m o n k e e
01-07-2004, 04:45 PM
Review of Ye Hui Mei - Jay Chou Jie Lun by Monkee
Another summer, another Jay Chou LP. While the majority of fans, numbering in their millions, were hungry for its release, there were admittedly some circles who approached the new LP with caution, that it would reveal yet more evidence of an artist in decline. With unhealthy attachments to global conglomerates such as Panasonic and Pepsi, observers were beginning to wonder whether Chou's true ambitions still remained purely in the music. Critics had due cause for concern: 8D was suspiciously crowdpleasing and lacklustre, Chou had seemingly conformed to idea of a sequel to Fantasy, but fell way short; The One Concert VCD/DVD/CD despite its extravagence and spectacle (some may argue this was also a fault.), was quite frankly a disaster. The outdoor acoustics resulted in a muffled, clumsy recording, the mix was unforgiveable, with certain instruments too dominant and Chou inaudible for most the night. Equipment failure most notably Chou's personal AV system plagued the evening, resulting in a less than desirable vocal performance (With some performances so intolerable, they had to be redubbed again.). The fact they did not choose to release the contents of his subsequent (and better) concerts revealed the vice like grip the record company executives had on the 24 year old. And then there was the emphasis on theatrics and spectacle: the vampires, soldiers and aspiring street ballers. While his prodominantly teenage audience gobbled up the entertainment, critics and some peers were beginning to wonder when he was going to "grow up". A no less authority than David Tao wondered when Chou was going to mature and stop catering for the "video game playing" public. The word sellout sprang to mind. Chou still reigned on top of the charts and sold by the truckload, but sales mean nothing to an artist if his music is superficial: as John Lennon snided once to his former songwriting partner Paul McCartney "One thing you can't hide / is when your crippled inside." There was a looming suspicion that Jay was no longer a musician, but a marketing tool. Where did the magic go?
So it can be said with much relief that Ye Hui Mei is, for much of its entirety, a success. Named after his mother, Chou's 4th LP is his most substantial and challenging work to date, removing all doubts raised by 8D that his creativity was diminishing. In fact, so great is this transformation, that at times, Ye Hui Mei feels unfamiliar. Almost as if taking back what had been lost to him, Chou refuses to sit still and produces work that is probingly experimental and, whisper it softly, deliberately uncommercial. Disgarding his signature "Fantasy" R&B production, Ye Hui Mei has, to its credit, no defining sound. Instead a melting pot of influences and musical styles are fused to create 11 tracks distinct and complex portraits. Every facet of Chou's music has undergone enormous transition. He falters at moments, but he (and his audience) is too busy surging ahead to notice: it is the sound of Chou no longer holding aspirations for Fantasy 2, it's the sound of an artist liberated from constraints and expectations.
In shedding his signature RnB sound, Jay indulges himself in almost everything he can get his paws on, resulting in a sprawling and truly diverse LP, reflective of his maturity and transition as a musical thinker.
Production wise, Ye Hui Mei is peerless, Chou's complete mastery of the studio is the kind that sweeps Golden Melody Awards. From the ingenious ping pong samples in San Nian Er Ban to the musical equivalent of Ben Hur, Shaung Dao, Chou visualises a feeling and theme, reproduces it as sound and executes it with incredible results. The opener, Yi Fu Zhi Ming, is an incredible fusion of opera and dark mafioso themed hip hop, with Chou's ultra smooth delivery coupled with the operatic dark beat, it exudes a steely cool and danger. Another notable aspect of production is
the experimental and apparently uncommercial direction of each of the tracks. Qing Tian and Ta De Jie Mao could have quite easily become another Shanghai 1943 had a more listener friendly apporoach was taken. Instead he immerses the tracks with big indie guitar-pop guitars and horns that, despite their shimmer, make for a much darker yet rewarding sound. In fact it is when Chou relinquishes and plays it safe that he sounds vulnerable, as evident in Ni Ting De Dao and Ai Qing Xuan Ya.
