Big in China, but can the party last for Japan’s artists?

Eclectic Japanese rock band Chai’s venture into the Chinese market started with TikTok.

Despite little promotion, the quartet’s 2017 song “Kawaii Hito'' went viral on Douyin, the Chinese version of the short-form video app, according to Terao Budha, chief executive officer of Big Romantic Entertainment, a company that helps to bring Japanese artists to mainland China and Taiwan.

“I assumed people would know that song, but not know Chai,” Budha tells The Japan Times via video from his home in Taipei. “They wouldn’t be able to make a connection between the two.”

As he has done for countless Japanese bands over the past decade, Budha helped Chai establish a foothold in the Chinese market. He took the four-piece on tour to the mainland in 2019, navigating the usual red tape of visas and government lyric checks along the way. The tour went well, attracting a decent amount of attention from China's music community.

Among those enthralled by Chai’s tour was A Si, a Chinese pop artist. Budha says A Si and her team wanted to collaborate with the Japanese group, and so he embraced the challenge of making it happen.

The two acts worked on a song for A Si’s 2021 album, helping further introduce Chai to a market that an increasing number of Japanese entertainment companies — as well as those in other parts of the world — lust after.

Chai’s experience speaks to the continued success of Japanese pop culture in the country — underpinned by a strong foundation dating back to the late 1970s — and the myriad ways it can be achieved. But at the same time, political sensitivities and China’s unique internet ecosystem loom over the future of cultural exchange between the two nations.

Japan and China have a long history of bad blood that can be traced back centuries. More recently, Japan’s invasion of China in the 1930s and the subsequent wartime atrocities its troops committed both before and during World War II have created a deeply entrenched negative view of the island nation among the Chinese people.

Violent demonstrations against Japanese businesses operating in China have been well-documented, while recent opinion polls show worsening views of Japan.

Putting politics and business aside, there’s a more nuanced connection between the two nations played out through pop culture. While diplomatic relations may often fray, China’s love of Japanese entertainment has been a constant.

“From when I was very young until today, Japanese pop culture has been the most influential cultural force in China, the biggest elements being Japanese manga characters, mascots, TV dramas and, of course, games,” says Zhao Renjin, artists and repertoire manager at music management company Outdustry. “It has infiltrated into people’s daily lives and influenced art, music, photograph aesthetics and fashion styles.”

As artists around the globe pine for a piece of a Chinese entertainment market, which is forecast to be worth more than $436 billion by 2025, Japan’s content creators have found themselves to be in a fortuitous position.

Japanese animated films in particular have consistently performed well at the Chinese box office, with releases of back-catalog Studio Ghibli films such as “Spirited Away” smashing records years after their original release.

Japanese video games also perform well, with recent megahit “Elden Ring” in high demand nationwide.

Even Japanese musicians have been enjoying a positive reception in recent years.

“Before the pandemic, political problems had faded in China,” Budha says. “As a result, more Japanese artists were able to visit and were given a warm welcome. They were treated nicer and were given great time slots at festivals.”

The history of Japanese entertainment in China offers insight into a number of issues, including the rise of Japan’s soft power exports abroad, the evolution of modern Chinese entertainment and the unique functionality of the internet in the country.

Not surprisingly, entertainment companies worldwide have their eye on the rising Asian power as the world slowly reopens. Yet, as recent events show, it isn’t all simple — government and nationalistic pressure can curtail efforts, while China’s own soft power ambitions leave a question mark over what Japan’s influence will be in the decades ahead.

From fraughtness to fondness

Pop idol and actress Momoe Yamaguchi might be one of the more important diplomatic forces in the history of Japan-China relations.

The establishment of diplomatic relations in September 1972, followed by a friendship agreement in 1978, allowed Japanese entertainment exports that had long been barred from entry into China to start trickling in.

One of the first widely broadcast Japanese TV shows in China was “Akai Giwaku” (“The Red Suspicion”). The program tells the story of a 17-year-old student played by Yamaguchi who develops leukemia after being showered in radiation following a freak explosion. The accident helps the student develop a newfound connection with her father as a host of titillating revelations about their family history are revealed over the course of the series.

“Akai Giwaku” was an immediate hit in China, with the Japanese pop idol and TV series she starred in helped to alter perceptions of Japan across China — while playing a role in shaping images of culture in the country.

“On the one hand, (Japan is) the single largest influence on every aspect of Chinese culture — everything,” says Krish Raghav, a journalist and former music promoter in China who is now based in Amsterdam. “Everything you associate with transitioning to a market economy — from the ’70s and ’80s onward — that model of what society would look like came from Japan or maybe Taiwan, culturally speaking. What does ‘fine dining’ look like? What should ‘rock music’ sound and look like?”

