#4: March 2021

the best Mandopop of the month from FloruitShow's heart-wrenching ballads to soft boy indie R&B to boy groups blurring the lines between Mandopop and K-pop

The C-pop tag on Twitter has started to diversify. There’s more to it now, the booming careers of Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo from The Untamed fame, crossover idols like Jackson Wang who’ve started to pursue careers in the Chinese market after years of success in the K-pop one, and most recently, a lot of Produce Camp 2021 and Youth by Youth 3 content. But it still seems that the overwhelming majority of the C-pop and Mandopop tags are by WayV fans, too often arguing over genre labels for the group—the common defense is that WayV are a C-pop group, that comparing them to K-pop acts is laughable. So then, what genre are WayV? What genre feels fair to a group like them?

WayV are hard to pin down. They themselves have avoided genre labels, describing themselves in interviews as “Asian pop” or “WayV-pop,” the first of which is true but isn’t really descriptive. While it might be done under good intentions, labeling themselves as either feels less about choosing a genre and more about refusing another, escaping the labels of K-pop and Mandopop, genre labels that could actually be descriptive of the music. WayV-pop is a completely useless term and Asian pop limits the scope of the genre. Influences of other Asian pop genres, for example, Vietnamese pop or Japanese pop, aren’t present, don’t even seem to be on their radar. So while Asian pop may work for someone describing their own interests, it feels less appropriate in describing a single artist’s sound. It feels overly broad.

It’s better then to examine how WayV might fit under either the Mandopop or the K-pop labels. “Kick Back” sounds more like anything you’d hear off a K-pop group’s latest comeback over anything produced by current Mandopop idol groups. The Korean version of the track could easily pass for material by their sibling sub-unit NCT 127. It takes on a lot of current K-pop trends and stylistic markers, most notably in the way the bridge slows it all down to half-time, only to return brighter and louder for its final chorus, sustained high note included. And while their lyrics may be penned by Chinese names (and occasionally by the members themselves), the rest of the credits are by writers and producers working in the K-pop sphere. By all appearances too, WayV are a K-pop group. Their recent promotions have been Korean, from performances broadcast on Korean networks to WayVision, a variety show spoken in Korean, produced in Korea, and aired on the Korean network Seezn, without official promotion in China, much to the ire of their Chinese fans. While the group is active on Weibo, much of their promotion caters to international fans outside of China—official videos posted on Youtube, teasers across Twitter, and the members active on individual Instagram accounts, all of which which are blocked within mainland China. Even down to their album packaging, multiple versions plus photocards, especially where China’s current market seems to be driven by digital sales.

Then how about the Mandopop label? WayV don’t really have any contemporaries within the Mandopop scene. There’s not really an idol group that’s quite like them. Parts of that has to do with what Mandopop is. Unlike K-pop, there are differences that make it hard to find broad trends in the scene. Mandopop is coming from a spread of regions with their own tastes and preferences, including mainland China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore, and Malaysia. Solo idol music and rap may be increasingly popular within China but R&B and hip-hop seem to be more popular in Taiwan. The problem is that, unlike K-pop, Mandopop is a genre that’s currently defined by language—these trends exist across sub-scenes, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, to create any sort of broad generalizations. And with the Chinese idol scene headed in a different direction from the K-pop scene, it becomes difficult to even fit WayV into the context of the current Mandopop scene.

I guess in the end, WayV are both K-pop and Mandopop. Feels like a cop-out doesn’t it? They’re a Mandopop group marketed for an international audience, nothing quite like it. But from an international context, it seems more accurate to discuss them in the context of the current K-pop scene rather than the Mandopop scene, where they’re likely to be clear outliers. Using the rebuttal of “WayV are a C-pop group” feels a bit pedantic, and like WayV, an attempt to escape a specific genre label, one that clearly has its uses. The main takeaway from all my rambling is that while K-pop has its own styles, trends, and appearances, Mandopop is much more fluid, a genre defined solely by being a) pop music and b) performed in Mandarin. It’s a vague descriptor, one that covers so many related but different sub-scenes, both genre-wise, like Mandarin R&B and Mandarin hip-hop, and geographically, like certain popular stylistic influences that may arise in Taiwan but not China. Isn’t that beautiful? Check out the best of March:

