Asia, The Journal of Culture & Commerce :: June 2005
By Leonard Novarro
Editor & Publisher

Jane Lui enjoys the simplicity of a simple story. Oh, if her life were only that simple. Born in Hong Kong and migrating to the Bay Area when she was 12, then to San Diego eight years ago, she embarked on a musical career, teaching, playing piano, singing and even serving as a cantor in a Catholic church, rendering her interpretation of hymns during Sunday mass.

But just when she thought her career was taking off with a second album she made as part of a duo, the partnership broke up. It was the end of 2002 and the beeginning of what seemed like an endless "dropoff. There was nowhere to start," she recalled. she still had the voice. What she didn't have were her own songs to sing.

"It was a period of emotional stress and turmoil," said Lui, who "hibernated" for a year, moving to Paris and London for several months midway through 2003.

However, once she returned to San Diego last year, she was ready for another shot. Within months, she turned out 15 songs, 10 of them making it to her third and first solo album, "Teargirl," released last month.
"The songs on 'Teargirl' were written during a time of great changes in my life," said Lui, who describes herself as "a dramatist who pushes emotions to an extreme. I remember my father telling me that i'm too emotional. It's probably true."

But mood swings heighten senses, and hers are finely tuned to the universe around her, particularly in "Yellow Light" and "Years of Roses."
That clicking sound you hear is not an aberration in the recording; it comes from her vocal cords, and in many ways exemplifies the human touchh she wanted to juxtapose with the fictional quality of her songs.

Lui accompanies herself on piano, joined by bass, drums, Indian harmonium, harp and strings and calls the album "a story book" because "it is the voice and drama of my tales," a world of "sugar cubes, purple skies and endless possibilities." And love? "I rarely write about love," she offers. "If i do, it's a tiny fraction that is magnified," she says, gesticulating with her fingers drawn together in a circle, then expanding outward across her body.

One song on the album, "Phaedon," is about a fish in the sea singing to a prince in the sky who doesn't know of her existence - the quintessential loop about unrequited love, but obviously, with a distinctive twist.
"What I actually wanted to get across was the distance and difference in existence," she adds, her arms and hands wide open. "If one catches the other, there's no freedom in their love. But the fish is willing to wait."

Lui's stunningly striking voice has been playing to coffeehouse crowds in San Diego and Los Angeles for at least five years. She also performed at the first annual San Diego Indie Music Festival and the GoGirls Music Festival, both held last year, and has been featured at Humphrey's and Twiggs.

For Lui, music is the tapestry of her life. Classically trained, she began playing the piano at the age of 4 and soon added voice to her repertoire. But the "piano was the foundation for everything," she said. "I always have a keyboard in my head." By the time she entered the third grade, she was the top sightreader in her choir.
Lui began her academic career at UCSD in communications, but after two years switched to San Diego Sate University to major in music. In addition to performing, she teaches piano to youngsters.

Fluent in Cantonese, she has found her Chinese background to be a musical blessing yet sometimes a lyrical stumbling block.
"I've gotten comments where people think my images in a song are random, pulled together. In Chinese, random things are pulled together and they make sense," she explained. "Sometimes, I can't get the right word to extrapolate clearly and strong enough, so I use metaphors in the story to speak it."
Some would call that poetry, or, in Lui's case, musical motion.