Talking with individuals who grew up in China and now work in some capacity within the entertainment industry prompts memories of Japanese pop culture being ever present in their youth. One who remembers watching “Akai Giwaku” recalls the myriad covers of Japanese songs as they grew up, while others recall Heisei Era (1989-2019) dramas taking up much of their adolescent years.

Zhao also says the boom in karaoke machines that had been exported from Japan in the late 1980s and early ’90s helped to shape modern Chinese music.

As the new millennium approached, a different cultural export from Japan started emerging as a force in China — anime.

Illustrative love

In order to upload content or leave comments on Chinese video platform Bilibili, users are tested on their pop culture knowledge.

Access to a premium account required aspiring Bilibili patrons to pass a 100-question quiz covering a wide range of topics. Included in such questions was trivia about anime and other Japanese pop culture creations.

“It was really hard,” Raghav says. “Some of the questions would be online etiquette stuff like ‘Which of the following is not allowed in a video?’ Then it would be ‘Where is Ultraman’s home world?’ I failed multiple times. I had to get a friend who was an anime expert to help me.”

This would be equivalent to YouTube requiring you to know the backstory of creator Pewdiepie in order to create an account. Yet, for a platform named after a character from a Japanese cartoon and drawing inspiration from the platform Nico Nico (formerly Nico Nico Douga) — most notably, the bullet-style comments whizzing over the video footage — it’s an understandable form of geeky gatekeeping.

No Japanese cultural product has proven more influential on the global stage than anime. Two decades into the 21st century, Japanese animation still attracts millions of fans abroad. The Chinese market, though, might just be the most rabid. Whether it was “Astro Boy,” “Sailor Moon” or “One Piece,” Chinese entertainment insiders interviewed for this article remember anime being ever-present in their childhood — even if it came from a gray area.

“I think that anime filled a gap when China started creating its own content. However, it wasn’t necessarily official, with a lot of it coming through Hong Kong and Taiwan,” says Masako Furuichi, an associate professor for Japanese language and culture at Peking University’s School of Foreign Language in Beijing, adding that there was little entertainment for children in the country at the time.

Even as China’s homegrown entertainment industry has grown, anime has remained a force. Theatrical releases such as Makoto Shinkai’s “Your Name.” and “Weathering With You” have raked it in at the box office. Their popularity even impacts other artforms.

“Many Japanese songs stand out each year through anime and dramas,” Zhao says, noting that current household names such as Radwimps, Yoasobi, Aimer and Lisa broke through to the mainstream thanks to their anime connections. Radwimps, for one, have found immense success on the mainland thanks in large part to their work on “Your Name.”

But it goes even further than that.

“The basis of Chinese web culture is based on Japanese animation, Hong Kong movies and Wuxia (Chinese fiction about martial arts in ancient times),” Furuichi says.

It all ties back to Bilibili, a site created by an anime fan and initially prototyped on a Vocaloid fan message board — Hatsune Miku, Zhao says, is the only true Japanese “artist” recognized by almost everyone in the country — as a way for people to share whatever video content they wanted, especially anime.

What essentially started as a space on which to upload bootleg cartoon footage, among other things, has grown into one of the most powerful online platforms in the world’s most populous country. Interestingly, a site inspired by Japanese culture now stands as the key way for Japanese pop culture to spread — and become profitable — in China.

The platform party

The Chinese Communist Party plays a key role in deciding what entertainment can be imported from abroad.

Senoo Aritaka, though, believes another force in China’s entertainment industry is arguably just as intimidating.

“Not the government — Bilibili itself,” says Aritaka, an employee at Collab Asia, a company helping creators and artists break into markets in the region, including China.

He says that Collab Asia tends to avoid creators who might make waves, noting that “if that happens, we lose Bilibili’s trust — and so we are very careful about what we choose.”

Once a market defined by piracy and dodgy regulation — a scenario crystalized by the position Bilibili had created for itself when it debuted — the Chinese online entertainment space has become much more professional.

Users previously used to upload their favorite anime onto the site. Now, the video site forms partnerships with U.S. distributors to officially license titles, while creators can now reach millions upon millions of viewers due to what has been described as Bilibili becoming a “mainstream video channel” for China’s youngest generation.

“Bilibili is just a really exciting platform,” Raghav says, noting obvious strengths in its livestreaming service. “Bilibili has even managed to navigate censorship requirements while still being a place where interesting things happen.”

