological state. The “deadened heart,” “jeers and mockeries,” and “fear of getting lost” illustrate loneliness and sentimental suffering. Still, it is not the end yet. Having courage and persistence will be the way forward. Despite desolation, one will get through by being persistent and committed. The lyrics state, “never have I abandoned the dream in my heart” and “never mind if there’s only you and me.” The lyricist is

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admitting there will be solitariness in the process of chasing for dreams. However, he accepts the sacrifice and boldly continues the journey. It is interesting to note the notion of “you and me.” “Me” is the dream chaser, while “you” is another dream chaser or supporter of it. The “you and me” demonstrates an in-​group membership of people striving for their dream or for freedom. Though people may have various definitions of “freedom” or “dream,” the wording is broad enough to embrace personal goals and imagined collective objectives. Besides lyrical content, musical elements of the song also reveal an encouraging story. The lyrical narration of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” is in line with the musical flow. This pushes the emotional expression to its height. At the very beginning, when talking about adversity, which is “cold” and “dark,” the melody is cantabile and the rhythm is slow. A sense of sadness could be constructed. Later, as the chorus starts, the mood changes along with the lyrics. When indicating the passion for dreams and the close bond between “you and me,” the melodic range reaches a higher level. Together with dotted rhythms adopted on the lyrical line of “you and me,” a sense of excitement is created. A high-​spirited sentiment reinforcing this bond is constructed. Furthermore, when reaching the bridge, the emotion of the music reaches its highest level. In the bridge, musical sequences are employed. In musical definition, sequences are “the more or less exact repetition of a passage at a higher or lower level of pitch” (Kennedy, 2013, p. 772). It means identical melodic and rhythmic patterns, used in two or more phrases, with the latter higher than the former in different intervals. In the bridge, the sequences raise ascendingly. The tone of the line “Undaunted and carefree” raises three intervals when reaching “I will forever sing out my song.” And, it arrives at the peak when singing “Walking thousands of miles.” The use of sequence is fantastic in terms of lifting the spirit. Together with the declaration of one’s will in the lyrics, the music arrives at an emotional apex. Thus, in this case, narration of the lyrical and musical components together is an encouraging story in terms of striving for a dream/​freedom. Though the process may be lonely and severe, it is worth the commitment. This embedded meaning in “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” touches informants in certain ways, as explained later. The nostalgic treasure of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” lies not only in its lyrical narration, but also in the tragic biography of Wong Kai Kui, the lead singer of the band Beyond, who composed and sang the song (Gao, 2010). Wong Kai Kui was well known for his musical talent and fortitude. Though gifted, he rejected commercialization of his music. Because of the monopolization of popular music and television stations, he, together with members of the band Beyond, published their musical works themselves. The image of Wong Kai Kui was as courageous and resistant. However, because of an accident while performing, Wong Kai Kui died at the age of 31. “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” was released shortly before his sudden death. As a result, the song became the very last masterpiece sung and written by him. “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” together with the tragic biography of Wong Kai Kui, stirred the society of Hong Kong in the 1990s (Gao, 2010; Ma, 1996). People of that generation were regretful about his death. The meaning of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” was not only embedded in the lyrics and music but tied up with the grief of losing Wong Kai Kui. The Consumption of Nostalgia Based on the combination of musical features, lyrical meanings, and cultural references of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” people in Hong Kong might relate the piece of music to a variety of

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experiences and events and consume the music in a nostalgic way. Twelve in-​depth interviews were conducted to explore the relation between the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” and its musical reception. Interviewees were recruited from among participants of the Umbrella Movement, using snowball sampling. Interview venues were selected by the interviewees based on maximization of their comfort and convenience. All interviews were conducted in public spaces, such as cafes, parks, or sports grounds. The local language of Hong Kong Cantonese was used in the interviews. Interviews were later transcribed and translated by researchers. Informant A is a 52-​year-​old businesswoman. When singing “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” in the Umbrella Movement, she twice thought of the Tiananmen protests on June 4, 1989. She said with a firm tone: “It is the content, meaning, and feeling of the song that triggers your past memory, which was the June 4 event. And, you can feel the general emotions and environment of 1989.” She paused a little and continued: At the time of the June 4 event, the younger generation was not yet born. However nearly all of them could sing “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” and they know about the event. Do you know why? It is because of the song. It acts like a rope, holding people of different generations. Informant B is a 46-​year-​old office worker. She thought of three protests when singing “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” in the Umbrella Movement. She said softly: When I sang the first phrase of the lyrics, my eyes already burst into tears. The first line said, “Today I saw snow falling from the sky.” The text touched my heart as I started thinking why am I standing here in the protest today. Why do I need to do so! Well, it is because we are suffering. She paused for a second, and I could see tears in her eyes. She continued: I am so helpless. It was the same feeling I had in the national education protest [2012]. I am one of those who experienced the British colonial rule and witnessed the deterioration of the society. Different from the past, the Hong Kong government [under Chinese authority] is injust nowadays. When listening to the song, I recollected the June 4 Tiananmen protests in 1989. It was a rainy day, dating back to May 20, 1989, when I first participated in social protest. It was quite romantic to have raindrops in that context. And, now, I am here again to protest for the good of society. She went on to express appreciation for Wong Kai Kui: At the same time, I think about [Wong] Kai Kui. He did not come from a musical nor a wealthy family. Before having the band Beyond, he worked hard in a vehicle repair garage. I was not a big fan of him. However, I have never thought that his music could help us to fight in the protest today, 20 years later on. I don’t think he was a very good-​looking guy, but a hard-​working one. It’s a pity that he died at such a young age. Informant C, who is a restaurant owner aged between 40 and 49, also related the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” to certain political events. He expressed positive emotions

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generated from the song, which gave him strength in his participation in the social movement. He recalled vividly: I like Beyond. It made me think of the June 4 Tiananmen protests and the July 1 protest. You know, the weather was really hot and humid in June and July when these two protests were held. However, when we sang “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” the song acted as encouragement in such a physically difficult time. As in the Umbrella Movement, I  have a feeling of happiness when singing the song. I know the song well and can sing along without looking at the lyrics. Informant D, aged between 40 and 49, is a pastor. Among all the songs heard in the Umbrella Movement, “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” touched him the most. While sharing with me the video he captured during the participation, he described how he sang “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” with other protesters. There were a lot of songs heard in the social movement. However, the scenario that I profoundly remember was a night in Mong Kok, where people jointly sang “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies.” I was touched, because people of difference were doing the same thing in union. The piece of music brings people together, because it implies a significant notion of fighting [against injustice]. Nostalgic Consumption Nostalgia is associated with the favorable memories stored in our thoughts and minds through which we understand the past as the unrepeatable and irreplaceable good old days (Wilson, 2005). To illustrate, we can look to the origin of the word “nostalgia.” In the 17th century, suffering slaves and soldiers underwent homesickness and eagerly yearned for home. The feeling of hurt mixed with anticipation formulates a condensed emotion. This emotion brought them to revisit past images, in both their heads and hearts (Howland, 1962; see Wilson, 2005, p. 23). In their heads, they clearly understood that the imagined old memories would not be identical to the past. Still, their hearts felt a sense of warmth and comfort due to the memories (Howland, 1962). Nostalgia, therefore, becomes sweetness in face of bitterness. When facing adversity, negative emotions appear. Comparison between the bitter present and the perceived beautiful past emerge. The emotion of “longing for” the utopian past becomes energy in the present (Wilson, 2005, p. 27). Moreover, nostalgia is not static, sitting quietly in our minds (Wilson, 2005). It can exist in many forms. In line with previous studies, I reinforce that nostalgia is strongly adhered to music (Janata, Tomic, & Rakowski, 2007), and on this basis, I  propose that nostalgia can be a form of musical consumption, as music by itself can be nostalgic while nostalgia, by nature, can be musical. When informants are listening to/​singing “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” they are not merely consuming the combination of musical and lyrical components of the song; at the same time, they are consuming the nostalgic memories which are owned and carried by the form of the music. Pictures of the good old days of Hong Kong are produced because of the consumption of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” through which the scenario and atmosphere of events such as the June 4 Tiananmen protest, the July 1 protest, and the national education protest reappear and are re-​experienced.

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It is intriguing to note that informants relate the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” to the June 4 protest in 1989, as the song was not recorded and published until 1993. This shows that music has the power to bring people back to their favorable nostalgic past, though the memories may be distorted and inaccurate. Also, “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” is sung and broadcast at June 4 Tiananmen anniversary events every year. Thus, although the piece of music did not exist at the time of the Tiananmen massacre, the song still allowed informants to attach their emotions to that particular protest. That means, the piece of music became a trigger point, bringing informants back to the events of 1989. Nostalgic Mediation Nostalgia is a form of mediation between the past and the present, through emotional connection. It doesn’t just involve memories of past events; it also attaches sensations connected with previous events as part of the memories—​ in this way, past events can be both remembered and re-​experienced (Wilson, 2005). “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” evoked nostalgic feelings, which are always favorable and fantasized, among interviewees. And, these emotions were linked to experiences in the present. These stimulated nostalgic memories reappeared in the minds of informants, and they were re-​experiencing and feeling those nostalgic memories. Generally, when informants heard the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” the musical tones, rhythms, and lyrics of the song, together with experiences and feelings adhered to the music, generated an affect. This affect moved the informants, bringing them back to protests of the old days. As reported by informants, the piece of music “hinges their mind.” And it did reinforce their attitudes towards the event in question (the Umbrella Movement) through their remembering and re-​experiencing the feelings of past events. Furthermore, nostalgic feelings produced from the protest song echoed feelings in the present. In producing nostalgia, protest songs encourage the growth of social movement. As informant A  said, because of the song, one can “feel the general emotions and environment of 1989.” Another informant reported that when she heard the song, she revisited feelings experienced in past protests. “I am so helpless. It was the same feeling I had in the national education protest [2012],” she said. Thus past emotions generated by the song work in concert with current feelings. This powerful echo may function particularly in the context of social movement. Protesters do not come out to protest without a reason. They are disappointed with the dominant authority. Being seen as marginal in the eyes of the authorities, protesters are normally on the weaker side. Singing protest songs could generate emotions from the past, and this re-​experiencing of previous feelings may support their social action. Indeed, the double disappointment generates greater need to protest. Let me again quote informant A, who concluded, “I am here again to protest for the good of society.” As Wilson stated, Individuals create and recreate present reality through an interactional process, but also that the past is recreated in the same manner, according to the given situational demands/​ purposes. Just as we negotiate meaning concerning the here and now, we also negotiate the meaning of the past. (2005, p. 47) Besides mediating between the past and the present, nostalgia can mediate the relationship between the personal and the collective. Other than the personal level, nostalgia can also be

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exercised in a collective way (Wilson, 2005). Nostalgia attached to music mediates the self-​ identity within the collective, based on the musical and cultural frame of the music. Music is a cultural product, which can be consumed individually yet is situated in society. Autobiographical memory generated by music is embedded in the social. Thus memory “might reflect selective remembering and selective forgetting that occur at the collective level” (Wilson, 2005, p.  31). Despite memory being personal, it is adhered to public events. Individual nostalgic memories can reflect social events. For instance, personal memories generated from “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” can reflect past social protests relating to the city, the government, the colonial master, and the motherland. They are largely cultural and social, shared by the collective. Furthermore, nostalgia indicates in-​group membership. Those who share common memories are of the same identity. As Ferrarotti stated, “Memory connects us along the chain of the generations through language, usages and customs, with both collective history and the history of those without history” (cited in Wilson, 2005, p. 41). Collective memory is shared only among the members of the in-​group, no matter their age, profession, family, or so forth (Wilson, 2005). Based on the concept of nostalgia, we propose that nostalgia is significantly adhered to music and is a mediator bridging the past and the present and situating the self in the collective. It is interesting to note that not everyone willingly appreciates nostalgia in music. Because of personal, generational, and cultural diversity, individuals may, to different extents, reject the experiencing of the past. Always as Good as the Past? Compared to the middle-​aged informants discussed above, young adults (aged 20 to 39) have less association with the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies.” Due to their different cultural exposure, the old protest song failed to engage them, thus creating less positive force and mediation. Informant E, aged between 30 and 35, is an administrative executive in a nongovernmental organization. She was an active participant in the Umbrella Movement. When asked about her impression of the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” or if she sang the song together with the crowd, she simply said, “I don’t remember.” Informant F, aged 35, found the song unsubstantial. She said, agitatedly: Oh my god! I hate the song! I don’t want to admit that I have sung it in the protest [Umbrella Movement], but unfortunately I did. Actually I think it was okay to sing it on the first day of the movement. However, it was meaningless to sing it after the police used tear gas to attack us. I am a person who is highly concerned about the meaning of lyrics. The lyric just does not match! I’d rather sing those songs tailor-​made for the Umbrella Movement. Informant G, a 25-​year-​old self-​employed disc jockey said, with a straight face: The song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” was frequently heard in the social movement, but I would not sing it out loud. I have no connection with the song. The melody is boring. It is just not my style. It cannot touch me. Informant H, a 27-​year-​old theology graduate student said that although he liked the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” he could not find a link between the song and the protest: “I like

