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As mentioned in a previous blog post, I have a weakness for boxed-sets. It appeals to the collector/completist in me. I’m a sucker for the detail of the packaging and for any alternate takes/bits and pieces that come with some of the best sets. It also makes me happy that I still have the urge to delve headlong into the exploration of composers/artists that I know little or nothing about – following their journeys from start to finish. It all began years ago when, after hearing only one album by Bill Evans (the beautiful I will Say Goodbye) ordered the Complete Riverside Recordings.

I can remember my excitement as my dad went to collect it (and pay for!) from HMV in Bristol and, as I sat in the car waiting in anticipation of a large, lavish box with booklets etc. I was slightly disappointed to receive a much smaller package consisting of three, double-disc jewel cases (each containing four CDs), all housed in a thin card slipcase. This disappointment immediately vanished upon hearing the music, though – and was (and still is) a treasured companion – especially in my last years at secondary school. Soon after moving up to Leeds to study at LCM, I experienced my first real ‘boxed set love’ in the form of Miles Davis’s The Complete Live at The Plugged Nickel 1965:

– an eight-disc set of Davis’s legendary quintet, purchased from Jumbo Records. Beautifully made with fine card booklets in the jewel cases, great photography and extensive analyses of each track (which I found slightly unnecessary and annoying). Once I sat down to listen, I thought nothing the £80 price tag (even though I couldn’t really afford it) – and it is still a set that I never tire from listening to. My shopping lists for food became shorter and shorter – as I spent much of what I’d slaved in the summer holiday before migrating to the north. It was all being spent on boxed sets and was also feeding an insatiable appetite for vinyl – particularly British Jazz from the late 1960’s and 1970’s, but that’s story for another time…

Back to China. I discovered a row of street stalls near the University on the Yanwu Road, a few of them selling CDs (mostly classical) with little or no difference in stock between them. Approaching the first stall I immediately spotted something familiar – Keith Jarrett’s Sun Bear Concerts. GENUINE. £12.

Not bad, right?

At the neighbouring stall I bought Björk’s Biophilia for £1.50 (and got shouted at for not buying anything else!)

and at another bought Mahler’s complete Symphonies for just £15. Again – all GENUINE.

I also bought another copy of Sun Bear for only £6 this time. Most of the stall attendants are quite pushy, except one… Right at the end of the row of stalls was one very kind and gentle chap who definitely wasn’t pursuing the hard sell approach and from whom I bought the Mahler/Jarrett sets, above. All the sets are priced on a per disc basis and with a hassle-free buying atmosphere, I kept returning for more… “Piracy!” I hear you cry! I really don’t think they’re fakes at all. What pirate(s) would go to all the trouble, time and expense of making lavish, glossy boxes/slipcases/booklets etc. for such a niche market? There are a few possible explanations as to how these sets are ending up here:

One theory is that, as an increasing number of western companies are turning to East Asia and China for manufacture, the pressing plants themselves inevitably produce a small quantity of genuine (but not exactly legitimate) ‘extras’ that then mysteriously make their way onto the streets.

At close inspection, I began to detect slight cosmetic imperfections – the sort of blemishes that might prevent these units from passing through quality control or something. For example, on the Mahler set, the box containing the first five CDs is slightly too small for the discs (and the rather thick booklet), has a huge interior crease (which not visible on the exterior) and some slight peeling from the cover overlap:

 

The Shostakovitch set is fine – there’s a slight indent to the back of the box (barely noticeable, really), with discs housed in cheap, blank white paper slipcases (with cellophane window). The discs themselves have some marks/flecks and other imperfections but aside from this work absolutely fine. At £10 for an eleven-disc set I really don’t give a shit about such lilliputian imperfections…

 

 

Amongst the large quantity of classical boxed sets there were also a number impressive sets by Radiohead, The Rolling Stones, Metallica, Bon Dylan et al. and I’d been eyeing up a complete album set by The Beatles, too.

£15.

 

Yes, I know. It’s the Japanese edition of all the albums in stereo, based on the 1987 remasters. Yes, I know the mono set is better for lots of reasons but it wasn’t there to choose from, OK?! (although had it been there I would have bought both of them). Still, the packaging is lush and glossy – with gatefold digipak versions of each album (containing two booklets and archive photography) a two-disc set of past masters and a DVD of mini-documentaries corresponding to each of the albums.

