The Peking Workers Sports Stadium has 100,000 seats, and can hold 120, 000 people in a crush. Tickets cost 20 or 30 RMB each, and scalped tickets were getting up to one or two hundred RMB. Taiwan singers Chao Chuan and Chien Pai-hui arrived after circling the stadium in a jeep and were met with a rousing welcome.

This performance, held two years ago in conjunction with the Asia athletic meet held in Peking, gave Taiwan singers, artistes, and industry executives a startling look at "the new world."

Seizing a ready-made market: The stationery stores which sell records and tapes are loaded with copies of Taiwan pop music; the sounds coming out of the loudspeakers at tourist attractions and amusement areas are the familiar voices of Taipei singers. "There wasn't one song in three hours that I didn't recognize"--visitors to mainland China are not lacking in experiences similar to this one had by Hsieh Teh-sha, a disk jockey for the Broadcasting Corporation of China, in the penthouse of a Peking hotel.

"It's like discovering a fertile, already planted plot of land; all we had to do is go and harvest," is how one pop music industry figure describes his delighted surprise.

Although family visits to mainland China were permitted starting five years ago, it has been less than two years since artists were permitted to go there to perform. But, building on the legacy of the charismatic voice of Teresa Teng from the 1970's, pirated tapes from Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia, and intermediaries, Taiwan's pop music has been sweeping the mainland for over a decade.

After the discovery of this ready-made market, Taiwan pop music entrepreneurs took to the road one after another. Singers went to bask in the enthusiastic welcome and "live" applause. Record companies didn't want to let pirates and middlemen take most of the profits, and indefatigably got into direct contact with local companies there, recovering royalties through formal assignment of rights.

As a result, not only has the fever for Taiwan pop been turned up even higher the last two years, the local music industry has caught its own case of "mainland fever."

"Eighty percent of the singers you can never arrange to meet in Taiwan are in mainland China," says Hsieh, who has been back and forth to the mainland four or five times herself the past two years. "Every time I go to Peking, I see familiar faces from Taiwan in the Wangfu Hotel."

Startling numbers, distressing reality: Unlike other Taiwan industries that have gotten excited about the mainland--most are only looking at the large and cheap labor force--music entrepreneurs have gone a step further and have their eye on the huge one billion-plus market.

"The most a cassette can sell in Taiwan is a few hundred thousand copies," holds Sunny Chang, director of the National Department at Polygram Records in Taipei, "but the figures being reported out of the mainland are in the millions or tens of millions."

Huasheng Enterprises, located in Chuhai in mainland China, awarded gold records based on last year's sales figures; the two recipients were Taiwan's Angus Tung and Kao Sheng-mei. Tung's album In Fact You Don't Understand My Heart sold more than three million copies; Kao's various recordings combined sold over ten million copies.

With so many people and so vast a land, singers going on concert tours are even more exciting. For example, last year Pan Mei-chen held 20 concerts on her tour of the mainland; Chao Chuan, Angus Tung, Chi Chin and others have all held well-received shows of their own.

Nevertheless, although the figures are truly eye-opening, after a certain period of actual contact, the real returns have not been as optimistic as anticipated.

Thousands of cassettes, nothing in income: Kao Sheng-mei, who went to Canton with such fanfare last year to receive her prize, discovered that although she sold 10 million cassettes, "unbelievably I didn't earn a dime," she says, with her big eyes failing to hide her disappointment. What's even more enraging is that the first time she received an invitation and made a tiring effort to go to Chengtu for a concert, the sponsoring organization failed to come up with her share, and she hasn't gotten a thing for her effort to this day.

Why? "Mainland Chinese have little consumption capacity, and the price of tapes has to be set according to local consumer standards, so naturally the profits will be thin," points out Sunny Chang.

The actual figures are that a legally reproduced tape (that is, made with the copyright of the record company) sells on average for about 7 RMB, which is roughly equivalent to NT$35. "The royalties only come to a little over three NT dollars," calculates Chang quickly. If you sell one million copies, that's no more than three million in royalties, and "you can make that amount in Taiwan by selling only 100,000 tapes."

Moreover, "in fact the mainland market is really too big. We have no way of getting a grip on the actual sales figures, and we have to rely on whatever the local company decides it wants to tell us," points out Sung Wen-shan, director of the audio publishing department at Carrier Creative Mate Planning and Design. With uncertain sales figures, it's hard to get a hold on the profits. Further, pirating and illegal taping are rampant, and "a lot of sales figures include pirated copies," he notes. This is precisely the reason why Kao Sheng-mei's tapes sold 10 million but didn't earn one red cent.

Unpredictable policy variables: The failure of many sponsoring organizations to pay artists for concerts has turned many singers cold on the mainland. And the behavior of mainland audiences, which express their moods with directness and vigor and may insult or drown out the performer if they are dissatisfied with the show, has made even more Taiwan singers who had originally looked to the mainland with hope see it today as a long way off.

