Why Waste Resources on a Taiwanese Political Songstress?

2006/4/1 18:34:30

A while ago, the tenth anniversary of the death of a Deng-surnamed songstress steeped in Taiwanese military-political connections drew a media frenzy of rubbernecking. The most exaggerated even called for all Chinese worldwide and all of Asia to pay tribute. Recently, for this Taiwanese political songstress, the pop industry — which feeds on hype — has once again commenced its massive drumbeat. Even if the media's degradation has kept pace with the times and fully aligned with global standards, does a songstress steeped in Taiwanese military-political connections truly deserve tribute from all Chinese worldwide and all of Asia? Why waste resources on a Taiwanese political songstress?

A pop symbol of an era is that era itself. If the popularity of a Deng-surnamed songstress steeped in Taiwanese military-political connections was not caused by an era's mistake, then it can only have originated from a mistaken era. But eras make no mistakes — only the people who constitute eras do. The degradation of people leads to the degradation of eras. Dogs only like dog food. That's all.

Forget the divide between classical and pop. Just look equally at a songstress of yesteryear: Liu Rushi. I ask you — since the May Fourth Movement, including the Deng-surnamed songstress, has any single songstress reached a ten-thousandth of Liu Rushi? After the loss of traditional Chinese culture, even songstresses became neither this nor that, neither Chinese nor Western. How sad!

Finally, there's no need to quote Liu Rushi's poems that rival any man's. Just this one ci poem in a woman's true colors — "Jinmingchi: Ode to Cold Willows" — and you'll understand why Chen Yinke named his studies "Jinming Hall" and "Cold Willow Hall," titled his book The Cold Willow Hall Collection, and wrote that Separate Biography of Liu Rushi as an eternal tribute:

Resentful cold tide, merciless fading light — / it is just the bleak Nanpu shore. / Another gust blows the frosted branch, lone shadow — / still remembering the old catkins flying. / And now in the evening, misty waves in disarray — / the traveler, especially, thin-waisted, as if dancing. / All one kind of desolation, / utterly haggard, / yet still the fine verses of Yantai remain.
Spring days brew into autumn rain. / Thinking of past romance, / secretly wounded so. / Even if there were painted boats circling the embankment, / all has grown cold, yet water and clouds remain. / Remembering before, a touch of spring breeze, / separated by heavy curtains, / brows furrowed in sorrow. / Waiting to meet a plum blossom's soul, / under pale moonlight at dusk, / in deep tender whispers with her.