by Alan Paul
We exchanged happy but brief greetings as the blond guy plugged me in. Without calling out a song, I simply started strumming the chords to Bob Dylan’s “Meet Me in the Morning.” Everyone fell in behind me and all my worries vanished. It felt like we had played the day before. I heard my singing and playing elevate and knew that the sum of us together was greater than the parts; in my case, far greater. Musical chemistry had once again topped verbal communication.
We rehearsed for two hours, went out for a great, festive dinner, and then played our first show, at one of our favorite spots, the Stone Boat, which was once again featuring live music. We played five shows in the next three days, steadily getting better. A day later, the rest of the band departed for Shenzhen in southern China where I would meet them for three gigs. First, I would visit Yechen in his hometown of Wuxi, near Shanghai.
I felt a surprising surge of emotion in the airport terminal, which had been the launching pad for so many memorable trips. Walking by the Häagen-Dazs stand near the security line reminded me of my kids clamoring for ice cream every time we were rushing to catch a flight. A big part of me wished that I was boarding a plane to New Jersey instead of venturing deeper into China on my own, but I was also excited to see Yechen after months of wondering how he was doing.
He was waiting when I walked out of security, looking much healthier than he had a year earlier. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he was wearing a black polo-style shirt and long khaki shorts. He was with an attractive young woman, whom he introduced as his cousin Karen, our driver for the day.
We drove to a lakeside teahouse and chatted easily for hours. Yechen had always seemed to be a lone wolf, with no connections to anything or anyone except his mother, but I quickly realized that there was a long line of people who had also been drawn in by his quiet magnetism.
Yechen was the oldest of four cousins, Karen explained, and they all looked up to him as a sage older brother. Just two days earlier, they had learned that he had spent two years on the mountain—everyone thought he was in Beijing, which his parents still believed. The cousins were shocked but not surprised.
“He always had his own ideas,” Karen explained. Before moving to London, she said, he taught Chinese at a Wuxi middle school, where he was renowned for having students who delivered the highest test scores, despite the lowest workloads. He dyed his hair blond, convincing school officials this was because of a medical condition. Also, Karen said, “He was a real fashion guy” who would only wear clothes bought in Shanghai.
That night we had dinner with two university friends who had lost touch with Yechen for over ten years but found his cell number thanks to the work of another former classmate, who was now a police officer. They simply had to find out what had become of their smart, funny, insightful friend. I asked the ladies what they thought Yechen would become during their time in college, and they answered in unison, “Laoshi” (teacher). This reinforced my belief that he had found his calling long before he went searching.
As we all filed out of the restaurant, Yechen turned to me. “They want to go sing karaoke,” he said. “You don’t want to go do that, do you?”
Actually, I did. I had spent three and a half years in this karaoke-crazed nation without ever partaking. Yechen honored my request, and his reticence vanished inside the singing room. He took over the computer controls, adding flashing lights and seeking English songs for me to sing. I tackled “Copacabana,” but sadly no one understood how funny it was and politely applauded my awful rendition.
Yechen was engrossed, singing Chinese pop duets with his friends in a beautiful, clearly enunciated tenor voice. “I think he’s still the fashion guy inside,” Karen whispered in my ear.
I was happy to see him having so much fun and when I was ready to leave, I told him I could make my way back to the hotel, but he insisted on having Karen drive me. He walked me to the lobby, where we hugged and I told him to stay in touch.
Early the next morning I flew off to Shenzhen to meet up with the band. On the plane, I laughed at the incongruity of leaving Yechen in a karaoke room, belting out Taiwanese pop. Later, as I walked through bustling, sweltering Shenzhen, I received a text message from Yechen: I am always a monk, although I am not stay temple or mountain.
I wrote him back: I know that. It is inside you. You can live in both worlds. Don’t feel guilty for enjoying it.
I thought that the root of his problem was that he was tormented by the very thing that I was celebrated for—an ability to live in more than one world. I viewed it as a great strength, while he seemed to consider it a debilitating weakness, with a constant need to choose sides.
We played three crazy gigs in two days in Shenzhen, one night being ferried between clubs by a bus supplied by the owners, and the next night performing in a suburban outpost with girls dancing on the tables between bands. Afterward, we sat at a table at an outdoor restaurant at 3:00 a.m., watching a vibrant street life, with workers hosing down the sidewalk and others stopping for meals on their way home from long days on the job. We ate a whole fish prepared Sichuan style, served in a large metal pan and covered with fiery little peppers; tiny, numbing peppercorns; cloves of garlic; and slices of ginger. We toasted with tiny plastic cups of warm beer before heading back to our decrepit hotel and its hole-ridden sheets. I wondered how I could ever explain why I missed China so much.
