This is an excerpt from the print edition of Dirty Linen magazine #102 (October / November 2002). The magazine is available on newsstands and by subscription.

Lee Tai-Shiang
Calming the Tiger
by T.J. McGrath

He's been called the original Bob Dylan of Asia. He is the first Taiwanese poet and musician to break open the doors of freedom of expression during martial law in the 1970s in that country. A singular talent with more than 48 albums and close to a thousand songs to his credit, but rarely with more than a few dollars in his pocket, he is the everlasting free spirit with an artist's sense of vision and integrity. Mr. Lee, as you say in Taipei, is known to all on the streets of this bustling metropolis, but is still an enigma wrapped in a mystery and folded into a sphere of emptiness to most of the Western world.

Sitting in a special studio provided by Jingo Records, his current recording company, with his son, Lee I-Chin, and biographer, Joyce Chiou, by his side, Lee Tai-Shiang has a timeless, sage-like quality that you can see sparkling in his eyes, a Zen-like impish vision that takes in everything under the cosmos. Even though he has Parkinson's disease, and his hands are unsteady and he speaks slowly and carefully in measured words and phrases, Lee's gaze is powerful and unrelenting. There is depth and beauty in this aura circling about his head that is not easily forgotten.

"Chinese calligraphy has a certain beauty that in some way reflects the soul of the writer with every brush stroke. I would like to say that my music also carries that spirituality," Lee said, gazing at the high-tech recorders in a corner of the room. "You can have all of these," as he pointed to the machines, "but if you don't have this," thumping his heart, "you have nothing."

Born in Malan, a small town in Taitung County, Lee's roots are with his aboriginal tribe, the Ami. The Ami are the original inhabitants of Taiwan. Just as the Native Americans were discriminated against in North America, so, too, were these native people despised by the Chinese, who populated the island in the 1300s. Pushed into the mountains and backwaters of Taiwan, these aborigines have tried to protect their cultural heritage from disappearing altogether. Modern society and the lures of a fast-paced lifestyle have seduced many tribal youths into the big cities, where they are soon assimilated into the mainstream.

Lee is doing his best to preserve rural Ami music. Many of his compositions evoke some of the classic Ami folk songs with a snatch of melody or turn of phrase. "There is a little bit of the Ami in every song I sing," he said. Lee has kept the Ami music traditions alive by recording 11 albums of folk songs in the "classic Taiwan style" with full orchestration, with titles like Taiwanese Ballads (1980), Roots (1981), Beauty and Sadness (1985), By Chance, By Pursuit (1994), and A Century of Chinese Symphony (1997). If you are Taiwanese, Lee is a cultural icon.

Success seemed too easy at first. Lee's considerable musical talent was recognized early in his formative years. Enough of his teachers at the aboriginal school believed in his gifts on the piano and violin to persuade his parents to send him to the National Academy of the Arts in the late 1950s. Graduating from the Department of Music with honors in 1961, chiefly due to his skills on the violin, Lee auditioned and was accepted as concertmaster for the Taipei Municipal Symphony Orchestra in the summer of 1961. "Quite a stepping stone for me," he explained. "I had to learn to think fast and move quickly. No one likes to wait for an orchestra."

After 10 years with the TMSO, where he picked up valuable experience as an arranger and conductor, Lee was ready to explore other fields besides conventional music. He experimented with mixed media productions that focused on the music of John Cage and Terry Riley, two exponents of "new music." His ideas and musical concepts found favor with many people, as Taiwan, itself, was experiencing a political and social upheaval. Concertgoers were getting tired of the same bill of fare of Western classical music, and they were eager to see and hear new and innovative approaches to the arts.
This new, experimental music, as practiced by the likes of Stockhausen, Charles Ives, John Cale, and Philip Glass, still fascinates Lee. "I am drawn to all kinds of music, but this kind of music has a certain texture and edginess that I find interesting and satisfying. I've written many pieces in that style, but I'm afraid I can't release any of it now; it just wouldn't sell."
He demonstrated by playing a piece he wrote in the early 1970s with crashing piano and trembling notes that flutter about with calculated aimlessness. "You may not know where the sound is going, but if you listen carefully you will begin to see the colors," he said.

This is an excerpt from an article in Dirty Linen #102 (Oct./Nov. '02). Read the full text in the magazine, available via subscription or on newsstands and in bookstores.