關於 space station freedom ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

這首歌十年了... 厲害，我還沒死。

【歌詞版 高清YouTube】：https://bit.ly/2NVDibR
【我還是我I AM WHO I AM 高清版YouTube】: https://bit.ly/2ZIgYb0

我還是我
I am Who I am

我的名字 叫明志 這個自我介紹方式
My name is Namewee this is how I introduce myself

從小老師 就認為我是想要惹事
My teachers always thought I was looking for trouble

我熱愛文字 我討厭公式 我不想面對考試
I love literature but I hate the school system and all its exams

我更討厭你規定我的頭髮款式
I get annoyed when people comment on my hair style

我的思考方式 沒有人能夠抑制
I was born with a mind that is beyond the control of others

大人都固執的怪我固執 不懂事
Adult always blamed me for being stubborn & naive

我明白 待人處事都有 它的模式
I realized our society has its way of life

但不代表 全部人都要變成孔子
But that doesn’t mean all of us must become Confucius

十五歲 那年初我染上音樂的毒
Age of 15 I discovered the joy of music

我透過音符 來降低我內心的無助
Through its notes I find ways to express my thoughts

我學習美術 但依然無法省悟
I tried picking up art but it could not hold my inner feelings

是孤獨創造梵谷 還是梵谷創造孤獨
Was loneliness created Van Gogh or Van Gogh created loneliness?

中學畢業後 華人得自求多福
Upon finishing high school Chinese must find ways to further their studies

揮揮衣袖 我決定要到台灣留宿
Faced with challenges I decided to pursue my education in Taiwan

爸爸媽媽不要擔心 我不會辜負
Don’t worry mom and dad I promise not to fail you

等我讀完書 一定會回到歸屬
I will return to my beloved home when I graduate

我會好好過 我必須好好過
I will be fine I must stay strong

想家的時候 我就打開電腦拼命創作
When I lone for home I turn on my PC and started writing

牆壁上的大馬國旗 是我的寄託
My Malaysian flag on the wall keeping my spirit alive

床頭的那張全家福 總是讓我振作
My family portrait beside my bed keeping my strong

一個人 在外國 要獨立生活
As a foreigner living in a strange country I learn to become independent

我做過很多工作 我面對很多數落
I took up many jobs to pay my bills and tuition fees

無論再辛苦 還有音樂陪著我
When times were tough at least I still had my music with me

我理想沒有變 因為我 還是我
My dream did not change, I am still who I am

我有我自己的夢 自己會走
I have my own dream I will keep going

就算再寂寞
Even it’s a lonely path

請原諒我的衝動 我會好好過
Please forgive me for being impulsive, I will be fine

(相信我還是我)
Believe me I am still who I am

我不怕暴雨狂風 將我淹沒
I’m not afraid the obstacles cos it will not drown me

毅然往前走
I will keep moving forward

就算旅途再癲頗 我不能回頭
Even if it is a journey of no return I will not give up

(相信我還是我)
Believe me I am still who I am

2007 年 那是個遲來的夏天
Summer came late in the year 2007

改編國歌事件 讓我人生從此改變
My life was forever changed with my national anthem song

透過網際網絡 我闖了禍
I got into trouble through the cyber space

但我堅持沒有犯錯 有人 說我叛國
I was misunderstood and got accused of betraying my country

有人 想幹掉我 有人 說不讓我回國
My life was threaten and I even was told I cannot come home

要我磕頭認錯 政客趁機出頭
I was pushed into the limelight by influential people trying to gain fame

媒體還配合炒作 世界 各地的記者call我
Media got into the action and suddenly international reporters started calling me

我必須學會沉著
I had to learn to stay calm

謠言越來越多 讓人陷入惶恐
Rumours started flowing and my heart started pounding

甚至 還有人把偷渡路線圖 send給我
I even received maps with international escape routes

爸爸媽媽 對不起 不要難過
Sorry mom and dad please don’t be sad

牆壁上的國旗 我從來沒有拆過
I have not taken down the flag hanging in my bedroom

我破了千萬點閱 也上了各大版面
My youtube video broke records and my face made newspaper covers

有人喜歡有人討厭面臨輿論考驗
I got cheered and got booed I must learn to face the music now

我的故事 被文學家 寫進了書
My story was documented into a book

我的臉 還被人畫成了 卡通人物
My face even got drawn into cartoon characters

再多褒與貶 都已經事過境遷
I wished that all the fame and criticism would die down some day

畢業後的我 決定勇敢面對誤解
Upon graduation I decided to return to my beloved country

我用陸路 交通跨越六個國度
With only land routes I walked across 6 countries to come home

拍攝紀錄 沿途上的驚險 和領悟
I even shot a documentary on my challenging journey

一步步 很艱苦 終於回到大馬領土
Thought every step was tought I finally came home to Malaysia

被拍照 被訪問 還被叫到警察總部
I got called to police station and faced many media interviews

雖然 你們都把我 當成公眾人物
Even though most think of me as public personality

但我必須穩住 要保持個人創作元素
But I stayed true to myself to retain my creative art

有人說 我的作品荼毒青年思想
People criticized my songs for poisoning the younger generation

有人說 我的頭腦都在胡思亂想
Some said my mind is full of dirty thoughts

說我亂講 說我是社會毒瘤發癢
That I have bad morel in the civil society

還怪我 變成他兒子的偶像
Some just blamed me for becoming his son’s idol

面對攻擊 我早就已經習慣
I am used to faced difficult situations

保持沉默微笑 是我最好的答案
Keeping silent is my best defense and response

裝模作樣 從來就 不是我的強項
Putting a fake face is never an option for me

但我出門逛逛 卻要偽偽裝裝
I can no longer be myself when I go out

我的email 每天都有人來 訴苦
People write to me pleading for help everyday

但我愛莫能助因為我不是 政府
I just cannot do much because I am not the government

你們來我facebook 鼓勵我 詆毀我
Some come to my Facebook supporting and slandering me

我不刪除因為那是言論自由淨土
I didn’t delete because it is their freedom of speech

我想要讓你聽見 讓你看見
I want you to listen and I want you to see

我想說的話 我的電影 和我的音樂
The messages I convey through my voice, my film and my music

徘徊尺度邊緣 自由自在的暢所欲言
Walking the fine line in freedom of speech

那是主流媒體 永遠看不到的世界
Which is something the mainstream media can never understand

我站在不 同的的角度我不會停下腳步
I stand from a different point and I will not stop

這條思路 是老天送給我的禮物
This path is a gift from god

你說我糊塗 你甚至想要把我說服
You claimed that I am lost and want to brainwash me

對不起我 還是我那就是我的態度
Sorry, I am still who I am, and this is my attitude

在Kuala Lumpur 開始了新的生活
I am starting new life in Kuala Lumpur

這裡人潮洶湧 馬路坑坑洞洞
It is crowded here and the roads are full of potholes

一不小心 我可能會在這裡失控
If I’m not careful things may just get out of control

這條路 很難走 但我已經 沒有回頭
The path is not easy but I do not have a choice anymore

(我還是我 我還是我)
Because I am still who I am

-

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-

Namewee 黃明志 Official Facebook Fan Page:
https://www.facebook.com/namewee/

Namewee YouTube Channel Link:
http://www.youtube.com/user/namewee

#Namewee #黃明志

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….