Culture Shocks: The Chinese answer to Bestival

[dropcap]M[/dropcap]ove over bucket hats, glitter paint and snorting a line off a dwarf in a Staffordshire field whilst pounding your fist to the heavenly ululations of JME, because the Chinese really know how to hold music festivals in style. Admittedly, that is a somewhat exaggerated description of one of Britain’s favourite summer pastimes, but is a necessarily forceful opening when recalling one of the strangest experiences of my life.

I had been teaching in Meizhou, a little-known town in southern China, when my lesson was interrupted by an intense wailing and a pounding bassline that could have been easily confused with the horn of Gondor. When it occurred to me that I, in fact, was not a furry-footed hobbit fending off foul beasties, but was rather in my classroom desperately attempting to introduce my students to the intricacies of black pudding, I ventured outside.

My lesson was interrupted by an intense wailing and a pounding bassline that could have been easily confused with the horn of Gondor…

I was informed by my fellow volunteers that the unholy racket emanating from the town centre was an annual music festival, lasting the entire day. As my eyes glazed over with thoughts of ‘free love’ and daisy chains, we made an impromptu decision to visit that evening. Now, I wasn’t expecting the likes of Eminem, Blink 182, or even Brian May sliding down a fireman’s pole (the latter wouldn’t surprise me, he’s everywhere), but nothing could have prepared me for the surreal bedlam that awaited. Stepping up to the main stage was like entering a Dali painting, except instead of melting clocks and masturbating women, there were toddlers gorging on bizarre melons, and a disturbing mass of people bobbing their heads in silence.

The music was unearthly. Our interpreter told us that a famous Tibetan singer had begun to perform, and we were greeted by the desperate banging of a hand-drum and celestial swathes of white linen on stage, producing a sound that wouldn’t have gone amiss in a budget sci-fi flick. The crowd remained silent, either awestruck like we were, or simply apathetic to the spectacle in front of them.

Stepping up to the main stage was like entering a Dali painting, except instead of melting clocks and masturbating women, there were toddlers gorging on bizarre melons…

Bizarrely, these traditional tunes were soon followed by more familiar tracks, as a boom-box began to emit the screechy tones of Jessie J. Having had our inner rave-monkey restrained during our teaching, the volunteers and I began dancing in the crowd (who had been still throughout) as ‘Pricetag’ came on.

Apparently, this is what was needed to ignite the passions of the Chinese public, with the crowd beginning to circle us. We were greeted by a roar of flashes as man, woman and child alike began to pull out their Apple products and record us.
Essentially, if you’re a westerner and you turn up to a Chinese music festival, you’re likely to be an internet sensation there. I don’t think any event in Britain could boast the same, if it means keeping your dignity intact and criminal record clean at the same time.