Page 14 - FMH7

Bedstars
Last year, when it was summer in Aotearoa/New Zea- land and the middle of the winter in China, I went “home” for a visit. My band, Melting Pot Massacre, had just broken up and I had been reflecting about what it meant to be in a band, an Asian feminist punk band. I was visiting my family in Tianjin and I wanted to see if there were any local punk shows happening in my area and looked up gigs on the internet. None in my city, but and there were a few punk shows happen in Beijing.
I went on couchsurfing and messaged a few people in Beijing to ask if I can stay with them for a night and ex- plained why I was gonna be in town. A Dutch anarchist expat guy responded and I ended up staying in his girl- friend’s Hutong. She was Chinese and they met through language exchange. I met up with them and we decided to go to the show together cos they were both into punk music too. I was really stoked to have met them, just be- cause I have never had these conversations in mandarin and haven’t met anyone else in China that had similar politics. This is one thing that the globalization of punk music has created – opportunities for connection. We talked about radical politics, punk music and cultural differences. I felt a hint of shame at my level of conver- sational mandarin about these topics. I learnt some new language, but it was uncomfortable when white people knew my language better than I did.
It’s interesting being in China sometimes, I was appreci- ating how most people looked like me and the minority of white people that live there, you only see once in
a blue moon. It’s interesting because even though I’m ethnically Chinese, nobody on the street would ques- tion where I’m from, with people I know and meet I’m still “from elsewhere”. For many diasporic people in the western world, this is a perpetual state of being. Wher- ever you are in the world if you have a consciousness shaped by migration, you’re always not “from” where you are.
We were quite close the venue, MAOlivehouse, where the show was happening. We decided to get some dumplings before the show so we biked to a restaurant they both frequented. My hosts doubled on a bike and
I borrowed one of their bikes, no helmets or lights, it felt a bit dangerous but you can ring the bells to warn pedestrians as we weaved through the busy side streets of Beijing after sundown. Hao shuang. The dumplings were sooo good and I tried this Beijing fermented bean- curd dish, which was delicious.
We reached Mao, a bar with quite a flash gig set up, blue light and lots of room. It was dark with low lighting and the walls were lined with posters of gigs that have been. There was an upstairs loft where we hung out
and drank – I just had red tea haha. The walls were full of scribbles, mural art, doodles and graffiti. The place had the whole punk aesthetic, black and red walls and furniture, slightly dilapidated. The people there were the familiar cigarette-toting punks, wearing ripped clothes, patches and leather, band members and those in the scene. The room is filled with tobacco stench.
The Diders
Discord