Discovering Ourselves in Intercultural Communication

English Version

Introduction

In February 2023, the United States’ National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) announced the recipients of its 2023 National Heritage Fellowships, the nation’s highest honor in folk and traditional arts. Among them was pipa virtuoso Wu Man, a musician who has brought the ancient sound of the pipa to North America and into global consciousness.

How does she perceive the differences between Eastern and Western musical traditions? And within those differences, how does she search for her own artistic identity—becoming both a bearer and an advocate of cultural heritage? Prompted by these questions, Kui Dong, acclaimed composer and professor of music composition at Dartmouth College, and distinguished Chinese American musician Hong Wang, longtime friends in the international music community, reunited with Wu Man for a thoughtful dialogue on the pipa, on music, and on the art of living.

On Musical Transmission: The Subtle Flavor Within Technique

Kui Dong: I know you’ve collaborated with musicians from various countries along the Silk Road, and you’ve also performed many contemporary works, like those by Tan Dun and Zhou Long. As a performer, how is working with Silk Road musicians different from playing contemporary compositions?

Wu Man: I’ve played in a lot of ensembles, including the Aga Khan Master Musicians in Europe. The group is made up of artists from Silk Road countries, and we play traditional instruments from our respective cultures. There are no Western classical instruments involved. That has been an incredibly nourishing musical experience for me.

As for contemporary works, I was exposed to them during my student years. I performed new pieces by composers like Zhou Long and Guo Wenjing, where we used traditional instruments to interpret contemporary compositions, rather than playing ancient pipa scores passed down through generations or pipa pieces shaped by the cultural and political themes of the 1960s.

Actually, I think the essence of music is fundamentally the same across different traditions. The material behind each piece often comes from the composer’s own cultural background, their evolving understanding and knowledge of music, and the musical nourishment they’ve received throughout their lives. It’s the same for Kui Dong, of course.

Some composers might begin with the melody of a folk song. Others might draw from poetic imagery rooted in Chinese aesthetics or philosophical ideas. Some are deeply influenced by the guqin tradition, while others may find inspiration in music from different Asian cultures. In fact, this is a common thread. These musical creations grow from something deeper and real. We can’t just invent them from nothing.

In short, everything traces back to our ancestors.

Hong Wang: What Wu Man just said really resonated with me. The traditional music we know today, in many ways, comes from each person’s own cultural background. In the past, it was hard for court music to survive over time, simply because ordinary people had no access to it. It remained within palace walls and never became part of the public’s musical life. What we now refer to as “folk” or “ethnic” music is essentially traditional music that has continued to be played among the people.

A piece like Jasmine Flower, for instance, exists in numerous versions—sometimes even under different names. Folk musicians often rely on oral formulas or mnemonic phrases to guide their performance and even composition. But they may not recognize these as a kind of music theory. It takes trained musicians to identify, analyze, and formalize this knowledge. Take something like “the fish bites its tail”—it’s a vivid, image-based way of describing a musical structure or motif.

So when we talk about musical heritage, the real question is: how do we preserve these traditions? And how do we ensure they continue to grow and evolve? As Wu Man just described, her work embodies the transmission of musical heritage.

Kui Dong: Hong Wang just used the term “transmission.” Wu Man, would you say what you're doing is more about transmission, or dissemination?

Wu Man: I think it’s both. A musician cannot disseminate something unless they have first received something to pass on. So transmission and dissemination can go hand in hand.

Just now, Professor Wang mentioned the relationship between traditional music, folk music, and contemporary works. I think folk music often carries strong regional characteristics. For the people, the music they know and resonate with is shaped by the land they live on. For instance, the musical expressions in Syria are distinct from those in Iran. Even though they may all draw from the Muqam tradition, musicians from Afghanistan and Iran will interpret the same scale differently. Still, they operate within a shared framework and musical philosophy, and use a small set of tones as raw material to create endless variations. Sometimes just three notes can develop into an hour of music. That’s the skill of the performer, and it’s also a kind of creation.

