To quote a famous repartee: “Nevertheless, she persisted.” If one could attach a north star to Kay Huang (黃韻玲), it would be that – a persistence that paid off, showing the mettle she’s made of. With fall hovering in the air, and just days past its recent reissue and Kay’s birthday, let’s revisit (or more likely, discover) her wonderfully prescient autumnal and cozy sophisti-pop ode to the perfectness of being just the way you are: 1991’s 平凡 (Ordinary).
In the realm of Taiwanese pop music, those who speak or know of Kay’s music do so in quiet reverence and knowing nods. Unlike huge stars like Faye Wong or outsized personalities like Anita Mui, Kay’s world is far more hushed and down-to-earth. A true songwriter’s songwriter, in Kay’s cool, mid-tempo delivery, one finds a musicality that invites a more mature listening experience—music that ages better with time. Yet, Kay didn’t arrive fully formed as the creative musical force she is now.
It was during those early formative years—before launching her career—that a young Huang Yun Ling couldn’t even be bothered to or stomach listening to music. Born in 1964, in the coastal town of Yilan County, to a family who traveled regularly to and from Japan, Kay’s love of music wasn’t innate but stubbornly born out of discovery.
As a child, Kay valued quietness, until one day her uncle, an avid music collector, gifted her his large record collection before departing for Japan. It was Kay’s parents, understanding her apathy toward music, who proposed that she could only keep the records if she listened to every album and wrote a report on each one afterward. This seemingly rote but purposeful task allowed Kay to listen to records by groups like The Beatles, ABBA, and The Carpenters, and articulate what made them different from the stereotypical pop and balladeering Taiwanese music she heard on the radio.
As Kay grew up and developed a taste for quality music, she also nurtured a curiosity for the mechanics of making it. Early piano lessons fell by the wayside, as Kay preferred to spend time creating her own music or working out chords from records she admired. As her uncle passed along more music from Japan, Kay developed a knowledge of singers like Kenji Sawada, Goro Noguchi, and Momoe Yamaguchi, who led a new strain of Japanese folk and pop music.
Kay the songwriter was born in primary school. It was during her teens, watching her parents toil through long days at the factory or office, that she realized she wanted none of that and daydreamed of hearing someone call up a radio station and ask, “Can I listen to a song written by Huang Yun Ling?” In 1979, at age 14, Kay signed up and won significant Taiwanese song contests like the Golden Rhyme Award, taking her first fundamental steps toward making that dream come true.
It wouldn’t be until 1986 that Kay would sign to a major label, Rock Records & Tapes, and release her debut album: 憂傷男孩 (Sad Boy). From the beginning, no one quite knew what to do with Kay’s career. Unlike other artists, she didn’t outsource her songwriting to hired guns, nor did she limit herself to a set style or genre—anything from rap to rock and pop felt like fair game to her. Early recording sessions were fraught with label execs trying to overdub vocals on her tracks without her consent, attempting to mold her into the existing Taiwanese pop scene.
Among her early fans, it was Kay’s melancholic image that became her calling card. As pictured on her album cover, her “sad girl” look was a welcome antidote to the glossy stars dominating Taiwanese pop charts. Even at that early stage, Kay adeptly sidestepped or outright rejected her label’s entreaties to “spice up” her image. Subsequent albums became an exercise in trying to outpace the heavy hand of the Taiwanese pop industry.
For Kay’s sophomore album, 藍色啤酒海 (Blue Beer Sea), she began to take control of her music, arranging all of the tracks herself. Inspired by the Japanese pop scene, Kay embraced music and sonics that echoed New Wave influences but also incorporated modern musical technology shaping contemporary Asian music. By 1988, albums like 黃色點唱機 沒有你的聖誕節 (Yellow Jukebox/Christmas Without You) saw Kay moving toward a more mature and sophisticated sound—one inspired by artists like Quincy Jones, XTC, and The Style Council—even if the songs still reflected their era.
It wasn’t until Kay fully took ownership of her music and publishing that she created an album entirely on her own terms. 1991’s 平凡 (Ordinary) would be unlike her previous releases. Under the influence of jazz, bossa nova, Sade, Everything But The Girl, Francoise Hardy, and sophisticated soul, Kay pushed to have the record produced in America, complete with all the trimmings, care, and musicality required to flesh out her sound. Unlike prior albums, she didn’t aim for a hit single to justify the label’s investment; instead, she focused on an overarching mood that defined the music.
In LA’s fabled Sunset Sound and Schnee Studios, sun-kissed tracks like “關不掉的收音機 (The Radio Which Can’t Be Turned Off)” attained a certain verve that was seldom heard in her native Taiwan. Supported by session musicians like Alex Acuña and Taiwanese background singers like John Chen, the maturing sound that Kay had hinted at before now fully blossomed into something intensely personal and adult-themed.
As a soul singer, what was once considered Kay’s weakness—her voice—became her strength on tracks like “聽一首傷心的歌 (Listen to a Sad Song),” where the quietly smoldering quality of her range shone through. Balearic gems like “寫信給你 (Drop You a Line)” were infused with a deeply West Coast swing, aimed at tugging at the heart, reminiscent of the kind of full-hearted pop Mariah Carey was ushering in just a year earlier. Every track on 平凡 (Ordinary) was anything but ordinary, weaving together a rich blend of jazz, modality, and personal expression.
Listening to tracks like “笑話 (Jokes),” it becomes clear why musicians and fans alike revere Kay’s music. Hidden within this petite artist is a composer with grand ideas, someone who refused to be just another songwriter tucked away behind her piano. Her songs, like “三個人的晚餐 (A Three Persons’ Dinner),” are filled with musical melodrama, vividly expressing life as lived through her music. Kay’s direction managed to weave new musical colors, from Latin to Caribbean influences, into her songs, as heard in “胡思亂想 (Day Dreams)” and “遠方 (Far Off Place).”
At the end of the day, as you dive deeper into Kay’s discography (which I strongly encourage you to do), you’ll uncover a trove of music that commands respect for the hard work she put in. 平凡 (Ordinary) stands as a landmark moment in contemporary Taiwanese soul music—a turning point that showcases Kay Huang’s maturation and artistic integrity in a way that still sings quite timeless.
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