The Eternal Return of Hong Kong Naamyam?

Essay / Criticism

Leung Po Shan
Art critic, Ph.D. in cultural studies. Graduated from the Chinese University of Hong Kong. Research interests include urban space, cultural policy, and artistic labour.

Before summer ended, I climbed up the hill behind the busy Causeway Bay, to Haw Par Mansion at the furthest end of Tai Hang, for an old-versus-new Naamyam performance. Since 2019, Caravanserais has gathered a group of artists from different backgrounds, to explore the possibilities of the art of Cantonese narrative singing, in the spirit of examining the old and discovering the new. Participants of the three-year workshop included Steve Hui, Alki Au Yeung and Charles Kwong, who were trained in Western music; Gregory Kwok and Jessica Fung from Chinese music and Chinese Opera backgrounds; also involved was poet Keith Liu. Some took this opportunity to deepen their knowledge about traditional art, to compare and research, and bring forth new ideas; some adapted the theme for their own purposes and used Naamyam as a material for experimental music; some worked with the language and returned to the dialect of the narrative art. Before I go on, I must say that I am just an ordinary audience, and I have never conducted any academic research on Naamyam; only that for a long period of time during my childhood I had been immersed in the world of Chinese Opera. So though my eyes are contemporary, my ears remain traditional.

What Do We Really Mean When We Talk About ‘Conserving’ Naamyam

The performance illustrated two creative attitudes towards tradition: One is adaptation for a new purpose, to use Naamyam as a material and source of inspiration, and incorporate it into the format of Western music, even to deconstruct it conceptually. The works presented by Steve Hui aimed exactly at the audience’s preconceived ideas of Naamyam, questioning its artistic characteristics and challenging the limits of pleasant music. One of the pioneers of this genre is Zuni Icosahedron’s ‘Revolutionary Opera’. On the other hand we have the conformist, revivalist approach that sticks closely to the formal rules, making slight variations of the old elements. The meticulous《南音略談》and《十個救火的少年》by emerging talents, although a little bit on the neat side, were above par. Recently, industry practitioners are talking about attracting young audiences with fresh young faces on the stage, or enriching audience experience by bringing the secondary roles to the fore. Yet the new in ‘New Naamyam’ lies in its subject matter, where the new generation of artists are encouraged to sing their own songs and develop their personal styles beyond the boundaries of the classics and those set by their predecessors. And yet I think the biggest surprise for the audience on that occasion, instead of all the well-rehearsed and polished performances, was when Keith Yeung sang to Keith Liu’s poem《波盪》with the qinqin at the request of the audience. The improvisation and interaction not only brought the essence of Naamyam to life, but also illustrated cross-disciplinary possibilities.

By equating Chinese Opera to its Western counterpart, the colonial art policy has indirectly elevated the originally vernacular culture to the realm of high art. Coupled with urban redevelopment, old teahouses disappeared along with the old street culture, as travelling performers and major theatre troupes were driven from the streets into the theatres, from the market into the world of subsidy. If you are familiar with the local Cantonese Opera scene, you would know that the performers’ main source of income and opportunity to train novices are not found on the big stages of LCSD, but the Cantonese Opera performances scattered all over the cities and villages. It is a pity that even the two dozen remaining annual Cantonese Opera performances came to a close because of the pandemic. Therefore I believe that the conservation of Naamyam, a close relative of Cantonese Opera, does not end in the genre itself, but should be extended to the performance venue and livelihood of the practitioners, so that we will have both performers and audience, passing down the tradition from generation to generation as it is constantly renewed. For Naamyam to thrive in Hong Kong, it is not enough to focus only on aesthetics. We have to start with the environment and create a conducive one that can keep pace with the times.

Narrative Singing Hong Kong: The Refined and the Popular

In addition to the improvised performance of《波盪》, Master To Wing (杜詠老師) was invited to perform Nan Shao Yi (《男燒衣》)for the finale. Compared with the smooth and refined style of Cantonese Opera, Master To’s rendition of the style of the blind musicians was so beautiful it moved one to tears. This classic song which is well known to every household, comprises mostly of descriptions of the exquisite sacrificial offerings—rouges and powders, hair ointments and brushes, lotus feet bandages, embroidered slippers, quilts and mosquito nets, 18-bead malas, opium pipes and holders, Cantonese opium—why it still resonates with us today, is probably because of its depiction of the final decadent moment of Pearl River and Hong Kong, where all passions, in the midst of silent whispers, became futile. Like most project participants, I was born too late and can only reminisce about the romance of the last century through Bell Yung’s recording of Dou Wun’s performance. What is fascinating about this recording is not only Dou Wun’s superb and seasoned singing, but also the chaotic Fu Lung Teahouse (富隆茶樓), the old Hong Kong full of noises. During the discussion, a speaker pointed out that what made Naamyam difficult was the literary references and its emphasis on rhyme and metre. I cannot help but ask: Was Dou Wun (杜煥), who remained poor all his life, educated? The great aspiration of traditional art may not lie in rational knowledge, but in the accumulation of perceptuality through repetition and failure, a practice that lasts a lifetime.

In Hong Kong, those who know nothing about Chinese Opera tend to consider it as just a dying art of the elderly. But if one has been to Sunbeam Theatre (新光劇院) and Yau Ma Tei Theatre (油麻地戲院), one would be surprised by the vibrancy there. Of all the performing arts in Hong Kong, the one with the most commercial potential is definitely not the ballet, the orchestra or even the musical—but Cantonese Opera. The Tea House Theatre in Xiqu Centre, while trying to revive the ‘tradition’ of tea drinking during performance, takes the high-brow approach in its aesthetics and ticket prices (while the gongs and the drums are embarrassingly stowed behind the Tiger Pass Gate). Popular hipster cafes, bookstores, bars; tea dances after lunch time in the teahouses; busking hotspots in underpasses; revitalised heritage sites in various districts…… Whether via commission, ticket sales, or patronage, can this be the ‘new’ venue for Naamyam? As I write, the Cultural Bureau under the auspices of Beijing is about to be established. To save ourselves, the community has to act soon. If the previous wave of Naamyam fever had sent Dou Wun (杜煥) into the City Hall, the recording studio, and gentrified it, 50 years later, when a new wave returns, is now the time for Naamyam to regain its popularity, and return to the wild folk? Are we prepared to give up the air-conditioned theatre and take to the streets alongside the bubble tea?

Original text: https://zihua.org.hk/magazine/issue-46/article/new-naamyam-1/
Translation: Mary Lee Wan Ling 李挽靈

CARAVANSERAIS

The Eternal Return of Hong Kong Naamyam?