Chapter 368

The French electronic musician Jean-Michel Jarre was born into a musical family; his father, Maurice Jarre, won the Oscar for Best Original Score twice for Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago.

And that's not even his limit—he also composed the scores for The Tin Drum, Ghost, and Dead Poets Society, making him arguably Hollywood's most famous French composer.

With such a father, combined with his tall, handsome appearance and strong professional skills, his 2019 album Oxygen became a massive hit, the most successful album in French music history, selling over ten million copies; Jean-Michel Jarre was truly a favorite of fate.

So at age thirty-three, while many musicians were still struggling to make ends meet, he launched this global tour, even including mainland China, a region never before visited by European and American musicians, bringing electronic music to China.

All arrangements were handled through communication between the French Foreign Ministry and Chinese authorities, taking months to finalize; he would perform five shows in China: two in Yanjing and three in the Magic City.

Stages were erected early in front of the Forbidden City, as his concerts are typically large-scale outdoor performances using elaborate light and projection effects.

Many of his concert attendance records still hold Guinness World Records.

For this performance, he chartered a plane to transport all concert equipment to China.

Many stage crew members were even French, as many electronic music devices were unknown to Chinese technicians.

To Jean-Michel Jarre, this China trip was both a mission of cultural transmission and a journey—he had long heard China was a culturally rich, historically profound nation.

Since it was a vacation, he brought his wife, the British actress Charlotte Rampling.

But their sightseeing would have to wait until tomorrow, as Jarre was invited to lecture at the Central Conservatory of Music this morning.

Electronic music was a new art form, and the young Jarre was regarded as a master in the field, so his classroom was packed.

Graduating students from the 1977 and 1978 composition classes—Tan Dun, Qu Xiaosong, Chen Qigang, Liu Suola, Guo Wenjing, and Ye Xiaogang—would all become pivotal figures in China's future music or literary circles, and all attended.

Liu Suola blurted out: "Hey, this master is so young—and handsome!"

Her boyfriend Qu Xiaosong frowned: "He's just average—nothing compared to me."

Liu Suola rolled her eyes but still stroked her boyfriend's thick beard; despite all that facial hair, he was under thirty.

She liked hairy men, though she'd heard white men were all hairy anyway.

Because Jarre's lecture contained too many technical terms, he taught mostly in English, assuming music students would have some English proficiency—and there were translators anyway.

The conservatory's curriculum was still relatively backward; almost none of these first-generation music majors had ever heard of electronic music, and even those who'd encountered it via overseas channels had never touched it.

So Jarre gave the students of the Central Conservatory a live lesson using his British-made EMS Synthi AKS synthesizer.

It was China's first-ever electronic music class.

When the music began, language ceased to be a barrier.

After an initial wave of quiet reactions, Jarre finally received the enthusiastic response he sought, boosting his confidence for tonight's concert; in high spirits, he invited a student to try operating the machine.

Thirty-year-old Chen Qigang eagerly raised his hand and was chosen to take the stage.

For students used to traditional Western and Chinese instruments like the clarinet, piano, and erhu, this machine was astonishingly novel—music suddenly seemed to hold endless possibilities.

Watching Chen Qigang fiddle with the machine, Tan Dun and the others in the audience regretted not being more proactive.

As the lecture neared its end, Jarre invited all present students to attend his concert and distributed tickets on the spot; though it was an outdoor show, the venue would be enclosed—only ticket holders could enter.

He ended by asking: "What's the most popular music in China right now?"

Tan Dun seized the chance, handing Jarre a cassette tape of the original soundtrack of "Mother, Please Love Me Again," and said in English: "This—everyone in China is listening to it!"

The tape was entirely in Chinese, featuring a Chinese woman; Jarre murmured, "Beautiful!"

His wife Charlotte Rampling leaned forward to glance—yes, a classic Eastern beauty, petite and delicate.

Jean-Michel Jarre asked: "Are these songs sung by this woman?"

"No no no, she is China's most famous actress Gong Ying; all this music comes from her recent film, and both the movie and songs are deeply moving," Tan Dun explained.

"Mama" has been out for a month, and its influence continues: over two million cassette copies of the title track have sold, total revenue has surpassed ten million, and even the dangers of gentamicin have been endlessly debated across every major newspaper.

Jarre wore an expression of understanding: "Oh, China's Isabelle Adjani!"

He had already become somewhat enchanted by Adjani, the French rose; hearing this French compliment, his British wife felt a slight pang of jealousy.

Behind them, Liu Suola added in passable English: "Most of these pieces were composed by Wei Ming, though he's actually a writer—a very famous one."

When she said "Wei Ming," she used his well-known English pen name.

Charlotte Rampling, who had just read an article about him in The Times, snatched the cassette from her husband's hand and peered at it—unfortunately, she couldn't read Chinese and didn't know the corresponding characters.