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Albums

FloruitShow - What Can I Hold You With

“玉珍” takes its time to build. There are eighty-four seconds before the vocals come in. One hundred and sixty-nine before electronic drums appear. Only a few seconds before do FloruitShow drop the bomb: “it’s just that I can’t find you anymore.” She’s gone and there’s nothing they can do to change it. Two-hundred twenty seconds before their screaming against the wind again.

The wind was blowing that day too. Do you remember? It was the last time we went out together, all of us, to Niagara Falls of all places. Not to actually see them, but to just go somewhere. We piled into the back of the van and dad drove two hours. I don’t remember why Niagara, but I remember why we went. You were dying. No one wanted to say it, still, no one wants to. But you were dying and you wanted one last family trip. And I ruined every photo we took together, I just couldn’t help myself. That’s what I remember. FloruitShow sing about someone else, somewhere else, sometime else, but I can’t help but remember the sound of the water crashing down that day, the colour of your bright blue jacket, and how you bought us ice cream even though you couldn’t eat it.

On “玉珍,” FloruitShow remember the picture-perfect scene of their grandmother. They remember the warmth that day, the way the wind messed up her hair. And they do everything they can to keep that image alive and at the front of their memory—the harp flows like the wind while the chorus howls through it. “玉珍” is about not quite being ready to let go, to be on your own. FloruitShow hang onto it, until the very end—its ending taking a couple of tries. Another chorus. This one’s less rousing, more personal. “See you in the spring next time / please don’t leave me.” It’s directed to you, but you’re already gone. A final coda, stretching that picture-perfect image as far as it’ll go, “can you travel through night and day, brave the wind and the billows, and meet me in my dreams?”

It’s between these endings that FloruitShow’s lead vocalist, Du Bing’er, broke during The Big Band 2. You can hear the crack in her voice. You can see the tears in the audience’s eyes. They named the song after her.

FloruitShow are made of triplet sisters. Trained classically, their first attempt was at the spotlight was an attempt at idol music that didn’t pan out. Instead, they went back to work in things that let them use their classical training. But leaving proved more difficult, how could it not? Their first track, the title track of 我用什么把你留住, was a final effort to keep them together. It comes before separation but just as grief has started. When you know something will end and you’re not ready to let go just yet. So the three sisters tried one more time. They formed a new band. They caught the attention of a label. And later on The Big Band 2, a Chinese variety show where bands attempted to cross from the indie scene into the public conscience, they moved people. They were playing music people found too experiemental against men with years of experience and yet their performance of “玉珍” moved people.

我用什么把你留住 is a lot like “玉珍.” Heart-wrenching ballads that move you. Lines that hit like a punch to the gut, when they sing about the guilt and regret of loss, that try to hold you in a hug as you realize that doesn’t really help. It’s often adorned with Du Xue’er’s harp playing to mask the pain or with a vocoder to mask the beauty. The songs are steeped in rich harmonies and crest into flurries of keys, strings, and the anxiety-inducing clock ticks before settling back into that empty feeling of nothingness. They’re also not afraid to get experimental, “兰若度母” uses choral vocals to portray its grief, while “如何” contemplates the idea of no longer wanting or loving through an acapella vocoder performance that lasts until the glass breaks and the feelings pour out. These aren’t the same polished ballads they made as idol trio 冰雪飞, but more anguished, more willing to experiment, and much more affecting.

I think now’s a great time to also mention the album artwork and just a piece of how it depicts the trio. There’s heavy symbolism in the choice of the animals that block each girl’s face and in the other elements from the flowers to the wave on the right-hand side. But one of the biggest motifs they play with is the mythology of the three wise monkeys down the center of the artwork. Down the center, they depict Mizaru covering his eyes, Kikazaru covering his ears, and behind their lead singer Iwazaru covering his mouth. It’s a bold piece of symbolism to show the truth in their songs, their depictions of grief.

