“I'm into them, too,” said Charlie. “We fight over who gets to play as Guan Yu.” The disrespectful use of Lord Guan's civilian name near the altar caused Dwayne to stretch his arms over his head to mask his discomfort.
“I haven't tried the video games,” I said. “I don't have time.”
“Aw, they're so good,” said Charlie.
“Sadao and Charlie,” I asked, “would you mind if I make a video of you guys planting joss sticks?”
“That's fine,” said Charlie.
“Okay with me,” said Sadao.
Dwayne showed them both how to bow and plant the joss sticks the proper way, or at least the way that he had adopted.
Both eating champions were more than happy to pose for pictures, but the pitchman in me pushed things too far in the end. “Sadao, can I get a picture of you and Charlie with skewers clenched in your teeth?”
He shook his head slowly. “That's a bit much, Jing-nan.”
I couldn't complainâhe had already done plenty for my business. I left Unknown Pleasures in the care of Frankie and Dwayne. Nancy, Sadao, Charlie, and I went to the stage so we could figure out how to put on a show. The students had already dispersed in search of food.
We couldn't do much about the lack of lighting. The jeans and purses store, Junk in Your Trunk, agreed to lend me one of their outdoor spotlights for the stage. Beefy King, Home of the Shilin Sirloin Steak, contributed their PA system on the condition that its sign could hang on the stage monitor, visible to the audience. One microphone and one loudspeaker would have to do.
While we were still setting up we began to hear a commotion approaching the stage. The breakaway protestors were arriving. A number of them had dyed their hair in rainbow colors. The night-market patrons stopped and took notice of the influx.
“Wow, Nancy,” I said. “I think there are more than two hundred people coming.”
“I put up some notices online about the show here, but I didn't know if anybody saw it.”
Sadao held up his phone. “I texted everybody I know in Taipei to come and bring their friends.”
When Sadao hit the
stage he took dramatic steps to the microphone at the center and then stood silently. He waited for the applause to die down and when it didn't he held up his hands for silence.
First he said thank you in four different languages. Then he spoke in Japanese for about two minutes. Taiwanese students in the know shouted encouragement.
Then in English he said, “For me and my love, we are not allowed to marry in my home country. It's hard sometimes to go on, knowing that you're not allowed to exist as a couple. Both Chompin' Charlie and I hope that things can be different in Taiwan. I'm very happy for Taiwan Pride. It's so big! It makes me proud! You know what it's like, being told you shouldn't exist. China says Taiwan is a part of China. But in reality, Taiwan is not China. That is why we also support the defeat of the trade bill. Thank you.”
The crowd, which now stood at about four hundred people, cheered. For an improvised gathering, it was pretty damned impressive.
Sadao then introduced Boar Pour More as “Taiwan's original Pussy Riot.” I wasn't sure that the comparison was apt. Nancy's band did indeed have three women like the Russian art-activist group, but Boar Pour More had actual songs, some of them rockin'.
But there would be no rockin' tonight. They had planned an unplugged performance in the Legislative Yuan's cavernous chamber, where the acoustics would have been perfect. Unfortunately, in the open air and with no amplification, the two acoustic guitars with Nancy's tambourine were in danger of being drowned out by Boar Pour More's singer, Hazel. The right thing would have been to put the microphone in a place equidistant from the three members. But Hazel was too much of a post-post-punk diva. She had to have it on a stand, right by her mouth, even if it made the group sound like crap overall. Hazel sang flat, probably because she couldn't hear her own guitar, and the only other thing the audience could hear, from time to time, was Nancy's tambourine ringing, an incidental sound like the bells of a lost reindeer.
Surprisingly the crowd tried to hang in there. In fact, there wasn't enough space on the side I was standing on. Some woman was working her elbow into my gut, trying to get by me. I turned to her, ready to give her my dirtiest look, when I saw that it was Mei-ling and she was laughing at me.
“Jesus, Jing-nan, you get so uptight!” she yelled.
“What are you doing here so early, my young cousin?”
