A New Wave of Indigenous Pop--The Music of Pur-dur and Samingad

The music of Difag has wafted through the Olympic coliseum. The charisma of A-mei continues to radiate over both sides of the Taiwan Strait. And in April, the Golden Melody awards were dominated by Pur-dur, the best male vocalist, and Samingad, the best new artist. It seems that the age of indigenous people has truly arrived! In particular, the fact that Pur-dur is also a policeman has aroused an extra amount of curiosity and interest from the public. When facing a swarm of paparazzi, Pur-dur, who passionately loves his work and treasures his home life, said resignedly, "I only wanted to have an album as a keepsake!" Could it be that everyone views indigenous people in too serious a manner?

Pur-dur and Samingad scored big at the Golden Melody awards. Their fresh, new singing voices have been nurtured by the mountains and the sea, their songs gathered from the experiences of life.

Before Pur-dur won his Golden Melody, few people had heard his music or knew who he was. For instance, when researching this story, I had to run around to a number of different music stores before I finally got hold of what seemed like the last copy on earth of his album, "Ho-hi-yan Ocean." It turns out that Pur-dur's record company, Taiwan Colors Music, had almost no money for promotion, and they released a first issue of only 5,000 CDs. According to past experience, sales of 6,000 or 7,000 records would count as a respectable achievement. Little did they imagine that after winning two Golden Melodies, his "Ho-hi-yan Ocean" would instantly sell like wildfire, with hardly a CD left on the shelf. Magic Stone Records, which is handling the album's distribution, is rushing to package and ship more copies, but demand still outstrips supply. Nearly 50,000 copies have already been sold. It's clear that music listeners are both unfamiliar with and curious about the big winner of the Golden Melody.

With my hard-to-find CD in hand, I went straightway back to my office, and for lack of a better option, gave it a listen on my computer's music CD feature. And despite the surrounding hubbub, when the chiming guitar of the first track "At the Begin" welled up, accompanied by the sound of sea waves, my thoughts were quickly carried off to a beach at dawn, leagues away on the northeast coast of Taiwan, or a broad stretch of deep blue flooded with the sparkling silver light of the moon, possessed of nothing but the warmth and calm of the ocean, completely submerged in an instant. The next track, "Ocean," is simply one person humming to his heart's content when he is alone. It is as if you are walking at Pur-dur's side as he fishes, casting your line along with him, doing exactly what you love to do, with perfect contentment. I'm not sure if this counts as a defining feature of Taiwanese aboriginal music, but I was certainly deeply drawn to the calm that lived for a brief moment in that collection of songs.

After the turmoil surrounding the Golden Melody awards, the neighbors and family of Pur-dur and Samingad, back in their faraway home of Puyuma Village, near Taitung City on the southeast coast, were as happy as could be. Pur-dur's father Dalising said happily, "At the time I had no idea what the Golden Melody was for. It was only after Pur-dur won it that I realized what an important award it was. I felt very honored by my son." But he also added, "After getting the award, we have to avoid being blinded by glory. We have to stay humble." On May 12, kin and companions of Pur-dur and Samingad held a special congratulatory banquet for them in their hometown, sharing a toast to their musical success.

First thing one morning, Pur-dur and some of his friends went up into the mountains and cut down a big bundle of bamboo to make two screens for a stage backdrop, which he put up in front of the takudan, a special youth hall of the Puyuma. At Pur-dur's home, it's easy to see the effort he puts into his work. Both the way his house is decorated and the accessories on his person reveal a personality that pays attention to the smallest of details. On his shirt are ancient Puyuma symbols he hand-painted himself. His guitar is adorned by a patterned drawing he designed. Even the mobile phone he carries has been carved with the human figure of a Puyuma. Pur-dur also made the pan flute that he plays in the song "We Are the Same Tribe."

Pur-dur is a man of few words, but if you want to get him talking, just mention music or fishing. In particular, he can spend an entire afternoon gabbing about catching fish. For Pur-dur, living and livelihood are all part of life. And this is what sets Pur-dur's music apart too.

