#12: November 2021
a wrap on this year's last issue and a look back at some overlooked Mandopop from last year, including LINION's smooth neo-soul and more
Mando Gap was going to just be a quarterly round-up: the best Mandopop across three months. Part of that was out of fear, that I’d end up going a month without finding anything that I’d be interested in sharing, another part because I didn’t think I’d be able to write twelve issues. So it’s a little weird to me that we’re here. Thanks for coming along.
Mando Gap is all about sharing Mandopop, a “genre” if you want to call it that, or really, just a cluster of music that comes out of this one part of the world, that mostly gets ignored by anyone outside of it. And starting a newsletter about it has kind of forced me to explore it more, mostly through new releases, but also in pieces of the past. People have asked why I started a newsletter about Mandopop and I’ve had trouble trying to figure it all out in my head. There’s obviously the personal reasons, trying to immerse yourself in a culture you don’t really know if you belong to, and there’s also the art itself, the albums that make you want to write about them, for me, things like Faye Wong’s 浮躁, Julia Wu’s 1994 依舊舊事. But I’d like to hope there’s a bigger reason for it. I think perhaps it’s best to look to Joshua Minsoo Kim’s blurb about “Fake Love” on The Singles Jukebox (please read if you haven’t!). To me, its main point was something I saw in people around me and something I feared one day seeing in myself: a pride in being Asian, but a shame in not being a certain ethnicity. I think (and hope) that a newsletter like this, one that helps you explore and see what’s popular in a scene that no one else is really covering is so important. If Mando Gap introduced you to a piece of music from the Mandarin-speaking sphere of the world or made you want to learn about music from that side, well then hey, I’ll take that as a win.
Thanks to everyone who read anything. For checking out the albums, the singles, the playlists. For the people who went and shared it, thank you. I really do appreciate it. I want to say huge thanks to Ryo Miyauchi, whose newsletter This Side of Japan, I took a lot of inspiration from (I mean I even “borrowed” most of their format). If you’re not subscribed to This Side of Japan, you really should be (and if you’re looking for a starting point, I recommend issues on Hallkarimaako’s Terminal, Utada Hikaru’s “One Last Kiss”, and this one, on the relationship between idols and fans and what it means for their music when they break it). Ryo does exactly what I hope to be able to do with Mandopop one day but with Japanese music, writing about it in a way that makes people want to explore more. Ryo pulls from Japan’s music scene in a way that makes it seem limitless and writes the most insightful things about it, you really won’t regret subscribing.
Starting next week, we’ll start some end-of-year wrap-up. For this month’s issue, since everything from November would likely be included in the year-end lists, I thought we’d do something a little different. I’ve put together an issue on some albums and singles that came out last year, that I never covered in my end-of-year from last year—that, for some reason, I either discovered late or took too long to get. I don’t know why this issue is named “November 2021” but, ah well. The playlist still includes a selection of tracks from November, if you do want to hear some Mandopop from November. Thank you all for reading. Check out some great Mandopop from 2020:
Albums
EnjiA - EnjiA
Not old-fashioned nor quite so modern, EnjiA’s music is like being lovestruck in the old parts of the city, where sidewalks are made of cobblestone and the coffeeshop still manages to pull a live audience every week. Her admissions are filled with warmth, the sound of someone experiencing love for the first time, the giddy thrills of flirtation, the heart-racing rhythm of a kiss, the ecstasy of your first relationship. On “雨季” (“Rainy Season”), EnjiA calls him, sure, but he responds just as easily: “you come close to me, just a centimeter left between us.” EnjiA’s love is innocent enough to believe that these quiet thrills, the ones where you can feel your own heartbeat and aren’t consumed with another’s, are the most important, and she calls him closer in a hushed voice on top of the coffeeshop’s piano, letting ambient synths mimic the rain.
EnjiA’s self-titled debut is all about that closeness, her serene vocals calling you closer despite being shy enough to blend into the atmospheric arrangements. The piano arrangements are perhaps a bit commonplace, but EnjiA does try her hand at more electronic ambiance, shyly confessing on the pulse of “需要你时候” (“When I Need You”), its pulse falling right on top of the “I want you.” Sometimes she’ll push a bit harder to be heard, like on the flirtatious “关于你” (“About You”) where she and JIHU trade calls of “I just want to know you” across the table in the corner booth. At her most liberating, when she actually lets the synths come up, Enjia sounds like she’s dancing in the middle of the street, taken over by that wondrous feeling of first love. EnjiA is the warmth of a first love that’s just blossomed. Her music is the desire to hold lover forever, a plea for ten more minutes over snaps and clicks or a daydream of something eternal over a runaway piano melody.
Find it on streaming here: Spotify // Apple Music
JIHU - Part of JIHU
JIHU meshed nicely with EnjiA, adapting to the city like it was his own, his casual come-ons a nice contrast to EnjiA’s shy murmurs across the table. On this year’s JIHU CITY EP, he ends up exploring his own version of the city, mostly wandering through its nightlife. But on last year’s Part of JIHU, JIHU returns home, seeking that part of himself he can’t find in the city, something that calls for a sound that’s much richer, much earthier. Its Chinese title, 彝部分 (Yi Part), refers back to JIHU’s Yi ethnicity (also known as Nuoso), using the discovery, or perhaps rediscovery, of it to shape the sound of his album.
