Dalan
Last year, I visited Taiwan again, but this time I went around the island and up the mountainous east. Taiwan's indigenous population predominates in this area, where they have been historically pushed as successive waves of colonizers descended on the island. They speak a diverse array of languages belonging to the Austronesian family, related to and probably older than those spoken in maritime Southeast Asia, and where ever the winds of these ancient seafarers have taken them, along the coastal archipelagos to the remote islands of Oceania, to as far west as Madagascar off the coast of Africa and as far as east as Easter Island off the coast of South America. So I wanted to see that side of Taiwan, because, 1) I have never seen it, and 2) every time I visit Taiwan, I have this weird, inexplicable feeling that I was "going home". There are few places in the world where I feel that - somewhere that I lived a past life.
In an aboriginal pit stop north of Hualien, I found myself perusing the shelves of the music section. I have an eclectic taste, but I have a special affection for good indigenous music, whether it's Hopi drumming in the plains of Arizona or throat chanting in the Arctic. Ilokano folk music, whatever is left of it, is typically waltz-y acculturated schmaltz, which I love from a nostalgic point of view, but it's not particularly primal. I am always looking for music then to somehow transport me back to a place where I can hear Ilokano before it got schmucked. The Cordillera mountain tribes still retain a bit of tradition, having been shielded by geography, but I have not heard much of actual recorded music (that is produced well).
Sangpuy is a breath of fresh air. He is Pinuyuma from Taitung County, southeast of Taiwan. What drew me initially was the title of his debut album: Dalan. In his language, Pinuyumayan, dalan means "the road" or "the path". In my language, Ilokano, dalan means exactly the same. Incidentally, in the liner notes, for the first time I saw the root word of my last name. It doesn’t really have a meaning in Ilokano that I know of, other than I thought it was something inclusive (-ta). Kananta in Pinuyumayan is a direct first person inclusive plural. Essentially, "you and me". So, there it was, two different countries, two different tribes, a linguistic thread that cut through time. I was intrigued, so I took an alcohol wipe, swabbed the headphone's earmuff, sampled his CD tracks, and proceeded to fall in love with his sound. It is a mesmerizing mix of Pinuyuma melodies and modern electronic and orchestral music, celebrating a language he clearly loves. I found it inspiring and original.
His second recording, Yaangad ("Life"), won Album of the Year at the 28th Golden Melody Awards in Taiwan, the first indigenous language entry to win it, and later best album in the world traditional music category at the 16th Independent Music Awards in the U.S. in 2018. Where Dalan sounded equally defiant and celebratory, Yaangad is broody and contemplative.
I remember an elder when I was young, lamenting in a funeral, wailing in Ilokano, but it sounded like a poem, and I was so dumbstruck by its power. That's what I feel about Sangpuy's music. Like I can hear a thousand years of our people chanting and weeping as we pushed out and had to paddle out in the open sea, and finding life in an unknown future.