Tree Village and Beijing Underground
By Greg Yang
8/15/10
0. Introduction
This paper attempts to reveal the lifestyles and life-attitudes of Beijing underground rock artists and analyze the various geographical patterns, including settlement, migration, and organization, associated with them. A special focus is placed on Tree Village and its surroundings. The time frame stretches from mid-1990s to mid-2000s. To my regret I am not able to gather primary sources through first-hand field study in Beijing. Nevertheless I have found a myriad of sources and data that have been very enlightening on this matter.
1. The Underground Community(ies)
There are a few consistent themes in the Chinese (and especially Beijing, which will form the basis for the analysis below) rock scene: among them are overground vs. underground; community vs. individuality; and conformity vs. marginality. The fringe nature of underground rock movement necessitates a network of interconnectivity among its musicians for several reasons:
1) The Beijing underground of late 1990s and 2000s is formed by out-of-towners 外地人 who are attracted to the cultural capital. This city offers the biggest pool of rock audiences and the only rock and roll school in the entire nation -- the Midi School of Music. In fact the school proved so instrumental in uniting musicians from around the nations that the famous poet and music critic Yan Jun once remarked that "If it would change its name to Midi Music Association, I don't think anyone would object" (Yan 2002). But common Beijingers have a deep-seated prejudice against these out-of-towners that roots in the historical political and cultural dominance of the capital. They treat them as uncouth heathens and to an extreme even inferior citizens (I remember suffering some of this prejudice at school back in the 90s). This is not unlike the attitude of city dwellers toward industrial newcomers from the countryside in early cities. Thus their common exclusion was cause for their mutual inclusion in the underground rock community.
2) Beijing society (and indeed that of any other major cities in China) is extremely complex. Dead corners are everywhere. Without the right connection, it's horrifyingly easy for an outsider to be conned. Particularly, rockers need to know the right people to play for and the right places to play at. Even if they can find these eventually, having connections significantly saves their time, which, given their general poorness and lack of a second job other than playing music, is money that goes into their basic amenities. So again, the insider-outsider complex also forces them to bunch together.
3) Last but not the least, their common rock spirit forms the inherent bond of the community. The underground shares the same disgust toward commercialization, and often times toward the brainwashing nature of the mainstream (of course, with the irony that the underground is constantly incorporated by the mainstream). They play not for mass consumption, but for fans who appreciate their music --- in other words, they do not seek to persuade, but only to express meaning and unmeaning to those who wish to interpret, those who already possess the rock spirit. A running joke in Beijing says, “Metal bands play for themselves; punk bands play for the next band,” and another goes, “Any Beijinger who listens to rock has probably already formed his or her own band” (“Beijing Underground”).
Let me qualify this seemingly united front of the underground. In truth, the underground despite a monolithic appearance is diversely fragmented by subgenres, especially in the extremal forms like death metal and hardcore punk and even hip-hop. It’s furthermore fragmented by geography which is often closely associated with genre. On the national level, the Beijing scene will be more cohesive within itself than with the Wuhan scene; on a municipal level, which is the primary concern of this discourse, two far apart rock villages will intersect much less often than with themselves. But regardless, the spirit of experimentation and pioneering pervades the entire body, and interplay between subgenres are not unusual, as exemplified by the song 《都别废话》 ("Shut the Fuck Up") by Twisted Machines and the rapper IN3, which remarks: “摇滚和hip-hop没有冲突 (There's no conflict between rock and hip-hop).”
(From here on, this essay deals with geography more intensively, and for your reading ease, a Google map is provided here.)
2. Historical Background
The cohesion of the underground both leads to and is a result of its geographic congregation. Historically, Emperor Kang Xi in 18th century built the summer palace Yuanmingyuan 圆明园and his son Qian Long encouraged its settlement of artists and built it up as a cultural hearth of the nation. This was all destroyed by European Imperial powers in the Second Opium War in 1856-1860. But in late 1980s and early 1990s, a second wave of artists settled in it and recreated the palace as a center of avant-garde art. Among the settlers mingled some poor rock students of Midi. Even though this art village was closed down by the Beijing government in 1995, the spirit of community remained, and its artists dispersed elsewhere to join existing or to create new ones.
