chaile 拆了

One of the regular jokes among laowai music fans in Beijing is the prevalence of well-meaning but naive young western students that are terribly fascinated with the Chinese punk scene and ready to write a thesis, make a film, or (ahem) start a blog. "It represents the changing face of China!" With that in mind, I didn't have high hopes when Kevin Fritz sent me a review copy of his film about Beijing punks Joyside. Wasted Orient was a pleasant surprise, though; it's a very enjoyable trip following the gang of drunks on their first tour.

The first portion of the film doesn't stray far from the hutong where singer Bian Yuan and bassist Liu Hao live. Each of the four members gets some time to talk about their daily lives, their homes, and their family, while they buy beer, drink beer, head to the public toilets, and buy more beer. The shots of unglamorous old Beijing neighborhoods surrounded by construction are charming, and enough to make me miss Beijing.

Once the tour itself begins, The band and their manager hop on hard-seat trains, annoy their neighbors, and drink lots of beer. The band members can be quite charismatic. Yang Yang, a Japanese guitarist who joins the band for the tour, provides plenty of laughs, and Liu Hao drinks an amazing quantity of beer. As the tour stretches on, it begins to wear on the band. Bian Yuan withdraws, and the new cities seem indistinguishable.

For a movie about a band it's a shame, but the music is the most disappointing part of Wasted Orient. Joyside's performances have always been hit-and-miss, but there are few shots of the band performing for any length of time and Fritz unfortunately clutters up one of the longer sections with needless effects. Scenes with music have music, but not the band's. Don't get me started on the introduction—the music is grating and annoying. That's something that could have easily been left out.

The film is at its strongest in the conversations with the band members. Near the beginning, Liu Hao discusses what his family thinks of his life. "They think it's strange.... They don't have a clear idea of what I'm doing. They just know I drink everyday and play in a band. They don't know what I am thinking," he says. "I'm also not so clear." Wasted Orient is particularly good at showing the difference between the reality on the ground and the conceits of western reporters who claim that punk rock shows the new face of China. These kids (and they really are kids) don't have their own lives or places figured out, and it's foolish to place any leadership, cultural or otherwise, on their shoulders.

Fritz's work exceeded my expectations completely. Anyone with an interest in Chinese music, or hell, even just China should seek this out. If you're in Beijing, Wasted Orient is showing at Cherry Lane movies this Friday and Saturday. It can also be ordered directly from Fritz for $10.

Wasted Orient official website

Update: Here's the trailer:

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The first time I saw Re-TROS (a.k.a. Re-establishing the Rights of Statues and Rebuilding the Rights of Statues) was March of 2004, opening for Subs. No one I was with at B52 seemed to know who this trio was; everyone called them neige post-punk yuedui. As much as I loved Subs' performance, I couldn't get these guys out of my mind.

Fast-forward past two years and dozens of shows at every rock club in Beijing and you get Re-TROS' debut EP, Cut Off! It's hard to be unbiased about a record I've anticipated for so long; it's hard to listen to these songs and not think about how many evenings I spent rocking out to them at Wuming Gaodi. So if I can't be unbiased, at least I can be honest.

Cut Off! opens ominously with "Die in 1977," a dark mid-tempo rocker that sets up much of the EP's successful aspects, as well as those slightly less inspired. Like singer/guitarist Hua Dong's old band, P.K. 14, Re-TROS has absorbed the lessons of early-80s post-punk well; spiky guitars, bouncing basslines, and complex but unfussy drumming form the core of their sound. Unfortunately, the killer combination is muted by overproduction again and again. It does feel like the producer doesn't quite have an ear for what was being recorded.