Much of their album is about processing grief, mostly about the loss of the grandmother. “春暖花开去见你” opens with a denial over a sparse piano melody: “it’s not possible / I’m running to hug you tight / it’s not possible.” It hits the fireworks. They may be muted but they capture the way grief swallows you whole while everyone watches. FloruitShow capture the thing no one really bothers to tell you about grief, that the world will continue moving while you watch, while you’re crushed. That to everyone else, everything is normal and so the world moves in a completely normal way that feels abnormal to you. That the sun still shines on a bright March morning despite the fact that the world is a dark, ugly, and unpleasant place. That a girl who never bothered to get to know you still asks to copy your assignment, despite the fact that everything feels so pointless and temporary. That Kacey Musgraves releases an album with a song called “Mother,” like nothing ever happened to yours.

In grief, the bright spots feel short-lived. They exist here as temporary touches, brief patches of mercy. The way reflection on “我用什么把你留住” switches its last line to describe life not “as bitter as a song” as they did earlier, but “as bright as a song.” But more often, like the sudden quick-to-fade lift in the key change of “马,” that drops you back down once they remember how they let you down, when the guilt comes back for the same hopeless conclusion. There’s a glimpse of something bright is on the horizon, but perhaps they’re not quite ready for that. That’s okay. For now, FloruitShow still have that one day, that picture-perfect image of their grandmother, the way I hold onto Niagara Falls. FloruitShow find themselves striking a deal on “春暖花开去见你,” that when the dust has all settled, when everyone else has forgotten, that you’ll change the world just for me. It comes as a lullaby. That if I miss you three times, you’ll clear the black skies. That if I miss you thirty, the stars will no longer go out. That if I miss you three hundred, the howling winds and torrential rains will end. That if I miss you a countless number of times, I’ll never forget. In between the holes—the moments that grief isn’t guilt, that it isn’t stabbing pangs of regret and unheard apologies—FloruitShow are asking for a piece of comfort, even if it’s only temporary. One day, they’ll be ready to feel the sun on their skin and the wind breeze through their hair, but until then, that’s enough.

Find it on streaming here: Apple Music // Spotify

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Singles

ADEN - “多久才懂妳的心”

ADEN has mastered the art of the American indie soft-boy. The overalls, the beanie. The riding his bike around town waiting for you to notice him. He’s the main character in every drama, the one who never quite got you, but finally realized how desperately he wants you. This is the final act and he knows exactly what moves to pull to win you over. The smoky guitar solo only a few beats in. The way his voice drops down in the middle of the chorus right as he’s crooning the words “how long until I can understand your heart.” He’s pouring his heart out, asking for one more chance over the breezy instrumental. He’s the protagonist of your romantic comedy and he’ll win your heart once he’s finally parked his bike outside your house.

Drangadrang - “Life’s Pazangal”

Nanguaq released a compilation album by seven young Indigenous artists. The young part is important: they’re making music that fuses the traditional part of their Indigenous identity with production that sounds like the present. Natsuko easily flips between Amis and Japanese over blinding lights on “fu’is.” Dremedreman embraces her Paiwanese culture on the danceable “ngadan.” They’re making music that represents them. And it’s all co-produced by last year’s Golden Melody Award winner ABAO, who injects each track with the same life she did on her award-winning kinakaian.

