Shining a Light on the Eerie-Groovy Girls of '70s Mandarin Pop
Make it stand out
While Beijing was deep in a Cultural Revolution that spurned most well known non-Communist art, the world got a brand new Mandarin-language groove from Taiwan’s array of female vocal stars, whose sensual, internationalised sounds pervaded against a backdrop of strict Nationalist censorship. Similar music scenes thrived in Hong Kong and Singapore. Mixing ‘60s psychedelia, disco, surf rock, ye-ye, and even specifically American country conventions with occasional influence from Chinese classical music, this was a sonic landscape that stood all on its own.
Neglected by Western critics, this genre broke the “clean and healthy” status quo of Taiwan’s martial law era by giving female artists a platform for (often innuendo-bound) sexual and emotional expression. Below are some of the female-fronted Mandopop gems from the ‘70s, with a heavy emphasis on the psychedelic.
Rainbow of Seven Colours (七彩霓虹) by Yang Hsiao-ping (1974)
The driving guitars and psychedelic distortions on this track, authored by prolific duo Yong Yong (words), and Gu Yue (music), push it firmly into freakbeat territory. Part of the soundtrack to romance film A Chilled Spring, the song’s titular rainbow stands for love, youth and excitement. Yang, a Shanghai-born transplant to Taiwan, acted in multiple films and recorded music in the Taiwanese Hokkien language alongside her Mandopop career.
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Dream Lover (夢中情人) by Yu Ya (1970)
A Nancy Sinatra-style opening verse makes a deceiving intro for this song, also penned by Liu Jia-chang, whose tight rhythm and bubblegum lyrics echo the yé-yé genre of French ‘60s pop. Yu, who was scouted by the famous songwriter at the age of 16 after a nightclub performance, is best known for the more traditional Remembrance of the Past, as well as her plaintive I Quietly Wish You Well.
In the Fog (霧中人) by the Swallow Sisters (1971)
A duo who began their recording career in the late 60s, Hsu Mei-ling and Chen Bao-ling harmonise their way to success in this ballad of lost love. With its blinding, high-glamour alien landscape, this is probably the greatest album cover to come out of ‘70s Taiwan.
Sighs of Love (愛的嘆息) by Bao Na Na (1973)
Bao Na Na’s final notice to a neglectful lover is delivered with what may have been the deepest groove of 1973, and accompanied by psychedelic distortion and an extended sax solo. The wailing chorus is accompanied by the line “I hate you, hate you / hate when you treat love as a game.” Bao rose to fame after replacing her older sister, who had fallen ill, at her regular singing job. A promising career fizzled out in the late 70s after a move to Singapore.
Bothered in the Springtime (春天煩惱多) by Bai Yunxin (1972)
There’s a notable surf-rock influence on 60s-70s Mandopop: The Ventures’ Stranger in Midosuji, for example, was reworked in Mandarin as Wandering in the Rain and released several times by singers in Taiwan and Hong Kong, including Ouyang Feifei. This song contains a Hawaii Five-O drumbeat and several other characteristic riffs and twangs. Bai is another singer about whom little is known – she doesn’t even have a Discogs page.
Words: Ella Dorn
Please note some of the translations have been adjusted for flow.
Warmth in the Autumn (溫暖在秋天) by Fong Fei-fei (1976)
The opening number of the soundtrack to a little-viewed film of the same name, this Taiwanese song is an upbeat, Bond-esque lesson in new romance: “When the time comes, don’t hesitate / and take hold of the situation”. Fong was one of the most renowned singers of this era, known for her vocals and for her love of hats (see the beret on this kaleidoscopic album cover).
Teardrops on the Wildflowers (野花上的眼淚) by Jenny Tseng
Tseng’s song feels like the main event on a Tarantino soundtrack that exists only within a dream. This whistly ballad, written by songwriting legend Liu Jia-chang and also recorded by Yu Ya, tells the story of a woman whose romantic disasters have led her to tears - with a bed of wildflowers her only witness. Tseng, born in Macau to Canadian and Taiwanese parents, remains a star and continues to perform today.
Who Are You (你是誰) by Xu Yamei (1974)
This haunting song comes with its own mystery: there is no information online about its singer. While several of her albums are on streaming services, searches of their lyrics come up fruitless, and a biography is nowhere to be seen. This lends an ironic air to Who Are You, with its plaintive call: “Who are you, after all? Blowing like a gust of wind / Making me cry”. Xu’s detached, nearly Nico-esque vocals, along with eerie organ and vibraphone melodies, sound like they might fit on the soundtrack of an imaginary giallo film.
Love Is So Sweet (愛情多甜蜜) by Fang Qing (1974)
This track is as fun, jazzy, and mod-ish as its Valley of the Dolls-esque album cover would have you believe, but its singer had one of the most tumultuous lives in midcentury Mandopop. Born in Beijing in the midst of the Chinese Civil War, her family first relocated to Nanjing, then to Taiwan. Extramarital affairs and a baby out of wedlock led to her blacklisting from the Taiwanese music industry, and she spent many years in transit between Taiwan, America, China (with whom her internationalism raised suspicion), and the Philippines. She died in Washington D.C. in 1999 from gunshot wounds, the exact circumstances of which remain unsolved.
Love Slave (愛的奴隸) by Candy Shu (1972)
Is this an upbeat song about romantic devotion, or a black-comedy-paean to S&M? With lyrics such as “I want to be your love slave / handle it the way you wish / whether I’m dead or alive”, it’s difficult to be sure. Love Slave’s level of drama is bested only by its album sleeve, which features the singer flanked by glowing red candles. Shu (known in Mandarin as Jin Yan) began her singing career with a move to Tokyo, and released music in both Mandarin and Japanese before eventually settling in the US.
Firebird (火鳥) by Ouyang Feifei (1974)
A lesser-known B-side to the explosive disco hit Desert of Desire (banned under martial law due to its slightly suggestive exhalations), Firebird packs a huge punch. “I’m a firebird, brimming with the flames of love” growls the Taiwanese-Japanese singer, “I want to emit passion like fire / And you’re the only one I desire.” Ouyang, who maintained a thirty-year recording career in both Mandarin and Japanese, has the distinction of releasing a 1995 club version of another of her ‘70s hits.