When visiting a Taoist temple, you enter through the east door, the mouth of the dragon, which is good luck. After performing your rituals and prayers, you exit through the west, the deadly mouth of the tiger, because now you’re protected from danger. Never enter through the middle door. That’s for gods.
C. suggested Exit the Tiger for the name of tonight’s episode because it’s the opposite of Enter the Dragon. “Oh that’s an excellent title,” I said. “I know,” she said.
After a month in Taiwan, I’ve lost track of the encounters and events; I'm left with only a residue: the sensation of a too-bright sun followed by days of rain like I’m living in Se7en, of sidewalks choked with plastic stools and folding tables with heavy cookware, the air tinted by the haze of dumplings and chili oil and delicacies I can only guess at. And an endless array of temples, where C. and I received several exorcisms and accepted various protections against evil, which often comes down to paperwork.
At the Xingxiu temple in Sanxia, a small woman stood before me in a blue garment, almost like hospital scrubs. She waved a stick of burning incense at my face, orbited my shoulders, and twirled it around my chest while she puffed and sighed. This was more than a blessing; it was an expulsion of demons. I’m not sure if I believe in anything, but I figure I might as well get as demon-proof as possible before heading back to the States.
Meanwhile, my thoughts keep returning to the ancestor posts at the Shung Ye Museum of Formosan Aborigines, massive planks of carved wood that each represent a lost mother or father. Initially smeared with pig blood, they must be allowed to decompose naturally, and sometimes they support the ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about this abstract yet extraordinarily visceral presence of the ones we’ve lost. I like to imagine it: the avatars of my mother and father looming in the corner, supporting my home.
In 2016, the NYC-based guitarist Hewson Chen discovered the homesick ballads his father recorded after emigrating from Taiwan. He set them to music and called it Taiwanese Folk Style, and it’s a remarkable collaboration across generations—and one of the most delightful albums I’ve heard in years.
Two weeks ago, my friend P. turned me on to Yu Ching, a Taiwanese musician who serves chilled shots of shoegaze. I’ve also been steeping myself in Alex Zhang Hungtai’s extensive catalog, especially his work as Dirty Beaches, a patron saint of Death Prom.
So tonight’s episode is dedicated to the Taiwan-related music that has been soundtracking my slow rainy runs along the Tansui River, where clouds are draped over the mountains on the horizon, and all of those ancient landscape scrolls suddenly make perfect sense. I also realized that the pylons of the interstate looked like Shinto shrines before I accidentally ran up the exit ramp. But they don’t make landscape scrolls about that.
Every block of Taiwan is riddled with 7-Elevens, sometimes two or three. Except here, the 7-Eleven is not a repulsive zone of body horror but a cheerful place where you can buy everything needed to live a good life. They’ll print documents for you. You can pay your bills. They’ll even cook food for you in their microwave. Although C. prefers the beverage selection at 7-Eleven, my heart is with the little cakes at FamilyMart, and the jingle that plays when you open the door has been stuck in my head for weeks. If you make it to the end of tonight’s mixtape, you’ll get to hear it for yourself, and perhaps the same thing will happen to you.
High walls surround the Confucian temple because you must work for the knowledge within.
- Yu Ching - Love
The Crystal Hum | Night School, 2024 | Bandcamp - 姚苏蓉 (Yao Su-jung) - 磁性的迷惑 (Magnetic Seduction)
MMI, 1969 | More - James Chen - Summer in Taiwan
Taiwanese Folk Style | Moon Glyph, 2016 | Bandcamp - Dirty Beaches - Low Rider / I Dream in Neon
Cassette/Drifters | Zoo Music, 2008/2012 | Bandcamp - James Chen - Don’t Be Discouraged
Taiwanese Folk Style | Moon Glyph, 2016 | Bandcamp - Yu Ching - 桑桑 (Sun Sun)
Planetes Records, 2024 | Bandcamp - Alex Zhang Hungtai & Tseng Kuo Hung - Ten Swords
Longone | 2020 | Bandcamp
Also contains the sounds of elderly people doing circulatory exercises in Da’an Park, the recording from an aggressive ice cream vendor, and the usual bits of static and tuning. And as always, plenty of reverb. Listen below, or here's a humid mp3.
Other bits and bobs: this forty-minute slab from Blanck Mass is some glorious heavyweight sleazy discotheque laser grind. I really enjoyed A Thousand Blows, a scuzzy and fun series about 19th-century fistfighting in London. There’s a new anniversary edition of Seefeel’s Quique, an album that feels like the entire purpose of music. I’m reading Philip K. Dick’s Valis, thanks to the enthusiasm of my friend M., and in the spirit of this year so far, here’s a dispatch from the eighteen levels of hell.
Thank you for listening. The request lines are open.
Midnight Radio 019 | Download