"A Death-Bed Song" is where their groove really sets in; Liu Min's bassline starts the song alone, building a foundation for the burst of guitar and drums that follow. Subtle keyboards from Brian Eno add to the atmosphere. Although well layered, "A Death-Bed Song" does reveal another one of the EP's shortcomings, one that also affects every Chinese act that sings in English—somewhat mangled grammar and word choice that can be distracting. While it's by no means overwhelming, the emphasis Hua Dong puts into each line of the next track, "Boys in Cage" [sic] can be distracting. But at the same time, it's hard to care too much, because "Boys" rocks so much. Propulsive drumming from Ma Hui forms the perfect backing to the Gang of Four inspired guitar lines,

The unnecessary panning that opens "The Monkey Who Becomes (to be) the King" is a shame; it softens the impact of one of their great live openings. This, their most intricate song, provides Hua Dong an opportunity for some vocal gymnastics; one can imagine the sneer on his face when he snarls out the lines— "If the monkey becomes to be the king, is it so funny?"

But it's not until "TV Show (Hang the Police)" that Cut Off! peaks. Tight lines from all three circle around until a short breakdown, where distortion on Liu Min's bass kicks in, and the their most overtly political vocals start. "Hang the police under his shotgun/ Hang the police before we all are murdered," he warns, continuing with "I'm watching TV/ it shows the distance between you and me" while Liu Min belts out the refrain. This illuminates the one truly serious issue I have with the recording, besides the production—there's just not enough of Liu Min's vocals. One of the highlights of their life show is seeing the diminutive bassist issue a stream of yelps and Oh!s and Ah!s.

"Laugh from the Time" ends the EP on a positive note. Not a positive note, lyrically, I suppose—"You try to stop the time but it never works/ It's hard to choose the right way/ Oh, it's OK, you'll be dead anyway"—but the upbeat tempo and wonderful La-La-La finale produce the EP's most uplifting effect.

As I said, it's hard for me to treat this like any other CD I come across. But even as I'm critical about the overproduction, I can't help but be even more excited about the future for the band. If this is what they can produce on their first try, I can imagine what we're in store for when they prepare an LP. And if they can round up an experienced producer that can bring out their strengths, they could inspire quite a following.

I'm already anticipating it.

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FM3's wondrous little box has gotten lots of attention over the past few months. As I listen to track 4, "b1", you can take a look at what music nerds worldwide have had to say.

Last week übernerds Pitchfork gave a raving review to the Buddha Machine, saying:

But I don't want to get hung up on its artistry, because most important of all, it's also an object. The minute I opened the box, I wanted to hold it in my hand, and play with the switches, and carry it around with me. It has an output jack, but it's much more fun to listen to its cheap built-in speaker: at low volumes, the loops are placid, fitting into the corner of your ear, but turn up the dial or press it to your ear and you hear hundreds of nuances and crackles of static. And best of all, the music never stops. Sure, you can listen to a minimalist CD and imagine how it would feel to hear it for days on end, but the Buddha Machine lets you try it: There's no 80-minute limit, and the batteries will go for hours. Psychologically, it makes a big difference when you aren't waiting for the music to fade out.

Jon Whitney from Brainwashed seems to miss the point, focusing on the cheapness of the construction (I have a newer one that doesn't have these flaws) and on some sort of strange tangent about authenticity:

And finally, there's absolutely nothing authentic about this unit: this is -not- music captured in a Buddhist temple and boxed up for western consumption. In fact, that mere idea flies in the face of buddhism to even take such a sacred element and profit off it. It is a very neat little toy for the easily amused music über-nerd.

I thought the reuse of the factory's standard packaging was a nice touch, myself.

But before we go thinking that this press attention is limited to blogs, in November the grey lady herself, the New York Times, sung its praises:

Who says a boxed set has to include CD's? ''Buddha Machine'' is, literally, a small plastic box with a built-in speaker, a headphone jack and a little switch you use to toggle between nine different and quite lovely ambient electronic compositions. It's the product of FM3 (www.fm3.com.cn), the Beijing-based duo of Christiaan Virant (who compiled the recent Sublime Frequencies CD ''Radio Pyongyang'') and Zhang Jian. The members say their device is a modified version of a popular Chinese gadget that intones Buddhist prayers; this new model is a weird, mesmerizing, beautifully useless thing. Available in the United States through forcedexposure.com.

For more information, check out interviews with Christiaan Virant at Rare Frequency and Disquiet. The Disquiet interview has a long explanation of what went into the construction and creation. Also take a gander at this video: FM3 playing chess with Buddha Machines, uploaded to YouTube by Lawrence from Global Noise Online. Christiaan replied with an explanation of this sound art game, which they call "Buddha Boxing."