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the song personally, but it does not match the Umbrella Movement. The lyric itself is too individualistic, which is not suitable for collective singing in the social movement arena.” Nostalgic Mediation in Songs: Effective Functions in Collective Memory As Wilson stated, “In light of the social, economic, political, and environmental forces that have shaped this particular cohort, Generation X is, indeed, distinct in many ways from the generations that have preceded it” (2005, p.  89). And collective memory of song is one of the differences. Commonly, young-​adult informants do not possess a sense of identity in relation to “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies.” The song is not a piece of collective memory for their generation. In any case, why would collective memory of song influence participation in social movements? As discussed above, collective memory of song is key to communication in the social movement arena. It can activate feelings concerning the past that support action in the present. Without such activations, the song has no meaning in terms of triggering supportive emotions. Collective memory is elements of the past, owned by a group of people (Assmann, 2011). These elements, including thoughts, feelings, and values, are formulated in complexity. These thoughts, feelings, and values become the common language of a particular group, which constructs its in-​ group identity. Song is one of the elements of collective memory. People of a specific age group may have certain emotional attachment to a piece of music. And that piece of music may become a powerful communication tool in provoking thoughts about, and encouragement to, protest. Here, we illustrate this with the case of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” noting that this song only functions in this way for members of the middle-​aged group of interviewees. The “popular” song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” though being frequently used in social protests, did not touch the hearts of the younger participants. It is because the song does not represent the youth collectively. In order to generate autobiographical memory and affections, a song has to be owned. However, “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” was published in 1993 and so is not close to the younger generation. What they understand about the song is simply its musical tones, rhythm, lyrics, background information of the band, and so on. Young adults learned the piece of music years after its release, whereas the middle-​aged individuals grew up with it. This explains why young adults have less emotional attachment to the song. “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” is part of the collective memory of the middle-​ aged individuals—​those born in the 1960s and 1970s—​thus engendering the nostalgic tide among them. The song embeds an inspirational story, which is appreciated by the middle-​aged generation but not the younger generation. As mentioned above, the piece of music is by the band Beyond. Their general musical style belongs to rock and roll, which was not common in Hong Kong. As a result, at its peak, the band, together with its music, was regarded by young people as anti-​hegemonic and resistant (Gao, 2010). Youngsters of the 1990s, who are middle-​aged today, witnessed the birth of Beyond and their breakthrough into the music industry. As a result, Beyond’s songs are part of their collective memory. This explains why “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” is able to bridge the past and present for middle-​aged individuals but not young adults. Also, the tragic story of Wong Kai Kui was inlayed in “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” formulating a collective memory among young people at the time. As stated previously, Wong Ka Kui died at the age of 31 due to an accident while performing. Following his death, his image was associated with persistence, resistance, but also regret. People now in the middle-​aged group were sad about his death. They witnessed the tragedy in 1993 and experienced grief at the time.

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Through singing/​hearing “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” during the Umbrella Movement, they re-​experienced those emotions and associated the feelings with the social movement. The song, therefore, acted as powerful medium in provoking emotions, supporting participation in the social movement. Concluding Remarks: Nostalgic Mediation—​the Politicization of Music Music is a rich cultural medium, containing and communicating meanings and feelings and situating identities. Because of these cultural qualities of music, it is without doubt that music can be political, in the sense that it can be a powerful medium communicating political messages and emotions. Debates concerning the politics of music and/​or music of politics (Street, 2006) have supported the claim that the political economy, discourse, and cultural meaning of music have contributed to the politicization of music, which is key to the reception of music. In this chapter, based on textual and musical analysis together with reception analysis of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” we propose that nostalgic mediation is also key to the politicization of music, thus shedding light on the role of agency in understanding the discourse of political music. It is not only the political intention in the production of music, or its surrounding power relations, that contribute to the process of politicization of music; cultural meanings and shared memories that adhered to the musical pieces play important roles too. From a reception perspective, nostalgia is alive in the form of music, and in the subject’s mind and thought. Where music exists, the form of nostalgia also exists. When music is perceived by subjects, nostalgia mediates between the past and the present and situates the subject’s identity by locating the personal within the collective. Hongkongers are living in an interesting time between British and Chinese influence. Interviewees experienced both the good and the bad of British colonial rule. A foreign system of social hierarchy based on education levels, set up by the colonial master; political unrest such as the 1967 riot; and corruption—​these are some of the issues counted among their bitter memories. Meanwhile, contributions to society made under British colonial rule, such as the advancement of infrastructure and the health and education systems and a relatively higher level of freedom, are also stored in the memories of Hongkongers. Yet in 2014, as they faced the social and political problems related to the electoral system and democracy which led to the Umbrella Movement, the baby boomers were tired of the situation and started missing the good old days. They thought of the sweet side of the colonial past; that is, they had nostalgia for a past that can’t be returned to. Situated in the Umbrella Movement in 2014 and consuming the music of “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” it was not only the music, lyrics, and cultural meaning of the song that touched their hearts, but nostalgic memories. Meanwhile, the nostalgic memories also made the piece of music more relevant to the current political concern. The younger generation in Hong Kong do not share the same nostalgic moments as baby boomers. Many of them found the song “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies” ironic rather than meaningful and emotional. In their minds, as they do not share the nostalgic memories embedded in the song, it is irrelevant to the current political demands. They have their own nostalgic memories, which serve to politicalize other pieces of music. It is intriguing to note that although the role of agency is illuminated because of nostalgic mediation when looking at the politicization of music, the nature and content of nostalgia and collective memory is structured in such a way that the old days are always being understood as

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sweet and positive compared to the bitter present. It is a pattern that will repeat itself again and again across generations and societies (Wilson, 2005). Notes 1 These lines are the passing bridge of the song, bridging the verse and the chorus. Musically speaking, these lines touch the highest note; and emotionally speaking, they reach the emotional peak of the song. 2 Five legislative councilors of the pan-​democratic camp resigned in their five respective constituencies, aiming to activate a by-​election.

References Assmann, J. (2011). Cultural Memory and Early Civilization:  Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/​CBO9780511996306. Colman, A. M. (2009). Dream. In A. M. Colman (Ed.), A Dictionary of Psychology. Retrieved from www.oxfordreference. com. Gao, Y. (高玉娟) (2010). “She hui yun dong wei shen me yao chang Beyond de ge? Beyond suo ti xian de yao gun yuan zhen xing ji she qun li liang” 《社會運動為甚麼要唱Beyond 的歌?:  Beyond 所體現的搖滾原真性及社群力量》 [Why sing Beyond in social movements? Beyond and its realness and communal power in in rock music]. Cultural Studies@Lingnan 文化研究@嶺南, 2(1), 1–​32. Hesmondhalgh, D. (2013) Cultural Industries. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Howland, E. (1962). Nostalgia. Journal of Existential Psychiatry, 3(10), 198–​204. Janata, P., Tomic, S. T., & Rakowski, S. K. (2007). Characterisation of music-​evoked autobiographical memories. Memory, 15(8), 845–​860. Kennedy, M. E. (2013). Sequence. In The Oxford Dictionary of Music, 6th ed., rev. Oxford, NY: Oxford University Press. Retrieved from www.oxfordmusiconline.com/​. Ma, J. (馬傑偉) (1996). Jie du pu ji mei jie 《解讀普及媒介》 [Understanding Mass Media]. Hong Kong: Ci wen hua you xian gong si. Street, J. (2006). The pop star as politician: From Belafonte to Bono, from creativity to conscience. In P. Ian (Ed.), The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest (pp. 49–​64). Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Wilson, J. L. (2005). Nostalgia: Sanctuary of Meaning. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press.

Discography Beyond (1993). Boundless oceans, vast skies. Rock and Roll. Hong Kong: Warner Music Hong Kong.

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The Globo-​Regional and the Local in Hong Kong Popular Music C. J. W.-​L. Wee

Made in Hong Kong examines, centrally but not solely, the materialization of Cantonese-​language pop in the 1970s through its halcyon days in the 1980s and 1990s, and ends with music linked to issues that concerned the Umbrella Movement of 2014. The volume’s purpose, the editors state, is both to reevaluate and to “mainstream the cultural significance of Hong Kong popular music” (Fung & Chik, Introduction). “Hong Kong popular music” is perhaps the more flexible expression that captures the multilanguage use and the music genres studied by the contributors, rather than the other major designation that appears, “Cantopop.” The diverse chapters include: Cantopop’s overtaking 1960s English-​language and Mandarin pop (Chu, Chapter 2; Wong, Chapter 5; Chan, Chapter 6); the Taiwanese singer Teresa Teng (鄧麗君)—​ clearly not a Cantopop star—​ who was based in Hong Kong for many years and released recordings in Mandarin, Cantonese, Hokkien, Japanese, Indonesian/​Malay, and English (Cheng, Chapter 9); and less-​commercial musicians such as the hip-​hop artist MC Yan of the indie group LazyMuthaFuckers (大懶堂) (Lin, Chapter 12). Phil Benson and Alice Chik, in their survey of language choice from the 1920s, remark, “In the domain of production, Cantopop dominates Hong Kong popular music, but Mandarin and English are also widely used, by both independent and mainstream Cantopop artists” (Chapter  13)—​and this is true of music in the 1960s and 1970s, before Cantopop comes into its own from the 1990s; with the opening up of Chinese and Taiwanese markets (also see Leow, Chapter 8); and into the 2000s with a more active independent music scene that uses English (also see Cheung, Chapter 7).1 Two of the volume’s contributors argue elsewhere that the nomenclature “Hong Kong popular music” moves us away from “defining music through language [, vital as Cantonese is for understanding cultural significance,] towards defining it through its locality of production” (Chow & de Kloet, 2012, p. 4 [emphasis mine]). That position resonates with the editors’ opinion that “pop music is in itself [the] raw material through which local people exercise their subjectivity, make meanings  … [and] identities”:  the reality and locality that is “Hong Kong,” with all the “social and political issues that beset [it],” is critically and creatively connected to its popular music, whether its manifestation is Cantopop, Mandarin-​language pop (Mandopop) sung by Cantopop stars, or less-​commercial genres (Fung & Chik, Introduction). In point of fact, subjectivity and the reality of the local are firmly entrenched at the center of Made in Hong Kong. What seems notable in the now-​established narrative regarding Hong Kong popular music from the 1970s—​when singing in Cantonese, seen as a “low” language if compared to English, starts to exceed singing in English and Mandarin—​is that it is taken to be the consolidating voice of Hong Kong identity. This is explained by factors including “an increase

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in the locally born and Cantonese-​speaking proportions of the population … and rising living standards, which combined to create a sense of belonging [to the territory, as seen] in the convergence of Cantopop, TV drama and film” (Benson & Chik, Chapter 13). It is often observed that the identity expressed by that music was a blend of Western and Chinese cultures: local pop reality is not a form of nativist purity when we enter the 1980s, as the music industry in the colony becomes dominated by Cantopop production and sales. Not only does it contribute to Hong Kong’s exchequer but it circulates among ethnic Chinese populations in Taiwan, Southeast Asia, and, finally, even in mainland China. The decline from the 1990s is explained usually by a number of reasons—​one being that the diverse and hybridized sound of Hong Kong popular music, having creatively absorbed “Euro-​American, Japanese, Mandarin and even Korean songs” (Chow, 2007, p.  2), becomes too homogenized and commercialized, eventually targeting a restricted youth market (Wang & Ng, Chapter 14). But there are a number of possible intersecting causes for the downturn: the 1997 Asian economic crisis, which leads to the shriveling of overseas markets for both Hong Kong pop and film; the expanding media industry in Taiwan, South Korea, and China; and the growth of the internet (Wang & Ng, Chapter 14). Thereafter, Mandopop and the call of the mainland Chinese market diminish Cantopop.2 What, we then may enquire, is the cultural significance of this narrative in the present in relation to the subjectivity and reality of the local? The cultural critic Ackbar Abbas argues that it is vital for Hongkongers to rethink our historical and cultural experience; [but it is also necessary] to get rid of kitschy ideas like “East meets West” or “tradition and modernity,” and not submit to the discreet charm of the “hybrid”; to ask how the local can be dislocated and separated from the parochial. He adds that any “focus on local experience … has to be distinguished from nativism or parochialism” (2001, pp. 625–​626).3 The issue for Abbas seems to be how the complex, even contradictory, components that comprise Hong Kong culture can be thought of if we do not resort to hoary clichés, narrow-​minded exceptionalist, or maybe even static conceptions of local identity. Collectively, this volume’s essays indicate that the local does commingle cultural with linguistic differences from various “other” cultures West and East—​viz. there is a global mix of Euro-​American and East Asian pop cultures that lead to the constitution of the Cantopop that appears from the 1970s; this commingling (and therefore erasure of binary cultural positions) does not eradicate the various cultural components but instead shows how such components are reworked into the practices creating the local. That is, what might be described as the globo-​ regional is reconstituted into the distinctive cultural locality that is the economically successful Hong Kong coming about from the 1970s—​thus, the global economic and cultural dispersal of the West (what … [can be] call[ed] the global West) engenders new forms of cultural difference and cultural production that link regional identities to ([admittedly] still) limited cosmopolitan versions of Asia that attempt to contend with Asian nations’ subordinate positions. (Wee, 2004, pp. 771–​772) This volume announces that a binary discourse of Asian versus Western values—​or for that matter, any discourse on singular Chineseness that cannot embrace Hong Kong’s cultural complexities—​is best interrogated.

