In Weikeng Hutong unit 36, a common courtyard in the Xinjiekou area of Beijing, a special weekly party has been going on for 25 years.

During the 25 years, some group members have passed away, but other new members have arrived. The party scheduled for every Monday has continued, except during the SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome) outbreak of last year.

Gathered at the party are a group of fans of Bajiaogu, a narrative musical performing art in which one chants to the accompaniment of his or her own Bajiaogu (octagonal tambourine) beating and the sanxian (three-stringed plucking instrument) playing of another participant.

Belonging to the large tradition of quyi (a general term for various local folk performing arts in which speech, chanting or both are used), Bajiaogu was developed in the 18th century.

A club for amateur performers of Bajiaogu is called a piaofang (ticket house). To carry out these activities in the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911), such a club had to obtain a "dragon ticket," which was a performance permit issued by the emperor. An amateur performer, therefore, is called a piaoyou, which literally means a ticket friend.

Today, amateur performance of Bajiaogu is still practiced at the club in Xinjiekou with the banner "Ji-Xian-Cheng-Yun," meaning Assembling the Worthy and Succeeding the Rhyme. Now 25 years old, it is the most prominent Bajiaogu amateur club in Beijing today.

Every week about 30 club members gather for Jixianchengyun activities, although sometimes as many as 100 attend and some members have to stay in the outdoor courtyard..

Bajiaogu, though seemingly something lost in modern metropolitan Beijing, still finds its territory in this traditional residential area.

"Coming to Jixianchengyun activities is the most fun part of my elderly life," says 62-year-old Guan Shiliang, who is a sanxian player. "I don't like playing cards or raising birds, instead I find my entertainment in Bajiaogu."

A less-known genre of the already declining quyi art, Bajiaogu was created and first practiced by the Manchus between 1736-96 during the reign of Emperor Qianlong.

Now Manchus still make up about one third of the participants of Jixianchengyun, including 93-year-old Qian Yadong, who is sponsor of the club and owner of the house.

"It has not been easy to keep this club running for 25 years," says Qian. "I'm glad that the art of Bajiaogu is not lost, which I feared when I founded the club."

Traditional folk culture experienced a calamity during the "cultural revolution" (1966-76), and Bajiaogu was no exception. Qian says that when Jixianchengyun began its activities in 1979, no more than 10 friends met regularly to practice the folk art. And almost all of them except Qian have already passed away.

Fortunately new members keep joining, especially young people. Although the folk art is still limited to a small circle, one need not worry that this art form will die with today's young generation.

Zhang Pu, 24, is one of the young members.

Zhang, who is now doing post-graduate studies in financial management in Britain, claims that he listens to neither pop nor Western classical music, but quyi only.

In his laptop there are about 20 gigabytes of quyi MP3 pieces.

"It's very strange how I began to like quyi," he said. "But when I get depressed, listening to pop songs only frustrates me more. Quyi music like Bajiaogu and jingyundagu (narrative musical performances in Beijing dialect with drum accompaniment) always has a soothing effect."

This might be attributed to the narrative feature of quyi. In telling stories, quyi tends to depict the protagonists and incidents in a rather objective and outward way, leaving much for the listeners to mull over.

In addition, quyi's plain narration always finds its way through everyday situations. No wonder it often has a more profound effect than most superficial pop songs, Zhang says.

Zhang got to know about Jixianchengyun four years ago through a friend. In the two years before he left for Britain, he visited almost every week to learn about the art form and to sing.

Zhang's most frequently performed works are Scenery of Spring (Chun Jing) and Praising the Wind (Zan Feng), two pieces in what is considered the most basic sub-genre of Bajiaogu, chaqu.

"I was told that to learn the complicated forms one should begin with the simpler ones," says Zhang.

At Jixianchengyun, the fans sometimes improvise new verses, trying to portray modern society through the old performing art.

However, although works on new themes - for example, SARS -have been written, very few of them can hold a place in the repertory.

"The literary style of Bajiaogu is too far away from today's life to regain its popularity," says Zhang Weidong, an organizer of Jixianchengyun activities. "What we can do is document and collate its music, but not totally revive it."

Since 1997, Zhang Weidong and some other fans have been editing and publishing a quarterly newsletter "Bajiaogu Xun."

Zhang Weidong also sponsors another amateur club called "Nishang-Xu-Yong" (Continuous Intoning of Nishang Music), which is located in the Mingguang Xili neighborhood near the China University of Political Science and Law.

In Beijing there are now three or four active amateur Bajiaogu clubs. They are either separated from or closely related to Jixianchengyun.

It is a pity that activities at Jixianchengyun will probably stop some time this year, as 93-year-old Qian is now too old to host the weekly parties.

However, this amateur club will surely have a place in the history of Bajiaogu.

Over one-quarter of a century, Jixianchengyun not only provided opportunities for fans to exchange their views, but also started a series of studies about the ancient art.

Above all, it has brought great happiness to all of its participants.

(China Daily February 5, 2004)