Let us entertain you! Street performers enliven city landscape
Local residents get into the spirit of street fun with dancing in Jing’an Park.
A street clown twists balloons, to the delight of children.
The curtain fell recently on the annual China Shanghai International Arts Festival, but the show still goes on in the streets.
Street performances, a part of the festival, don’t end with the event. They have become a permanent fixture of the downtown entertainment landscape.
Jing’an Park has become one of the popular venues for grassroots artisans and musicians to show off their talents to passers-by.
In front of the park’s entrance, an elderly man calling himself Grandpa Gourd was carving a peanut-shaped gourd, a man named Zhang Genchao was tying Chinese knots and a musical trio called Kaisaner from the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region was giving a concert for anyone who stopped to listen.
Broadly speaking, the performers fall into the definition of buskers. In Britain, their presentations might be called raree shows. All the performers hold licenses issued by the Shanghai Performing Arts Association and two printed transaction QR codes beside them.
Wearing a chic hat, Grandpa Gourd, 69, even printed his contact information on a large red suitcase that he uses to carry his works, a folding table and a chair.
“I had nothing to do after retirement, so I decided to show off my skill on the street,” said Zhang, who is in his 60s. “Busking is very enjoyable. I am able to make friends let alone listen to beautiful music played by other buskers.”
Wearing an apron showing his contact information, Grandpa Gourd, 69, introduces his works.
A licensed band gives a concert for anyone who stops to listen.
Some people mistakenly associate street performances with begging. Yu Hanyi and his wife Liu Liyuan, two young, well-educated street musicians, said what they do goes beyond just money.
“We consider street performance our lifestyle,” said Yu, who was born in 1992.
He once worked in advertising, and his wife Liu is in real estate. They are the only married among the more than 100 licensed buskers in Shanghai.
The couple moved to Shanghai from Hangzhou in Zhejiang Province in 2016. They met two musicians in Jing’an Park, who told them about the busker license.
“Returning home, we searched online immediately and found the licensing association,” said Yu. “However, there was no registration information, so we kept watching the website every day.”
They finally obtained busker licenses, after submitting resumes and undergoing interviews. At that point, Yu made the bold decision to quit his job.
“Previously, I worked a lot of overtime, but the things I fussed about were meaningless,” he said. “I couldn’t find my self-worth, and I didn’t like the unhealthy lifestyle.”
He didn’t tell his parents, who are civil servants, about the change in his lifestyle until he was able to make some money at it. From three to four street performances every week, Yu earns up to 7,000 yuan (US$1,010.5) a month.
“The income was almost the same as the salary of my previous job, but at least I had achieved some self-respect,” he said.
I met the couple at a restaurant famous for its pies. After tasting a beef and Guinness pie, Yu said that he could cook better than the restaurant. He then explained the recipe in detail.
“Now I have the time to cook at home,” Yu explained.
The couple formed a band called Hanyi & Liz, which has created many original songs. Though neither of them is professionally trained, the pair have been music aficionados since their childhood.
“My primary criteria in finding a boyfriend was that he be fond of music,” Liu said. “Thankfully, I met Yu.”
The couple even entertained guests at their wedding with a concert.
Before coming to Shanghai, they performed on the streets of Hangzhou, but urban management officials there often ended their performances, citing public safety. With a license, they no longer have to worry about that in Shanghai, the first city in China to license street artists.
“On the one hand, the license gives street artists respect,” Yu told me. “On the other hand, it does place higher requirements on our performance level.”
In addition to enjoying what they do, the majority of street artists hope to give the kind of performances that get passers-by to stop and — hopefully — drop them some money. Eliciting donations is not easy.
To draw larger audiences, the young couple dresses up for each performance and varies the playlist with songs for every age group. Their repertory spans about 200 songs, ranging from Chinese to English, classic to pop and folk to rock.
They have upgraded their sound equipment and diversified their musical instruments. Recently, they invited a morin khuur, or horsehead fiddle, player to join their band.
“Live music is attractive, vibrant and interactive, though it is sometimes imperfect,” said Liu. “Not everyone, for example the elderly, has a chance to experience it. Our street performances are for everyone — the elderly, street cleaners, security guards and all others in the area — to enjoy music and relax.”
Liu Liyuan and her husband Yu Hanyi are the only married couple among the licensed buskers in Shanghai.
Indeed, an 82-year-old surnamed Zhang was dancing to the music played by the band Kaisaner. He even did an effortless backbend in public. Onlookers were thrilled by his flexible body, vigor and confidence.
“You can’t do it, can you?” the octogenarian asked me.
Nope. I, a 20-something person, can’t. Even if I could, I would feel embarrassed to do it in front of onlookers.
“I am old so I have thicker skin than yours,” said Zhang, a retired middle school teacher.
Dancing in the midst of the crowd, Zhang was absorbed in his own happy world.
He told me he has been learning international style steps since his college days and that he comes to participate in grassroots performances in Jing’an Park about once a week.
“The songs are pretty good this time because the rhythm is perfect for dancing,” he said.
At the end of the performance, Zhang took out his mobile phone and scanned the QR code of the band in order to follow it on WeChat.
Amateurs like Zhang frequently join in the merriment.
Two well-dressed women, who brought along a piece of their own sound equipment, were practicing folk dancing in the park. An elderly man wearing a pinkish suit was using water instead of ink to write calligraphy on the ground. A sextet of musicians near the lake were playing tunes on a Hawaii guitar, a harmonica, a pair of maracas and two other instruments that I didn’t recognize.
The band played oldies, one after another, which attracted large crowds, including a group of foreign students who danced and posted the video on Instagram. A female band member who played maracas briefly left during the performance to explore better places to perform.
“Let’s go there next time,” she said, pointing to a corner of the park. “It has a slope that creates a sort of natural stage. We can stand at the top while audiences surround us.”
It’s not only humans that seem enthralled by grassroots outdoor entertainment. A yellow and white cat sat calmly on the pavement nearby, taking no notice of passers-by who stopped to take photos of the furry music fan.
Many people, including me, squatted to call the cat. “Meow, meow. Here, here!”
The cat looked at me impassively.
Grassroots artists don’t just perform in Jing’an Park. They can be found in public spaces across the city.
For example, I heard music of Peking Opera when passing by a community cultural center. The “concert” probably featured a group of retired people. The powerful sound of the daluo, a Chinese percussion instrument, filled the air.
Three amateur musicians of a sextet play oldies near the lake.
Sitting on a bench of Jing’an Park, an elderly man shows off his calligraphy work.