Though she had never seen "The Lion King" or other works, she had heard three of the songs; John Lennon and Princess Diana were British celebrities she admired, and by association, she developed a fondness for Wei Ming.

After learning about his thoughts and vision through that article, she grew even more curious about this Eastern literary figure, even feeling a touch of admiration.

After leaving the music academy, they had listened to this cassette in the car—it had undeniable merit, strong emotional resonance, but its composition and arrangement were relatively traditional, while the electronic music was too avant-garde; they weren't on the same wavelength.

During afternoon rehearsal, when Chinese staff mentioned many music industry figures would attend the concert, Charlotte Rampling suddenly asked: "Will Wei Ming come? I'd love to meet him!"

He was the only Chinese musician she knew well, perhaps the most familiar Chinese cultural figure to foreigners.

Hearing his wife obsess over a Chinese man, Jarre deliberately said: "If you put it that way, I wonder if Gong Ying will come?"

He pulled out the cassette and pointed to Gong Ying on the cover: "Her."

The couple exchanged a glance; the air seemed to crackle with electricity.

The staff smiled awkwardly: "We'll contact them right away—please wait a moment."

The final call went to the Overseas Chinese Apartment; Old Wei answered, while Xu Shufen was busy making dumplings.

"Hello, you're looking for Teacher Wei? Oh, my son's out… A concert? Foreigners? Inviting him as a guest? But I can't find him—can I go in his place? If I'm not enough, I'll bring his mother too…"

Wei Ming went to the concert with Zhang Yimou; Gong Ying set off from Tuanjie Lake with Biaozi and Yanzi—they were among the first to arrive.

Many audience members today were from the military; since Jarre was neither a well-known musician nor known for his repertoire, tickets were distributed to troops as a benefit to create the illusion of a packed house and spare the master's dignity.

Wei Ming and Zhang Yimou walked through a sea of green uniforms; when Old Zhang saw Comrade Gong Ying, he knew he was redundant and quickly vacated the seat beside Wei Ming.

Biaozi pulled Old Zhang into small talk—he'd been very pleased with their wedding photo and planned to use him again.

Liu Zhenyun and his wife had come from Peking University; they left earliest but arrived latest.

They proudly passed through the outer crowd with their tickets, joining Wei Ming, Biaozi, and the others inside.

Guo Jianmei had seen Gong Ying in person before, but last time, Gong Ying wasn't this famous—now she was so famous she had to wear a mask to hide her face; yet because they sat close, Guo Jianmei recognized her at once.

Gong Ying knew she was Wei Ming's friend—the woman she'd met on her first day in Beijing—and lowered her mask to greet her, then put it back on before continuing to chat.

Guo Jianmei studied the group: Gong Ying sat beside Wei Ming—"talented man, beautiful woman" had become flesh and blood.

Biaozi and Yanzi, meanwhile, resembled "tigers, wolves, leopards, and bears"; in Guo Jianmei's mind, Huang Jiaoyan embodied the fierce tigress from "Heroes Born in Youth."

Zhang Yimou was simply a living terracotta warrior.

But after chatting a while, Guo Jianmei realized Yanzi was merely outgoing and physically strong—not cruel at all—and even radiated maternal warmth.

Among the three women, Guo Jianmei was the one Gong Ying and Huang Jiaoyan most envied—a top student from Peking University's Law Department, destined to become a lawyer or judge—truly a pillar of the nation.

Watching the six paired off, Zhang Yimou couldn't help missing his wife back in Xi'an.

But comparing her to these three, he wondered if his own wife was too ordinary, too plain—too embarrassing to show off—and felt a pang of disappointment.

This restless feeling jolted him awake; he looked up and saw his Uncle Jiefang.

Old Zhang was about to tell Wei Ming, but saw Old Wei shake his head, then quietly vanish with his wife into another corner of the audience—they were both very considerate parents.

Before the concert began, Wei Ming explained to Liu Zhenyun and Biaozi their doubts about electronic music.

"Simply put, it's music made using electric instruments, machines, or even computers—sounds different from music played by traditional instruments."

It was Jarre's China tour that first introduced mainland musicians to the allure of electronic music, inspiring Xu Jingqing's bold experiments in "Journey to the West."

"Which do you prefer?" Zhang Yimou asked.

"I definitely prefer music played by conventional instruments," Wei Ming said, "but if asked which concert I'd rather watch, I'd probably choose an electronic music concert."

Soon Zhang Yimou understood why—and why Wei Ming had invited him: this wasn't just about listening; it was truly something to see!

As with other concerts, a CCTV female host took the stage to introduce the achievements of French electronic music master Jean-Michel Jarre.

This time, no leaders gave speeches; soon, Jarre appeared in a sharp suit, bathed in lights and fog, looking ethereal and dreamlike.

This scene deeply stunned Zhang Yimou, who loved playing with light and shadow—he had never imagined outdoor performances could be this spectacular.