His compositions are as strong as ever, in fact they have gained a welcome edge, his musical palette refined, and broadened. The rollicking break neck delivery in In The Name Of The Father resembling the smooth Bone Thugz flurry of Niang Zhi, sits next to the wonderous Beatle-esque Qing Tian, the sweeping East meets West fusion of Dong Feng Po compliments well with the nu-metal assault of Nuo Fu. The lyrics rank as his strongest to date. While Fang continues to amaze, Chou really comes to the fore as a lyricist, more socially and politically aware. While lacking the articulate intensity of Fang, he makes up for it in earnesty, and commendable understanding of rhythm.
While the idea of Chou embracing the heroically dull and creatively barren genre of nu-metal sounds about as appealing as last weeks pizza, Nuo Fu manages to (just) steer clear of the moribund norms. As derivative it may be, it is still quite an exhilerating sound. Spiky punk, rather than industrial guitars see-saw and churn as Chou spits a fantastic rollicking tumble of syllables about drugs and why "the kids" should stay away from them. Yes, it is slightly absurd and preachy, but hey, it sure gives Energy a run for their money. It is let down however by a lacklustre chorus that attempts to apply yet another level of intensity but falls flat sounding somewhat predictable and generic. Despite this, the dissapointment is cushioned by yet another master stroke: setting loose Yu Ni on a rampage across the wall of sound. As ridiculous as a prepubescent girl squeaking about depravity of drugs sounds, it works: under Chou's direction she comes across as very much that loud mouth smartalec in your primary school days who was not only better than you at everything, but had the verbosity to tell it to your face. Very loudly. Despite its failings, Nuo Fu is further evidence that Chou is continually influenced by new sounds, though one hopes he searches beyond the brainless mainstream such as Avril Lavigne and Linkin Park, and expose himself to more alternative and challenging pieces. Chou's admiration of Linkin Park shows that, along with his penchant for games and basketball, remains very much a kid at heart.
The luminous Dong Feng Po is a remarkable triumph of traditional Chinese stylings augemented with the silky smoothness of contemporary soul. Vincent Fang's lyrics are particularly striking, conjuring images of a sporned lover finding no refuge from despair in alcohol. His command of lyrical devices and the delicious use of classic chinese display what an essential and often overlooked figure Fang is. Demanding nothing but a composition of equal if not greater quality, Chou delivers a piece that brings to life Fang's vivid nostalgic poetry. The sound is lush, smooth and melancholic, but it is Chou's thick vocals that impress the most. His smooth brooding voice, not only exentuates the loneliness and melancholy of the theme, the dreamy yet dissaffected delivery and delicate phrasing gives the impression of slight intoxication. You can almost imagine him, slouching over his pi pa in the moonlight, trying to drink his misery away with little success. With minimal use of harmony in the chorus, opting to have the background vocals singing the same melody, Chou further exentuates this drunken despair and dreaminess, creating a chant effect that is truly haunting. The droplets of pi pa and the aching lament of the er hu compliment well with the traditional R&B sound. One of the biggest surprises was the lack of R&B in this new LP, and, almost as if to
say "Hey look kids, I can still do this R&B thing..." Chou lumps in (in what appears to be a decision of exasperation) Ni Ting De Dao almost as if to please the fans who have stuck to him for his R&B balladry. This play it safe move should have payed off: the vocal melody is as, if not more infectious than that of its cousin An Hao, with its falsettos and show stopping hook. Yet, while normally an essential and impressive part of his arsenal, Chou's delivery is far too indulgent. It sounds like he is so damn confident you will be impressed with the awesome melody that he doesn't even bother faking enthusiasm for this song. He seems bored, almost as if he was relenting to external pressure to write a R&B pop treat and in protest, sings it as halfarsed as possible. We hardly notice the backward vocals in the second verse for the fact it barely sounds different. This will go down a treat with his teenage female audience, however this is a hollow lifeless track, void of the barest inch of effort or interest. In the face of studio behemoths such as Shuang Dao and San Nien Er Ban, a piano led ballad needed to have a killer tune to sound anything other than out of place. There lies the problem with Ai Qing Xuan Ya, despite some interesting chord changes, and not to mention those falsettos, it is merely satisfactory, that is it is nothing more than a rudimentry MOR ballad, and while it would have sat fine on a lesser album amongst lesser songs, on Ye Hui Mei, the fact that it is a weak track is made all the more apparent.
