The term “Chinese style” is everywhere now, and in pop music a good deal of the credit for that belongs to Jay Chou and Vincent Fang. I admire their songwriting—that part of their work, not everything around it. Their songs also offer a useful way into what Chinese style actually means.
In music, it is often described through “three ancients and three new elements”: ancient diction, ancient culture, and ancient melody combined with new vocal technique, new arrangement, and new concept. The lyrics carry Chinese cultural substance; the singing and production build the atmosphere; nostalgic Chinese settings meet a contemporary rhythm. The result can be restrained, melancholy, elegant, or light. Within this, people distinguish pure Chinese style—works that meet all six conditions—from near-Chinese style, which misses some conditions but remains close.
Ancient diction does not simply mean adding a few classical words. If classical Chinese or old poetry is the main vocabulary, some songs that are casually called Chinese style no longer qualify. Musically, this means carrying forward the artistic spirit of Su Shi, Liu Yong, Li Qingzhao, and other writers. Whether the result mixes past and present or tries to return wholly to antiquity is less important than what is inherited: the mood, not the linguistic habit. The requirement, in the end, is a nostalgic atmosphere and a classical sensibility. Chinese cultural meaning expressed through the compressed, suggestive language of old poetry—that is already a defining feature.
Ancient culture enters through allusion. It reminds us what love can mean, and it points to a much larger inheritance: five thousand years of culture that earlier generations have left to Chinese-style musicians today. A songwriter should be like an archaeologist who takes history seriously. For listeners, a Chinese-style song can work like an illustrated booklet: it catches your attention and makes you want to read the full story. For the musician, writing one song may require reading a book or more. The song can be hung on a historical nail, as it were, and become a Chinese scroll with plenty to ponder.
Ancient melody has its own character. China has many regional opera traditions, and they are not only sources of subjects but also reservoirs of melodic ideas.
That is the musical side. When I design PJBlog skins, the same inclination shows up visually. My skins carry some Chinese style more or less; I enjoy old culture, read poetry and prose, love Chinese ink painting, and sometimes paint in my spare time. As foreign cultures spread, attention to one's own traditions can weaken. I do not advocate a wholesale revival of the past—that would be neither possible nor desirable—but classical Chinese and old poetry can say a great deal in very few words. Modern prose often cannot match that compression.
Through design I want to promote Chinese style and Chinese culture. It may sound like a big task, and some may laugh at it. That is fine. I live in my own world; my territory is mine to govern.
In a PJBlog skin, Chinese style can mainly be visual. The clearest vehicle is Chinese painting. My designs almost all use ink-wash elements to some degree. Chinese painting is often more about expressing intention than copying appearance; variations in ink density create layers of tone. It emphasizes learning from nature while finding the source within, intention before brush, meaning after the painting is finished, a fusion of object and self, and the creation of mood. It seeks to capture spirit through form, with form and spirit together and a lively rhythm. Because calligraphy and painting share an origin, and both depend on brushwork and line movement for expression, painting, calligraphy, and seal carving have influenced one another and developed distinctive artistic features.
I will keep going in this direction—continuing my Chinese style and promoting the Chinese culture I care about.