Drum Singing and Other Popular Culture Forms
Among a rich variety of popular culture forms, drum singing was one of the most prevalent during the war. Lao She, who, as we have seen, wrote the drum song "Wang Xiao Drives a Donkey," enjoyed the genre so much that he wrote a novel about it. The Drum Singers (Gushu yiren), based on his real-life friendship with the Potato and his daughter, Big Blossom, portrays the bitter life of an exiled drum-singing family in Chongqing from 1938 to 1945. Most Chinese readers, however, had gotten their first glimpse of this art in Liu E's (1857–1909) famed description of a performance of Pear Blossom drum singing by two sisters in his late Qing novel The Travels of Lao Can (Lao Can youji): "They were unparalleled songs sung by two beautiful women," marveled the author at the virtuosity of the singers Dark Maid and Fair Maid.[72]
Dagu is a collective term for a host of drum singing styles performed in north China, especially in Shandong province. Originating in the Qing,[73] drum songs are accompanied by a small drum and a stringed instrument. Beyond that, certain variations define the different styles. Their names identify them as to either the type of additional musical instruments used (Pear Blossom drum songs [Lihua dagu ], for example, use two pieces of iron hit together as their primary instrument) or the region where they are popular (for example, Beijing drum songs [Jingyun dagu ] or Leting drum songs [Leting dagu ]).[74] Extremely flexible in rhymes and varying in length (they range from eight lines to a few hundred, though the common length is between one and two hundred), traditional drum songs drew their subject matter from such popular stories as The Romance of the Three Kingdoms and The Water Margin. They were immensely popular in north China, attracting large audiences in cities and villages alike. Virtuoso performers like the great Beijing Drum Singing School masters Liu Baoquan and Bai Yunpeng commanded a wide following before the war. Liu Bao-
quan's piece "The Battle of Changsha," an episode taken from The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, always played to packed houses wherever he performed.[75]
The popularity of drum singing continued unabated during the war and caught the attention of Lao She, Lao Xiang, and Zhao Jingshen (1902–1985), a scholar of folk literature and performing arts.[76] Drum songs with a contemporary viewpoint soon began to appear in profusion, becoming one of the most widely used forms of popular art for political purposes. The Popular Reading Publishing House (Tongsu duwu biankanshe), founded by Gu Jiegang, issued drum song pamphlets like Fierce Battle at the Marco Polo Bridge (Xuezhan Lugouqiao). Newspapers and magazines also featured them prominently.
Like their predecessors, wartime drum songs often began with opening lines like "Let's talk about" (biao de shi), "You fellows" (lie wei), and "If you asked me" (ruo wen). These phrases are rooted in the storytelling tradition, and they established an instant rapport with the audience. In content and length, however, wartime drum songs differed substantially from their forerunners. As Lao She's "Wang Xiao Drives a Donkey" demonstrates, the new works naturally placed considerable emphasis on the current conflict with the Japanese. And while the old ones often ran to more than a hundred lines, the new versions were substantially shorter. Two pieces by Zhao Jingshen are good examples. "The Pass at Juyong" ("Juyongguan," 1937), about the battle at the Nankou Pass in August 1937, has only sixty-five lines, and "The Pass at Pingxing" ("Pingxingguan," 1937), hailing a successful military maneuver by the Communist Eighth Route Army against the Japanese at the Pingxing Pass on the Great Wall in September 1937, is even shorter, with forty-six lines.[77]
Like newspaper articles and cartoons, the thrust of wartime drum songs was patriotism. They abounded with tragic war scenes and stories of the valiant Chinese troops. In "The Pass at Pingxing," which appeared in National Salvation Daily the month after the battle occurred, Zhao Jingshen describes the surprise attack on the Japanese with hyperbole:
When he heard about the arrival of the Eighth Route Army,
Commander Itagaki [Itagaki Seishiro] was alarmed and panicky.
