November 21, 2009

Beijing Rock City

or, Music Teaches Me How to Live My Life

One of my primary concerns about leaving Brooklyn, indie rock epicenter of the world, for the relatively conservative environs of Beijing was that I would be subjecting myself to the padded walls of my existing mp3 collection while the Western world partook in the likes of new Jay-Z remixes, Lil Wayne mixtapes, Yeasayer singles, etc., etc. This, clearly, has not been the case: while Piratebay, Blogspot and Wordpress are strictly off-limits, any number of other services can more or less fill this void with the mellifluous sounds of The xx and Au Revoir Simone. (I even picked up Chinese copies of the new Basement Jaxx and Calvin Harris albums at a record store.)

About three weeks ago, an errant search on Hype Machine led to a fateful click on a link to the subtly-named blog “Fuck Bad Music”. I didn’t find the track I was looking for, but I did discover that one of FBM’s contributors, as far as I can tell, shares my situation: an American (from Portland, OR) who recently landed in Beijing. In her quest to conquer the Beijing rock scene, she finds her way to its latest, greatest outpost: D-22. The name was somewhat familiar from nightlife listings, but I finally got around to checking it out only after reading her review.

While Angel takes comfort in the familiarity of the small-ish venue, I am at a loss for an analog in New York: D-22 is slightly too big to fit the bill as a Lower East Side hotspot and slightly too nice—in that tacky Chinese way—to come off as a word-of-mouth Brooklyn ’space’. To be fair, D-22 could definitely pass for an East Atlanta haunt: the venue attracts a regular (if somewhat scant) mix of bona fide Beijing hipsters, Azn bros, fangirls and a fair proportion of curious expats, despite (or due to?) the fact that the unassuming storefront is tucked away in a strip mall several miles from the city center.

As for the music itself, Chinese rock music is highly (and inevitably) derivative of Western rock music. Still, increasing recognition has substantiated the emergence of a Chinese sound. I had actually downloaded a couple of Hang On The Box and P.K.14 albums a few years back, when I first heard that the Chinese had taken to rock ‘n’ roll, but (if you’ll excuse the forthcoming pretension), as an amateur anthropologist, I believe in collecting ethnographic data before passing judgment—in other words, actually experiencing the subculture.

An initial survey of D-22 suggested that the nascent scene might better be described as pubescent, given the prevalent 90’s alt-rock influence. Any given song might—at best—sound like the band had just discovered Weezer; uninspired Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots or Red Hot Chili Peppers imitations were more common. In retrospect, this was actually a good sign, as it suggested that every subgenre of guitar-based music might see some play in Beijing.

Indeed, subsequent visits have attested the breadth of the Beijing’s punk rock underbelly, and I must admit, to Angel’s point, that I’m about ready to call D-22 home. (Almost literally: the venue happens to be just under a kilometer from where I’m staying. At an average of 30RMB [$4.50] per show, I really have no excuse not to become a fixture at the end of D-22’s bar.)

Thursday’s headliners La Loupe—a couple of sinophilic Oberlin grads—turned out to be quite the winsome pair, contrary to my entirely rational reservations concerning their dubious PR story. On one hand, a band billed as two white hipsters singing predominantly Mandarin lyrics (covering the usual twee territory: 朋友 [friends] and 爱 [love]… just those two things, really) is easily dismissed as a transparent, premeditated or altogether ingratiating gimmick. On the other hand, their predictable folk-duo demeanor—from self-effacing banter to use of melodica—is, at best, considered coffeeshop or college open-mic fare. [For the record, I wrote that line before came across this enlightening Oberlin Review article, which tellingly mentions La Loupe's gig at the college's student-run coffeehouse/venue.]

Yet this curious combination—Chinese lyrics in American voices singing pop melodies over simple four-chord songs—somehow just worked (I say voices and not accents because they actually spoke/sang passable Mandarin). I’m not sure if they resonated with my inner indie-kid or my inner 华人 [Google translates this as Chinaman, which I find acceptable]; perhaps they appealed my hybrid essence and, from an objective standpoint, they really are as contrived as I had originally feared.

Whatever the case, La Loupe happened to attract by far the biggest crowd I’d seen at D-22, perhaps just short of twice the audience of other (presumably lower-profile) shows. As far as I could tell, the balance consisted of expats, who, like myself, had never heard La Loupe before. (Obscure is an understatement: La Loupe turned out 0 Search Results on the likes of Pitchfork and Brooklyn Vegan. Again, the Oberlin article tells all.) Even so, it didn’t take much for the legions of inebriated exchange students (is there any other kind?) to warm up to the band—by the time La Loupe had crammed a dozen two-minute ditties into their prescribed half-hour set (standard length at D-22), they couldn’t help but heed the audience’s chanted demand for “再来一个!” ["One more song!"].

Meanwhile, a concert last week showcased yet another side of Beijing rock: headliners Streets Kill Strange Animals were by far the most avant-garde band I’ve encountered here, alternating between a Television-y post-punk stutter and a dancy take Sonic Youth’s poppy side (or maybe they were just channeling Beijing post-punk poster boys P.K.14). Although I appreciated SKSA for what they were—an inkling of an original Chinese sound—their experimental proclivities failed to hold the interest of an already-flagging audience, despite (again: or due to?) the fact that they play D-22 regularly.

In fact, I, too, was more taken with the second band that night, me灌me, who executed their upbeat tunes with real technical chops and showmanship. Their studied Britpop-revival aesthetic—fuzzy blues à la early Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, inflected with a Franz Ferdinand swing—was as much as I could hope for from a random band at a random gig in the heart of the Middle Kingdom.

Jaded and inflated (if not altogether skewed) New York standards aside, I must say that D-22 is the perfect place for Beijing’s aspiring rock saviors to cut their teeth. For what they lack in originality, the bands seem genuinely happy just to be there: playing their music, on stage, in a dingy club, with an audience—in other words, all the trappings of a real live rock band. As per Rivers Cuomo’s finite wisdom,

In the garage, I feel safe,
No one cares about my ways.
In the garage where I belong,
No one hears me sing this song.

–Weezer, “In the Garage”

In the final analysis, D-22 lives up to its growing reputation as Beijing’s quintessential rock dive. D-22 is a rare venue where no one—management or audience, local or expat—discriminates between folk and glammy spectacle; grunge wannabes share the bill with indie poppers; there are metal nights, student nights, and student metal nights. The club’s underground status only underscores its sense of inclusiveness: it feels like you’re witnessing the start of something big just by being there. CBGB’s it ain’t, but that’s exactly the point: we’re forty years and half a world away.

Finally, I know it’s short notice, but if you Brooklyn kids have nothing better to do tomorrow (Saturday) night, head over to Secret Project Robot for the best $8 show you will see this side of the East River (slash Pacific Ocean). Hell, I might not even get a chance to see P.K.14 in their own damn town.

Beijing REPRESENT.

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