Reflection #4 - 燈光裡飛馳 失意的孩子

4) 燈光裡飛馳 失意的孩子

It was most dramatic and evocative. TMP performed “今夜星光燦爛” in front of a neon backdrop of Victoria Harbour and the skyscrapers of Central. The song set the backdrop morphing, buildings changed colours, and stars glittered, contours accentuated. Upon the dragging guitar chord leading up to the chorus, headlights flashed, and the crowd took over, chanting in unison:

燈光裡飛馳 失意的孩子
請看一眼這個光輝都市
再奔馳 心裡猜疑
恐怕這個璀璨都市 光輝到此

Entering the second verse, the colours of the backdrop intensifed. Graphic fireworks shot upward and exploded high above the buildings as we got to the chorus again. Then something happened. The buildings, one by one, in a most subtle manner, crumbled into gray piles of what looked like ice bergs or concrete boulders, while fireworks continued to graze the sky as the guitar played out its exit sequence and the lyrics repeated the phrase “光輝到此”

“光輝到此” echoes a theme that has been frequently explored in the local arts scene: “The city is dying.”

The same sentiment existed back in the eighties. But our approach then was to romanticize this eventual decay, and to lament what tragedy was to come when the “return” to Mainland China would ruin our spectacular cityscape and take away the freedom we possessed (Looking back, the handover of 1997, an event that pivots this song, really seems like something from ages ago). And back then, because the Declaration already set plans in motion, the most we could do was to ‘enjoy the freedom’ while we still could by racing down the streets at night (which is the image evoked by the lyrics). There is much energy behind this sentiment, this wanting to take in, to breathe in the city, to retain a piece of fluorescent nostalgia.

In 2012, as we now gaze across Victoria Harbour and into the Island nightscape, we see that more and more of our city have been claimed by the corporations that have their names on giant signboards nailed to the tops of our buildings, and we see more simplified Chinese characters on these signs, reminding us of a very real and present Mainland Chinese influence, while tourists taking pictures of the harbour view are unable avoid the face-slapping Samsung banner that keeps creeping into their photos. Some see this as decay while some see this as opportunity. But I wonder if the tensioned excitement described in 今夜星光燦爛 applies to our current predicament. I wonder, as we now look across the Harbour, if there are any elements worth romanticizing, or if we have entered a stage where we are no longer (like in the eighties) trying to defend something beautiful, but rather, we have now accepted the idea of “光輝到此,” that the city has indeed lost its luster, its character. I wonder if by accepting the lost, we can move forward to construct something new. In the late eighties, we were preoccupied with defending and capturing something before it was gone (and then ironically escaping from it). In 2012, we can create a new direction where we put our energies to constructive use. Energy is never lacking in our city. Our streets are breathtaking as ever. I refer to the opening lines of the song:

霓虹亮透晚上 把城內也照亮 猶豫在馬路上 只求在這午夜 找一個 新方向

Nowadays, I often observe a passive acceptance when talking to the people in our city. It seems that after years of turmoil, the majority of us have become conditioned to operate on ‘survival’ mode where ‘stability’ has become most important. The active ones are usually the younger folks, the ones who are willing to shake things up, but their rhetoric is often limited to emotional reactions to incidents that “threaten Hong Kong’s core values,” and the thesis of their well-intended exposition still lacks clarity.

Now back to the stage. In the final seconds of TMP’s newest version of “今夜星光燦爛,” fireworks continued to light the sky while buildings perished into clumps of waste. Our exhausted vocalist then turned around, hands behind his back, solemnly, as if paying respect to this scene. The picture dissolved into a myriad of triangles like shards of glass that covered the screen, and shattered.

“燈光裡飛馳 失意的孩子”is a highly romantic concept. Though somewhat outdated and not very constructive, every now and then, I still choose consciously to wear this concept. But deep down, I acknowledge the conflicts and differences in our city as I try to formulate a more incorporative, all-encompassing approach to navigate our still-spectacular streets.

Reflection #3 - 沒變動只怕僵化

3) 沒變動只怕僵化

In the late eighties and early nineties, in our efforts to imagine how Hong Kong would possibly be re-acquainted with the “fatherland,” we used to ponder what the response would be if Hong Kong were to ask Mainland China, or if Mainland were to ask Hong Kong the question: 你還愛我嗎. These words from the song capture the complicated feeling of the Hong Kong Chinese at that time: 我怎麼竟有點怕 若我身邊沒有你 還總不太差/ 沒變動只怕僵化 習慣天天共對 怎麼知道情會否感化 / 或許癡心已轉化 但你始終在我心中牽掛　無邊的牽掛

In 2012, TMP posed this question to Hong Kong: 你還愛香港嗎

The question received many responses on Weibo and these comments were projected onto the screen as TMP performed the song. Opinions include love and dis-love for various reasons. One said “I love Hong Kong because this is where I was born and where I plan to stay.” Another said “I don’t love HK anymore because it’s becoming increasingly like Mainland.” One comment that drew cheers from the crowd went something along the lines of “I love Hong Kong because it’s one place where I can still hear Cantonese.”