This kind of creation is not fixed; it’s constantly evolving. Every performer brings their own experience, life story, abilities, and intuition into the music. The same person may even play something differently from one day to the next. That’s the essence of music—an act of invention that reflects human intelligence and creativity.

Another example is Jiangnan sizhu. People in Xi’an may not be familiar with it, just as people in Shanghai may not know Xi’an drum music. Each has its own distinct local musical language. Jiangnan music embodies the softness and subtlety of the Wu dialect, while Xi’an drum music reflects the city's direct and forthright character. Its bold, unembellished sounds take a very different path compared to the more delicate "flavors" of Jiangnan sizhu.

These traditions have been passed down naturally from generation to generation. And when we take these regional styles and characteristics and embed them in contemporary works, letting modern audiences experience them, I believe that’s also a kind of transmission.

At the same time, it’s dissemination: people come to recognize that a certain flavor comes from Jiangnan sizhu, or another from Xi’an drum music. These traditional elements find new life in contemporary compositions, allowing future generations to hear echoes of the past. The methods and mediums may differ, but transmission and dissemination are not in conflict. They complement each other.

Hong Wang: When we talk about transmission, I think back to learning the erhu from a traditional Chinese opera musician as a child. My teacher, Lu Xiaojie, is now in his seventies and still teaches the erhu. Over the years, he has codified many erhu techniques from traditional Chinese opera that can be passed down. One example is what he calls the “ying” technique, which describes how the player smoothly leads into the singer’s line—how to “meet” the voice with the instrument.

I also had the chance to learn from Gan Tao, a respected elder of Jiangnan sizhu, who authored a book titled Jiangnan Sizhu Music. For the same qupai (titled tune), the scores are all written in skeleton notation, but the rhythmic structures differ. Some are 48 beats, others over 70. And although the written scores may be similar, the interpretive techniques used by musicians of earlier generations could vary significantly, producing entirely different musical effects.

What we’re transmitting, really, is not just the written score or different versions of it, but a living technique. Where do these techniques live? In the performance—should a certain note be played with an upward or downward slide? Even when the score only shows the skeleton notation, a performer can bring out the distinct flavor of Jiangnan sizhu through their interpretive choices.

When I studied with my teacher, he often practiced what he called “non-teaching.” That is, he wouldn’t give direct instructions. Instead, he’d ask me to pull up a stool and sit beside him, simply listening to the flavor within the techniques as he played. That kind of living transmission is exactly what’s missing from much of today’s music education.

Wu Man: This is actually a rather complex process. What exactly are we transmitting, and how is it transmitted? Even with the same score, different performers will inevitably interpret it differently.

Take pipa tradition, for example. I studied pipa during my graduate years with Mr. Lin Shicheng, a master of the Pudong school. He was a disciple of Shen Haochu and Ju Shilin. The versions of Shen and Ju’s scores we play today were all edited by Mr. Lin based on his own understanding of the Pudong school. In that sense, what we are learning is really Mr. Lin’s interpretation, and we don’t actually know what Mr. Shen’s or Mr. Ju’s music truly sounded like.

So when we talk about "transmitting something," the core question becomes: what is the essence of the Pudong school that we are transmitting? That’s what we’re trying to preserve. Of course, if Mr. Lin’s fellow disciples also passed on the same scores from Mr. Shen, their interpretations might differ yet again. That’s what makes it all so fascinating.

The so-called "school" (liupai) in Chinese music largely emerged because transportation was limited in the past, and musicians couldn’t communicate with each other easily. One village might play Ambush from Ten Sides a certain way, and another village would do it a little differently. As Hong Wang mentioned earlier, the score may contain only the skeletal framework, but interpretation is deeply personal.

What we now call "schools" of pipa playing are really different approaches to interpreting the same work. Some schools emphasize intricate detail and subtle nuance, while others prioritize boldness and long, flowing lines. Each technique carries a certain flavor unique to that tradition. That’s the heart of musical transmission.

