Billy Choi’s raps inspired by his family’s teahouse make for uniquely Hong Kong hip hop

Much like kung fu masters pass down their arts to apprentices, Choi sees parallels in the way his family has run the restaurant and preserved a culinary craft.

“The inspiration comes from my desire to preserve traditions – whether it’s martial arts, handmade dim sum or teahouses. These are things my parents’ generation passed down, but they’re on the brink of disappearing,” he said.

“I wanted to use these two elements [kung fu and dim sum] to convey that sense of legacy.”

Since debuting in 2019, the young rapper has been shaping the city’s hip-hop scene with tracks related to local culture and social issues.

His signature hit, “Sorry, This is Hong Kong”, captures many shared experiences of living in a high-pressure city, while also delving into Choi’s childhood struggles.

“Even though my family seemed supportive on the surface, every family has their share of challenges,” he said.

His songs tell stories that resonate with Hong Kong’s youth because they come from his experiences.

“I’ve written songs about places I grew up ... The main idea is to never forget where you come from,” he said.

In an industry where work begins as early as 2.30am, Choi grew up learning from his parents as they dedicated themselves to the dim sum restaurant’s relentless hustle.

“My dad would get customers saying things like, ‘Your siu mai isn’t very good,’” Choi recalled. “But instead of arguing, he’d just nod. When I asked him why, he said, ‘Not everyone will like your food.’”

He added: “That really stuck with me. It’s the same with music. Not everyone will like my songs, and that’s OK. We don’t need to argue.”

He was also inspired by his mother’s ability to read customers’ expressions and respond with care.

“In music, it’s similar. When we see how the audience reacts, we adjust. How do we make them feel good? How do we connect with them? That’s something I learned from her,” he said.

At 15, Choi began helping out at the teahouse during the summer. Over time, he saw the industry’s challenges first-hand: labour shortages caused by an ageing workforce and a lack of skilled chefs.

“My dad started pulling my brother and me into full-time shifts to fill the gap ... Since older employees were often sick or taking time off, we’d be called in unexpectedly,” he said.

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Amid the gruelling overnight shifts, music was never far from Choi’s mind. He often found himself brainstorming lyrics while wrapping takeaway orders.

“Everyone gets distracted, but for me, it was because I was writing lyrics,” he recalled.

These moments of distraction gave rise to “Time’s Up” (夠鐘), which he wrote entirely at the teahouse.

“I remember being so bored and desperate for my shift to end. Even though it’s a love song, the frustration I felt sitting there inspired the emotions behind it,” he said.

Over the years, the teahouse became Choi’s refuge – but pursuing his dream of music was a leap outside this comfort zone.

“I decided I wouldn’t take over the business, even though I’d come back to help sometimes,” he shared.

“When you’re chasing a dream, you can’t leave yourself an easy way out.”

For the young rapper, writing Cantonese lyrics is a way to express his identity and make his mark.

“When I write in Cantonese, it feels more natural and personal,” he shared, adding, “Younger audiences are drawn to music from mainland China or Taiwan ... If we’re going to compete with those places, which have a larger pool of talent, we should stick to our language rather than trying to fit into theirs.”

To make his hip-hop songs more relatable to Hongkongers, the rapper experiments with his music – taking beats or instrumentals that are not traditionally used in hip hop and writing raps over them.

“Hip hop in Hong Kong isn’t mainstream. To attract listeners who don’t usually enjoy rap, I mix in elements of music they’re more familiar with,” he said.

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“Sorry, This is Hong Kong” samples “Gei Hui Feng Yu” (幾許風雨), a Cantopop classic that Choi learned about from a siu mei chef who once worked at Hoi Lin Teahouse.

“Funny enough, I’d never heard the original song before. This chef knew I was into music. One day, while chopping roast meat, he started singing lines from ‘Feng Yu’,” he said.

“He told me it was about the struggles of working-class people. The way he sang it, with so much emotion while doing his job, stuck with me.”

Choi’s music producer Lee Yat-ding, better known as 1 Ding, said hip hop peaked in Hong Kong between 2020 and 2022. But that interest seems to have waned.

“Even though demand isn’t as strong as before, I’ll keep doing what I love. By producing enough good music, I hope we can bring the audience back.”

Now, Choi is working on new music inspired by dandelions, a metaphor for his journey as an artist.

“It’s about a dandelion being blown away by the wind, not knowing where it will land but finding a way to grow,” he explained.

In March, the rapper will hold his first solo concert and launch a comic book based on the storyline of the “Hoi Lin Teahouse” music video.

Looking ahead, his larger goal is to help hip-hop culture take root in Hong Kong.

“I hope that by building my career and showing others it’s possible to make a living through rap, I can inspire young people to pursue this art form wholeheartedly.”

• Stop and think: Why do Billy Choi’s songs resonate with Hong Kong youth?

• Why this story matters: Many Hong Kong traditions – old tea houses, kung fu and more – could fade away if the younger generation does not preserve them. Billy Choi’s Cantonese raps are shaking things up by bringing new life to old traditions.