Now that Mainland China has exerted its influence on the city in many aspects, and that the Hong Kong government is proving itself incapable of executing policies to safeguard the values of its citizens, and that we had just witnessed a most heated and ugly Chief Executive election, it is a good time for HK people to re-evaluate our love for the city we call home. But the act of asking if we “still” love this place is to imply that it is possible one day to stop caring, that our love for Hong Kong is not unconditional. If so, what needs to be the condition for this love to sustain? Too often in our city we observe a passive indifference to efforts that certain individuals make in trying to carry out change in our society. Is it possible then, as the lyrics of the song suggests, that our feeling for the city can one day 僵化or 轉化? Love is too abstract a concept, and also too generalized. The love a person has for a place is even more difficult to define. But I do believe that the extent to which we care about the developments in our city would affect the decisions we make each day. Another thing I struggle to understand is what it is like for one to be living in a place that one does not care about.

Reflection #2 - 快樂人共並肩

2) 快樂人共並肩

The 2012 version of “今天應該很高興” took on a celebratory carnival-like re-arrangement, wiping off the sentimentalism from its original 1987 version and boiling the argument down to money.

The song was performed in front of a video that started with a world map in the middle: on the left was the face of Deng Xiao Ping, his features covered by the RMB sign, and on the right was the face of Margaret Thatcher, her features covered by the British Pound sign. Then for the duration of the song, statistical information about the history of the Hong Kong population was presented. Not only did it include information on the Hong Kong Chinese Diaspora in Western countries (a subject that the song’s original version was concerned with), but it also included other notable information: the increasing number of Mainland Chinese immigrating to Hong Kong, the increasing number of wealthy Mainland Chinese having immigrated and considering immigration, the increasing number of Hong Kong Chinese who have emigrated to China for work, the increasing number of Hong Kong Chinese who had emigrated overseas and have returned to Hong Kong or China in recent years, the amount of money invested in Hong Kong by Mainland Chinese immigrants, the amount of Chinese investment all over the world, and more.

In the face of these hard facts, it would be an understatement to say that the love-hate relationship between Hong Kong and Mainland has become much more complex than it was twenty-some years ago. The Hong Kong Chinese who feared Mainland back in the days now acknowledge Mainland as an economic anchor. But the more interesting case studies are those of the young individuals whose families were able to afford the luxury of moving overseas during the turmoil of the eighties and early nineties, and how, having been displaced and having consumed a Western education, these individuals, now in their working adult years, have chosen to return to Hong Kong. The irony of their post-millennium return to Hong Kong has many folds. While each case is unique, there are some common observations: these returnees make use of their overseas credentials to take on better paid jobs than their locally educated friends; they are better in English and weaker in Putonghua than the locally educated; they have a difficult time adjusting to the cultural changes that have taken place in Hong Kong since the time they left; they often return to Hong Kong (or China) with an economic, money-oriented focus. According to the sentimental protagonist in the original 1987 version of “今天應該很高興”, they are the missing pieces that would have made a Christmas season “高興” or “happier”.

What resonates in both the 1987 original and the 2012 version of “今天應該很高興” is encapsulated in the phrase “應該”. We “should” be so happy if only. If only what?

Reflection #1 - It's My Party

*I refer to 達明一派 as TMP

1) “It’s My Party”

It’s My Party / 各位觀眾你好 / 自由黨你好 / 民建聯你好 /共產黨你好 / 同志你好 / 曾蔭權愛同志? / 梁振英是同志? / 黃耀明是同志? / 神愛同志 / 神愛中央 / 神愛香港 -- These were amongst the statements projected onto the screen while TMP performed their newest song, “It’s My Party.” The statements, short and simple with total disregard for political correctness, had a curious way of bringing people together. By setting off a series of free association of the terms “party” and “同志” with the names of various politicians and political parties, TMP won the crowd and gave the concert a very loud local context by saying, “This is Hong Kong. We can (still) say what we want to say.” This was vintage TMP: challenging social norms, riding on double-meanings, rallying the non-conformists. And the result was deeply satisfying. Maybe this was their way of reminding us that TMP had been kicking the establishment since the eighties, and they could still do it today, ever so subversive and in-your-face.

達明一派演唱會 Reflections

Under blazing lights and a heart-thumping sound system, a giant ghetto blaster opens its cassette slot through which達明一派enters the stage. Pesky and mischievous in their slim icy-white Picasso-acrobat-crossover-Nutcracker-soldier outfits, their electrifying entrance set the tone for one of the best parties in Hong Kong ever. 達明一派兜兜轉轉演演唱唱會(2012.4.20-23) was stunning not only for its spectacular audio-visual presentation, but also for its artistic reminder to Hong Kong people of what there is to cherish in our city, even in this era.