A-Jing’s voice is sometimes as bright as a child’s, and sometimes smoky and full of stories… For her high notes, I love using Lilian’s word “soul-stealing” to describe her singing. Reaching the heart isn’t enough to talk about. Drawing in the soul, too—that is really something worth talking about.
As Lilian wrote, the first A-Jing song I heard was indeed “Qiyue Shang,” and I fell for it within seconds. I remember it was morning, during a break in our military training. A girl in the back row took out her phone and played it. The moment the singing began, I loved the lyrics and the tune. Later, I worked up the nerve to ask the girl what it was called. She told me, “Qiyue Shang.” I couldn’t believe it at first: such a lovely song, with a name like that… I found it hard to accept in a way I couldn’t explain. But later I understood. This was A-Jing, after all. Her lyrics have always been different. It’s like Chen Li naming her first album Ru Ye: she just wanted to use music to convey feelings she couldn’t put into words. That was the intention behind Chen Li’s album title, and the same goes for A-Jing’s lyrics.
Also just as Lilian wrote, I felt nothing the first time I heard A-Jing’s “Bu Lu Sheng Se.” It didn’t grab me immediately the way “Qiyue Shang” had. But I was too lazy to swipe down and change the song, so I left it on repeat.
Then, all at once, I stopped what I was doing, opened the app, and stared at the lyrics. What surprised me was—wow, these lyrics… the world they evoke is simply beautiful. I don’t mean the kind of beauty you get from old-style prose wrapped in ornate language. There is a sad beauty in this song’s words that can only be imagined.
It grips your heart and moves you before you can help it, and you willingly let it bind you, willingly let it rule your emotions. It feels like a sudden beam of light shining onto the door of a locked room in your heart. The world becomes clear all at once, and the dead air in that room is driven out, replaced with endless life.
I’ve always been a total sucker for voices. The principle I stick to when listening to audio is this: it has to be beautiful.
So what do I mean by “beautiful”?
A song that suits my taste is beautiful. An audio recording with a pleasing voice and content that agrees with my values is beautiful. A voice performance with feeling and a voice that fits is beautiful…
There’s a little-known singer-songwriter called Chongqing Lao Yang. Actually, I don’t know whether he quite counts as a singer, but at least compared with us, he has already written and made several folk songs of his own. That makes him a singer, I suppose.
When I first heard his “You Xiwang,” the moment he opened his mouth, I felt a story of time’s wear and unpredictable changes. Or perhaps his is simply the kind of voice that carries stories.
“My body is beginning to lose its youth, and beautiful stories will pass away in the end. If you and I choose to believe, then surely we will meet again.”
Such evocative lyrics. I suppose that’s what moves me about Lao Yang.
Whether it’s Chen Li, Lao Yang, or A-Jing,
Their songs hold emotions, things they want to tell their listeners, and the child in their inner world who doesn’t want to be fully exposed to everyone’s gaze.
“I like listening to other people’s stories, and I’m gathering my own.”
These words are for everyone who holds on to stories. Don’t take it too far, or the blankness will catch you unprepared.