The accusation of “deceptive singing,” which has been made more complex by the widespread use of pre-recorded vocals and vocal plug-ins in live performances, has sparked widespread discussion. Even though such technology is commonly used in China and elsewhere, Mayday’s situation became a viral sensation, leading to rapid reactions from state media and authorities. This situation not only prompts questions about the advancement of music technology but also highlights the complex relationship between music, politics, and censorship across the straits.

​​In the aftermath, presidential candidates Lai Ching-te (賴清德) for the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) and Ko Wen-je (柯文哲) for Taiwan’s People Party (TPP), along with vice-presidential candidate Jaw Shaw-kong (趙少康) for the Kuomingtang (KMT), responded within 24 hours of the articles going online. Jaw Shaw-kong urged Beijing’s Taiwan Affairs Office to dismiss the allegations, categorizing them as “fake news” and linking the “rumour” to the DPP, Taiwan’s ruling party. This incident fueled debates within Taiwan’s media.

While Mayday’s company’s silence complicates further verification, it is understandable, given the precarious position they find themselves in while trying to sustain business in China. Their challenges exemplify the hurdles faced by Taiwanese musicians navigating a commercial landscape intertwined across both sides of the straits. In my research on PRC censorship in Taiwan’s music since 2012, I interviewed musicians and creative professionals who emphasized enduring pressure from the PRC state and markets, illustrating the evolving landscape. Most contemporary musicians agree that Taiwan’s music freedom is in question when engaging with China, outlining common requirements for performing or releasing music.

​​Musicians and their companies frequently employ homophones to replace sensitive terms in lyrics when applying for performance approval, known as “reporting for approval” (報批). Local governments usually review these applications, extending to lyrics displayed on screens during performances, resulting in varied versions of songs sarcastically referred to as “Chinese limited.” Censorship also extends to songs released on streaming platforms in China, involving a review of lyrics and credits. It is commonly believed by industry professionals that the publishers may maintain a list of banned terms grounded in Chinese laws prohibiting content “subverting state power,” “undermining national unity” or “exerting negative moral influences.”

​There are instances where specific songs are banned or prohibited from being performed, as seen in the case of Jolin Tsai’s “Womxnly,” expressing strong support for the LGBTQ community. This illustrates the challenges artists face in navigating censorship issues while conveying certain messages through their music in China.

Historically, musicians were advised against expressing opinions on sensitive topics, with a growing number of creative workers now bound by contractual obligations delineating prohibited subjects. Violation of these terms may result in penalties, including financial repercussions. Artists are also mandated to review and eliminate potentially objectionable content from social media posts to reduce the risk of performance application rejections.

For emerging musicians who are signed with local companies, avoiding engagement with China may not be a feasible choice. They often find themselves in a precarious situation, having to refrain from making political comments or displaying visual symbols associated with social movements to protect their careers. The possibility of music being heard across the strait restricts creativity at its inception, demonstrating a form of control before the Chinese state intervenes.

In 2002, Perry Link metaphorically described Chinese censorial authority as the anaconda in a chandelier. Cases of censorship in Taiwan’s music provide a transnational anecdote as the anaconda crosses borders, displaying power in music markets connected by companies involved in music production and distribution, primarily micro-independents. While Taiwanese music was and still is profitable and influential in the PRC markets, this influence comes with the price of interconnectedness, bringing the anaconda closer to Taiwanese musicians. Even the possibility of a sticker supporting gender equality being seen acts as a form of control, leaving creatives with limited breathing room and disempowered.

Musicians in Taiwan, theoretically having freedom of artistic expression in a democratic nation-state, face challenges that go beyond governance. PRC pressure may not always be life-threatening, but censorship involves power dynamics, financial structures, and technological capacity to enforce ingrained ideologies. Recognizing various forms of disempowerment in Taiwanese musicians’ cases is essential.

In a capitalistic system where music is a product, censorship may be viewed as a common corporate governance process, especially in countries with elevated levels of internet freedom and freedom of speech. However, Taiwanese musicians find themselves caught between worlds, encountering instances that entail silencing, control, and censorship beyond mere governance. This serves as a poignant reminder that creative work is not immune to the power of an authoritarian state that transcends borders.

If there is any uncertainty regarding the need to address censorship, especially when it involves emerging musicians being pressured to remove their own social media content, it becomes our intellectual responsibility to accurately identify and label these incidents.

Dr. Chen-yu Lin is a Lecturer of MA Creative and Cultural Industries in the School of Journalism, Media, and Culture at Cardiff University. She is also a Non-Resident Fellow at the Taiwan Studies Programme, University of Nottingham.

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