JIHU lets others lead parts of the path for him. In its opening moments, “Nuoso Soul” lends itself to an elder’s throaty chants, before JIHU’s smooth voice takes over, singing about his people and about taking his own route. There’s the voice of an older man that plays above the strings and piano on “Memory.” He speaks about mundane things, things you need to pay attention to when you leave for the city, studying and eating well, but it’s also a reminder of where you come from, a reminder for JIHU not to forget. “Kushi” refers to the New Year in the Yi language while “My Lover Arenew” brings lush string arrangements to a Liangshan folksong. The production borrows from traditional elements when it can, like the strings of “Silence” as JIHU calls to the mountain for advice.
JIHU quit his position as a music teacher to make this album, hoping to bring Yi culture to modern-day China through a three-part series, his Yi Trilogy. He went home, back to Daliang Mountains in Sichuan, to record samples and learn styles. But his Yi ethnicity is only one part of him, and while it makes for a large part of his sound, it doesn’t make for all of it. There are elements of hip-hop in the beat of “Home by Dusk,” which he slows down to transform into a ballad. Meanwhile, producer Derrick Sepnio shapes JIHU into some of the warmest modern R&B, pairing liquid guitars and digital drums with JIHU’s soulful voice. JIHU submerges himself into the past, both his culture’s and his own, and lets his music meet it halfway, shaping it in pieces of rich soulful music of modern-day and traditional memories of the Yi people.
Find it on streaming here: Apple Music // Spotify
The second part of JIHU’s trilogy, Unknown JIHU, is out now: Apple Music // Spotify
Singles: “Nuoso Son” // “Nuoso Soul”
Songs
GEmma Wu - “GO” // “Go Home, huh?”
GEmma Wu’s debut, GX, opens with similarly titled tracks and similar genres but offers two completely different approaches. “GO” fires on all cylinders, asking you to mind your own business and leave her alone, shouts of “go” over its bold electropop. She claims herself to be “not the girl you know,” and goes to prove it on “Go Home, huh?,” a softer and lighter take of the same genre. Produced by Swedish production duo Caesar and Loui, “Go Home, huh?” is coyer but doesn’t lay down, demanding another “think about passion aight / go out with me, hold my phone, take my picture.” “GO” and “Go Home, huh?” might differ in what they want another to do, but they see Wu taking equally assertive stances.
Silence Wang & Shaking - “Tell Me a Joke”
On its breezy bossa nova sway, Silence Wang knows his communication is lacking, but would rather wait for himself to mature than have to rely on a partner. Still, THE-9’s Shaking worms her way in, pretending to offer a joke, only to step into its rhythm and offer casually rapped slices of empathy, sharing examples of loneliness in fiction and her own life. On its final chorus, with Shaking on harmony, the rainy ambience of “Tell Me a Joke” doesn’t feel so lonely.
HowZ - “Butter”
Two great R&B tracks were named “Butter” and both never outright made the comparison to smoothness, only doing so implicitly, instead, interested in more, its history and what exactly they could do with it. They both featured smooth vocals and left themselves space to slow down and melt into languid arrangements. Japanese singer and producer Nariaki Obukuro’s “Butter” was more interested in the process that the product, spending more time churning than running smooth, its squelchy synths keeping the track alive. He stopped at “melted toast on butter” but HowZ picks up with the product, interested in using it to produce whatever you craved, savoury sauces to sweet butter pies. HowZ’s “Butter” might not be as experimental as Obukuro’s, but HowZ’s was steeped in the luxury of butter, layering smooth and rich vocals over finger snaps and its electric guitar, offering you, not just a recipe for whatever you could possibly want, but himself in whatever shape or form you needed.
LINION - “Mountain Dude (feat. L8Ching)”
Leisurely is a weekend off in paradise, a relaxing retreat from a month’s worth of whatever' life’s thrown at you. It turns out to be a melting pot of genres and sounds, R&B, jazz, soul, funk, West coast hip-hop, thanks in part to LINION’s training as a bassist in Los Angeles and experience working as a member of 9m88’s touring band. That funky bass line takes you on the journey of “Mountain Dude” so comfortably, leaving you with the natural timbre of the drums, LINION’s soulful voice, and the relaxed flow of L8ching’s verse. The “you” of the chorus might refer to the “baby girl” of one of the verses but feels like it could easily be about the mountains that make the pair’s hearts feel at ease. Paradise seems real in “Mountain Dude.” It rolls on into its natural scenery, floating away, drifting images of that shimmering still water in its laid-back neo soul or the swaying breeze in its horn and drum breakdown.
I’ll have some end-of-year lists out next week. Until then, find the Mando Gap playlist on Spotify here, with a selection of some November favourites and me on Twitter here.