"Haven't toasted me for a long time, you!"

The audience stood and applauded. Almost non-stop for 15 minutes. An encore, followed by another, and another. The performers seemed embarrassed by the warm and unexpected reception, and joked that they had no more songs to sing. Even the conductor of the National Symphony Orchestra stood in the back of the podium and momentarily seemed lost.

Music of the mountains, of the sea, of the rain, of the creatures of nature need to be integrated with the land. Can it still have the same meaning in the National Concert Hall? That was perhaps the most important rhetorical question in the epic blend of movie, music and theatre titled "On the Road" (很久沒有敬我了你 / literally, "Haven't toasted me for a long time, you!").

Bringing together great musicians and stage artists, children and elders of the Puyama (卑南族 Beinan) aboriginal tribe of eastern Taiwan, the two hour spectacular revolves around the gradual realisation of an aboriginal village's dream to bring the tribe's musical and cultural heritage to the nation's foremost performance hall. Through a documentary film that follows this long, and oftentimes humurous, journey, regular intervals of live song and dance make the story comes alive. The narration unfolds on a projection in the heavens, while on the ground the story unfolds before and between the rows and rows of audience. Scenes of cotton clouds, of soaring eagles, of trees dancing in the wind, of sunbeams against the dark, brooding backs of towering mountain ridges, and of the blue, blue ocean appear as gentle reminders of the natural, untainted beauty that this little island still holds. A meandering stream wanes and brightens with the passage of time, trailing the hardships, set-backs, arduous training and finally achievements of the aboriginal troupe. You could feel their excitement, their anxiety and expectations as they eventually leave their village in the mountains, and board that slow train to the capital.

"On the road" premiered as supposedly the world's first aboriginal movie-musical at the Taiwan International Festival this evening, and there are two more performances on 27 and 28 February 2010. Despite the very last-minute decision to go see it, and rush to get a ticket, it was definitely worth it. Colourful dresses, nimble movements and the clear, pure voices of the singers added to magical and moving atmosphere that filled the packed concert hall. I watched them in awe, and marvelled at their dark, sun-toned skin, their natural, unspoiled features, and their warm, jolly-hearted, freewilling ways. Most of all, I was moved by what radiated from the depths of their throats and lungs, moved by the soft notes and melodies which, like a dragonfly dipping on the surface of a clear pond, oscillated between pitches high and low.

What did they sing about? About the ancient tradition of decapitating enemies (since, outlawed by the government...), about old grandmas weaving by the river, about lovers who live beneath a mysterious lake, about the sleeping mountains and a lonely shepherd who slowly, slowly grows up. And about the aboriginal love for "White Rice wine":

White rice wine, I love you. No one can love you more than I do.
I'm obsessed with you, I craze for you. You allow people to be so mesmerised.

One cup, one cup, I don't mind. No one can stop me.
I am drunk, drunk. Nobody bothers me.
A thousand cups, ten thousand cups. Another cup!

The spirit of the ancient ways continue through the songs, accompanied by a classical orchestra, and showcase the very human and energetic ways of the Puyama tribe, who coexist with their natural surroundings, with the earth and its abundant resources. In a mixture of their local tongue, of Mandarin and Taiwanese, they sang with their souls, which touched and connected with the souls of so many others. Through a blend of tribal music, church hymns (as most aboriginals are Christian converts), guitars and a rearrangement of Smetana's Moldau, a rich and vibrant account of the continued existence and survival of modernday aboriginals is colourfully and playfully portrayed. Renowned and award-winning Kimbo (胡德夫, De-fu Hu), composed many of the songs, which weaved in the folk songs from various aboriginal tribes in eastern Taiwan. One, titled "Standing on my land", is a piece of blues sung in Kimbo's iconic deep, soulful voice lamenting the predicaments facing many aboriginals today:

Standing on my land I feel like a stranger
I hope you know how
I feel now while I' m singing this blues

You know that I' m strong yes I am
But I don't have the power
Hope become to my mountain forest
And on riversides

At the breaks of day I fall down like the timbers
And I'm afraid not any more Wake to see the horizon
Neath the rainbow bridge

Well I roared Oh yes
I'd been roaring out loud thunders
And what I really need is lightening
To light the road to the mountain mama
And the old-old heart

Hai ya o hai yo yan Ho wai ya o ho I ye yan
Ho wai ya o hai yo in hoi yan

Ha hen hen Hoin hoin hai yo yan
Ho u wa in hai yo yan Hoin hoin hai ye yan hi yan
Hi ya o haiyan

I stood and applauded, my heart filled with the echoes of their songs, my mind awash with the images of clouds rolling down steep mountain faces and vanishing into the vastness of the Pacific. On stage, these Puyama people had succeeded in bringing their music, heritage and story to the big city, to the hearts and minds of people like me, who have grown up in the thick of the urban sprawl and have forgotten the ways of the ancestors.

In the moments when the chantings, songs and lyrics filled my ears and senses, I connected with my part of roots, and was proud to be Formosan.