"Damn! I have heard of the brilliance of the Red Army's guerrilla
warfare for a long time,
We sure are facing grave danger!"
Let's not talk about how frightened the Japanese troops had
become,
But spend a few words on our courageous Red Army.
A battalion of them was sent to encounter the enemy.
They lured the Japanese into the precipitous pass pretending they
were being beaten.
When the enemy saw us retreat,
They gleefully poured into the pass in hot pursuit.
At the right time, with a big shout,
Our troops in ambush
Attacked the enemy on both sides.
They encircled them day and night.
And inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy….
How gallant were our Big-Sword Teams!
How like frightened babies were the invaders!
We annihilated them in hundreds and thousands,
Their bodies lying all over the mountain pass.[78]
Another example was the Battle of Taierzhuang—also the subject of a cartoon by Te Wei (fig. 28)—which was given a new interpretation in Lao Xiang's famous piece "The Resounding Victory in Southern Shandong" ("Lunan dasheng," 1938). Instead of detailing the battle scenes, Lao Xiang presented a vivid picture of the men at the front, especially General Li Zongren, the commander in charge of the campaign:
If you asked me how General Li dressed,
I am happy to give you a full description:
In gray trousers and gray coat,
He is even more modestly clad than a commoner.
But humble apparel has nothing to do with ability on the
battlefield.
Resisting the Japanese does not rely on good clothing.
Let's not mention clothing,
And let me tell you something about his looks.
A man of strong physique,
He certainly can shoulder national affairs.
Born to be a great general who guards our land,
His eyes glare like a tiger's,
And he loves his people.
He sets strict rules for his troops,
But he speaks gently with a kindly face.[79]
Lao Xiang's piece was a classic drum song both in its use of rhyme and in technique. Even his description of General Li was reminiscent of the familiar portrayal of heroes in classical novels and storytelling:
a brilliant warrior who is not only gifted in military affair's but also charming as a person. The piece thus presents a unique intimate look that contrasts sharply with the haunting reality of war.
While Lao Xiang was adroit in furnishing the human dimension of the war, Zhao Jingshen, as demonstrated in his "The Pass at Pingxing," focused on heroic battle scenes. As an avid promoter of folk literature in the 1920s,[80] Zhao Jingshen was certainly no novice when it came to "pouring new wine into old bottles," and he produced a string of highly successful drum songs in the early phase of the war. Like others, Zhao idealized his heroes: generals are brilliant strategists, and soldiers are vigorous, robust fighters with enormous confidence. But the fact that he wrote about real people (such as the air force hero Yan Haiwen)[81] and the stories were authentic, he believed, lent his pieces credibility. Surely Zhao recognized these drum songs as propaganda works; but he thought highly of this unique performing art because of its flexibility and enduring popularity.[82]
Drum singing was but one of the many popular "old bottles" filled with "new wine" during the war. Other forms were used as well, such as folk songs, tanci (storytelling to the accompaniment of stringed instruments), and local ballads.[83] Folk songs were especially popular, enjoying a surge of renewed interest in the late 1930s. Wartime intellectuals again found ways to make them work as political instruments. "Let us edit them and turn them into a new popular wartime art," one writer proposed.[84] And Chen Yiyuan did exactly that. In his 1938 "Anti-Japanese Mountain Song," he used the traditional duige (love duet) format to express his feelings. The first new verses are as follows:
(Woman) Magpies flutter under the eaves,
My loved one has finally arrived.
Oh! My love, you bring along an umbrella,
And you carry a bag on your back.
Are you going away on a long trip?
(Man) I am prepared to enlist in the army,
I want to become a soldier to fight against the Japanese.
When the enemy is defeated
And I return in two or three years,
Our love will be reunited.
(Woman) You are such a dumb fellow.
Haven't you heard that "good men never enlisted"?
Maybe there is another woman out there?
Has she stolen your heart?
And you have forgotten our pledge.
(Man) I will never be a heartless man.
But love and loyalty are two different things.
