Canto Wrap #5: 9999 Versions of Me, Sponsored by G-Shock
on new singles from Lolly Talk, Alfred Hui, Sabrina Cheung and more
Cantopop hasn’t been about the album for a while—not so much in the sense of other places, where the album is centered around a single, but in the sense that artists will release a trail of singles and maybe, eventually, after two years and ten of them, package them into an album. That said, I liked Alfred Hui’s in the round and Panther Chan’s Mindfulness.
Anyway, I wrote about seven Cantopop tracks from this half of the year. Playlist on Spotify here.
Alfred Hui - “Yorushiku”
Right now, who’s the biggest pop star in Cantopop? I don’t mean an idol or an idol group, but a full-blown pop star, the kind of singer with a voice that’ll turn heads, the kind of personality that could be crowned a diva. My take is that no pop artist in Hong Kong is really there, but Alfred Hui comes the closest in terms of big performances; in that sense, he’s perhaps Hong Kong’s best working pop star. His third album of the decade so far, in the round, offers a fine overview of contemporary Cantopop. There’s “Anthropology,” which dabbles in the chilled-out electronic of Hong Kong’s younger artists, the lovely slice of indie pop “同連” (“Together”), written by the great, self-proclaimed poetic pop duo per se; and the frosty dance-pop number “Masquerade,” which even comes with a haughty rap feature. Beyond these three, in the round is the singer in strong form across a set of captivating ballads.
On in the round, Hui sounds like he’s waiting for everything to settle. The stirring “Guilty Conscience” is constantly looking backward at a relationship whose current status remains undecided. Yet “Yorushiku” is carried with an air of finality, almost as if the singer’s realized that the past no longer matters. Despite going pop rock, with zippy electric guitars indebted to arranger The Hertz, Hui is such a charismatic vocalist that he remains at the forefront. Perhaps the title, a polite greeting akin to the phrase, “I look forward to working with you,” most often sounds like an obligatory remark. The singer breezes over this formality, but his statement never sounds empty or impolite; instead, Hui leads a rousing charge: “before you lose your energy, let’s face the future head-on,” he instructs.
see also: The Hertz - “MADMAN” // per se - “也許沒有未來神” // Vincy Chan - “Spooky Coincidence”
Aska - “Dirty Rhythm”
Alfred Hui might be the closest to a Hong Kong pop star by how he operates, but there are plenty of performers that attempt to recapture the glamour of the scene’s past. It often comes in low-key flirtations; Aska teases on the verses of “Dirty Rhythm,” set to an imitation of a Latin guitar, going for something hotter in the momentary groove of the chorus where a UK Garage beat takes over. The performer himself is a bit corny—“let’s get that vibe,” he sings, then later on the second verse, phones in a half-hearted rapped verse—and a little slutty. That works for a track that’s entertaining, although a little bit of that ostentatious flair would have made it exciting.
see also: Keung To - “Dark Moon”
Cath Wong - “Tell Me I’m Good”
“Beauty has a language, I found a voice,” Cath Wong sings, “poems for me, songs for me, at least some kindness given for me.” Imbalance brings change and as “Tell Me I’m Good” leans off-kilter, Wong favours herself. The synths hurtle in opposition to the rhythm’s sway, her voice floats high above the elements like they’re stepping stones to somewhere brighter. The “like” becomes a metric for the things worth keeping, one for whatever makes her happy—at worst, they’ll remain as a reminder of the things she used to love.
Sabrina Cheung - “講呀講呀”
The percussion keeps the mood deceptively light and simple as it imitates the sound of handclaps, easily overpowering the rest of the track’s flutter and swoon. Sabrina Cheung acts confident, twirling the melody around her finger with ease. “I stay cool,” she hums at the tail of the chorus—she appears stylish and aloof, but there’s a hint of anxiety in the slight hiccup of the echoed affirmation. Never too demanding, this conflict between cool indifference and wanting to pose the question should fill “講呀講呀” (“Say It, Say It”) with a bit of glamour but Cheung’s messy handling of the chorus is satisfying, her inner monologue attempting to serve her outer expression.
see also: Gigi Cheung - “Connected”
George Au - “BF”
Au swings between hot and cold, alternating between asking for time to think and making promises he can’t deliver on. Still, sometimes the unattainable figure is the most enticing. The chorus of “BF” is low-key and shadowy—it arrives to set the anticipation of a touch—but it’s the following verse that hooks you in, a tempting offer delivered in a distorted whisper that forces you to lean into the kiss.
see also: Ian Chan - “Lost at first sight”
Yusobeit - “Jade Butterfly”
It’s fairly innocuous to start: a pretty arrangement of layered vocals and muffled thumps in the form of dream pop before the rest of the band fill out the song’s hazy atmosphere. Rolling drums, the descending high-pitched synth melody, and an electric guitar that appears in sparks—Yusobeit arrive in sweeping textures. If the opening chorus was akin to a dusty waltz, the final version’s intensity is like trying to keep a dying flame alight. The band seem to work against the ballad mode, pounding and thrashing, while the vocalist screams far-off in the background; the passion is there despite the reciprocity being in question.
Lolly Talk - “#9999”
With “Six Degrees of Separation,” it’s clear that Lolly Talk are Hong Kong’s most promising girl group—here, the group recalls the J-pop-esque sound of their debut single, “Triple Sweetness,” but with a soft, bright videogame synth added to the mix. This is Lolly Talk at their most playful: the racing clatter of percussion, detours into carnival merry-go-round synth melodies, and a chorus that winks as they count upward.
Compared to the boundless energy of “Six Degrees of Separation,” “#9999” sounds hesitant. On the former, the group explore the promise of youthful friendship, but here, they each crave the intimacy of a lover. Over a trance-like beat, Lolly Talk sound anxious: “my wild thoughts are like fireworks / twisting space and karma” the group sings. Their confession sounds inexperienced and awkward, the words distorted and flipped. It should be cathartic, but it does little to quell their minds. The beat races faster and faster, pounds harder and harder on the final chorus. It’s a heart never satisfied, the craving for a kiss morphed into a desperate neediness.
see also: sica - “經痛不及我心痛”
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