In 2009, I was travelling to Tokyo for work for a few days. Over dinner, a Japanese acquaintance found out I was in the music industry, and brought with him CDs of popular Hong Kong female singers from the 90s, such as those of Winnie Lau and Vivian Chow. He said he has been a big fan of them for more than a decade, and asked whether I knew them personally. I said no. I also couldn’t help but start casting my mind back to the glory days of Hong Kong’s music industry in the 80s and 90s, which enjoyed a following as far as Japan and Korea and Southeast Asia. It was the golden era for Hong Kong’s film and music industries, a time of great talent and opportunities. But I don’t know when all of that started to go wrong. Stars stopped being famous, songs stopped being popular, contestants stopped singing in Cantonese in contests. Even young Hong Kong people stopped following local singers. It was a time of despair.

But what explains the decline of Hong Kong showbiz? Wong Jum-sum James, the godfather of Hong Kong’s music industry, has explored this in great depth. I will not explain in great detail what he has said, but I’ll roughly talk about my experiences in the music industry in Hong Kong, and hope colleagues in Macao can take some of these lessons to heart. I don’t want to criticise anyone personally in Hong Kong for being responsible, as anyone who is involved in the industry to some extent bears responsibility for its demise. Macao’s music industry is just starting off, but as it is culturally similar to Hong Kong, the failures and successes of the industry Hong Kong can be important reference points for Macao, hopefully before it’s too late.

Profit at the expense of creativity

Hong Kong’s cultural and creative industries have always been quick to chase profits, particularly when something is hugely successful. For example, the wild popularity of A Better Tomorrow spawned a series of copycat “triad” films such as Tragic Hero and Rich and Famous. Similarly, God of Gamblers was followed by an entire series of films like All for the Winner and God of Gamblers II. A formula is simply recycled until the genre becomes hackneyed and tired to audiences.

Hong Kong’s music industry is similar. Since the end of the 1990s, most music labels were managed by business people, not musicians, so most decisions were made on a purely commercial basis. If a particular song became popular, the labels would release multiple variations of the same song. For example, in 2007 I wrote a song called Electric Light Bulb which was very popular. Two producers approached me to write a “similar” song. But what does “similar” mean? Did they mean an electric kettle, an electric rice cooker, or an electric fan? Of course, writing a popular song is not easy, so it’s understandable that people want to reuse a formula with proven success. But copying successful songs also isn’t easy; often the copycat product just sounds superficial and hollow, lacking soul. For years, the Hong Kong industry was only churning out ballads that were stuffed with lyrics, with melodies that seemed to sound the same.

I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with Hong Kong-style ballads—or karaoke songs—as some of these do have great words and melodies. The problem is when the whole market is saturated with such karaoke ballads. Compared to Hong Kong, musicians in Macao are fortunate. The market is small, so musicians are not beholden to the commercial demands of the market and can produce the music that they want. Personally, when I write songs for Macao musicians, the variety and style is much more diverse than songs made for the Hong Kong market. To be sure, the Macao-produced songs may not be as well-known as Hong Kong songs, but I truly believe that the correct way to make music is simply to make good music, and not to follow some business-driven formula. (To be continued)