When Monkey Pilot (猴子飛行員) gets on stage, it’s easy to see how the group’s warm, fun energy draws the audience in. It doesn’t matter who plays before the band, Monkey Pilot is relaxed and exudes an easygoing vibe. The music has a Seattle-grunge feeling initially reminiscent of Soundgarden, which rocks out into heavy metal guitar noodling at times. Add to that charming lead singer Tony Wang (王湯尼) with his “Get on up!” James Brown funk voice, and you have a sound that gets the crowd up onto the dance floor grooving and rocking.
Wang’s physical presence — tall, broad, large — combined with his powerful voice and passionate performance brings the crowd to life. Erin Wang (王昱人) plays drums provides a kicking, energetic rhythm, with John Chen (陳自強) on guitar, Yao Yu (余光燿) on bass, and Zane Yang (楊聲錚) on acoustic guitar.
All five come from different musical backgrounds: hard rock; alternative and metal; funk; and blues and reggae. When they play a show, they like everyone to dance and “get crazy,” said Wang. “We want to talk about life, hard life, easy life — funny things.”
In Taiwan it can be difficult making money from playing in a band, but the members of Monkey Pilot dismiss the idea that one should focus on making money first and having fun later. “If for 10 years you only think about money then your mind is like dead water — you have money but don’t know what is fun,” said Wang.
To avoid this mental stagnancy, the band has come up with a Monkey Pilot philosophy based on early space exploration programs, when monkeys were launched into space as a prelude to manned space flight. According to the Monkey Pilot conception, monkeys don’t know fear — they only know that if they go somewhere and do something they will get a banana.
The basic message the band tries to get across is that you don’t have to be perfect at anything in order to do it, said Wang. “[W]ith no fear you have power, you can do
it and be good at it.”
The secret, said Wang, is not to think too much: “Whatever goes on, the monkey feels fine.”
Nine Taiwanese nervously stand on an observation platform at Tokyo’s Haneda International Airport. It’s 9:20am on March 27, 1968, and they are awaiting the arrival of Liu Wen-ching (柳文卿), who is about to be deported back to Taiwan where he faces possible execution for his independence activities. As he is removed from a minibus, a tenth activist, Dai Tian-chao (戴天昭), jumps out of his hiding place and attacks the immigration officials — the nine other activists in tow — while urging Liu to make a run for it. But he’s pinned to the ground. Amid the commotion, Liu tries to
A dozen excited 10-year-olds are bouncing in their chairs. The small classroom’s walls are lined with racks of wetsuits and water equipment, and decorated with posters of turtles. But the students’ eyes are trained on their teacher, Tseng Ching-ming, describing the currents and sea conditions at nearby Banana Bay, where they’ll soon be going. “Today you have one mission: to take off your equipment and float in the water,” he says. Some of the kids grin, nervously. They don’t know it, but the students from Kenting-Eluan elementary school on Taiwan’s southernmost point, are rare among their peers and predecessors. Despite most of
A pig’s head sits atop a shelf, tufts of blonde hair sprouting from its taut scalp. Opposite, its chalky, wrinkled heart glows red in a bubbling vat of liquid, locks of thick dark hair and teeth scattered below. A giant screen shows the pig draped in a hospital gown. Is it dead? A surgeon inserts human teeth implants, then hair implants — beautifying the horrifyingly human-like animal. Chang Chen-shen (張辰申) calls Incarnation Project: Deviation Lovers “a satirical self-criticism, a critique on the fact that throughout our lives we’ve been instilled with ideas and things that don’t belong to us.” Chang
Feb. 10 to Feb. 16 More than three decades after penning the iconic High Green Mountains (高山青), a frail Teng Yu-ping (鄧禹平) finally visited the verdant peaks and blue streams of Alishan described in the lyrics. Often mistaken as an indigenous folk song, it was actually created in 1949 by Chinese filmmakers while shooting a scene for the movie Happenings in Alishan (阿里山風雲) in Taipei’s Beitou District (北投), recounts director Chang Ying (張英) in the 1999 book, Chang Ying’s Contributions to Taiwanese Cinema and Theater (打鑼三響包得行: 張英對台灣影劇的貢獻). The team was meant to return to China after filming, but