An old man and a young man stood on stage.

The old man, a Bunun village elder, was playing a hoghog, or aborigine jew's-harp, that makes a rhythmic sound like a coiled spring being plucked.

The younger man, Hu Nai-yuan, was trying to draw out the trembling, indistinct song of the village elder melodically with his violin.

Just a few minutes long, this piece--"Dialogue Between the Contemporary and the Primitive"--was one of the high spots of the evening's concert. Hu had played with the Bunun elder for the first time only the day before the concert, relying on notes transcribed by ethnomusicologist Ming Li- kuo. He described it as "like a stranger trying to find a little alley in a city using a map showing only the main streets." It would be hard to foretell the results. But this was only a start, after all.

Hu Nai-yuan, a Chinese violinist living in the United States, was originally supposed to spend his vacation at a friend's place in Canada, but he found himself in Taiwan for two reasons: to take part in the first concert given in Taiwan by conductor Chien Kuan-hung, who lives in Germany, and to share the stage with the Bunun in this concert. The purpose of the first was in thanks to Maestro Chien for discovering him as a child prodigy and enabling him to be sent overseas for advanced training. The second was the result of a "plot to trap him" by friends.

On the occasion of Hu's visit to Taiwan, an old acquaintance of his in New York, Steven T.Hong, now vice president of the Citibank Private Bank in Taipei, had intended to hold a small concert and exhibition at an art gallery to raise corporate money for the arts. But after talking with Ming Li-kuo, the planner of the aborigine music and dance series, and Yu Kan-ping, the producer, he decided to ask Ogilvy & Mather Public Relations for help in expanding the idea into a charity concert to raise funds for the Bunun programs to be held as part of the series this October. Together they worked out the details of this path-breaking musical event.

On the evening of May 24, a distinguished audience assembled in the Golden Phoenix Room of the Lai-Lai Sheraton Hotel for the Bunun, who brought the guests some millet wine they had brewed for them as a treat.

The song and dance performances by Bunun, who were from Mingteh Village, Nantou County, at the foot of Jade Mountain, were interlaced with performances of Western music by Hu Nai-yuan, accompanied by the violinist Nancy Tsung, the pianists Rolfe-Peter Wille and his wife, Yeh Lu- na, and the vocal artist Wang Chiu-li. The renowned flautist Chan Yung-ming, from the mainland, also joined in on this special occasion.

"The Most Modern Primitivism: the Most Primitive Modernism" was the concert's title. How can the two possibly engage in dialogue, how can they be fused? "Primitive doesn't mean backward," says Ming Li-kuo, who has many years of experience studying aborigine music in the mountains. "It means close to our original nature."

The Taiwan aborigines use music and dance close to life to express the profound, harmonious relationships among their people and between man and nature. The complex and intricate methods of choral singing in "Pasiputput," a planting song for a bountiful millet harvest, for instance, have been passed down from antiquity. The Japanese musicologist Kurosawa Ryuu sent recordings of it to UNESCO in 1952, where it was considered a rare jewel in the music of mankind. When Chinese composer Ma Shui-lung heard it, he jumped up and said: "It's modern music!"

For Hu Nai-yuan, an outstanding violinist steeped in classical Western music and first-prize winner of the Queen Elizabeth competition, "the indigenous peoples of Taiwan" was just a term in the textbooks. His only impression was, "I had heard Tang Lan-hua was an aborigine." It wasn't until he saw Yu Kan-ping's film A Couple of House Painters a few years ago that he gained more understanding of the aborigines.

When he returned to Taiwan this March, Ming Li-kuo and Yu Kan-ping took him to Ali-shan and Jade Mountain to visit the Tsou and Bunun peoples. "When I saw the thick forests in the mountains, my first reaction was, so there's still a Shangri-la in Taiwan!" Drinking and singing with the aborigines was "a really rare and joyous experience," he recalls.

In fact, he had long reflected that 20th century Western music is ossifying and desperately needs fresh currents from other areas for stimulation. "The Impressionist composers sought for creative inspiration from aboriginal peoples way back in the 19th century. And Picasso evolved his three- dimensional style from African masks, didn't he?"

Isn't his dialogue with the Bunons the beginning of interchange, too? And trying to fit the spontaneous style of the aborigines to the strict, centuries-old tradition of Western classical music "won't work without a spirit of adventure either!" he laughs.

For the Western portion of the concert, he specially chose pieces with a folk flavor: a sonatina by Dvorak combining the Czech tradition with American Indian motifs, a Bartok violin duet based on a folk melody, and piece by Ravel rich in Gypsy feeling. His style of performing, which Ming Li-kuo has described as "vigorous and vital like that of the Bunun," was indeed explosive, and the rich, full sound of his violin, with his rapid, practiced bow work and dexterous fingering, earned audience ovations.

Their reaction to the other star performers of the concert--the Bunun--was much more cool. After all, it was probably their first contact with aboriginal music for many of them.

