Glitter, Corruption and Free Speech on the Amateur Mandopop Circuit

In a restaurant located on a side street on the north side of the walled city of Xian, in a dimly lit ballroom doubling as a performance space bedecked with flowers and balloons, a heated contest was taking place. A sign hung across the stage reading "Shanghai Asia Music Festival: New Singers of Asia" It was just past two in the afternoon, and the competition had been going on since nine AM. There were still three more hours to go, and the patience of the audience was already beginning to wear thin. The competitors: amateur singers drawn from all over Shaanxi province. The prize: 13 no-expense paid chances to go to Shanghai as representatives of the province to compete for three ultimate prizes - the right to be called an "Amateur Singing Champion of China," and to represent the motherland in competitions throughout Asia, bigger; more prestigious contests that promised rewards of both big face and big cash. Though the Shanghai Asia Music Festival may sound like a Chinese version of the television program "American Idol", this contest predates that over-hyped TV show by more than a decade. Still, there are more than a few similarities; heavy competition, shattered nerves, and young people trying desperately for a shot at the big time. And not surprisingly, the specter of corruption has reared its head, with some participants claiming that guanxi (relationship), and not talent, is the main qualification needed to win, even at the provincial level. One such contestant was 23 year old Ju Feng. On stage, she moaned out the lyrics of a soulful love ballad into a tightly-held microphone, slinking around the catwalk in a tight fitting skirt. Off stage, she was decidedly less romantic. "There's definitely an element of corruption at these competitions." She complained "Better contestants are often scored lower than those who have pre-existing relationships with either the judges or the contest organizers themselves." Ju Feng, and other contestants were able to air their grievance directly. Those fond of touting the need for China to further embrace democratic values will be happy to hear that, while guanxi politics may still be a major factor, free speech is flourishing on the Chinese amateur music circuit. According to the rules of the Shanghai Asia Music Festival, all contestants are allowed the chance to air any comments or complaints to the judges (and, to the often-amused audience), using the MC as a conduit. This they did - in abundance. Lu Yang, a baby-faced man in his late twenties, was the acting MC that day. In addition to introducing the acts (and acting as raconteur in general), it was Lu Yang's duty to relay contestant's comments (written on 3x5 note cards and presented to him between nearly every act by one of his dressed-to-kill assistants) to the judges. It should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with Chinese politics that the most common complaint had to do with the taint of guanxi. "I think the scoring has been unfair…" wrote one contestant "because some of the judges have students in the competition, and they will naturally score their own students higher." MC Yang assured the contestant (and, simultaneously, the audience) that while such relationships might exist, all judging was done in a fair and balanced manner. As he spoke, several of the judges nodded in agreement, breaking their usually stoic poses. However, his comments didn't mollify everyone. Liu Qian, a 15 year old girl whose perky pop solo netted her only a moderate score in the early afternoon, was particularly outspoken. "I don't care what anyone says. It's only natural that contestants who are studying with one of the six judges will have an advantage over the rest of us. It isn't fair!" Australian businessman Marcus Maher, acting as a "foreign presenter" at the contest offered his own take. "On the whole, I think the judging has been fair. Most of the judges are professional musicians of some sort, so it makes sense that contestants who have been studying under professionals for years are going to have an edge over those without such training. But accusations like these are probably unavoidable." One of the judges earning a lion's share of contestant's ire was Zhang Limin, a locally known opera singer and music teacher. She raised many an eyebrow by consistently issuing scores lower than those of her fellow judges. Certainly, few contestants would have accused her of being overly kind; her lower-than-average score of 9.20 remained nearly unvarying throughout the day. Ms. Zhang, however, claimed to have only fairness in mind. "I've been watching scores climb steadily since the morning, giving later contestants an unfair advantage." She said. "Early in the contest, 9.20 was average. Now it's low. If I lower my standards, then I'll be cheating earlier acts." Mr. Maher backed up Judge Zhang. "Some of the acts in the morning that seemed to be more talented actually scored lower than some of the later acts. But I'm tone deaf myself, so what do I know about music?" But what about the music? Will the next Cui Jian or Faye Wong be found among the contestants of some future Shanghai Asia Music Festival? The stated tenets of the festival, according to the promotional brochure are "To foster new talents in Asian Music, to push the creation of original Chinese songs, and to promote the exchange of Asian musical culture." But Judging from the overall tenor of most of the acts, it seems unlikely that "pushing the envelope of Chinese music into uncharted territory" will be added to this doctrine anytime soon. With a few exceptions, cookie-cutter mandopop acts were the order of the day. For the most part, the stage was ruled by anonymous boys in low-rent suits crooning out heartbreak ballads and girls in skintight blouses and schoolgirl skirts chirping out unmemorable pop tunes. Afterwards, the contestants sat nervously on the sidelines, boys sitting with boys and girls sitting with girls, biting nails and wondering what they might have done to better impress the judges. There were a few exceptions. The most cutting-edged act of the day was one obviously doomed to failure. In the afternoon session, two sixteen year old Korean students studying in Xian came out with dyed blonde hair and baggy hip-hop gear and dominated the stage for nearly ten minutes. Yi-yi and Sarah Li shocked the audience with a fist shaking, foot thumping hip hop/soul act that had just a small hint of lesbian eroticism thrown in for good measure. But not all of the people assembled were ready for sappho-esque hip-hop, least of all the judges. The pair scored a combined 9.5, which at that stage in the game was below average. But the pair had no complaints. "We knew that the judges probably wouldn't look too favorably on a hip hop act" Yi-yi said. "We don't care. We had a great time." "Actually, we weren't even at our best today" Added Sarah. "We stayed out kind of late last night." By five PM, the audience seemed weary of the whole affair. Many of the men in the back rows - mostly the fathers and brothers of the contestants themselves - sat slumped in their chairs, cigarettes dangling listlessly from their lips, waiting for Lu Yang to announce the finalists. When the last act finished at just after five and the sweat-drenched MC came out, the audience breathed a collective sigh of relief. Promoters, apparently sensing that the day had gone on too long already, cancelled some of the post-competition events (much to the expressed relief of Marcus Maher, who was slated to give a speech in Mandarin). This allowed MC Yang to go straight into reading the final scores, which he did with an appropriate amount of fanfare. Of the 13 chosen to represent greater Xian, slightly less than half came from contestants sans teachers on the judging panel. One of those chosen to go on to Shanghai was Gu Feng, who had complained earlier that she felt that the competition was unfair. Being chosen to represent Xian did not change her sentiments. If anything, being present at the big competition only served to confirm her suspicions. Contacted by phone after the Shanghai competition (in which she failed to win one of the coveted three slots), Gu Feng said that she felt that the guanxi politics in Shanghai were even more prevalent than they had been in Xian. "The winners weren't the most talented, just the best connected. One of the winners in Shanghai was a girl whose father had donated money to the pageant's organizers. That's so obviously unfair that it isn't funny." Gu Feng offered one final statement. "These are the people who will represent China, and they are being chosen not by merit but by relationship. I think this is a really sad commentary on how, even today, guanxi is valued over talent and creativity."