By Brian Hu
Jay Chou's 2005 album is much like 2004's. And 2003's. And 2002's and 2001's. So why should we keep listening?
After his acclaimed breakthrough debut in 2000, Jay Chou has managed to make the same sophomore album five times now, and his latest, November's Chopin, is no exception. It's clear that Chou has discovered a formula for success -- blistering raps, mumbled love songs, medieval imagery, mussed-up hair -- and has carved out a personal style more distinctive than anybody else in the Chinese pop world. It's hard to blame the guy for repeating himself since he plays the Mando-pop game better than anybody else, which is especially impressive given his vocal limitations. Somehow, he continues to convince teenage boys and girls that he's a musical genius on par with the 19th century Polish composer that appears in the title of his latest release, an album that would be far more pretentious if it exhibited any actual ambition. Since the failures of his imitators prove Chou is indeed ahead of the pack musically, I've found myself forgiving him for essentially making the same album year after year, especially on albums like his 2004 Common Jasmine Orange, on which he perfected his style and mobilized his pop/rap formula to sing about topics ranging from his grandmother to the atrocities of war.
Chou's follow-up to what I consider his best album in years is a regression in every possible way. Vocally, he's getting even lazier than he already was. On the leadoff single “Nocturne,” Chou strains through his raps, proving that the likely reason he prefers his signature lightning-speed rhymes is because he sounds absolutely sluggish when the rap tempo slows down, as it does here. But even on the faster tracks, Chou struggles. On “The Emperor's Wrath,” Chou does the Eminem thing (female screams and short shrieking violin phrases over a nightmarish beat) but without the shocking lyrics or a fraction of the charisma. Chou phones it in on the ballad “Maple” as well as “The Choral Sea,” which features nice harmonies by high-pitched protégé Lara from Chou's pop/rock side-project Nan Quan Mama, but some of the lamest lyrics ever by normally reliable star lyricist Vincent Fong (Fang Wen-shan). “Black Sweater” is even less tolerable, with equally deflated vocals but far worse breakup lyrics, this time written by Chou himself.
Musically, this is standard Chou. “Nocturne” exemplifies his cool-guy-in-love formula, opening with a brisk instrumental melody, followed by mumbled rap, a half-sung transition, and a catchy chorus. I don't have a problem with the formula, but I prefer it employed for more substantial songs, such as the mesmerizing anti-war cry “Cease Fire” from Common Jasmine Orange or the angst of “Rice Fields” from Ye Hui Mei, rather than for this banal dead-girlfriend elegy dressed up as a Chopin tribute. “Blue Hurricane” and “No Way Out” contain Chou's creative but predictable use of rhythmic bricolage, looping the sound of telephone beeps into an instrumental intro in the former, and layering the pops of flash bulbs beneath an otherwise unremarkable attack on the Taiwanese paparazzi on the latter. “Drifting,” the upbeat single off the Initial D soundtrack fares somewhat better, as it features an atmospheric keyboard loop over a killer beat, a nonsense chorus that goes something like “der piao der piao der yi de piao,” campy sounds of racecar engines purring, a cool Anthony Wong intro, and a delirious Chou haughtily hollerin' his name out repeatedly as if he's just won a Golden Horse Award. Unfortunately, the other Initial D track (“All the Way North”) is proof that Jay's big-screen debut was disappointing for reasons other than his acting.
The lone exception amidst these boring 51 minutes is “Snow-like Hair,” which is up there with “East Wind Broke” as one of Chou's greatest ballads. Like “East Wind Broke,” this second single utilizes classical Chinese instruments and older Chinese pop traditions, as if equating a modern love affair with those from the culture's mythic past. The fusion of tradition and modernity isn't the most original of Chinese pop-song tricks, but there's no denying that the “traditional”-sounding ballad is among Chou's most endearing formulas, and no other major pop star does it better (check out Jolin Tsai's horrendous renditions on her recent J-Game for the most excruciating recent examples). On these tracks, lyricist Vincent Fong does his best work. “Snow-like Hair” is a mash-up of traditional Chinese philosophical images (young beauties, rivers flowing east, reincarnated butterflies), forming a post-modern, poetic analogy of a Chinese love story transcending time. The “la er la” ending and half-rapped closing verses show that Chou refuses to be entrapped by tradition, but rather is able to musically burst into the present with fresh ideas and youthful vitality. Again, compare with Jolin to see just how ahead of the game Chou really is.
As anyone with even the vaguest sense of Chinese pop music history can attest, the fusion of traditional and modern genres and instrumentation is hardly new, and to think that Chou's musical contributions are anywhere as interesting, revolutionary, or beautiful as those by pioneers from Nie Er to Cui Jian would be badly misguided. I have to stop myself whenever I start thinking that Jay Chou is great Chinese music; after all, my main rationale for his talent is that he's the most listenable artist in a pack of lifeless teeny-boppers (Twins, Jolin) and death-defying has-beens (Andy Lau, Leon Lai). The ability to write one's own lyrics and play one's own instruments shouldn't make Chou a great talent; it simply makes him a musician, a title we can't bestow on 95% of the Asian mainstream pop scene. That said, Chou is a burst of fresh air for those choking on MTV-Asia trash. His awkward multiculturalism (the inclusion of a K-pop rapper on “No Way Out” and the overly precious “Phom Rak Khun” -- Thai for “I love you” -- on “Maltose”), his commendable if obvious musical experimentations (the dynamic rhythm shifts on “Maltose”), and his cute if cheesy lyrics (the text-message love-affair of “Romantic Cellphone”) make Chou a respectable listen, even on sub-par, uninspired projects like November's Chopin.
Published: Thursday, January 26, 2006
