In a piano recital, the encore piece has just been completed, and, amidst the resonance of enthusiastic applause, as the audience is beginning to stir and rise, young girls carrying bouquets are racing each other to the stage to present flowers and kisses to the star.

The apple of their eye, Chen Kuan-yu, "Prince of Piano," is only 27 years old. Four years out of the Department of Music at National Taiwan Normal University, he has never been praised as an international piano maestro, but, building on the success of the record company's sales strategy, in his solo concert last year almost 90% of the tickets were sold, and there is a group of ardent, loyal Chen Kuan-yu fans.

The Art of Idolatry: "A good-looking exterior, and a sincere smile." Cheng Po-chiu, general manager of Elite Music, which released Chen's album, continues: "Put him in a white tuxedo, and have him playing his piano is some grassy venue--now isn't that the 'Prince of Piano' that the young girls have in mind?"

This image has, as expected, moved music fans; the album had sales of well over 100,000 copies, so "it sells even better than pop music," says Cheng with satisfaction.

With the successful experience of Chen Kuan-yu, employing the "idol-maker" method--normally used to push pop singers--in order to package instrumental performers, has become a fad in the record industry.

"We discovered that with the prosperity of the domestic economy, the music population has grown quickly," states Cheng. These romantic little pieces at the juncture of classical and pop are just right for winning those consumers who have a bit of musical cultivation, but haven't the patience to listen to extended, serious classical pieces.

Elite, which had originally mainly produced pop music, discovered this virgin market. The results of four years of effort: Under their flag they now have more than a dozen artists including Chen Kuan- yu, Lai Ying-li, Wen Chin-lung, Wu Kuan-ying, and Tsai Hsing-kuo. The types of instruments include piano, viola, flute, the erh-hu (a Chinese stringed instrument), and the English horn.

Besides Elite, the Linfair and Neo-Classic Co. record companies also entered the market three years ago. "Sales of these records are thin but long-term," argues Teng Ting-cheng, general manager of Neo-Classic Co., which in the last two years has issued two Hsieh Hsuan harp albums. Instrumental performance albums are unlikely to fluctuate wildly, but they have relatively greater staying power, and are still selling after two years.

Linfair, which mainly acts as the local agent for foreign classical recordings, has in the past three years issued one Li Yi-ning flute album and two albums of piano duets with Yao Juo-hwa and Lien Hsiao-huei. "From the data provided about our listeners in their response cards, we discovered that most of the consumers are students in the midst of music studies," says Lien Hsiao-huei; many people have asked her for sheet music.

Knitting Together a Dream World: Although the sales of these records don't come up to those of pop records, what is extremely interesting is that, in order to win a piece of the market, and given the logic of packaging, good looks have become indispensible to attract consumers. "If this goes with a variety of dignified instruments, it can express a noble, leisurely, dream-like atmosphere," says Lei Chien-chung, who handles promotion at UFO Groups.

Because of this, in recent years there has been no shortage in the broadcast media of scenes like --

A young girl, pure as the morning dew, playing a harp by the side of a lake; a scholarly young man meandering through a European university campus playing English horn; a piano player with long silken hair, wearing gorgeous brocade like a courtly noblewoman; a graceful flute player daintily drifting like a goddess of the forest . . . .

But despite all this, "after all, you can't sell an album on the cover alone," concludes Teng Ting- cheng. The technique and ability of the performer are also essential conditions for success. He points out that although Hsieh Hsuan was only in her early twenties when she first became famous, she is one of the few skilled harp artists in the country, and at sixteen she was invited to be harp soloist with the Taipei City Flute Chamber Ensemble.

Flipping through the resumes of the artists at Elite, one can similarly discover that if these people do not have a Ph.D. or MA in music from a university abroad, and teach in a university department of music, then they are leading players in local orchestras or frequent winners of music competitions large and small. Linfair's Li Yi-ning, Yao Juo-hwa, and Lien Hsiao-huei have all made their marks home and abroad.

"At the very least you have to have come out of a music curriculum," notes Cheng Po-chiu. "Because it is now very trendy to study music and there are more than a few music departments at various colleges and universities, it is not all that difficult to find a musician who possesses both the exterior appearance and the real skill."

Resonance, Response: In fact, musicians who have always given the impression of being dignified or aloof by no means reject this kind of commercial packaging.

"Music needs resonance and feedback; naturally the more listeners there are, the greater is the sense of accomplishment," says Wu Kuan-ying, who possesses the title of Doctor of Music Education from New York University, adding pragmatically that "if I perform a recital in a hall, even if it is full, there are no more than 4000 people. But album sales are calculated in the tens of thousands, which means that tens of thousands of people appreciate my music."