The point when Pur-dur became a musician was his first year of middle school. His home-room teacher was working to establish a Chinese music ensemble, and taught Pur-dur to play the bangdi (alto bamboo flute) and nanhu (two-stringed lute), opening the first chapter in Pur-dur's musical life. When he moved on to second grade, folk music was just becoming very popular, and he started learning the guitar. He tried his hand at rewriting Taiwanese folk musician Luo Ta-you's song "Childhood," and even at such a tender age, he wrote a few love songs by himself. After moving on to high school, Pur-dur's deep interest in music led him to form the "Four String Band," which took part in outings of the local China Youth Corps. One of the songs he wrote at the time, "Have You Ever Felt That," became a standard fixture of youth corps activities. Many of his songs also began to circulate around the aborigine villages in Taitung, where he became something of an idol to many youths. Several of the songs recorded in "Ho-hi-yan Ocean" are actually works collected over a long period of time.

Night falls quickly in a mountain village on overcast days. At Tuniu Village in Shihkang, the task force working on reconstruction of the Liu clan ancestral shrine turns on a light and meets at a dingy table next to a shipping container brought in after the earthquake for shelter. Discussion at the meeting is spirited, for everyone is anxious to see the shrine rebuilt as soon as possible.

At the celebration, the relatives of Pur-dur and Samingad refused to let the two stars monopolize the limelight. Led by the master of ceremonies Agilisay (Pur-dur's cousin), they got up on stage, singing and dancing one after another. Just when the music was reaching a fevered pitch, the older women formed a circle just below the stage, and began a joyous dance. Kids from Puyuma Elementary School, dressed in traditional costume, filled the stage with their dancing, drawing the whole crowd's attention. Special guest Difag (Kuo Ying-nan), a singer of the Ami tribe famous for the Olympic theme song "Age of Innocence," also stood up and led his group in a polyphonic chorus. Neighbors, family, friends, even little children, all took their turn at the helm, accompanied by guitar, tambourine, the moonlight and the evening wind. Amidst the sea of sparkling eyes and laughter that chimed like silver bells, the dividing line between those on and off the stage completely and seamlessly dissolved. Suddenly, I too could feel the natural rhythmic sense and power contained in the music of Pur-dur and Samingad.

The day after the celebration, Samingad went up into the mountains with her "Mu Mu" (the Puyuma word for grandmother), specifically to continue her training in traditional Puyuma music. "I really like to sing the traditional chants of the old folks. It sounds so moving, as if they're about to cry," Samingad enthuses earnestly. As a child, she grew up at her grandmother's side, humming and chanting along with her "Mu Mu." This is the reason Samingad insisted on recording her album in her native Puyuma language. And in one of the songs on the album-"Ring the Bell" for example, she demonstrates that music is the source of memory and emotion in her life.

The songs on her album were derived from traditional Puyuma folk songs of Puyuma Village. The voice of Samingad as a child were inserted into several sections of her CD. The track "Ring the Bell" relives one event that happened when she was a child together with her grandmother. At the time, her mother told her to speak into the recorder, in order to give the child's greetings to her grandmother, who was far away. But the young Samingad thought the tape recorder was a telephone, so she kept talking into the machine, wondering why her grandmother wouldn't respond.

This recording eventually found itself on Samingad's award-winning album. Samingad was listening to her own voice from the past and singing at the same time, when the scene that afternoon when she was five, of making a recording because she missed her grandmother, came flooding back to her once again. The emotional tone of the song naturally flows forth, and even if most listeners don't understand Puyuma, it isn't hard to identify with the warm and intimate feelings the words express, to re-experience the full range of childhood sensations through Samingad's sometimes high, sometimes deep singing voice.

Taichung County's Shihkang Township is in the midst of reconstruction. （left） New houses said to be able to withstand an earthquake that registers eight on the Richter scale are going up everywhere. A group of kindergarten children march by in formation, demonstrating life's great power to rebound.