Whereas Nuo Fu is very much an American sound, the other guitar led pieces (Ta De Jie Mao and Qing Tian) derive very much from the English indie guitar tradition which stems all the way back to the Beatles, and despite the risk of sounding anonymous in the face of such a formidable catelogue, it is the calibre of Chou's songwriting that makes them a delightful success that can be forgiven for its unoriginality. The Byrds-esque guitar shimmer of Ta De Jie Mao is a pleasant surprise. With the big Humbucker guitar sound and horn section, Chou assumes Jazz styling one mnute to sweet Byrdsian harmony the next, all the while maintaining British guitar pop sensibilities. Chou obviously relishes the challenge of exploring this well tread genre, and it is his songwriting and ear for a melody and harmony which makes it distinctive. The middle eight is thrown in almost as if to show off this talent, with a Beach Boys harmony/melody (so often mimicked yet rarely pulled off successfully.). The wistful Qing Tian has emerged a favourite among fans and it is not hard to see why. Chou uncharacteristically delves into the British guitar pop genre with a remarkably tender McCartneyesque vocal melody. Chou's innocent tale of teenage love is transposed upon a simple acoustic/electric soundscape, evoking Evan Dando and the Lemonheads. The innocence emanated in the self written lyrics is delivered with an appropriately soft and tender approach (The "si si si si la si la so's" adding to the effect.), yet in the chorus, Chou's voice rages (evoking McCartney's knack of sounding sweet as sugar one minute then bursting into wild abandon the next.) in yearning "How long must it be/ until I am by your side?". The result is quite impressive.
The rollicking stomp of Tong Yi Zhong Diao Diao sounds like the lovechild of Timbaland and a gypsy tapdancer. The instrumentation centres around a pi pa and a thumping beat as Chou shimmies and chops around the bassline. The vocals, through the melody and Chou's unique phrasing, resemble the short sharp strokes of a string section in a hurry. The actual string section contrast as they loom calmly over the thumping beat. Ti Tian is an Aboriginal flavoured diatrabe against the human destruction of nature that (unlike Nuo Fu) avoids being preachy and self conscious by evoking images of what is at stake through metaphor and highlighting the beauty and simplicity of the natural world. Chou's smooth chanting fuses well with the piano lead beat. The euphoric chor
us recalls Michael Jackson's Earth Song, but is infinitely superior: when Chou releashes his voice, it's nothing but pure white light and a whole lot of fields.
While impressive throughout, Chou's production prowess really comes to the fore on the three, not surprisingly, most challenging tracks Yi Fu Zhi Ming, San Nian Er Ban and Shaung Dao. The incorporation of ping-pong sounds in San Nian Er Ban is an impressive piece of invention. Ping Pong's dance around a stunning string led beat, as Chou's cocky presence and cool as fuck delivery ("Don't be too nervous", he smirks, "I'm only in Grade 3, Class 2") fuse together to form an incredible sound. The cinematic string arrangement juxtaposes elegantly with the thumping trad hip hop beat as cocksure as its creator yet warm and lush at the same time. Yi Fu Zhi Ming can be said to be one of Chou's crowning achievements. With the ingenious justaposition of European stylings, opera, korean hiphop and Cypress Hill screechings, this masterwork puts the competition to shame. One minute he is drawling like Godfather era Marlon Brando, the next he spits an out of the world half sung half rapped flow that has become his hallmark. It is impossible not to marvel at the fluidity and speed of the bridge beginning with the classic line "Lower your head and kiss my left hand." The chorus then absorbs the momentum of the bridge, and oozes it self towards the listener, with a smooth harmony that is strangely catchy. The last track Shuang Dao is nothing short of a studio masterpiece. No expenses were spared: a full piece orchestra and traditonal chinese instrumentation lock horns with thunderous drums, guitars and a dash of turntables, to create an Eastern flavoured epic. The verse begins with a guitar looped beat reminiscent of RZA, before an er hu and electric guitar interlock with Chou's writhing vocals. Unlike its predeccesors, Long Quan, there is nothing cartoonish or cliched, rather it is a dark, fierce work, that refuses to relinquish the listener. The pure rush of the chorus, with the sweeping, almost Egyptian flavoured string section, conjures up images of Judah Ben Hur emerging from the sands with a pair of nunchucks to boot. Yes, well, I can hear it! A stunning assault on the ears.