Wen Chin-lung, an erh-hu artist who denies being handsome but has nonetheless carved out a niche of his own, has become a force to be reckoned with by employing a rock-star-type head of long, curly hair and playing Chinese and Western pop music with the traditional Chinese erh-hu. His album sales are no less than the marks set by the pathbreaking Chen Kuan-yu. He confesses that, because of his home situation, since he was small he had to take his hu-ch'in (the generic name for all types of Chinese string instruments including the erh-hu) anywhere he could to make some money on the side, including teahouses and funerals. Today, with record royalties allowing him to enjoy a full purse, it is no longer necessary for him to work so hard, and "only now do I have the time to sit down and play music for the joy of it."

The current trend also provides additional performing space for musicians. "At least there's another path to take," explains Christine Yu, who has released a flute album and also teaches at Fu-Jen University. With more people in Taiwan studying music, the bottleneck is correspondingly tighter: "We only have the Taiwan province, Taipei city, and United Experimental orchestras, and the number of positions are limited; if you want to squeeze onto the performing stage in a concert hall, the competition is even more intense."

The record market thus provides some additional space for those who have studied music who had always been strung up between the two extremes of "if you aren't lucky enough to get to the peak of the music world, you just labor in obscurity to the end of your days." What's interesting is that, with a helping hand from the broadcast media, this has become a "fast track" helping them on the path to the concert hall.

"Last year I had only two performances, and sold only about 50-60% of the tickets," says Wen Chin-lung, providing quantifiable verification, but this year the number of events is approaching twenty, and they sell out: "Arts management companies are as hard-headed as we are, and will choose artists based on their name recognition and box office draw."

The Flip Side: Chieh Hsuan is another example. Last year she wanted to go abroad for advanced study; when she applied to schools, because she had already issued two albums, she could add two CD's along with her resume--far more persuasive than any number of letters of recommendation. She applied to three schools, and was accepted by all of them.

"The younger generation of musicians really understands how to make use of the help of the commercial system, in order to achieve their goals a little faster," argues Kuo Ting-cheng.

When Chin-lung admits, "'Packaging' is just a tactic for me to attract and develop an audience." Wen, committed to promoting erh-hu music, indicates clearly that using the erh-hu to perform Western pop music or Mozart is indeed a desire to win audience recognition, in order to then gradually bring listeners back to more orthodox music. "When I formally hold a concert, I play mainly traditional pieces."

However, there are others who express concern about these developments. "Although idol-making can break down the gulf between classical and popular, and attract some listeners who would otherwise be marginal to enter the concert hall," says one notable from the local music community, he is nevertheless concerned that the number of stages in Taiwan available to music are limited, and the space for development for some artists of great skill and real achievement but who lack the chance to get packaging gets correspondingly smaller. In consequence, "will the classical music world in the end be handled like pop music, where form triumphs over substance?"

For individual musicians, there is a crisis on another level. They ordinarily need to dedicate themselves for over a decade before they have some success. As it is today, after undergoing a high degree of packaging from the talent agencies or record companies and enjoying rapid fame, will they be polluted and gradually lose their motivation to progress and pursue the vitality of music, or even give it up altogether?

There is no shortage of precedents from overseas. This tide has ony been rising in Taiwan for a brief time, and although this situation has not yet become apparent, "we should certainly stop for a moment and think about where our next step should be." Returning to Taiwan last year, recording an album, doing TV programs and promotion, and packing his schedule, his life has become excessively disorganized, and "today there is already no time to practice eight hours a day."

Keeping a Clear Head: For their second album released this year, Lien Hsiao-huei and Yao Juo-hwa were no longer dressed, as in the past, in exquisite gowns and accessories, but have insisted on appearing in white blouses and black skirts: "The point is to tell everyone that we are just people playing piano, and not some kind of European nobility," says Lien.

How to rise with this tide, and not get sucked down with no way to pull back out, depends on the musicians themselves keeping clear heads in an unfamiliar commercial environment.

[Picture Caption]

Appearing as a rebel, Wen Chin-lung proclaims he wants to "cast off the hu-ch'in's Image of being archaic." (photo courtesy of Elite Music Co., LTD.)

Lien Hsiao-huei, who this year released a second piano duet album, refused to continue dressing up in extravagant packaging, and insisted on presenting a clean, simple look.

Wu Kuan-ying--who taught at New York University, has put out an album and hosts a TV show--is a good example of the diversified development of someone with orthodox musical training.

Appearing as a rebel, Wen Chin-lung proclaims he wants to "cast off the hu-ch'in's Image of being archaic." （photo courtesy of Elite Music Co., LTD.）

Wu Kuan-ying--who taught at New York University, has put out an album and hosts a TV show--is a good example of the diversified development of someone with orthodox musical training.

Lien Hsiao-huei, who this year released a second piano duet album, refused to continue dressing up in extravagant packaging, and insisted on presenting a clean, simple look.