At the same time around 1989, a small group of rockers centered themselves around Xi San Qi 西三旗, the base of Cao Ping (a famous rock instructor); among them was the fledgling precursor of Tang Dynasty (“Band Data”). Sometime during mid-1990s rockers also gathered around Dong Bei Wang 东北旺, to the west of Xi San Qi.
According to Jereon Groenewegen, year 1997 saw the emergence of a new rock community centered in the Tree Village 树村 as discussed above (55). This group along with Dong Bei Wang is largely formed by out-of-towner rock artists around the country. (Prominent among them was the band Tongue whose role in the underground formed the basis for Groenewegen’s master thesis.)
3. Geographical Visualization and Factors of Migration and Settlement
All of the above communities mentioned dot(ted) around northwest or north Beijing just inside or outside the 5th ring. To get a contemporaneous sense of their geography (much of which has changed in the rapidly developing city that is Beijing), let me translate a passage from “No, Tree Village is Not Utopia” by the music critic and researcher Yan Jun (I have provided the Chinese characters of important place, people, and band names after the English names) :
From the west gate of Qinghua University head north, pass the stinky the river on the left and the piano factory on the right, and you’ll reach Tree Village. Then after a street you’ll see Hou Ying后营--- from July 1998 on groups of Midi students settled in here and made it a lively village. Now head north for another 20 minutes, pass Tree Village Elementary School or Rock Pawn Shop, and if you aren’t hit by the 371 buses that run on the street then you’ll have arrived at the Chrysanthemum Park East Station菊园东站. Then, of course, walk west to reach the park itself. If you don’t mind me jabbering on, walk north for 15 more minutes and you’ll find yourself at a crossroad. Around you are some restaurants, grocery stores, supermarkets, neighborhoods, black cars (taxis without licenses), idle people, dirty water, and, finally, a big sign saying “Dong Bei Wang” 东北旺--- This is the other major rock village.
What should be of your concern right now is the police station 150 meters from here. If you aren’t a legal resident of Beijing, you’ll very likely be jailed in Chang Ping and fined and be deported; however, if you are, let’s continue north through the narrow alleys and spacious streets, passing the Dong Bei Wang Elementary School and the old fishing place, to Gou Bei Tou’s沟北头public bathroom. Immediately turn east and proceed to the end of the road. OK. Tongue practices here ever since August 1998; Wu Tun (translation note: vocalist of Tongue) 吴吞and documentary filmmaker Sun Zhiqiang孙志强lived here for a very long period. Now Wednesday’s Travel星期三的旅行practices here along with Tongue, and also the band members of Sound Fragment声音的碎片and Duke of the Dark Night暗夜公爵live here.
If I haven’t made you dizzy yet, let’s walk back, back to Chrysanthemum Park, and follow the road east, take a few turns --- every road connects to Tree Village, this is just one --- to arrive at Shang Di Hi-tech Development Zone Road Island上地高新技术开发区上地环岛(translation note: a disk in the middle of a road conjunction like that of the Arc de Triomphe). Head East, and before you pass Shang Di Bridge上地桥, look south. This is Midi School’s 3rd address. After 10 minutes of car ride, you’ll reach Xiao Ying Traffic Island小营环岛 --- from 1998 to 1999, Zuo Xiao Zu Zhou左小祖咒lived near Qing River清河to the south of here --- and then西三旗环岛Xi San Qi Traffic Island. To the east is Long Xiang龙乡where the band Autumn’s Worms秋天的虫子lives and where Xie Tian Xiao谢天笑of Cold-Blooded Animals冷血动物and the unsuccessful folk singer Yi Wu尹吾lived in the past. Now let’s walk some more and then turn north, snake our way through Huang Tu Dian’s黄土店weedy greens and railway tracks, and park our car at Hua Long Yuan South Subdivision华龙苑南里小区. What you are seeing right now is Huo Ying霍营 (translation note: this is different from Hou Ying). It’s not on the maps because it’s a new rock community. From late 2000 to early 2001, following Xiao Zhu (translation note: a friend of the author) and Tongue’s move here, about 30 to 50 other musicians broke Wang Fan’s王凡peace of 3 years --- before it was only him, enjoying a panoramic view of the sceneries.
