In the 1970s Kimbo, or Tuko Mackaruwane in his native Puyuma language, was known as Taiwan's Bob Dylan, blending Taiwanese Aboriginal sounds into his poetry and folk music.
Named Hu Defu (
Produced by Cheng Chieh-ren (
"It's hard not to be touched by Hu's natural yet powerful voice," said Lee Kun-yao (
Back then, Kimbo was Taiwan's highest paid folk singer, earning up to NT$25,000 a month -- at a time when the monthly salary of a Cabinet minister was NT$7,000 per month.
"Maybe my songs were too heavy for the market or to package for commercial record companies. They were written not for publishing purposes in the first place," Kimbo said in a cafe in Taipei, a cigarette constantly in one hand.
PHOTOS COURTESY OF IGNITE FIRE
Kimbo said he is not a prolific songwriter. He writes about one song a year, each one written, he said, after the pain in his body, heart and soul had reached a cresting point.
"If a song cannot move me to an unbearable degree, I would not publish the song," he said.
The blues he feels is from his 30-year involvement in Taiwan's political, social and Aboriginal movements. In all of these upheavals over the years, Kimbo's role hasn't been that merely of the protest singer, but rather he has been the frontman and organizer of many demonstrations.
In the 1980s Kimbo was a member of the tangwai (
Hu was among the first to talk about reclaiming land from Han Chinese-owned businesses and from the government, preserving Aboriginal names and raising the issue of Aboriginal girls being forced into prostitution.
Even in 1999, a decade after the peak of Taiwan's political and social movements, when the 921 earthquake devastated 90 percent of Aboriginal villages in central Taiwan, Kimbo emerged again, leading clashes with police over unfair treatment of Aboriginal villagers.
When Lien Chan (
All these actions and sentiments have been accumulated and encapsulated in his songs.
The Longest Road (
Darter, Clouded Leopard, The Basin Of Taipei (
Kimbo also wrote folk songs, such as The Boy On The Buffalo's Back (
Kimbo's singing talent took root in his high school years at Taipei's Tam-kang High School, a religious school set up by the missionary George Leslie Mackay. Students were trained to sing psalms and choral songs every morning and to play rugby every afternoon.
"I remember all the boys who loved to sing formed quartets and competed with each other every morning," Kimbo said.
He recalled a nun named Ms Taylor, who introduced Scottish folk songs and American Southern spirituals to the boys.
"I was naturally drawn to the rhythm of blues and spirituals and was gradually influenced by these vocal styles," Kimbo said.
"Little by little, I began to understand the content of spirituals and found lots of similarities with Taiwanese Aboriginal music. The repeating patterns of the blues are very similar to some music styles in Puyuma Paiwan music.
"The lyrics of Aboriginal folk music, like spirituals, tell about suffering. But I feel there is more praise to nature in Taiwanese Aboriginal music, instead of just telling about the pain," Kimbo said.
Romanticism and spontaneity seem to always drive Kimbo, making him a pioneer in many other businesses outside his folk music and social-movement activism.
He and friends opened Taiwan's first teppanyaki restaurant in Taipei in 1970. He was also once a partner in Taiwan's leading toy business. But these businesses were all flash-in-the-pan affairs, like many of the short-lived protest campaigns.
His free-spirited style demonstrates Kimbo's talent, but it is also sometimes a source of trouble for his producers. For instance, he never sings the same lyrics twice. Two years ago, it took him two hours to shoot a 20-second music video clip because he could not sing the same lyrics in front of the camera.
"I've sung that song tens of thousands of times. None of the times have I sung the same lyrics," he said.
Now Kimbo has decided to redirect his focus toward music, his one passion.
"I decided that this time I would lay down everything else and start to treat my music, especially Aboriginal music, with respect," Kimbo said.
As Time Flashes is meant to be a summing-up of his past musical career so that he can begin pursuing his new musical passions.
"I want to systematically explore the heritage of Aboriginal music, especially the abundant use in Aboriginal music of words like ho hai yan which don't actually have any meaning. I want to explore the beauty of these words and blend their usage into my own music,"
He will also work more closely with young Aboriginal musicians and music producers to help develop new talent.
"There are so many beautiful voices among the younger generation Aboriginal musicians. Unlike me. Only my heart still rocks," Kimbo said with a laugh.
Taiwan’s English education system is being pulled apart by three opposing forces. Bilingual Nation 2030 pulls students toward English and global communication. Artificial Intelligence (AI) readiness pulls them toward digital judgment, verification and AI-mediated work. But Taiwan’s old exam culture pulls them back toward memorization, grammar drills, timed reading and correct answers. If the education system keeps using old exams to define success, it risks producing graduates who are neither genuinely bilingual nor genuinely AI-ready, but trained for tasks machines can already perform. The first force is Bilingual Nation 2030. Launched in 2018, the policy aimed to “help Taiwan’s workforce connect
It seems every few days one bumps into one of those “real man” comments in which Taiwan is urged to “face reality” or similar, and “make a deal,” with the speaker implying that soon it will be too late. “Deal” advocates always present themselves as having a superior grip on reality, and the manly ability to make the “hard choice.” Their testosterone-laden language often echoes that of Taiwan sellout advocates. Note that such commentary always specifies a process (“make a deal, work with, make progress”), never the end state of what occupation by a violent authoritarian colonialist state will entail. In
There are shadowy cabals plotting to sell out Taiwan to be annexed by China, by invasion if necessary. Fortunately, they are buffoons. In 2019, former Bamboo Union gangster and founder of the China Unification Promotion Party (CUPP), Chang An-le (張安樂, colorfully known as “White Wolf”), led a protest at the Legislative Yuan against comments made by then-premier Su Tseng-chang (蘇貞昌) that in the event of an attack by China, he would never surrender, but would protect the nation by fighting to the end, even if he only had a broom. Chang had party members bring a wooden casket that they
June 1 to June 7 "If all Taiwanese were as afraid of dying as you, then what would happen?” Physician Shih Chiang-nan (施江南) reportedly said this to his wife Chen Chiao-tung (陳焦桐) after she urged him to stop intervening on behalf of Taiwanese soldiers stranded overseas after serving in the Japanese Army during World War II. Shih had clashed with high-ranking officials over the issue, engaged in several heated arguments with Taiwan governor-general Chen Yi (陳儀) and allegedly shouted at general Ko Yuan-fen (柯遠芬), chief of staff of the Taiwan Garrison Command, over
RSS