Before 2005, Hu Defu, known as Ara Kimbo in his indigenous language, was a strange name to most Chinese. Yet across the Taiwan Strait, on the island once called Formosa, this 1950-born aborigine has been treated as a hero, a pioneer and a spiritual leader.
“I prefer being called and remembered as a singer instead,” says Hu modestly when we ask about his reputation. “I am just a child from the mountain. I take singing as my way of talking.”
Currently, this silver-haired musician is living a simple life, running a small beef noodle restaurant in his hometown, Taitung, and planning to write a book similar to One Hundred Years of Solitude. For most of his life, however, he has been a beacon for the aboriginal rights movement and the promotion of aboriginal culture in Taiwan.
Thought by some to have held sole dominion of the land for thousands of years, Taiwan’s aborigines now account for only 2.3 percent of the total population. In addition to losing control of most of the island’s territory and being marginalized in society, the indigenous people also face the extinction of their unique languages and diversified traditions.
Son of a Pinuyumayan father and a Paiwan mother, Hu was the child of two tribes. Seeing the predicament that his people were experiencing, he decided to attack the problem with a gentle but penetrating weapon: music.
“I sing because I love the land and the aborigines living on it. I sing without any political intention. What I fight for is not power but due rights,” explains Hu. Using his musical talents, he, together with his best friend Li Shuangze, started the Sing Our Own Song campaign in the 1980s. The initiative was designed to encourage aboriginal Taiwanese to embrace and perform their native words and tunes. As he said at the time, “kids who cry get the candy.” Only those who make themselves heard ever facilitate change.
After more than 20 years of being actively involved in the aboriginal rights movement, Hu finally came to fulfill a singer’s conventional duty: making albums. His first full-length release, In a Flash, appeared in 2005, the year he turned 55 – a relatively old age for a debut.
“I never thought of releasing an album before. I simply wanted to deliver strength to aborigines through the songs I sang. But later I came to realize that I was the first one in Taiwan to sing while playing. It is not easy to do that. So the first album was born.”
Greatly inspired by the dean of his alma mater, New Taipei Tamkang High School, Hu blends elements of Taiwanese indigenous music with Western folk and African-American gospel music, forming a distinct style that has been called “oceanic blues.”
In a Flash features just one instrument, the piano. Smooth melodies are paired with simple lyrics, the casual singing style conveying Hu’s homesickness – in 2005, he resided in Taipei and had been living away from his hometown for 40 years.
Ten years have passed in the blink of an eye. Hu is no longer a wandering soul far away from home. He said goodbye to the island’s bustling capital and returned to the quieter Taitung where he recorded his second album, Sweet Home Ka-Aluwan. Released in March of this year, Hu describes it as “a conclusion to my homesickness.”
Age has bestowed on Hu an even deeper voice with which to sing out his bittersweet feelings for the land he was born on, as well as his heartfelt gratitude to people who have inspired him.
Among the tracks on his second album, there is one that particularly stands out. Lasting 11 minutes, it took Hu 10 years to finish composing and arranging, and it is the first song Hu has recorded in the Pinuyumayan language. “I left my hometown at the age of 11. Pinuyumayan is the farthest place my homesickness reaches,” says Hu.
While Hu has said he will never return to live in Taipei, the next step in his music journey is to write songs about Taiwan’s largest metropolis, a place he resided for 12 years. “The city taught me a lot, good and bad. And I have made many great friends there. Memories, irreplaceable memories are there, hidden in every corner of the city. How can I ignore it?”
In fact, Hu says that he now feels a certain homesickness for Taipei. As a man who has long been concerned with the rights of a people who have almost entirely lost their native land, it’s not surprising that his music continues to be preoccupied with ideas of home.
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