A moment of silence, Chinese style

Since last week’s earthquake, there’s been an almost-unfathomable outpouring of popular support for Sichuan province.

The government declared Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of this week National Days of Mourning. Publications dropped colour from their front pages, numerous benefit concerts were planned or held, and even the TVs in front of my office’s elevators were turned off.

I was at work on Monday, when the entire country was encouraged to be silent for three minutes in solidarity with those affected by the earthquake. Most of my colleagues headed up to the roof of our building in the Central Business District, but somehow I was left behind. On the 12th floor, there was still a pretty impressive view. As cars stopped dead in the streets, I could see office workers from neighbouring buildings lined up in nearby squares, some of them facing southwest – the direction of Sichuan. Even restaurant cooks and waitstaff were in formation, heads down. Nobody budged.

At the same time, it seemed as though every car in Beijing was blasting its horn, and the construction sites nearby all turned on their emergency alarms. It was deafening.

The combination of this constant drone of sirens with the somber, motionless crowds below was actually incredibly moving. To my knowledge, nothing like this has ever happened in China before.

The three mintues’ noise is all over Youtube now. This first clip is taken from CCTV. Granted, China is a Communist state, and this is state media, but it gives a pretty astonishing picture of the extent to which the country has been moved by this disaster, and how they’ve rallied to the cause. (Of course, every province in China is conveniently on Beijing time, making for a smooth-running video montage)

This next clip was taken gives a good sense of the general atmosphere on the street – this was ordinary people showing solidarity, too.

On Tuesday, while testing a walk near the Forbidden City (north of Tian’anmen Square) for a new Beijing by Foot guide, I ran into a enormous mass of people marching through the street, blocking it entirely. Within a minute or two, about a thousand people passed by me on the two-lane road, all of them screaming “Jiayou Zhongguo! Jiayou Sichuan!” (Lit. “Add oil China! Add oil Sichuan!” but more like “Keep on!” or “Go!”) After some deliberation, I decided to follow the crowds, which were composed of everyone from the elderly to working class types, students, and even uniformed private guards who must have left their posts.

It was hard not to feel emotional watching this hoard of chanting people. Still, there was a police presence (2 cop cars, some motorbikes, and clearly something like SWAT vans). Eventually someone in uniform encouraged the receptive masses to disperse, and they cooperated.

Yes, China is a single-party state, and carries the legacy of that, but as the government has shown, for better or for worse, when they need to mobilize, they do it, fast.

Now Premier Wen Jiabao has gotten a lot of international press for calling out to a trapped child, “It’s okay, Grandpa Wen is going to save you.” He’s also been seen crying at the site of the wreckage. Sure, it’s easy to be skeptical of things like this, and to a certain skepticism is justified.

Compare China’s response to this natural disaster with Burma’s though, and hard not to gush about what an impressive job they’ve done – they’ve acted quickly, accepted foreign aid, and even (perhaps reluctantly, but still) allowed all kinds of press in the affected area. Rescue teams have succeeded in saving people more than a week after the disaster. Now think about that in comparison to Hurricane Katrina.

I just looove post-rock

Went to see Dalian post-rockers Wang Wen Saturday night.

The perhaps more competent, if predictable (pretty twinkling guitars… omg LOUD!), Beijing group Maze opened for them.

I was in the mood for it at the time, but I realized by the end of the night that I’m a much bigger fan of what I am wont to call post-post-rock:

Gangsta rap.

Digestive tract; Hot new traxx

Noteworthy workxperiences:

Checking and changing the names of every subway stop in the Beijing City area, using an unfamiliar design program, on an old iMac, with a jumpy mouse, in Chinese

Proof-eating for the “Beijing Eats” food guide.

This entailed a jaunt across town with colleagues, to sample the (refined?) gloopiness of Shandong province cuisine. For ethical reasons, we skipped out on the sea cucumber – apparently they’re endangered – but felt morally obliged to give “9 turn intestines” a try. The dish consisted of cylindrical cross sections of I forget what animal’s intestines, in a delightful little brown sauce with a rich, barn-like fragrance. You order it by the centimeter. We bought 23.

The ensuing facial expressions were priceless. It’s a rare sight to see the faces of five out of six self-professed China buffs at the exact moment they realize they’re still clinging to Western food preferences. I would best describe the look as “nauseous.” But hey, we ordered bland tofu and poorly-realized bread too.

