Introduction

A picture hangs on the inner wall of the pavilion parkgoers colloquially call Sanjianfang 三间房, the Three-Chamber Kiosk, on the eastern slope of Beijing’s Coal Hill, also known as Jingshan Park. The drawing, which shows painted faces (hualian 画脸) of Peking opera characters, had been placed by park administrators as a sign of recognition for the opera aficionados who gather there every morning from Monday to Saturday. But Sundays, in this part of the park, offer a contrasting soundscape to the interweaving of jinghu cries and the piercing voices of opera singers. For over 20 years, announcer Zhang, accordionist Cao, Bai laoshi, and other regulars have met at the pavilion, making “The East Is Red” and other revolutionary songs resound at the heart of post-Mao Beijing. ¹ By nine o’clock in the morning, middle-aged and older men and women stand in lines, facing an imposing loudspeaker. Following the waving hands of a female conductor, their voices rise in unison to the sound of an accordion. By noon, the choir disperses, leaving the place quiet, if only for a short moment. Soon enough, a new gathering takes shape. A woman steps onto a wooden footstool while ranks begin to form. Only in the late afternoon does conductor Li’s hand move to conjure silence. Participants self-mockingly laugh at their own engrossment, while re-inhabiting quieter ways of being. But something of the mood of the encounter is retained as they leave, in pairs or alone. Some may sing to themselves while walking. Others will join another gathering, coming across different faces singing the same tunes. While the scene unfolds, similar performances occur in other corners of Jingshan, in other parks, in the city, and throughout the country, in the swirl of dancing, exercising, or water calligraphy. Such scenes recur over days, weeks, and years, creating their own times and spaces.