The Top 10 Bands in China Right Now

Of course this list is bullshit.

China’s underground music scene is enormous to the point that talk of a unified “Chinese” scene is pointless. It’s nebulous, fragmented. A hundred different styles bloom in different parts of the country. A Top 10 list for Beijing alone would be raucously contested.

So with that caveat, here are 10 bands that I personally love in China today. I make no attempt at objectivity here, but in narrowing the parameters I hope I can capture a cross-section of what makes this particular moment in Chinese underground music so exciting.

I’ve tried to capture bands from every corner of the country, with a focus on the new and emerging. No hip-hop and/or purely “club” collectives/groups on this list, because that’s a whole different universe.

Let’s dive in.

DAVID BORING (Hong Kong)

Everything is beautiful and everywhere hurts.

Everyone’s a victim.

Everything is boring.

DAVID BORING love their little philosophical soliloquys. Their world is withdrawn, alienating and gloriously noisy. “We don’t set out to entertain, instead join us for a complete self-indulgent celebration of new age sufferings,” they say in the introduction to their new album.

Don’t let that worry you – their world is also hugely compelling. The band crafts a landscape of post-punk, noise, no-wave, punk and industrial, a dark mirror to the urban decadence and decay of their native Hong Kong. They’ve built a following with a signature dark, dirty noise-rock sound and destructively enigmatic live performances. You’ll recoil at the insanity, but recognize the corrupted edges of our own messed up, absurd reality.

The ROMP (Fuzhou)

Endless White (Xi’an)

Gatsby in a Daze (Hangzhou)

Three bands crafting their own uniquely Chinese genre: what I like to call “slacker post rock”:

It’s a new genre taking hold in China’s tier-2 cities, with a number of disparate young bands making laid-back, mostly instrumental, dreamy guitar soundscapes.

From Hangzhou’s Gatsby in a Daze and Fuzhou’s The Romp to Xi’an’s Endless White and Chengdu’s Sinkers — this is guitar-driven, soundscape-heavy music with distant, hazy vocals and a permanent Sunday afternoon laze.

Hiperson (Chengdu)

There’s a restlessness to Hiperson’s music that I absolutely love. It’s a masterful tension that the band sustains in their brilliant, tight live sets.

Frontwoman Chen Sijiang’s unique voice is both clarion call and siren song, punctuating the complex, precise rhythmic interplay between drums, bass and guitar. Comparisons to mainland legends P.K. 14 are not unfounded, but don’t come close to the full picture.

This is a band that strains toward the future so relentlessly that they’re happy to leave the past behind. “No Need For Another History” goes the title of their debut, but it’s the unreleased live bootlegs that captivate. Songs like poetic passages, leading the listener to the edge of danger, through landscapes of cold reality, oscillating between daily life and illusion.

Mirrors (Shanghai)

Rising from the ashes of Nonplus of Color, one of Shanghai’s best experimental groups, Mirrors take Nonplus’ abrasive psychedelia in darker, sexier directions. There’s not much out there from the band just yet, but they’re one of the groups I’m most excited to see more of.

South Acid Mimi Dance Team (Kunming)

A Yunnan-based riot grrrl trio that makes music somewhere between dance punk, spoken word fury and performance art. “Rammstein is Playing At My House” goes the title to one of their signature songs, and their lyrics capture that particular loneliness and frustration of China’s rapidly changing megacities, and the erasures that this pace of change creates. Listen to Nunudugu, a standout track sung in Li Su (a minority Tibeto-Burman language) and be mesmerized.

TOW (Beijing)

One of the most alluring bands to come out of the Beijing scene in years, TOW is Yang Fan (formerly of Ourself Beside Me, and the ace producer behind some of Chinese indie’s best albums) and Liu Ge (formerly of The Molds, tipped in the late 2000s to be China’s next Big Band).

They make blues-infused synth pop that shimmers like desert sands from an Arabian Nights tale (a big influence), and floats with wondrous melancholy. Icy tunes with a warm, beating heart.

Wang Wen (Dalian)

Chinese post-rock royalty; conjurers of soaring, emotional, masterful instrumental epics.

