Man on the Street is a regular series where we talk to someone doing an everyday job, in order to gain insight into the lives of normal Chinese people.
Traditional Cantonese folk music is a drop in the bucket compared to China’s vast musical repertoire. Yet the genre has entertained locals in the south for generations, especially following its popularization in the late 1920s.
Employing a hodgepodge of string instruments like the gaohu (high-pitched erhu), yueqin (a two-stringed instrument resembling a lyre), bamboo flute and sanxian (‘three-stringed instrument’), Cantonese folk used to accompany Yueju, or Cantonese opera, on stage before it earned recognition as its own musical category.
Today, the art form finds adoration among older residents in Guangdong. Every weekend, a group of seniors – most of whom are blind – come together in the quaint quarters of Dongshankou to carry on the musical legacy.
Strolling down from the metro station towards the stately brick mansions of old Dongshan, one can hear the music trilling lightly on the wind. A plastic bucket is placed on a stool before the band, where passersby offer up occasional alms.
“Cantonese folk music will die with our generation,” bemoans Zhu Zhang’e, the spokesperson for the crew.
Zhu, who has been visually impaired since age 13, founded the band together with her husband back in 1993.
“We are good friends who share a common interest,” she explains. “We do this to entertain ourselves and make a little extra money, because we receive little support from the government.”
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Zhu, who has a son and daughter to care for, is allotted RMB500 per year from public funds.
On the day we visit, a younger, enthusiastic musician sits among the band, cooperating surprisingly well with the more senior members. According to Zhu, the boy’s grandmother and aunt, who plays professionally, introduced him to Cantonese songs early on.
“His brain was injured by a serious fever years ago,” Zhu continues. “But these melodies remain etched in his mind.”
Zhu goes on to tell us most of the members in the band were born blind and learned how to sing and play Cantonese folk music in special education classes.
As the sun approaches its zenith, we find a seat nearby, listening to the group take turns singing. A passing woman spots the band and drops a 10-kuai bill into the bucket, smiling shyly when the boy spouts out a loud ‘thank you’ in his native tongue.
Zhu says she and her friends used to play in multiple locations, such as Donghu Park and Haizhu Square. But as members passed away, Zhu, a resident of old Dongshan District (now part of Yuexiu), and her band mates decided to perform close by, making Dongshankou their only stage.
Every Saturday morning around 9am, the spirited group assembles to play for three hours, breaking for lunch around noon. After a leisurely meal, they reconvene and jam for another two hours before calling it a day.
The afternoon unwinds with each passing song, and we notice a middle-aged couple sitting beside a nearby tree, lost in a vivid conversation on Canton’s greatest musicians. A few paces away, scores of elderly onlookers mull over a thrilling chess game.
Though Cantonese folk music may one day fade completely from people’s lives, it continues to bring joy to this special group, drowning out the adversities of life to usher in peace of mind.
THE DIRTY DETAILS
Monthly salary: RMB1,000 (depending on the weather)
Days per week: 2
Hours per day: 5
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