On Collaboration: Finding the Self Through Dialogue

Dong Kui: I have a question for you, Wu Man. As a pipa player, you could have devoted yourself fully to understanding and carrying forward Mr. Lin’s teachings, promoting the Pudong school. But instead, you chose to collaborate with musicians from many other countries and regions. Why?

Wu Man: I am carrying forward the Pudong school tradition. I’ve performed many works from that school—I haven’t abandoned it. But I don’t see myself as belonging only to the Pudong school. I love and study elements from all the major pipa traditions. Sometimes I’ll compare scores from two different schools for the same piece, and it’s fascinating how differently they interpret it. By absorbing all these “nutrients,” they eventually become part of your own expression, though the essence of the Pudong school still remains in what I do.

Working with Central Asian musicians, for instance, I’ve been deeply moved by their music. There’s a resonance there. A lot of what they play can’t be captured through notation—it lives in the subtle inflections, the microtones between notes, like a raised fa that’s not quite fully raised. You have to listen for those micro bends and delicate flavors. I find their music incredibly enjoyable. They might be playing from the same score, but each performance is entirely their own.

Learning from them has made me reflect on our own folk traditions. Aren’t we like that, too? Take a piece like Moonlit Night on the Spring River—I try to make each performance of it different. As a performer, this broadens your mindset. When you return to traditional repertoire or interpret a composer’s work, you come at it with new insights and perspectives. These are things I’ve learned through collaboration. I immersed myself in other musical traditions and learned from the folk spirit within them.

Dong Kui: I really appreciate your perspective, because many performers aren’t necessarily willing to learn from folk traditions. When you heard those tiny bends and subtle inflections in Central Asian music, did you find any similarities when you reflected on Chinese music? Or did they feel completely different?

Wu Man: Oh, incredibly similar! And it’s the kind of similarity that excites you. It’s not that the scales are the same, but the expressive techniques—the flavor and nuance—feel so familiar. Not long ago, I was in Canada for a seminar and learned some new pieces—Arabic music, muqam, and so on, arranged by musicians themselves. When I heard them play, it immediately reminded me of the erhu, of Jiangnan sizhu. That same delicate inflection—it’s all there.

In Chinese music, we call it jiahua bianzou—embellished variations. And that’s exactly what you find in Central Asian and Arabic music too. Just like in Jiangnan sizhu, each person can create their own variation, and no two performances are ever the same.

So in the end, human responses to music and our ways of thinking about it are remarkably similar.

Dong Kui: We’re all pursuing a kind of free expression.

Wu Man: Yes, and as we said earlier, it’s freedom within a framework. This isn’t something unique to Chinese music—it’s common to many musical cultures along the Silk Road, and even in European folk traditions. Folk songs, too, were originally improvised. Even composers like Chopin built on improvisation. The only difference is that it got written down.

That’s why, when we study Chinese music, it helps to look beyond ourselves and toward the surrounding cultures. Once you see the connections, you stop obsessing over what’s “uniquely ours.” You realize there’s a bigger, richer world out there.

Dong Kui: There’s a strong similarity.

Both of you have worked with contemporary composers and Western ensembles. A challenge I often encounter is this: when Chinese traditional instruments are combined with Western ones, there’s always a rhythmic mismatch. The two traditions are not consistent in rhythm.

Compared to Western music, Chinese music is primarily melody-focused. The structure is sectional; it moves in phrases rather than continuous development like in Western classical music. Whether folk or classical, Chinese music tends to appear in distinct sections.

So here’s my question: what exactly is rhythm in Chinese music? And when you collaborated with Western orchestras, did you have to make significant adjustments?

Wu Man: From the perspective of traditional music, Han Chinese rhythms aren’t very complex. The rhythms are strictly structured and consistent, without much variation. Most pipa scores are in duple or quadruple meter, or in free rhythm (sanban). Triple meter is quite rare in Han music. I remember that back in Confucius’s time, if you changed the meter, it was considered improper and lost its elegance. The Han people have their own aesthetic theory.