Although Fantasy remains the superior LP, it cannot be said that Ye Hui Mei is any less important. While Fantasy shall remain the album upon which Chou's reputation is built and rests, it appears Ye Hui Mei is a career saver, restoring credibility which seemed to elude him since the last time he donned the red hood for that iconic album cover. Ye Hui Mei is an album overwhelming in its complexity and maturity, astounding for its ambitions and even more so for the fact that he pulls it off when logic requires that he should fail. Any critic who cannot see the huge gulf between his Fantasy years and the present Chou release needs to have their ears cleaned. And any fan desperate to hear another Fantasy flavoured RnB pop treat should give up hope now. Chou took an enormous risk in altering his style so drastically, with seeming disregard for the opinions of his listeners, he allowed himself to mature as an artist, despite risk of commercial dissapointment. Isn't that the way it should be? Yes, Ye Hui Mei ranks among his most derivative, however, it still remains distinctly his sound and when he's creating music as vital as this, does it really matter? Where's the magic? It's right here, except now it's magnified by inspiration, refined by maturity and nailed in place by irrepressible talent. The Best Album and Producer Award for the Golden Melody are his. Welcome back Jay.
Rating : 8.5 out of 10
Another summer, another Jay Chou LP. While the majority of fans, numbering in their millions, were hungry for its release, there were admittedly some circles who approached the new LP with caution, that it would reveal yet more evidence of an artist in decline. With unhealthy attachments to global conglomerates such as Panasonic and Pepsi, observers were beginning to wonder whether Chou's true ambitions still remained purely in the music. Critics had due cause for concern: 8D was suspiciously crowdpleasing and lacklustre, Chou had seemingly conformed to idea of a sequel to Fantasy, but fell way short; The One Concert VCD/DVD/CD despite its extravagence and spectacle (some may argue this was also a fault.), was quite frankly a disaster. The outdoor acoustics resulted in a muffled, clumsy recording, the mix was unforgiveable, with certain instruments too dominant and Chou inaudible for most the night. Equipment failure most notably Chou's personal AV system plagued the evening, resulting in a less than desirable vocal performance (With some performances so intolerable, they had to be redubbed again.). The fact they did not choose to release the contents of his subsequent (and better) concerts revealed the vice like grip the record company executives had on the 24 year old. And then there was the emphasis on theatrics and spectacle: the vampires, soldiers and aspiring street ballers. While his prodominantly teenage audience gobbled up the entertainment, critics and some peers were beginning to wonder when he was going to "grow up". A no less authority than David Tao wondered when Chou was going to mature and stop catering for the "video game playing" public. The word sellout sprang to mind. Chou still reigned on top of the charts and sold by the truckload, but sales mean nothing to an artist if his music is superficial: as John Lennon snided once to his former songwriting partner Paul McCartney "One thing you can't hide / is when your crippled inside." There was a looming suspicion that Jay was no longer a musician, but a marketing tool. Where did the magic go?