That’s the phrase you’ll commonly see describing this Dalian band. “Post-rock,” the contested term for largely instrumental music that uses rock instruments toward symphonic, orchestral ends, is pretty much a pan-Asian genre now. The most interesting sounds, ideas and innovations come from this part of the world, and Wang Wen is arguably one of the world’s leading instrumental rock bands.

They’ve been torchbearers for the scene for more than 15 years now, operating out of China’s northeast. They’ve put out nine fantastic albums over that span. They’ve built a reputation for live shows loaded with pure emotion and sheer joy, in a genre known better for embracing darkness and melancholy.

Zuriaake (Jinan)

Black Metal Chinese opera, played out in glorious cinematic widescreen.

Formed in 2001, Zuriaake are veterans of Chinese black metal. Perhaps they are Chinese black metal itself. They’re the epitome of the “cult” band; a reverential fanbase, highly regarded but limited output, and rare, rapturous live shows. Their identities and backgrounds are shrouded in mystery, and little is known about the band’s offstage life.

On record, their sound is sumptuous: lush orchestration, like a soundtrack to a big-budget fantasy epic, and shimmering, atmospheric canyons of sound. Marching through these soundscapes – crackling, crumbling bursts of black metal fury. Their 2015 album, Gu Yan, is an ideal place to start. Settle in because this 60-minute masterpiece is “about to take you down a dark road.”

Werewolf, the Game: Who Did You Kill Last Night?

This article is co-authored by Biyi Feng and Yan Zhou, founders of the website Elephant Room

This game is all about secrets, lying and bluffing.

In China, werewolves are all the rage. That’s thanks to the role-playing game “werewolf” (狼人杀, langren sha), a variation of the classic party game mafia (called “Killers” in China, very popular several years back).

Briefly, here’s how it works: before the game starts, each player is secretly assigned a role (i.e. werewolf, villager, celestial, etc. — there can be many, depending on the number of players, including roles that aren’t in mafia or Killers). Then the game starts, and at “night,” players kill, save, spy, or sleep (keeping their eyes closed the entire time), depending on their role (this is done with nonverbal signals given to a neutral, all-seeing “host”). When the game moves from night to “day,” the host informs players of what happened during the night — i.e. so-and-so was killed by a werewolf, so-and-so was saved by a celestial — and the “surviving” players then debate the identities of the werewolves – or falsely implicate innocents – and vote to eliminate the suspects. The game proceeds for multiple rounds until one group, either the killers or the innocents, outnumber the other.

We’ve always been hip to the latest entertainment trends, so of course we couldn’t not check out this werewolf fad. There are more than 100 werewolf clubs in Beijing alone on the popular listings site Dianping, so we picked one near Yan’s house, owned by “JY.”

Biyi: “Is that someone I’m supposed to know?”

Yan, shocked: “Where have you been? He is the ‘Wolf King’! Haven’t you watched his live stream?”

“I don’t watch live streams and don’t know how to play werewolf…”

Yan, rolling her eyes: “OMG.” (Classic Yan!)

JY, originally a gaming commentator on Panda TV, is one of the most successful werewolf players in the world. He runs JY Club, a werewolf franchise with physical locations dedicated strictly to the game in Beijing and Shanghai.

It’s only in the past year that the game as become the thing at parties and social gatherings across China. How?

We have to begin a bit further back. In June 2015, live streaming platform Zhanqi TV produced the first live werewolf gaming show, Lying Man. A year later, Panda TV, the platform invested by young tycoon Wang Sicong, produced its own werewolf show, Panda Kill. By inviting well-known gamer celebrities, the two shows drew fans from China’s vast gaming community. For many hardcore werewolf addicts, the game was a competition of wit and logic in which only the most perceptive and eloquent would prevail.

But then the game went mainstream. MEWE, one of the most successful digital media/entertainment companies in the country, founded by famed TV host Ma Dong, produced the show “Dinner Party Seduction,” in which different Chinese celebrities sat around playing werewolf. As it turned out, young Chinese audiences absolutely love watching famous people “kill” and bluff each other on camera; the show drew more than 6 million viewers for its first episode.

Searches for “Dinner Party Section” on China’s No. 1 search engine, Baidu — indicated by the green line below — eventually turned into searches for simply “werewolf,” indicated by the blue line:

Very quickly, other entertainment shows began running werewolf segments of their own, and clubs like JY’s grew in popularity.

