關於 back to the 90s meaning ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

欲網購黃明志最新實體專輯《亞洲通才》及歷年專輯和周邊商品請到。Purchase Namewee Latest 《Asian Polymath》 , Others Music Albums & Merchandises Please log in to https://namewee4896.com/

《亞洲通才》專輯介紹
常常有人問我們：「黃明志到底還要發多少張“亞洲通”系列專輯啦？」
我們早練下一秒就立刻尷尬而不失禮貌地微笑說：「我們也不知道耶～」
但，人生的改變，總是突如其來。

每次被詢問總是超困擾的唱片行店員、戰戰兢兢怕搞錯上架資訊的音樂串流平台夥伴、訪問還要寫小抄怕口誤講錯的記者、DJ或樂評大大、每年都覺得「怎麼又來了」的金曲獎偉大評審、很喜歡黃明志但永遠搞不清楚要買哪張專輯的聽眾們！

你們的困擾，我們都知道！
而這一次！我們終於有答案了！

繼2013《亞洲通緝》、2015《亞洲通殺》、2016《亞洲通車》、2017《亞洲通吃》、2018《亞洲通牒》到2019《亞洲通話》！（其中還努力入圍了金曲獎三次最佳國語男歌手獎、三次最佳音樂錄影帶獎、一次年度最佳歌曲獎！）

「亞洲通」系列最終章！！！！！！
「亞洲通」系列最終章！！！！！！
「亞洲通」系列最終章！！！！！！

叛逆實力派創作歌手黃明志
勇敢集八年累積的超強音樂成就！
再給你集八點也換不到的超棒感動！

黃明志“亞洲通”系列最終大魔王專輯《亞洲通才》
轟動全球系列專輯最長紀錄，憾動無數聽膩亞洲通三字的音樂愛好者
象徵著一個音樂時代的結束，留給亞洲通音樂無限的惆悵與未來可能性
終於即將問世啦！！！

《亞洲通才》是黃明志有史以來規模最大的一張全創作專輯
從專輯概念開始，黃明志就打破所有時間、空間與人物生死的想像
集結七張亞洲通專輯一路走來的意念與傳承。

要向宇宙許下一個最強大的音樂願望：完成一張「致敬」專輯
從《一萬個開心的理由》、《對你愛完了》、《五百》、《我們的海闊天空》、《不要去Club》這些充滿黃明志風格的曲名，就足夠讓人充滿好奇又忍不住噴笑出聲。但黃明志對「致敬」二字的敬意，絕非玩笑。為了完成這一張他夢想中的「致敬」專輯，黃明志幾乎跑遍亞洲的所有國家和地區，從日本、台灣、香港、馬來西亞、中國到印度寶萊塢，思考調查找出了足以影響一個世代、國家或文化發展與傳承的重要音樂元素，用接近史料考證與科學研究的方式，日以繼夜焚膏繼晷地完成了這張，在現今音樂產業中可說是前無古人、後無來者的「致敬」專輯：《亞洲通才》。

在這張不簡單的「致敬」專輯中，充滿來自亞洲各國家地區、不可思議的厲害人物，共同對某個時代致意的驚人能量！從第一首《中國痛China Reggaeton》以雷鬼搭配中國傳統樂器，找來香港影帝黃秋生合唱合演就讓許多聽眾嚇到下巴脫臼！《我們的海闊天空》用激情搖滾加上饒舌，找來中國歌手富九毫無違和感致敬香港傳奇樂隊Beyond，更是讓許多香港聽眾熱淚盈眶連聽三百次！《你是我的青春》鄭重邀請到當年憑藉彈奏一首《Canon Rock》爆紅國際的音樂家JerryC 跨刀合作並合演音樂錄影帶，致敬黃明志與他共同經歷的Youtube 草創那自由的時代；最驚人的創意是：黃明志連對成人色情片都可以致敬！《不小心》這首遊走在愛情與色情邊緣的歌曲，竟然邀請到無人不知無人不曉的日本當紅女優三上悠亞攜手出演，讓許多宅男在電腦前（因為痛哭）而消耗掉好幾噸的衛生紙；而90 年代的復古電音一直是許多聽眾念念不忘的音樂情懷，黃明志大膽攜手台灣電音教父DJ Jerry 羅百吉，兩人合作新曲《不要去Club》，反諷幽默又好笑，瞬間帶領聽眾回到90 年代的夜店七彩旋轉球下！