She tilted her head as if she were doing me a favor by explaining herself to me. “Peggy had some dinner function so she released me early. I read on the LGBT bulletin board that Sadao was hosting a show here and that some musical acts were needed.”
“Well, there's only one group on tonight that I know of.”
“That's perfect, then. I can get up there and sing after these guys.”
“Says who?”
Mei-ling fiddled with her phone and showed me a message from Sadao himself on the TaiPride board: “Please come and bring your music, Mei-ling! The
kawaii
guy who runs Unknown Pleasures can hook you up!”
I'll be honest. I was a little unnerved that a gay man called me “cute.” I should feel complimented. Even Nancy never told me I was cute.
“Mei-ling, what were you doing on TaiPride?” I asked.
“You can't make dance music without knowing what is going on in the gay community.” Her face suddenly darkened. “Why do you want to know, Jing-nan? Do you have a problem with queers?”
“I was just curious!” I said. “I don't have problems with anybody!”
“Hah!” Mei-ling crossed her arms and legs. “So how much longer are they going to play?”
“I don't know.”
“I like Nancy a lot, okay, but they sound awful.”
“I know. They're really a lot better than this.”
“Can't you do something about it?”
“Nope. They just don't have the equipment. No amps, guitars, or real drums.” I cut myself off as I looked Mei-ling over. “Hey, are you going to sing
a cappella
or something?”
“I have my backing tracks on my phone. Just run it through the PA and I'll sing through the microphone.”
I hid my hands in my armpits. Hadn't this audience suffered enough? Why did anyone here deserve listening to a shitty set from Boar Pour More followed by something even worse? “I wish I could hook you up, Mei-ling, but I don't have a cord to connect your phone to the amplifier.”
She reached into her back pocket and produced the exact cord needed. “I carry this with me,” she said.
“For what?” I said as I unwound the cord.
“If I happen to go to Ximending, someone might want to jam with me.” Ximending is a neighborhood known for its youth culture. Bands set up on sidewalks with portable amplifiers and play to passersby. It's known for shopping malls, clubs, cinemas and for love hotels that accommodate local teenage prostitution. It's always crowded with people looking for a good time.
“Promise that you're not going to Ximending, not without me,” I warned her. “Or else you're not going on tonight.”
She stomped her foot. “Okay, okay!”
I looked her over. What could this skinny little girl do on stage? I had to admit, though, she couldn't do worse than the disgraceful Boar Pour More reunion.
As the band bowed and mercifully ended their set, Sadao took up the microphone. “Please, let's have a big round of applause for my favorite band in the whole world, Boar Pour More.”
The audience applauded at a volume that was marginally more than mere courtesy. “So good, so good,” he added in English, Mandarin, and Japanese. Mei-ling stepped up to the stage and approached Sadao. He cupped his hand over the microphone as she shyly introduced herself to him. They spoke briefly and he began to nod and bow. She bowed back awkwardly.
I went to the amplifier and set up Mei-ling's phone.
She jogged over to me and said, “When I give you the signal, hit the play button, Jing-nan.”
“Got it,” I said.
As Boar Pour More packed up and left the stage, Sadao turned to the crowd and clapped his hands. “Now, we have something special from a new artist. She calls herself Orchids! Thank you!” He slid the mic back into the stand and stepped off the side of the stage.
Orchids? Well, whatever. Mei-ling would be off the stage soon. The audience members already had enough pain in their lives.
I saw Mei-ling standing near the back of the platform. She turned to me and when I saw her eyes, they seemed to glow a little and I didn't recognize her. Orchids nodded and I hit the play button.
I knew the sampled beat right away. It was the same song of hers that I suffered through in the car. It sounded better outdoors.
Mei-ling put her arms to the sides and slinked to the microphone like an aroused cobra. Where did she learn to do that? I didn't recognize the creature that my cousin had become. She threw her head back and snapped it forward just in time to sing.
She wasn't the greatest singer, but she was better than how Boar Pour More's Hazel had come across, and that was all that mattered. What Orchids was doing wasn't so much singing verses, but voicing snippets, including, “Do you love me?” and “Are we in love?” Banal for sure, but when phrased properly, as Mei-ling was doing, the words had more meaning.
