Back in London, Hannah and I were regular attendees of the live music circuit, surely one of the best music scenes in the world (if not the best). One of the things we’ve missed the most since we’ve been living in Beijing (it’s been officially over a year now!) is the ability to go and watch some excellent live music at a moment’s notice, or buy tickets to see a live music juggernaut play to a stadium sized crowd (Muse at Wembley in 2007 springs to mind). This has been made so much more unbearable when you hear the kind of music that Beijingers seem to like. If you watched the Beijing Olympics closing ceremony you will have seen and heard the dreadful pap that they love here; boy and girl bands singing the type of fearsome rubbish spouted out by reality TV shows like X Factor and Pop Idol. Now, I think that my views are generally quite liberal, but for people and “bands” like these, and the boil on the anus of music that is their sound, I make a strong exception (and even more so for the, frankly, waste of sperm that are people like Pete Waterman and Simon Cowell). Drab music and meaningless lyrics sung by plastic shells of human beings with homogenised singing voices. There is no punishment in my eyes too harsh for the abysmal horse manure that is produced by these festering piles of sloppy excrement. People may say that they are clean cut, don’t do drugs and are a good image for our children to follow. Well allow me to quote the late, and very great, Bill Hicks in response; “when did mediocrity and banality become a good image for your children?!” Anyway…

Rock, punk, hip hop, rap – these genres of music are famed, amongst many other things, for their honest and forthright lyrics, often about sensitive or (supposedly) taboo subjects and are sometimes even highly politically charged. For obvious reasons, bands and songs in that mould are frowned upon in China. They receive no radio play, get no TV coverage or advertising space of any sort; they just have to rely on word of mouth to build up a very underground support base. That’s not to say that these bands don’t exist, because they do, you just have to go looking for them (well, for the rock and punk bands anyway. I don’t really listen to hip hop and rap, so someone else will have to tell you what can be found in Beijing on those fronts).

There are actually four places that host such bands; Star Live, Yugong Yishan, D22 and the marvellously named Mao Livehouse. Of those, we’ve been to two, D22 and Yugong Yishan, and on a fairly regular basis. Because Beijingers either don’t like this kind of music, or are simply unaware that it even exists, it’s possible to just turn up on the night of a gig and walk straight in; it’s totally unnecessary to have to buy tickets beforehand or plan your night in advance. The venues themselves are small and thus produce an excellent and fairly intimate atmosphere, with the audience able to stand almost on the toes of the performers. After a group has finished its set, the members will inevitably wander to the bar, sink a thousand gallons of hard alcohol and watch the rest of the acts, occasionally pausing to vomit or chat to a drunken westerner.

What of the bands themselves, are they actually any good? Well, yes they are. Beijing proudly boasts a triumvirate of punk bands with incredibly loyal followings and ambitions beyond playing in their home country. Joyside, New Pants (great name!) and Carsick Cars (who have actually supported Sonic Youth when they toured Beijing) all attract a big following, to the extent that when it’s announced that they will be turning up at one of the four above mentioned gig venues, the westerners (like me) get just as excited, if not more so, than the local fans.

We recently went to Yugong Yishan to watch New Pants on a tour supporting their new album (I’d write down its name, but it’s in Chinese and I have no idea what it says). New Pants are fairly unusual in that they specifically request to have no support acts. What they do instead is show a feature length film, directed, produced and starring themselves. The problem with this is that everyone decides that they’ll sit down to watch it, thus taking up all available floor space. Our only remaining option was, most unfortunately, to walk upstairs to the lounge and sit in comfort drinking alcohol.

We forced ourselves back downstairs when we heard the shriek of the crowd that can have meant only one thing; the band had taken the stage. Musically, they are punk rockers with an infusion of electronica in a uniquely Chinese style. I actually like the fact that, while they are interested in western music (references to the Ramones can be heard, with frequent shouts of “Gabba Gabba Hey”) they also throw their own culture and heritage into the mixing pot, with surprisingly good results. They’ve been touring since 1996 and know how to perform live, striking all the right poses (one of the guitarists has a penchant for wearing a monkey mask while playing) and whipping the crowd up into a frenzy. I just need to pause here to tell you what frenzy for this band means. In the west, it would usually be a seething, writhing mosh pit, where only the brave and foolish would dare to step (windmilling their arms for protection), waiting for their bodies to become bruised and battered and t-shirts and other items of clothing to disintegrate in the whirlwind of flailing bodies and limbs. For New Pants, it’s far more civilised, with people dancing in a conga line. I found this highly amusing the first time I saw it, watching the band give it everything, spilling blood, sweat and tears all over the stage, only to watch their adoring public dancing in a conga line, rather than tearing each other limb from limb. Of course, you only get a short time to admire the line before several pairs of hands reach out and drag you into this winding snake of punks.

The other venue we’ve graced with our presence, D22, is slightly different. Here, any bands that can pick up a guitar are allowed to play, and there is none of this conga line silliness. Oh no, the people here know what crazy means and how to act it out properly. We thought we’d spend Halloween at D22 and watched a succession of bands in fancy dress get on stage and screech, wail and scream to the crowd. One band member, dressed in leopard-skin tights and a mini skirt, cut his hand and literally bled onto the stage – metaphors not being good enough for him. The last act appeared onstage shortly after this, and their vocalist, a female, possibly the most insane person I’ve ever seen, decided that she would take a leaf out of Ozzy Osbourne’s book, and licked up some of the spilt blood! Licked it from the stage! Got on her hands and knees and dragged her tongue across the blood spattered wooden boards, enjoying the metallic taste of a stranger’s heart juice! What are these people, vampires?! Good show, though.