Back in Beijing, we played two more shows and I visited more friends. On my last day, Woodie Alan got together for a morning acoustic jam session on the beautiful park grounds of the Temple of Heaven, one of Beijing’s most famous historical sites. We joined the many elderly people who gathered there on weekends to sing and play traditional Chinese music and were happily welcomed by a curious crowd who gathered around and seemed to enjoy the music.
Afterward, we went to a nearby hot pot restaurant for lunch, dunking thin-sliced lamb and beef, tofu, vegetables, and noodles into seasoned broth then dipping them into sesame sauce. As we ate, we talked about how much we had enjoyed this reunion.
In the five months I’d been gone, Woodie Alan had continued playing, adding another American, a far more technically accomplished guitarist than me. I had mixed feelings about this replacement; it felt like an act of adultery, but the ease with which the five of us slipped back together made me happy that the band had pressed on. Woodie had not invited the other guitarist to any of these shows, despite my repeated urgings. Now the band’s current lineup was also in danger, because saxophonist Dave Loevinger would also be returning to the United States soon. Woodie said he just couldn’t continue the band.
“Playing all these shows with you made me realize that the band has just not been right without you, even though we’ve been good,” he said. “I can’t play music I don’t love and feel from the inside anymore. We’re going to have to try something different.”
I took this as a compliment and an affirmation of my own feelings, but also as a blow. I didn’t want to see our band die, but it was no longer up to me. What I really wanted to do was get the group over to the United States. Doing so would close the circle for me. I wanted to show Woodie, Lu Wei, and Zhang Yong around my home country, and I wanted American people to see us together; I believed in the power of music to bridge divides.
I was ready to head back now, though with deeply conflicted feelings. I knew that returning to New Jersey would feel even more like coming home than landing in Beijing ten days earlier had. I had reconnected with many people and reaffirmed most of my thoughts and feelings about my life in Beijing. Now I wanted to get back to my family.
I had accepted that life in China, for Woodie and the rest of the band, and for Yechen, too, had moved on without me. But walking away from the band for a second time, after confirming what a special bond we had, was excruciating. It felt like breaking up with a true love over logistics.
I would have plenty of time to sort it all out—but not here
. My clock was now ticking on the other side of the world, in a leafy New Jersey suburb.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Becky, Jacob, Eli, and Anna for the never-ending sense of adventure that made being in China together so much fun. A special eternal thank you to Becky for a lifetime of gently pushing for more.
Thank you to my brother Woodie Wu and my other Woodie Alan soul mates: Dave Loevinger, Lu Wei, and Zhang Yong. I would walk on any stage in the world with you behind me.
Lisa Minder and the Orchard provided Woodie Alan with our first gig and a steady, comfortable home base. Thanks also to Tianxiao and Jianghu Jiuba, Jonathan Ansfield and the Stone Boat, George Smith and Frank’s Place.
From the moment I landed in China, I was helped by the kindness of others. Kathy Chen provided expert guidance then and gave this book an insightful read now. Theo Yardley was an endless source of information and inspiration. My Chinese teacher Yechen taught me a tremendous amount about China and much more. Tom Davis was a true friend.
Thank you to Almar Latour, Elana Beiser, Bill Grueskin, Jason Fry, and everyone else at WSJ.com who gave The Expat Life a chance and consistently helped make it better. An active, intelligent readership was also a consistent source of ideas and inspiration.
Thank you to the entire WSJ Beijing bureau, especially Andrew Browne, Jason Dean, Shai Oster, Mei Fong, Loretta Chao, Lily Song, Ellen Zhu, Cui Rong, Sue Feng, and Mr. Dou Changlou, who steered us through Beijing’s traffic, both literal and metaphoric. Kersten Zhang’s invaluable assistance extended to this book.
The world would be a much more fun place if everyone had friends like our Beijing crew. Many people helped make every day memorable, including: Scott Kronick and Lisa Wei, who have continued to provide us with a second home, Wyatt and Jacqui Cameron, Jim and Theo Yardley, Vivian Nazari and John Scales, Matt and Ellen Carberry, Nathan and Kristi Belete, Dave and Katherine Loevinger, Anna and Chris Holdsworth, Will and Cheryl Latta, Karen and Michael Shagrin, Patrick and Jenn Sullivan, Michael and Lisa Pos, Tony and Georgie Ohlsson, Eric Rosenblum and Titi Liu, Malcolm Lee and Nancy Choy, and Deirdre Smyth and Luc van Son. Maya Alexandri and the Kehillat Beijing family made it fun to be a Fu Man Jew. Vicky, Sean, and the hockey crew helped me do something even more ludicrous than becoming a Chinese rock star.
