In an era dominated by Western music, when many university students wouldn't stoop to sing Mandarin songs, folk music--clean and pure and of a variety of themes--began to capture the imaginations of the young.

It all started with Yang Hsuan, a student at National Taiwan University, who put the works of the poet Yu Kwang-chung to music. Now the singers of those days have become producers, managers in record companies, or radio program hosts. Their common traits are hard work, a clear idea of the roads they must walk on, an idealism toward their music, and a willingness to "give a kid a break." Their own experience as artists allows them to understand what the singers need. Over the last ten years these individuals have become key players in raising the level of Mandarin music.

Who would have thought then that these somewhat devil-may-care folk musicians would now be movers and shakers.

Wu Tsu-tsu

Wu Tsu-tsu, the boss of a major company employing about seventy which started out as a small shop with four founders, describes the early days as "guerrilla warfare." In the competitive record business, Wu is seen as someone who "knows how to combine business with art." "He was originally a singer, so he really knows how to bring out a singer; he is outstanding at both advertising and planning," says Fang Ti, host of a popular music program.

Cora Tao credits Wu with a knack for spotting and bringing along new talent. Perhaps because he too was a campus bard, he is particularly open to student music. Two years ago he issued a successful collection of songs by student-artists, some who appeared there are now well-known. Another recently issued collection of student music--which twenty years ago would have been considered "harmful to society" --has already produced at least one hit, by Chang Yu-sheng.

Wu actively seeks new talent, sending out scouts as well as reviewing submissions from artists. He has not performed in some time, saying "Isn't it better to give the younger people their chance?"

Wu also is involved in improving the general environment for music. In Taiwan, protection of intellectual copyrights is still not adequate. Wu has organized several record companies in a campaign to stamp out music pirating. He has in turn lost some business and even been threatened, but he remains calm. Wu, who still wears sports sneakers and jeans, says, "My position on this is very firm; who should be afraid of whom?" He also notes that "the internationalization and liberalization of the market is an inevitable trend, and protection of intellectual property is essential; we have no reason to avoid it."

Liang Hung-chih

Liang's music has brought fame not only to himself, but also to others who perform it; his songs were instrumental in making Tsai Chin a star and in the comeback of Juli Sue. Liang, who says of himself that he "likes to mold new people," is also not afraid to serve behind the big names.

Ten years ago Liang was a student studying library science at the World College of Journalism; today he is top dog at the Apocalypse Production Company bringing along the next generation of folk musicians. Liang doesn't have the typical "boss" look about him, however. He explains that he didn't open the studio for the money, but as a way to more completely bring forth his own conceptions; besides, working in someone else's studio is just not the same as investing one's heart and soul into one's own.

Currently, Liang is actively searching out someone with staying power. He has made a long-term project out of bringing up Lan Sheng-wen, a former child star who dropped out of music when his voice changed. Liang believes Lan has lived too sheltered a life and can't reveal his deepest emotions. Liang has encouraged him to expand his horizons by reading, getting out with others, and even by arranging a job for him clearing tables in a restaurant.

Another of Liang's missions is strengthening the quality of the contents of Mandarin music. "I don't exclude commercial popularity," he says. "Simple things can still be done exquisitely." In fact, simple melodies and uncomplicated words which nevertheless call forth deep emotion are typical of his work. He advises those who hope he will stay productive musically to "relax; I'll make my steps a little faster."

Liang notes that the market for Mandarin songs is small and risky; room for experimentation is small. But compared to the past, it has developed considerably, and the tolerance for diversity among the listeners is constantly increasing. He is optimistic about its future.

Angus Tung

Do you remember how three handsome young men--Yuan Chung-ping, Chiu Yueh, and Angus Tung--won hearts as folk singers? The latter is still around!

The photogenic Tung has all the qualifications for being a star; but he can't see the point in going through all that making up. "Going on stage is only to perform one's own work; I'm not that attached to it. The applause is too fleeting--I want to pursue something more long-lasting." Although he likes diversity in his work, music persists as the core.

Tung studied graphic art design in school, which has deeply influenced his musical production. He feels that musically his ambitions are great, but feels no urgency. "People need time to let things develop; one must restrain oneself and remain calm," he tells himself.

Not long ago he was invited by the Fame Production Company to oversee production. But not long after he took the job, he saw that he didn't like meetings and didn't like telling others what to do, so he resigned this coveted position. In his wife's eyes, Tung, who likes to fool around with model cars and video games, is "like a thirty-year-old child; how can he manage people? Concentrating on writing music at home or being a producer is still the most suitable work!" Tung nodded in agreement.