So it can be said with much relief that Ye Hui Mei is, for much of its entirety, a success. Named after his mother, Chou's 4th LP is his most substantial and challenging work to date, removing all doubts raised by 8D that his creativity was diminishing. In fact, so great is this transformation, that at times, Ye Hui Mei feels unfamiliar. Almost as if taking back what had been lost to him, Chou refuses to sit still and produces work that is probingly experimental and, whisper it softly, deliberately uncommercial. Disgarding his signature "Fantasy" R&B production, Ye Hui Mei has, to its credit, no defining sound. Instead a melting pot of influences and musical styles are fused to create 11 tracks distinct and complex portraits. Every facet of Chou's music has undergone enormous transition. He falters at moments, but he (and his audience) is too busy surging ahead to notice: it is the sound of Chou no longer holding aspirations for Fantasy 2, it's the sound of an artist liberated from constraints and expectations.
In shedding his signature RnB sound, Jay indulges himself in almost everything he can get his paws on, resulting in a sprawling and truly diverse LP, reflective of his maturity and transition as a musical thinker.
Production wise, Ye Hui Mei is peerless, Chou's complete mastery of the studio is the kind that sweeps Golden Melody Awards. From the ingenious ping pong samples in San Nian Er Ban to the musical equivalent of Ben Hur, Shaung Dao, Chou visualises a feeling and theme, reproduces it as sound and executes it with incredible results. The opener, Yi Fu Zhi Ming, is an incredible fusion of opera and dark mafioso themed hip hop, with Chou's ultra smooth delivery coupled with the operatic dark beat, it exudes a steely cool and danger. Another notable aspect of production is
the experimental and apparently uncommercial direction of each of the tracks. Qing Tian and Ta De Jie Mao could have quite easily become another Shanghai 1943 had a more listener friendly apporoach was taken. Instead he immerses the tracks with big indie guitar-pop guitars and horns that, despite their shimmer, make for a much darker yet rewarding sound. In fact it is when Chou relinquishes and plays it safe that he sounds vulnerable, as evident in Ni Ting De Dao and Ai Qing Xuan Ya.
His compositions are as strong as ever, in fact they have gained a welcome edge, his musical palette refined, and broadened. The rollicking break neck delivery in In The Name Of The Father resembling the smooth Bone Thugz flurry of Niang Zhi, sits next to the wonderous Beatle-esque Qing Tian, the sweeping East meets West fusion of Dong Feng Po compliments well with the nu-metal assault of Nuo Fu. The lyrics rank as his strongest to date. While Fang continues to amaze, Chou really comes to the fore as a lyricist, more socially and politically aware. While lacking the articulate intensity of Fang, he makes up for it in earnesty, and commendable understanding of rhythm.
While the idea of Chou embracing the heroically dull and creatively barren genre of nu-metal sounds about as appealing as last weeks pizza, Nuo Fu manages to (just) steer clear of the moribund norms. As derivative it may be, it is still quite an exhilerating sound. Spiky punk, rather than industrial guitars see-saw and churn as Chou spits a fantastic rollicking tumble of syllables about drugs and why "the kids" should stay away from them. Yes, it is slightly absurd and preachy, but hey, it sure gives Energy a run for their money. It is let down however by a lacklustre chorus that attempts to apply yet another level of intensity but falls flat sounding somewhat predictable and generic. Despite this, the dissapointment is cushioned by yet another master stroke: setting loose Yu Ni on a rampage across the wall of sound. As ridiculous as a prepubescent girl squeaking about depravity of drugs sounds, it works: under Chou's direction she comes across as very much that loud mouth smartalec in your primary school days who was not only better than you at everything, but had the verbosity to tell it to your face. Very loudly. Despite its failings, Nuo Fu is further evidence that Chou is continually influenced by new sounds, though one hopes he searches beyond the brainless mainstream such as Avril Lavigne and Linkin Park, and expose himself to more alternative and challenging pieces. Chou's admiration of Linkin Park shows that, along with his penchant for games and basketball, remains very much a kid at heart.