Note that this article was written in 2002, and if you followed the map while reading, you’ll find a few places like the elementary schools that don’t exist on the map and a lot more development on the map than the area seemed as described by the passage (and, of course, Huo Ying is on the map now). The major difference though is the different locations of Midi School now and then. As Yan Jun mentions later in the same article, the proximity to Midi School was a major factor in the congregation of artists in Tree Village, Hou Ying, and Dong Bei Wang. Recall the connecting role of Midi discussed above: Midi’s reputation involves not only its education of modern music but also its building of connections between musicians from around the country. As this reputation grows through its infant years in Shuang An building in the People’s University to its 3rd address at Shang Di industrial development district, it truly became an “association” and attracted musicians to settle in at its vicinities. Moreover, 1993 to 2000 constituted the formative years of the new underground, and Midi acted as a central directory to the insides of this community.
Yan Jun asserts in the same article that the main reason for settling in Tree Village and its surroundings was the cheap housing. He gave the example of his friend Xiao Zhu: Zhu rented a place at 120 RMB per month (about 14.50 USD in 2000, or 17.50 USD today), and all other bills per month totaled about 150 RMB (about 18 USD in 2000, or 22 USD today). So the total expense was only 250 RMB, quite cheap for Beijing standards. We must remember that all of these rock musicians are barely --- or not --- economically self-sufficient:
Every Chinese New Year, the musicians can’t find enough travel fare, so many of them sell their instruments or their clothes to go home. They adopt a sadhu-like lifestyle. Put on an arbitrary outfit and they are good to go. But they want to be avant-garde within the financial restriction, so having long hair became one of their most prominent expressions. The food is even scarcer and poorer. If one is fortunate, then ramen (translator’s note: instant noodles) everyday, and maybe real noodles every 10 days or half-a-month. The majority of these musicians are stuck with 50-cent vegie buns for 10 to 20 days at a time. The least fortunate of them can only get half-catty (translator’s note: a catty is about 500 grams) lao bing (translator’s note: lao bing is a pastry shaped like a pancake but may be salty instead of sweet http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laobing) with cold water. According to them, in the hardest times, surviving a week with only 2 dollars isn’t uncommon.
Here 90% of the people depend on their families wiring money. Unless absolutely necessary, they do not apply for jobs so that they can focus solely on their music. Thus the older ones here who cannot in good conscience ask for money from their families anymore suffer the most.
There are two kinds of musicians: one is called “Show Runner赶场” --- these people perform at the bars few times each week. The pay is inconsistent. Sometimes there’s not much left after the taxis. People of the other kind focus all their energy on their music. According to them this is the real rock spirit. They are aloof from the “show runners,” but their living conditions are often much worse. (“Beijing Underground”)
Indeed what differentiates these rockers from beggars is often the fact that they sleep under roofs. Thus the low housing price is absolutely essential at the least as storage places for instruments and equipment.
The third reason for which the bands find Tree Village and its surroundings suitable for settlement is, contrary to what the average person would like when seeking new houses, its “low-tech and low-key” --- the lack of rules and of neighbors who would yell at the noise (Yan, “No”). The artists find themselves at the fringe of (mainstream) culture, their art unaccepted by the majority, and their persons unwelcome in most neighborhoods. After all, rock is an imported form of art. Its lifespan in China has merely 30 years. Only a limited amount of artists entered the mainstream: Cui Jian, Black Panther, Tang Dynasty, etc. But these old guards quickly faded away in the last decade of 20th century, and rock was not entirely assimilated into the mainstream consciousness even of the city. Only in the outskirts of the city are houses (as opposed to apartments in the inner city; albeit probably smaller in size than the apartments) that offer enough space between neighbors to mediate the intensity of sound; only in the outskirts can the population density be low enough that a neighborhood association doesn’t exist to bother these musicians.
4. Case Study – Tongue
The story of Tongue illustrates the typical (as much as “typical” can be defined for such a heterogeneous population) out-of-towner band living in the rock slums of Beijing. The band consists of vocalist Wu Tun吴吞, guitarists Zhu Xiaolong朱小龙and Li Hongjun李红军, bassist Wu Junde吴俊德, Keyboardist Guo Dagang郭大纲, and drummer Li Dan李旦. All members hail from Xinjiang, a controversial region of clashing cultures. According to an interview between Jereon Groenewegen and the band, Li Dan and Zhu Xiaolong enrolled in Midi in 1995 and 1994 respectively, and Wu Tun wandered into Beijing to search for saw-cut tapes (a form of pirated oversea records; Yan Jun elaborates on their impact on Chinese rock in the essay “Iron Blood or Robber Sweat --- Looking Back at Ten Years of Rock” in his book UnderGroundGround). All three lived near Yuanmingyuan, the budding art village, though none of them knew each other then. Back in Xinjiang, Li Dan passed the exam to perform with an opera crew, receiving government salaries, while Zhu Xiaolong and Wu Junde worked in factories. After gaining experience in separate cover bands, the 6 finally got together, and Tongue was born in Urumqi, Xinjiang. They initially lived in a small shack built by Wu Junde’s father. After a productive period of music creation and practice, they decided to challenge Beijing’s cultural authority and to immerse themselves in its vast music-related resources.