 Filed Under: Beijing | Links | Reviews
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I've been pretty bad lately about posting any more reviews. So today I thought I'd open it up. What have you been listening to lately?

Me:

• shanshui.zip: 6x3" CDR box from Sulumi's Shanshui label. Contains EPs from Sulumi, Droon, Saw Test, Amnjk, iLoop, and B6. I'm really digging the CDs from Sulumi (Shop for the Insomniac) and Saw Test (Lovely Depression). It's oddly comforting to hear the Game Boy startup "ding!" at the beginning of Sulumi's cd. Unfortunately, my copy of B6's disc is bad; I think they forgot to burn it. I'll have to bring it back to the shop this weekend.
• Xie Tianxiao and Cold Blooded Animal - XTX: A bit too straight ahead for my tastes, but there are some good songs on the disc.
• Howard Hello - EP: Songs titled "More of the Same" and "Even More of the Same" should be a warning sign, but it's exactly what I wanted. Very similar to his last full length, Don't Drink His Blood. Bleeps, bloops, folk guitars, harmonies. Oh so nice.
• Bloc Party - Silent Alarm: Disappointing. These kids have some real energy, but instead of making a good EP they made a mediocre album, and it's so produced there's almost nothing to hold on to. Even still, it's worth listening to just for the first song, "Like Eating Glass."
• The Decemberists - Picaresque: We nerds have to stick together, yo. "We Both Go Down Together" is the happiest song about lovers dying ever.
• Spoon - Gimme Fiction: Exactly what I wanted in a Spoon album. Makes me tap my feet and sing in falsetto.

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非攻 (Nowise Assault) begins with the voice of Dylan Thomas and Ruben Dario, stretched, altered, and run through vocoders, along with what sounds like a woman reading an instruction manual. It's only after the voices fade away that Nowise Assault begins; with processed tablas and a simple two chord progression.

718 is the pseudonym for Sun Lei; although he's been creating music for some time, this year had the release of his first two albums, Nowise Assault, and its companion 安 (An).

Nowise Assault is- let's be frank- an absurdly competent freshman release. He puts his best foot forward right off. The first full song, "Musician in Zairat," loops subterranean drums in a hazy dub mix, before filling up with indecipherable murmurs and scattershot electronic squeals. Even at its densest, "Zairat" is accessible; even at over fifteen minutes 718 doesn't wear out his welcome.

While "Zairat" is the highlight of the album, the others don't disappoint; "Appoint Eyes Ear and Heart" mixes chimes, bubbling water, and what sounds like breath at the end of a long tunnel. The hypnotic effect isn't broken until "Taoism or Calm," with its smattering of free jazz drums supported by distant bells and echoes of ghosts of hand drums. "Whose Best Right" might just be the first album to successfully incorporate the interference of GSM cell phones.

The rest of the album follows in suit. Hypnotic basslines thrive under the din; looped, reverbed pianos echo, reminiscent of Fridge's post-rock. The album closes with "Like a Rex," a blissfully dense mixture of synthesizer washes and microscopic glitches.

Nowise Assault is deserving of careful listening, and that's the highest praise I can offer to this type of music.

I wish I could be as positive about the sister release.

An is a single track spanning nearly an hour. The cover art lists movements, even if the tracks don't: "brainwave of headache part one," "brainwave of self-hypnosis part two." The music itself is a blend of white noise and muffled, rythmless beats. There is a gentle ebb and flow to the system, but the piece never breaks from this mold- nor does it build into anything memorable.

"Heart-beat," "headache," "relaxation," "self-hypnosis"- this could either be the product of insomnia, or an intended cure for it; but the CD never crosses out of background music.

But one unqualified success and one flawed, but audacious attempt in a year is better than most could hope for, and I have the feeling that 718 is just getting started.

Nowise Assault is out on Subjam records, and An is on Kwanyin. Both are a limited run - 500 and 300 copies, respectively.

