The Staying Away of the Prodigal Son: Huang An

In Beijing for only four days, I heard Huang An's "New Butterfly Dream" playing on the radio in taxicabs five or six times.

"You can always hear the laughter of new lovers, but who hears the old ones cry? Love, that crushing word. . . ." The taxi driver, a Mr. Zhang, sings along with the radio while giving a big thumbs up and opining: "That Huang An really has 'got the right stuff.' Not only are the lyrics elegant, but the tune is catchy."

A land of dreams

The PRC has a population of over a billion. The market is huge, and you can still find people singing songs that have been popular for a decade. Here singers can extend their careers for years. No wonder Huang An recalls that when he first touched down at Beijing airport two years ago, he couldn't help but sigh: "It's a land of dreams!"

But this beautiful land has humbled many a would-be conquering hero.

In his first year in mainland China, Huang An indeed lived a tale of conquistadorial proportions. Building on his established name, he was able to penetrate the "forbidden ground" of China Central Television (CCTV), where he was hired to host a combined quiz-variety show called Yippie Glossary. In only three episodes, the show set new records for viewer ratings. Someone even published a book focusing exclusively on the importance of Yippie Glossary in the history of Chinese television.

Brian Chang, the producer of the Taiwan variety show Variety Flagship that made Jacky Wu so popular, who has now taken his career to mainland China, says that in comparison to mainland Chinese male program hosts, Huang An "is more than great." "Here people always talk about having 'the right stuff.' Huang An has always liked to pepper his speech with quotes from the classics, and when you add to that his Taiwan-style sense of humor in hosting programs, it is not at all surprising that he became so popular in China," concludes Chang.

Nonetheless, after only those three programs Huang An left the glittering role of master of ceremonies under a political shadow.

But didn't we already say that he had taken PRC citizenship, and passed the highest level test of being a TV program host? Why was he suddenly locked out by CCTV?

"It's too sensitive, it's too sensitive. Just write that 'Huang An has been unable to set the record straight on various rumors going about,'" says Huang, aiming to keep a low-profile. Nonetheless, he can't resist of flash of arrogance, adding: "When the time is right to take a public stand on something, I take second place to no man. Maybe my friends in Taiwan cannot understand, but sometimes a hero must be flexible."

Humbled, if not humble

"I can't talk about it, there's nothing definitive to be said. . . ." It seems that the once-outspoken Huang has softened a bit since coming here.

However beautiful China may be, why after all did this hero feel the need to seek out other worlds to conquer when, at the time he left Taiwan, he had a contract with producer Peng Ta worth NT$10 million in his pocket, and Taiwan's variety shows were still the cutting edge in the Chinese-speaking world?

When you mention Taiwan, Huang cannot disguise the fact that he has a love-hate relationship with the island.

"After the September 21 [1999] earthquake, the economy remained stagnant, and there were fewer and fewer shows being put on by new housing developments to attract buyers, which had provided my main income," explains Huang, who along with Luo Pi-ling were known as the prince and princess of construction-site shows. With his career facing a bottleneck, and given his political orientation, after the 2000 presidential election he decided to terminate his contract with Peng Ta and seclude himself at home, reading and thinking.

Most people in Taiwan's entertainment industry eschew talk of politics, but Huang An-who takes political gadfly Li Ao as a role model-loves to sound off on current affairs. It did not surprise his friends in the least that, the results of the democratic election not suiting his tastes, he decided to bring his life to a halt and rethink his direction. So Peng Ta thoughtfully agreed to let Huang out of his contract and wished him well.

The combination of larger events and his reaching the age of 40-which in Confucius' mind should be the age at which a man is settled-in fact sparked a midlife crisis. For three whole months, he just read, focusing on the history of mainland China over the last 50 years. As a result, he says, "I came to feel that is where the future is."

He has been a popular singer, but in fact has only had one real top-selling album. He was a variety show program host, but kept running afoul of other hosts. Huang's wife Hsiao Chiu, whose on-again-off-again relationship with him often makes the newspapers, knows well the vicissitudes of the entertainment world as well as her husband's proud character. So she totted up their assets, and told Huang: "Go ahead and go, we've saved enough money that we can continue to lead comfortable lives for three years without a problem." Thus Huang, with only a little cash (and a no-limit credit card!) in hand, traveled by himself to mainland China.

"I didn't even do that old cliche so beloved of entertainers-the farewell press conference!" laughs Huang.