"Binding people together emotionally is a very important part of Puyuma music," says Sun Ta-chuan, a Puyuma scholar and former vice chairman of the ROC Executive Yuan's Council of Aboriginal Affairs. Just as with the celebration put on for Pur-dur and Samingad, whenever anyone in a village is married, joins the army, leaves town to work or study, or passes away, all the people of the village will gather together, and celebrate or console each other in song. Sun Ta-chuan notes that in these gatherings, many people will invent new lyrics for some of the well-known songs, to express their own feelings.

"In an ethnic group without a written language, the model is to create one's heritage through music," Sun says. In Puyuma tradition, music has many different meanings and forms of expression. For example, there are choral and antiphonal song styles used during ceremonies. Other songs are used to pass on religion and culture. Others are meant for personal cultivation. Thus, in the Puyuma world view, music is equal to language as a form of literary learning. Traditional Puyuma songs are similar to history books, recording the historical events that happened among the Puyuma. The songs contain tales of heroic exploits or descriptions of plants, trees, birds and animals. Songs sung during the monkey festival teach of experiences during the days of headhunting. "This is our philosophy of educating through music," says Sun. In contrast, Chinese education traditionally emphasized mastery of "rites and music," but the musical aspect was lost long ago. "Now they only teach rites," he explains.

Because music serves as a tool for the oral dissemination of tradition, it even functions as a "musical social history." Sun Ta-chou offers a number of examples: Pur-dur's "Ho-hi-yan Ocean" has the distinct flavor of the South Seas, which it shares with all the other languages in the Austronesian language group. "Bulai Naniyam Kalalumayan" ("Beautiful Rice Husk") was composed by the Puyuma folk music master BaLiwakes during the artillery bombardment of Kinmen in 1958. And for the last 50 years traditional folk songs have recorded the experiences of indigenous laborers, builders and truck drivers. The writers of these songs and dances are anonymous, and their achievements do not belong to any single individual.

There seems to be no conflict between the Pur-dur that sings softly by the seaside and the Pur-dur that dutifully serves and protects. In fact, both are sources of creativity in his musical life.

Agilisay, the lyricist for many of the songs on Pur-dur's "Ho-hi-yan Ocean," says, "Half of these songs are my life experiences, half are Pur-dur's." Agilisay reveals that the song "Homesick" was originally a poem he wrote in 1989. "Doesn't homesickness well up only after we depart? It was only because my father said to me: This land was originally ours!" Agilisay says that the lyrics in these songs express the common experience, and the common fate, of the indigenous people: the imbalance of the social structure, and the impact of foreign workers on employment, have given him a hidden sense of melancholy, a feeling that he is helpless to protect his homeland. The reality is one of betrayal in law and in life-"the land remains the same, but the people have passed away." He says, "'Homesick' is the song that's gotten the most passionate response from my friends!"

Another song, "We Are the Same Tribe" simply and clearly expresses Agilisay's hopes as an indigenous person that both mainstream Chinese culture and long-neglected indigenous culture can be equally appreciated and respected. When these poems that became lyrics, thought up from the experiences of life, are sung, one seems to be able to hear many different stories that lie in the background behind the words.

Yet some people in Taiwan's music circles have a different interpretation of Pur-dur's and Samingad's music:

"Actually, they don't play indigenous music!" says Peng Gwang-lin, selection panel coordinator for the eleventh Golden Melody Awards. He explains, what they do is pop music, a more diverse form of pop music.

Peng Gwang-lin frankly admits that after listening to more than 200 competing CDs over a period of two months, the majority of the Golden Melody judges concurred that most of the offerings were too similar. Therefore, they chose "originality" as the central thrust of this year's critiques.

"We don't want 'transplanted' music. We want music that has grown out of this piece of earth." Peng explains that in the next five years today's mass market will inevitably be replaced by a market catering to a variety of tastes. Truly "popular" music should reflect the realities of society, offer greater depth, and start from a concern for people.