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The Global, the Regional, and the Local If the argument that Cantopop is a distinct local hybrid construction is taken by some critics to be a potentially bland and, by now, unrevealing truism, a number of the volume’s authors try to nuance or otherwise reiterate the still-​existing value of this analytical approach. But this locality, it is apparent, is also part of a larger, networked inter-​Asian pop world in which it is hard to dissociate the local from the global and the regional. Hong Kong popular music is not a freestanding local construction. Wong Ting Hui, for one, looks at the theme song from The Fatal Irony (啼笑因緣), a 1974 TVB-​produced television series based on a novel by Zhang Henshui (張恨水) (1895–​1967), Fate in Tears and Laughter (啼笑因緣) (1931). This song is recognized to be the game changer in setting the precedent for Cantonese-​language theme songs—​it became a part of the media’s move away from older Cantonese opera song styles. “Society became stable and the local economy prospered” in the 1970s, with the colonial government’s policy changes in areas such as housing and education after the 1967 riots, and an “identification with Hong Kong society was spread through popular culture” (Hong Kong Heritage Museum, 2014, p.  6). Wong contends that we must scrutinize the sound of this music, often ignored in favor of the examination of the lyrics, and argues that hybridity is a loose analytical term unless specifics are laid out and tied down to historical context. The Fatal Irony’s theme song has sound elements composed of “Chinese musical instruments in Shanghai pop culture and Cantonese culture, Western musical instruments from Shanghainese popular songs, and US pop” (as the song’s composer Joseph Koo (顧嘉煇) was educated at the Berklee College of Music) (Wong, Chapter 5). Elements of all the above-​mentioned cultural components were used in four films made in Hong Kong between 1949 and 1974 that drew upon the Zhang novel, and Wong combined them in novel ways. The Fatal Irony’s theme song should not be described as being Cantopop per se, but as a “new or newly hybridized” and hence contingent sound, rather than one moment of Cantopop, much less an inevitable starting point of a Cantopop telos, as it were. Clear historical analysis avoids both clichéd and any essentializing deployment of the term hybridity. If in Wong’s chapter, the local in the 1970s was a fortuitous cultural form that drew upon a multivocal and plural mix of American, Cantonese, and Shanghainese sound elements assembled into a sort of multifaceted-​Chinese production with American input, Yiu-​Wai Chu’s chapter on 1980s Hong Kong reiterates earlier arguments he has made (Chu, 2017; Chu & Leung, 2013) that global and, importantly, regional elements—​the focus is on an early Japanese pop-​cultural wave in the 1980s, before the major regional wave in the 1990s (Wee, 2012, pp. 204–​206; Iwabuchi, 2002)—​went into the making of Cantopop. Cover versions of Japanese songs were recorded by Alan Tam (譚詠麟) and Leslie Cheung (張國榮), among others, and such developments were linked with the possibilities for a middle-​class lifestyle, give Japan’s advanced-​nation status: there is hence an aspirational quality to Cantopop. Such covers are not just a question of influence but of the creative ability “to assimilate different elements and style” already activated in Tam and Cheung’s globalized “English popular song backgrounds” (Chu, Chapter 2). Other regional elements were present in the territory, such as Taiwanese modern folk songs reworked into Hong Kong city folk songs. The territory in the 1980s then becomes the “unrivalled … leader in Chinese popular music across the world” (Chu, Chapter 2). If multifaceted Chinese and East Asian cultural items were reconstituted into the hybridized local, what does it mean that, consequently, Cantopop becomes the “leader in Chinese popular

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music?” Does this imply that with the 1984 Sino-​British Joint Declaration and impending decolonization in 1997, an “unsettling formation of postcoloniality [transpired,] … with its own expansive, [cultural-​]colonizing tendencies in the East and Southeast Asian region” (Erni, 2001, pp. 396–​397)? That is one interpretation of the significance of Hong Kong’s pop-​cultural emergence, but some chapters in the volume attest that we could instead take the multilayered cultural components in the music to have an enabling resonance among the diverse ethnic Chinese populations in East and Southeast Asia, and that itself was a constitutive part of Hong Kong pop’s success. The circulation of Hong Kong pop should not be eclipsed by matters of localized hybridity. Brenda Chan, for instance, looks at the “sentimental ballads that contain philosophical musings on life” that were “premised upon identification with the literary and philosophical traditions” (Chan, Chapter 6) in China that Sam Hui (許冠傑) composed and performed, such as “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot” (天才白癡夢) (1975) and “From the Heart of a Loafer” (浪子心聲) (1976). This was a cultural strain that could no longer emanate from mainland China because of the Cultural Revolution. Such elements in Hui’s music therefore were dissociated from a direct ethno-​national identification. Though sung in Cantonese, the music had a regional appeal and affected Mandarin-​language singer-​songwriters in Singapore such as Liang Wern Fook (梁文福) and Eric Moo (巫啟賢), who were pioneers in Xinyao songs (a contraction of Xinjiapo geyao, “Singapore songs”), a musical genre in Singapore prominent from the late 1970s to around 1990. Hui’s “From the Heart of a Loafer” appears as an instrumental quotation in Liang’s “Singapore Pie” (新加坡派) (1990), serving as a symbol of Chinese popular culture consumed in the 1970s and deployed as a means to push back against the dominance of the city-​state’s Anglophone culture. Moo’s “Life is a Dream” (人生如夢) (1993) in the chorus quotes, in Cantonese, the opening line of “Dream of a Genius-​Idiot,” but undertaken so as to oppose Hui’s rejection of “ephemeral [and] unrealistic dreams” and instead dare his listener to live in “a mortal world.” Be that as it may, the point still remains that “Hui’s songs have resonated with ethnic Chinese audiences beyond Hong Kong,” with their emphases on “positive cultural values passed down …, such as contentment, righteousness”; this circulation, Chan contends, “allows us to rethink the ‘Chineseness’ of Hong Kong” (Chan, Chapter 6) beyond the hybridity issue. There is also the modern urban space that Hong Kong was becoming in the 1970s to reflect upon, and how this idiosyncratic site could facilitate the musical production of a putatively transregional, yet not singular, inter-​Asian Chinese subjectivity, as seen in the work of the multilingual Taiwanese singer, Teresa Teng. Chen-​Ching Cheng’s chapter makes the evocative case that Teng’s regional emergence while based in Hong Kong in the 1970s is due to both her being PolyGram Hong Kong’s first Taiwanese and first female singer and the unsettled quality of Hong Kong’s then-​cultural identity, which allowed experiments in aesthetic-​cultural formation: the territory “provided the fertile soil that nurtured [her] music” (Chapter 9).4 In the process, Teng gradually freed herself from Kuomintang control over popular culture in Taiwan, given that the Cold War context encouraged the control of information and the media. Hong Kong’s music industry was internationalizing and entering the regional market, which in Taiwan did not take place until the 1980s. PolyGram introduced highly capitalized processes and the concept of music copyright into Asia (Cheng, Chapter 9), and thus was well-​placed to target as consumers the region’s ethnic Chinese population. One major result was ten albums by Teng in the Mandarin-​language: the Island Love Songs (島國之情歌) series, starting from 1975 with Island Love Songs: Goodbye, My Love (島國之情歌：再見，我的愛人). The album series had covers of Japanese songs (about

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60  percent), adapted Southeast Asian folk songs (about 20  percent), and covers of English-​ language songs and original Mandarin songs (about 10 percent). While the “islands” referred to in the series title implied the music cultures of Japan, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, an abstract concept of the hometown functioned in the albums—​a floating signifier of Chineseness within which Japanese and Southeast Asian music could co-​exist without apparent tension. Cheng calls this a “Translational Sinophone Identity” (following Lu, 2011), one which might empower “the Chinese diaspora to engage in a diasporic identification and negotiation of space between different ethnic groups” where they lived, much as Teng’s music albums did, with their assimilated songs from Japan and Southeast Asia (Cheng, Chapter 9).5 To “spatialize,” as the historian Harootunian opines, is to side with the modernization process (2004), and modernizing Hong Kong in the 1970s is located inside a globalizing capitalist modernity that in turn supported a regionalizing music industry—​but we also need to note that the spatialization of its modern music production capacity includes the (at least) tacit points of view of the denizens in the larger region and their respective contexts. Post-​1997 Hong Kong, the National, and the Contemporary Region Cheng’s invocation of a “Translational Sinophone Identity” returns us to the question of singular Chineseness and Hong Kong’s particularized identity. Unsurprisingly, the latter increasingly came under stress after the handover of the territory was announced in 1984. If, during the 1989 Tiananmen Protests, Hong Kong pop songs became “emblematic” signifiers linked to “[p]‌ro-​democratic Hongkongers … [who] embraced their [potential national] Chinese identity” in solidarity with “the Chinese people within China”—​delineating a moment when particular identity could entertain politico-​cultural negotiation—​by the 2014 Umbrella Movement, such a negotiation with the national faltered: “there was obviously a rise in anti-​Chinese sentiment and [an expression of] localism …, especially among the young protesters” (Ho & Ma, Chapter 1). An inter-​Asian Chinese cultural formation now must deal with a national and at times nationalistic Chinese national identity. Made in Hong Kong testifies to the ending of a period when a regional pluri-​Chineseness more easily flourished, before supercharged economic development granted the People’s Republic of China a claim to singular centrality. Earlier rapid economic growth during the so-​called Asian Miracle Economy years, from the 1970s to 1997, had facilitated a “Pop Culture China” in which the centers of pop production were Hong Kong and Taiwan, but the times, they-​were-​a-​changin’. The term Pop Culture China was coined by sociologist Chua Beng Huat. He posits that “the overall structure and the paths of production, distribution, circulation, and consumption of Chinese language pop culture remain quite stable and can be substantively and discursively constituted as Pop Culture China” (Chua, 2012, p. 4). However, despite his use of a nation-​state’s name, this is a decentered structure: “The configuration of Pop Culture China is materially and symbolically without center; any search for a cultural center would be in vain” (Chua, 2012, p. 39). The question of a center, though, remains a persistent point of disquietude for cultural Chineseness, and this is where Hong Kong and, indeed, East Asian popular music studies coincide with the interests of Sinophone studies, though the latter tends to deal with literature and film (e.g. Chan, 2018; Hee, 2019). The major figure in this area is the literary-​cultural critic Shu-​ mei Shih, who argues that:

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Sinophone studies—​conceived as the study of Sinitic-​language cultures on the margins of geopolitical nation-​states and their hegemonic productions—​locates its objects of attention at the conjuncture of China’s internal colonialism [over Tibetans, Uighurs, and Mongolians] and Sinophone communities everywhere immigrants from China have settled. (Shih, 2011, p. 710)6 The question of Chineseness is linked inextricably with the matter of language—​patently discernible in this volume. Shih maintains, “Sinophone writers and artists around the world, in Southeast Asia, Australia, Taiwan, the Americas, Europe, and elsewhere, have sought to resist the suturing call of Chineseness from China. This has gone hand in hand with their search for local identities” (2011, p. 710). While there is a polemical dimension to her rhetoric, the point is broadly applicable to Made in Hong Kong, as, generally, the chapters in it take Hong Kong pop as located “in a given time and place,” and “emphasize … geopolitical situatedness, [and constitute] a place-​based practice” (Shih, 2011, p. 717). I conclude this chapter by considering how the now-​changing understanding of the local—​arguably, in the 2014 lexicon of Hong Kong protest, it is localism rather than the local—​is part of the geopolitical situatedness of this anthology: the ebullient or perhaps aspirational values linked once with Hong Kong pop have now modulated to values more commensurate with post-​handover times. Vicky Ho and Miranda Ma’s chapter is the representative one to think through. They argue that the political involvement of Anita Mui (梅艷芳), with the 1989 Tiananmen protests, and Denise Ho (何韻詩), with the 2014 Umbrella Movement, are indicative of both continuity and change in Hong Kong’s politico-​cultural situation, especially relating to an identification with a larger, national Chinese identity. Previous attitudes toward “developmentalism” and material success linked with Mui’s participation in a local Hong Kong pop (which, as other chapters demonstrated, had inter-​Asian connections) transmuted into a “post-​materialism” linked with Ho’s “localism,” which “has found expression in various environmental and heritage protection movements which seek a recovery of Hong Kong identity and, at the same time, express a strong discontent towards the business-​dominated [Special Administrative Region] regime” (Ho & Ma, Chapter 1). Mui was a mentor to Ho, and the authors say that their “uncompromising” commitment to democracy fulfilled the “psychological anchor” of being symbolic “daughters of Hong Kong,” though there is more ambivalence about Ho, given the political polarization in society since the Umbrella Movement (Ho & Ma, Chapter 1).7 It has been argued that Hongkongers were politically apathetic until they learned that sovereignty over Hong Kong would go to China, a decision taken without public consensus. This was one of the reasons why in May 1989, people marched in support of a more democratic China—​a country that the territory would soon join, though on a “one country, two systems” constitutional principle. Mui, who came to prominence in the 1980s, was one of the leading participants in the 12-​hour Concert for Democracy in China held on May 27, 1989. She sang “Four Seas in One Heart” (四海一心) in which, as it were, she sang to students in Beijing to affirm that “You and I are thousands of miles apart /​yet we share this mark in our blood /​Forever shall we share the pain and sorrow” (cited in Ho & Ma, Chapter 1).8 Nationalistic songs in both Mandarin and Cantonese were sung at the concert. In contrast, when Denise Ho records “Raise the Umbrella” (撐起雨傘) (2015), there is no longer an implicit we of “fellow Chinese” but, instead, a we who are part of what could be described as a local spirit (Ho & Ma, Chapter 1): “Sitting in the crowd, you and I are not unafraid.” It is Hong Kong democracy now being defended, not a possible national

