Music: True Agent of Globalization

I stood on the broad stage, feeling very alone, my bandmates invisible behind me. The five of us are often packed on stage elbow to elbow. But this was different; we were in South China, about to kick off a headlining performance at the Xiamen Beach Festival, and we were on a giant stage, surrounded by smoke machines and illuminated by colored lights. A local TV station employed a five-man camera crew, and one guy was kneeling in front of me, lens pointed my way. I blinked into the blinding bank of spotlights and felt my knees wobble for a second.

The MC had just announced us, in Chinese, to 5,000 cheering Xiamen residents as "Beijing's best band." I stepped to the mic, apologized for my bad Chinese and gave a short but rambling thank you: "I am American, my friends here are Chinese. Together, we are one band. We believe that with music, there is one people; no Americans, no Chinese, no Xiameners or Beijingers; just people."

There was a loud cheer that calmed me and then our rhythm section kicked off a hard-driving beat. I shut my eyes and laid into the opening riff of our original song, "Beijing Blues." Fifty minutes and eight songs later we walked off the stage to applause, filled with a tremendous sense of accomplishment.

A full moon shone overhead and the Taiwan Straits stretched out behind us, waves crashing into the shore. Saxophonist Dave Loevinger and I rejoined our kids and his wife (my wife and two youngest children were in the U.S.), who had proudly watched our performance from the front row, waving light sticks. As we headed out, Dave and I were surrounded by well-wishers asking if they could take pictures with us. It was a heady moment for a couple of middle-aged Americans in China.

"File this under 'Never thought it would happen,'" Dave said. It was a feeling that continued for the better part of a week, as we played one more time at the festival and then three shows in Changsha, Hunan (though without Dave, who had to return to work). The six performances felt like the first we had ever done in China; there were few foreigners at any of them, no one in the crowd knew us or was there to support us. They were just there to hear some music. And their reactions were gratifying.

At one show in Hunan, I raised my hands and clapped rhythmically before beginning to belt the traditional American song, "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." When the crowd began clapping and stomping along I felt a chill and was overcome with emotion. Since I was a young teen, music has shaped much of my self-image and been a prism through which I've seen the world. A song like "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" is all about death and redemption. It has heavy religious overtones, but to me it's about optimism in the face of unthinkable burden, and about an almost ecstatic sense of freedom in the face of adversity. Now I had a sense that I was conveying some of this feeling – even if almost no one in the audience could understand the words I was singing – and that notion prompted me to dig deeper and give more of myself.

Even while I feel that music can break down barriers, I have never felt prouder or more aware of being an American than when singing these songs in China. And I know that I never could have figured out how to express what was in me without these talented Chinese musicians prodding me. To me, this is the very essence of globalization. The real potential for cross-cultural communication and understanding lies in many small moments of interaction rather than in anything large, state run or commercial. And so it is that the same vehicle that has put me so in touch with what it means to me to be an American has also granted me so much insight into China.

One of the most moving parts of the trip was returning to Hunan with Lu Wei, our drummer. A native of the province, he hasn't been home for eight years. He is a third-generation drummer and his father told him when he left for Beijing not to come back until he was a big success. The fact he has not returned despite growing acclaim in Beijing and being an endorser of two large European drum companies made me think they were estranged, but it is not the case.

When we landed in Changsha, Lu Wei immediately called home: "Father, I am in Hunan!" Even though his hometown is on the other side of the province, about a 10-hour drive away, and he had never been to Changsha, Lu Wei was beaming our entire visit, reveling in the soulful, spicy food and walking around with extra pep in his step. He also played like a man on fire. I had urged him to have his father come see the shows, but it didn't happen and over a bowl of noodles he said they both thought the moment would be too intense.

On our second day in Changsha, we did three radio interviews, where we also performed a few songs live on air and had the thrill of hearing them play music off the five-track CD we hurriedly pressed for this trip. "I'm proud of us," guitarist Woodie Wu said to me, as we sat there hearing our song through the studio speakers. "Just really proud."

The last appearance was at the biggest station in town. The glass-enclosed studio sat high above the biggest intersection in the city. The two DJs were highly professional, and in and out of commercial breaks they played a very well done clip promoting our appearance. It featured some of our original music, with a loud classic radio voice intoning, in Chinese, "The Woodie Alan Band -- Beijing's finest blues band. Live in Changsha. Right here on the Live Show!"

They opened the lines for phone calls, we answered a few questions, played another song and then there was a break.

Bassist Zhong Yang finally acknowledged the elephant in the room. "It's too bad you're leaving Alan," he said, "Look at us."

Indeed, my impending departure hung over the week, giving everything both added emotional intensity and bittersweet shading. The Xiamen promoters have already called offering a more extensive tour of Fujian province and one of the radio hosts in Changsha says if we return she can book us onto one of China's most popular television shows.

It's unlikely we will manage either before I leave, but Woodie Alan will not go quietly into the night, either. We are finishing work on our full-length CD and Friday night, we will perform at the U.S. Ambassador's Residence. I will come back to China for some gigs, and I am working on some ambitious plans to bring the group to the U.S. this summer.

My Chinese bandmates are thrilled at the prospect of performing in the U.S.; only Woodie has been there, and he visited only Los Angeles. And I think the more Americans who can see China as a place with real, regular people, the better. After three plus years here, I am still shocked by how people misunderstand the country, with many Americans still seeming to hold one of two diametrically opposed stereotypes: China is a raging dragon about to gobble us up; China is a land of peasants riding bikes in Mao jackets. I'll be happy if my band can come to the USA and dispel some of this misinformation for even a handful of people.