光專輯合作陣容一字排開就夠讓人嚇人了，為了完成亞洲通系列最終章《亞洲通才》的致敬概念！搖滾、雷鬼、中國風、寶萊塢、饒舌、流行、抒情、電音、廣high等無數的音樂曲風；取樣、吉他、古樂器、甚至熱巴那手大鼓、沙貝琴、西塔琴等無數的樂器元素，黃明志將上述的音樂風格和音色大膽玩弄掌間、互相揉合，每首歌在詞曲、編曲、製作到音樂錄影帶拍攝，他都有著無限的靈感與點子！黃明志說：「這是我花最長時間、最投入、最激發創意的一張音樂作品了！」

以講求完美個性著稱的黃明志，在製作《亞洲通才》這張「致敬」專輯的過程中，常為了一個當時很經典的音色，花好幾個星期、聽好幾千個不同的音色庫、不斷想辦法詢問當年的音樂製作人或編曲師，才終於完成「致敬」的第一步：找到音色。接著又開始與編曲一同興奮討論，要怎麼將這個音色與其他現代音樂元素和音樂曲式互相結合，保留該時代的感動，同時締造新時代的意義。每一首音樂作品都花了難以想像的心血與時間，才終於創作出這張令人讚嘆不已、既復古又前衛的嶄新「致敬」概念專輯《亞洲通才》！

要「致敬」不難，要「模仿」也很簡單，但如何把對音樂最大的愛，展現在對無數也曾這樣愛著音樂的經典音樂人、他們所創造的音樂時代上，這絕不是件容易的事。從學生時代黃明志帶著一個背包窮遊亞洲各國，在不知多少個窮困潦倒的夜晚，聽著這一首首經典歌曲，想著這些充滿才華的音樂人，拿起吉他彈到破皮，一首一首地寫下去，只希望有一天能成為他們的一份子。而在經過金曲獎多次的肯定後，黃明志終於在音樂上找回熱情、感動與敬意。

2020 是全球因疫情而陷入絕望的一年，但黃明志回到自己對音樂最「粗」的熱情，最「深」的感動，和最「大」的敬意，邀請了無數亞洲重要的音樂人與各領域工作者，挑戰種種極端而不可能的工作模式，耗費幾萬小時的努力，終於完成了“亞洲通”系列的最終也是最重要的一張專輯《亞洲通才》。

「通才」二字，泛指什麼都會的人才，黃明志一直相信每一個人都有獨特的才華跟天份，不論是很會演戲的影帝、讓人們開心的AV 女優、努力練習的辣妹舞者，只要願意努力，都能在各自的領域中發揮驚人的才華！以「想要跟亞洲各個有才華的人們一起合作」為出發，不論國家、地區、思想、語言、政治、種族和文化，只用初衷、熱情、執著、努力、合作和感動去完成，這就是《亞洲通才》這張專輯。

聽完這張專輯，如果你也有那麼一點被觸動，如果你也開始想努力些什麼。那麼，這張集結亞洲各國許多人們的才華而完成的《亞洲通才》專輯，僅獻給你那份也許還不為人所知的---才華。

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《Asian Polymath》 Music Album Introduction
Asian Polymath is the biggest project Namewee has ever put on, the wholly self-written album transcends the concepts of time and dimensions, it reimagines the afterlife and bestows a whole new meaning for life and death. Asian Polymath is a cognition collectives of all the previous albums, it congregates the essence from the last generation’s works. Asian Polymath is a wish from the author to honor the greats.