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Chinese democracy, as local culture was increasingly eroded by what Ho and Ma (Chapter 1) take to be the excessive interference from the mainland given the increasing strength of the expanding Chinese market. China’s nationalism and economic prowess make more difficult envisioning a united democratic-​Chinese imaginary. A renewed local vision of identity may empower ordinary people and even offer a less-​materialistic worldview. Ho writes in 2015 that “success should not be defined by quantifiable productivity and effectiveness only,” for real flesh-​and-​blood Hongkongers “are working hard to find their own ways within this system which prioritizes the economy” (cited in Ho & Ma, Chapter 1). This is a worldview for less economically-​buoyant times. In contrast, Mui came into her own after personal trial and hence seemed part-​and-​parcel of the period when Hong Kong’s economy visibly took off. She was praised in 2003 by the SAR’s first Chief Executive, Tung Chee Hwa, for succeeding through “her own efforts, creativity and perseverance” (cited by Ho & Ma, Chapter 1). Economic confidence was a part of the emergence of Cantopop in the 1970s, as Hong Kong participated in the region’s postwar economic success—​but by the end of 1978, economic reform was announced in China, and the territory slowly becomes a part of an integrated regional economy that is increasingly dependent on China and the Chinese market. Material success as a measure of arrival has its challenges. Regional economic development fostered during the Cold War helped make possible the conditions from the 1970s of increasingly border-​crossing pop-​cultural phenomena such as Cantopop, Mandopop, and then J-​pop (Japanese pop music) and K-​pop (Korean pop music), even as still-​existing Cold War issues reverberate in the region, with China’s increasing assertiveness in Northeast and Southeast Asia—​and within global capitalism itself. Hong Kong popular music functioned and still functions within this not-​quite-​post-​Cold War framework. The role of the United States here is vital. They had planned for a postwar regional economy driven by Japan, with access to markets and raw materials, a goal that complemented their security plan to contain communist expansion by the USSR. However, the 1949 “loss” of China to the Chinese Communist Party complicated that plan. Other plans for regional connection transpired: under US pressure, Japan–​Republic of Korea relations are normalized in 1965, and in the 30 years after 1960, the share of total world exports of the four “mini-​dragons” of Hong Kong, Singapore, Taiwan, and South Korea rises from 1.5 to 6.7 percent (World Bank, 1993, p. 38)—​and Hong Kong can start to think of itself as a presumptive World City. The cultural aesthetic that Hong Kong popular music represented from the 1970s was a popular cultural assertion from “below,” which becomes an inter-​Asian pop phenomenon avant la lettre that could support the larger development of regional consumption desires, with its burgeoning middle class. But in the end, further development of Hong Kong pop seemed foiled by factors including the Asian economic crisis of 1997—​with Hong Kong’s increasing reliance on the mainland market leading to self-​censorship by songwriters or mainstream record industry practitioners (Lau & Man, Chapter 4). The unresolved question of the region’s fractured modern history still persists: “Rampant and competing 19th and 20th century nationalisms have moved again to the fore as pathologies that seem frozen in time raise the specter of renewed conflict” (Feigenbaum & Manning, 2012). If interconnectedness means a world in which there is “the disappearance of History as the fundamental element in which human beings exist, and, not least, the end of an essentially modernist field of political struggle in which the great ideologies still had the force and the great authority of the great religions in recent times,” then Hong Kong’s recent popular music history

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reveals something of the nature of the contemporary moment, for it developed within an historical conjuncture in which History—​one of the “splendors of the modern”—​and the great ideology of nationalism did not entirely give way to the blandishments of “the new transnational ‘culture-​ ideology of consumption’” (Jameson, 1998, pp. 55, 69). The territory’s tense popular musical relationship to mainland China is a part of the cultural expression of the fraught contemporary moment, in which culture, intertwined with the commitment to economic growth, has engaged with older modernist ideologies in ways inconceivable during the height of the Cold War. Acknowledgments This chapter benefited from discussions with Liew Kai Khiun, Jeroen de Kloet, and Chen Kuan-​Hsing. Notes 1 Benson and Chik’s chapter opens up the need for the study of younger Hong Kong pop artists, such as the indie pop group My Little Airport, who use English and French in the midst of their Cantonese songs, or the indie one-​girl band, The Pancakes, who sings childlike-​sounding songs in English. 2 Cf. the overall narrative that appears in Chu’s authoritative 2017 work. 3 Or as the cultural critic John Erni once put it, “in order to have a future, Hong Kong must desire history. Wanting our own history has been a political act at that time [during the transitional period to decolonization, 1984–​1997], for it disrupted attempts of historical erasure and rewriting by the departing colonists and by the southward nationalist historians” (2001, 392). This still seems a relevant topic in these post-​Umbrella Movement days. 4 Cheng opines that “before the handover of Hong Kong to China, the British Hong Kong government-​led educational system did not provide Hong Kong residents with sufficient or systematic Chinese historical discourse, and this led to the uncertainty about [the] national identity of many Hong Kong residents” (Chapter 9). 5 It must be noted that using the term “diasporic” (or indeed “overseas Chinese”) to describe ethnic Chinese who possess a nationality—​Singaporean, Thai, Malaysian—​is problematic. Han-​Chinese settlers in Southeast Asia, as Shih points outs, “consider themselves not [as] overseas Chinese but as locals” (2011, p. 713). 6 By “Sinitic languages,” Shih draws upon the work of Victor H. Mair, who made the argument that the term “dialects” cannot be simply applied to what may be different Chinese languages: “If we accept … that Sinitic or Chinese is a language group rather than being merely a single language, then we must choose another name for the current national language which is one member of that group. The usual designation in English is ‘(Modem Standard) Mandarin’ but it is just as often loosely called ‘Chinese’” (Mair, 1991, pp. 9–​10). He also comments that he is aware of the political implications involved. 7 For a more general narrative of Hong Kong popular music and politics, see Lau and Man, Chapter 4. 8 The song was recorded and appeared on the album The Legend of Pop Queen Anita Mui, Part 1 (1992).

References Abbas, A. (2001). Edge city: A response to “becoming (postcolonial) Hong Kong.” Cultural Studies, 15(3–​4), 621–​626. Chan, C. T. (2018). Indigeneity, map-​mindedness and world-​literary cartography: The poetics and politics of Li Yongping’s transregional Chinese literary production. Modern Chinese Literature and Culture, 30(1), 63–​86. Chow, S. Y. W. (2007). Before and After the Fall: Mapping Hong Kong Cantopop in the Global Era. LEWI Working Paper Series no. 3. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Baptist University. Chow, Y. F., & de Kloet, J. (2012). Sonic Multiplicities: Hong Kong Pop and the Global Circulation of Sound and Image. Bristol, UK: Intellect. Chu, Y. W. (2017). Hong Kong Cantopop: A Concise History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chu, Y. W., & Leung, E. (2013). Remapping Hong Kong popular music: Covers, localisation and the waning hybridity of Cantopop. Popular Music, 32(1), 65–​78.

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 Globo-Regional and Local in Hong Kong Pop Music   •   201 Chua, B. H. (2012). Structure, Audience and Soft Power in East Asian Pop Culture. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Erni, J. (2001). Like a postcolonial culture: Hong Kong re-​imagined. Cultural Studies, 15(3–​4), 389–​418. Feigenbaum, E. A., & Manning, R. A. (2012). “A tale of two Asias.” Foreign Policy, October 31. Retrieved from http://​ foreignpolicy.com/​2012/​10/​31/​a-​tale-​of-​two-​asias. Harootunian, H. (2004). Ghostly comparisons. In T. Lamarre & N. H. Kang (Eds.), Impacts of Modernities (pp. 39–​52). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Hee, W. S. (2019). Remapping the Sinophone:  The Cultural Production of Chinese-​Language Cinema in Singapore and Malaya Before and During the Cold War. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Hong Kong Heritage Museum (2014). “Riding a melodic tide: The development of Cantopop in Hong Kong.” June 19. Retrieved from www.heritagemuseum.gov.hk/​documents/​2199315/​2199693/​Cantopop_​E.pdf. Iwabuchi, K. (2002). Recentering Globalization:  Popular Culture and Japanese Transnationalism. Durham, NC:  Duke University Press. Jameson, F. (1998). Notes on globalization as a philosophical issue. In F. Jameson & M. Miyoshi (Eds.), The Cultures of Globalization (pp. 54–​77). Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Lu, H. C. (2011). Music as diasporic social space: Constructing soundscapes and ethnoscapes in a Burmese Chinese community in Jhong-​he, Taiwan. Journal of Chinese Ritual, 171, 1–​53. Mair, V. H. (1991). What is a “Chinese dialect/​topolect”? Reflections on some key Sino-​English linguistic terms. Sino-​ Platonic Papers, 29, 1–​31. Shih, S. M. (2011). The concept of the Sinophone. PMLA, 126(3), 709–​718. Wee, C. J.  W.-​L. (2004). Staging the Asian modern:  Cultural fragments, the Singaporean eunuch, and the Asian lear. Critical Inquiry, 30(4), 771–​799. Wee, C. J. W.-​L. (2012). Imagining the fractured East Asian modern: Commonality and difference in mass-​cultural production. Criticism, 54(2), 197–​225. World Bank (1993). The East Asian Miracle: Economic Growth and Public Policy. New York: Oxford University Press.

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Cantopop Is Always Hybrid

A Conversation with Serina Ha

Serina Ha is a very senior media practitioner and independent scholar of Hong Kong’s popular music. In her 30-​year career in Radio Television Hong Kong (RTHK), she served as the artist coordinator for the station, organizing events and interviewing the major artists mentioned in this book, including Leslie Cheung, Anita Mui, Danny Chan, and the “Four Heavenly Kings,” to name a few. In her role as a program host, media management personnel, and a scholar studying popular music, she witnesses and is also a part of the development of Cantopop in Hong Kong. Her PhD dissertation in 2016 documented an important page of the history of Cantopop—​how Cantopop was shaped by Japan and J-​pop in the 1980s. In this interview, Serina attempts to enrich our understanding of Cantopop by underscoring some important musicians, events, and trends, along with some of the arguments that authors have made in different chapters. Editors:  In Made in Hong Kong, we highlight some critical historical moments in which Cantopop and other Hong Kong popular music plays an important social and cultural role. In your view, apart from those highlights, what other historical moments do you think are as important, and what might not be mentioned enough in this volume? Serina:  In this volume, scholars in general acknowledge that the 1980s were the heyday of Cantopop. I would like to further emphasize that it was also a historical time when Japanese music and culture had a strong presence in Hong Kong’s popular culture. The success of Cantopop to a certain extent was attributed to the influx of Japanese music that remedied the lack of local composers in the Hong Kong music scene, while local printed media did the rest by promoting the local pop music. Some “agents,” or personnel who were familiar with the Japanese music scene, served as writers who introduced Japanese culture by publishing articles in printed media in Hong Kong, which at that time was a major channel. Disc jockeys also played a role by relaying their favorite Japanese songs to audiences through radio programs. For radio, I think the most important program was the Chinese Pop Chart of RTHK, which listed the top ten best songs weekly. At the end of the year, the program would present a prize, namely the Top Ten Gold Song Award, and announce the ten best songs of the year. Among those hit songs, there were many Cantopop songs that were in fact Japanese cover versions. In 1987, the song “Don’t Say Goodbye,” performed by Alan Tam (譚詠麟) and composed by Japanese composers, was ranked fourth in the Top Ten Gold Songs locally. Meanwhile, Alan’s album Goodbye, Romance (再見吧!？浪漫) also brought him the third IFPI [International Federation of the Phonographic Industry] Award. Besides Alan Tam’s cover versions, Japanese pop music was also the main musical component in the songs of Hong Kong’s pop artists. The second point that I would like to emphasize is the performance venues. The 1980s also marked a significant moment in which the performance spaces of Cantopop came into being.

