The Worker's Cultural Palace that forms the centerpiece of Dongfeng Park used to dominate the skyline of Kunming. It is no longer the tallest building in the city, and visitors rarely take the elevator to the 18th floor observation deck. But the park around it is still popular with aging workers, who date from about the same era as the aging skyscraper.

On weekends, the grounds are thick with crowds, who come out to see the amateurs singing and dancing to well-known opera and folk songs. These are not grand productions like those we've paid to see in the tony performance halls of the city. But there's no denying the enthusiasm and occasional talent of the local self-proclaimed entertainers.

Like most parks in China, this one is short on nature and big on concrete. There are a couple of swatches of lawn, largely unused, since walking on the grass is prohibited. (In a touch probably unmatched by any other public park, the lawn is the part-time home of a flock of peacocks!) Most of the action takes place on the courtyards and under the covered walkways and pavilions that wind their way between the small shops and restaurants. It's a lot more like Fanueil Hall than the Public Gardens.

On the day that we showed up, there were probably half a dozen performances going on, with each group having staked out a bit of turf like Harvard Square street performers. We were initially drawn to the biggest crowd, and after squeezing our way towards the front, we saw that the attraction was a group of senior citizens whooping it up with some lively renditions of old folk songs.

Now, this may not sound like a particularly entertaining scenario. But I have to say that, without implying any disrespect for America's elderly, old people in China have more energy than you would expect. It's quite possible that these people are not as old as they look; living through the Cultural Revolution can add a few white hairs and worry lines to anyone's face. Whatever the explanation, this group knew how to have a good time.

If you've ever been to a wedding reception or anniversary party, where the grandparents and their buddies are all from the Old Country and everyone has had a little too much to drink, you can begin to get the picture of what was going on here. The merriment of the performers was infectious. There were six or eight men and woman, singing, dancing and playing instruments, with a childlike glee that you rarely see in public.

Leading it all, prancing about like an aging Pan, was a tall, thin man, decked out in a black leather vest and cap, wearing owlish, oversize plastic glasses. His sidekick was a shorter, pudgy man who followed behind and tooted away on something like a pennywhistle. Seated around these two were the others, playing an odd assortment of string and percussion instruments. My favorite was a tiny, shriveled old woman - so short that her feet dangled inches above the ground as she sat on her chair - who held a pair of rhythm sticks and struck them together whenever the spirit moved her, regardless of what anyone else was singing or playing. Rather than seeming pathetic, it had the feel of garage-band passion, a kind of I-don't-give-a-damn independence and not an I-can't-keep-the-beat ineptitude.

But it was the two men's singing that stole the show. The tall guy wailed out the tunes, grinning madly and dragging out notes with his head arched back like a dog howling at the moon. His buddy was right there with him, singing harmony when he wasn't blowing his pipes like a saxman. They danced their way among the musicians, pausing occasionally so the tall guy could lift his leather cap and wipe his sweating brow with a crisp white handkerchief. While singing, they would sometimes lean on one another, with an affectionate relaxation that looked almost post-orgasmic.

It was when I saw them like that, hanging together and joyously screaming for all they were worth that I began to think about Mick and Keith. These songs may have been traditionally Chinese, but this is what Rock and Roll is all about.

Their finale was rousing rendition of a tune that seems ubiquitous in this part of China, called "Jiu Mei." We have since heard it blaring from market stall radios, and spilling out from hole-in-the-wall music shops, but this was my introduction to it. It tells the story of a village man who, after coming to the city, pines for his girlfriend Jiu Mei. But to hear it sung, you'd never know that he's sad about anything, because it's performed with such lively abandon. It's one of these songs, like British drinking ballads, or Ray Charles' "What'd I Say", that can go on forever with improvised verses. It is now etched indelibly in my memory.

With this show over, the crowd drifted apart and we wandered on for more entertainment. Nearby, in a small pavilion, a man and a woman dressed in bright red clownish costumes were regaling the crowd with some kind of vaudeville slapstick. As before, we worked our way to a ringside view, sitting on a stone bench and settling in for the show. But much to our surprise, after no more than a minute or two, the woman dragged us both from our seats and into the show!

I was one of those kids who dreaded watching a parade from the front row, from fear of being assaulted by a "friendly" clown. And this is what I get... But here it was definitely worth it. I don't think either the performers or the crowd had any idea of what to expect, and I give the woman a lot of credit for flying blind in what could have been a disastrous all-around embarrassment. We were all walking a little bit close to the edge.

I, of course, could not understand a word of what was going on, but this was pretty broad humor and it was easy to follow. First we all mimed drinking liquor from bowls, holding the imaginary vessels cupped in our hands and blissfully throwing back our heads. We skipped around in a circle, and the woman kicked the man ahead of her in the butt, drawing the expected laugh from the crowd. Deb then kicked me in the butt, giving rise to even more howls. I reciprocated and this was an even bigger hit.

Then we paired off on either side of the "stage" - boy/boy, girl/girl - for a little battle of the sexes. The woman sang something which appeared to be an indictment of men in general and us in particular, because as she sang, she strode back and forth across the space between us, giving me and the other man a good shove each time. Then the man went over to her side and kidnapped Deb; indicating that he no longer cared what his woman thought since he now had a new partner. I then went over to "claim" his former partner and signaled to him that he could keep Deb, since I now had his woman.

Through all of this, the crowd roared. When I could, I'd steal glances at our audience and all I saw was gaping toothless grins, with comrades elbowing and slapping one another on the back, astonished by our antics. Some of these people may have never seen foreigners before; none of these people had ever seen foreigners acting like this!

No wanting to overstay our welcome, we managed to leave the stage while still in everyone's good graces. As soon as we did, the crowd quickly broke up. Walking to our bikes, who should stop us but the shriveled midget lady with the rhythm sticks from the first performance! She was giddy with excitement, apparently having been watching our show. Now, I know I can't hold a candle to "Mick and Keith" from her band, but when she gave me and Deb a hearty thumbs up, I felt honored. I may not be in the Rock pantheon, but with her blessings, I feel I've been anointed.