Li Jianhong
Sang Sheng Shi

A promise from O__O is not a promise that reflects its nickname: it doesn't leave you too bewildered. A promise from O__O is a real and proper promise and is always kept. And so, when I promise a review of Li Jianhong to the faithful jdv666, I write it, not without difficulty.
There are some albums that writing about them in a technical, formal way as a music critic makes no sense. In the end, certain albums are meant to be enjoyed, without giving you the chance to ponder over them. Precisely, my masochism always leads me to talk about this type of work. Albums where it's useless to name tracks, explain their genre, give directions, or write a compact biography of who is behind the work. Certain albums are journeys towards no return, orgasms or rigor mortis depending on whether you see the glass half full/half empty.
So let's cut to the chase: let me wander. Wander as I have always done, after all. And if for some reason someone still reads me, it means I'm not wandering too much or that my wandering says something. Well, I adore "Sang Sheng Shi" by Li Jianhong and, even now, it's spinning on the stereo. And I, attentively attentive to capturing every sound and every moment to make you part of what this album contains. I could start talking about how in China there exists a thriving cradle of the underground, of noise, of pure noise, even of indie rock. About how this giant country repeatedly churns out free, crazy, extreme, experimental, and wild bands and talents. Names that, punctually, do not reach us. Western and Italian experimental artists aren't given much weight (because everyone is busy chasing the various faded and irritating copies of Afterhours when we have Zu and OvO?), let alone if we need to import them from China. From Japan, it's okay, there they have Merzbow... I mean... sticazzi. But from China?
I could do it. I'm already doing it. But they sound like useless words. Because here, we are not talking about an album that I could categorize in a musical underground, nor even in the guitarist's career itself (I've listened to his other two albums and "Sang Sheng Shi" is truly on another planet).
I need to give myself some coordinates. So, allow me, I drop the bomb. Are you ready? You might regret it, you know? Well, I’m going, but don't say I didn't warn you... Three... Two... One... Zero: No doubt, this is the best noise album I have ever listened to in my entire life (and I've listened to many). 
Over fifty minutes of electric guitar improvisations. I don't know what Li Jianhong smoked before entering the studio, but what is certain is that our hero managed to achieve an extraordinary feat in which all (of course, all with notable exceptions) noise/improv musicians fail, even while still recording excellent albums: it doesn’t bore, doesn't get lost in useless lengths (AND WE ARE TALKING ABOUT A SINGLE FIFTY MINUTE TRACK) and, above all, it can be listened to more than once. For this reason, despite the complexity and "niche" nature of the work, I recommend it also to traditional rock lovers: when it ends, you’re damned. You can’t believe it has already finished, and you want more and more and more.
Li Jianhong is an excellent guitarist: he is sharp, straight to the point. When he wants to dare and challenge the listener, he doesn't think twice and does it, and when he wants to practice self-control, he doesn’t sound forced. He doesn't masturbate over his skill, he doesn’t get lost in incredible solos, he doesn’t gratuitously flaunt his talent. Violent and meticulous, he tells what needs to be told, amplifying it through sensation. Instead of plunging into delirium for its own sake, Li Jianhong stays there on the edge, between reason and madness, calm as a professional tightrope walker. That's the secret of "Sang Sheng Shi": it doesn't focus so much on the sound, the beauty, and the power of music, but on the strength of the emotions music can convey. He doesn’t feel the need to be cacophonous, unreachable, or cryptic. He doesn’t need to start off strong to paint with blood a magnificent, superhuman world beyond nature.
Because that’s how it sounds. And other images envelop me. It might be because I have tied my life to cinema, but every time I listen to an album, the visual imagination takes over. With all the dark and oppressive music I listen to, my mind can’t help but often conjure hells of all kinds. Not here. Despite being an improvised noise-rock album (and a pretty tough one, all things considered), here I imagine a wonderful, twilight mountain landscape. Above it, a dark and dense sky looms. But beneath, the grass is as green as if there were sunshine. And you’re there, on the edge of the precipice, with open arms calling to the wind. And it’s a wind that doesn’t shake the grass, doesn’t bend the flowers, and doesn’t disturb the cows, it only shakes you. And there you are with your soul suspended between the consciousness of an imminent apocalypse and the most beautiful of lives. 
Other times it strikes me as a swirling orgasm. It’s you embracing the cosmos and having sex with it, abandoning your body and forging a path through the stars, embarking on an astral journey that you will never be able to recount to anyone, because no one will ever believe you. 
So, as I write this review, what do I have to do? I close my eyes and leave the keyboard. I let go and goodbye. You've lost me. And so, I forget what genre this album is and who made it. This guitar set there to trace horizons and atmospheres overwhelmed me. Like that wind. On this chair, there’s my body. But on that precipice, it’s me.