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The completion of the Hong Kong Coliseum (HKC) and Queen Elizabeth Stadium (QE Stadium) in April and August 1980, respectively, were two significant locations for Cantopop singers. The capacity of the audience of HKC reached 12,000, while the audience capacity of QE Stadium was more than 3,000. As there were a lot of Japanese cover versions in Cantopop, it was also a major trend in Hong Kong to see the performance of Japanese singers like Hideki Saijo (西城秀樹), who held a concert in Hong Kong at the QE Stadium in 1982. I recall that the stage of the concert was a huge boat. And most of the production crew came directly from Japan. Sam Hui (許冠傑) was the first Hong Kong singer to hold a concert at HKC, in May 1983, while George Lam (林子祥) was the first one who designed a round stage at HKC, for his concert in 1983. In the same year, Wynners had their tenth anniversary concert, while Danny Chan (陳百強) became the youngest artist to hold a concert at HKC after his birthday in September. A “surprise” moment at the end of the 1980s was Alan Tam’s sudden refusal to receive the Top Ten Gold Song Award at the Presentation Ceremony Concert of Top Ten Gold Song Awards held by RTHK in 1988. He was a superstar who received the highest number of gold songs in the 1980s. He won two out of the top ten from 1984 to 1988 at the Top Ten Gold Song Awards. As far as I know, he had been thinking of withdrawing from time to time. The emergence of a cluster of new singers finally prompted him to make the decision at this particular concert. Editors: Cantopop was once very popular around Asia as a symbol of “international music,” but the influence now seems to be showing signs of decline. There is an argument in the book suggesting that the position and uniqueness of Cantopop has been displaced by K-​pop and J-​ pop? What do you think? Serina: Yes, Cantopop was international to Asia, but nowadays K-​pop has replaced its status. Now we see a huge inflow of Korean drama or K-​pop to Hong Kong, and Korean idol groups are highly popular in China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan. But back in the 1980s, South Korea had not yet started to export popular culture goods or music internationally. It was not until 1981 that a private broadcasting company, called Seoul Broadcasting System, was established. In the 1980s, it was Hong Kong culture that “invaded” Korea, particularly with the popularity and influence of Jacky Chan (成龍) or Stephen Chow (周星馳) movies. In Hong Kong, J-​pop was rather the main influence on Cantopop in the 1980s. Popular local artists like “The Four Heavenly Kings” (Andy Lau (劉德華), Leon Lai (黎明), Aaron Kwok (郭富城), and Jacky Cheung (張學友)), Alan Tam, Anita Mui (梅豔芳), Leslie Cheung (張國榮), and Danny Chan, who all gained considerable popularity locally, had their pop songs dubbed from Japanese. Given the popularity of Cantopop, fans shared among themselves a similar culture, and such Cantopop culture (implicitly including melodies of Japanese ballads) has become associated with memories of youth and popular culture of the time. The popularity of those Top Ten Gold Songs, including “Every Day I Love You More” (每天愛你多一些) by Jacky Cheung, “Oh Yeah” by Leon Lai, and “This Love Trap” (愛情陷阱) by Alan Tam, originated from Japanese songs, and such hybrid culture did bring Cantopop to its heyday. Obviously, nowadays, K-​pop and, in fact, all of Korean popular culture has become more prevalent, displacing J-​pop’s influence. Admittedly, as seen in the blooming of K-​pop in Hong Kong and in Asia in the last decade, the support of the Korean government is a crucial factor for its renaissance. Asian and Hong Kong Chinese youth’s preference for Korean culture is seen in the popularity of K-​pop concerts, and such transcultural influence of K-​pop is deliberately boosted by Korean drama, which is a significant part of the entire entertainment industry. Many examples can be seen. For example, in the Korean drama Boyfriend (2018), the theme song and

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an excerpt of its melody were strategically inserted into every single episode to create a sense of romance. One episode that I won’t forget was when, in the debut of the drama, the visuals of the rendezvous between the lovers in Spain was tactically synchronized with the thematic melody of K-​pop. Besides Korean drama, the popularity of K-​pop is also accelerated by its presence on entertainment shows (e.g. the Hong Kong Expo or the Asian Music Festival in Hong Kong) that feature and showcase young Korean idols and artists. However, it seems that the influence of K-​pop also shows signs of decline after the 2010s. I had interviewed Patrick Suen (宣柏健), a Korean critic, regarding the trends in K-​pop nowadays. We discussed the recent incident in which a Korean female artist committed suicide. Such internal incidents drastically damaged the development and reputation of Korean entertainment companies. We don’t know if the influence of K-​pop will rejuvenate or not. Editors:  In this volume, I  understand that most chapters focus on Cantopop singers and performing artists. As you come from the media industries, could you tell us, besides these frontline creative workers—​in the modern sense—​ what is the role of the work behind the scenes? Serina: As I mentioned earlier, the influx of Japanese music to Hong Kong and its impact on Cantopop were highlights of the 1980s. The success story behind it could be said to be attributable to what I called music “agents.” Those agents acted as mediators who facilitated the process of cross-​cultural migration of Japanese music and the seamless adaptation to the Hong Kong market. Theoretically, we could call them cultural intermediaries, who could be editors, producers, managers, or artists, in terms of their roles in the industry. Each such role had an explicit function in selecting, transforming, and localizing Japanese music to a Canton version. When I  say cultural intermediaries, they are meant to be agents who bring value to the industry by determining how creative products are introduced and engaged with by the receivers or other agents through the network. In general, there are four categories of agent that operate in the music industry, namely the work of discovery, decision-​making, direction, and distribution. For example, the song “Rainy Days and Love,” which was originally performed by Japanese singer Mayumi Itsuwa (五輪真弓), was chosen by the executive producer William Kwan (關維麟) when he received the CD from Japan. In this case, he was the agent who discovered the music and made the selection of appropriate pop singers for the cover version. He contacted the lyricist Jolland Heung (向雪懷) to write the Chinese lyrics for the song. Kwan also contacted the sister company of Polydor in Tokyo for the license to be released for the Canton version of the song in Hong Kong. The Cantonese version of “Rainy Days and Love” (雨絲情愁) was then released on Alan’s album Lover Goddess (愛人女神) and became one of the top ten songs at the Top Ten Gold Song Presentation Awards in 1982. The popularity of the song in turn also constructed the taste of local fans, who then demanded more Japanese culture to be imported. Later, Mayumi Itsuwa’s song “Ginkgo Story” (in its original Japanese version) was ranked as the number one song in the Hong Kong Top Ten on RTHK from January 19, 1989, to May 23, 1989, and from January 12 to January 18, 1989. Such Hong Kong–​Japan connection was obviously the result of the work of these cultural intermediaries. Cultural intermediaries still exist now, but the cultural forms might be different. Previously, the intermediaries were the producers, composers, or radio hosts, but now opinion leaders on social media take this role. The “promoter” might appear on Facebook, Instagram, or Weibo, and the frontline intermediary might be an administrator of a certain post. Promotion agents used to promote the song by traditional media, but now they can just send a promotional message or a

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song by AirDrop, Google Drive, YouTube, or WhatsApp. The diffusion is much faster and more efficient, and audiences have a wider choice. Editors: The section on significant artists discussed Teresa Teng, Sam Hui, Leslie Cheung, and MC Yan. What other significant artists seminal to the formation of Cantopop would you like to add? Serina: I would like to mention a few that I personally know and worked with. Alan Tam is one of the most significant artists of the 1980s. He was the singer in Wynners, together with Kenny Bee (鍾鎮濤). After Kenny left the band and went to Taiwan, Alan became the lead singer of the band and had a lot of big hits like “I am Crazy in Love with You” (愛到你發狂) (1980), “The Late Spring” (遲來的春天) (1983), “The Fog of Love” (霧之戀) (1984), “Illusion” (幻影) (1984), and “The Root of Love” (愛的根源) (1984). He held solo concerts at Hong Kong Coliseum for six shows in 1984, 20 shows in 1985, and 38 shows in 1989. Alan Tam’s popularity represents the phenomenon of globalization in terms of how Japanese songs were adapted to Cantopop. The local version of “Love Trap” (愛情陷阱) (1985) was an extraordinary case. This song, together with other gold songs such as “I Love You” (最愛的你) and “The Romance of Rainy Night” (雨夜的浪漫) from the same album, were sold with a record of nine platina, which was equivalent to sales of 450,000 albums, the highest sales in Hong Kong history. Along with Alan Tam’s previous albums The Love of Fog (霧之戀) and The Origin of Love (愛的根源), these three albums became the most remarkable records in the history of Hong Kong pop. The second one is Anita Mui, who was also one of the most important singers in Hong Kong in the 1980s. I would think she is also one of the cultural intermediaries who worked to bridge Japan and Hong Kong. She entered a singing competition on Television Broadcast Limited (TVB) and became the champion by performing a popular Cantopop version of the Japanese song “The Season of Wind” (風的季節), a song from the local singer Paula Tsui (徐小鳳). Apart from that, her performance on stage was ostensibly Japanese. She was an enormous fan of Saijo Hideki (西城秀樹) and was a member of the fan club before she joined the singing contest. The “methodology” by which she imported Japanese music to Hong Kong could be reflected in her stage performance. Given the fact that she was a big fan of Hideki Saijo, her performance always mimicked in some ways the spectacular style of Saijo. In addition to Saijo, Japanese artist Momoe Yamaguchi (山口百惠) was also influential in shaping the image of Anita on stage. Some of the songs of Mui adapted from Yamaguchi were presented on Mui’s first album, Heart Debt (心債), and on her memorial album, Memories of Anita Mui (追憶似水芳華). The hybridity of Japanese and Cantonese style made Anita Mui distinctive from other Cantopop singers. Such production style appealed emotionally to the audience, despite the historical memory of the Japanese invasion of Hong Kong during World War II. The third artist is Danny Chan. His music, I would say, represents another style of Cantopop. He entered the music scene as an idol singer and songwriter who played the piano in a white suit as a “white horse prince” legend. His western gentleman style drew a lot of attention and his appearance was totally different from other popular local artists such as Alan Tam or Sam Hui, whose songs were more associated with daily life and the grassroots. His popular song “Tears for You” (眼淚為你流) reflected the connection between western and Chinese culture, while the romantic scene in the music video and the special production of his song “Date with You in a Few Minutes” (幾分鐘的約會), with the voice of a female DJ in the opening, gave a brand-​new image of Cantopop. On his first album, First Love, released by EMI

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(1979), Danny demonstrated that a successful formula of a Cantopop artist could be one that combined Chinese and western styles. “The Graduate” (失業生) was associated with the western movie The Graduate. Danny’s hit song “Treasure Tonight” (今宵多珍重) from the album Talk (傾訴) was inspired by a song with the same name composed by Wong Fuk Ling (王福齡) in 1956. This song was a classic combination of Chinese ballad and a western style of performance. With a fresh musical arrangement, this song became Danny’s big hit, and Danny won the Gold Song Award at TVB’s Annual Top Ten Presentation Awards in 1982. Another song, “I Am Only Fond of You” (偏偏喜歡你), had lyrics written by Cheng Kwok Kong (鄭國江), who wrote very poetic Chinese lyrics, and the song was well arranged from a melody composed on a Chinese musical instrument. With this song, Danny also won the Top Ten Gold Song Award of RTHK in 1983 and the Tokyo Broadcast System Honorable Award at the Tokyo Music Festival in 1989. Having said that, in the 1980s, given the prevalence of Japanese influence, Danny’s “Cold Wind” (冷風中) and “Travel” (旅程) from the album Deeply in Love with You (深愛著你), released in 1985, also included cover versions of Japanese songs. Editors: Cantopop is said to be connected to Hong Kong’s identity through symbols, metaphors, or sound. As a practitioner, can you tell us some vivid cases? Serina:  Cantopop reflects a range of Hong Kong people with different backgrounds. Music industry practitioners would identify with Sam Hui’s songs because his songs reflected their needs and life. Trendy and chic white-​collar people would admire Leslie Cheung or Danny Chan, because these fans saw them as idols, mimicked them, or became members of the fan clubs. Bands such as Wynners, Raidas, Beyond, or Tat Ming Pair (達明一派), who composed a lot of original Cantopop, are perhaps most representative of Hong Kong’s identity. Their audience is largely students. I noticed that most band members of the same bands in the 1980s were classmates or good friends. They joined different singing contests and released albums with songs that they composed. Both RTHK and Commercial Radio Hong Kong organized different band shows, including notably the Power of Band show at RTHK or the New Music Alliance by Commercial Radio Hong Kong, that further enhanced the formation of new bands in the music scene. On the other hand, record companies attempted to produce and promote their own bands or to recruit some talent groups that had won music competitions. I would like to say more about Beyond, which was an idol band in the 1980s. They were heavily inspired by hard rock and heavy metal music bands such as Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, Genesis, King Crimson, Yes, and Pink Floyd. In their early songs “Goodbye Faith” (再見理想) and “Footnotes of Yesterday” (舊日的足跡), they sang Cantopop mostly in a rock style. Besides rock and roll, the vocalist, Wong Ka Kui (黃家駒), played flamenco guitar music on their self-​produced Goodbye Faith (1986) box set. They represented the first successful rock group who performed underground music in Cantonese and in the rock and roll genre, creating a new epoch in the Cantopop world. “Arabian Girl” (亞拉伯跳舞女郎) (1987), “Contemporary Stage” (現代舞台), “Secret Police” (秘密警察), and “The Big Land” (大地) were some of their significant songs, and the latter became their first Top Ten Gold Song. “Really Love You” (真的愛你), released in 1989, rapidly became the theme song of many public events, festivals, and occasions, including wedding days and mother’s day, and it truly integrated into Hong Kong culture. Their most representative hit song in the 1990s was probably “Amani” (1991), which calls for love and peace. As for Tat Ming Pair, they did not claim any typical music styles in their early days. They adapted a Jamaican music style in their song “Are You Still in Love with Me?” (你還愛我嗎?)

