In memory of one of the greatest composers of the 20th century, Dmitri Shostakovich (Sept. 25, 1906 — Aug. 9, 1975): Shostakovich’s life reads like a legend. He seemed to live with his whole heart, navigating both artistic triumph and personal turbulence. His early breakthrough came with his Symphony No. 1 (1925), written at just 19, which won acclaim in both Russia and the West. But in 1936, official criticism targeted his work — especially his successful opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk (1932). Under intense pressure, he withdrew his Fourth Symphony before its premiere, and composed Symphony No. 5 (1937) as a public “response” that restored his standing. The piece satisfied official expectations, yet still carried a subtle undercurrent of irony. ...

and let’s read this: Lexicon of Musical Invective: Critical Assaults on Composers Since Beethoven’s Time By Nicolas Slonimsky Amazon Link The prelude by the author ‘Non-Acceptance of the Unfamiliar’ gives a nice bird-eye view for all the trash talks upcoming in the later chapters. Critics find faults from every perspectives, and came up with thousands of ways to say “this piece is bad”. It can be ’too modern’, ’not melodic enough’, ‘sounds like Chinese/animal noises/etc’, ’too loud/weak’, or even, comparable to math: ...

Kunming’s Dounan Flower Market I visited the Dounan flower market today — ha! So naturally this is the time to talk a bit about The ‘Dutch Auction’ The modern flower auction began in the Netherlands in the early 1900s. Specifically, in Aalsmeer, now home to the world’s largest flower market. Before that, flower growers sold fresh-cut flowers directly to wholesalers or middlemen. Prices were opaque and growers had weak bargaining power. On top of that, flowers are highly perishable. ...

In the middle of downtown Kunming lies 翠湖 (might as well be translated to the ‘Green’ Lake?) — a small, quiet lake locals call “the eye of the city.” Around 1940s when Japanese troops pushed deep into China, our top universities — Peking University, Tsinghua, and Nankai — merged and moved south to Kunming, forming the National Southwest Associated University (西南联大). Among its students was the writer 汪曾祺. He later wrote about 翠湖 with the same tone that runs through much of his work: humorous, subtle, warm. His essays recall a city that, despite the war, still had tea houses humming, professors shuffling past with stacks of books, students renting cramped rooms, neighbors chatting in the alleys. Like though life must be tough then during war, people still found small ways to live well. ...

July and August in Yunnan are jùnzi season — the local word for the wild fungi that spill out of the mountains and into dinner tables. Among all these one stands out: the truffle. Truffles shaved in paper-thin slices over pasta are certificates for good dating dinner, their price that can hit USD$50 for just 28 grams. In Yunnan, they’re tossed into scrambled eggs without ceremony, folded into a bowl of noodles, or dropped straight into a pot of rice noodles — as casually as tossing in a handful of button mushrooms. ...

Guiyang’s food mirrors the city’s geography and spirit — rugged, unpretentious, and joyfully rebellious. As I wrote before (Why the food here is so spicy…), history gave China Southwest people a deep bond with chili. Add to that the fact that Guiyang has never been a major economic, political, or trade hub, and you get a food culture that defies easy categorization — a kind of culinary anarchy. In Guangzhou — arguably the city with the best food in China — cooking is treated like a form of high art. A single shrimp dumpling there has to follow an exact choreography: the skin must be translucent but elastic, the filling is expected to be ‘鲜’ and the shrimp inside sweet and bouncy. Like there’s a “right” way to do almost everything. ...

When asked why he wanted to climb Everest, adventurer George Mallory famously replied: “Because it’s there.” Turns out, Fanjing Mountain (2,336m) was also there—when we’ve paid the sunk cost of an expensive ticket and the cable took us to the foot of the mountain—so up I went. Halfway up, Li Bai’s 《蜀道难》 (The Hard Road to Shu) rang painfully true: “噫吁嚱，危乎高哉！蜀道之难，难于上青天！” “Ah, wretched heights! The road to Shu is harder than climbing to heaven!” ...

I spent the day hiking up a valley, tracing a stream until it cascaded into a waterfall. The water was glass-clear, tumbling over stones exactly as the ancient poem describes: “清泉石上流” (Over mossy stones, the crystal stream glides.) The beauty was undeniable—but as a metropolitan indoor person, I’ll admit the aesthetic was more rewarding than the activity. Pro tip: Wear proper hiking shoes and athletic gear. Not designer dresses—unless you enjoy wrestling in waterfalls with couture and crocs sandals. ...

The pepper-heavy cuisine in Southwest China has an economic reason.

I still can’t believe I performed Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring when I was like 16 or so —the flute part, no less. It felt impossible at the time (still does). The beat counting alone is a waking nightmare for any flutist. You don’t “understand” the piece as much as survive it. Now years later as I’m watching a recreation of its riotous 1913 premiere—courtesy of the film Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky (2009)—I’m still stunned. The film opens with a faithful reenactment of that infamous night when Paris’s upperclass literally lost their mind and etiquette over, divine art: (fun fact: the movie is (loosely) about a love affair between Chanel and Stravinsky. With Mads Mikkelsen playing Stravinsky, honestly, I’d believe he can have an affair with anyone…) ...