At first they practiced in the basement of Midi School in Shangdi (refer to the map) and lived, the 6 of them, in a single room with one bed. In 1998 they moved to Tree Village, in 1999 to Dongbeiwang, and in 2002 to Huoying. They eventually got their own separate rooms but still used the public bathroom, and sometimes even bathed in the Tree Village Lake. Wu Tun, accustomed to his vagabond life, insisted on living with friends instead of having his own place.
Village life could be basically broken down to rehearsal, eat, and sleep. Occasionally, the band members fought with local thugs. Sun Mengjing, a Shanghaiese music commentator, remarked:
At the time [1999] they were fighting regularly, you could tell by their appearance. ... They had a rather strong sense of justice 仗义 , [they had] a sense of justice and were vigorous and upright 血气[literally, 'blood and pneuma'], as vigorous and upright as steel 血气方刚. They would often see things they did not understand or despised, and would immediately take action. Maybe that is a good way [of life], it is not a way I object to. (Groenewegen, 58)
Thus in some way, the band, and similarly the other artists who make up these communities, exchanged security and safety for their “low-key” and cheap housing. In pursuit of these values, Tongue’s move north escapes from, and thus parallels, the expansion of Beijing’s development and the incorporation of hinterlands into its central network. This partly explains why the order of the peak prosperity and liveliness of these communities accords with the distance from the center.
A look at the relationship status of the band members reveals interesting things. In general, each of these rock villages is/was almost homogeneously male, hence the difficulty to find a partner in most cases. Tongue’s members, however, have better luck than most other similarly situated musicians. Li Dan, Li Hongjun, and Wu Junde’s girlfriends are also involved in music themselves. Zhu Xiaolong has a French girlfriend, who got in touch with Beijing music scene through Zuoxiao Zuzhou. Wu Tun’s girlfriend is a writer and graduate of Lanzhou University. Guo Dagang wed a Beijing woman. With the increased fragmentation propelled by the privacy required by each pair, the band members have all moved into more “family friendly” apartments or yards. This slow disintegration illustrates a phase gone through by all bygone teenage rock artists. (Groenewegen 55-60)
One time in 1999 Yan Jun had dinner at a local restaurant with the band and other friends, and, recounting, he remarked that the money for the meal was pooled from everybody, and such luxury was far from the routine for them. The two most popular restaurants there, contrary to popular belief, did not host tattooed skinheads every day. More characteristic of them was their acceptance of Eat-Now-Pay-Later, which was perhaps the only plausible business model in these neighborhoods. (Yan, “No”) Sun Mengjin had a similar experience with the band. In a conversation with Groenewegen, he tells:
What impressed me deepest was, when I went there in 2000 that they had a custom 习惯 of buying each other dinner. Tongue went to Shanghai to play and earned a few hundred RMB, it was only a few hundred. When they went back they bought dinner. The restaurants there were very cheap; sometimes they would occupy several tables. When I went there and they heard about it --- because maybe we have more money than they have, a steady income because of our jobs --- they would say: Sun Mengjin arrived, and then thirty, forty people would come. The people I did not know would be introduced, one after the other. Everybody would be drinking and talking. That vibe is very free. To them, if there would be someone that bought them dinner every day, they could live! (Laughter) They were all like that, including Wu Tun, he often did not have any money. Even nowadays, these things are not becoming better easily. (Groenewegen 58)
Sun’s description reinforces the image of poor young artists relying on each other for survival. It also reveals the brotherhood-like solidarity between the bands in Tree Village and other rock communities. There wasn’t a concept of wealth: bands earn and spend; if there are leftovers, they share them with the other struggling musicians. They lived in the present as long as there was music. The free “vibe” proved fundamental in the co-evolution of themselves, their music, and the rock communities.