From 10,000 Reasons To Make Me Happy, Stop Clubbing, Our Love Is Over, Beyond The Edge and Five Hundred. These very Namewee-ish song titles have definitely got people to burst into laughters and their interest piqued. However when it comes to ‘Honoring’, the word has put Namewee into serious thoughts. To hammer the album into perfection, Namewee has had a few excursions to countries and places such as Japan, Taiwan, Hong Kong, China, Malaysia and India’s Bollywood. Through his research and mid-night grinding, he discovered the musical element which could have an ever-lasting impact on a culture’s growth. By utilizing the historical sampling and referencing techniques, Namewee inducted the element into his most recent works to woo the industry once again.

As the opening title, China Reggaeton fuses the Chinese sound with Reggae to create a unique blend of flavours yet what attracts most is the fact that Anthony Perry, the HKFA laureate being invited to feature in the song. Beyond The Edge is a song which the Hong Kong people love the most, Fu Jiu from China has a voice that strongly resembles the legendary rock band main vocals from Hong Kong – Beyond, hats off to the legends! Canon Rock 2020 is blessed to feature the song’s original creator – JerryC, the song commemorates the first wave YouTube content creators and a backstory of how Namewee rose to prominence. I Shot You shows that Namewee has limitless creativity, he wants to honour the Adult Video actresses and particularly JAV for accompanying him during his loneliest hours. Besides that, the appearance of Yua Mikami has garnered the music video a lot of unwanted attention. Do you still remember the 90s retro disco music? Stop Clubbing is a song that discourages young adults to go to such places. Head figure of Taiwan’s EDM, DJ Jerry collaborates with Namewee to rewind time back to the 90s happiest hours.

To complete the Asian Polymath formula, the finale of the ‘Asia’ albums. Unprecedented guest invitations and collaborations in the album far exceeds the industry’s common standard, in addition to the vast music genres such as Rock,R&B, Rap, Reggae, Ancient Chinese, Hindustani, Modern Pop, EDM and Disco. Nonetheless, sampling techniques, piano, guitars and strings, ancient instruments, Kompang, Sitar, Sape and countless instruments were used. Namewee greatly expanded the instrument capabilities and infused them with his creativity. During each stage of the process, the artiste was always brimming with ideas, the artist even exclaimed: ‘This project has my brain wrenched! My most time-consuming project ever!’

As a perfectionist, Namewee would always need to delve into his massive sound libraries to rummage a voicing that could match the corresponding time period, sometimes it could take weeks to filter a suitable candidate. Namewee would even go to the extreme by attempting to contact the original song producer to locate the most accurate sound but that’s just the first baby footsteps. Then, he would discuss with his arranger for ways to make the sound more modern, to fit the old blood in a new body. Asian Polymath is amazing for its preservation of the retro elements but still modern sounding aspect.

To differ ‘Honouring’ and ‘Imitating’ has its difficulties, the fine line between the 2 is ambivalent and blurry. Hence, Namewee has his own answer to such a question, he believes that by paying homage to the classics, their people and legacies would be the huge difference maker. Long story short, Namewee was already a backpacker in his college years, while he was travelling with a very tight budget in Asia, it was the classics that kept reminding him to be diligent and stoic.

The Corona-pandemic has ravaged 2020 into pieces, many were despair and despondent but Namewee persevered, thus giving birth to Asian Polymath. The word ‘Polymath’ means a person who possesses wide knowledge and talent, Namewee believes that everyone is born with talent yet true success is only granted to the most hardworking genius. Asian Polymath is Namewee’s desire for working with every talented person he came across in Asia, with burning passion comes unparalleled talent, that’s the last calling of Asian Polymath.

#黃明志 #Namewee #亞洲通才 #AsianPolymath

I HAVEN'T DONE THIS IN 3 YEARS. got a whole backlog of 90s covers i've been meaning to do. for now - back to 2000 with some CRAIG DAVID

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….