All tracks are performed in various Indigenous languages, but two tracks have some Mandarin lyrics. “Life’s Pazangal,” or “life’s struggle,” mixes lyrics in English, Mandarin, and Paiwanese, and just might be the most aggressive of the bunch, more boisterous than any other, and joyful in its own way. When Drangadrang shouts “maya,” it’s a call to “be quiet,” to wait your turn. “Life’s Pazangal” sounds like an inner tumoil flipped outward, changing between posturing as the model son and succumbing to the difficulties of life. “Hey, I’m doing just fine” Drangadrang reassures you, launching back into that boisterous chorus, demanding you let him speak. But you can also hear him screaming into the void asking for some mercy on its bridge, the digital distortions swallowing him whole. The hollow Indigenous drums morph into heavy beats and siren sounds before you notice. Nanguaq’s N1 compilation is creating space for Indigenous voices on their own terms.

see also: Makav - “embiyax su hug”

Cyndi Wang - “心靈的冒險”

“心靈的冒險” is a little slice of escape. It’s about all the things we’ll be doing when this is all over. It shimmers in the light, cascading notes that compliment Cyndi Wang’s bubbly voice. Its EDM-lite bounce is less about creating a fantasy but creating a feeling, bottling excitement for the future. The world is like this, but think of what it will look like. Picnics in the park, skiing with good friends, and flying far away. Just be patient, Wang seems to ask, not for all the things we could have done, but for all the things we will do.

Eileen Yo - “Daydream”

It’s hard not to slip into “Daydream.” Eileen Yo may be singing about waking up from the dream, but her voice, sweet and smooth in its allure, tempts you to drown in it. When she jumps to her higher register, it just becomes more tempting. The synth ripples beg you to fall in. Every lyric is about getting out, waking up from the dream, and perhaps they’re warning you, but not even the finger-snap beat can stop you from drowning under.

C.T.O - “Oh! That Girl”

C.T.O got a stage on South Korea’s Show Champion for the Korean version of “Oh! That Girl.” Wait, let’s back up a bit.

C.T.O (Create Top One) are a six-member Taiwanese boy group. By some stroke of luck, member YC gained recognition in South Korea for his resemblance to actor Lee Kwang-soo. And so C.T.O made the jump. Four members—Snoopy, YC, Sean, and J. Win—went to South Korea to film a variety series where they competed against South Korean boy group ONF, and they made, well, they made some K-pop. When in South Korea I guess. In a couple of ways, C.T.O are opposite to WayV. WayV are a South Korean product marketed to international audiences, while C.T.O are a Taiwanese product marketed to South Korea. If Youtube streams are evidence, they aren’t making quite as big of a dent as expected given the views for the Mandarin version are exceeding the Korean, but perhaps that’s due to the product they’re putting out. WayV succeed in highlighting differences to international audiences as they’re releasing Mandopop that acts as K-pop—rather than marketing towards international Mandopop fans, the group pushes to the relatively larger fanbase of international K-pop fans—whereas C.T.O make no attempt to dissuade Korean audiences from believing that what they’re making is K-pop. “Oh! That Girl” was originally released in Korean, the Mandarin version secondary. However, this issue is that the company still seems to be finding its footing and the release of a laid-back performance video rather than a performance seems questionable and perhaps contributes to why C.T.O haven’t quite made the dent in either the South Korean or international scenes.

So that’s the story of how we got to a Mandarin version of “Oh! That Girl,” how a Taiwanese boy group became the international debut that could. And like WayV, it’s both K-pop and Mandopop. So far this year, I’ve found the best K-pop to be the tracks that were fun, the tracks that wanted you to have fun—CIX’s movie production romance, Weeekly’s after-school hang-out, WJSN’s glitzy dance ball—and “Oh! That Girl” definitely emulates the same kind of joy. It might fail to show that level of excitement in its low-octane music video, but its light funk-pop definitely hits the right groove sonically. They bring the drama: in the second verse, Sean name-drops Juliet as a reference and raps “my world would not be so colourful and so beautiful without you.” The vocals are buoyant, the group simply enjoying the moment. The ad-libs are goofy, members bouncing chants on the first verse, and they shout “oh that girl” in unison at the end of the bridge without a hint of pretension, like they’re done worrying about how silly they could look. “Oh! That Girl” is a little dramatic yet joyfully danceable—the best of both Mandopop and K-pop, the best of what they could be together.

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Find the Mando Gap playlist on Spotify here and me on Twitter here.