Often over tabletops some rumors were created and slipped. One claimed that Muma 木马 members received $1000 living allowance every month. It probably started when people observed that they moved from shacks into an apartment. But of course, that sum of money never existed. In 2000, someone broke Muma’s practice room lock, so they moved out of Dongbeiwang, sold some equipment, and disappeared to write new songs. The money for the apartment probably came from their secondhand sales. Another rumor quite unrealistically charged that Yaksa ate out every dinner. (Yan, “No”) In truth, Yaksa did not fare much better than the rest of bands in Tree Village. Instant-noodles were more the common meal. In addition to providing snippets of Tree Village’s daily noise, these buzzes, like the matches of the Little Match Girl, testified the musicians’ battle with hunger, malnutrition, and poverty.
5. Ideological Unity and the Controversy of Beijing Rocks
There’s of course a strong correlation between their congregation and their shared ideologies. But it’s not clear whether this commonality was a cause, a result, or both, of the rise rock villages. Yan Jun claims that “their assemblage at and movement between [Dongbeiwang, Tree Village, and Huoying] has only to do with cheap housing and other convenience but not music style or philosophies” (Yan, “No”).
Yet, one cannot ignore the fact that Tree Village is impressed upon most people as the hearth of the Nu-Metal movement in Beijing. Miserable Faith moved in in 1998 and Yaksa followed soon after, initiating a tidal wave of Metalcore acts (in the context of Beijing rock, Nu-Metal and Metalcore are interchangeable; the sound resembles that of Korn more than likes of Rage Against the Machine or Linkin Park). Tree Village became famous at the peak of the movement in 2000. Though, beneath the blanket of newspaper stories on the nu-metal explosion, the Village actually quite a heterogeneous mix of styles. Autumn’s Worms and Hang On The Box, two critically acclaimed indie bands, practiced at Tree Village. Muma and PK14, renowned for their energetic, intelligent postpunk sound, resided there at one time or another. Other musicians have entirely uncategorizable styles, like Xiao He and his improvisational performances. Again, the line between causation and effect becomes blurred here. One certainly cannot view Tree Village as a monolithic nu-metal oasis, nor can one refute the significance nu-metal plays in its identity.
However, in the incident of Beijing Rocks the musicians of Tree Village definitely demonstrated philosophical unity. In 2000, Hongkongese director Zhang Wanting came to Tree Village to film a movie, temporarily titled Beijing Rocks. At first the Villagers embraced the effort and helped in designing costumes, providing actors, and arranging dialogues. But soon, they discovered that the script was nothing like they imagined. It featured a commercialized romance in the backdrop of Beijing underground rock, and reflected nothing of the lifestyle, philosophies, and attitudes of the underground community. Yan Jun drafted a “Declaration of Tree Village” representing the Villagers that annulled their cooperation with the film crew as much as law allows. (A translation of the document by Groenewegen is attached to the end of the essay.) The document collected the signatures of some 50 bands and artists in the Village, including now renowned Miserable Faith, Ruins, Yaksa, Xiao He, among others. Thus one can argue that it indeed has the authority to voice for every Villager the following thoughts:
First, we believe that what this movie offers is another misunderstanding about the whole underground scene, and no real concern; Second, we believe that, just like music, movies do not only give people diverting entertainment, [and] we wish with a truthful attitude to decide if we participate in a work in which form substitutes content; Third, we believe that in our music, lyrics, conduct, and attitude in life we have from the beginning to the end opposed the harm inflicted on society and individuals by commercial culture and mainstream culture, therefore we see no reason to join in activities that would be self-contradictory; Finally, we believe that China's rock music will, just like in other countries, mean enormous profit and capital for the commercial system, but the barely emerged underground rock does not intend to do as the previous generation did, overhasty in joining the mainstream it once opposed. (Groenewegen, 152)
The first point clearly echoes the theme of underground vs. overground and the marginality of the underground. The second point compacts the issue of meaning, unmeaning, and trivial meaning in the phrase “form substitutes content.” By its stand, the Villagers swear against brainless entertainment and at the same time implying that their work possesses certain substance lacking in the mainstream. In fact in their own music, content sometimes completely subdues form, and music labels often only look at the characters expressed by the lyrics (Wang Yi, Music in China at the End of the Century: Postmodernism and Contemporary Music, 181). The third point, perhaps the keystone to the entire passage, declares their eternal resistance of “commercial” and “mainstream” culture. This resistance both bonds the Villagers together, as discussed in section 1, and disjoins them from the overground. The declaration connects all the aforementioned choices --- “low tech and low key,” poverty, comradeship, the escape from urban sprawl, and so on --- made by the musicians into a coherent direction that led them to settle in Tree Village and its surrounding neighborhoods. The final point highlights an inescapable fact: that the underground eventually will be incorporated into the mainstream regardless of how much resistance it puts up. It attempts to delay this inevitable process, holding fast to the ideological purity of underground rock, away from the contamination of commercialization.