Peng stresses that Pur-dur and Samingad did not win their awards because they are indigenous people. It was actually the originality of their music, especially its harmonious feeling that calls out in identification with the land, something that is not transplanted, but is a genuine sensitivity that arose from life.

But another music industry professional, MTV Taiwan's programming and creative department supervisor Dennis Yang, has a different point of view. "It's impossible to change the commercialization and unsophisticated taste of pop music," he says. As for awards being given to Pur-dur and other similar artists, he feels it is good to encourage the creation of works with different creative perspectives. "But it's still impossible to create a popular demand in the market for works that have lost contact with commercial taste." Yang feels that works like those of Pur-dur concern themselves too much with personal experiences, and therefore can't reach the mass audience and have a hard time getting a foot in the door. Samingad's CD, however, takes into consideration how much the general audience can accept, so it has a better sales record.

Musical scores, drawings, handicrafts-Pur-dur evinces a multifaceted creativity. The little details of life all become touching works of art.

But Yang admits that over the last few years the wave of music with a "native" Taiwanese orientation has had a measure of success. He predicts, "In the next two years, music with a local Taiwanese flavor will tend to get more attention."

Sun recalls that the first aborigine singer to openly express aboriginal flavor in his music was Hu Te-fu. In the fashion of that era Hu Te-fu gained attention by interpreting indigenous folk songs in the style of African-American spirituals, with an aim to promote activism for indigenous people's rights.

Perhaps because he has thrown himself into indigenous music and indigenous issues, Hu Te-fu strongly applauds Samingad's efforts in singing her ancestral songs. "She has a young person's outward appearance, but she has the heart of a grandmother. She can sing music like this for a long, long time," he says.

No matter whether it's orthodox indigenous music or innovative pop, Pur-dur and Samingad only want to make more of their own songs.

Seeing the rising popularity of karaoke parlors in aborigine settlements, Pur-dur can't help feeling nostalgic for the times when the whole village would gather together to sing contentedly, accompanied by no more than a guitar, an accordion and a harmonica. That's why he added natural sounds to his works, giving them a village flavor, in the hope of expressing a sense of what living in Puyuma is like. "For instance, the music in 'Betelnut Brothers' only uses a few simple instruments, blending in the shouts of children and flying squirrels. What I want is that kind of feeling." Pur-dur especially loves music that arises in the middle of life. And making friends through music gives him the greatest delight.

Musical scores, drawings, handicrafts-Pur-dur evinces a multifaceted creativity. The little details of life all become touching works of art.

Samingad particularly loves the genre of world music, and hopes to put more traditional Puyuma elements into her albums. For example, she insisted on recording one song twice, in both the traditional Puyuma style and in its contemporary pop version. She doesn't say much about the heavy responsibility of keeping her heritage alive, but she is willing to do her best.

Yet on the day of the celebration, the children of their hometown had already made idols of Pur-dur and Samingad, all of them imitating their singing styles. When Samingad heard the euphonious sound of the village children thunderously singing her song, she was filled with a spirit of confidence, and felt more certain than ever that the path she had chosen was the right one.

Hu Te-fu says, "If only you dare to sing, and confidently sing loud and clear, then you'll become something that everyone loves." Besides giving pop music a wider variety of choices, Pur-dur and Samingad have also given their fellow indigenous people a greater sense of confidence, singing their own thoughts for everyone to hear, letting the true voice of Taiwan's indigenous people infiltrate this material, tawdry world with a strand of freshness and clarity.

Ami singer Difag and his wife Igay, who gained international fame for their Olympic theme song, help celebrate the glory of the indigenous people of Taiwan's east coast.

The spirit Samingad assiduously expresses when performing conveys the power stored up in Puyuma song.

During an evening celebration, the children of Puyuma Elementary School refuse to let Pur-dur and Samingad monopolize the limelight, dancing on the stage one after the other, and loudly singing their own songs!