This is from the title track of Simon Hsueh's first album Rock and Roll Stage released seven years ago. To stage a personal concert, to have a stage to himself, to hear the applause of the crowd, has always been his greatest wish. Seven years later, he has done it--just as his health is at its worst.

Last October, Simon went to the mainland with Tao Hsiao-ch'ing, senior broadcaster at the Broadcasting Corporation of China, who has been like a second mother to him. They went to Peking to talk music with mainland rocker Cui Jian. A tumor was discovered during a flu checkup. He went under the knife after returning to Taiwan, and at that time Simon thought that the trouble was past, and he happily showed off his "beautiful scar" to friends. But he didn't know that the cancer had already insidiously spread to most of his liver. Grace Wang, President of Sure Records & Tapes, who has known Simon for a long time and who knew the real situation of his illness, probed Hsueh: "How's your financial situation? Do you plan to produce an album?" Simon replied that there was no need to worry about either. This March, the doctor told him that he had only six months to live. Simon almost gave up on himself. Like all people who suddenly suffer this fate, he asked Heaven, "Why me?"

"Although he didn't cry in front of others, his mood was rather low. He usually doesn't give up easily, but it was like he was fighting a losing battle," says singer Lin Ch'iung-lung, once Hsueh's roommate, in describing Simon's reaction. It was especially hard alone at night. He told his most intimate friend Wang Chiatung, "I haven't slept in days. I just think about life and death and can't sleep." "Everybody says I'm courageous. In fact I'm not. I often hide alone in my room and cry out loud. After crying, and getting it out of my system, only then can I appear with the image everybody sees."

At the end of April, he went to the US to tour with the Min-Fon-Yua-Fu. In a church in Denver, he wrote the lyrics to "Just Want to Ask." "Where does the river of life flow? When will the circuit of time stop?" Being young, he is unwilling to give up, yet can't find the answers. Besides trying Western and Chinese medicine, he even went to the mainland to find the secret formula. "When a ch'i-kung [a Chinese approach to basic life forces] expert held his hand over mine, and asked me if I felt the life force flowing, my heart sank, because I really didn't feel it." He was disappointed again, but nevertheless found the answer to what he "just wanted to ask": Life was to be in his own hands.

"The limit of my life is not far off, but doesn't everyone's life have a limit? Birth, old age, sickness and death--I'm only missing 'old age.' Since that's the way it is, there's no point in not facing facts and trying to extend life," said Simon. He began to learn about cancer, to talk with his body, and, besides medicines, has relied on spiritual strength to win more time to complete the things he wants to do.

If when the end comes, he can't breath, the pain is intense, and his body is full of tubes, he will ask his family to give him a shot of morphine to ease the pain, and to pull out all the tubes, "to let me die with dignity. I don't want to rely on tubes to prolong a life without life," he says about his attitude toward death.

But before pulling out the tubes, what he wants is what has always been the focus of his life--music. He took the initiative to go to Grace Wang and began to plan for something that had long been on his mind, an album about the vicissitudes of being and ending--Life.

In the album production process, Hsueh's illness became known. Through media reports, fans who had been "out of touch" for a long time wrote letters, called, or even sent secret formulas to wish him well. For these people who suddenly showed concern overnight not for his years of commitment to music but for his illness, Simon seems more touched than delighted.

At a press conference, he said, "There are more reporters here today than came to my last four new song releases. . . . The power of the media is really enormous, and has turned Simon Hsueh into a hero, a strange kind of hero, in less than a month."

His illness stole his strength day and night, but it must be acknowledged that it was the best weapon to cause his fame to soar. Having given up many chances to be on TV over the years because he was unwilling to make concessions over a head of long hair, he agreed to meet the media after deliberating for two days. Was it to clear up rumors that he had AIDS? Or was he giving in this time? Was it just that the media was manipulating him to attract readers and viewers? Or was he letting the media boost him? Whatever the answer, the result is already before us.

As for the result, Jean Pu-Pu, Planning and Media Department Manager at Sure Records & Tapes, assumes that, "All things have many sides. Why not seize that part that lets you get by a little easier? If after finding out about Simon because of his illness people can go an extra step and enjoy his music, that's OK too." But Hsueh is afraid people are only curious about his illness, and ignore his music. After releasing the album, he has abandoned most interviews because his body isn't up to it, but when interviewed he only wants to talk about "music."