They then proceed to qualify but as a result sharpen their claim against commercialism:
We wish to improve our living conditions, and are looking forward to seeing our music broadcasted, sold and commercially handled. But the greatest joy of being human and being a musician is striving to get as much freedom as you can, especially freedom of thought and spirit. (Groenewegen, 153)
These musicians do not despise commercialization as much for its compensations in exchange for products and the vast resources for spreading their work than that it devours their musical voice and thus their freedom of expression and spirit. The choice between money and independence poses a constant seduction, but they unite in placing “freedom” as the highest level of joy for which they are willing to sacrifice their “living conditions” and the chance for their music to be “broadcasted, sold, and commercially handled.”
“Being human is just like being a musician, that is the hardest thing,” they summarize (Groenewegen, 154).
6. The Demise
Despite the heroic front summoned against the invasion of the mainstream, the Tree Village itself eventually met its end. The exact reasons perhaps cannot be traced, but the rapid urban expansion certainly has forced out bands toward farther hinterlands. This only seems to confirm the low life-expectancy of art villages, following the death of Yuanmingyuan and Dongbeiwang.
Yet the talents that made up these communities, though maybe evolved through the years or separated from the bands for which they were famous for, still live on. Huoying seems to be the last place in the vicinity of Tree Village and Dongbeiwang to hold on to a large population of rock artists. But at the turn of the 21st century’s first decade, it too faces an imminent disappearance.
Recently, Tongzhou (see map), a region in East Beijing, surfaced as a punk district following the hardcore band Demerit’s song “T.Z.Generation.” But details otherwise remain obscure about Tongzhou punk, and likely it is nowhere as united as Tree Village was.
Thus it seems that rock communities as geographical units have gradually phased out. The strides made by communication technology may have decreased the necessity to congregate physically. Also, over the past decade, local scenes in Chengdu and Shanghai, for example, have matured much, diverting streams of out-of-towners.
Nevertheless, Chinese rock continues to progress. Tree Village nurtured many ideas and effected many sound experiments that are still influential today. Some yesterday Villagers such as PK14 and Xiao He have even received favorable publicity in the Western market.
Works Cited
"Band Data: Tang Dynasty." Sina.com. Web. 15 Aug. 2010.
"Beijing Underground and Tree Village." Chinaculture.org. 24 Jan. 2006. Web. 15 Aug. 2010.
Groenewegen, Jereon. "Tongue - Making Sense of Beijing Underground Rock, 1997-2004." Thesis. Leiden Institute of Area Studies, 2005. Docin.com. Web. 15 Aug. 2010.
Yan, Jun. "No, Tree Village Is Not Utopia." Scene. Tianjin: Tianjin Social Science Academy Publications, 2002. Qi Chao's Blog. 18 Nov. 2009. Web. 15 Aug. 2010.
Yan, Jun. UnderGroundGround. 2002. RockinChina.com. Web. 15 Aug. 2010.
Appendix: Declaration of Tree Village
Written by Yan Jun
Translated by Jereon Groenewegen
Edited by Greg Yang
A couple of months ago a movie with Beijing underground rock as setting is being prepared in Beijing. This is also Beijing Rocks (working title) about which there is much ado within the rock scene. It is directed by the Hong Kongese female director Zhang Wanting [Mabel Cheung], joined by famous movie stars. As a commercial movie, it contains the successful components of celebrities, love, commercial rock and alternative youths. The dress, language, performance and housing of underground bands will be important decorations of the movie’s setting.