The set was £15. FIFTEEN POUNDS!! I think I can leave my geekery at the door at that price. Setting aside my fetishistic tendencies, it really is all about the MUSIC at the end of the day…

And then there’s the DVD shops I’ve recently discovered… After sending back all the above purchases with some other things I’ve collected during my stay, involving an experience in the post office I DON’T wish to repeat, I will have to forego my desire to purchase yet more complete Cohen Brothers/Kubrick/Polanski/Bergman (a huge 45-disc set!!)/Curb Your Enthusiasm/The Wire/Breaking Bad sets. I restricted my purchasing to just two Criterion Collection DVDs:

 

God, give me the strength to resist any further purchases…

For the last few weeks I have been attending regular rehearsals of the XMNYT (Xiamen Nanyin Troupe), just across the street from my accommodation. Nanyin is one of China’s oldest forms of traditional music, native to this particular area of the country. I had read about Nanyin before my arrival and was keen to experience it firsthand. My introduction to this beautiful music was just over two weeks ago at one of the free Sunday afternoon concerts put on by the XMNYT. One of the first things that struck me was the total absence of clutter – nothing but melody and subtle embellishment exist. All of the pieces follow a set structure (sort of): an introduction, which develops into a slow but unfolding melodic line, gradually gaining momentum at the centre of the piece before giving way to a slower coda section – signalling the close of the piece. As the pieces are typically between seven and fifteen minutes long (and performed from memory), it is staggering how the melodic line is kept in a constant state of development, exhibiting little sign of repetition.

Nanyin is comprised of vocal (Qu), divertimento (Zhi) and instrumental (Pu) pieces – utilising only one scale, which I scribbled down in my notebook whilst listening to the performance:

 

I subsequently found that traditional Nanyin notation is comprised of beautifully-notated Chinese characters within what I would describe as a sort of Nanyin ‘fake book’ (to use the Jazz nomenclature):

This immediately laid to rest any thoughts that I might have been able to communicate any compositional intentions with traditional wetsren notation! However, a problem of a different kind had become immediately apparent: that the marriage of a well-tempered instrument with fixed tuning (such as the modern piano) with non-well-tempered traditional instruments (with far more flexible or fluid tuning options) is not going to be an easy one! Brighton-based composer, musician and inventor Geoff Smith, has invented a piano that will at last free the instrument from its hallowed place within the institution of the western classical tradition (and from the shackles of ‘fixed’ tuning) forever – The Fluid Piano™. Take a look at the videos of this incredible instrument on The Fluid Piano™ YouTube channel (and for sales enquiries write to Geoff at fluidpiano@gmail.com).

As for my involvement with the Xiamen Nanyin Troupe, I have decided that, rather than engage in the action of trying to write and perform my own compositions with the XMNYT, or even write solo piano compositions in the style of Nanyin (which I think would be a rather crass thing to do on many levels); I would instead absorb and deepen my relationship with this music not only through daily listening at XMNYT but also by seeking out other Nanyin performers, looking at how this music exists in different contexts and performance settings, trusting my own sense of musical atavism to guide my interpretations of these influences by way of intuitive improvisational performances that will hopefully sit contiguously alongside this ancient music.

 

There’s a lot of ‘exercising’ going on in Xiamen, although it’s not the kind of exercise as we know it – based on my observations: people flinging their arms over opposite shoulders whilst walking (this is sometimes augmented by forcibly banging both hands together), slamming fists simultaneously downward upon both thighs whilst sat down, walking/jogging backwards (swinging arm gestures optional). There seem to be classes for such activities held in Zhongshan Park (as seen in the previous video post, Xiamen Wanderings – 27/02/12), and every night I am treated to a kind of dance class that takes place just inside the park’s west gate, whose incessant playlist has so far remained unchanged, night after night after night after night… (maybe I should get out more in the evenings – or, take along my own playlist of tunes for them to dance to?!).

Actually, I do do my best to escape the noise (not even my practice room at the university is immune) and take refuge in Xiamen’s numerous quiet spots to do a spot of running every night around the lake (Yundang Waihu) up at Bailuzhou Park, either by winding my way there via the busy Xiahe Rd. and across to the seafront; or straight up the Douxi Rd. (type ‘Xiamen’ into the Walk Jog Run website to view the mortbutane routes!).

