A meaty, meaty chunk of sleaze got my week off to a flying start. Last Saturday, pneumatic songstress Jolin Tsai (蔡依林) was attending an autograph promotion when one of her female fans discovered a man standing behind her had sprayed a DNA daiquiri all over her little black dress.
But the man was not former US president Bill Clinton. According to the Oct. 1 edition of the Liberty Times, it was 29-year-old Lin Hung-chih (林泓志), who works in the "essential oils" industry. Warming to the task, the Liberty Times entertainment section -- these days in full "how does a family newspaper out-sleaze the Apple Daily" mode -- presented the unblinking reader with the headline: "Sex maniac pulls it out and jerks off, Jolin's autograph show cums with a scare" (色情狂掏槍自慰，Jolin 簽唱精魂).
The predictable response: Lin arrested, a horrified event organizer and lots of tongue-clucking and cries of "What is happening to this society?"
But what's the big deal?
I know it's not a good public health move to encourage young men to express themselves all over Jolin fans. But if anything, Jolin should be delighted: her transformation from a virginal 20-odd cutie pie to a hard-bitten, sex-simulating goth Madonna is working. She's sexing up the nation (not to mention the Liberty Times). She's driving lonely young men out of their dark, stuffy bedrooms and into the street to commune with her sensual omnipotence. And now, she has a trouser snake salute in public to prove it.
All of this controversy serves another purpose: It keeps our attention away from her singing.
Some may think that unkind, but Jolin's musical aptitude is right up there with that of your drunken female workmates at the KTV. If you don't believe me, do yourself a favor and track down Jolin's fantastic live performance with none other than Ronald McDonald (a priceless video can be found at blog.xuite.net/pupu900473/pcsh20526/4528470). An aural and visual McFeast it is, too: Jolin struggles to find her pitch, moving sharp then flat, then sharp again. Then flat again. Then flatter still.
Flatter, indeed, than her pre-pneumatic profile.
Poor old Ronald fares even worse, struggling to put a melody of any description together. When our Ron and Jolin team up for the "climax," lovers of good music will be rushing to write their wills on their Big Mac wrappers lest they expire before it's over.
Oh yeah, there's Aboriginal kids swaying in the background in traditional dress. Their role appears to be to offset Ron's bright yellow and red palette with something more aesthetically credible. Why these kids' parents didn't storm the stage and dismember the pair for committing child musical abuse is beyond me.
Eventually, after this atrocity is over, you realize that Jolin has been singing a Chinese-language cover of Stand Up For Love by Destiny's Child (the official theme for McDonald's World Children's Day 2005), all the while as Golden Arches spin above and all around and wide-eyed youth in the crowd brandish sticks with pictures of Golden Arches stuck on the end. Would you like extra cheese with your Charity McConcert, sir?
So I say: Give the Jolin Autograph Pervert a break. Would you prefer him whacking off to a guy in a clown suit?
Jolin has a thing about McDonald's. For me, the nadir of her career was an advertisement she did for the Golden Arches in which she spent most of the time wagging her elbows like a decapitated hen, all the while clucking and cooing from the missing head (see it at www.youtube.com/watch?v=tx2FPRZ5W0s before McDonald's sues YouTube's ass).
Speaking of Aborigines serving as stage props, nothing has depressed me more than to see Kimbo (Hu Te-fu, 胡德夫), that legendary Aboriginal musician and activist, singing a duet with former Democratic Progressive Party chairman and hobby revolutionary Shih Ming-teh (施明德) as the latter began his campaign to shit all over the president.
Kimbo is a co-founder of the Aboriginal movement that started around 25 years ago and one of Taiwan's few truly world-class performers. And he is entitled to express his views on corruption and Chen Shui-bian's (
But I do trust Kimbo will balance the ledger and now turn his rage against corruption in KMT-dominated Aboriginal townships. Elections and governance in Aboriginal areas are as hopelessly corrupt as in any other, courtesy of techniques developed over 60 years of Nationalist intimidation, bribery and paternalism.
But this seems unlikely. Kimbo is too busy enjoying a revival in his musical career, what with the release of a new album and regular concerts now. So is this selective rage, or has Kimbo got a problem with critiquing his own people's weaknesses? Or is he a temporary Shih man just because, Blues Brothers-style, he's on a mission from God and needed the gig?
As the week wore on, I became morose about the state of the arts in this country -- especially popular music. Unable to sleep one night, I wandered down to the local convenience store for a microwaved pasta and energy drink. And over the store's radio system I heard a song that I swore was being performed by F.I.R..
You know F.I.R. -- that's the group with a genuinely talented female singer, Faye (Chan Wen-ting,
Amazingly, it was all in English.
"Heavens," I exclaimed, drawing stares from two drunks looking through financial magazines. "Finally a Taiwanese song with English lyrics that make sense."
But it wasn't F.I.R., and I should have known, too, now that they have turned ultra-camp after only three albums. Witness their singles Flight Tribe -- replete with phony Aboriginal music and Taiwanese "Red Indians" -- and Get High, which hypnotizes you with backing dancers in NBA kit. Seriously. See if you can watch these videos and hold your lunch.
I'm not all that familiar with Western music -- though I have a soft spot for Wagner. So it took me some amount of time and research to identify what band this really was. Eventually, I cracked it. It was Evanescence, a dark and gutsy American group with a female lead singer and a bunch of threatening looking guys with a bit of facial hair. I listened to the song again, and again. I was struck to the core by its aptness as an anthem for this nation's comatose youth. The chorus cut like a dagger:
Wake me up inside
Wake me up inside
Call my name and save me from the dark
Bid my blood to run
Before I come undone
Save me from the nothing I've become
Bring me to life.
Am I being too hard on Jolin, Kimbo and F.I.R., let alone the next generation of Taiwanese? Am I wallowing in trash and becoming one of the sleaze merchants I purport to condemn? You decide. In the meantime, dear reader, repeat after me: In the arts, as with politics, the only way to stay neutral is to piss everybody off.
Heard or read something particularly objectionable about Taiwan? Johnny wants to know: dearjohnny@taipeitimes.com is the place to reach me, with "Dear Johnny" in the subject line.
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