The photo is irreverent, self-aware, and conceptual.
There’s so much more in The Moon Represents My Heart that made my mind (and heart) spill over.
The take-no-prisoners guitar shredding from Emily’s Sassy Lime, a 1990s all-Asian American riot grrrl trio from Southern California, which included artist Amy Yao and her sister Wendy Yao, who founded the legendary punk boutique Ooga Booga in LA’s Chinatown; Burning Star Core founder C.
Spencer Yeh’s thumping, burbling sound works that showcase his unlearning of classical music.
A small number of authors cite written source material recording the impact or effect of sound in certain places; others quote writings that thematize the meanings of music or employ it analogically; still others incorporate anecdotes about sound and music from hagiography.
Several contributors describe images of music making, both vocal and instrumental, and discuss their accuracy and purpose.
When I was in middle school I discovered the music of Taiwanese pop star Jay Chou.
My Mandarin wasn’t good enough to understand his lyrics, but, thinking that his odes to unrequited love were more relatable than those of an American pop star, I’d ask my mom to translate — at least until our conversations became unbearable lectures on etymology, proper enunciation, and somehow, always, my character.
“But open your angel’s arms/ To this stranger in paradise”; their mellifluous voices nearly mask the displacement and alienation the lyrics allude to.
The song closes with, “And tell him that he need be/ A stranger no more.” As I looked at The Cathays, I remembered my dad’s closet full of plastic-covered suits at home and imagined how dapper he might have been before he opened his print shop in San Diego and opted for ratty T-shirts.“My father and mother exhorted me to forget about going, […] ‘An ounce of gold is won in exchange for a thousand happinesses,’” reads part of “The Story of Gold Mountain,” a 19th-century Toisan folk song pleading a father not to join the California Gold Rush.