I need to nurture calluses on the four fingers of my left hand. Occasionally, when I get really excited, pieces of skin from my right thumb and forefinger get chipped off. If I go at it too long, smoke too many cigarettes and drink too much beer, my voice goes virtually hoarse. Guess what I do? No, I am not a typist. Nor am I one of the innumerable migrant workers stacked up in one of Beijing’s urban shantytowns and confined to putting together the pieces of this half-built city, a place in which they ultimately will not be afforded to reside. Although I work under questionable conditions (fluorescent lighting) and am required to lift heavy objects (the magazine for which I work deals with some heavy issues), whether I continue to work and live in Beijing will be largely my decision.

　　Actually, I write songs, sing and play guitar and harmonica (and occasionally maracas) and tap my foot (though, most inaudibly).

　　My only regular gig in Beijing is a twice-a-month spot on a weeknight on South Sanlitun Street, which, as any moneyed Beijinger (including most expats who have been here for a bit) knows, is the bottom rung of approximated Western nightlife in this city, also known as “South Bar Street.” It is modest, yes. A smiling John Lennon with a fan of U.S. dollars in front of his face and the perennial Bob Marley—doobie and all—both hang on the wall.

　　The customers, who incidentally sit in the bar while I play (or my friends, who support me by listening to the same damn songs over and over), are generally quite pleasant. I appreciate that. The only exception that comes to mind is the young dice-playing Chinese suits, who, you could say, make a disproportionate amount of noise compared to me—the performer. I guess, then there’re the expats who wander in, usually teenagers or 20-somethings. They usually sit blankly until they snidely mutter among themselves. When their negativity has sufficiently permeated the bar, making me physically uncomfortable, they usually leave.

　　But last week, about halfway into my second set, a very drunk local guy got out of his seat, stood next to the stage and started clinking Tsingdao beer bottles to the beat of a song of mine. After the tune was done, he offered me to ganbei, or to cordially down a quick drink. He was profusely complementary.

　　Then I pulled out one of the few Chinese songs that I could play, The Moon Expresses My Heart. It sounds a lot lamer in English. But it’s a good tune. It’s a song that all Chinese seem to know and one of the few things mainlanders and Taiwanese seem to agree on. This is largely due to Deng Lijun, the late singer from the island who recorded the song in the 1980s. She had awesome hair, which changed every time she was on camera. She also had one of those happy-sad voices, a bit like Karen Carpenter. Anyway, after hearing the song, the drunken local guy flipped and we ended up chatting over a few more drinks after that.

　　There are many difficulties in finding venues here. One is language. I sing 98 percent of my songs in my native English. The songs are lyrically convoluted on top of that. I am not pop. I do not know any Coldplay or Beatles songs. Most of the guys in charge of arranging musicians haven’t a clue. I get the sense that they want the prestige of having a foreigner supply a backdrop in their overpriced bars, in which most of the Chinese musicians they hire (and I know a few) cannot afford to drink.

　　Audience is another issue. I am a foreigner here singing in a foreign language. The expat community is pretty small and vastly diverse. There have been several times when young and middle-aged Chinese come up to me after a show and tell me they liked what they heard (though they do not understand the words). Although sometimes it’s just some chicks trying to bag a foreign dude, other times I feel a sincere cross-language connection and this makes it feel worthwhile.

　　I have almost completed writing my second Chinese song. But my Mandarin needs to improve in order to compose more effectively in Chinese.

　　One thing I have not done enough of is to go out and meet more local musicians. I have seen several bands. Regardless of what I think of them, they are doing something that’s very difficult: Be creative and even unusual (in China, no less). They put themselves out there on a raised platform, exposed to prejudices and opinions. Some may indeed be cocky or just boring. A few really have talent. Its something you can hear and see regardless of the shape of the sounds coming out of their mouth.