Back to basics

At first in Beijing, everything seemed to go very smoothly, and the success of Yippie Glossary put his mind at ease about the possibility of setting down roots in the PRC. But fate plays tricks on people, and after only three programs he was put out to pasture because he comes from Taiwan. As a result, he turned instead to "the grind," as show biz people in the mainland commonly refer to their demanding personal appearance schedules.

"I do an average of six or seven shows per month. Mainland China is huge, and with a return air flight it takes three days to go to one place, so in a month at most you can do ten shows even if you're killing yourself. Like right now it is only early November, but there are more than 20 places that want to grab my Christmas holiday," he says. He gets NT$200,000 for each gig, which is three or four times the amount that he was getting during the peak of his housing-development-show career in Taiwan.

It is deep in autumn in Beijing, and there are only remnants of a pale sun despite the fact that it is not long after the lunch hour. Huang An has just returned from an intensive performing schedule in Wujiang and Taiyuan. The exhaustion shows in his puffed up eyes, yet a glow of childlike exuberance remains irrepressible. He can't help but show his pride that he is so much in demand.

It is certainly true that Huang An has built up an impressive network of contacts in mainland China. Brain Chang says that in the last couple of years the PRC Ministry of Culture has been especially stingy about allowing performers from Taiwan or Hong Kong to do concerts, and there are few indeed who can do intensive touring. But thanks to the political and business network Huang has built up in his few years there, he remains very much in the game. Add to that the fact that he is the only entertainer from Taiwan to break into the area of program hosting at CCTV, and the result is that whenever colleagues from Taiwan come to the PRC to develop their careers, their first stop is always to "have a chat" with Huang An. Even figures like Alan Tam and Eric Tsang, already established in Hong Kong, come to sit at the foot of the master when they arrive in Beijing.

Despite all that, Huang An feels that the most important thing he has gotten out of his touring has been direct contact with his legions of fans, enabling him to bring back some of the simpler feelings with which he started out his career as a singer. Recently, when he was in Taiyuan, he had a particularly moving experience with a woman who called in to a radio talk show he was on.

This mom could recite every line of Huang's lyrics, and tell him stories of her life at the time when each of his songs was popular. From her childhood and her first job, to falling in love, getting married, and becoming a mother, as she spoke on and on both singer and fan were in tears. In this way, through the magic of song, the heart of a young singer, full of hope and ambition, living in a public housing project in Taipei all those years ago, was able to share in the life of a girl thousands of miles away. As a result of this, Huang decided to again begin writing songs.

Going home?

His new single, "Good Luck for Company," has just been released, and is already getting good reviews in Beijing. A senior entertainment reporter from Beijing says that the song shows that Huang has already set down roots in the mainland, because it has that genuine "Beijing feel."

The lyrics reflect Huang's mindset and his expectations for himself: "Here there are so many people and the land is so large; you have to be careful not to step on someone else's territory. Blah blah blah, talk means nothing, because here promises aren't necessarily ironclad. I'm a little unlucky, a little tired, but this road won't end in darkness. If I work hard the road will come back around to a better place." Huang modestly describes himself as someone "living off of interest"-living off the successes of days gone by. As a Taiwan singer in the old days, there was no need for promotion and yet more than a billion people heard his songs. Today, although the game has gotten a bit more rough-and-tumble, he has found his own way nonetheless to a "better place."

Of course there's always something a little melodramatic about the way entertainers speak. Having just finished emotionally discussing music, the conversation takes a turn, and his self-satisfaction rears its head again. Proving that his old Taiwan-TV-host habit of expressing everything in absolutes has not changed, he declaims: "There are so many fans, and the market is so big; Taiwan only has 20 million people, less than most Chinese provinces. Chang Fei and Jacky Wu are known as 'emperors' in Taiwan, but are total unknowns here." Rejecting the idea that he has anything to prove to people in Taiwan, he cites the old story of a man who got rich and then went back home to show off, then boasts: "I will never go back to Taiwan no matter how successful I get."

Yet, however self-satisfied he may sound, he still longs to hear acclaim, and frankly admits that coming to China was to some extent a petulant decision. He should remember that even after crossing countless rivers and mountains, there is no place like home. Perhaps Huang has forgotten that music knows no borders. In those days listeners in China unconditionally accepted this boy from Taiwan, so still less would Taiwan listeners hold a grudge against him for going to the PRC. Perhaps at this very moment somewhere in Taiwan an old fan is wondering, "Huang An, are you coming home?"