Which is precisely what Clown must so: the camera reveals a chastened expression, and his words are thenceforth a model of courtesy (I think it is genuine: the audience has fallen quiet). Under no duress of politesse (they have not misbehaved) her two women judges are happy to show a charmed reaction: the MC need worry no more, and turns back to routine… I’m not sure that the libation song is particular (ly) “Yi”, but it is sung with such simplicity, and so reflects her (not timid at all) character, it puts her “nation” on the winning track.
Comes Song 3 (a nationally familiar, cliche ditty “Dear Cousin, Abiao”, sung at the Torch fest – rather shamelessly reduced to jukebox rock, but there is a price always): she seems undaunted and plays right along: indeed she must have known, since the “orchestra” is well rehearsed. To remark once more, the “subject” is social timidity: the Torch Fest is (among other things) an occasion for Boy meets Girl cross-singing, and must indeed be intimidating for all but the most self-confident vocalists, especially on the male side. That is the cause of the “buck up” verbiage, though, again, as a personification of having bucked up (and then some), it is “her” song. (I’m not sure I grasp the poverty issue: her homeland is rain country, the terraced fields are indeed backbreaking to farm, as we shall next see, but they insure a reliable harvest: downhill drainoff is always reliable, anhydric famine almsot unknown, though cholera and probably other waterlogged plagues are a problem). I think it mainly reinforces the value of persistence.
Not unexpectedly, she “makes” it into the next round (one of 2, or is it 3?). Watch the crowd: though never quite ready for Enthusiasm (it is not THEIR non-their Westernized “pop”), they are forced into respect: expressions show no more condescending smirking: etiquette demands that they “participate” by hand-clapping to the beat, easier because is THEIR beat, but there is a kind of submission too.
For the purpose of our histoire, that right there vindicates. “Authenticity”, the other meaning of “primal”, has won out. The political/economic lot of her and other Minority peoples has not been given any surety (her words in Song 3 suggest the opposite), but this is an important cultural episode: almost ahead of schedule “Chinese” (lowlander) arrogance has been deflated, be it only temporarily, and there is even a whiff of the Grand Banquet of the Peoples at the top of this page.
Dadawa has not just made a find, she may also have recruited one of her successors. One hopes, because (Liberaci music ) so many hillcountry maids blessed with similarly overpowering lungs (Ayadou, for example), easily fall prey to the lure of a “pop” TV and global-junket career, and there goes “Primal” out the door. One almost doesn’t want to look.
Finis for now.