Bilibili isn’t the only platform seemingly directing traffic in the Chinese market — Zhao also mentions Weibo, Douyin and Netease Cloud Music as other prominent players — but it is one of the most important given how important visuals are to Japanese entertainment in the nation.

“The first step for anime (intellectual properties) is to open up an official account, otherwise you can’t do brand deals or other business based on the channel,” Aritaka says, with the ultimate goal for almost everyone they work with to sell merchandise. “But if you don’t have the official channel, some pirate channel will be there. There are copy channels with 2 to 3 million subscribers right away.”

It’s also vital because, like most of the world, social media has made a personal connection with creators every bit as important as the work itself.

Japan excels at creative products that can attract audiences, sometimes in surprising ways — Chai finding success through Douyin is one such example. The four-piece act had to build on establishing who they were, something Zhao says Japanese artists typically struggle with. While plenty of songs gain attention and prove influential, few artists become mainstream themselves. Zhao points to the success of K-pop performers such as Lisa from Blackpink, who has almost 9 million followers on Weibo herself.

“The mainstream audience is mostly looking at cool visuals and a good story built on the artist for them to fall in love with, not just their music. That’s why K-pop idols can be so successful,” Zhao says.

“In Japan, perhaps because of the country’s long and deep-rooted physical CD culture, people focus a lot on promoting the songs instead of the artist,” she says. “It’s a great thing for me personally and many music lovers because Japanese music is so highly produced and rich in production, but it’s also why when (these acts) are exported to another country, most people would only know the song, not the artist.”

Japanese companies and creators are adapting, taking steps to further establish themselves in the vibrant Chinese online market. Once there, though, they have to be careful, because another set of eyes is always watching them.

Pride and prejudice

Everything was looking great for three members of the J-pop group Intersection on the Chinese talent competition TV show “Chuang 2021.” The program, inspired by Korean series such as “Produce 101,” aimed to create a new male pop group via fan votes. The trio — Kazuma Mitchell, Mika Hashizume and Caelan Moriarty — joined a handful of other entrants from Japanese company Avex on the show, and found early success among those tuning in, with Hashizume and Moriarty entering early top 10 rankings.

Then Chinese netizens found out Avex referred to Taiwan as its own country in old press releases and webpages. The attitude to the company’s contestants on “Chuang” changed instantly, and Chinese social media users called for Avex to withdraw their participants.

“Get off the show! We are Chinese before we are fans. China’s sovereignty and territorial integrity are sacred and inviolable,” one user wrote on Weibo, according to The Global Times. For a moment, Avex’s Chinese ambitions — recently solidified via a licensing agreement with Bilibili — appeared to be in jeopardy.

They got through it, though. Three Avex-related participants — including Intersection’s Hashizume — made the final cut, while Moriarty finished one spot outside of the final 11. They’ve all experienced continued success in the Chinese market, with Hashizume and Moriarty recently gracing magazine covers and singing on music shows in Chinese.

They’re lucky. The Chinese market offers incredible economic opportunity, but it comes with the risk of everything going belly up if a solitary mistake doesn’t align with government guidelines and public sentiment. China’s intense censorship rules and sensitivity to anything going against government policy are well documented. So are the intense reactions Chinese netizens have to perceived slights against the country. Japanese entertainment has long found itself embroiled in such situations.

Many people in the entertainment industry refuse to speak on record about the challenges of not offending the Communist Party or potential users. Some companies exist entirely to make sure non-Chinese acts don’t inadvertently offend — which often boils down to “don’t mention Tibet, Tiananmen Square, Taiwan or Xianjing online.”

Navigating government guidelines is always the first step. The government decides what imported entertainment can be released or screened, and often censors anything not in line with its values. Foreign music, whether coming out on CD or ahead of a live show, usually requires a lyric check before being given the green light, resulting in changes to songs or outright bans on certain numbers.

“(Japanese band) Sekai no Owari has a song called ‘Anti-Hero,’ which has a chorus that’s like ‘Don’t listen to what they tell you and break the rules.’ The song was banned in China because of the lyrics and the Ministry of Culture said this went against the spirit of the rule of law,” Raghav points out, even though the group has a harmless appearance. “One of the members is literally dressed as a clown.

“Therefore, in accordance with the laws of the People’s Republic of China, Sekai no Owari can’t play ‘Anti-Hero.’”

It isn’t hard to get something past the censors, though. Raghav says most translated lyrics simply tell the government what it wants to hear — and it’s in a foreign language already, which helps.

Another Chinese music industry veteran, who spoke on condition of anonymity due to concerns over how officials might respond to their remarks, says online content rarely receives the same scrutiny as a physical release or live performance.

