CHENGDU, China (AP) — In 2018, the regulators supervising Chinese media issued an edict to the nation’s entertainment sector: Refrain from showcasing performers adorned with tattoos and those emblematic of hip-hop or any subculture.
Right after that renowned rapper GAI skipped a performance on a well-loved singing contest despite an acclaimed debut. Speculation ran rampant: Fans feared the demise of hip-hop in China. Some media dubbed it a prohibition.
The category had recently enjoyed a stellar year, with a popular competition-style TV program catapulting new talents into fame and introducing them to a population of 1.4 billion. Rappers accustomed to hustling with minimal resources and playing in intimate venues became household names. The pronouncement from regulators came amidst this peak frenzy. A hush fell, and for months, no rappers graced the numerous variety shows and singing contests on Chinese television.
However, by the close of that year, everything resumed in full swing. “Hip-hop had become excessively popular,” states Nathanel Amar, a scholar of Chinese popular culture at the French Centre for Research on Contemporary China. “They couldn’t suppress the entire genre.”
What initially seemed like the demise of Chinese hip-hop turned out to be just the commencement.
ROOTS IN THE WESTERN CITY OF CHENGDU
Since then, the burgeoning growth of hip-hop in China has continued unabated. It has achieved this by establishing its own niche while steering clear of the government’s boundaries, striking a balance between authentic artistic expression and compliance with the country’s influential censors.
Presently, musicians express anticipation for an imminent golden era.
A significant portion of this momentum emanates from Chengdu, situated in China’s southwestern Sichuan province. Some of the most prominent figures in Chinese rap today originate from Sichuan; Wang Yitai, Higher Brothers, and Vava are just a few examples of artists who have propelled Chinese rap into the mainstream, blending Mandarin with the local Sichuan dialect. While Chengdu's hip-hop scene initially gravitated towards the weighty beats of trap music, its evolution into the mainstream has seen artists explore lighter genres, ranging from R&B to the popular afrobeat rhythms championed by Beyoncé.
While Chinese rap has thrived underground for years in cities like Beijing, it is the Sichuan region — renowned globally for its spicy cuisine, panda sanctuaries, and as the birthplace of the late leader Deng Xiaoping — that has emerged as its epicenter.
“There's a lot of lyrical potential in rap. From a young age, we were exposed to language rich in rhymes. I believe we're its birthplace,” says Mumu Xiang, a native of Sichuan who recently attended a rap concert in the city.
The local dialect lends itself well to rap due to its mellower tone compared to Mandarin Chinese and its abundance of rhyming words, explains 25-year-old rapper Kidway, hailing from a town near Chengdu. “For instance, take the word ‘gang’ in English. In Sichuanese, there are numerous rhymes for that word like ‘fang, sang, zhuang,’ the rhymes are already there,” he points out.
Chengdu also embraces outsiders, notes Haysen Cheng, a 24-year-old rapper who relocated from Hong Kong to the city in 2021 to focus on his music, invited by Harikiri, a British producer instrumental in shaping the scene and collaborating with Chengdu’s top artists.
Central to the city’s hip-hop narrative is a collective known as Chengdu Rap House or CDC, founded by a rapper named Boss X, affectionately dubbed "Xie laober" by his Sichuanese fans. Chengdu has embraced rap, with pioneers like Boss X transitioning from creating music in a rundown apartment to performing in stadiums packed with thousands of fans. During Boss X’s March performance, the audience enthusiastically sang along in Sichuanese. Despite regulations prohibiting standing during stadium performances in China, the atmosphere buzzed with enthusiasm.
“When I arrived in mainland China, I received more love in three or four months than I ever did in Hong Kong,” Cheng reflects. He had the opportunity to collaborate with the Higher Brothers, one of the few Chinese rap groups with international recognition. “People here genuinely support each other's success.”
However, the mainstreaming of hip-hop has led to the disappearance of the underground scene. Chengdu was once renowned for its underground rap battles, now a thing of the past as freestyling often involves language and themes deemed inappropriate by authorities. The last rap battle in the city was swiftly shut down by authorities. Nowadays, it's all about digital platforms, with artists uploading short clips of their music to Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, to gain visibility.
Kidway recalls learning to rap through these battles, competing against peers his age. He abandoned a job at a renovation company to pursue rap full-time.
Despite the demise of rap battles, the field now boasts more rappers than ever before. And that, Kidway believes, only adds to its intrigue. “The more players there are,” he asserts, “the more interesting it becomes.”
A TV SHOW THAT GAVE BIRTH TO A GENRE
Rarely can a solitary cultural creation be credited with birthing an entire music genre. Yet, the talent competition/reality TV series "The Rap of China" has played a significant role in shaping China's rap industry.