JY club “warmly welcomes players from all levels,” so of course we dragged two other friends with us to give it a try. Stepping into the wolf-themed, futurist-looking house, we were ready to meet some players — you’re put into a room with either nine or 12 people — and engage in a night of brutal killing.

After registering our names at reception and ordering some drinks, staffers led us to one of their three gaming rooms. From furniture, lighting to sound effects, everything in the rooms was particularly arranged. The club even has a team of in-house “judges” specifically trained to host and moderate games (apparently, all of these judges are young, pretty girls in their early 20s… just so you know). Guests only need to sit there and prepare to kill… oh, while wearing wolf masks:

But here’s the thing: once you sit in that carefully arranged room with a bunch of solemn-looking strangers, the whole experience turns from a game into a hardcore, brain-churning exercise.

As we interrogated one another, it was interesting to see the ways people would try to talk themselves out of a guilty conviction. The more experienced players would adopt a specific language filled with technical terms, such as calling oneself “golden water” (meaning you’ve been inspected by the celestial and are definitely innocent, i.e. not a werewolf); “returning the water,” when a player denies a previously admitted-to identity; and “numb jump” (it doesn’t make sense in Chinese either), which refers to werewolves pretending to be celestials. Jargon-bombed and informative-loaded, I could feel my palms getting sweatier and my heart beating faster as the game went along.

JY Club sometimes live streams its games

What amazed me the most was how people’s social behavior changed.

As we were settling into our places, there was barely any conversation amongst the players, but as soon as we slipped into our various identities, we became open and ruthless, unafraid to confront one another with wild accusations. During the first round of testimonies, a young female player sitting opposite us coldly accused both of us of being werewolves because “you guys are trying too hard to be dumb” – when in reality, the two of us really had no clue what was going on. But thus accused, we snapped into the game, and began fabricating stories and throwing accusations at others. The intensity of our interactions was truly astonishing.

Afterwards, players went on discussing what happened, appraising each other’s techniques and lies. The girl who so viciously accused us of playing dumb came by to pat us on our shoulders. “Not bad for first-timers,” she said with a warm smile.

In December 2016, The Werewolf and Werewolf Everyday debuted on the Chinese mobile app market. During Spring Festival period – China’s most important holiday, and also when young people have the most time to kill – both apps attracted a large amount of players, quickly drawing attention from investors as well as competing app developers. As of April, there are more than 40 different Werewolf apps in the iOS app store, with a bunch funded by major venture capitalists. These apps are not just games; by adding social functions such as live streaming, audio chat and gift-sending, users are able to play werewolf while meeting and interacting with new friends, cultivating rivalries and friendships, and even searching for hook-ups (reportedly, male users use werewolf apps to hunt for hot young girls), thanks to the game’s ability to construct reality-based fictional identities.

From live streaming to TV shows to mobile apps to werewolf parties across the country, the game has become a means for Chinese Internet companies to get in on the entertainment market. For today’s young Chinese, werewolf is not just a game or a show; it’s an immersive experience and a new way of constructing social relationships fostered by technology.

We downloaded two popular apps, “Werewolf Every Day” (pictured below) and “Dine with Werewolf” (there were a lot to choose from), to see what the game was like in the digital realm.

Unlike in the real world, where you can ease into a game, everything is controlled by a cold, impersonal virtual moderator inside mobile gaming rooms. There’s none of the fun of covering your eyes at nightfall as the werewolves pick their victims; all you have to do is to follow the instructions that pop up on your screen.

In both Werewolf Every Day and Dine with Werewolf, players can choose to speak either with audio or video when it comes to their turn. This is where things get messed up. We encountered people who scolded / insulted others until they went offline, had connections dropped due to poor connectivity, and endured many long, boring speeches by random faces from weird camera angles. One player was multitasking, seemingly preparing a package while giving his testimony. Halfway through, he disappeared, and the rest of us, not knowing whether or not he’d return, could do nothing except hold our phones and wait like idiots.

It was a jarring experience, and left us hankering for simpler times. We removed the werewolf apps from our phones and scheduled another appointment at JY club. This time we’d bring more friends.