The luminous Dong Feng Po is a remarkable triumph of traditional Chinese stylings augemented with the silky smoothness of contemporary soul. Vincent Fang's lyrics are particularly striking, conjuring images of a sporned lover finding no refuge from despair in alcohol. His command of lyrical devices and the delicious use of classic chinese display what an essential and often overlooked figure Fang is. Demanding nothing but a composition of equal if not greater quality, Chou delivers a piece that brings to life Fang's vivid nostalgic poetry. The sound is lush, smooth and melancholic, but it is Chou's thick vocals that impress the most. His smooth brooding voice, not only exentuates the loneliness and melancholy of the theme, the dreamy yet dissaffected delivery and delicate phrasing gives the impression of slight intoxication. You can almost imagine him, slouching over his pi pa in the moonlight, trying to drink his misery away with little success. With minimal use of harmony in the chorus, opting to have the background vocals singing the same melody, Chou further exentuates this drunken despair and dreaminess, creating a chant effect that is truly haunting. The droplets of pi pa and the aching lament of the er hu compliment well with the traditional R&B sound. One of the biggest surprises was the lack of R&B in this new LP, and, almost as if to
say "Hey look kids, I can still do this R&B thing..." Chou lumps in (in what appears to be a decision of exasperation) Ni Ting De Dao almost as if to please the fans who have stuck to him for his R&B balladry. This play it safe move should have payed off: the vocal melody is as, if not more infectious than that of its cousin An Hao, with its falsettos and show stopping hook. Yet, while normally an essential and impressive part of his arsenal, Chou's delivery is far too indulgent. It sounds like he is so damn confident you will be impressed with the awesome melody that he doesn't even bother faking enthusiasm for this song. He seems bored, almost as if he was relenting to external pressure to write a R&B pop treat and in protest, sings it as halfarsed as possible. We hardly notice the backward vocals in the second verse for the fact it barely sounds different. This will go down a treat with his teenage female audience, however this is a hollow lifeless track, void of the barest inch of effort or interest. In the face of studio behemoths such as Shuang Dao and San Nien Er Ban, a piano led ballad needed to have a killer tune to sound anything other than out of place. There lies the problem with Ai Qing Xuan Ya, despite some interesting chord changes, and not to mention those falsettos, it is merely satisfactory, that is it is nothing more than a rudimentry MOR ballad, and while it would have sat fine on a lesser album amongst lesser songs, on Ye Hui Mei, the fact that it is a weak track is made all the more apparent.
Whereas Nuo Fu is very much an American sound, the other guitar led pieces (Ta De Jie Mao and Qing Tian) derive very much from the English indie guitar tradition which stems all the way back to the Beatles, and despite the risk of sounding anonymous in the face of such a formidable catelogue, it is the calibre of Chou's songwriting that makes them a delightful success that can be forgiven for its unoriginality. The Byrds-esque guitar shimmer of Ta De Jie Mao is a pleasant surprise. With the big Humbucker guitar sound and horn section, Chou assumes Jazz styling one mnute to sweet Byrdsian harmony the next, all the while maintaining British guitar pop sensibilities. Chou obviously relishes the challenge of exploring this well tread genre, and it is his songwriting and ear for a melody and harmony which makes it distinctive. The middle eight is thrown in almost as if to show off this talent, with a Beach Boys harmony/melody (so often mimicked yet rarely pulled off successfully.). The wistful Qing Tian has emerged a favourite among fans and it is not hard to see why. Chou uncharacteristically delves into the British guitar pop genre with a remarkably tender McCartneyesque vocal melody. Chou's innocent tale of teenage love is transposed upon a simple acoustic/electric soundscape, evoking Evan Dando and the Lemonheads. The innocence emanated in the self written lyrics is delivered with an appropriately soft and tender approach (The "si si si si la si la so's" adding to the effect.), yet in the chorus, Chou's voice rages (evoking McCartney's knack of sounding sweet as sugar one minute then bursting into wild abandon the next.) in yearning "How long must it be/ until I am by your side?". The result is quite impressive.