Simon released his first album Rock and Roll Stage when he was thirty. For the ten years before that, he was a dedicated professional drummer. "Most bands are pretty lazy. Simon demanded to have practice four times a week, from one to five in the morning after the nightclubs closed. He could sacrifice sleep or food to play drums, and wanted other people to be like him. He didn't permit himself or others to stop learning for an instant. There weren't many who could work with him," recalls Han Hsien-kwang, who worked many years with Hsueh in the Huan-yen band.

Over time, drums could no longer satisfy him. "Drumming was at first the thing I loved most, but later it began half drumming, half sleeping, just a job for NT$60,000 a month," says Simon. He was unwilling to go on that way, so he gave up the life of drumming, throwing away the easy source of income, leaving himself no way out, in order to "make my own music."

So he put out his first album of his own, Rock and Roll Stage. After it was released, "the songs were hot, but the singer wasn't." The second album Airport pushed him to his peak of popularity. But sales of the succeeding Don't Kiss Me on The Street were disappointing. The fourth album, Can't Hold Back the Feeling ended in oblivion when the company folded just as it was released.

For the confident Hsueh, who has "The Best Performer Ever" tacked up on his wall at home, meeting obstacles caused him to be, as his friends described him, "mad at the world," "a little extreme," and "sparing nothing in dealing with others." He simply didn't understand why some stars who were pure packaging could become the vogue.

From that point, Hsueh turned toward behind the scenes work, producing Yi Neng-ching's "The Last Day Being Nineteen" and Kuo Tze's album It's All a Facade. He also hosted the program "Good Afternoon Sunshine."

The fifth album put out in August of this year is already three years distant from the last record.

"Recording was very difficult. I had to sit in a chair with long legs. If I was standing with nothing to rest against, the air would settle downward, and the two tumors in my stomach would give me a hard time. I didn't know how to cope with them, and only hoped that it wouldn't race all over." He speaks coolly, like any singer introducing a new album and relaying anecdotes about what happened while recording.

In order to preserve his strength, Hsueh always takes his medication at the appropriate time, every day from 11:00 in the morning to 1:00 in the afternoon is rest period, and he orders his family to not allow anyone to disturb him. In getting used to new medication, at first he only had his strength for about two hours a day. Things slowly got better, until it got up to six hours a day.

Although ill, although going into the last period of his life, Simon still has his old toughness. "Maybe they buy a ticket to the concert because of my illness. But they won't applaud for an uninspiring concert." Hseuh insisted on putting his music out front, and not his illness or courage. Just like the singing on the new album--from high to low and back again without ever betraying a trace of the pain in his body.

For artists who live on stage, life is really like a game. To sing oneself to death on stage has a sadly beautiful kind of martyrdom about it. When depressed, Simon Hsueh could lightly say, "There'd be nothing better than to sing to death on stage." Nevertheless, now life is the most precious thing, and he wanted to pull off a complete concert.

Because expectations were so high, rehearsal was unavoidably hectic. Executive producer Hsieh Shu-ling, who met Hsueh for the first time because of the show, notes that, "I know his health was not good, and at first I didn't know how to deal with it. Things weren't exactly smooth. He would often lose his temper. I know he was anxious, but it still hurt to be cussed out. After getting to know him for a few days, I discovered that he would often make jokes about life and death, and avoided the subject even less than those around him. After that when there was a problem, if he was wrong, I would go right back at him without any courtesy."

As it is, Simon's war is for him to fight alone, while others can only help from the sidelines, sometimes wiping the sweat away or giving an understanding smile. But in fact, each of those around him also fights a personal battle. Aside from twisting around their attitudes in dealing with him, when they see him giving everything without regard to his ailing body, they don't know whether to encourage him or ask him to stop. They are in a dilemma that made their hearts ache.

For Simon Hsueh, this first ever and last ever concert of his very own was the realization of an ideal. His friends relied on a complex mixture of friendship, duty, and respect to devote themselves to the project.

From the performers on stage to the invisible backstage workers, aside from four workers asked in from outside, all of the people who helped did so out of gratitude and conscience, and didn't take a cent. Like singers Ma Yu-fen and Hsu Ching-hsiang, who were "a chorus of angels." Simon's foreign housemate Rick Smith brought a four piece band from Alaska. His old friends with the Huan-yen band set aside their own album and went wholeheartedly into rehearsal. Tao Hsiao-ch'ing and Wang Chia-tung waited in the wings, preparing medicine or driving for him. Then there were the stage hands, and those who did sound and lighting. . . .