Editor’s Note: Welcome to RADII

When you’re a longtime expat, you get used to saying goodbye. I’ve had multiple rounds of friends come and go, some of whom I miss very much and don’t blame for seeking greener pastures. (They’re all dead to me.) But the “why I’m leaving China” story is dumb, because it is inherently written from the perspective of an outsider: someone who not only wants to remove him or herself from this setting, but who can. Isn’t the better story about those who stay?

That’s the story we want to tell at RADII. We believe China is a dynamic, fascinating place, the sort that resists (and mocks) generalization at every turn, requiring observers to ask more questions than supply answers. As we say in our mission statement, we seek to ask, “What is China?” each and every day. How do people here live? What do they care about? How do they see their world, and the greater one at large? What exactly is new about “New China”? And in turn, we hope to bridge gaps of understanding between East and West.

A bit about me: I’m Beijing-born, Kansas-raised, back in Beijing since 2008. I’m well acquainted with China’s annoyances and discomforts. Subway passengers stream videos without headphones. Traffic and pollution are real. It’s difficult to get away from the crowd, wherever that “getaway” might be. TV shows are generally unwatchable. Don’t get me started on censorship, Internet and otherwise.

But I’m here in spite of these problems, as are lots of people. You should stick around too if you’re interested to know why. We’ll post stories every day, from quick-hitters in the Daily Drip category to longer pieces on different subjects in Culture. We’ll cover the Chinese tech scene and examples of creativity in Innovation, and write about health, well-being and traditional Chinese medicine in Life. We have a team of columnists lined up who’ll swing by every week or two to share their perspectives on everything from Xinjiang to live streaming. Next month, we’re launching a podcast, so stay tuned for that.

We’re always on the lookout for contributors, those who desire to tell their stories about China to the world, so if you’d like to get involved in any way, please drop us a line at editor(a)radiichina.com. Since it’s the 21st century, we’re on Twitter and YouTube and Instagram. Follow us on WeChat by scanning below, if you count yourself as one of WeChat’s 938 million users. We’ll see you around.

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Robots Sit in on Gaokao, China’s National College Entrance Exam

Two special examinees participated in the math portion of China’s grueling national college entrance exam — gaokao — on Wednesday. The first, “Aidam” from Beijing, completed the paper exam in 9 minutes and 47 seconds, while the other participant, “AI-MATHS” from Chengdu, Sichuan Province, finished in 22 minutes.

They were both robots, of course — Aidam developed by Xuebajun Company, and AI-MATHS by Zhun Xing Yun Xue Technology Company. It’s reported that Aidam’s processing had to be slowed down up to six times its normal rate so that the result would be more realistic.

But where these robots excelled at speed, they gave up in actual test-taking ability. Out of 150, Aidam scored 134 — not bad, but not as high as top-tier humans — while AI-MATHS scored a paltry 105. I can tell you, I scored much higher than 105.

Fu Hongguang, who led Zhun Xing Yun Xue’s development team, had this to say before the test, as reported by Xinhua:

…the key to passing the exam includes understanding the language and knowledge inference. They have built a huge knowledge database for the machine to understand the questions.

“For instance, to solve the chicken-rabbits problem (calculating the numbers of chicken and rabbits kept in the same cage given the number of total legs and heads), it must know that chicken have two legs and rabbits have four,” Fu said.

The project began in 2015, and this year marked the first time an AI sat for the gaokao, the annual standardized college entrance exam that saw 9.4 million takers this year. Both robots scored higher than the human average.

According to Aidam’s chief scientist, Feng Chenrui, Aidam takes three steps to answer each math problem: first it has to decode what it reads into computer language, next it finds the correct reference point to approach the problem, and finally it translates its output into intelligible written form.

Artificial intelligence has been at the forefront of the news recently. Earlier this month, Google-designed AlphaGo rattled the human world by defeating Chinese Go master Ke Jie in a clean sweep, three games to zero. The AI then immediately retired from competition.

The average student takes two hours to complete the math portion of the gaokao. Some complained on social media that they couldn’t even finish at the AI’s speed even if they copied answers directly. A serious debate has risen among scholars who wonder whether the education industry will be turned upside down by the introduction of AI in the next decade.

Meanwhile, Xuebajun, the company that manufactured Aidam, proudly declared on social media: “Today we took a major step forward in history. From now on, humans and AI will begin to learn from each other, forge ahead toward a better future.”