Now our country is under siege,
I must put my love aside for the moment.
But in the future we will have a long time together.[85]
Chen's love song (also known as a "mountain song") is an excellent piece, lighthearted yet serious, endearing yet solemn, weaving lyrical evocations of love with the militant celebration of armed struggle. The love duet style and the juxtaposition of contrasting feelings that it allows create a particularly dramatic impact. Instead of the amorous love of traditional love songs, Chen's song lauds the idea of devotion to one's country. There is no question of the outcome when it comes to choosing between love and patriotism.
The continuing popularity of the folk song tradition and its extreme flexibility, in fact, made it a favorite vehicle for many resistance writers to show their support for their country. The dramatist Ouyang Yuqian, for instance, wrote a song praising the heroic deeds of Chinese Women in the war effort.[86] And Bao Tianxiao (1876–1973), the Butterfly fiction writer turned patriot, wrote an equally compelling piece accusing the Japanese troops of numerous atrocities during their 13 August 1937 attack on Shanghai. "I hope this song will spread far and wide among the Chinese people," Bao wrote.[87]
As we have seen, the dramatist Cui Wei furnished new words to the "September Eighteenth Melody" when staging Lay Down your Whip, and many wartime song writers did likewise. The revised "Thirteen Months" ("Shisan yue," 1938), for example, begins:
January is the first month of the year,
Our leader is Generalissimo Jiang.
He is determined to defend our nation,
And he is China's Great Wall of Iron.
The song continues for eleven more stanzas, each referring to a particular month or seasonal change and describing either a famous battle or a celebrated general, including Feng Yuxiang, Chen Cheng, and Zhu De (1886–1976), commander in chief of the Chinese Communist forces. The piece ends on an upbeat note:
The thirteenth month is a leap month.
The whole nation is united into one.
We are determined to resist till the end;
The final victory no doubt will be ours for sure.[88]
Such popular love songs as "Seeing My Loved One Off" ("Song dage") and "Embroidering a Purse" ("Xiu hebao") also were given a new patriotic content.[89]
But individual efforts, no matter how original and well articulated, were generally limited to specific localities. Thus resistance writers launched collective campaigns to try to shape public consciousness, invoking the devices of popular literature to stimulate civilian morale. In early May 1937, two months before the conflict actually broke out, the Shanxi Provincial Sacrifice and national Salvation Alliance (Shanxi xisheng jiuguo tongmenghui) in Taiyuan, in addition to issuing a series of number of patriotic items, including a story entitled "United to Resist," a shuanghuang called "The May Thirtieth Incident" (about an anti-imperialist demonstration in Shanghai on 30 May 1925 during which many Chinese students were killed), and a Henan zhuizi entitled "The Japanese Invasion of 18 September 1931." The performers were reportedly warmly received by the audience.[90]
The organizers, however, were not content to stage the performance only in the city; they wanted to see the campaign bear fruit in the countryside as well. A reporter gave this eyewitness account of the reaching-out campaign:
To spread this naional salvation storytelling into the villages, several men went down to Taigu county [about thirty miles south of Taiyuan] and set up a teahouse. Storytelling and drum signing were performed and created a great sensation. Even the county magistrate offered his help to make the show work. Each performance easily drew four to five hundred people. Not only did this kind of performance bring the patriotic message to the countryside, but it also attracted country folksingers and performers to Taiyuan in order to learn more about nationalist songs and stories.[91]
Organizers clearly realized the importance of a concerted crusade. A variety show helped to bring people together, coalescing their individual experiences into a collective one. Perhaps nothing was so effective as providing the audience with entertainment that was both familiar and well loved. The show was designed to recruit new patriots and establish a firm grass-roots base in line with the ideal of "every citizen a participant" (quanmin dongyuan). The effort was successful, at least for the early years of the war, when collective enthusiasm remained
high; only later, as the conflict turned into a protracted one, did the energy start to wane.[92]