It's often the unexpected surprises that are the most rewarding. A couple months ago I went out to the a show celebrating the birthday of Koudai Yinyue (Pocket Music), a Chinese music magazine. I went mainly to see SUBS, but I knew a few others that were playing. Every band that played that afternoon—including SUBS, whom I love—was completely eclipsed by the blind singer/songwriter, 周云蓬 (Zhou Yunpeng).
Now I'm not a folk expert, and I know even less about Beijing's folk scene. I was completely entranced by Zhou's singing and arrangements. That day I picked up his album, and it has become one of my favorite CDs from 2004.
Zhou's style favors simple arrangements based around voice and acoustic guitar, but he doesn't shy away from studio accompaniment. The album opens with a laid back number, "Empty Glass of Water". The verses are simple enough, with a major-key melody and a simple percussion backing. In the chorus Zhou's voice rises quite a bit, demonstrating his signifigant range, while the change in tone adds an air of mystery.
Much of the rest of the album follows in a similar manner; and make no mistake about it, this man can sing. The harmony on the third track, "Silence like a Confused Breath," for example, knows to stay behind and let the lead shine. It's refreshing in these days of ironically good-but-bad singing to hear a musician that has traditional skills in addition to clever writing.
Unfortunately, the album's peak comes early. The second song, the one that so captivated me at the show, is "The Fish Forgets the Rivers and Lakes." A simple guitar part opens; Zhou's voice follows soon after, with only taps on a wooden block joining in. Soon a bass noise, something like a tapped double bass rises up, and a melodica or another nasal toned instrument joins in, threatening to overcome the simple melody. After a relaxing bridge, the original guitar part returns, looping and building in intensity. Murmured voices and the bottom of the register appear in the background, and Zhou begins a repeated refrain. A noise—electrical static, ground hum, something—fades in and out, struggling against a gentle harmony. It's this opposition that makes the song so captivating. Simple beauty and outright noise, paired in the early melodica and the later hum.
Few producers and fewer artists, it seems, get this— perfect, spotless recordings usally engage only on a superficial level. We prefer the imperfect—the crumbling architecture, or the beautiful woman with a slight scar.
And it's that reason why the rest of the album, as successful as it is, never reaches the heights of "The Fish Forgets...." Zhou's voice is pushed even higher in the mix, and the natural or coincidental accompaniment is replaced by synthesizer lines, and even regrettable samples, as on track 6, "Theater for the Blind." The album itself ends on a low note with the jazz piano centered ballad-by-numbers, "The Old Blue Tiger." Zhou's voice is capable of the work, but it's so at odds with the rest of the album that it feels tacked on; a b-side that should have waited for another release.
But as I consider the work as a whole, I start thinking. I've found that my feelings towards a particular recording, artist, or even a song are tied so much to the environment or situation that I first heard them in that it's difficult to honestly appraise them. As I criticize parts of this album and praise others, I wonder what I would think of the same album being presented to me back in the States. Would I feel as positive (albeit with reservations) as I do with The Breath as Silent as a Riddle? Or is it good—for Beijing?
That I keep coming back to the album answers that question. That some of the songs affect me as much as they do invalidates the question.
Zhou Yunpeng plays Mondays at Nameless Highland. All the songs titles are in Chinese, of course, and the translations are my own pathetic attempt. The translation of the title was by Paul Kendall of CRI, who is obviously much better than I am. I hope you don't mind, Paul. Zhou Yunpeng's page at Badhead/Modern Sky is here.
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