Before the performance, the Bunun had appeared at a press conference at the National Theater. The nine men and nine women of the group sat quietly on tatamis on the red carpeting, an unassailable dignity showing through their weathered, tattooed faces.

When asked about their feelings on this visit to Taipei, a 74-year-old elder speaking through a translator revealed some anxiety: "Please don't try to fool us again. Every time they said they'd come and film us, they never did. It was very disappointing." After pausing a moment, he said, "But I trust you this time. I think it's is being done in all sincerity." In fact, the main reason they had come was thanks to Ming Li-kuo. Married to a Bunun, he has constantly gone about among the aboriginal villages during the past two decades recording and compiling and has long since been viewed as "one of our own."

On the night of the concert, when they filed onto the stage in their animal pelt hunting dress, it suddenly seemed the room was too cramped for them, that it couldn't hold their resounding voices from the mountain wilds. A hunting people, the Bunun performed "Bislahi" (a hunting song), "Misav" (a drinking song) and "Malastapag" (a battle song), mixing singing with movements and steps to express scenes from the age of hunters. The reedlike voices of the women and the deep, rich voices of the men showed that the Bunun are a people with a strong sense of harmony.

"Pasiputput," the finale, is a song that used to be performed as a ritual before sowing millet and was believed to bring an abundant harvest if sung well. Since their conversion to Christianity, the millet song is rarely performed as a ritual, and the hunting and other songs have become more important as a cohesive force for ethnic identity.

To the audience's bated breath, nine elders stood in place and linked hands. One of them began, then other voices gradually overlapped with it and picked up in accompaniment, swirling around it as though a driving force were fusing them into harmony.

"When I was little, I used to think it sounded more like buzzing bees than a song, but the more I listen to it the more beautiful it sounds," the leader of the group said, adding with a wink, "If it's sung well tonight, maybe we'll have a 'rich harvest' in a minute."

So how much did the fund-raising concert reap? At the end of the show, the director of the National Theater and the National Concert Hall, Hu Yao- huan, went up on stage to report that a total of NT$870,000 had been raised in cash, checks and pledges. "This was only a start," Yu Kan-ping says--they intend to hold more fund raisers for the October performances and a research association on Taiwan aborigine culture that is being planned.

Hu Nai-yuan says it was only a start, too.

"Some well-intentioned composers are needed to work with his material and develop it. Maybe it can enrich our musical space, which is growing ever more narrow." And what does he think about his dialogue with aboriginal music? "We still need to work on it. I'll certainly try to get back if I'm asked. After all, this is my birthplace," Hu says with feeling.

Seen from a cultural standpoint, Ming Li-kuo believes, the concert was a just a start too, as in fact is the whole series. "Aborigine music and dance are full of the rhythm of life. We're trying to mark an insertion, in hopes that people today, who rely too much on the written word, can come to realize more about the basic nature of life," he says. "And don't forget: if you're looking for the genuine Taiwan experience, this is it."

Being able to experience a second, completely different cultural system on this island is perhaps the beginning of mutual understanding and real dialogue.

[Picture Caption]

The musical dialogue between Hu Nai yuan's violin and the Bunun jew's-harp was a p?thbreaking case of contemporary meets primitive.

Lovely, intricate harmony is a major feature of Bunun singing, reflecting the harmony of man and nature.

The Bunun jew's- harp is similar to those of other Taiwan aborigines. It vibrates when pulled across the mouth, producing resonance in the oral cavity.

The tuning pegs on the tortor show the Bunun have the musical concept of scale.

The dafok, or musical bow, is one of the most typical ancient instruments, along with the jew's- harp. The one shown here was specially made for the Taipei performance and hasn't been worn in yet.

(Left) Legislative Yuan members Lin Cheng-chieh and Tsai Chun-han discuss how concern for Taiwan's aborigines can be expressed through policy at a seminar called "Concern for the Aborigines." The words on the sign are Bunun for thank you.

(Right) "Primitive doesn't mean backward. It means close to our original nature," ethnomusicologist Ming Li-kuo stresses.

Hu Nai-yuan's playing has been described as "possessing a vigor, vitality and explosiveness the same as the Bununs'."

Lovely, intricate harmony is a major feature of Bunun singing, reflecting the harmony of man and nature.

The Bunun jew's- harp is similar to those of other Taiwan aborigines. It vibrates when pulled across the mouth, producing resonance in the oral cavity.

The tuning pegs on the tortor show the Bunun have the musical concept of scale.

The dafok, or musical bow, is one of the most typical ancient instruments, along with the jew's- harp. The one shown here was specially made for the Taipei performance and hasn't been worn in yet.

（Left） Legislative Yuan members Lin Cheng-chieh and Tsai Chun-han discuss how concern for Taiwan's aborigines can be expressed through policy at a seminar called "Concern for the Aborigines." The words on the sign are Bunun for thank you.

（Right） "Primitive doesn't mean backward. It means close to our original nature," ethnomusicologist Ming Li-kuo stresses.

Hu Nai-yuan's playing has been described as "possessing a vigor, vitality and explosiveness the same as the Bununs'.".