Tung believes that over the last ten years Mandarin music has changed most in terms of instruments and recording facilities, but in content it's not as well-made as in the past. "Because there were no machines to use, it was necessary to rely on one's hard work; today the music is melding together, everybody uses the same things, and the styles are all similar." He looks back equally critically on his own earlier work. His goal is to do something totally new. "I still have to try harder!"

Su Lai

Su Lai is man of a thousand faces: artist, producer, and broadcaster. His friends encouraged him to get involved in broadcasting because of his ability to describe things and make them even better than in reality. Su says, "Broadcasting gives one lots of room for imagination, and I think I'm pretty good as far as the expression is in my voice." On the other hand, Su feels that there are too many things for a singer to do and there are no guarantees, so he opted for broadcasting.

At the Central Broadcasting Corporation Su does a show aimed at the mainland. There is one part devoted to "Campus Music." Because he is an old hand, he deeply understands his work and creates a feeling of intimacy. He also avoids jargon and technical words; his common touch appeals to the young. He also does an experimental show for a local station; although sometimes he doesn't get paid, it's a great chance and a test of his own abilities.

He prepares well for his broadcasts, and has a clear view of the evolution of Mandarin music. He believes that although in the short run it is not possible to get out of the "idol" style, eventually Mandarin music will diversify and things which come together with real life will not be abandoned.

"The era of folk music will not return," he says, betraying no regret. Su seeks the new, and his own work is always something different. Su has brought this philosophy to his work, where among his accomplishments is the revival of the career of the singer Simon Hsueh through a radical change of image. Relatively speaking, Su much prefers planning to the "petty complexities" and "overmechanization" of producing. Su knows which road is right for him and how to stay on it.

Jonathan Lee

Lee's sound and tunes are unique--as soon as you hear them you know it's him. Although his path has been a smooth one since his early days as a singer, he is more than just admittedly "lucky." He works assiduously at his craft.

Lee considers himself stupid, so when he was a student he invested lots of time learning from others. His friend Cora Tao remembers that he kept a thick notebook on songs he had heard and intently listened to and watched others at every opportunity. He also credits his devotion to detail. In producing for star Sylvia Chang, when he was still "just a beginner," he put special effort into cultivating the "professional woman" image which has made her so fascinating.

In fact, Lee had been made manager of a production department at only 25; he left after three months because "I did not clearly enough understand the work; I preferred to be a simple producer." Lee likes to go a step at a time; only after getting familiar with all aspects of production and sales did he reassume the post of production supervisor three years later.

"If you want to make a contribution, you've got to get authority." Only in the more important jobs did Lee find control over personnel and financial resources that enabled him to develop singers his way. "The most important thing is you have to love your singers. Everything must be done for them, and not just to allow them to sell some albums." You can't always control the market, he believes, but you can control the quality of your product. And the producer is 80 percent responsible on that score.

Lee says that there are a lot of catchy tunes out there, but few really impressive ones. So-called "commercial" just means that one knows how to please the listening audience. Lee believes his things have "sincerity" and can't avoid making an impression--they are not done carelessly. Landy Chang, who understands Lee well, says "his work is thorough, his concepts complete; every song is listen-able." Lee's latest work is continued proof of that.

[Picture Caption]

Dressed in shirt, jeans, and athletic shoes, Wu Tsu-tsu certainly doesn't look like a Chairman of the Board.

Liang Hung-chih has "cameraphobia" and prefers a behind-the-scenes role to the spotlight. (photo by Wei C.Wang)

Angus Tung's office is his home; in this warm den his creative powers are far from exhausted.

Su Lai and his beloved parrot, who could sing a Chinese version of "Frere Jacques"; alas, the parrot has since "made a break for freedom" and is no longer around.

Off the stage, Jonathan Lee has his thoughtful, serious side. (photo by Wei C.Wang)

Liang Hung-chih has "cameraphobia" and prefers a behind-the-scenes role to the spotlight. （photo by Wei C.Wang）

Angus Tung's office is his home; in this warm den his creative powers are far from exhausted.

Su Lai and his beloved parrot, who could sing a Chinese version of "Frere Jacques"; alas, the parrot has since "made a break for freedom" and is no longer around.

Off the stage, Jonathan Lee has his thoughtful, serious side. （photo by Wei C.Wang）