Twin Peeks
Ming & Ping’s new album invites you to get to know them better, but their camp still moves in mysterious ways.
posted May 15, 2007 11:42AM
When I meet Ping—one half of the SF-by-way-of–Hong Kong New Wave duo Ming & Ping—he is shaking. It’s partly because the wind has kicked up on the roof of the North Beach penthouse his friend has lent us for the occasion of our chat, but it’s also because he’s nervous. It’s his first in-person interview—twin brother Ming usually mans this front—and he’s clutching a list of “Do Not Talk About” subjects bestowed upon him by the duo’s manager and artistic director, Bao Vo. “Things before 1995” tops the list. Ping giggles bashfully when I inevitably ask, “What happened before 1995?” “I don’t know!” he whispers, looking perplexed and a bit worried he might be unaware of the chronological secret he should be guarding.
But anyone who’s heard the synth-happy music of Ming & Ping knows full well that the brothers are intimately acquainted—musically, at least—with what happened before 1995. The Pet Shop Boys, New Order and Hum are the influences most apparent on the duo’s first two releases, Mingping.com and MP2. And they’re also present and accounted for—with a hint of Postal Service for modern measure—on the twins’ new record, Causeway Army (named for both Gary Numan’s band Tubeway Army and Hong Kong’s Causeway Bay).
The duo is hardly just another band with a penchant for hair wax, shiny ties and electric-blue eyeliner, however. Ming & Ping have built a devoted Bay Area following on their live shows: Flaming Lips–scale affairs with a Cantonese opera twist (complete with elaborate ensembles and a life-size cymbals-playing toy monkey) spearheaded by visionary Bao Vo. (Ping cites lush Hong Kong films like The Banquet as aesthetic inspiration.) Aside from a live drum and some keyboards, the music is largely pre-sequenced—the priority is the spectacle and engaging with the crowd—plus, “we’re not amazing musicians,” admits Ping.
The twist, of course, is that Ping performs offstage—joining the visual onslaught via a screen in the background while brother Ming energizes the crowd onstage. “I’m shy,” he explains. This arrangement has spawned speculation (à la Michael and LaToya) as to whether both Ming and Ping exist or, if they are, in fact, the same savvy performer. “We love the rumors!” insists Ping.
Though it’s clear that Ming, Ping and Co. are keen to thicken the shroud of mystery (Ping’s no-comment list is lengthy), Causeway Army represents a step away from the abstract and toward the tangible. The record focuses increasingly on the personal (“The songs are about seeing inside yourself—when you change yourself, you change the world”), and even the album’s cover art speaks to the new plan of attack: “This time it’s human flesh, body, machine—everything looks like you can touch it,” says Ping. All of which seems to support the claim that now would be an ideal time for Ping to lose his phantom-of-the-live-show persona. He’s not ruling it out: “After this [interview], anything could happen.
Ming & Ping’s Causeway Army (Bao Vo Creative) available now; mingping.com
But anyone who’s heard the synth-happy music of Ming & Ping knows full well that the brothers are intimately acquainted—musically, at least—with what happened before 1995. The Pet Shop Boys, New Order and Hum are the influences most apparent on the duo’s first two releases, Mingping.com and MP2. And they’re also present and accounted for—with a hint of Postal Service for modern measure—on the twins’ new record, Causeway Army (named for both Gary Numan’s band Tubeway Army and Hong Kong’s Causeway Bay).
The duo is hardly just another band with a penchant for hair wax, shiny ties and electric-blue eyeliner, however. Ming & Ping have built a devoted Bay Area following on their live shows: Flaming Lips–scale affairs with a Cantonese opera twist (complete with elaborate ensembles and a life-size cymbals-playing toy monkey) spearheaded by visionary Bao Vo. (Ping cites lush Hong Kong films like The Banquet as aesthetic inspiration.) Aside from a live drum and some keyboards, the music is largely pre-sequenced—the priority is the spectacle and engaging with the crowd—plus, “we’re not amazing musicians,” admits Ping.
The twist, of course, is that Ping performs offstage—joining the visual onslaught via a screen in the background while brother Ming energizes the crowd onstage. “I’m shy,” he explains. This arrangement has spawned speculation (à la Michael and LaToya) as to whether both Ming and Ping exist or, if they are, in fact, the same savvy performer. “We love the rumors!” insists Ping.
Though it’s clear that Ming, Ping and Co. are keen to thicken the shroud of mystery (Ping’s no-comment list is lengthy), Causeway Army represents a step away from the abstract and toward the tangible. The record focuses increasingly on the personal (“The songs are about seeing inside yourself—when you change yourself, you change the world”), and even the album’s cover art speaks to the new plan of attack: “This time it’s human flesh, body, machine—everything looks like you can touch it,” says Ping. All of which seems to support the claim that now would be an ideal time for Ping to lose his phantom-of-the-live-show persona. He’s not ruling it out: “After this [interview], anything could happen.
Ming & Ping’s Causeway Army (Bao Vo Creative) available now; mingping.com
