Beijing's Revolution - TIME

Beijing Magic
Thursday, Jul. 17, 2008 By SIMON ELEGANT/BEIJING
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1823940-2,00.html

Lu Hao is putting the finishing touches on his latest work, a huge portrait of a pigtailed young girl. Dressed in slacks, a pink polo shirt and loafers, Lu chats casually with a string of visitors who drift in and out of his studio. Some are fellow artists and dealers from the community several thousand strong occupying the courtyards and alleys here in Songzhuang, in Beijing's eastern suburbs. The conversation ranges from gossip about colleagues through the sources of artistic inspiration to the merits of colleges in Australia, where Lu's son is studying. Later, Lu and I hop into his brand-new, lime green Jaguar and drive over to the site of the sprawling house he is having built overlooking a small lake. Proudly showing off the view from the second floor, Lu extols the virtues of living in Songzhuang. "All my friends and colleagues have moved here, so we can get in contact easily. And it's cheap here too. This whole house is only costing me $800,000 to build. Imagine what I would get for that in New York. Nothing!"
This Olympic summer, Beijing is buzzing. All over the city, iconic buildings designed by some of the world's best-known architects are changing the skyline--here a stadium like a bird's nest, there a media-company headquarters built in such crazy elevations that you wonder how it will stand up. But for me, it is the casual prosperity so evident in Songzhuang that proves that this is a city going through a revolution. For I can remember precisely the situation faced by artists when I visited Beijing for the first time, in 1994. Then the art scene was still underground, and most artists were poor, often living in squalid conditions. Meeting with foreign reporters could be a problem, I was told, because the authorities had just come down particularly hard on artists, who were still (as if Mao Zedong had yet been alive) seen as a source of "spiritual pollution." Many artists weren't even in Beijing, having fled the city after the bloody suppression of the Tiananmen Square demonstrations in 1989.
Nowadays, many of those exiles have returned home and joined one of the most exciting contemporary-art scenes in the world. But the explosion in Beijing's arts world is only one aspect of a broader cultural, social and even commercial flowering of the capital, until recently a symbol of authoritarian conformity to many outside China. Much has been written about the transformation of Beijing's hardware ahead of this summer's Olympic Games--both the whirlwind of development that has swept away huge swaths of the old city and the waves of cars that are choking its roads and poisoned its air. But to those of us who live here, it is the metamorphosis of the city's "software," as it hurtles toward becoming one of the globe's great cities, that is really striking. "It is a horrible place to live, but I wouldn't be anywhere else on the planet" is how Kaiser Kuo, a Chinese-American rock star turned digital guru, describes Beijing today. "You get addicted to the excitement, speed and change. There's nowhere else like it."
Beijing today is a vibrant, increasingly confident metropolis of nearly 20 million, the proud leader of a national social and cultural transformation that is developing hand in hand with China's amazing economic boom. In culture, the blossoming encompasses performance art, painting, sculpting, rock 'n' roll, experimental music, film, poetry and literature. Commercially, where once it conceded all to Shanghai, China's longtime economic powerhouse, Beijing is now at the forefront of a wave of entrepreneurship in telecoms, media, software and the Web. Socially too, Beijing is on fire, with new clubs, bars and restaurants opening every day. The city, which can still mark the year its first privately owned restaurant opened (1980), now boasts some 20,000 dining establishments, whose fare ranges from increasingly refined cooking from all corners of China to haute cuisine from world-renowned chefs like New York City's Daniel Boulud, who has been in the capital to supervise the soft opening of his first restaurant outside the U.S. Recently, Boulud and I toured one of the city's bustling wet markets, then dined on our purchases at the new eatery, in a building off Tiananmen Square that housed the American embassy until the communist revolution in 1949. "Beijing has been slow in catching up, but now it is going through a renaissance," says Boulud.
If there is any one group that is the driving force behind the metamorphosis of Beijing, it is outsiders like Kuo. Be they born somewhere else in China or half a world away, a flood of migrants has peacefully occupied the capital in recent years, drawn to Beijing to seek fame and fortune or simply out of a burning desire to watch history unfold. The city I first visited--where the lights were out by 9 p.m. and creativity was a dirty word--is gone.
There is, of course, one area where little has changed: politics. Despite allowing Beijingers (and indeed all Chinese) vastly more freedom in their personal lives, the Communist Party still suppresses any public discussion of the legitimacy of its rule or talk of alternatives to the current authoritarian system of government. And there's no doubt that the same party cadres that allowed Beijing's cultural flowering to happen still have the ability to smother the creative explosion if it gets out of hand.
