Choirmaster's chronicle
John Floreen's musical adventures in China
Archived article from Sep 29, 2000
By John Floreen
Associate Professor John Floreen, director of the Rutgers University Chorus on the Newark campus, has always believed the language of music is international. He got to experience that truth firsthand when he spent the spring 2000 semester teaching at the Sichuan Conservatory of Music in Chengdu, China. His appointment as a guest faculty member was under the auspices of the United Board for Christian Higher Education in Asia. Floreen's charge was to create a "typically Western type of choir program."
Working with a translator, he assembled and rehearsed both a mixed chorus and a women's chorus, taught conducting and Western choral repertoire, and, at the end of the semester, directed his students in a well-received 90-minute concert performance of American and European music, along with some Chinese folk songs he had arranged himself.
Floreen left behind $20,000 worth of free music he had solicited from 22 major American music publishers. The music is now the heart of the conservatory's choral library.
These are his reflections on his visit.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 15 -- My second day in Chengdu. For a city of 10 million, they have a very small airport, which looks like the industrial/military type. On the trip into the city I was greeted by row after row of tired-looking, gray apartment buildings of 1950s socialist regime architecture. When we reached the city proper the scene became more complex -- more run-down housing and ghettos alongside brand-new high-rise luxury condos and office towers. I wasn't prepared for quite such a noisy, dirty and overcrowded city. My perspective had been colored by gleaming, dynamic, wealthy Hong Kong, where I first landed and spent two days getting over jet lag before flying on to Chengdu.
FRIDAY, MARCH 17 -- As I walked in the room for the first rehearsal, I was welcomed and introduced with a roar of cheers and applause -- truly amazing, unbridled enthusiasm. Had they confused me with Bill Clinton? In any case, I learned along the way that the people in Chengdu really respect and love Americans. As I began the first rehearsal, my initial reaction to the full, mature quality of their voices was a momentary comparison with the rich sound of the old Robert Shaw Chorale.
SUNDAY, MARCH 19 -- Many of the Sichuan Conservatory of Music buildings are old; they are extreme cases of deferred maintenance. Their roofs leak, windows are broken or missing, and electrical wiring is primitive. My rivate apartment on campus in the guest house is spacious and comfortable. But I can't help feeling guilty; most of my students live in a six-story dorm without elevators, some 42 students sharing a bathroom. Some students ride bicycles from home to the campus, often a trip of 30 to 40 minutes each way.
TUESDAY, MARCH 21 -- After the morning rehearsal, I had lunch followed by a very enjoyable conversation over tea with a half-dozen students for well over an hour. We talked about America and about China. In a very nonjudgmental tone, and with a smile on her face, Yen, a 20-year-old female music student, asked, "Why are Americans so interested in money, money, money?"
FRIDAY, MARCH 24 -- As I began to meet more and more people, my perspective changed. I began to focus on the interesting, attractive, smiling faces, and less on the buildings, crowded streets and the noise. Little by little I got to know and appreciate the very warmhearted, kind and spontaneous nature of the Chinese people, and this made all the difference in my adapting to a foreign culture.
SATURDAY, APRIL 1 -- As I walked on a narrow street in the city, I couldn't help seeing how poor some of the people are. Some live in huts with no windows, just openings in the wall with bars. Roofs are on the verge of falling down. Clothes are hanging out to dry wherever you look -- even in the trees. I was uncertain as to how they felt about an "outsider" walking right next to their humble, primitive homes, even though, technically, I was walking on a public path. In such a situation, any Chinese sitting alongside their hut would, more often than not, smile and say "Hello!" It dawned on me that walking through their narrow paths was not perceived as an invasion of their privacy, as it would be in other parts of the world. I have been told that there is no word in the Chinese language that means "privacy." The concept is foreign to the Chinese.
continued...
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