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(1988), or a Latin style in “Talking One’s Head Off ” (天花亂墜) (1989), in combination with country or electronic music styles. The hybridity of their music style reflected the voice of youth, the future of Hong Kong, and the anxiety of the handover of sovereignty of Hong Kong in 1997. In sum, the music of Beyond and Tat Ming Pair was a symbol of love and freedom. They gave hope to the youth to speak their dreams through music and lyrics, and their songs still echo in some of the youth’s demands in Hong Kong’s recent political movements. Youth were encouraged to yell out their dreams in the concerts and were connected with each other by joining their fan clubs. Their music and lyrics were locally made, but their songs could be distributed and heard globally under the auspices of their record companies. Editors: In the era of globalization, some scholars have talked about “world music” that evolves on the basis of local tradition and a strong sense of self-​identity, while setting up transnational dialogue by adapting to so-​called mainstream music styles, instruments, and productions. Do you consider Cantopop a type of world music? In what way, if any, is Cantopop communicating Hong Kong identity through and to music industries or audiences? Serina: Cantopop is in a position that reflects stages of the development of Hong Kong—​ notably with the many crossovers between international and alternative music. Cantopop is also a type of Asian music that is popular around the world. The special characteristics of Canton lyrics are easily adapted by music fans. The variety of music genres in Cantopop differs from traditional Mandarin songs, folk songs, pop songs, or electronic music. In the 1980s, there were numerous examples of Cantopop with distinct “formats.” For example, the local cover version of Japanese songs such as Leslie Cheung’s “Monica” and “Stand Up,” Alan Tam’s “Cannot Forget You” (忘不了你), and Jacky Cheung’s “Every Day I Love You More” (每天愛你多一些) were the greatest hits in the 1980s and 1990s. In return, such hype also promoted Japanese artists in Hong Kong. The cooperation between Hong Kong local artists and international artists, including cases such as Danny Chan and Crystal Gale, Alan Tam and Korean singer Chiu Yung Bu and Japanese artist Shinji Tanimura (谷村新司), brought Hong Kong music to the international scene. In 1993, Jacky Cheung’s Mandarin album Kiss Me Goodbye (吻別) achieved sales of three million at release and up to five million worldwide by 1995. He was also a winner at the World Music Awards, which could be regarded as the highest honor for Chinese singers internationally. Having said that, as Cantopop in Hong Kong had a clear trajectory of development from city folk, I think it is more appropriate to see Cantopop as Asian music instead of world music. In some sense, Mandopop could be regarded as world music, as it targets a wider community in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and, most importantly, mainland China. Starting from 2000, there have been Hong Kong musicians, writers, or producers who moved to Beijing to collaborate with mainland talents and music corporations. One of the examples was my friend Chan Siu Kei (陳少琪), who started his business to produce songs, served as producer and music director in Beijing, and produced theme songs, mostly in Putonghua, for big events in Hong Kong or mainland China. There should be many other similar companies that market Mandopop worldwide. Lately, some local singers have focused their work on the Mandopop scene instead of Cantopop. Examples include G.E.M. (鄧紫琪), Khalil Fong (方大同), and Pakho Chow (周柏豪), whose routine work could be located in China or Taiwan. For the development of Cantopop, from this perspective, this is a tragedy. For the record companies in Hong Kong, it is only a gesture to release

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Cantopop in Hong Kong to promote the international image of the artists, but their business base and mode of operation shifted to China years ago. Editors: The last section of this book examines contemporary Cantopop that takes on political meaning and is widely popular. Can you think of some other meanings of contemporary Cantopop? Serina: As I said, local music in the 1980s symbolized local development, the local identity, and the unique culture of Hong Kong. Due to the colonial history, Hong Kong people differentiated themselves from mainland Chinese, naturally creating a need for a sense of local consciousness. Cantopop then shouldered the role of reflecting the social milieu in Hong Kong during that particular period. That is why Cantopop always echoes local desires and sentiment. Regionally, Cantopop could also be seen as an avenue for Hong Kong to attain an important position in Asia. As also stated earlier, the entertainment industry burgeoned as a consequence of the opening of the HKC in the same period. It was not only local artists (e.g. Sam Hui, Alan Tam, Anita Mui, and Leslie Cheung) who held concerts on this big stage. It was also seen as a stepping stone for overseas singers before moving to other Asian countries or China. The UK band Wham! launched “The Big Tour” in Hong Kong before traveling to Beijing in 1985. Asian record companies also attempted to penetrate the Hong Kong music market through Cantopop. Japanese record company Avex Trax launched its branch in Hong Kong with local artists such as Grace Ip (葉佩雯), a disciple of the famous Japanese producer Tetsuya Komuro (小室哲哉). Avex Trax’s Japanese artist, Hideaki Takizawa (瀧澤秀明), also marketed his song “Kiseki,” meaning “miracle,” in Hong Kong, and it became the top song on the Nippon Chart on RTHK in October 2002. With joint collaboration overseas, HKC became a platform for music crossover in Asia. The first Hong Kong modern musical, Snow Wolf Lake (雪狼湖), held at HKC in 1997, was a joint production of Singapore, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, with team members from Hong Kong (singer Jacky Cheung, producers Michael Au (歐丁玉) and Andrew Tuason (杜自持), musicians including Leon Ko (高世章), and composer Richard Lam (林振強)) and Singapore (conductor Dick Lee and the performer Kit Chan (陳潔儀)). The show played a record 42 nights in Hong Kong and 7 nights in Singapore, to audiences of more than 300,000. It was the talk of the town in those years. Editors:  In the past decades, some Cantopop artists released albums and performed in the market of mainland China, and also performed in Hong Kong at the same time. Sometimes, the music, the performance, and the discourse might be very different. As you mentioned earlier, it could be a blow to Hong Kong’s music industry. Serina: Yes, it could be a threat. But there are also opportunities for Hong Kong’s musicians and music companies. In fact, I  would see this as a more natural cultural exchange. In retrospect, it was around the year 1992 when the movement of artists became more frequent between mainland China and Hong Kong. Chinese artists including Na Ying (那英), Kevin Xie (解曉東), and Mo Amin (毛阿敏) came to Hong Kong, while the Hong Kong artists like Leon Lai, Sandy Lam (林憶蓮), Alan Tam, or Sally Ip (葉倩文) went to China to promote their Mandopop. The crossover between mainland China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Macau was anchored by a nongovernmental charity project to raise donations for the Eastern China flood of 1991, with a cover version of “Bridge over Troubled Water” (滔滔千里心) performed by singers from Taiwan and Hong Kong in a seven-​hour event at the Jockey Club Hong Kong, co-​broadcast by the two main television stations, TVB and Asia Television Limited. In the 1990s, the popularity of Mandopop in Hong Kong encouraged the establishment of mainland record companies. International music records based in Hong Kong cooperated with

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China’s local record companies to provide chances for the inflow of Hong Kong and Taiwanese music and singers to China. After the “Four Heavenly Kings” from Hong Kong, Taiwanese artists such as Jay Chou (周杰倫), David Tao (陶喆), Wang Leehom (王力宏), F4, Mayday, and S.H.E. also successfully marched into the mainland music market. Nowadays, despite differences in style, some Hong Kong artists manage to enter China’s music market through China’s major media. In 2014, for example, G.E.M., who had already released albums in Hong Kong, took part in television music contests, such as I Am a Singer, Season 2, as contestants and became widely accepted in the Chinese market. For these Cantopop singers who work in the music industry, gaining major acceptance from the mainland scene would naturally follow the “four Ds,” which I have addressed in my PhD thesis: musicians transform themselves into important cultural intermediaries by means of discovering the need of the (mainland) audiences, deciding their role themselves, and directing the audiences or fans to the art or music in the course of the diffusion of culture. Discography Beyond (1986a). Footnotes of yesterday. Goodbye Faith. Hong Kong: Kinn’s Music. Beyond (1986b). Goodbye faith. Goodbye Faith. Hong Kong: Kinn’s Music. Beyond (1987). Arabian Girl. Hong Kong: Kinn’s Music. Beyond (1988a). Contemporary Stage. Hong Kong: Kinn’s Music. Beyond (1988b). Secret Police. Hong Kong: Cinepoly Records. Beyond (1989). Really love you. Beyond IV. Hong Kong: Cinepoly Records. Beyond (1990). The Big Land. Hong Kong: Cinepoly Records. Beyond (1991). Amani. Hong Kong: Cinepoly Records. Chan, Danny (1979). The graduate. First Love. Hong Kong: EMI. Chan, Danny (1980). Date with you in a few minutes. Date with You in a Few Minutes. Hong Kong: Warner Music. Chan, Danny (1982). Treasure tonight. Talk. Hong Kong: Warner Music. Chan, Danny (1983). I am only fond of you. I Am Only Fond of You. Hong Kong: Warner Music. Chan, Danny (1985). Deeply in Love with You. Hong Kong: Warner Music. Cheung, Jacky (1991). Every day I love you more. Love & Obsession. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Cheung, Jacky (1993). Kiss Me Goodbye. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Cheung, Jacky (1997). Snow Wolf Lake. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Cheung, Leslie (1984a). Monica. Hong Kong: Capital Artists Music. Cheung, Leslie (1984b). Stand Up. Hong Kong: Capital Artists Music. Cui, Ping (1956). Treasure Tonight. Shanghai: Philips. Itsuwa, Mayumi (1988). Ginkgo story. Nostalgia. Tokyo: CBS/​Sony. Lai, Leon (1992). Oh yeah. Accumulating Passion. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Mui, Anita (2012). Heart Debt. Hong Kong: Capital Artists Music. Mui, Anita (2014). Memories of Anita Mui. Hong Kong: Capital Artists Music. Takizawa, Hideaki (2002). Kiseki. Hatachi. Tokyo: Avex Trax. Tam, Alan (1980). I Am Crazy in Love with You. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1981). Cannot Forget You. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1982). Rainy days and love. Lover Goddess. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1983). Spring ... The Late Spring. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1984a). Illusion. Fog of Love. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1984b). Root of Love. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1984c). The fog of love. Fog of Love. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1985a). I love you. Love Trap. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1985b). Love Trap. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1985c). Love trap. Love Trap. Hong Kong: Philips.

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 Afterword   •   213 Tam, Alan (1985d). The romance of rainy night. Love Trap. Hong Kong: Philips. Tam, Alan (1987). Goodbye, Romance. Hong Kong: Philips. Tat Ming Pair (1988). Are you still in love with me? Are You Still in Love with Me? Hong Kong: PolyGram. Tat Ming Pair (1989). Talking one’s head off. The Untamed. Hong Kong: PolyGram. Tsui, Paula (1981). The season of wind. New Songs and Collection. Hong Kong: CBS/​Sony. Various Artists (2007). Bridge over troubled water. 20/​20+ Chau Lai Mou’s 20 Years Collection. Hong Kong: Universal Music.

Filmography Park, Shin Woo (director) (2018). Boyfriend. Seoul: TvN.

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Contributors

Phil Benson is Professor of Applied Linguistics and Director of the Faculty of Human Sciences Multilingualism Research Centre at Macquarie University in Sydney, Australia. Brenda Chan is Adjunct Assistant Professor in the Department of Chinese Studies at the National University of Singapore. Chen-​Ching Cheng is Assistant Professor in the Department of Journalism & Communication and Deputy Director in the Centre for Asian Studies at the Chu Hai College of Higher Education in Hong Kong. Lok Ming Eric Cheung is Lecturer in Division of Languages and Communication at the College of Professional and Continuing Education, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University. Alice Chik is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Educational Studies and a core member of the Faculty of Human Sciences Multilingualism Research Centre at Macquarie University in Sydney, Australia. Yiu Fai Chow is Associate Professor in the Department of Humanities and Creative Writing of Hong Kong Baptist University. Yiu-​Wai Chu is Professor in the School of Modern Languages and Cultures and Programme Director of Hong Kong Studies at the University of Hong Kong. Jeroen de Kloet is Chair of the Department of Media Studies at the University of Amsterdam and affiliated to the School of Music and Recording Arts, Communication University of China, Beijing, China. Anthony Fung is Professor in the School of Journalism and Communication and Co-​Director of the Institute of Asia-​Pacific Studies at The Chinese University of Hong Kong. He also holds an appointment as Professor in the School of Art and Communication at Beijing Normal University, China. Serina Ha is a senior media practitioner in Radio Television Hong Kong and independent scholar of Hong Kong’s popular music.

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Vicky Ho is Assistant Professor in the School of Arts and Social Sciences at the Open University of Hong Kong. Milan Ismangil is a PhD student at The Chinese University of Hong Kong. Jessica Kong is a PhD student in the Department of Media and Communications at London School of Economics and Political Science. Stella Lau is Programme Director in Performing Arts at the College of Humanities and Law, School of Professional and Continuing Education, at The University of Hong Kong and a Visiting Lecturer (for the MA in Music) in the Department of Music at Hong Kong Baptist University. Johnson Leow is a PhD student in ethnomusicology at The Chinese University of Hong Kong. Kai Khiun Liew is currently an independent scholar. Angel M. Y. Lin is Full Professor (Tenured) and Tier 1 Canada Research Chair in Plurilingual and Intercultural Education in the Faculty of Education at Simon Fraser University, Canada. Miranda Ma holds a PhD in Communication from the School of Journalism and Communication at The Chinese University of Hong Kong. Ivy Man is Senior Lecturer in Humanities, Communications and Social Sciences at the College of Professional and Continuing Education, The Polytechnic University of Hong Kong. Stephanie Ng is a guest lecturer at the Academy of Film, Hong Kong Baptist University, Hong Kong. Leonie Schmidt is Assistant Professor and Post-​Doctoral Researcher in the Department of Media Studies at the University of Amsterdam and a Research Associate in the Department of Media Studies at SOAS, University of London. Hong-​Chi Shiau is Professor in the Department of Communications Management, School of Journalism and Communication, a dual appointment with the Graduate Institute of Gender Studies, at Shih-​Hsin University, Taipei, Taiwan and Adjunct Professor in the International Master’s Program in International Communication Studies at National Chengchi University, Taipei, Taiwan. Meicheng Sun is a PhD student in Communication at Nanyang Technological University in Singapore. Klavier J. Wang is Post-​Doctoral Fellow in the Academy of Hong Kong Studies at The Education University of Hong Kong. C. J. W.-​L. Wee is Professor of English in the Nanyang Technological University and was a Fellow in the Regional Social and Cultural Studies programme at the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies (ISEAS), Singapore (now the ISEAS-​Yusof Ishak Institute). Ting Yiu Wong is an independent scholar.