The rollicking stomp of Tong Yi Zhong Diao Diao sounds like the lovechild of Timbaland and a gypsy tapdancer. The instrumentation centres around a pi pa and a thumping beat as Chou shimmies and chops around the bassline. The vocals, through the melody and Chou's unique phrasing, resemble the short sharp strokes of a string section in a hurry. The actual string section contrast as they loom calmly over the thumping beat. Ti Tian is an Aboriginal flavoured diatrabe against the human destruction of nature that (unlike Nuo Fu) avoids being preachy and self conscious by evoking images of what is at stake through metaphor and highlighting the beauty and simplicity of the natural world. Chou's smooth chanting fuses well with the piano lead beat. The euphoric chor
us recalls Michael Jackson's Earth Song, but is infinitely superior: when Chou releashes his voice, it's nothing but pure white light and a whole lot of fields.
While impressive throughout, Chou's production prowess really comes to the fore on the three, not surprisingly, most challenging tracks Yi Fu Zhi Ming, San Nian Er Ban and Shaung Dao. The incorporation of ping-pong sounds in San Nian Er Ban is an impressive piece of invention. Ping Pong's dance around a stunning string led beat, as Chou's cocky presence and cool as fuck delivery ("Don't be too nervous", he smirks, "I'm only in Grade 3, Class 2") fuse together to form an incredible sound. The cinematic string arrangement juxtaposes elegantly with the thumping trad hip hop beat as cocksure as its creator yet warm and lush at the same time. Yi Fu Zhi Ming can be said to be one of Chou's crowning achievements. With the ingenious justaposition of European stylings, opera, korean hiphop and Cypress Hill screechings, this masterwork puts the competition to shame. One minute he is drawling like Godfather era Marlon Brando, the next he spits an out of the world half sung half rapped flow that has become his hallmark. It is impossible not to marvel at the fluidity and speed of the bridge beginning with the classic line "Lower your head and kiss my left hand." The chorus then absorbs the momentum of the bridge, and oozes it self towards the listener, with a smooth harmony that is strangely catchy. The last track Shuang Dao is nothing short of a studio masterpiece. No expenses were spared: a full piece orchestra and traditonal chinese instrumentation lock horns with thunderous drums, guitars and a dash of turntables, to create an Eastern flavoured epic. The verse begins with a guitar looped beat reminiscent of RZA, before an er hu and electric guitar interlock with Chou's writhing vocals. Unlike its predeccesors, Long Quan, there is nothing cartoonish or cliched, rather it is a dark, fierce work, that refuses to relinquish the listener. The pure rush of the chorus, with the sweeping, almost Egyptian flavoured string section, conjures up images of Judah Ben Hur emerging from the sands with a pair of nunchucks to boot. Yes, well, I can hear it! A stunning assault on the ears.
Although Fantasy remains the superior LP, it cannot be said that Ye Hui Mei is any less important. While Fantasy shall remain the album upon which Chou's reputation is built and rests, it appears Ye Hui Mei is a career saver, restoring credibility which seemed to elude him since the last time he donned the red hood for that iconic album cover. Ye Hui Mei is an album overwhelming in its complexity and maturity, astounding for its ambitions and even more so for the fact that he pulls it off when logic requires that he should fail. Any critic who cannot see the huge gulf between his Fantasy years and the present Chou release needs to have their ears cleaned. And any fan desperate to hear another Fantasy flavoured RnB pop treat should give up hope now. Chou took an enormous risk in altering his style so drastically, with seeming disregard for the opinions of his listeners, he allowed himself to mature as an artist, despite risk of commercial dissapointment. Isn't that the way it should be? Yes, Ye Hui Mei ranks among his most derivative, however, it still remains distinctly his sound and when he's creating music as vital as this, does it really matter? Where's the magic? It's right here, except now it's magnified by inspiration, refined by maturity and nailed in place by irrepressible talent. The Best Album and Producer Award for the Golden Melody are his. Welcome back Jay.
Rating : 8.5 out of 10