Canto Wrap #1: December 2020 - May 2021
the best Cantopop from MIRROR's diverse solos to comforting ballads to eighties throwbacks
Hey, surprise! Last issue, I very briefly discussed some of the context behind Mandopop but a big part of it was just to introduce Cantopop so I could do this issue. If you missed it, all you need to know is that Cantopop is defined similarly to Mandopop as “pop performed in Cantonese.” The two genres are distinct, defined by different languages, but there’s also an overlap, due to often common listener circles—trends across sub-scenes and styles are constantly converging and diverging (however, if there’s one constant, it’s got to be the everlasting popularity of the ballad). Mandopop may have eclipsed Cantopop in terms of popularity, especially if you do focus on the mainland Chinese market, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t Cantopop worth highlighting.
To me, Mandopop comes in a weird territory of being both foreign and familiar, different from Western music, but the language feels like home. I don’t get that same feeling with Cantonese. It feels choppier. Sharper. To me, Cantopop doesn’t bring the familiarity of Mandopop, but perhaps, to anyone unfamiliar with either language, maybe that the two genres aren’t too far apart. Like Mandopop, there’s a hole in Cantopop coverage, perhaps even larger than that of the hole in Mandopop. So I’ve put together a sort of mid-year report on some great Cantopop singles. It comes with a note: I tend to seek out Cantopop less than Mandopop and a large part of it is music recommended to me by the almighty algorithm after Youtube tricked me into listening to a Cantopop song once or twice. This list is likely a starting point rather than a comprehensive picture. Check out the best Cantopop of the year so far:
AGA - “CityPop”
“CityPop” isn’t really city-pop. I mean it is, but through the lens of city-pop, it probably doesn’t hold much to the greatest. It lacks the life of the genre, but that’s sort of AGA’s point. She uses what she imagines to be city-pop, the bustle of Japan’s nightlife, as an ideal. But her surroundings are duller, life is lonelier and “CityPop” mostly runs like a serene stroll, nothing quite so adventurous. “I have my feeling that the hubbub of the city sounds like city-pop” she drawls. She smooths the Cantonese language to its limits, but still switches to English to sing about loneliness. You can still hear the disco beat, but it’s dulled to a thwack, and those strings sound so far away from where they should be. But that all changes on the second chorus, just for a moment, as everything in her dreams swells—the orchestra grows more confident, becoming louder and more imaginative—but just for that moment, the appeal of the city suddenly less enchanting when you think about being surrounded by others. “Love and hate this kind of city pop.” She pops that last p.
Byejack - “February 14 (feat. YUNG)”
There’s a comment left on the video by Byejack: “I dont feel my song but hope u guys do. Have a sweet feb 14🧡.” Perhaps you felt the same this year. That you ditched an annual tradition of a crush and just bathed in how lonely the year has felt. Byejack’s vocals are run through a processor the way emo rappers do it, even if he’s more of a balladeer. YUNG’s voice acts as a nice counter, more natural, but still long and drawn out. The pair seem to long, not for someone, but for longing, missing the feeling of wanting. “I think I’m falling for you” doesn’t feel like the present, but the past refracted through rosy tears.
Claudia Koh - “830”
That first moment when you realize you want this, whatever “this” is, can be all-consuming. “It’s easy to love you,” Koh sings. She sings about wanting everything, running off early in the night just to have you all to herself, but the music is already gone—light and carefree, an instrumental that’s willing to bounce with a pulse that wants to make the decision for you.
Ian - “DWBF”
MIRROR, like many Mandopop boy groups, is more collective than group, allowing each of its twelve members to showcase individual styles and sounds. They were varied in sound: operatic rock; dark, loud, and stupid EDM; and of course, the timeless ballad. But thematically, they also covered different ground. Anson Lo and Keung To performed songs about the self, a braggadocious boast and a feat of self-confidence, respectively, but Ian overthinks a relationship. “Is this love? Or is this simply what friendship is supposed to be like?” he asks. It works opposite to the others: “DWBF” is bright and optimistic, a counter to Lo’s “EGO,” but more relaxed compared to To’s buoyant “Master Class.” For you, “I’ll be your swordfish,” Ian decides, his version of a decidedly romantic suggestion, a move to cross over that line. The MIRROR boys are confident, even when they’re still trying to figure out what they want to be.
see also: Anson Lo - “EGO”; Keung To - “Master Class”
Ivana Wong - “The Pink Room”
“The Pink Room” feels claustrophobic. The background seems to move without any real purpose—merely like it’s taunting you. The song’s pulse is haunting, always lurking beneath the layers of the track. “Welcome to The Pink Room” the screen flashes. Is the beat pounding in or pushing out? She leaves you there, wondering how it all works, how it all pieces together, the piano trilling behind you.
Jace Chan - “I Wish”
Airy and tropical, “I Wish” always bounces back. The second verse opens deeper, darker, and heavier, but Jace Chan quickly jumps back into fantasizing. “Continuing to ignore the laziness is a crime,” she sings, springing back into that bouncy chorus, melting into the summer heat.