Computer and taste-bud challenges aside though, it’s been a good first week. I haven’t been able to do much writing of my own, but I did start to compile a Beijing time line for a walking guide to the city. The juxtapositions were comical at times:

• 1911 – Qing Dynasty collapses
• 1969 – Beijing subway opens.

Needless to say, some additions were made.

This week I also realized how glad I was that my boss is also a bass player – two out of five working days I have to leave early for sound checks. We agree they count as “research.”

Tuesday was 2 Kolegas’ weekly experimental series, and Hot and Cold’s first show since January. We had pretty mixed expectations, considering that the sound equipment is worse than the shitty knock-off amps we play on in our practice space, my bedroom’s indoor balcony. I think both Simon and I were happy with how it went though.

Our second last piece of the set, known to me only as “Elephant Graveyard” (I can’t decipher any of the other lyrics) built up into a sort of drone-anthem. At various intervals, Simon was offstage, microphone in front of the PA, feedback-making, except we were already playing so loud that you almost couldn’t hear the difference. I proceed to work myself into some sort of Peking Opera gong-banging frenzy, eventually losing my mallet, and throwing the gong and myself across the venue’s floor. We then reconvened for what I hope was an endearing cover of Life Stinks, by Pere Ubu.

A good time was had by all.

Most.

Some.

A couple people.

Well, I know Dan enjoyed himself.

I had been tentatively booked for a solo performance at D-22 since early May, but I never really thought it would pan out. I’d performed alone there before, but at that time I had actually written material. So I was surprised to pick up the bar’s concert schedule in some clothing shop on the other side of town and see the name “Josh” written under two other bands for Thursday the 16th.

Thankfully, Dan answered my pleading calls, and agreed to join me for an improvised performance Thursday night. The first (and last) time we played together was in August 2007, but we both had a good time playing with noisy toys and drumming on plastic bags, so I think to a certain degree I was confident that things would be at least passable.

Maybe we were the only two who felt this way, but I was pleasantly surprised with how well things fit. We improvised two pieces of about 10 minutes each. I think popular consensus favoured second little ditty. It was — explosive, I suppose. While Dan drummed all tribal-thud like, (with a touch of classy cymbal), I set up a Buddhist prayer loop drone, and proceeded to accidentally break an electronic toy piano (“This is piano fun. [Sound stops] This is no fun. [Snapped cable falls out of jack] This is broken input. [Scattered pitying laughter].”)

Temporarily instrumentless, a momentary two-man drum and gong solo ensued, with Dan and I on either side.

Not too be outdone, I continued by inadvertently putting my bass out of commission when a small but crucial piece of plastic snapped off and disappeared forever.

By this point, though, loop after loop of echo-y drones had been layered on top of each other – basically the sound of seven basses playing together – as the drumming crescendoed.

Somehow, (maybe I’m just really great at screaming “1-2-3-4″ ?) everything stopped – at the exact same time.

We were pleased.

Some pictures from Tuesday – apparently we move too fast to be captured on film.

Music Discipline School was a bizarre and somewhat pathetic hour and half long play that followed us. It was actually sort of excruciating, and featured a cross-dressed guy with coke bottle breasts and bunny ears that were blown up condoms. It was mostly unintentionally absurd. They read off scripts. We made the mistake of lending them our piano  – as a prop.

About fucking time!

I’m still here.

Today was my first day of work with Immersion Guides. It was a taste, I suppose, of the Real Shit. That means preparing an index for a new Beijing by Foot book, and copy editing the listings for this summer’s Olympic map.

It would have been fairly mundane, except that in the process of working, I learned of multiple restaurants across town that sound amazing and cheap, as well as what sounds like the twin brother of my ultimate favourite store in Beijing, 金五星 aka Golden Five Star, which sells just about everything you could want, from pool floats to bathtubs in which to frolic.

Also, the Real Shit I have to look forward to involves going on excursions from Beijing almost once a week (with or without a friend) and checking out spots new and old. That, and you know, writing about some friends’ new record label and (hopefully) proof-eating restaurants reviewed. Yesss.

Around two in the afternoon, I felt as if my vision was getting blurry, staring at the computer. It was as though I couldn’t keep my head straight, or focus. Eventually, someone said something. All of us in the office were feeling the same thing. We stood up and could feel an earthquake rocking 12th floor office. It turns out that in Sichuan province, outside of Chongqing, there was an earthquake that registered 7.8 on the Richter scale. Things look kind of dire around there. Hopefully rescue teams will get things under control.

