Mei Han and Randy raine-reusch

I went to the concert tonight put on by this husband and wife duo, a Canadian man and a Chinese woman who immigrated to Vancouver several years ago, knowing that I could have nothing worthy to say about it in an essay. I knew I would have nothing to say because I was relatively unfamiliar with the history of Chinese music and the role of the zheng, Mei Han's instrument, in it. But upon listening to them play for 90 minutes, with Ms. Han on the zheng and Mr. Raine-Reusch on a variety of South and East Asian instruments, including the zheng, I was utterly stunned and captivated by their precision, passion, and intimately intense musical interdependence. Each brings to his/her performance such virtuoso gifts in their respective areas, whether it is Han's lithe, strong and rippling fingers or Raine-Reusch's versatility with a variety of little-known instruments that I felt that I was seeing not only the Chinese court tradition of music affirmed but the tradition transformed right before me. But what was most striking to me was the way that their fierce musical cooperation emerged from polar opposite temperaments and musical inclinations. This was especially evident in their finale, Dragon Dogs, but was also clear in Tokyo Crows and Hulufunk. In the remainder of this review I will retell one story Randy told, and then comment briefly on Tokyo Crows and Dragon Days.

A Brief Story

A few of their pieces emerged from the culture of South or Southwest China, with the most interesting being the "Dance of the Yao People (1950)." The Yao are a minority group from Yunnan Province. The song presents the Yao people celebrating with songs and dances, and was played by Han on the zheng and Randy on the bawu, a flute-like instrument. Randy told the story of adolescent pre-courting rituals among the Yao boys and girls. If the boy is able to impress the girl with his behavior, she offers him her hand. He, instead of caressing or kissing it, as in our culture, is to bite it. If the bite is too firm and hard, the girl knows that this is a male that will be harsh and unfit for her; if the bite too weak, he will become a man without strength of convictions and interest in caring for her. What is necessary is a bite that is just right. This puts a whole different spin on male-female relationships. Rather than looking for a gentle boy, and having to infer that gentleness from conduct and words, a girl can actually "feel" his gentleness by letting him unleash it by perfectly controlling the source of his greatest strength: his teeth. Maybe the Yao girls have a slogan, or even a t-shirt saying something to the effect: "Mine bites just right." Maybe not.

Tokyo Crows and the Ichigenkin

Randy's most amazing story, however, was the one he told us about the ichegenkin, a Japanese one-stringed zither. He said he learned it from the Hawaiian master, Issui Minegishi, the 2nd Iemoto of Seikyodo Ichigenkin. What he learned was not simply the technique of playing this instrument by sliding the left hand up and down the string while plucking it with the right but also the Taoist philosophy that underlay its harmonies and plucks. But then his teacher died, and he went to Japan to study the ichigenkin further. He discovered, to his dismay, that the philosophy of the instrument had been lost in its homeland, and thus he found himself in the unique position as a non-Japanese person (and he thinks he may be the only non-Japanese player, of about 500 players worldwide, of this instrument) of teaching the philosophy of the instrument to the "natives." It would be as if a Sri Lankan pizza lover had to show the Floretines a true pizza recipe.

But then he and Mei Han played a duet, entitled Tokyo Crows, with her on her beloved zheng and he on the ichigenkin. She told the story of being amazed at seeing such huge crows when she visited Tokyo for the first time. It seemed ironic that in a city where there wasn't a spare square inch of land for a human there were such huge crows. And so they played, with the screeching and receding pluck of the ichigenkin alternately drowning out and being overcome by the steady playing of the zheng. We could almost feel the bulk of the birds and then hear them take wing and fly off in freedom to a destiny unknown.

Dragon Dog

They concluded with this utterly fascinating piece, the Asian equivalent to "dueling banjos" in the West. Randy was born in the year of the dragon, and so he is aloof, otherworldy, "scaly," intolerant, short-tempered and moody. She, on the other hand, was born in the year of the dog, and so is faithful, loyal, gracious, forgiving, and passionate. All the Chinese astrological books he consulted warned about trying to "mix" these two types. Nevertheless, they fell in love and were married, and this last piece shows the "conversation" of the Dragon with the Dog on a pair of zhengs. We hear the competitive, cooperative, assertive, deferential, strong, yielding tones of the zhengs as the two speak to one another. It was a remarkable conversation, where he would say, figuratively, "I am the Dragon; I am right here, in your face. Take me or leave me!" And she would intone, "I am the dog; I am no less than you, nor am I intimidated by you. I am faithfully here, trying to match and respond to your sound. I can take what you can give to me." To which he would respond, "You don't know what you are saying. I am, after all, the Dragon!" And then she responded, "I will try. The dog and the dragon will lie down together, and there shall be peace."

A whole world opens up for you when you listen to Mei Han and Randy Raine-Reusch. At least it did for me.

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