Culture Shock: China, Part I

If I had to choose one word to describe my first visit to China with Barrage last year, it would be: challenging.

But, if I could choose four words, they would be: challenging is an understatement.

Going to China was, unequivocally, the most difficult thing I’ve encountered in my time with the band. And somehow, all of the stories I heard from other band members couldn’t prepare me adequately for what it was like to experience genuine culture shock.

Truth be told, I’ve unconsciously blocked out much of that first visit. In anticipation of returning this past month, band members would share memories of the last year’s three-week tour that seemed merely like stories I’d heard and not events I’d witnessed.

And there’s not one specific reason I reacted the way I did. Somehow, the sum of the many small parts became overwhelmingly greater than the whole.

For me, this accumulation reached its peak during one of our final dinners last year, where the food was not ordered by us but delivered to our table by the restaurant. After the arrival of a duck stir-fry with the fried head included, and a cooked cow’s calf (the portion of the leg, not the offspring) with the hoof still on, the only way I could deal with the meal was to not: I broke down at the dinner table and spent the rest of the meal waiting in the bus.

So, as this year’s four-week trip to China approached, I actively resolved to become aware of positive, awesome things about China.

And while existing in a culture far different than our own still presented some difficulties, I’m ecstatic to share that I legitimately enjoyed this year’s China tour! 

China definitely has a special place in my heart.

In preparation for blogging about China, I made lists of the things I like and dislike about being there. After analyzing these lists, I grouped some of the specifics into larger categories. This may seem like an overly clinical way to talk about my experiences in China…and it probably is. But, as I think you’ll see, there are so many stories and details to share that it's probably easier to digest them all in organized portions.

I’ll begin by dealing with the two most substantial categories, both of which concern how we, as people and performers, interact with the Chinese.

Language

Mandarin is a pitched language, which means the way you inflect a word determines its meaning. For example, the word for “water” is shuǐ, which falls and then rises (in phonetic spelling, the direction of the accent indicates this). However, if you say shuì, falling, it means “sleep”; shuí, rising, means “who.” 

This becomes especially challenging for us non-pitched language speakers, because we use inflections in a different way. As a demonstration, ask out loud, “Can I have a glass of water?” You probably rose in pitch as you finished saying “water,” because that’s how Americans tend to ask questions. [I specify Americans here because, for what it’s worth, British tend to inflect down when asking questions.]

Now, imagine you are in China and a waitress says something to you at the beginning of the meal. Assuming she’s asking you what you’d like to drink, you say the letters you know for “water”: shui. However, being unsure of your pronunciation, you’ll probably say it by asking it as question and letting the pitch rise: shuí. The waitress will look confused because she heard you say, “who.” Still unsure, but knowing she didn’t understand, you’ll keep repeating/asking shuí, and she’ll keep hearing “who.” Fortunately, you’ll then remember the pitch issue, realize you’re saying it wrong, and issue your new pronunciation like a declamatory statement: shuì. “Sleep.” Out of distress, you’ll lose all awareness of how you’re actually inflecting the word, and start repeating the letters until you unintentionally say shuǐ, and the waitress, excited to finally understand you, repeats shuǐ knowingly.

This is just a basic example of the language difficulties encountered daily. You would think a waitress would realize sooner you simply mispronouncing the word for "water," but it just doesn’t work that way. Which, if you imagine the reverse, is somewhat logical: if a Chinese person couldn’t remember the translation for shuǐ and said “who” or “sleep,” you would similarly have no idea what he or she was trying to say. Even though the consonant and vowel sounds are the same, they process pronunciation in a completely different way: shuí and shuì sound just as different to them as "who" and "sleep" do to us.