Running along these streets/roads is definitely NOT for the faint-hearted. As nobody seems to walk on the pavements very much here one would think that this would be the perfect place to run – not really, since many of the small shops that line the streets often spill out and extend onto the pavement, leaving the road (and sometimes the oncoming traffic!) the only option. It’s been great for sharpening one’s reflexes and I’ve got quite good at overtaking people riding electric bicycles, dodging people stepping out without looking where they’re stepping, car doors opening suddenly, cars pulling in and out without warning or due care and attention… The concept of giving way in the traditional sense is non-existent, as is any good measure of tolerance towards pedestrians.

Perhaps this lack of awareness is what led to quite a bad smash I witnessed at a crossroads on the way to the university the other day. The van in the video just ploughed straight into the silver car after at least 3-4 seconds of tire squeal. Too fast, too late. I’m surprised that I don’t see this kind of thing happening more often. I really like the laid-back anarchy of this place most of the time. Everything works, everything flows – even if it is against all the rules – whatever they are?

Also encountered were various street stalls selling a large and good-quality selection of CDs. Mostly classical. LOTS of boxed-sets, to which I am VERY susceptible. Amongst the gems were lots of ‘complete’ sets: Shostakovitch Symphonies, Beethoven String Quartets, Vladimir Horowitz recordings, complete Herbert von Karajan on Detusche Grammophon, Radiohead, various Beatles boxed sets, Keith Jarrett – Sun Bear Concerts £7. Yes, £7. Much of them are priced on a per disc basis, so a 10-disc set = £10 – and so it goes. I bought this 16-disc set for just £15 – not bad considering it’s around the £50-70 mark elsewhere online.

Nice to have the booklets and the nice artwork, isn’t it? The best part about it is that they are all GENUINE. There are various theories about how and why these items have been allowed to make it onto a street stall on the outskirts of Xiamen city centre. I’m just glad I’ve happened across them. I’ll be going back there for many more before I leave…

On a final note, I discovered one food item that definitely didn’t like me: Red Date Yoghurt. I bought an eight-pack, thinking that it would be nice – you know, I’d hastily glanced at the packaging in an overwhelmingly-busy supermarket and from the packaging just assumed that it might be something like cherry yoghurts. Nope. Upon opening it a small pack of straws fell out. Straws? Yoghurt… I did persevere with it, though – it took about 3 or four spoonfuls to decide that actually, the yoghurt was putrid. I opened up a second one – just to be sure but that one was even worse. I didn’t open a 3rd and quietly deposited the rancid little cartons in the downstairs kitchen fridge, hoping that they’d be eaten up along with the packets of sweet frozen olives…

 

 

I was going for the Jon Voight look in Andrei Konchalovsky’s Runaway Train, here. All I needed was Eric Roberts shouting from behind me: “Shoues, Shoues, oh, Manny – give me SHOUES I gotta have SHOOUES”. And, like Red Date yoghurt, Runaway Train has also to be experienced to be believed…

One of the phenomenon that I encounter daily whilst I am here is that of being looked at. Stared at. It’s quite disconcerting at first but, like many things characteristic of other cultures, one manages to become used to them as time passes (or not to notice them at all); aside from the odd occasion where it all becomes personally quite draining – perennially being looked up and down at by every passer-by. Maybe it’s the beard? don’t know. Anyway, whilst waiting for Nico at the Xiamen-Gulangyu ferry terminal earlier last week, I decided to film the throngs of people in tourist parties on their way to Gulangyu but instead became drawn in by an older chap (who had, I hope, seen better times), wandering alone, barely detectable amongst the crowds. No one noticed him.

I figured that, as I have been the victim of so much indiscreet staring I would try to put this catalogue of eyeballs I’d been collecting to some creative use – hoping in some way to turn the stares I’d received into something positive, discreetly passing the remnants of others’ eyes over to someone who undoubtedly needs far more love (and certainly more care and attention) from his fellow neighbours than I do. At first I felt a little uncomfortable about surveilling this chap with my camera lens but my idea was to follow his movements as best I could – to notice and to capture a face peeking out through the crowds, if you like. I’d inevitably lose sight of him as he was shunted anonymously from place to place until eventually he went unseen altogether.