While the Communist Party has shown bursts of regulation about pop culture in recent years — including efforts to ban “effeminate men” and certain anime, as well as regular changes to female character appearances that are too busty — Japanese pop culture still thrives, especially on sites such as Bilibili. Yet just because it escapes the censors doesn’t mean it can survive a group sometimes just as vigilant — patriotic netizens.

Any perceived slights against China run the risk of going viral on sites such as Weibo, potentially sinking mainland ambitions. One music industry worker said multiple Japanese idols and personalities faced backlash last summer for celebrating Jun Mizutani and Mima Ito’s gold medal win at the Tokyo Olympics in mixed table tennis pairs simply because it came at the expense of China in a game many netizens viewed as unfair.

More telling still was the case of Hololive, an agency specializing in virtual YouTubers that expanded to China in 2019. Virtual YouTubers have become huge business in China — to the point that the government has tried to use them to rally patriotism — with Japanese creations leading the way. But when one of the most prominent characters referred to Taiwan as a country, it resulted in Hololive being closed down in China.

It’s certainly a tightrope, and one further complicated by ethical issues of bending to a government that has harshly cracked down on the Uyghur population in Xinjiang, suppressed freedom in Hong Kong and generally become more antagonistic in the region.

Some people in the industry who were interviewed for this story spoke about personal concerns related to entering China, with some saying they would never let the projects they’re involved in get caught up in such a situation.

These people might be in the minority, though.

“I don’t think anybody cares now,” Aritaka says. “The Chinese market is just too big an opportunity.”

Cross-pollination, not competition

At the start of 2021, Chinese comedy “Detective Chinatown 3” shattered domestic box-office records, earning the equivalent of more than $397 million in one weekend. The film follows two Chinese detectives trying to solve a high-profile murder case in Tokyo.

While a few quick jabs at the country are introduced — Akihabara cosplay being held up as the pride of the nation seems a little tongue-in-cheek — it’s a surprisingly loving tribute to Japan’s capital and its pop culture, with notable Japanese actors making appearances and the filmmaking nods to yakuza films, J-horror and anime, among other things. It features gorgeous shots of the city pre-pandemic (complete with a chase scene after the opening credits that reference the tourist-baiting Mario Kart-like go-carts that were once a common sight in the city).

It’s a preview of what the future of Asian entertainment — especially the intertwining paths of China and Japan — could look like. In the same way ancient Chinese culture shaped the foundations of Japan, 20th-century Japanese pop culture filled a gap and helped form the landscape of China in the digital age. Now the question becomes — what happens when China can create its own vibrant entertainment?

Peking University’s Furuichi is optimistic.

“There are many creators who grew up watching Japanese anime, loved anime and were enthusiastic about making their own anime,” she says. “As long as there is social stability, I think a positive future awaits.”

That positivity isn’t shared by Japanese animation insiders. Yoshiyuki Tomino, creator of the “Mobile Suit Gundam” series, told Real Economy that Japan was falling behind and China was blazing ahead. Fellow producer Yoshitada Fukuhara expressed similar views a few years earlier. In video games, The New York Times looked at the success of the anime-indebted “Genshin Impact" earlier this year, similarly arguing that China was seemingly beating Japan at something it long led the rest of the world in.

That, however, might say more about how Japanese creatives and media view Japan than anything that might be happening in China. According to an article published by Hong Kong NetEase, Chinese viewers prefer Japanese anime to domestic creations.

“For the most part, they're an embarrassment,” Raghav says, adding that all China can think of is “import substitution,” though he does hold out hope for a Bilibili animated adaptation of the popular “The Three Body Problem” sci-fi novels.

Pop cultural comparisons between countries tends to be reduced to a formula — nation X is succeeding at pop music, while nation Y lags behind. In modern times, though, it would be better to look at the cross pollination happening between entertainment industries: A South Korean reality competition proves huge in China and changes the destiny of a Japanese group; Japanese anime studios set up branches in mainland China to develop a new generation of creatives, fueling the world’s demand for anime; and a quirky Japanese rock band finds unexpected viral success allowing them to collaborate with a Chinese pop star. Nothing is black and white in terms of the competition anymore, as ideas and inspiration flow freely, with new angles and perspectives discovered.

Only the Chinese government can stop Japanese pop culture from flourishing in China, while imported entertainment from its neighbor won’t slow domestic creativity, but rather help foster a new generation. The relationship between the two countries looks likely to remain rocky for some time yet, but the entertainment industry can reveal an underlying admiration.