Strangely enough, pantomiming and charades don’t seem to cross this language barrier, either. We’ve tried multiple times to ask for menus at a restaurant by opening our hands like a book, which seems logical to us, but waiters don’t seem to understand until we gesture to an actual menu. In Beijing, I mimed for a group of hotel receptionists, quite shamelessly, pulling a piece of toilet paper off of a roll and wiping my bum to indicate I needed toilet paper…but they didn’t understand. I then did the same charade for a man who even spoke a few words of English, and he didn’t understand, either. [Eventually, I just went to the lobby bathroom, rolled toilet paper around my hand, and ripped it off when I felt we had enough for the day.]

Even with these idiosyncrasies, being an English speaker in China still provides for some wonderful interactions. The Chinese, perhaps more than any other people with whom I've interacted, are incredibly eager to practice their English. It's common for people, quite boldly, to walk up to you and initiate conversation in English. This confidence is encouraged early: one of my favorite things is when little kids wave and yell "hello!", just because it's the only English word they know. Ordering at restaurants is often comical, too, because multiple waitresses will come to your table to help take your order. The waitresses try to be polite and demure, but it’s often so confusing that it becomes hilarious for everyone involved.

And the looks on some of their faces when we say basic things like hello (nǐ hǎo), thank you (xiè xiè), or goodbye (zài jiàn), are priceless. Shocked that we know basic pleasantries, they get a real kick out of hearing a Westerner speak Mandarin, chuckling and repeating our accented pronunciations.

Performance

One of the lowest points in my trip last year was the final week, in which we had 8 shows, in 8 cities, in 7 days. Every day had an early call and involved a plane flight or a long bus/train trip. (One morning we even played a full show in the Shanghai Oriental Arts Center at 10:30 a.m., and then flew to another city for a full show that night.)

The schedule alone was exhausting. But, for the first time in my two years with the band, going on stage truly felt like work.

I know that probably sounds strange, but I say it as a testament to two things: 1) just how much fun performing with this group of people is, even 40+ weeks a year, and, 2) just how difficult touring in China can be.

As I’ve written about previously, one of the coolest things about performing in all these different places is experiencing different cultures from the stage. And, without a doubt, Chinese audiences experience the arts from a completely different head-space.

I can’t think of the perfect analogy, but I’d say the way Chinese audiences attend concerts is akin to the way you attend a sporting event. Need to catch up with your friend? Chat away! Need to take that phone call? Go right ahead! Want to remember this performance forever? Pull out that camera!

They’re somehow only spectators, not participants in the performance.

Yet, it’s easier to block out these behaviors than to keep the energy up throughout the show. On a global scale, Chinese audiences tend to act conservatively: you get around 5-7 seconds of polite applause after a song. Alternatively, we’re conditioned to American audiences, who are among the most rowdy, screaming, whistling, and applauding heartily. The amount of energy we receive from the audience directly helps get us through shows. For us, the relationship we want (and need) with the audience is symbiotic: we give you energy, you give us energy back, and the cycle continues for the benefit of all.

So, after multiple shows in a row, with flying and early calls every day, and little energy output from the audience, performing nightly on a high level becomes incredibly hard. I, personally, feel more tired after a show in this situation; creating the necessary energy on my own, internally, requires a different type of focus and effort than drawing upon what the audience gives and building off of it.

But, China is a changing country. And we get the unique opportunity to observe that change, first-hand, from the stage.

Case-in-point: this tour marked the first time in Barrage's numerous visits to China that the band gave a second encore.

And we didn’t just give one second encore...we gave three.

Three!

The first time it happened, I actually missed the beginning because the idea of a second encore wasn’t even on my radar. I had already taken off my violin’s wireless pack and was back in the dressing room when I heard Charlie’s kick drum start booming in the distance.

Furthermore, I grew to love two specific traits of Chinese audiences:

1) While Chinese audiences tend to clap along only on every beat (even if you demonstrate otherwise), the commitment with which they clap is impressive.

2) Chinese audiences, in the lobby, are among the most polite. The kids, especially the surprising number who speak English, usually say "please" or "thank you" when we sign CDs and posters. (American children, on the other hand, say "please" and "thank" you much less than you might want to imagine...)

The audiences this year were truly incredible.  

Xiè xiè, China!