That reality has been vividly illustrated in recent months as the authorities made final preparations for the Games. Instead of ushering in the new openness the Olympics were supposed to foster, the government has clamped down on almost every aspect of life in the name of security. Thousands of foreigners living in China have been unable to renew their visas; many would-be tourists have been equally unlucky, leaving hotels that had expected to be bursting at the seams with occupancy rates under 50%. Organizers have been told unofficially that all outdoor gatherings in the months before the Games are banned. Clubs that had operated with impunity are suddenly having trouble with their licenses. Human-rights activists, public-interest lawyers and other dissenting voices have been jailed or harassed. Police even detained and interrogated members of the Hash House Harriers, a beery running club, suspicious that the flour they used to mark their runs might be part of a terrorist attack.
Such excesses by the authorities will almost certainly diminish once the Games are over. And in any case, it's increasingly obvious that as the capital's creative sectors bloom, so does the ability of those working in them to circumvent or ignore the rules. That has helped shape a second city hidden under the bland fa?ade of broad boulevards and marbled ministries, argues Hu Xudong, a noted poet, columnist and professor of literature at Peking University. "Underneath the official Beijing we have another Beijing that's more like Latin America than China," he says. The city's other art scenes are supercharged as well. "Ninety percent of China's film directors live here, and so do most of our writers." Today, Hu concludes, "Beijing is a place of real magic."
Perhaps the best place to experience Beijing's special energy is Zhongguancun, a western region of the city where numerous universities and colleges are located, including China's two top academies, Peking and Tsinghua universities. When I first visited Peking University, the area surrounding the campus consisted of grimy single- or double-story brick buildings and open fields in what was then the outskirts of the city. Now it is a bustling commercial hub of shopping malls and glass-and-steel office buildings filled with China's leading media and technology companies--giants like Microsoft and Google and hundreds of tiny start-ups. Victor Koo, a thirtysomething Internet pioneer, moved the headquarters of his company, Youku, China's most popular YouTube equivalent, to the area in April. "You have to be here," Koo says. "From a recruiting standpoint alone, this is where everyone is."
Maybe I'm a little too old to appreciate a heaving mosh pit screaming for an encore, but there's no doubt they're nurturing their own kind of dream down the street at D-22, Beijing's bleeding-edge rock club. Its fans say the unassuming club, right between Tsinghua and Peking universities, houses one of the most exciting music scenes in the world, a hothouse for new talent that rivals London's or New York City's. From the crimson walls of the second-story balcony hang 13 portraits that have become the club's hall of fame--local bands like P.K. 14, Joyside, Hedgehog and Carsick Cars. D-22's sophistication and huge variety--one night it featured a performance of classical Chinese opera between sets--trigger memories of the stultifying Beijing of the old days. Back in the early 1990s, I was proudly escorted to the happening place at the time: a poky bar in the diplomatic neighborhood, featuring plastic stools and rickety tables. My memory of the entertainment is hazy, but I think it involved someone crooning syrupy ballads while accompanying himself on an acoustic guitar. On a typical Saturday night at D-22, by contrast, the jam-packed crowd sways and screams, with drunken German exchange students moshing alongside long-haired Chinese musicians checking out the competition. A young Chinese woman in tight denim shorts dives from the stage onto the crowd and is passed hand to hand around the room before being unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Carsick Cars launches into the song Zhongnanhai--the name of both the central government compound and a popular cigarette brand. In what could pass for political commentary--or possibly following some critical impulse obscure even to themselves--people in the crowd shower the band with loose cigarettes.
The godfather of this scene is Michael Pettis, 50, a former Wall Street bond trader who is now an economics professor at Peking U. A longtime music fan, he began to investigate the Beijing rock scene when he moved here in 2002. He wasn't impressed. "Beijing at the time was a provincial city. It was not that interesting," Pettis says. "Bands could only get an audience to the extent that they copied New York or London." Pettis, who ran a club in New York City in the early 1980s, decided to open his own place. "I figured, if we do it, after four or five years we're going to get an audience, and there will be an explosion in Beijing," he says. "We were shocked. Two years later, I would say that Beijing is one of the top five or 10 cities in the world for music."
To be sure, some old habits linger. On July 4, Pettis was told that though his club had previously not needed a license, he now had to apply for one and could not stage any shows until he received it. He hopes and expects that such stringency is temporary and that when the Olympics have come and gone, things will return to normal. "I can't wait until they're done," he says with a sigh.
That's a common refrain. Beijing may have been put in a straitjacket for the Games. But it's come too far too fast to be closed down for good. The day after the closing ceremony of the Olympics, watch out for cigarettes and girls in denim shorts flying through the air.