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217

Index

“1, 2, 3, 4” 38, 43 1984 169, 173–74 1984 6, 7, 21–32, 35–36, 43, 45, 47, 70, 72, 77, 93, 100, 110, 113–14, 196–97, 200, 206, 208 23:59 Before Tomorrow 126, 128, 131 2PM 37 Abbas, Ackbar 194 A Better Tomorrow 33, 39, 43 A Better Tomorrow II 33, 43 A Friend 70, 77 Aces Go Places 125, 131 adjacent possible 81 Admit It 91, 95, 99 agency: aesthetic 3; affective 3 Aka 38 alienation 124, 127, 129 All for Freedom 13, 20, 46, 51 Alone in the West Tower 111 Amin, Mo 211 ancient Chinese culture 101–02 Anders Nelsson and the Kontinentals 150 anti-Extradition Bill protest 1, 129, 145 AS1 (As One) 8, 37–8 assonance 138–9 At First 38 At17 153, 156 autonomy 6, 9, 14, 44–49, 79, 84, 88–89, 121 Bai, Hong 149 Bak, Sheut Sin 143 Band Aid 168 Bauhinia 8, 45–46, 51, 125, 131 Be a Brave Chinese 67, 77 Be My Love 39, 43

Beatles 85, 93, 100, 150, 178 Beautiful Skin 134–35 Bee, Kenny 208 Behind the Yellow Line 24, 32 Beijing 6, 12–13, 21, 39, 45–6, 61–2, 74, 111, 168–69, 173, 198, 210–11, 214 Belle Époque 85–6 Benson, Phil 147, 193, 214 Better Not to Meet 57, 96–98 Beyond 26, 38, 78, 89, 95, 99, 144, 162, 167, 181–85, 188, 190, 209–10, 212 Bianjing 111 Big City Night Life 134–35 Black Suit 39, 43 Blackbird 26 Blossoms 9, 48–49, 51 Bo Qun Flower Festival 48 Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies 144, 181–89 Bowie, David 169, 178–79 Boyfriend 206, 213 Bridge over Troubled Water 211 Busan International Film Festival 39 busking 88 But Tonight, The Boulevard Is Mine 85, 90 Caldwell, J. T. 169–71, 179 Cantonese opera: Taiping Theatre 149 Cantopop–Kpop convergence 33 Cantopop: mainstreaming 1, 3; marginalizing 2 Carpio, Teresa 151 celebrity 11, 15, 30, 118, 123, 159, 166–67 Cha, Louis 101 Chan, Agnes 25 Chan, Chelsea 22, 25 Chan, Connie 143

217

218

218   •   Index Chan, Danny 23, 25, 28–29, 31, 73, 103, 205–06, 208–10 Chan, Eason 56–57, 91, 95, 99, 152–54, 158 Chan, Eliza 25 Chan, Jackie 37–38, 41 Chan, Siu Kei 210 Chang, Eileen 96, 97, 99 Chang, Grace 143, 150 character of Hong Kong 124, 129 Chen, Edison 133, 135, 141 Chen, Kelly 37, 42 Cheng, Adam 31, 101 Cheng, Sammi 36, 38–39, 42 Cheronna 38 Cheung, Esther 168 Cheung, Leslie 7, 21, 23–28, 30–31, 33–6, 43, 56, 75, 93–4, 103, 115–19, 121–23, 151, 195, 205–06, 208–11 Cheung, Maggie 24, 117 Cheung, Ming Man 26, 67, 77 Chik, Alice 1, 55, 103, 147, 193, 213 Chinese poetry 54 Chinese Pop Chart 205 Chineseness 54, 60, 66–67, 69, 71, 73–75, 77, 102, 112, 123, 194, 196–98 Chochukmo 84, 89 Choi, Charlene 143, 157 Chong, Elkie 38 Chou, Jay 178, 212 Chow, Pakho 210 Chow, Yiu Fai 168, 171, 214 chou-hau 133–34, 138, 140–41 Chuck D 136 Chu, Shu Chen 112 Chu, Stephen 2, 57, 60, 168 Chung, Cherie 117–18 Chung, Gillian 143, 157, 166 Cho, Yong Pil 35, 43 city folk songs 26, 195 civil disobedience 15 CJ Entertainment 35, 39 Close to You 39, 43 Clot Media Division 141 Cold War 107, 196, 199–201 colonial rule 55, 121, 184, 189 coming out 103, 115, 117, 119, 121–22 companionship 115

Composers and Authors Society of Hong Kong (CASH) 48 Concert for Democracy in China 13, 198 conglomerate 144, 157, 159 conscious rap 104, 132 core values 16–17 Corner, John 171 corpus linguistics 89 CosmoAsians 34, 40 counter-public 116 covers 2, 7, 36–8, 40, 72, 89, 91–95, 97–99, 109–10, 121, 130, 139, 147, 153–54, 166, 195–97, 200 CR (Commercial Radio) 11, 15, 49, 93, 182, 209 crisis 18, 20, 35, 37, 125–26, 160: economic 194, 199; political 44, 48 cross-media: marketing 157; stardom 157–59; synergy 7, 23, 27, 29 crowdfunding 18 cultural export 2, 56 cultural intermediaries 207–08 cultural locality 194 cultural memory 5, 9, 120, 181, 190 Cultural Revolution 67, 76, 196 D’Topnotes 143, 150 Danny Diaz and the Checkmates 150 Daoist 141 Date with You in a Few Minutes 208, 212 Daughter of Hong Kong 5, 6, 10–12, 16, 18–20, 103, 198 Dear Jane 79 democracy 8–15, 19–21, 44, 48, 103, 146, 169, 177, 189, 198–99 Deng, Ying Ting 37 Descendants of the Sun 37, 40, 43 developmentalism 6, 16, 19, 198 dialects 57, 59, 71, 75, 110, 200 diasporic Chinese identity 110, 113, 120–21, 197 diglossic environment 79 DJ Frankie 135 DJ Tommy 36, 41, 134–35, 142 Do You Hear the People Sing 20, 145–46 Do You Still Love Me 46, 51 Dong Yi 37, 41, 43 Don’t Say Goodbye 205 Dream of a Genius-Idiot 54, 67–68, 73, 196 duo 48, 104, 143–44, 157, 162, 168–69, 171

219

 Index   •   219 Durian What What What 124, 126, 128, 131 Dusty 36, 103 Dwagie 36 Dyer, Richard 157–58, 166 E.co 38 Earth Records 107 Eddy 38 Eiffel Tower above the Clouds 66 EMI-Pathé 149–50 emotion-intensifier 137 emotional energies 132–34, 142 Emperor Entertainment Group 142, 156, 159–61, 164, 165–67 Emperor Motion Pictures 159 English Summer Sun 86 entertainment industry 3, 13, 34, 42, 74, 157, 159, 166, 206, 211 EP: AV-EP 160 erhu 63 Every Day I Love You More 208, 210, 212 Extended Worthy Aphorisms 69 F4 212 fandom 3, 28, 30, 115–16, 118, 120–21, 166 Farewell my Concubine 103, 105, 118–20, 123 Faye Wong 34, 36, 94, 153, 156, 158 Fiery Beauty 36, 43 Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period 110 Flash On 39, 43 Floating City is Sinking 86 folk rock 66 Fong, Khalil 152–53, 156, 210 Fong, Mona 150 four Ds: discovery 207; decision making 207; direction 207; distribution 207 Four Seas in One Heart 13, 20, 198 Friends 77 friendship 70, 74, 104, 144, 160–61, 163–65, 178 Frith, Simon 170 From the Heart of a Loafer 54, 67, 69, 72, 77, 196 Fung, Anthony 1, 55, 103, 181, 214 Fung, Fiona 153 G.E.M. 210, 212 Games Gamblers Play 22–23, 31, 66, 77, 151, 156 GDJYB 49, 104, 124, 126–31 Gege 115

Generation X 188 generation: new 12, 36, 38, 66, 91, 103–05, 124, 127, 129–30, 144–45, 159; post-1980s 124, 127–130; younger 126, 184, 188–89 Get a New Job 68 girl-next-door 143, 160–61, 164–65 Girls Generation 37 Glamorous 14, 20 globalization 2, 34, 41, 64, 121–23, 147, 149, 154, 201, 208, 210 globo-regional 193 God of Song 54, 66, 124–26, 130 Gom 36 Good Time Magazine 25 Goodbye Bell 126, 131 Goodbye, Romance 205, 213 GOT7 38 graduation 161–62, 165 Grasshoppers 11, 38, 152 Gremmler, Tobias 174–75 Group of World Championships 36 growing experiences 161 H.O.T. 37 Hallyu 33, 37, 39–42 handover 8, 12, 14, 20, 35, 37, 48, 50, 109, 113, 116, 118, 120–21, 127, 129–30, 153, 168–69, 180, 197–98, 200, 210 Hangzhou 111 Happy Together 103, 105, 118–19, 122–23 Heart Debt 208, 212 Hebei province 107 Heidi 38 hip-hop: conscious 104, 140–41; indie 132, 134–35 Ho, Denise 6, 10–2, 14–20, 49, 84, 103, 130, 144–45, 168–69, 198 Hokkien 71, 109, 193 Holding Up an Umbrella 8, 48–9, 51 Hong Kong Coliseum 7, 18, 25, 108, 151, 160, 166, 168, 176, 180, 206, 208 Hong Kong Cultural Heritage Museum 2 Hong Kong English Popular Music Lyrics Corpus 81 Hong Kong identity 3, 14, 16, 54–55, 62–63, 67, 70, 101–02, 104, 120, 126–29, 144, 151–52, 193, 198, 210 Hong Kong Place 134 Hong Kong Popular Song Contest 22

220

220   •   Index Hong Kong, Hong Kong 57, 77, 107, 114, 131 Hong Kong: alternative music 79; cinema 24, 33, 36, 39–41, 143, 166 Hong Kong: Basic Law 14, 44, 48; Coliseum 7, 18, 25, 108, 151, 160, 166, 168, 176, 180, 206, 208; Hong Kong Orchid 125–26 Hong Kong’s Public Order Ordinance 146 Hongkonger: Hongkonger in China 101 Hope 37, 42–3 How Much Melancholy 111 Hui, Andy 11, 84 Hui, Michael 66–67, 69, 151 Hui, Sam 8, 22, 24–25, 29, 45, 54, 56, 59–60, 64, 66–77, 93, 102–04, 124–25, 129–31, 144, 151–52, 158, 196, 206, 208–09, 211 Hung, Sit Chi 67 hybridity: identities 127 hybridization: cross-cultural 25–26, 29 I Am Only Fond of You 209, 212 I Belong To U (You) 39, 43 I Have Something to Say Yet I Say Nothing 111 I Just Called to Say I Love You 72, 77 I Marshmallow You 85–86, 90 I’ll be Waiting 125, 131 identity: local 14, 61–3, 87, 89, 128, 151, 155, 194, 211; cultural 40, 45, 55, 74, 89, 109, 130, 196; Hong Kong 3, 14, 16, 54–55, 62–63, 67, 70, 101–02, 104, 120, 126–29, 144, 151–52, 193, 198, 210 If I Were a Magician 86–87 If I Were Real 110 Illusion 24, 27, 208, 212 imagined community 13, 15, 108–09 indie (independent): music 9, 18, 55, 78, 80–81, 84, 88–90, 104, 131, 145, 152–53, 155, 193; band 124, 126, 128, 131; consumption 84; distribution 84; management 84 infrastructure 7, 189 Inter-Asia pop culture 34, 40 inter-Asian pop world 195 Internal Affairs 139, 142 International Federation of the Phonographic Industry 22, 46, 166, 205 intertextuality 56–7, 60, 91–92, 96–99, 138 Ip, Deanie Tak-han 15, 49

Ip, Sally 211 IQ84 173–74, 176, 180 Island Love Songs 107–10, 114, 196 Jade Solid Gold 21, 24, 27–28, 181 Jaguar 36 Jamcast Entertainment 48, 43 Japan 2–3, 7, 22, 25–27, 30, 34–36, 38, 41–43, 59, 65, 79, 93, 100, 103, 109–10, 134–35, 139, 142–43, 146, 147, 148, 150–52, 154–55, 193–97, 199, 201, 205–11 Jessica 38 Jewel in the Palace 37, 43 Jimenez Sarmiento, Natalie 39, 43 JJCC 8, 38 Jo-T 46 Joe Junior and the Side Effects 143, 150 Joint Declaration 12, 21, 44–47, 196 Joosuc 36 Judge By Self 141 June 4 Movement 45–47, 144 JYP 38 K-pop, Kpop 7–8, 33–42, 147, 180, 199, 206–07 KBS 33 Kim, Dong Wook 33, 41 Kiss Me Goodbye 210, 212 Kloet, Jeroen de 168, 175, 200, 214 Koo, Joseph 22, 62–63, 102, 195 Kong, Ling 150 Korean: TV drama 33; theme song 33, 37; Wave 33, 35, 37, 40–42 Kuomintang 107, 196 Kwan, Michael 23, 25, 28, 101 Kwan, William 207 Kwok, Aaron 37, 79, 206 Kwok, Wallace 171–72, 177–78 Lai, Leon 34, 37, 79, 98, 152–53, 206, 211 Lai, Peter 69 Lam, Andrew 29 Lam, Chet 103, 153 Lam, George 23, 25, 29, 151, 206 Lam, Samantha 24, 26, 28 Lam, Sandy 118, 152, 211 Lang, Sandra 22, 63, 151 language question 78–79, 81, 88 Lau, Tats 26, 144, 168, 171