Further, changes in mainland policy make it hard for those in the industry to get a firm footing." At first the mainland was very happy to have Taiwan artists come because of their propaganda strategy," points out Eric Liang, manager in the Overseas Division at Rock Records. For example at the Asian games two years ago it was the Chinese Communist Ministry of Culture that came forward to invite Taiwan artists to perform, "but this smiling face began to tighten up by last year."

The quota for imports of tapes was suddenly terminated early, with Taiwan getting a quota of 100 only in November. As for concerts, which must be approved by the Communist Chinese authorities before they can go on, "Last year not one was approved," says Eric Liang (concerts held last year had been applied for two years ago).

For Taiwan industry figures, already suffering heavily from pirating, these policy changes are just a case of "frost layered on top of snow." Without being part of the quota, it is not possible to legally transfer rights for publication of legally reproduced tapes, and the market then gets overrun by the pirated versions. Not only does not holding concerts cut off a source of revenues, it means one less way to communicate with the mainland which already lacks sales or advertising networks.

Reap what you sow: This double whammy cannot but make one wonder whether or not the high tide was merely the peak of a wave due to the novelty of the early stages of contact between the two sides of the Straits. With this time now past, will the good times never return?

"Not necessarily," argues Denver Chang, managing director of Linfair Magnetic Sound Ltd. records, which was the earliest of Taiwan record companies to begin direct contact and operate in the mainland market. Trying to get something for nothing, or just picking up something ready-made, just won't fly in the mainland, "and we are still in the 'development' stage as far as the mainland market goes."

Linfair, which originally acted as agent for classical music and produces and issues instrumental recordings, began to aggressively make contact with the mainland market at the outset of contacts between the two sides of the Straits. The main objective at that time was to issue albums of instrumental recordings of traditional Chinese instruments from the mainland. Little did they expect to stumble upon the pop music market which had three years earlier taken the first steps in pirating, and they formally gave permission to the "China Record Company" to issue Harlen Keng's album Let Me Love Enough Just Once so that pirates wouldn't have it all to themselves.

"It takes a major investment in time and manpower to understand and develop channels, interpersonal relations, and market rules," points out Denver Chang. For example, their partner China Records, with headquarters in Peking, is the largest music company in the mainland, with more than 3,000 employees, and branches in Shanghai, Canton, and Chengtu; with its broad sales network, its ability to sell is naturally greater.

As for sales and advertising channels, there is no more effective method there than to get on TV and perform the songs, especially on the Central Television Network, which can be received across the country by 800 million viewers. In this regard, unlike the passive way of others in the industry who waited for invitations, Linfair took the initiative to win opportunities for TV appearances for its singer Harlen Keng. "You only have to appear on one of the key programs once and you're in real trouble the next day on the street," says Denver Chang.

The other side is also adapting: From another point of view, "we are still groping, and the other side also needs to adapt," he explains. The craze for Taiwan pop has made the Chinese Communist authorities edgy. "Also, the unbalanced 'music dumping' unsettled mainland artists whe consequently counterattacked."

Also because of the chaos in the record market, last year the Communist authorities began to strictly audit taxes, and many local companies, unable to pay years of back taxes, simply closed. This is also one reason why Taiwan companies cannot collect royalties.

Other differences in social and cultural practices between Taiwan and the mainland, which are due to the long period of separation, are all obstacles to sales. "Although mainland audiences are enthusiastic, their sense of self-respect is very strong, and they are extremely disgusted by some proud, rude, nouveaux riches Taiwan visitors," states Hsieh Teh-sha. If Taiwan singers are even the least bit careless, and say the wrong thing on stage, they'll be bombed off the stage with hoots and soda bottles.

Another reason for frustration is a lack of understanding of the local administrative structure. "When we first started to talk business, everybody was repeating over and over, 'no problem, sure thing, absolutely . . . ' but in the end it couldn't be done; then it would be pushed upstairs into the hands of a higher-up, and we would be left unable to figure out exactly where the problem was," points out Hsieh, who several times cooperated with local interests there to hold concerts.

Once, she met simultaneously with three "news directors" who had come to talk about joint ventures. "I took the name cards and asked some local people for help, and only then did I discover that the three were the news directors of the Ministry of Culture, the Asian News Department, and the Taiwan Compatriots Friendship Association," says Hsieh, recalling the experience with laughter. "After that I learned to play the game, and no matter what their titles, I would always first ask which of them had the highest position and the power to make final decisions, and then I would talk with that person."

Misunderstanding is the origin of understanding: Misunderstanding is the beginning of understanding. After shooting in the dark and adapting, and taking advantage of the intelligence, nimbleness, and aggressive character of Taiwan business, pop music entrepreneurs have, it seems, struck upon a plan.

"The mainland can only be treated as a trial market," says an executive of the UFO Group who would prefer to remain nameless. Although many UFO Group artists like David Wang, Julie Su and Sandy Lin are popular there, because relations between the two sides of the straits are still not fully clear, they are maintaining a conservative attitude, "and we'll keep an eye on the developing situation and then decide what to do." Carrier Creative Mate's Sung Wen-shan, on the other hand, contends that, "the local market in Taiwan is adequate." He notes that the Little Tigers average sales of about 300,000 in Taiwan for each record, and however you figure the profits they come out over NT$10 million, "so there's really no need to invest all that effort to go to the mainland for such small returns."

