From “Moving Forward” to the Soul of Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Cinema: Lim Giong, the Rebellious Tenderness of Our Time

If the Taiwanese pop music scene of the 1990s was a neon-lit, dance-pop fuelled spectacle, then Lim Giong was the one person bold enough to turn down the volume and walk into the dark embrace of the cinema. For our generation, our memories hold that passionate young man in a white shirt, belting out “Moving Forward” at Taipei Main Station. But ask any seasoned film buff about him now, and they’ll tell you that the young man eventually gave his soul to Hou Hsiao-hsien, giving it to the silent yet thunderous Taiwanese landscapes that play out across his films.

More Than a Singer, He’s the Era’s “Riff”

Many people’s memory of Lim Giong is tied to the album that changed the course of Taiwanese pop music, “Moving Forward”. Back then, he seemed to carry this raw, untamed energy, taking Hokkien songs from their typical tragic narrative and turning them into something stylish, something that resonated with the confidence of urban youth. But honestly, Lim Giong himself wasn’t satisfied at that stage. The “thrill” of being in the spotlight felt more like a huge burden to him. It was like he’d stumbled into a game, won the prize, only to realise it wasn’t a game he ever wanted to play.

This rebellion against mainstream values collided perfectly with the most vibrant period of the Taiwanese New Wave cinema. His partnership with Hou Hsiao-hsien was practically destiny. One was a singer tired of the music industry’s assembly line, the other a director who pursued pure realism, almost to the point of being “anti-drama”. Together, they truly defined what it means for sound and image to be one.

Silence Speaks Volumes: When Lim Giong Became Hou Hsiao-hsien’s “Sense of Hearing”

If you ask me what Lim Giong means to Hou Hsiao-hsien’s films, I’d say he’s the ear hidden behind the camera. Hou’s films are full of white space—long takes, wide shots, and the seemingly aimless rhythm of daily life. Scoring such visuals is the hardest task. Too much music, and it feels melodramatic; too little, and it risks feeling empty. But Lim Giong always finds that perfect “rhythm”.

In Goodbye South, Goodbye, he didn’t use grand, sweeping orchestral pieces to tug at heartstrings. Instead, he used layers of synthesisers mixed with the sounds of wind, the clatter of trains on tracks, and a hint of ethereal guitar. What we hear isn’t traditional “film music”; it’s a mood, an “atmosphere”. It’s like standing in the countryside of Chiayi, watching Jack Kao and Shino Lin waste time, and feeling that sticky, humid air, carrying a sense of resignation yet freedom. Lim Giong uses sound to deliver that invisible wind, that intangible sweat, right into your ears.

• Goodbye South, Goodbye: This isn’t just a score; it’s another narrative thread. The electronic beats represent the anxiety of a changing era, while the faint, wordless vocals hint at a lingering attachment to the fading beauty of the past.
• Millennium Mambo: The opening scene—that long, mesmerising shot of Shu Qi walking—paired with Lim Giong’s trippy, cool electronic music, instantly pulls you into turn-of-the-century Taipei. That whispered “Hao Hao”, together with the music, became a legendary moment in cinema history.
• The Assassin: With this film, he took it to an even more refined level. The music becomes minimal, almost mimicking the wind and birdsong, allowing the visuals to return to a primal sense of “qi” and “rhythm”. He no longer intentionally creates melodies; instead, he lets sound become a part of the space itself.

Behind the Scenes, Still “Moving Forward”

Over the years, Lim Giong has practically vanished from the public eye. Even after winning a Cannes Soundtrack Award, he’s still the guy cycling through the streets of Taipei, buying traditional medicine in Dihua Street, and DJing in clubs. Some say he’s changed, become “eccentric”. But I think he’s never really changed. Deep down, he’s still that young man who refuses to be defined or constrained by rules. It’s just that he used to rebel through song; now, he uses sound to “simulate” a world.

Whenever a group of us old-school film fans get together and talk about Hou Hsiao-hsien’s films, or the local cinema we grew up with, the name Lim Giong is always one we mention with pride. He proves one thing with his life: true creators don’t need to stay in the spotlight forever. They turn themselves into light, projecting it onto the silver screen to reveal the most authentic image of our land. This is Lim Giong—the singer who once urged everyone to “move forward”, who ultimately became the artist who keeps us seated in the cinema, compelling us to truly look at Taiwan.