The film crew and a lot of underground bands have had contact, they [the film crew] got help from a lot of musicians who participated in the production, the script and as actors. But, in the process of getting into contact with the film crew, getting to know each other and becoming friends, they became disillusioned. Because, while working hard and united with the film crew during the preparation, the participants gradually discovered the same misunderstanding of underground music by commercial culture as always. Just when our companions have signed contracts with the film crew and the movie is about to begin shooting, more and more underground bands that live in Tree Village and Dongbeiwang have clearly understood the following reality:
The creators of this film do not have the ability, nor the commitment, to do as we hoped, to truthfully reflect the life, thought and emotions of underground rock bands. We still respect the conduct and labor of the members of the film crew, and are grateful for the effort they put into getting to know us, but we have no way to remedy the superficial comprehension they have of underground rock. Misunderstandings based on different philosophies of life and attitudes in life cannot be solved by painstaking efforts by the makers or participation by musicians. Our companions can ameliorate the movie's dialogues and hairdos, but they absolutely cannot change the superficial and sensationalist beliefs of the commercial movie. Because we absolutely cannot make the makers comprehend why we choose this life and this music.
After discussion with representatives often bands or so, we seriously declare, under the precondition of breaking no contracts or laws, to terminate cooperation with the film crew of Beijing Rocks. Because in the end we do not want to kill our own form [of expression] with our own hands, reducing underground rock to instruments, dyed hair and tales of the strange. This decision is absolutely not aimed at any individual, nor is it a spearhead against anyone's movie, instead it is the elevation of the discussion to a topic that everybody has wanted to probe for a long time but for which there was no occasion. We can summarize our basically united attitude as following: First, we believe that what this movie offers is another misunderstanding about the whole underground scene, and no real concern; Second, we believe that, just like music, movies do not only give people diverting entertainment, and we wish with a truthful attitude to decide if we participate in a work in which form substitutes content; Third, we believe that in our music, lyrics, conduct, and attitude in life we have from the beginning to the end opposed the harm inflicted on society and individuals by commercial culture and mainstream culture, and therefore we see no reason to join in activities that would be self-contradictory; Finally, we believe that China's rock music will, just like in other countries, mean enormous profit and capital for the commercial system, but the barely emerged underground rock does not intend to do as the previous generation did, overhasty in joining the mainstream it once opposed. This movie is only an interlude in our lives no one wants to exaggerate. What we need to do now, is to take this chance and make clear what the basic attitude of rock bands is.
As for underground bands and underground rock, what we want to say is that no-one forced us to aspire to this way of life, and no-one ever lured us into these material circumstances. Soberly we wish to know everything about today and the future and take full responsibility for our conduct. Underground rock is not only about clothes, make-up and musical forms, nor is it only about being poor and angry. It is --- through reflection and decisiveness --- music with its own opinion about music and the attitudes that lie behind it. Its currents and innovations stem from instinctive needs. We wish to improve our living conditions, and are looking forward to seeing our music broadcasted, sold and commercially handled. But the greatest joy of being human and being a musician is striving to get as much freedom as you can, especially freedom of thought and spirit. What we are discussing now is not only Beijing Rocks, but a fundamental question: The majority of us has left our hometowns to live in the suburbs of Beijing, drinks plain tea, eats simple food, dresses strangely and will probably be playing in disordered little bars for the rest of our lives. What do we do it for? While we never had independent spirits, true emotions, free creation or social justice in any abstract sense, yet when we talk about these topics we are not acting on blind impulses: we know our position is under enormous, ever-present control and seduction. Imitating underground rock is easy, being human is just like being a musician, that is the hardest thing.
No-one can really represent Chinese rock [by themselves], but we sincerely believe that we are one among those [who represent Chinese rock]. We are only representing ourselves, but we are sure that we represent more people. Today, all over the world, in all the corners of Beijing, there are a great number of underground bands. The mainstream-culture controlled market and media both alienate underground rock and select those from their midst that can be transformed into idols and commodities. What underground is, what rock is, has been endlessly argued upon by busybodies who have nothing to do with it. Our action of today is bound to be disputed too. But the most important statement goes without argument: we are no organization, we do not have power, we furthermore neither have the opportunity nor the desire to market ourselves or control others through one-sided show-off, powerful propaganda, compromising exchanges or systemized oppression. We oppose light vulgarity and deceit, oppose the termination of thought. These are no slogans but come from the heart.
