Even crooning clowns can use character

The touting of a dissembling, no-talent and self-hating singer-wannabe is a disgrace to the spirit of grassroots creativity

Can someone who sings off-key become a pop singer? William Hung proved the trick could be pulled off if you gain a large enough following. It does not matter, it seems, if a crowd is there to cheer you for your chutzpah or jeer at you for singing badly.

Hung, a Chinese-American originally from Hong Kong, found his notoriety after he appeared in a 2004 audition performance of the hit series American Idol, butchering Ricky Martin's song She Bangs. He later secured a record contract and made appearances in Hong Kong movies. Because of his obvious lack of musical talent, his "success" was perceived by some as perpetuating racial stereotypes against Asians.

This is an old story: Hung ended his entertainment pursuits in 2011 when he switched to a technical job. (He was trained as a civil engineer at the University of California, Berkeley.)

Now just imagine how you would perceive him if he, at the peak of his "fame", had declared that he was not Asian after all, but Caucasian.

Pang Mailang is essentially William Hung with a dollop of self-denial and self-hatred. He grew up on a Shaanxi farm, but claims to be from Taiwan even though he has a strong Shaanxi accent and cannot find Taipei on the map. He has a few hit songs under his belt, popular because he is so off-pitch throughout that it elicits giggles or squirming from listeners. For me, he sounds like the scratching of fingernails on a chalkboard.

The Internet is fertile ground for 15-minute celebrities. They come and go, but Pang is deemed to embody the spirit of the underachiever and, as such, has obtained exemption from criticism. Anyone who says he is a terrible singer may be accused of elitism and discrimination against the underdog.

The tendency to categorize artists by their social status can be traced to the 1930s, when the proletariat movement was in full swing. But sympathy for the underprivileged should not be translated into the embrace of everything produced by the lower social classes or the automatic rejection of all art and literature from the privileged. It would be the natural extension of prejudice against the poor because it applies the same logic.

Like the William Hung controversy, an innate sense of condescension was at work in equating the tone-deaf singer Pang with grassroots talent. There is a wealth of untapped talent, literary and artistic, especially among the lower rungs of the social ladder, which partly explains the recent boom of television contest shows. Even though the field is being leveled for fair competition and more opportunities are available than ever before, this talent still needs more support and encouragement from the establishment.

But this does not mean hyping a shockingly bad singer as the next hope for the huddled masses. If anything, this would only reinforce the negative stereotype and make it harder for those street artists struggling in subway trains and at underpasses.

There is no denying, however, that there is a market for this kind of entertainment. William Hung sold 200,000 copies of his first album, but his cult following dwindled as the curiosity factor dissipated over the years. (His second album sold 35,000 copies and his third and last one only 7,000.) Pang probably has a much larger following, proportionately, because there are more people in China who are stuck in urban basements and dreaming of overnight success. For them, he is a real inspiration and offers a primer on succeeding in showbiz without tangible talent.

Pang, however, did not stumble into the spotlight by himself. A record label was behind a grassroots campaign that plastered his name and songs everywhere online and made it look like a groundswell of fascination before the manufactured support grew into bona fide fandom. According to a recent press report, a team of six people worked in three shifts to build the initial awareness. After he became a celebrity, he unceremoniously broke off with the company because he was unhappy with his contracted share of the revenue, reportedly 20 percent, and started to advertise his service from his own blog.

What fascinated me was why the record company chose someone who cannot carry a tune. Pang is not good-looking and is 35 - unfavorable traits in a youth culture that favors pretty boys and cute girls. The reason must be that he is so unaware of his singing voice that he could be passed off as a clown. Empirical evidence online shows more detractors than supporters, which roughly corresponded to the public reaction toward Hung's rise after his American Idol gig.

All this is innocuous enough given that there are comedians who work at their craft and those who believe themselves to be Michael Jacksons and inadvertently make people laugh because they are so unconsciously off the mark. I, as a cultural commentator, did not come forward and publish my dislike of Pang's work until I found out his denial of his own roots. For me, no true artist would try to erase that trace of his or her identity. On the contrary, most would flaunt it and make the most of it. Zhang Yimou, also from Shaanxi province, sets most of his film stories in the hilly terrain familiar to him. Mo Yan, China's Nobel laureate in literature, has turned his hometown in Shandong province into more than a setting, but a state of mind.

From one perspective, Pang is a victim of geographical discrimination. Job seekers from poorer places often meet with cold eyes and unfair treatment. Many of them end up lying about their hometowns, which is quite sad because the notion of roots is intrinsic in China and strangers usually start conversations by telling each other where they hail from.

People move to wealthier cities and provinces for better lives. Places like Hong Kong and Taiwan offer extra enticement because of their pop culture offerings. Inevitably some from the hinterland would imitate accents from Hong Kong or Taiwan. While most do it in jest, there are some who derive such delusional superiority from it that they pretend like it's real. This has been a staple gag in many comedies.

Off-pitch as he is, Pang is acting as a kind of role model for those who dream of similar success. But covering up your identity only exacerbates the sense of inferiority because you are constantly in fear of being discovered and thus shamed.

There is nothing wrong with the desire to rise above one's humble origin. But in today's China, where thousands of villages are being converted for urban development, the pace of change is so dizzying that many are disoriented and caught in a limbo between urban and rural, both geographically and psychologically. The culture of poor imitation, not just the less affluent imitating the ways of those they want to become, has spawned not only knockoff products, but an urge to slough off one's past, the good qualities together with the squalor and poverty, and display a shiny new version, which often takes on a tawdry facade.

Pang Mailang is just the latest - but most bumbling - example of that mentality.

The writer is editor-at-large of China Daily. Contact him at raymondzhou@chinadaily.com.cn

(China Daily Africa Weekly 01/23/2015 page30)