Janice Vidal - “It’s OK To Be Sad”
In the music video for “It’s OK To Be Sad,” five friends get together for a baby shower. The man they lead with is assumed to have just come from something heavy, his tone deflated, his gift currently unusable for the mother-to-be. What starts as a joyous occasion, gets more and more burdensome as secrets about each are revealed. She tried to kill herself. He was diagnosed with panic disorder. She can’t fathom living now that her mother has passed, but looking over the edge, she was too scared to do it. We never get to hear about the last one’s story, the man we led with. We’re not privy to that conversation. But that’s not the important part of the video, the important part is that whatever burden, no matter how large or small, needs to be shared.
Sometimes a music video carries so much weight that it becomes almost impossible to unlink the song from its video. “It’s OK To Be Sad” offers so much comfort, in both its music video and its gentle balladry. The rolling piano lines, the gentle beat, and Vidal’s coos become their own little safe haven. The same way the group falls silent as each reveals their own wounds, the song isn’t offering input, just peace. When Vidal steps out towards the end, switching from Cantonese to English, it feels direct and personal, like Vidal’s stepping out of the party just to meet you, to tell you not, that things will be okay, but that it’s okay to feel whatever when they’re not.
Joey Yung - “Gone With the Flare”
Joey Yung’s been doing this for years. Since the early 2000s, she’s been one of Cantopop’s brightest stars, consistently one of the best-selling women in the genre. Do you think she ever feels lonely? She reckons with that loneliness on “Gone With the Flare,” sounding both distant yet cozy—the difference between being alone and being lonely. Yung doesn’t seem to mind it, the light jazz background a comfortable arrangement for Yung. Gone With the Flare,” feels like New Year’s Eve in Paris alone, observing the bustle, animated lives of others from the balcony, the occasional firework adorning its atmosphere.
Joyce Cheng - “@princejoyce”
Joyce Cheng has always had the media’s attention. Part of it was due to blue URL links for both her parents, but another part was due to her weight, because the fact is that Chinese media does not show women that look like Joyce Cheng. So “@princejoyce” is her own self-confidence anthem, a point she’s been working towards both publicly and privately, titled after her Instagram. The electropop production smartly hangs back, never going too far as to overshadow her performance. It often strays into cheesy territory (one lyric goes “why you always gettin’ mad because I’m silly and I’m rad” while later she sings about wearing her “grown-up pants”), but the way she sings “I follow me” sounds instantly gratifying, the same thrill as when the “liked your post” notification lights up your phone.
Kaho Hung - “Mysterious Smile”
Those synths on the chorus lift the power-ballad into something more. Every piece of the production seems to fall into place after that, beats rearranging to fit cozily into guitar licks. It all works! Evidently, they work for her too, the chorus flipping from “the mystery of you who tempted me” to “the mystery is solved, I don't fear this unfamiliarity.”
LK-072 - “誰令我心痴”
LK-072 loves the retro aesthetic: limited video quality, karaoke font, mixing that makes everything stick together. “誰令我心痴” makes good fun out of it, brassy and punchy from the get-go, drum fills aplenty, the entire thing seems to sparkle and shimmer—LK-072 even making good time for an electrifying guitar solo.
Manson Cheung - “今天我不想做嘢”
Manson Cheung makes the case for putting everything off until tomorrow, his acoustic ballad soft and dazed, filling the crevices with echoes and coos. “Does anything really need to change?” he asks. It doesn’t have to, but Cheung starts to grow bored, craving more. The band takes over as the song grows more and more anguished before Cheung settles once again, deciding to take that day off once more.
Takeem & Fotan Laiki - “Bad Habit (feat. Organ Tapes)”
On the remix of “Bad Habit,” Fotan Laiki makes a comeback by switching away from her usual style in favour of something down-tempo, something chiller, something made for vibing. The chorus of Takeem’s original, the thing that seemed to give “Bad Habit” some structure, is replaced with a drowned-out verse from Organ Tapes—the remix feels less prone to repeating old patterns. Everything blurs into vibes, chilled-out energy and hazy atmosphere.
Tsang Lok Tung - “A Different Me”
Despite its cues to the past, “A Different Me” isn’t about who you are now versus who you were in the past, but who you could be versus the present. On “A Different Me,” Tsang Lok Tung plays dress up. Like so many other Hong Kong artists, like so many other East Asian artists, she tests out the eighties synths, trying them on, having her own little miniature disco outfit montage, imagining the person she could be if she took a chance.
Vincy Chan & per se - “Lost (Nothing is Lost mix)”
The remix restores a lot of colour to Vincy Chan’s “Lost.” Perhaps that’s best summed up in the lyrics per se bring: “I look around for all the things I've lost / but nothing's found for nothing's truly lost.” Chan’s original was a lonely acoustic ballad, too preoccupied with what was missing to notice what she was losing, but per se bring both company and vigour, livening up the arrangement. The duo bring keys with more complex melodies, guitar strums, and those bright three-part harmonies. It’s an unexpected combination, one between one of Hong Kong’s brightest divas stars and an underground pop-rock group with a hefty following but it works well. There’s still the sadness of “Lost,” the things that Chan perhaps thought she couldn’t get back, but with per se added to the mix, “Lost (Nothing Is Lost mix)” feels hopeful once again—everything from the original is there and more, a spiritedness returned back to Vincy Chan.
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