Words » In Tune
Chomp, Chew, Spit
I was sitting in my office today having a production meeting with a new artist of mine. She was telling me about the style of music she wanted to pursue, about how she didn’t want to buy into the whole “Taiwan cutesy thing,” and how local music was so one dimensional. I nodded my head in agreement while she spoke, then found myself telling her almost exactly the same things my producer told me when I was having my first production meeting for my first record. He told me that he didn’t think that the kind of music I wanted to do was marketable, that it was not going to sell in Taiwan, and that people wanted fashion, not music. I should listen to him since he knew what was going to sell, even if I didn’t agree. I thought my boss was a complete idiot, and that he didn’t give a damn about my music, but I listened to him since I wasn’t the one paying for the album, and in the end I had a big hit record.
So what’s the moral of the story? I don’t know. During the past ten years I thought I learned a lot about the music business. I promised myself that when I got to a point where I could finally call my own shots, I would let the artist do what they wanted. I would cultivate artistic freedom, fight for creative liberty, and let the music speak for itself. Or so I thought.
Ten years later here I am telling my artist that the kind of music she wants to do is just not going to sell in Taiwan. That people want fashion not music. I tell her that the songwriters she emulates such as Tori Amos and Fiona Apple just don’t burn up the charts here. I explain to her why Yuki sells, and why bald headed Korean groups like Clon pop up from nowhere to become national pop icons. I paint a dismal picture in flat shades of gray for her.
In ten minutes I completely extinguish whatever small creative spark she has left, and leave her standing there thinking, “What am I doing? Why am I even doing this? I’m just going to become another product”
So after three months of voice training, phrasing, enunciation, body movement, stage presence, interview technique, wardrobe, makeup, hair, and practically ever aspect of the craft of being a pop star in Taiwan, why would I suddenly throw this bomb in her lap?
Because she needs to know that she is now entering the business of music. She will become a product. She will be marketed. Her success as an artist will be measured in numbers. The larger the number the better, and in order to sell a lot of records in Taiwan, you will need to understand what people want to buy. And once you begin to do things because of what people want you will start to feel compromised. You start to feel angry. You start to feel like you need to do something different. Something new. Something to change the situation. Something in spite of the record companies.
If she gets to this stage then I know she has a chance. Because in order to get this far she will have to really want to do it. She will have to be crazy about it. She will have to believe in herself no matter what anyone else says. Because if she doesn’t, the record company machine will mold her into a plastic doll, chew her up and spit her out into the bargain basement bin.
So here’s the irony. As an artist, you will feel compromised. The industry will take away your creative spark, turn you into a product, decide what you can do, but in the end the only way to survive all this is by doing exactly what you aren’t supposed to do: Be different.
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I've never figured out whether it's pronounced "Moe's (like owned by one of three stooges) or Moss (like that guy out of Bonanza), but the one down the hill from me is open until 2am most days, which means that if I get out of the club early enough, I can catch the best burger in town, the muo si la bao or the Spicy Mos Burger. They have lots of jalapenos and 