Now I knew what was so wrong with her song demos. They weren't produced properly. The synthesized treatment of her voice was completely wrong. You did that for performers who couldn't sing but looked good in videos. It was dawning on me that Mei-ling did indeed have some ability.
During an instrumental break, she put her forearms together and slowly opened them, revealing her face. The crowd mimicked her movements.
“Open your mind! Open your mind!” she sang as the song came to a close. I clapped and realized that I should be recording her on video. Her next song started up and I fumbled with my phone to focus on her performance.
The second song was the same fare, the other bookend, but that was all right, especially for a dance crowd. “Do you love me?” was now “Don't you miss me?” The chorus sampled the drum fills from Echo & The Bunnymen's “Monkeys,” unlicensed, I was sure.
I nodded in time with the music and parted imaginary curtains with my free hand as Mei-ling was doing. “Look at me! Look at me!” she sang as the song closed with the dying echoes of a snare drum.
The crowd cheered as she said apologetically, “That's all I have. Please go to Orchidsmusicnow.com and check out the songs. Thank you!” She bowed. I applauded her as a new fan.
Sadao came back on the mic. “Oh, wow, Orchids. That was something! Excellent! Excellent!” The audience applauded wildly. Chompin' Charlie jumped on stage and ran to embrace Sadao and kissed him intensely. Sadao looked a little embarrassed as Charlie grabbed the mic and yelled, “Thank you, Taipei! We love you!” They both bowed and then rushed off the stage.
I turned and saw Nancy standing with their lead guitar player, whose name I can never remember. I made my way over. My girlfriend cradled her tambourine and shook her head.
“We broke up again,” said Nancy. “Hazel says she's resuming her solo career.”
“That's too bad, but maybe it was for the best,” I said. The guitarist and I briefly nodded to each other.
“How did we do?” asked Nancy. The ends of her mouth were turned down. “Were we bad?”
“Bad? Naw, it wasn't bad,” I said. “The mix was off. If you had had time for a sound check, it would have been great.”
The guitarist looked me square in the eye. “You're lying,” she said. “We fucking sucked out loud! Nobody could hear our goddamned instruments over Hazel's singing!”
I looked at her and then at Nancy, and ended up dropping my eyes to the ground. “Well, I wouldn't go that far.”
The guitarist turned to Nancy. “Don't marry this one,” she said as she rattled her guitar case for emphasis. “He's a liar and he can't even remember your friends' names.” With that, she turned and stomped off into the night.
“Hey,” I called after her, “maybe it's the guitar playing that's the problem!” She flipped me off the British way, with two fingers, and I gained some respect for her.
I rubbed Nancy's shoulders as she observed the groups of people taking pictures with Mei-ling.
“I'm not asking you to marry me right now or anytime soon,” I said. “But I don't think you can count on a rock guitarist for matrimonial advice.”
Nancy shuddered. “You should see some of the people she's been with.”
“Still, though, she's not a bad guitar player. It was just a bad setup for Boar Pour More.”
Nancy leaned against my hands. “Anyway,” she said, “I don't think anybody remembers our set now. Your little cousin was great! Why did you say she couldn't sing?”
“She's a lot better on stage. You see, the problem with her song demos is that . . .”
Mei-ling suddenly appeared between Nancy and me.
I started my apology with, “Mei-ling, you were really . . .”
“Quick!” Mei-ling interjected. “Please walk with me, these people won't leave me alone!” About a dozen giggling kids, mostly girls, followed her. I swept myself in front of the kids, blocking them off while Nancy locked arms with Mei-ling. I'm sure she was telling my cousin all sorts of complimentary things, judging by the pitch of her voice. And Mei-ling deserved to hear them. Her ego must have been starved to hear feedback from someone who had gigged like Nancy.
When I caught up to them, Mei-ling showed me what Sadao had texted to her: “If you want to play shows in Japan, please let me know. I love your songs. Do you want to go to a club tonight?”
“Wow,” I said. “Um, are you going to hang out with Sadao?”
“No, I'd rather be with my cousin and his awesome girlfriend!”