printable versionSo you want to be a rock 'n' roll star? Study molecular pharmacology
BY ROSANNE SPECTOR
Jim Ferrell (center) jams on guitar in November at the Guangzhou Triennial, a major art exhibition in southern China, accompanied by Pump, one of the region’s top pop bands.
Hundreds crowded the stage in the lobby of China's Guangdong Museum of Art. Cameras flashed. The region's top pop band played beneath a huge neon regional flag decorated with the message: "We are good at everything except speaking Mandarin." Those are fighting words for many in this Cantonese-speaking region, who bridle at a national government that has issued a Mandarin-only mandate.
All in all, it was a fitting piece of political theater for the Guangzhou Triennial—an international experimental art exhibition that took place last November in this city 100 miles northwest of Hong Kong.
But what was the chair of the medical school's Department of Molecular Pharmacology department, Jim Ferrell, MD, PhD, doing on stage playing lead guitar?
It all starts with a romance.
Back in the late '70s and early '80s, when Ferrell was a graduate student in the Stanford chemistry department, he found relief from his cares by playing rock 'n' roll. His band's rehearsal space was not a garage: It was a doggy-smelling storage room in the basement of a student co-op, Phi Psi house, which was known for its mellow friendliness—and its parties. "The people there were great," said Ferrell. "They heard us play 'Stand Back' at least 100 times and acted as if they liked it."
Among the denizens was Britta Erickson. She and Ferrell hit it off and, to make a long story short, got married. Ferrell brought science and rock 'n' roll to the relationship, Erickson brought art. Now a leading scholar of Chinese contemporary art, Erickson curates art shows, including one at the Cantor Arts Center last year—On the edge: Contemporary Chinese artists encounter the West.
And that's where Ferrell's ticket to being China's Jerry Garcia, however briefly, enters the story. During Erickson's exhibit, internationally acclaimed artist Yang Jiechang came to Stanford as an artist-in-residence. Yang, his wife and two children stayed in Palo Alto, chez Erickson/Ferrell. The group hit it off and one evening, when several other exhibitors were over, they began an impromptu jam session.
Yang was impressed. "I discovered that he is a very good musician, not only a great scientist," he wrote in an e-mail. "And he has still this '70s avant-garde feeling, which I like very much."
After the visit, the families stayed in touch and spent time together again when Ferrell and his family visited Yang at his home in Paris. That's when Yang shared his idea for a performance piece at the Guangzhou Triennial: Ferrell would join Pump, one of China's top pop bands, in playing a Cantonese folk song under a flag for Southern China emblazoned with a political message.
"Pump is the most popular band in a region of 700 million people," Ferrell said. "To have them collaborate with me—one of the top 10 guitarists in the Stanford molecular pharmacology department—seemed like a crazy dream."
Needless to say, Ferrell agreed to participate. Yang sent him a CD with the song, "Gentle moon on the calm lake," played on a zither.
A few months later, Ferrell and his family arrived in bustling Guangzhou. The adventure had begun.
Practice sessions took place in Pump's studio—a total of 10 hours over two days. The first step was getting down the tune, with Ferrell playing the familiar role of professor. He hummed the song to teach the young musicians the melody and handed out parts. It was just what Yang had aimed at. "I wanted to transform a traditional Cantonese folk song. . . . I looked for someone who was not familiar at all with this tradition to transform this well-known tune."
Then came the really fun part.
"Seen from my perspective, it was like playing with the Eagles," said Ferrell. The sound was much more modern, though, since Pump plays reggae inflected electronica. The star is the turntable player. Ferrell's guitar added a folk rock flavor to the mix.
"It was Bob Marley meets the Grateful Dead with some electronic bleeps thrown in," said Ferrell.
Yang was pleased; the art world was captivated. And the rumors that the authorities would close down the performance proved false. "People from Hong Kong were actually crazy about it," Yang said. "Even the museum wants to collect the piece."
Now, back at Stanford, Ferrell can hardly believe it happened. "I was playing with these six really good musicians—that was a lifetime thrill," said Ferrell, who had turned 50 a few days before the gig.
The special artist's pass he wore around his neck at the museum now is tacked on the wall above his desk. "Look," he said, grabbing it, "I'm an artist." He is not, however, planning to quit his day job.