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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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Is that a piano, or feedback?

Shanghai artist Susuxx opens Dine Together with 7 People with "Southbridge Fuck", an eerie piece with a staccato high end tone. The effect is slightly disturbing; it keeps the track from ever fully settling into a groove. I think that's the intention, though—to keep the music from becoming a soundtrack. Dine Together..., like its companion, Green Pepper & Cacti, collects four tracks from three artists. Like that collection, it's highly successful.

Susuxx continues with "D Glich." Insectoid chirps and buzzes rise and fall, and the beat stays hidden just below the noise through most of the track. "Wlwlwl" features pleasantly dense synth lines, rattles, and tones.

The second third is taken by Beijing's Me:mo. While Me:mo works with many of the same tools as the others, his music has a distinctively lighter tone. Echoes of glass taps and samples cut off from recognition bounce against each other. "Some Other Things" is highlight here; a softly played acoustic guitar is stretched, diced, and cropped into pieces. The music has shades of Four Tet and Keith Fullerton Whitman, but without the well defined beats of the former or the ambiance of the latter. The music feels permanently in a state of transition. "One Two" contains more glitches and drills, held together by a distorted beat count off; it's a robotic punk band that can't get started. This is music that deserves deep listening.

Saw Test finishes the compilation. Fans of Max Tundra or the Tigerbeat6 gang will feel right at home. "Styuoo" combines ping pong beats with buzzing melodies, rounded off with vocal samples so heavily distorted they sound like pillow talk from Alvin and the Chipmunks. "Zxcc" takes Game Boy melodies out on the town with some fine breakbeats. Your Commodore 64 listens to this music while you're asleep.

Once again, samples from each artist are at the Shanshui web site. Highly recommended.

 Filed Under: Beijing | Reviews | Shanghai | Shenyang
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One of a pair of compilations from Shanshui records, Green Pepper & Cacti collects four songs each from Beijing artists Panda Twin and Dead J (listed as Dead K on the sleeve), along with four from Japan's Bokusatsu Shoujo Koubou.

I've been waiting for a follow-up to Panda Twin's full length on Sub Jam, The Man Who Hated the Shadow. That album's digital-hardcore noise blasts and dark synths were enjoyable, but they didn't hold a candle to the fun, silly, make-you-bounce-up-and-down-while-destroying-your-eardrums assault of their live shows. These four short tracks, totaling less than ten minutes, are just a taste, unfortunately — but they are an excellent glimpse. "Ara (CDR Remix)" starts off with distorted synthesized horns, just enough to unsettle you and leave you unprepared for the avalanche of drum breaks that soon follow. The beats are joined by playful melodies and clipped voice samples. The effect is not unlike a cross between Kid606 and Nobukazu Takemura. "One" is the highlight of this section; this is music to turn up extremely loud, dance around your apartment with your arms flailing, and generally confuse your neighbors.

Dead J/K is one half of Panda Twin, along with Sulumi. Under this moniker he's made some of the most interesting contributions to the previous compilations Landscape, Yellow Peril, and last fall's Charming Playlist. Less melodic than the Panda Twin tracks, these four tracks center around stuttered beats. The Panda Twin connection is evident here, as "3333 3" has a simple synth line repeated throughout. J doesn't take it to the extremes that Panda Twin does, though, even turns out the melancholy, downbeat "4444 4."

Winding up the CD is Bokusatsu Shouju Koubou, who delivers four dark drill&bass tracks. Parts of "Strike" sound like they were recorded in a airplane hangar; the synths seem to hang in the air for eternity, the drums seem to come echoed from every direction. I swear I heard the sound of birds before all the pieces came crashing back together. Koubou has also read Kid606's playbook, but his sense of dynamics is well developed, and the drum barrages generally taper off before they envelope the song. "Darkhorse" doesn't fare as well as the others; the main melody is a bit of a cliche, and "Sleipnir" almost seems like an afterthought.

You don't need to take my word for it, though: Shanshui has three mp3s available, one for each of the artists' sets.

Dine Together with 7 People, the accompanying compilation, is also quite good. Expect a review of that soon.

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