A musical axe to grind

If you come to town with a guitar, the Beijing climate may kill your inner Jimi Hendrix, as Paul Tomic explains.

Several years ago, I attended a live music event on the outskirts of Beijing on a day so hot and humid that the air was damper than an otter's pocket. The audience sweated profusely, cursed profoundly, and drank prodigiously - an added bonus for the organizer, who watched gleefully as glass after glass of chilled beer disappeared down the parched punters' throats.

Sadly, the humidity meant the bands - mainly amateur expat outfits - were unable to finish any of their songs in the same key as they started. After just a few bars, every stringed instrument twanged dramatically out of tune, producing a sound so atonal that it sounded like a cats' chorus. Most of the bands reacted with stoicism, apologizing and smiling wanly at the audience.