221

 Index   •   221 Law, Jabin 85, 90 LazyMuthafuckers 36, 132, 193 Lau, Andy 37, 103, 152, 154–55, 206 Lee, Hi 38 Lee, Jung Hyun 36, 38, 43 Lee, Yao 149 Let’s Drink 68 Leung, Albert 24, 49, 96, 98 Li, Bai 54, 68, 70 Li, Yu 111 Liang, Wern Fook 71–74, 76–77, 196 Liu, Wen Cheng 73, 76 Life Is a Dream 73, 77, 196 Life Records 108 Li, Gongzuo 54, 68 Li, Jinhui 149 Lin, Angel 132, 215 Lin, Xi 24, 179 Light Exquisite Feeling 102, 107, 110–12, 114 Linan 111 Lion Rock spirit 6, 16–17, 20, 102 Lo, Candy 154 Lo, Dayou 8 Lo, Hiu Pan 15 Lo, Jimmy 24, 30 local: community 17; identity 14, 61–63, 87, 89, 128, 151, 155, 194, 211 localism see localization locality see localization localization 2, 22–3, 39–40, 57, 64, 79, 108, 121, 142, 166 Long Time No See 57, 96–98 Loona 38 Lotus 66, 102, 125, 131, 143, 150 Love in Autumn 36, 43 Love in Late Autumn 27 Lover Goddess 207, 212 Loving Mothers 128, 131 Lun, Anthony 13, 152 lyrical euphony 139 Macau 38, 74, 211 Maid 39, 43 Mak, Prince 38 mainstreaming 1, 3 Malaysia 40, 54, 60, 67, 71, 74, 108 Male Student in Girls’ School 160–61 MAMA (MNET Asian Music Awards) 35

Mandarin: language 2, 53, 56–7, 63, 78–79, 87, 91, 94–98, 104, 109–10, 143, 146, 147–54; pop songs 13, 22, 25–26, 63, 66, 71–76, 92, 193–94, 196–8, 210 Mandopop 7, 34, 36–37, 56–57, 60, 80, 94, 193–94, 199, 210–11 March of the Volunteers 146 materialism 67, 74, 129 Mayday 212 MC Yan 36, 104, 132–42, 193, 208 Memories of Anita Mui 208, 212 memories: collective 16, 30, 39, 118, 166; social 2, 115 memory 5, 9, 14, 30, 101, 103, 113, 115, 120, 123, 129, 144, 146, 150, 166, 178, 181, 184, 187–90, 208 metaphor: conceptual 80–82; figurative 80; grammatical 56, 79, 80–81, 85–86, 89; ontological 80; orientational 80 Ming dynasty 68 Monica 25–26, 28, 93, 100, 210, 212 Moo, Eric 71–74, 76–77, 196 Mui, Anita 6, 10–14, 16, 19–20, 23–29, 38, 42, 56, 60, 64, 75, 79, 94, 102–03, 117–18, 151, 158, 198, 200, 205–06, 208, 211–12 multifaceted Chinese 195 music agents 205, 207 Music in Everyday Life 4 music video 7, 18, 24, 36–37, 145, 160–61, 167, 208 My Chinese Heart 26–27, 31, 67, 77 My Little Airport 104, 124, 131, 153, 168, 180, 200 Na, Ying 210–11 Nan, Pong 153 national: anthem 74; identity 14, 16, 101–02, 109, 197, 200 nationalism 12, 19, 41, 113–14, 128, 130–31, 154, 199, 200–01 NCT U 38 neo-Confucian Asian cultures 117, 122 neoliberal ideology 16 New Music Alliance 209 New Opium War 134–35 New Time Magazine 25 Ng, Kary 154 Night of Hong Kong 107 Nilson 36 nominalization 80 non-native English songwriters 87

222

222   •   Index nostalgia 39, 56, 72, 87, 108–10, 112–13, 117–18, 124, 130, 144, 181, 183, 185–87, 189–90, 212 Occupy Central Movement 145 Occupy movement see Umbrella Movement Oh Yeah 206, 212 Once upon an Ordinary Girl 24 One Country, Two Systems 39, 44, 47, 57, 113, 198 one melody, two lyrics 56–7, 91, 92, 94 Open Love, Secret Love, Tutoring Institute 160, 167 opera: Cantonese 60, 64, 67, 143, 148–50, 155, 158, 195 ordinariness 165 Orwell, George 22, 29, 168–69 other history of Hong Kong 2 Ouyang, Xiu 111 Pan, Rebecca 150 Pandemonium of Millions of Rustling Leaves 111 paratext 117–18 patriotic education 173 Pax Musica 33, 35–36 People’s Ethnic Identity surveys 101 Pharoahe Monch 138–39, 142 Pink Floyd 209 Please Steal this Album 142 political: apathy 12; orientation 12, 19 political practice 1, 55 political transition 5 politicization of music 181, 189 politics of disappearance 3, 4, 30, 130 PolyGram: Hong Kong 51, 77, 99, 107–09, 111, 114, 131, 151, 156, 196, 212–13 Pop Kun 36 popular culture 7–8, 23, 34–35, 39–42, 64, 66, 71–73, 89, 107, 117, 133, 147–48, 150–51, 154–55, 159, 166, 168, 195–96, 201, 205–06 post-Cantopop epoch 90, 127, 131, 155 post-materialism 16, 198 postcolonial Hong Kong 12, 14, 18, 20, 42, 64, 89, 118, 123 posthumous gay icon 116 Power of Band 209 PRC (People’s Republic of China) 12, 41, 50, 67, 155, 197 pro-Black consciousness 137

pro-democracy movement 6, 10, 12–5, 19–20, 44, 47, 124, 126, 128, 169 protest: music 132, 145; song 145–46, 182, 186–87 Public Enemy 136 public intellectual 132, 141 Qing dynasty 67, 101 Queen 19, 20, 28, 47, 102 Queen Elizabeth Stadium 206 Queen’s Road East 8, 46–47 queer 115–23 Rage Against the Machine 135 Rainy Days and Love 207, 212 Red Rose 57, 96–98 Reimagine Hong Kong 17 Reply 1988 7, 33, 43 Respect for Da Chopstick Hip-Hop 134–35 Responding to Ziyou’s Poem: Remembering Mianchi 69 Revival 85, 90 Reynettes 150 rhymes: internal 139, 142; chain 139; double 139; quadruple 140; three-dimensional 139; mosaic 139 Rocha, Zack de la 135 rock and roll 36, 181, 188, 190, 209 Root of Love 23–24, 26–27, 29, 31, 43, 208, 212 Rouge Tears 111 Round and Round tour 168 RTHK (Radio Television Hong Kong) 10, 12, 20–21, 70, 93, 102, 181, 205 RTV (Rediffusion Television) 28 Rubberband 79, 145 Run to the Future Days 33, 43 Ruthless Grass 111 S.H.E. 212 sampling 138–39, 184 SARS 11, 16, 75, 113, 126 Saul, Williams 137 Schafer, Murray 61 Schmidt, Leonie 168, 215 Sechkies 37 Shanghai popular songs 74, 155 shi dai qu 143, 149–51 Short Hair 36, 43 Siao, Josephine 143

223

 Index   •   223 Simba 38 Sing Hallelujah to the Lord 146 Singapore National Opera House 108 Singapore Pie 72–73, 77, 196 Singapore: education system 72; government 71; identity 72; population 74 Sino-British negotiation 46 Sinophone 110, 197–98, 201 Sit, Fiona 154 slam poetry 137 SM 38 Snow Wolf Lake 211–12 social imaginaries 101–02, 104, 144–46 social memories 2, 115 Song dynasty 69, 111–12 Sotheby’s 35, 40, 42 sound: makers 59, 61, 141; studies 53, 61 soundscape 23, 53, 59, 61, 63, 113, 146, 155, 201 South Korea 3, 33–39, 41–42, 194, 199, 206 Southern Song dynasty 111 spatialization 197 Speak Mandarin Campaign 71 Special Administrative Region of Hong Kong 5, 14, 46, 147, 198 Splendor Starlight Tonight 46, 51 Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress 44 star image 157, 165 stardom 3, 16, 23, 25, 30, 108, 115, 120, 125, 127, 157–59, 163, 165–67 stereophonic listening 57, 98 Story of a Small Town 110 street-occupation movement 11, 14, 44, 48 student movement 12–13, 15, 50 Su, Shi 69, 111 Sun Entertainment 38 Super Girls 37–39, 43 Super Junior 37 Supper Moment 79 T.O.P. 35, 40 Taichi 38 Taiwan: campus folk song movement 72 Tam, Alan 3, 7, 21, 23–9, 31, 35–36, 43, 56, 70, 72, 76–77, 79, 94, 103, 151–52, 195, 205–06, 208, 210–13 Tam, Roman 70, 101–02 Tang, Xianzu 68

Tang dynasty 54, 68, 111 Tanimura, Shinji 35, 210 Tao, David 212 Tat Ming Pair 26, 46, 51, 104, 144, 209–10, 213 Tears For You 208 Teddy Robin and the Playboys 143, 150 teenage fans 163–65 Teng, Teresa 36, 102, 107–10, 112–13, 193, 196, 208 THAAD 39 The Anti-Establishment Blues 48, 51 The Benefactor 85–87 The Big Runaway 26, 32–33 The Bonkers 85 The Chinese University of Hong Kong 2, 55 The Chung Brothers 9, 48–9, 51 The Ebola Syndrome 138–39 The Fabulous Echoes 150 The Fatal Irony 53–54, 59, 61–63, 65, 195 The Fog of Love 24–27, 31, 208, 212 The Graduate 209, 212 The Last Message 66–67, 77 The Menace 150 The Natives 110 The Origin of Love 208 The Private Eyes 22, 31, 66, 69, 71, 77 The Story of the Governor of the Southern Branch 68 The Wind Continues to Blow 28, 31 The Wynners 22, 23, 25, 27, 31, 151, 206, 208–09 This Love Trap 206 Tiananmen: protests 6, 168, 184–85, 197–98 Tomorrow Will Be Better 72, 77 tongzhi 116–21 Tong, Hok Tak 115, 119–20 Too Much 22, 77 Top Ten Chinese Gold Songs 181 Touched by Generous Love 37, 41, 43 transgressive play 133 Translational Sinophone Identity 110, 197 transnational identity formation 117, 121 Treasure Tonight 209, 212 triad language 133 Tsang, Eric 38 Tse, Kay 15, 37, 41, 49, 145 Tse, Nicholas 41 Tseng, Jenny 24–25, 28–30, 101 Tsui, Paula 151, 208 TVB (Television Broadcasting Company) 22 Twins 79, 143–44, 157, 159–67

224

224   •   Index Umbrella: movement 6, 8–11, 14–15, 17–20, 44, 48–50, 124, 126–29, 144–45, 177, 182, 184–89, 193, 197–98, 200; protests 168–69, 177–78 underrepresentation 1 universal music 31, 171, 175 University of Hong Kong Public Opinion Programme 101, 105 USA 38, 60, 77 vernacular 42, 54, 67, 117, 120, 148 Vidal, Janice 153, 156 vulgar mouth, vulgar speech 133 Wa 36, 43 Wang, Jackson 38–39, 42 Wang, Leehom 212 Wang, Liza 67, 101 War Crime 133, 135–42 We Are the World 72–73, 77 We Were to Rendezvous after Twilight 112 What’s Going On…? 95, 99 When Will We Meet Again 54, 57, 67, 69, 70 White Rose 57, 96–99 Who Can Change? 23 Who Has Yet to Speak? 145 Wishing We Could Last Forever 111 Wonder, Stevie 72, 153 Wong, Anthony 15, 49, 103, 138–39, 144–45, 153, 168, 171–73, 177–79 Wong, Chi Wah 2 Wong, Duncan 171–72, 175–76, 178–79 Wong, James Jum-Sum 22, 26, 28, 60, 102, 127 Wong, Jing 85 Wong, Kar-wai 103, 105, 118, 122–3 Wong, Lukas Yuk Hei 38

Wong, Vivi Kar-Hei 38 Woo, John 33 working class 66, 125, 129, 130, 133 works behind the scenes 169–70, 207 Xie, Kevin 211 Xin, Qi-Ji 111 Xinyao 72–73, 196 Yam, Kim Fai 143 Yanny 38 Yau, Herman 139 Yeh, Sally 25, 29, 152 Yeo, She Geok 108 YES! Cards 161, 164 YES! Station 161 Yeung, Albert 159 YG 38, 43 You Are My Everything 37, 40 You Are My Only One 73, 77 You Can Walk Along 86 You Don’t Know Me So You Love Me 85, 90 Youthfulness 3 Yueqin 62–63 Yukilovey 49 Yul 38 Yung, Joey 38, 42–43, 79, 152–53, 156 Yunlin 107 ZBW Radio 149 Zhang, Henshui 195 Zhao, Kuang-Yin 111 Zhong, Yan Fan 111, 130 Zhou, Xuan 149 Zica 38