Rock vs. Cheese

I used to ask my Shanghainese students what their favorite music was. I used to find out the names of their favorite Chinese artists and buy their CDs. I used to integrate lyrics and music history into my lessons. I used to have a music club.

I used to be so wide-eyed.

My friend once said that any American could give him a list of their top five musicians and he’d understand who they were. He didn’t actually mean that he had psychic powers, or that people are so easily categorized. He meant that one way Americans express their individuality is through their musical tastes. This current runs deep, bordering on obsession in many circles.

In comparison, a similar survey would reveal little about the personality types of my former students. With a few notable exceptions, my students conforming musical tastes (pop, pop, pop…) would belie their diverse personalities. A better way to gauge their idiosyncrasies would be to ask them which Dream of Red Lanterns character they most identify with. Dream of Red Lanterns, along with Journey West and Three Kingdoms, constitutes the cornerstone of the classical literary canon. These epic tomes unravel deep psyches the way the blues reveals soul.

All that being said, one has to tread lightly when taking a critical look at the cultural values of another society. Music fanaticism should not equal cultural elitisticism. Before looking into the state of music in Shanghai, it behooves me to explain my own cultural values regarding music.

Rock, to me and my peers, was at times an indoctrination into a dark and disturbing dimension. I remember very clearly the dubbed cassette tape laced with Cypress Hill’s Black Sunday. I listened to it with the volume low so my parents wouldn’t hear my profane and psychedelic trip. My friend and I were equally careful as we were titillated by vicarious violence with our tape of Dr. Dre’s The Chronic. Any musical innocence left in me was robbed by the time I reached the end of Notorious B.I.G.’s suicidal finale on Ready To Die. I was practically in tears. I even returned it to the record shop, only to re-purchase it later.

Gangster rap is not the only way Americans come to terms with the world around them; I went through similar catharses the first time I heard Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, Sublime, or the Red Hot Chili Peppers. To me, these artists are examples of how we believe music should be “real”. This stark and unbuffered dimension is the essence of rock. This is not to say that rock is necessarily dark and disturbing. It is also cheerful and uplifting. But it can never be banal, blah, bland, cheesy, chintzy, corny, drippy, hackneyed, hokey, mushy, sappy, schmaltzy, or trite. The fact that the English language has so many synonyms says something about our attraction/aversion to sentimentality.

But the reality is that pop reigns in Shanghai. Its marketability and profitability means sentimental pop has all but displaced traditional Chinese music. The profound, poetic rapture of traditional Chinese music lives on in films and in the weather-worn hands of blind men playing the erhu (two-string) on the street, but it doesn’t transcend into the lives of the youth. Instead, the manifestations of music that are readily apparent are discos and KTV. The discos are swanky orgies of messy headache-inducing bass and strobe light extravaganzas for rich kids who jostle and writhe, chain smoke and get sloppy. If rock is a celebration of what’s “real”, these techno discos are extravagant temples of fantasy and escapism.

Once the kids are sufficiently sweaty and sore, they stumble out in groups to retire to KTVs, plush castles where they while away the rest of the wee hours singing karaoke. Any Westerner who’s gone through this ritual is struck by the passion with which they deliver the rotation of pop hits new and old. The most soft-spoken of my students suddenly transform into the latest pop idol, and for five minutes at time they float on a higher plane. When the sun makes its feeble appearance through the haze of pollution, they retire to their apartments and return to their daily existence.

Shanghai, and most of China, offers little in the way of music creation, but much in the way of music rehash. The most successful musicians are Filipino cover bands, obviously talented musicians who cover the catchiest to pay the bills. Beijing is the shining exception. When Beijing opened up to the outside world for the first time after the death of Mao, the first wave of outsiders was foreign students. The influx from all over the globe brought their favorite albums, and the integration in the dorms was ripe for creativity. This artistic awakening was the kindling that later sparked the international incident known to Americans as Tiananmen.

The rock and roll spirit lives on in Beijing, but its rich southern cousin still wades in the mainstream. The lack of fresh music is doubly startling given Shanghai’s rich history in everything artsy and cultural. Or, as one friend put it: “Most places you find an underground that tries to go mainstream. In Shanghai, you have a mainstream trying to go underground.” In all my musical explorations, two locations exemplify this movement.

The first I came across by playing keyboard in the Georgia Sam Blues Band. The name Tanghui rings like a secret code. Those who know, know. Offering little in the way of luxury but heaps in the way of creativity, Tanghui’s struggle to survive is an indication of the absurdity of Shanghai’s music scene. The story, oversimplified, goes like this. Due to rising popularity, its owners decided to upgrade their location. Because of the volatile nature of rock, all live musical acts in China must be licensed by the cultural bureau. Tanghui’s owners’ connections with the authorities were strained by their dedication to this spirit. Upon reopening, they paid fee after fee, fine after fine. Month after month, live acts were cancelled. Tanghui stands strong today, but not without its share of trials and tribulations.

What Tanghui attempts to do for rock, The Lab tries to do for hip hop. The Lab is a creation of the two most prolific DJs in Shanghai, DJ V-Nutz and DJ Fortune. For years they did weekly shows at clubs before opening their own location. The Lab lives up to its name, for it is a co-op of various elements. Break dancers, graffiti artists, DJs and MCs all come together in an unstructured environment free of charge. Bring your own beer and food, chill out on the rooftop, and interact. Such a simple concept, yet so brilliant.

As more and more investment funnels its way into Shanghai, more and more venues open every week. They carry such abstract names as O2, Coco, Attica, and Muse. They pump in the same recorded techno music and charge the same exorbitant prices. Afloat in this sea of elite hedonism, the few and proud hold that entertainment doesn’t have to be flashy, swanky, or trendy. I have no doubt that in time, the powers that be will be swayed, and the sedated masses will awake and support a local music scene.

Don’t get me wrong. Pop has its place, to be sure. I don’t try to convert my Chinese friends anymore. I don’t give them lessons in what R&B actually means. I try not to make a face when they mention The Carpenters or Celine Deion. In fact, I’ve learned to tolerate, and yes, sometimes even enjoy pop. We all need a little cheese. Just make it real.