With reporting by With Reporting by Austin Ramzy/Beijing

魔力北京—《时代》

　　陆浩（音译）正在给他最近的作品——一位马尾女孩的巨型肖像——添上那杀青的一笔。陆浩身着宽松的休闲裤、粉色polo衫和路夫便鞋，与进进出出他工作室的访客们随意地闲聊着。访客中有当地的艺术家同行和中间商，他们居住在北京东郊的宋庄，那里的院落和街巷组成了容纳数千人的社区。聊天的话题从同行间的八卦，到艺术灵感的源泉，乃至陆浩儿子所在的澳大利亚大学的优点。过了一会儿，我和陆浩上了他那全新橄榄绿色的“捷豹”，来到一座在建的湖滨别墅的工地。陆浩自豪地炫耀了一番别墅二楼的风景，对住在宋庄的好处大加褒扬：“我所有的同事朋友都搬到这里来了，这样交流起来很方便，生活又很便宜。盖这栋别墅只要80万。80万在纽约够干什么的？什么都干不了！”
　　奥运之夏，全北京都在盖楼，盖那些由世界最著名设计师设计的标志性的楼，北京的天空因此而在改变着——这儿是像鸟巢一样的体育馆，那儿是有着疯狂造型的媒体总部，它的外形是那么的怪异以至于你都琢磨不出这楼怎么能站得住。但对于我来说，却是宋庄在不经意间的繁荣让我感到北京这个城市处在变革之中。因为我还记得1994年第一次来北京时艺术家们所面临的困境。那时的艺术创作还处于地下阶段，大多数艺术家穷困潦倒，而与外国记者见面可能带来麻烦。我被告知，政府对艺术创作者的态度仍很强硬，艺术家们仍被视为“精神污染”（类似毛时代）。很多艺术家还由于89事件而逃离北京。
　　现在，许多“流浪者”回到家乡，加入到世界现代艺术的盛事之中。直到最近政府向外国人的标志性首肯，北京艺术界的爆炸式发展也只是首都文化、社会以及商业繁荣的表现之一。关于北京在夏季奥运会之前硬件水平的提升，已经有很多文章写过了。既有积极的文章——旋风式的建设将北京城市设施之陈旧一扫而光；也有消极的——汽车潮拥堵了城市道路，污染了空气。但是对于我们这些住在北京的外国人来说，城市“软环境”的变化更加重要。在北京朝着成为世界上最棒城市奋进的过程中，这种“软环境”的变化十分显著。“住在这儿的条件确实很糟糕，但我还是不会搬去地球上任何其他地方，”克雷泽.郭（音译）这样形容今天的北京，“你会对这里的激情、速度和变化上瘾，别的地方没有这样的事。”他是个中美混血的摇滚明星转变成的数字领袖。
　　今日之北京是一个有着近两千万人口的充满活力并日趋自信的大都市。今日之北京是中国社会文化变革的自豪的领跑者。而这种变革与中国神奇的经济繁荣同在。文化领域的繁荣遍及表演艺术、绘画、雕塑、摇滚、先锋音乐、电影、诗歌以及文学。商业上，北京过去一直败给上海这个中国长期以来的经济中心。现如今，北京站在了一股电信、媒体、软件和网络的企业潮的前沿。社会方面，北京更是“火”极了，每天都有新的Club、酒吧和餐馆涌现。自从1980年第一家私营餐馆开张以来，现在的北京为拥有两万多家餐饮设施而自豪。这些餐馆既包括来自全中国各地的精美菜肴，又包括世界顶级厨师的高级餐厅。比如，“纽约食神”丹尼尔.布鲁德近日来到北京，指导他在美国之外的首家餐厅的开业筹备工作。布鲁德与我一同参观了北京一处拥挤的菜市场，然后在即将开门的餐厅吃了我们采购来的食物。这家新餐厅距天安门不远，1949年之前那里曾是美国大使馆之所在。“北京在慢慢地缩短差距，现在的北京正处在复兴时期，”布鲁德如是说。
　　如果说北京的变化是受到某种力量驱使的话，那这种力量一定来自像克雷泽.郭这样的“外来人口”。他们或是出生在中国其他地区或是出生在另一个半球。近些年，一股移民潮静悄悄地涌入北京城。他们或是为了追名逐利，或是为了满足自己探索历史的强烈好奇心。我对北京的第一印象——晚上九点要熄灯，“创新”被当作罪恶——现在已经荡然无存了。
　　当然，有一点变化不大：政治。尽管政府给予了北京人（实际上所有中国人）私人领域的极大自由，公开议论政治敏感话题还是受到压制的。毫无疑问造就了北京文化繁荣的政府仍然有能力制止超越界限的“创新爆炸”。
