Freedom rocks for Cui Jian

The godfather of Chinese rock says his message of freedom remains as relevant now as in the ‘80s, despite greater opportunities and advances in the country.

Veteran singer Cui Jian is known as China’s godfather of rock. Mark Schiefelbein / AP Photo

China’s godfather of rock, Cui Jian, says his basic message of personal freedom hasn’t changed on his new album, even if the world has.

The rocker, who fell out of favour with his country’s government after he sided with demonstrating students during the 1989 Tiananmen protests, said the messages in his songs today may be the same “but the way that you understand could be different”, because of the changes China has gone through.

Growing personal wealth among the Chinese has created the chance to travel and take control over their private lives, Cui says, a far cry from the tightly controlled society of the 1980s. “They got a chance to make money so this is a big change.”

At the same time, other things haven’t changed, says Cui, wearing a stylish business suit and his trademark white baseball cap adorned with a red star. There are still limits on how freely you can talk, and “you shouldn’t say black and white, you could say something grey and then make it safe”, he says.

Cui's first album in 11 years is called Frozen Light and he says he hopes his music will inspire Chinese people to think about how some things remain static, then "think about whether you take it or you just try to warm it and change it or break it".

The 54-year-old began his musical career with a six-year stint playing trumpet in the Beijing Philharmonic, writing songs and forming a band on the side. He became the symbol of China's embryonic rock scene when he sang his signature tune, Nothing to my Name, at a televised stadium concert in 1986.

That song, in which he sings of desire and dashed hopes, later became the unofficial anthem for student pro-democracy demonstrators. He played in Tiananmen Square just days before the government sent in tanks and troops to crush the protests.

Later, Communist authorities refused permission for his concerts in the capital and censored his lyrics. In 2005, he was able to headline a gig at a Beijing stadium. The next year, he sang Wild Horses alongside Mick Jagger, performing with The Rolling Stones in Shanghai.

Today, Cui says people view him more as “an old man” than a rebel, a familiar face on television but no longer influential.

“They don’t care about someone who is saying some truth, they just care about your age,” he says. “They care about whether you say something they like to hear, because they don’t have time to think about serious things.

“I don’t even want people to say I’m the godfather of Chinese rock music. I would like to say I’m the grandson of Chinese rock music. I want to keep doing something, I don’t want to sit there and tell people what you should do. I don’t like that.”

Despite that, Cui says there's greater freedom of expression today and he is surprised he has not had demands to change the lyrics on Frozen Light after submitting them to authorities, as all artists in China must do. Or perhaps he'd already censored them himself. "The self-censorship is always there," he says.

Frozen Light is Cui's first album since 2005, although most of the songs were completed at least five years ago. Cui says he felt the album wasn't ready and, acting as his "own boss", he was in no rush.

The record was released on Christmas Day in 119 countries, including the United States and Japan, according to Cui’s manager, Yoyo. He will follow up the release with performances in Beijing and other Chinese cities in the second half of this year.

Appraising China’s modern rock scene, Cui says that, unlike well-supported but superficial pop acts, China’s most talented rockers exist underground without record contracts or management teams.

“That’s why people think they’re not successful,” he says. “But in my eyes they’re very, very brave. They’re saying something ... They talk about the environment, they talk about pollution, they talk about corruption, everything.”

Their pop contemporaries may have music videos, beautiful faces and professional images, but are mere “tools” who don’t sing from their souls, says Cui. “They become a soap to wash the people’s minds,” he says.

“I don’t believe in that kind of music. But this doesn’t mean they’re bad, just I’m tired,” he says. “The record industry has a lot of dancers. They have a lot of actors and actresses but not too many musicians.”

This year he wants to see artists – in music, movies and TV programmes – speak out about what they feel. “Don’t make it just for money, believe it and then you can see the change,” he says.