PolyGram, which was the earliest international record company to come to Asia and was the first to set up a branch office in Taipei, also admits that there's really no comparable consumption capacity between the two areas. As a result, the main market for Mandarin songs is still Taiwan.

Constructing a new model of cooperation: Although that's what some say, the mainland market--with its vast scope, huge population, and great potential for economic growth--cannot be so easily dismissed.

"In the long run, the mainland will become the major market for Chinese language songs and Chinese music," suggests Denver Chang optimistically. "If the mainland economic reforms are not halted, the consumption power of the people will definitely increase." He has a blueprint for yet another step: with Taiwan production and packaging as the cutting edge, and mainland talent and the market as the supporting force, "Chinese music will have the opportunity to establish itself internationally."

Rock Records, which has been established for twelve years and whose scale is widely recognized to be the largest in Taiwan, has not, after two years of trial and error, lost confidence in the mainland market. Moreover, at the end of last year they established an Overseas Division to specifically handle matters of copyrights and exchanges with the mainland area. After more than twenty concentrated concert tours with manager Eric Liang accompanying singers in the Rock Records stable, they have already built up more than a little recognition and personal relationships.

"We have also done long-term market surveys, and deeply studied the local recording methods, publishing channels, and management systems," he points out. The result of going from passivity to activity is that when the quotas were lowered last year, what Rock Records got "would make the others in the industry furious if I told." And the concerts by Chao Chuan (a Rock Record artist), whose lyrics are seen as too inciteful, which the mainland authorities had considered cancelling, went ahead as scheduled--for five shows.

Rock Records, which has a detailed plan for penetrating the mainland, now also releases new records simultaneously in Taiwan and mainland China in order to cut down on pirating opportunities. Several singers who already have followings on the mainland, like Chen Shu-hua, Li Tsung-sheng, or Chou Hua-chien, are preparing to go to the mainland to put on concerts. "We're just waiting for the shows to be approved, and as soon as they give permission again we'll move immediately," reveals Eric Liang.

Whoever grabs the market first wins: In fact, even those in the industry who are keeping a conservative mindset still look hungrily at that big market pie.

Although PolyGram's Taiwan branch has not yet taken aggressive action, the Hongkong office early on set up a "China Trade Department," and Taiwan singers going through Hongkong have the flexibility to "move forward and attack or retreat to safety."

Wha Shing Records, the company to which Kao Sheng-mei belongs, had always negotiated with the mainland through its Southeast Asian offices. Last year its Taiwan office set up an Overseas Department to strengthen contacts with the mainland. "Although right now it has only one staff person, it's a beginning," says Li Man-ping, in charge of public relations for the advertising department at Wha Shing.

And although the profits are said to be thin, last year Carrier Creative Mate's Sung Wen-shan took The Little Tigers and singers under the Carrier label to the mainland on a thirteen city concert swing, and the "prowess of the tiger" was irrepressible wherever they went. "We went to win a fervent response," says Sung.

Although there is little room for profits in the short term, "using a long line to catch a big fish" has become one strategy for those in the industry. Wha Hsing Records' Chen Kuo-liang, assistant manager of the production department, hits the nail on the head with one phrase: "If you can occupy a market with your first step in, then you can count on a victory in the future."

From the early days of "natural popularity" to today's more exacting operations, Taiwan's pop music has really learned that there is no "Money for Nothing."

[Picture Caption]

People follow their songs to fame. With the popularity of their songs, the posters and faces of Taiwan singers can be seen everywhere on mainland Chinese streets. (photo by Huang Tsu-ming)

Writer and singer Pan Mei-chen has won the affirmation of mainland listeners with her image as an unusually talented young woman. (photo courtesy of Blue and White Company)

The Little Tigers have used their youth and good looks to become idols among the mainland's younger set. (photo courtesy of Carrier Creative Mate)

The gentle-voiced Kao Sheng-mei set a record of sales of ten million cassettes in mainland China. (photo courtesy of Wha Shing Records)

Mainland music fans are very emotional and direct. The cheers and applause which flow freely at concerts leave an ineradicable impression on Taiwan singers. The photo was taken at a Chi Chin concert. (photo courtesy of EMI records)

Writer and singer Pan Mei-chen has won the affirmation of mainland listeners with her image as an unusually talented young woman. （photo courtesy of Blue and White Company）

The Little Tigers have used their youth and good looks to become idols among the mainland's younger set. （photo courtesy of Carrier Creative Mate）

The gentle-voiced Kao Sheng-mei set a record of sales of ten million cassettes in mainland China. （photo courtesy of Wha Shing Records）

Mainland music fans are very emotional and direct. The cheers and applause which flow freely at concerts leave an ineradicable impression on Taiwan singers. The photo was taken at a Chi Chin concert. （photo courtesy of EMI records）