As an emotional palate cleanser and an appropriate segue into things musical, here’s a video to a song that has been stuck in my head for the past two days.

Apparently the Mae Shi count as a noise band, which is just dandy. I always think that Hot and Cold (who sort of sound like vibin’ TV static by comparison) are still kind of a rock band, albeit without a drummer, guitar, choruses, clearly discernible lyrics… etc. There’s still rhythm involved. And we’ve totally mastered the totally rocking use of total repetition.

Anyhow, our first show is tomorrow, at 2 Kolegas, a little-ish bar in a drive-in theatre area not too far from our house. It’s for the weekly Waterland Kwanyin experimental night curated by poet and musician Yan Jun.

The last time I went to Waterland Kwanyin, I had the privilege of being stunned by an improvised piece by jazz drummer / spazz drummer Justin, saxophonists Li Tieqiao and Li Zenghui, and the chubby-cheeked noise guitarist from a band called Walnut Room whose name I can’t recall. To say the least, when their set picked up momentum, it was as if a train was in the bar. It was one of the most awe-inspiring performances I’ve seen in Beijing, or anywhere.

Less cool-sounding but mind-blowing on the concept front was a silly looking Mexican guy who made what can only be described as a megaphone chandelier. Thirteen megaphones were attached onto a metal hula-hoop that hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. The guy then stood in the middle of the hoop, rotating it as he recorded loops, resulting in total cacophony that transformed into a round of “Happy Birthday,” the megaphones’ preset song.

When we play, we’ll be using projections for the first time: both art projects of Simon’s and a 10-minute semi-narrative Simon, Caitlin, and I filmed on Saturday. Depending on the tone of the music accompanying, the film is either a murder or love story involving a panda (Manicom) and a mysterious, bike-riding worker (myself). Shot in our car park on a still camera with video capabilities, we warped the film with shitty computer effects and did minimal editing. Either it’s about the troubled relationship between industry and nature in China, or it’s about flashing lights, a bright blue uniform, running around, primary colours, and a fucking Panda mask.

I think it’s the latter.

[If you read this, let me know. Maybe I will take special effort to strategically insert your name into posts so as to ensure your continued readership]

It’s 9:40am, and I’m pretty sure the apocalypse has hit Beijing. Everything is a thick, menacing grey. A few lonesome lights are on in other apartment buildings. There’s no one else in this cavernous apartment except Caitlin, who is asleep. Oh, and I think some of the lights outside are turning off. There was a large gust of wind and the internet went out. Great…

Actually, this isn’t as ominous and frightening as when the same thing happened to me last summer, at two in the afternoon. The sky went pitch-black, and streetlights had to be turned on. For about 15 minutes, it was midnight.

I can’t really see down the street.

Today I had been planning on heading to Dashanzi, the industrial/art district fairly close to here by Beijing standards, to wander around and meet up with a friend of Caitlin’s who is the proud owner of (numerous?) baby lizards. It’s kind of hard to want to leave the house, however. Lightning.

On a less gloomy note, Carsick Cars were mind-blowing on Thursday night. D-22 was having its second anniversary party, and the place was totally packed. The front of the stage was so crowded that people were squeezed too tightly together even to smoke cigarettes. My friend Justin, who does sound at the club, had to kneel on the front of the two-foot tall stage, in front of the band, pushing people off the PAs.

Far from being aggressive though, this was one of the happiest crowds I can recall being in at a concert. At various intervals, the person doing lighting would turn almost all of the house lights on, so that the audience seemed to get as much attention as the band. When CSC played “Zhongnanhai,” their underground anthem, the entire bar showered them in the song’s namesake cigarettes. (Earlier in the set, a bearded, endearingly pudgy Chinese guy in blue hipster glasses hand passed around numerous cartons to share).

If our show with Carsick Cars is 2/3 as full as it was that night, it’s going to be ridiculous. There’s a funny listing in one of the Beijing monthly magazines about the concert: “D-22 keeps May symmetrical by having electrifying rock gods Carsick Cars see it out. Undaunted by having to share a stage with CSC are Korean noise types 10 and the unknown Hot and Cold.” Bu…..yah?

I wish I was a “noise type.” Also, I wish I knew what that actually meant. Oh, the freedom of being unknown.