　　近几个月来，政府筹办奥运的一些举措已经生动的说明了这一点。政府没有朝着奥运会应有的开放努力，而是为了保障安全对生活的各方面加以限制。在中国生活的数千外国人无法更新签证；很多想来中国的游客也未能幸免。本应爆满的酒店入住率只有50%。活动组织者被私下告知奥运之前不得举行户外集会。原本照常营业的Club突然间出现执照问题。“人权分子”、“公益律师”和其他另类声音销声匿迹。一家3H定向越野俱乐部的成员受到警方讯问，因为他们用粉末标记路径被怀疑是恐怖分子的行为。
　　这些过分的限制肯定会在奥运会结束后消失。同时，与首都创新产业的繁荣同样愈加明显的是，这些创新者们对规则或迂回或不睬的本事是越来越大了。这促进了一个隐藏于包含宽阔大道与机关大院那冷漠的城市形象之下的“第二城市”的形成。胡旭东（音译）如是说，他是北京大学文学教授、知名诗人和专栏作家。“在北京的外表之下，我们还拥有另一个更具‘拉丁风情’的北京，”他说。这座城市还有一个强有力的文化特色。“90%的中国电影导演住在北京，作家的情形也是如此，”他说，今日“北京是一个具有魔力的地方。”
　　也许体验北京魔力的最佳地点是中关村。这片北京西部区域聚集着包括清华北大在内的无数大学和学院。我第一次到北大的时候，校园周围是一片单层或双层的砖房以及开阔地，那里是北京的郊区。现在那里是繁忙的商业中心。大商场和玻璃-钢结构的写字楼装满了中国主要的媒体和科技企业——微软、谷歌以及数百家中小创业者。维克多.古（音译），一位30出头的互联网先锋，在四月将他的Youku总部搬到这里。“你不得不搬到这儿来，”古说，“从招聘的角度来说，这里是人才济济之地。”
　　也许，我太老了而不能理解一群尖叫着要求加演的摇滚青年，但毫无疑问的是他们正在D-22——北京最先锋的摇滚俱乐部——里培育着他们的理想。D-22的粉丝们认为这个位于清华北大之间的Club上演着世界最火爆的音乐表演，这个Club正培育着一些可与伦敦或纽约的同好匹敌的才俊。在这个Club二楼阳台的红墙上挂着十三幅进入名人堂的乐队肖像——如P.K.14、Joyside、刺猬以及Carsick Cars之类的地方乐队。D-22的混合风格和极大的多样性——那里某夜曾上演京剧——引发了我对往昔那个痴呆北京的回忆。九十年代初，我被人自豪地带到那时的一个稀罕地方：使馆区的一个小酒吧，里面有塑料板凳和摇晃的桌子。我对那里演出的印象很模糊了，只记得一个男人在抱着古典吉他低声吟唱。而D-22的Saturday night完全不同，人群尖叫着摇摆着，喝醉了的德国留学生在moshing，长发的中国音乐家在旁观战。一个年轻的中国女人穿着牛仔短裤从舞台上倒向人群，人们举着她在屋里转圈，最后她被随意的扔在地板上。Carsick Cars乐队开始演唱“中南海”——这既是政府的代名词又是香烟品牌。人群们用烟屁股砸向乐队来发泄情绪。
　　这个地方的教父叫迈克尔.派提斯，50岁，前华尔街证券交易员，现北京大学经济学教授。作为音乐爱好者他从2002年搬到北京以来就开始调查北京的摇滚演出。当时他印象很差。“那时的北京是一个很土的城市，没什么意思，”派提斯说，“乐队只有模仿伦敦或者纽约风格才能吸引观众。”八十年代初曾在纽约开过Club的派提斯决定自己开一家Club。“我当时认为，如果我们开了Club，四五年后就可以培养出观众群体，那时的北京就会有大的发展。”他说，“我们震惊了。两年后，我们就发现北京成为世界十大或者说五大音乐之都。”
　　有些老习惯还是保留了下来。7月4日派提斯被告知他的Club需要先前不需要的执照。他现在必须申请执照，而在获得执照之前，他的Club不能举行演出。他希望这种限制是暂时的，当奥运会结束以后，生活还能照旧。“我巴不得奥运会早点开完。”他叹了口气说。
　　这话被不同的人说过不止一次。北京就像是为了奥运会穿上了紧身衣。但只是这种宁可错杀三千不可放过一个的限制有点过火了。等着瞧吧，奥运会闭幕式那天之后，烟屁股和短裤女孩还会重新飞向空中。
　　With reporting by With Reporting by Austin Ramzy/Beijing（译者注：原文如此:)）