Oops, I Did it Again!

Nothing’s bigger than New Years in China. It’s time for final exams, family reunions and the biggest campus activity of the year. So when you get asked to sing, you can’t say no- not even when it’s in a foreign language. Oops, I did it again: volunteered for another opportunity to be embarrassed. But I knew exactly what I had to sing- the mother of rock songs from the father of Chinese rock: Cui Jian’s “Nothing to my Name.”

In Chinese, “Nothing to my Name” literally means “Don’t even have anything at all.” That’s the way I felt trying to recall the words to this song. My Chinese friends are great, encouraging me back stage (as the event organizers- they were probably more nervous about my performance than me). Just a few weeks earlier I watched these young Chinese karaoke-stars show down their English on the same stage. So they were sympathetic when I swallowed line two of the second verse. But it wasn’t as bad as I thought, in fact, I kinda liked it.

Something happened on that star-studded stage. At first I was blinded by the spotlight. But as the shadows on the audiences’ faces became clear the rock and roll spirit came over me. At first I just swayed a little. Then I walked forward, reached out my hand, pointed my finger- and there was shouts. When I clapped, they clapped. When I turned my ear, they sang. As my grandmother would say, “The devil made me do it.” I pointed a girl in the crowd, an absolute stranger, and she waved back. Oops, I did it again!

Singing “Nothing to my Name,” one might ask, “What don’t you have?” It’s true, the rock star life, the glamour, the girls- it’s seemingly irresistible. But I dare not assert that rock be so base. One could argue that the blues are to touch your heart, jazz is to put a bounce in your step, rap, to make money, country… country is purposeless. But rock, rock is to change the world. Just take this songs author, the father of Chinese rock Cui Jian, for example:

“By combining traditional Chinese instruments and melodic sensitivities with the rhythmic and harmonic cadences of Western rock, Cui Jian deserved the title “Father of Chinese Rock Music,” as he had come to be known at home. Stories about his expulsion from the Beijing Symphony Orchestra for experimenting with Western “cultural pollution”; about his ongoing cat-and-mouse games with the Beijing authorities’ continuing crackdown on unauthorized “underground” performances; and about the army general who mistakenly interpreted Cui Jian’s version of “South Muddy Bay” as a mockery of the revered military song, subsequently banning airplay of Cui Jian songs anywhere in China — all coalesced into what seemed a rock ‘n’ roll mythology worthy of any Western rock star” (Birth of a Beijing Music Scene).

Being a rock star isn’t about lights, waving to girls or wearing glimmering Tang Dynasty shirts. There are people with green Mohawks and enough piercings to be banned by the Federal Travel Authority, but if they don’t have rock, they’re just junk medal. Rock is taking a revolutionary risk, even if it’s in front of an audience. Too many things just stopped rockin’ a long time ago. But we need to squint and stare into the spotlight to make things different. “What is your point?” you ask. Simple: Take a Risk in Two Thousand Six. Oops, I rhymed again.

Dedicated to Cui Jian. Learn more about the “Birth of a Beijing Music Scene” at Frontline’s China in the Red: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/red/sonic/