In the middle of the show, Simon talked about this rare friendship, his face lighting up. Having these kinds of friends was what always has made him most proud.

Simon Hsueh's stubbornness and bad temper are legendary in the music business. Singer Cheng Yi says, "When he's stubborn, you just want to strangle him. But when he's adorable, you can't help but want to hug him."

Cheng Yi remembers a birthday one year. Because she had broken up with her boyfriend, she was feeling low. She went to the restaurant where Hsueh was performing to let off steam and pay him a visit. When Simon found out, he led the whole audience in singing a happy birthday tune for Cheng.

Tao Hsiao-ch'ing remembers that when Hsueh first made it big with the song "Airport," in order to help bring along the Huan-yen band that he had worked with so long, he always insisted on Huan-yen coming along. Even if it were a tiny recording room, the only thing was to squish all five of them in, or even six with Tao herself.

The concert lasted two and a half hours. Simon sang over twenty songs both quiet and upbeat, with interludes of leading the crowd in song to extemporaneous rhythms. It was hot the whole way through, and the crowd clapped themselves silly in responding to his charisma.

At the end of the concert, Simon used the song "If There is Still a Tomorrow" to punctuate the evening, singing "If there is still a tomorrow, you wonder how you will make up your face; If there is no tomorrow, how should you say goodbye. . . ." He slowly said to everyone, "Tomorrow has always been a beautiful word. If there is a tomorrow, I hope everyone knows what they will do with themselves. If there is no tomorrow. . . ." He was a little choked by tears, and when he did not continue, from off the stage came the loud response: "Simon, there will be a tomorrow!"

On the evening of September 17, the concert successfully finished, Simon had realized his last wish. Afterward he said goodbye to friends and fans, saying he would "leave the company of mem, and leave everything behind, and return quietly to the state of fetal purity." From his intense and steady performance, no one could tell if the medication was working, or if he was relying on some kind of devotion and expending who-knows-how-much of the strength left in him. Everyone feels that the later we know the answer to this, the better.

[Picture Caption]

"If there is still a tomorrow, you wonder about how you will make up your face. If there is no tomorrow, how should you say goodbye?" On the eve of the concert, beneath his own giant-sized poster, Simon thinks about an unknown tomorrow. Tomorrow there will be a hard battle to be fought.

When he reached the final three numbers, he was covering his stomach and singing at the same time. He would occasionally joke with the crowd, seeing his family offstage crying. His sister from backstage called to him not to sing anymore, but that couldn't change his determination to finish the show out.

In April of this year, Simon went with the Min-Fon-Yua-Fu group tour the US. Except for Wang Chia-tung (first at right) and T'ao Hsiao-ch'ing, who knew the situation, who could tell from his smiling face the effect sof cancer on him?

(Above) At the press conference, Simon expressed the hope that everyone would pay attention to his music, and not let the release of his new album become a "medical conference."

(Below) For most people, to sing for more than six hours a day would be tough. Simon Hsueh nevertheless hung in to the limit.

During the concert, Simon and his good friend Rick Smith performed "Star dust," to really show his depth and dedicated study of music.

(left) Simon and a crowd of good friends stole some precious time to complete the "Burning Life" concert.

After the concert, Simon Hsueh hugged his mother, who is closest of anyone to him. This show accomplished his life's wish, and also created a fund for his mother's future days. (photo by Wang Hung-kwang)

When he reached the final three numbers, he was covering his stomach and singing at the same time. He would occasionally joke with the crowd, seeing his family offstage crying. His sister from backstage called to him not to sing anymore, but that couldn't change his determination to finish the show out.

In April of this year, Simon went with the Min-Fon-Yua-Fu group tour the US. Except for Wang Chia-tung （first at right） and T'ao Hsiao-ch'ing, who knew the situation, who could tell from his smiling face the effect sof cancer on him?

（Above） At the press conference, Simon expressed the hope that everyone would pay attention to his music, and not let the release of his new album become a "medical conference.".

（Below） For most people, to sing for more than six hours a day would be tough. Simon Hsueh nevertheless hung in to the limit.

During the concert, Simon and his good friend Rick Smith performed "Star dust," to really show his depth and dedicated study of music.

（left） Simon and a crowd of good friends stole some precious time to complete the "Burning Life" concert.

After the concert, Simon Hsueh hugged his mother, who is closest of anyone to him. This show accomplished his life's wish, and also created a fund for his mother's future days. （photo by Wang Hung-kwang）