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Tree Village and Beijing Underground

By Greg Yang
8/15/10
8/15/2010 TreeVillage and Beijing Underground Greg Yang

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

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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:
http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&msa=0&msid=102676223201368928949.00048
77330e78c0349526&z=11)

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
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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

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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
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(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

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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)

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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)

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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.
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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
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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
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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.

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Works Cited
"Band Data: Tang Dynasty." Sina.com. Web. 15 Aug. 2010.
<http://ent.sina.com.cn/y/2006-09-28/11261266876.html>.
"Beijing Underground and Tree Village." Chinaculture.org. 24 Jan. 2006. Web.
15 Aug. 2010.
<http://www.chinaculture.org/gb/cn_zgwh/2006-01/24/content_78439.ht
m>.
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. <http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_4a6189870100frb8.html>.
Yan, Jun. UnderGroundGround. 2002. RockinChina.com. Web. 15 Aug. 2010.

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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
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8/15/2010 TreeVillage and Beijing Underground Greg Yang

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
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8/15/2010 TreeVillage and Beijing Underground Greg Yang

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.

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