But South American music is all about rhythm. Much of it is performed outdoors, where people need to move and dance. Everything centers on rhythm, which can be very complex. Their strong beats aren’t the kind we’re used to. Han people rarely dance, though some ethnic minorities like the Uyghurs and Kazakhs have more complex rhythms and are good at dancing.

When collaborating with Central Asian musicians, I recall the rhythms of Uzbek musicians—every bar and phrase constantly shifts. Their rhythmic accents often land unexpectedly, coming later than we’re used to, which is closely tied to their dance and body movements. It’s a real challenge, but over time, we come to accept it.

Another experience is playing pieces composed for orchestras or chamber ensembles. Here, you have to consider the bigger picture. For example, in one passage you might be the lead, while in another you support others. Sometimes the composer’s designs are complex, but this complexity isn’t the same as the physical rhythmic complexity I mentioned earlier. It’s a complexity born of deliberate composition. Many rhythms are not naturally spontaneous but carefully crafted. This requires learning and rehearsal. Performers have to find their roles, and when everyone blends, it creates a unified sound—a story. Musicians must develop this ability to enable diverse musical expressions.

Ms. Dong just mentioned that Chinese music tends to be melodically single-lined. This is also true for Japan, India, Iran, and Central Asia—mostly melody-based traditions. That’s why there are so many ornaments and embellishments, which is what we call yunwei (subtle flavor). It’s a deeply nuanced experience. Western music, on the other hand, is driven by harmony and is more straightforward. For instance, the piano is a harmonic instrument. But our music can’t be expressed just by plain notes—it requires these subtle “flavors.” I believe both harmonic systems and linear melodic systems are human ways of emotional expression. We need and love them all, and neither can be replaced.

Hong Wang: That’s a great summary, Ms. Wu. For example, the guqin’s jianzipu (a traditional reduced-character notation) shows which pitches to play but provides no rhythmic information. Everyone plays it differently. Our traditional music gives performers space to express themselves. The rhythm is a common framework that allows individual interpretation.

Wu Man: From the perspective of cultural heritage, Confucius has indeed had a profound influence on us.

Dong Kui: I recently released an album of my compositions, published by KAIROS Records in Austria. After listening to it, Dutch musicologist Frank Kouwenhoven told me, “I think you're an American composer. Two of the pieces sound very American, the third feels a bit German, and the fourth—I have no idea where it comes from.”

I said to him, “You’ve said all that, but never mentioned China.” I could tell that, in his view, my music didn’t sound particularly “Chinese,” perhaps because it wasn’t heavily influenced by folk music. But from my own perspective, the influence is there—just not in a direct way. I only went abroad when I was 23, so my early education was entirely in China.

Frank also told me he has a composer friend who believes all Chinese composers must include something Chinese in their work. Frank disagrees with that idea. I told him I was glad to hear that, because honestly, I still don’t know who I really am. He laughed and said, “Well, you’re constantly searching for who you are. That in itself is a powerful driving force—that’s actually a great source of creative energy.”

Everyone knows that Frank is a Western scholar who studies Chinese music. He once said that it was only after spending time in China that he truly understood what Dutch culture meant.

So, Ms. Wu, now that you’ve been collaborating with musicians from many different countries, what reflections have come out of that process for you?

Wu Man: First of all, this has always been a personal wish of mine: to bring the pipa onto the international stage through collaboration. That’s something I’m committed to, without a doubt. But it was only after working with others that I began to really understand Chinese music. Hearing music from so many different cultures made me reflect deeply, and I realized that there’s something so distinctive and expressive about Chinese music. It resonated with me in a way I hadn’t expected. That essence was already in my blood—I just hadn’t been fully aware of it.

To me, your music, Ms. Dong, sounds very Chinese. Your thinking, your approach to structure—they’re rooted in Chinese tradition and very different from how Western composers think. Even though your works don’t use folk melodies directly, the concepts and the way you think musically are unmistakably Chinese. These things often become part of you subconsciously. My own experience has been the same. You walk around the world, and only when you return to where you started do you truly see it. That’s when you realize what kind of character your instrument has—what kind of voice, what kind of language it carries.

