GOOD pop stars put their manhood in plaster of Paris, swear a lot, collectivise their sex, put pills, joints, groupies and sometimes even shotguns in their mouths, molest policemen, promote self curiosity, unlock myriad spirits and generally epitomise fun, freedom and bullshit.
By such Western standards, Hong Kong's Canto kings are not good pop stars. To a man, they are nice to their mums, go to bed with pyjamas on, use dental floss, support the police and their fight against crime, encourage charity and table manners, unlock romantic self-pity and generally promote personal hygiene, the giving of flowers and the use of hair gel. Their manhood, if it exists at all, resides beneath several layers of very clean designer underwear. Add to this the fact few can hold a note longer than a Lisboa loan shark and the following question surfaces like a dead drummer in a swimming pool: why on earth do thousands of Hong Kong women give up all their disposable time and money just to be near them? There is an answer but it is not simple. To understand it you must understand that a society gets the culture it deserves and Hong Kong society is as two-faced and twisted as a sliced snake. What appears on the surface to be a vapid culture of sparkling teeth, plastic hair and good sterilised fun is, in fact, seething with passion, dreams, violence, self-loathing, lust and loneliness.
The Canto-pop season is upon us. Slotted between the slightly less glitzy festivals of Christmas and Lunar New Year, the celebrations may not be as widespread but, for Hong Kong's believers, they are far more intense. Before the end of the first night - TVB's celebrity-strewn Jade Solid Gold Awards Show - blows will have been exchanged, tears will have been shed and blood will have been drawn. Before the end of the Canto-pop awards season, everyone agrees, someone is probably going to get seriously hurt.
It is Sunday evening. A steady stream of silver bomber jackets, high-heeled Dr Martens, pop socks, Mickey Mouse-patch jeans and transparent knapsacks is flowing into the Coliseum's vast concrete plaza. Almost all of its 10,000 seats have been bought by women. The few males dotted around are either faintly effeminate types who enjoy the company of large groups of girls and match their enthusiasm swoon for swoon, or they are boyfriends, dragged along as accessories and forgotten the moment the first idol limos by. Clearly many of them have begun to regret shelling out between $600 and $1,000 on a pair of tickets only to see their dates scream their love for a man they have never met. It is an hour until showtime and already, amid the increasing hysteria, various boyfriends are starting to share the bemused, detached look of stuffed Garfield toys.
Tonight's TVB show will honour a wide range of Canto-pop stars and their combined pulling power will make the simultaneous broadcast on Jade a ratings hit. But the fans couldn't care less. For most of them only two singers count: Andy Lau Tak-wah and Leon Lai Ming. One of them must win everything. The other must win nothing. On TV the event is a star-studded ceremony with something for everyone. In the flesh it is a gladitorial combat, one on one: Andy versus Leon. No wonder they call it the Coliseum.
With half an hour to go before the show, two groups have formed outside the stadium. To the right, crowding around cardboard boxes filled with the various munitions of fan warfare, are the zealots of 28-year-old Leon. There are 2,000 to 3,000 of them, each wearing the 'Leon Family Uniform', a specially-designed ensemble of red baseball caps and red 'I Love Leon' T-shirts provided free of charge to all 'family' members. In addition, fans are being urged to buy flashing star badges, fluorescent tubes, tambourines, placards, whistles and banners. Some of the banners are huge. Unfurled, the largest will cover 120 auditorium seats with one word: LEON.