The inaugural season, aired on IQiyi, an online streaming platform, brought rap and hip-hop culture into countless homes across the nation. According to Chinese media reports, the first season's 12 episodes garnered a staggering 2.5 billion online views.
During its inaugural season, the show relied heavily on the star power of its judges, particularly Kris Wu, a Chinese Canadian vocalist and former member of the popular K-pop ensemble EXO. At that time, Wu was at the pinnacle of his fame, and his remarks as a judge became internet memes. "Do you possess freestyle?" he inquired of a contestant, completely serious, during Episode One — a moment that attained internet notoriety as doubts surfaced regarding Wu's rap credentials.
From the first season emerged two victors: GAI and PG One. Shortly following their triumph, the internet buzzed with rumors concerning PG One's less-than-ideal personal conduct. Furthermore, the Communist Youth League rebuked one of his prior songs for containing themes suggestive of cocaine use, a clear violation of the censors' red lines.
Then came the 2018 gathering where regulators reminded television networks of who should be excluded from their programs, specifically individuals associated with hip-hop. PG One discovered that any attempts to release new music were swiftly thwarted by platforms. IQiyi, the platform airing the show, even temporarily removed the entire first season.
However, by late summer 2018, fans rejoiced upon hearing news of an upcoming second season of "The Rap of China," albeit with a rebrand. While the English title remained unchanged, the Chinese version signaled a shift in direction. The show's name transitioned from "China Has Hip-Hop" to "China Has 'Shuochang,'" a term also denoting traditional storytelling forms.
Regulators greenlit the continued growth of hip-hop, albeit under the stipulations set by government censors. Hip-hop was now synonymous with "shuochang" and emblematic of youth culture; however, it had to steer clear of references to drugs and explicit content. Otherwise, it could progress freely.
“It was a triumph for Chinese regulators. ... They effectively managed to assimilate hip-hop artists,” remarks Amar. “It's akin to a pact: If you aspire to popularity, if you wish to appear on television programs, you must adhere to the red line.”
FINDING A CHINESE VOICE
With stringent censorship reigning over the entertainment realm and prohibitions on references to drugs and sexuality in lyrics, artists have responded in two distinct manners. They either fully embrace displays of patriotism and nationalism or steer clear of such subjects.
Some, like GAI, have fully embraced the government's narrative in the mainstreaming of hip-hop. He clinched victory in "The Rap of China" with a track titled "Not Friendly," in which, true to hip-hop tradition, he dissed unnamed fellow rappers. "I’m not friendly. I can shatter your pen at any moment. Tear down your flashy words... My foes, you best pray for a decent end," he spits.
A mere few years later, GAI is extolling China's illustrious past on CCTV's Spring Festival New Year's Gala, a meticulously scripted variety show featuring comedy sketches, songs, and dance performances, watched by families during Chinese New Year celebrations. "Five thousand years of history flow past like quicksand. I’m proud to be born in Cathay," he croons, clad in a Qing Dynasty-inspired Tang jacket.
The boundaries set by censorship have compelled artists to delve into greater creativity. For Chinese rap to flourish, artists must unearth original voices, they assert. 32-year-old rapper Fulai describes his music as chill rap or "bedroom music" — not in a euphemistic sense, but akin to the tunes you unwind to while lying in bed. His upcoming album, he reveals, delves into mundane topics like marital disputes and household chores.
Nevertheless, Fulai admits to frequently addressing sexuality in his lyrics. Chinese is a language rich in idioms and boasts a robust poetic tradition: "There's nothing off-limits," he asserts. "You simply need to exercise wit."
Crafting an authentic Chinese brand of rap remains a work in progress. Hip-hop emerged from the tough neighborhoods of New York's Brooklyn and the Bronx, where rappers narrated tales of their harsh realities, from gunfights to crime to illicit drug trade. In China, the challenge lies in finding themes that resonate with its context. Gun violence is rare in a country where firearms are banned, and the repercussions for drug offenses are severe.
The rap crews in Chongqing, another sprawling city in the Sichuan region, once delved into gang culture, with artists penning lyrics about skirmishes and pledges of brotherhood. However, most of today's prominent acts refrain from rapping about subjects like violence or drug use.
Wang Yitai, formerly part of Chengdu's rap collective CDC, has risen to become one of China's most renowned rappers. His style blends mainstream pop sensibilities.
"We're all striving to produce songs that not only sound pleasing but also resonate with Chinese themes," Wang remarks. "I believe the essence of hip-hop will always revolve around originality and personal narratives."