Sometimes it takes stepping outside to really see clearly.

Hong Wang: It was only after doing fieldwork that I realized how incredibly hard it is for someone unfamiliar with a culture to truly grasp a traditional music—whether it’s from an ethnic minority or the Han majority. Music is inseparable from culture, including its rhythms. Take the Mongolian court piece The Wind from Heaven as an example. It wasn’t until after collecting the material that I discovered it’s in five beats—a courtly rhythm closely tied to dance movements.

I once collaborated on a project in Beijing that combined twelve pieces of Latin and Cantonese music. It was extremely challenging. In traditional Chinese music, the rhythm is often steady and regular, but the melody tends to be free and improvisational. Latin music, on the other hand, is strongly rhythm-driven and closely tied to dance. So, any collaboration requires both sides to adapt. Through that process, I came to better understand what makes our own musical traditions so unique and brilliant.

On Experience: Does Fusion Lead to Loss of Identity?

Dong Kui: Over the past 30 years, we’ve experienced globalization. But it’s quite possible that after such constant openness, people suddenly realize that in the process of fusion, “the self” is lost. Is this a natural evolution, or a regression?

Wu Man: This is a common viewpoint, but I must disagree. For musicians, fusion is only one part of the picture. Tradition is the prerequisite for fusion. You have to express your own character within the process of fusion.

Many people think that overseas musicians lose their tradition, but I actually feel the opposite. Many overseas musicians learned the essence of tradition when their senior masters in China were still alive. Many excellent performers in China brought these traditions abroad, like an “old fashion.” They have preserved tradition, and through dialogue with the world, they better understand what tradition really is.

I’m actually quite worried about the current loss of tradition. When we were learning, the masters taught face-to-face, orally and from the heart. Now, young people mostly learn from adapted scores, and many ancient pieces are being forgotten. Once the old masters are gone, the tradition is lost. The idea that overseas musicians have “lost tradition” is a misunderstanding.

Take Ang Lee’s films, for example. They’re full of the temperament of Chinese literati—more Chinese and traditional, with richer Chinese aesthetics than many mainland Chinese movies. Because he has seen the world, he has found his own place.

What Mr. Dong just said about globalization is important: at the artistic level, it must be a cooperative relationship. There is “you” in me and “me” in you. But cooperation doesn’t necessarily mean losing tradition, because these traditions are in our blood.

Dong Kui: What expectations do you have for young performers?

Wu Man: Young people are certainly smart and talented, but it’s very important to have a broader view of the world—to avoid thinking within a small circle. You have to be tolerant and learn from others’ strengths. That’s the only way to progress. It’s important to engage with new ideas and with the whole world. Seeing the world is crucial! That’s been my own experience.

It’s the 21st century, and the whole environment is different now. No one used to imagine the pipa collaborating with a string quartet.

Of course, my experience is personal. I’m not saying all students must study abroad, but once you leave campus, China is vast and rich in musical character and cultural depth.

Dong Kui: That’s right. Music is a life experience, and teachers can’t really teach that. I’m a composer, but I don’t particularly enjoy teaching composition now. It’s hard to teach.

Wu Man: I remember reading an article about a 1960s student exhibition at the Central Academy of Fine Arts (CAFA), where each student wrote down one sentence about what they remembered most from their teachers’ lessons. Most recalled life inspirations from their teachers.

In music education, the teacher’s role is not just to show students where to place their fingers or how to play the notes. It’s very important for students to see the world and accumulate life experiences. That’s what truly inspires and transforms you.

Hong Wang: I greatly admire overseas musicians like Wu Man and Wu Wei. They excel in their professional fields, seize opportunities, and gain cultural influence. Only then can Chinese traditional music and contemporary Chinese music express their character in fusion with Western music.

Interviewee —

Wu Man: Pipa performer, Distinguished Professor at Zhejiang Conservatory of Music, Honorary Doctorate from the New England Conservatory.

Originally published in Music Culture Studies, No. 1, 2024, pp. 39–46.