#chinesesong

[clivefpoire]

Drown One's Sorrows

毛不易 // Mao Buyi

//一杯敬朝阳, 一杯敬月光 唤醒我的向往, 温柔了寒窗 于是可以不回头地逆风飞翔 不怕心头有雨, 眼底有霜//

[xunmeiqiehao]

It is said that 2026, the Year of the Horse (丙午马年), will be turbulent, with increased risks of wars, accidents, and disasters. Before the Spring Festival, Beijing’s lanterns were unusually yellow rather than the traditional red. Some superstitious observers believed this change could help “avoid boosting the fire.” Yet fires and explosions still occurred.

A fireworks manufacturing factory in Liuyang, Hunan, exploded in early May 2026, killing at least 37 people. And on May 23, a coal mine gas explosion struck the Liushenyu coal mine in Changzhi, Shanxi Province, with the death toll reaching at least 82 — a tragically high number even by China’s standards. Officials often underreport such figures to minimize accountability, sometimes capping them around 30–40.

These tragedies highlight the harsh reality faced by ordinary workers. Many have no better options than to risk their lives in dangerous industries simply to earn a living. With widespread joblessness, some people even envy those who manage to secure such hazardous employment.In one interview after the fireworks explosion, a female survivor with minor injuries said she planned to return to work once the plant was rebuilt. She was willing to face the danger again for a monthly salary of just 2,000–3,000 RMB.This is the ordinary, often invisible life of countless working people in China today.

《籍籍无名的人》 (A Nameless Man) This song gives voice to the forgotten, the ordinary laborers who live and die in obscurity — bearing the weight of society’s progress and tragedies without recognition or security.

The coal miners and fireworks workers who perished represent exactly those “nameless people”: they toil in high-risk environments out of economic necessity, with little safety net, while the powerful often evade responsibility. The survivor’s quiet determination to return to the same dangerous job for a meager salary echoes the song’s poignant theme of quiet endurance and invisible struggles. Spotify:https://open.spotify.com/album/23wEXAiJ70bFfljf8ZbciB Youtube Music: https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=B3l0GIb8Zkg

[xunmeiqiehao]

From the Red Sea to killing bots or rigging votes, I want to write about everything. It might be overly ambitious — I have to invest a lot of time and energy studying each case one by one. Sometimes a spark hits and a good song is born; other times, nothing comes.

Even though I don’t gain much financially from creating these songs, the process deeply fulfills me and makes me dream bigger.

If someone connects with my lyrics, reads them all, and wants to support me so I can live more easily, that would mean the world to me.

[xunmeiqiehao]

Not Verified, But Still Here

I’m not promoting my music in Chinese, and I’m not verified on China’s platforms either. Maybe it’s shyness—after all, I’m still a newcomer to the industry. Or maybe I’m just tired of the personal‑credential red tape: face recognition, ID card, phone, and all that. Maybe it’s simply a lack of self‑confidence. It’s like I hate dealing with people or fixing a car, so I just stay away from buying one.

Spotify playlist

The outcome is that I don’t have many listeners in China or overseas. It’s just the math.

Still, perhaps someday I’ll find the courage or impulse to face the easiest yet hardest parts: going through artist verification or dealing with all the promotional chores alongside professionals.

I really enjoy songwriting. Otherwise I wouldn’t have stuck with it this long. Maybe it will become my lifelong work. I have higher ambitions than 2024—to write some truly great songs and, of course, to grow my skills even more.

I might gain some fame someday, or I might not. Hopefully I can at least make a bare living from it. I’m also trying to write for business, but that takes time. Before I get driven by money, I want to write some pure songs—just for myself. They’re “valueless,” yet they mean the most.

Many people overseas don’t realize how hard it is to get here. It takes a lot of time just to gain access to the global internet; most Chinese people can’t open YouTube or X. You have to move carefully, keep track of the newest tide, and hope you can survive the waves. Yes, I’m lucky to have finally reached this point—or more accurately, I’m looking forward to starting a new career from here.

[xunmeiqiehao]

Ballads dominate in China because Chinese dialects have strict pitch requirements to preserve meaning. Unlike English or Japanese, matching a great melody to Chinese lyrics is a linguistic puzzle—if the tone is off, the meaning is lost. It’s a struggle with the language itself. English and Japanese also face challenges with 'melodic prosody' or the marriage of lyrics and music, but their 'tolerance' is much higher than Chinese due to their linguistic nature. In English, the primary focus is ensuring the stress of a word aligns with the downbeat of the music. Japanese relies on pitch-accent, but modern songwriting often treats it as secondary. In contrast, a dialect like Cantonese has nine tones; if the melody doesn’t align with those tones, the meaning is immediately distorted, making it far more unforgiving.

[xunmeiqiehao]

The Blindness of the Devout

There are many people who live like saints without ever wearing a robe. They are more devoted than any monk, living lives of sacrifice, silence, and prayer. Their kindness is real, and their discipline is unmatched. They carry a deep sense of gratitude for the world and a heavy burden of "being human" in their hearts.

However, their greatest strength—their pure devotion—is also their greatest trap.

When someone becomes obsessed with a single set of rules, they lose sight of reality. They follow ancient maps to navigate a modern world, only to find themselves constantly hitting walls. They cling to "truths" written thousands of years ago, forgetting that even a perfect rule starts to rot if it isn't updated for the times.

True wisdom isn't a "holy mouse" you can catch by performing rituals in a dark room. It isn't found by closing your eyes and repeating old mantras.

If our faith stops us from seeing the world as it actually is, it doesn't lead us to the "Great Way." Instead, it makes us a sacrifice to a dead ideology. To find the truth today, we must be brave enough to let go of the "untouchable" and move with the rhythm of change.

Lesson

"When a 'perfect' rule becomes untouchable, it stops being a guide and starts being a cage. True light isn't found in a closed room; it’s found in the courage to evolve."

[xunmeiqiehao]

Audiomack - Music platform empowering artists & fans | Audiomack

Audiomack is a youth-driven, artist-first music streaming platform that allows creators to share unlimited music and podcast content for fre

A Chinese song written for a soccer team.

[xunmeiqiehao]

He and the Revolution That Changed Nothing

Syria today sits in a fragile and deeply uncertain moment. After decades of dictatorship under Bashar al‑Assad and more than a decade of civil war, the old regime has collapsed; in its place now stands a new government led by a former jihadist commander, backed and legitimized by external powers that once called him a terrorist. In cities like Damascus, the mood is tense: people who once distrusted the old regime’s brutality now fear the creeping return of oppression in a different form—religious‑style moral policing, new restrictions on expression, and the quiet re‑entrenchment of control and inequality. It often feels less like “freedom arrived” and more like “the regime changed costumes.”

Against this backdrop, two Chinese‑language songs capture the emotional rhythm of this cycle.

《Hurriya》 sings of a country under long‑standing dictatorship and war, where the only monumental “landscape” is the giant image of the leader towering over ruined streets. The song maps the loneliness and resignation of people who live under both bombs and propaganda, whose freedoms are measured in what they are not allowed to say, think, or cut away.

《革命后》（After the Revolution） picks up where the cheers end. It traces the moment when people storm the squares, tear down the statues, and declare “freedom won”—only to discover that the revolution has been quietly taken over by other hands. The new rulers talk piety or restoration, but in practice corruption, surveillance, and social control return, sometimes in more rigid forms. The song ends on the uneasy, looping thought that people may once again feel forced to go back to the streets, shouting into the wind, hoping this time the outcome will be different.

If you want to hear the sound of a post‑revolutionary Syria—not in news headlines but in mood and metaphor—these two songs offer a powerful, quiet companion.