Adolescence in California lends a steady diet of local music to ignite a fire inside the youth. From the first NOFX Oy! Oy! to last TERROR two-step, punk and hardcore music armed kids like me with something to make us feel alive. For many of us in the West Coast, this music is at the very least is the soundtrack to our angst, and at-times the crucible that forged an identity.
To watch a punk rock scene, then, is to take an honest look at what the local kids are fighting for and against, and what language it speaks.
So what’s the Hong Kong flavor of this genre? If you’re going to ask anyone here, it’s King Ly Chee, a band who, sixteen years strong, has undoubtedly formed what anyone could recognize as the HK hardcore scene.
“I remember when we first started playing, a hip hop group would play right before us, a pop punk band right after,” reminisces vocalist Riz Farooqi.
“We had to get onstage at Poly University. A massive mainstream boy band called EO2 just finished their set, and we were after them. They’re doing their boy band shit, and then we had to follow that?
“But this is ’03, when we’re at the top of our game. Out of the woodwork hundreds of kids showed up and destroyed.”
There aren’t too many ears attuned to Hong Kong’s underground sound, but those who listen do so with heart and raised fist. And whether it’s to a smaller crowd of twenty, or hundreds awaiting them at Clockenflap, King Ly Chee connects through the shared stories of growing up Hong Kong.
“As a Pakistani raised in a Chinese culture, going to an international school, I had to speak Urdu at home, Cantonese on the streets, English in school. The complexities of Hong Kong and the experiences that we’ve had all go into the songs.
“When we started, kids in HK did not give a shit about politics. They wanted to sing karaoke, hang out at the bars in Mong Kok and go home. ‘Don’t talk to me about politics.’ But right now young people are so interested and want to be involved, and we just want to help raise awareness to kids here. Tonight is one of these few opportunities in our sixteen years that we’ll be able to get our point across to a large audience.”
Hundreds gather to an empty stage across the Kowloon Harbour. The band’s Chinese & English insignia on the LCD screen glow on an empty drum kit. A commotion begins as the red flag of Hong Kong drifts from backstage, guarded by Riz. Stark white letters form STRAIGHT EDGE and NO ONE WILL BREAK ME on black cloth. Riz growls his acquaintance to the crowd, in perfect Cantonese and English, and a sea of Hong Kongers erupt to the first bombast of chord and crash.
For thirty minutes, the players of King Ly Chee give back the energy their city feeds them, communicating in smoke signals of evaporating sweat. Circle pits slop together, necks and elbows whip in double-time, and fans old and new rip vocal cords in unison. For being together sixteen years, this feels like a welcome debut for the quintet.
Their set over, a quick look around revealed college-aged kids high fiving and screaming for one more song. One of these wore long metal head locks wrapped in a soaked bandana. I asked this man, Cliff, about his thoughts on the set.
How would you describe this show tonight?
It belongs to Hong Kong, you know?
What do you mean by that?
Well, some people think that Clockenflap is some sort of 鬼佬 gweilo (foreigner) event, you know. But how do you really define Hong Kong? It’s this.
This belongs to us. It’s our music, our people, and I’m really proud of it.
KING LY CHEE 荔枝王