I’d recorded a few little piano ideas on my field recorder a few days ago and am not sure if adding anything to this footage enhances it in any way but thought I would give it a try, otherwise I’m merely a voyeur…

 

“A chair is just a chair…” – Burt Bacharach

This picture typifies a certain mood I’ve felt this week: solitary.

 

I’ve found that much of the week has been spent in thought – thoughts about music, thoughts about the things I’ve seen so far, thoughts about my life – and sometimes wondering just what on earth I’m doing here. Will these events turn out OK?, do I have the ability to pull them off?, am I musically capable?, is this residency too big for me and am I in way over my head? – all that sort of stuff. It’s not helped by the fact that I don’t have the usual (or same) daily interaction with familiar faces/friends. The language barrier isn’t a massive problem as I’d initially anticipated – most situations can be negotiated with these simple tools: a tongue, a smile (especially in the eyes), hand gestures/body language and a sense of humour (as Paul Bolderson would say, “you’ve got a tongue in your head…!!”). Indeed, this maxim stood us in good stead last year on our European motorcycle trip and these tools are universal – whether one has a knowledge of the language spoken or not. I learned a lot from this man… I digress. Whether people realise it or not, even the casual interactions are vitally important to the (or my) creative process, and it’s often they who are responsible for ‘my’ best ideas.

For example – yesterday we met historian and lecturer at Xiamen University, Xu Lu, who is also the director of the Chinese Sailing Junk Expedition Society (and, with his wife, also runs the Migratory Bird Inn at Mt. Meili Snowy, Shangri La, Yunnan Province), who first regaled us with tales of collecting old Chinese sea Chantys (or sea shanties, as we could call them). Originally we’d gone to meet Xu Lu to look at some old Sea Shanties:

 

(I was naiive enough to assume that these would be old, dog-eared manuscripts from the 1920’s and 1930’s – like the kind you can find in any charity shop sheet music bin); but instead we were treated to a visit to an old part of the city – a small harbour area known as ‘Shapowei’. I’d actually discovered this place a few days ago on one of my walks around the city but didn’t really get a close-up look. Apparently this area is being preserved as a heritage site, so there’ll be no Starbucks/KFC or other bullshit examples of commercialism creeping in to gentrify this wonderfully atmospheric and charming place, where every tiny nook and cranny of this place breathes history and tells a story.

 

 

One such place was the old boat ‘factory’ – basically, a large empty room for building boats. This is where I encountered the chair that seemed to epitomise my feelings so well.

I sent a few of these shots to some friends, one of them being Ray Kane. His response was, “That is lush! You’ll have to film a performance in that space”. And alas, the day which I had considered to be purely recreational in nature had been immediately transformed by that one line.

 

 

So simple, so overlooked – and it took someone who was over six thousand miles away to glimpse at only a fraction of what I had seen to suggest it. It had never occurred to me – so much so that I became depressed and excited all at the same time; I just hadn’t joined all of the dots until Ray’s email reply. So, we have an incredible space at the heart of Shapowei – an historian who is passionate about the conservation of this very discreet area of Xiamen – WHY NOT put on a concert in the old boathouse – invite locals, Xu Lu could give a talk/presentation of his work regarding the area (he’s even suggested doing some cooking!) and perhaps even invite the singing of some of these old shanties, too. I could chip in some piano pieces as a contrast to all of this for good measure.

One of the main aims for this residency was to try and operate within discreet situations, curating events that have resonance for and are relevant to people living in Xiamen, rather than aiming for a grand ‘final concert’ or creating anything overly imposing. Sculptor and curator of The Shed, Simon Thackray, is another figure responsible for keeping me on the straight and narrow re my ideas – his phrase “keep it simple” is a constant reminder of where I should be headed when things get too muddled (simpler still would be to get an old upright piano onto one of the boats, sail out to sea, play some music, lend a hand with the fishing, then head back to cook the day’s catch for the locals with a bit of local history, song and piano playing…). Plans are now afoot to see if we can make this happen so stay tuned (and thank you, Ray, Simon).