Thank you, Jim McGregor and Jim Yardley for consistently encouraging me to write this book. Rodger Citron, Jill Drew, Ian Johnson, Diana Kapp, and Danny Rosen provided insightful feedback on early chapters.
Thank you to Echo, Ding Ayi, and Hou Ayi, whose expert childcare freed me up to run around with the band and who were all friendly, stabilizing presences for our frenetic family; to drivers Mr. and Mrs. Lu; to Raymond Wu, Beijing’s best tour guide; and to Lao Wang, a brilliant doctor and a gentle soul. Jim Spear and the Schoolhouse provided a great place to write and think. He Li Ying (Linda) was a wonderful teacher, friend, and guide to China.
Thank you to my editor, Hollis Heimbouch, for believing in this book, sharing a vision from our first meeting, and consistently making Big in China better. Roe D’Angelo at WSJ Books believed in this idea and helped see it through. Katherine Beitner helped publicize it like the old friend she is. Thank you Lisa Dallos and Michael Wolfson.
With thanks to my parents, Dixie and Suzi, for always providing love, giving me space, and allowing me to dream big.
Thank you, Joan and Ben Cohen for welcoming our family, piles of luggage and all, during visits home and, most recently, for six months while our home was gutted and I wrote this book; and to Carrie and Dave Wells for their support.
My extended family has provided a safety net as I have climbed out onto life’s limbs and a grounding that guaranteed I would never get too big for my britches. Thank you all, especially David Paul and Kathy Klein; Laura and Jon Kessler; Hal, Ruth, Molly, Sara, Jenny, and Beth Blumenstein.
David Kann showed me what it takes to be the Bull Goose Looney. Art Rummler, Per Hoffman, Norman Bradford, and Evan Michaelson have shared music and more for many years. Craig Winkelman and Jane Beck urged me to start a blog. Carol Hymowitz encouraged me to write a column.
Thank you to Greg Benson for his sage counsel, Dave Gomberg for the tunes, Jocelyne Cordova for the push to China, and all our Maplewood friends who kept us in their hearts and minds for three-and-a-half years and welcomed us back with open arms.
Thank you to Brad Tolinski, Jeff Kitts, Andy Aledort, Jimmy Brown, and Guitar World; Ben Osborne, Susan Price, Lang Whitaker, Dennis Page, and Slam; Joe Gesue, Dave Gabel, Tom Matthews, and NBC.com; Kirk West, Bert Holman, and the Allman Brothers Band; and the countless musicians who have soothed my soul, lifted my spirits, and cleared my head. Thank you, Billy Gibbons, Warren Haynes, Derek Trucks, Bruce Iglauer, Joe Bonamassa, Charlie Musselwhite, Col. Bruce Hampton, and Gregg Allman for supporting my music and this book.
I wrote large parts of Big in China at the Maplewood, South Orange, and Millburn public libraries. My time there helped me gain a renewed appreciation for just how important libraries are.
RIP: Cathy Davis and Tim “Tragocaster” Lamb.
In loving memory of my grandparents, Anne and Rudy Oppenheimer, and Sarah and M. A. Paul.
About the Author
ALAN PAUL wrote “The Expat Life” column for WSJ.com from 2005 through 2009, and he was named 2008 Online Columnist of the Year by the National Society of Newspaper Columnists. Paul is a senior writer for Slam and Guitar World magazines, and his writing has appeared in The New Yorker, Entertainment Weekly, People, Sports Illustrated, and many other media outlets. He has contributed to The ROLLING STONE Jazz and Blues Guide, The Insider’s Guide to Beijing, and several other books. He lives with his family in Maplewood, New Jersey.
www.alanpaul.net
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Credits
Cover photographs: airplane courtesy Istockphoto; author photograph courtesy Bai Yue
Cover design by Frank Gargiulo
Copyright
BIG IN CHINA. Copyright © 2011 by Alan Paul. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
“You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go” by Bob Dylan.
Copyright © 1974 by Ram’s Horn Music; renewed 2002 by Ram’s Horn Music. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Reprinted by permission.
“Hold On To What You Got” by Johnny Copeland.
Copyright © JoClyde Music All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission.
EPub Edition March 2011 ISBN: 9780062065827
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