Listen
to Sa Dingding
Wandering towards a window overlooking the congested road beneath the west
London offices of her record company, China’s most in-demand musical
property lets slip a quiet summation of her experiences to date: “I didn’t
expect all this. I like the life I have now. But if I was back living with
the sheep and cows in the grasslands, I would still be happy.” It has been a
long journey from the steppes for Sa Dingding, who was raised in Inner
Mongolia, and there can have been few weeks as odd as her second visit to
Britain.
We had first met nine months earlier. She was an unknown who had recorded
Alive, an album that mixes traditional Chinese melodies and Buddhist mantras
with electronic instruments, and was trying to drum up enough interest in
the West to convince her label to release it here. I was the only journalist
sufficiently intrigued to want to talk to her. A lot has happened since
then, perhaps the most pivotal thing being that she was nominated for a
Radio 3 world-music award. Returning to London this month to appear at the
awards ceremony, she found her five-day schedule filled with 40 interviews.
Unnervingly good-looking, with her long hair tied in a topknot, Dingding
exudes the assured air of a pop star who refuses to be caught off duty, who
views Kylie as a part-timer. If she is not quite as exquisitely dressed in
person as she is in her portraits, her interview ensemble is an explosion in
a new-age boutique: pompom earrings the size of tennis balls, chunky
bracelets, a sheer top that leaves her left arm uncovered, kitten-heeled
purple suede boots and a skirt that incorporates Tibetan prayer flags. And
therein lie several reasons why she is the centre of a media whirlwind. The
media love a photogenic woman, especially one who comes with the baggage of
a topical hot potato.
Alongside her small entourage, she arrived in London the same weekend as the
Olympic torch; she saw out her jet lag watching the news and struggling to
comprehend what she was witnessing. In a quote that appeared in a British
newspaper and was reprinted around the planet, the singer said: “I am
Chinese, so I definitely support our government policy on this issue.” As
she comes from a country that has claimed sovereignty over Tibet for
centuries, it is fair to say Dingding’s perspective differs from that of the
Dalai Lama. She is not alone: 10 days after our interview, I was caught up
in a silent protest on Parliament Square, as Chinese students attacked the
British media for distorting reports of Tibetan issues. On Monday afternoon,
when she arrived for a record-signing session at the Piccadilly Circus HMV,
a Newsnight team was close behind, perhaps hoping for a punch-up.
Had the fact people wanted to ask questions about Tibet surprised her? “No.
People see me standing for Chinese culture, and it does not matter if this
means Mongolian, Han, Tibetan or any other. They are all part of Chinese
culture. So, if people are curious about one part I am glad to answer their
questions and tell them what it is about.” She has no time for the view that
what is happening in Tibet is an occupation, and does not see herself as
appropriating Tibetan traditions when they are all part of Chinese culture.
A successful 24-year-old singer is unlikely to want to end her career by
denouncing her government, of course – even one who has just been informed
that the Glastonbury festival is no longer interested in booking her because
she is too controversial. One wonders whether Jay-Z was interrogated about
his thoughts on Iraq before being handed that headlining slot.
“I think there is a lack of communication between people in the West and
East,” Dingding continues. “I am a musician, and most of my time is spent
making music, but what I want to do is help people to communicate. I’ve been
to London twice and the people have been very friendly, very interested in
me because I am Chinese. I grew up there and I love it. I love the culture
of my country. My job is not to talk politics, but to introduce this culture
to people from the West.”
Still storm clouds gathered about her. On the Tuesday, the discussion boards
of the folk- and world-music magazine FRoots featured calls for a protest at
the Radio 3 awards, while comments suggested that these came from the Free
Tibet organisation. The pressure group, however, said it had never heard of
her and had no desire to personalise the issue. The Olympic torch was a
legitimate target, an individual musician was not. By Wednesday, Dingding at
last felt free to sit down and talk about herself and her music.
Born in the Chinese region of Inner Mongolia in 1983, the daughter of a
Mongolian mother and Han father, she grew up a nomad, dividing her time
between a small house on the grasslands, where her grand-parents kept sheep,
and the town, where they would spend winter. “It wasn’t a hard life,” she
says. “There was enough milk and I had plenty of time to play. It was like
heaven there. It taught me a lot about music and freedom.” When she was six,
she joined her parents, travelling around eastern China until they arrived
in Beijing in 2001.
After coming second in a television talent show, she recorded a debut album
she now dismisses as “childish”, as she had little say in the material or
production. Taking control of her career, she began recording demo versions
of mantras, Tibetan chants, Sanskrit poetry and what, at first, appear to be
Chinese folk songs, but are actually sung in a self-created “language”.
“For Oldster by Xilin River, I was thinking about the way my grandmother
talked to me when I was a baby,” she explains. There is a way we speak that
breaks how we are bound by language, sharing emotions without understanding
words. I’ve travelled around China, to Japan and Europe, yet the
self-created words mean the same everywhere. We all understand the emotion.”
She also made up words for the song Lagu Lagu, but for a very different
reason, and it goes some way to explaining her attitude towards the
appropriation of other cultures. The Lagu are an ethnic minority in Yunnan
province, whose Himalayan roots are betrayed in their Tibetan-Burmese
speech.
“I thought it would be cheating if I sang in their language,” Dingding says.
“Most people in China don’t know the Lagu exist, because there are so few of
them, but I wanted to promote them and ask people to understand their way of
life. I was moved by their spirit, but I couldn’t use their songs.”
It seems to have worked. Picked up by the Universal conglomerate after a scout
overheard her demos in the studio, Alive (known in China as The Life of
10,000 Things) has sold 2m copies in her homeland. But is there a market for
it in the West? If we can enjoy Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and indulge
the musical eccentricities of Björk, shouldn’t there be a place on our
shelves for a Chinese pioneer who becomes agitated only when asked about the
state of pop music in China? For a second, Dingding’s distaste is written
across her face.
“There are not enough good new stars growing up, certainly not making good
music,” she says. “There is a generation gap, and the old stars are much
better than the young. China is open right now. People can easily hear
western music. So, we are looking to find our own way in music, and I hope
the young musicians will be more brave. Perhaps this Radio 3 nomination will
encourage them. I am just the start, and now more Chinese will get the
chance to be heard.”
We meet again 24 hours later at the Radio 3 ceremony, when Dingding (now
wearing a completely OTT red and gold creation) picks up the award in the
Asia/Pacific category. She makes a speech in which she declares her pride in
being Chinese and in being able to represent Chinese culture on the world
stage. I later hear it described as “nationalistic” and “career suicide”. In
the current climate, such interpretations could be all too accurate.
On Friday morning, the phones start ringing at her record-company office.
Three times as many albums are requested by record shops than had been
shipped in the previous nine months. She is confirmed for an Albert Hall
Prom and the Womad festival, in July. Can she fit in concerts in Ireland,
Hungary, Spain and Algeria, where a 50,000-strong Chinese population,
Africa’s largest, would love to see her?
Dingding is not around to hear this, however. She has already left for
promotional duties in Germany and France, before returning to China to plan
her live shows, which will feature her band, dancers and kung-fu artists.
Career suicide? The grasslands, it seems, must wait.
Listen to Sa Dingding at timesonline.co.uk/music
