On Saturday evening the Workers' Stadium reverberated to the amplified whine of electrical instruments, the boom of multiple drums, and the screams of prancing male singers in shimmering white suits.
Dry ice enveloped a giant stage in multicoloured layers, laser beams traced wild patterns on the stands where thousands of fluorescent wristbands glowed like fireflies, and remote cameras relayed close-ups of the sweat-drenched action on 8x8 metre video screens. Around us in the 280 yuan (£30) seats in section 7, fans showed their appreciation for the top-billed stars, Qi Qin and Zhao Chuan, by waving their arms and occasionally throwing paper aeroplanes, a habit of stadium crowds in Beijing and certainly preferable to bottles.
The concert had some other Chinese characteristics. A security cordon was carved out around the stage by dozens of policemen on little canvas stools, alternatively facing the music or facing the fans, as if in a line of love seats, watching for trouble. Not that they need have worried. Beijing rock fans are well behaved. In our section, some leapt up a few times with enthusiasm for their favourite "Mandopop" numbers - Taiwan hits in mandarin Chinese - only to sit down obediently at a signal from a policeman strategically placed in the front row.
The concert featured some of the best singers from Hong Kong and Taiwan and was a big success. But two of the most popular and talented performers in China were missing from the lineup.
One was Cui Jian, whose guitar playing and anthem, Nothing to My Name, formed the sound track to the 1989 student movement. After the Tiananmen crackdown, the rock star was banned to the fringes of the music scene. Now turning 40, he is never invited to appear on television or perform in big concerts. But the word in Beijing last week was that he would make an appearance at the Workers' Stadium on Saturday night.
Before we took our seats however we heard that he had been "bounced". Nobody had to explain why. With the June 4th anniversary of the Tiananmen crackdown on Sunday next, the Beijing-born Korean was judged by the cultural commissars as too potent a symbol of nonconformity for such a high profile event. When I called Cui Jian yesterday he told me that a month ago he was suggested as a performer but "no permission was given, so they said I couldn't go on", and on Saturday he played instead in a suburban club.
The other missing star was the Taiwanese singer, Chang Hueimei, popularly known as A-Mei, who with her crop tops and energetic dance routines is one of the most popular entertainers in the Chinese-speaking world. A-Mei packed stadiums during a China tour last year. The elfin diva of Taiwan aboriginal descent is so hot that Coca Cola invested millions of dollars to feature her in a China-wide promotion of Sprite.
But A-Mei has also incurred the wrath of the cultural commissars in Beijing. On May 20th, clad in a light purple gown, she belted out a solemn rendition of Taiwan's national anthem at the inauguration of Chen Shui-bian as president of Taiwan. The 26-year-old star said she did not expect this would hurt her career in mainland China, despite Beijing's rumbling opposition to Taiwanese independence. After all, she had become an unofficial goodwill ambassador in China for Taiwanese people.
It was a vain hope. Beijing decided to punish her hard for this one song. She faces a three-year ban on concert performances in China. Her face, name and voice have been barred from TV, print and radio advertisements. Last week Coca Cola was counting its losses from an abandoned multimillion dollar campaign, which included a series of 30-second Sprite commercials featuring A-Mei, and advertisements on billboards and bus stops.
Beijing has often lectured the West about mixing business and politics, but is now intent on blacklisting Taiwanese individuals and companies who "openly clamour" for independence - that is, having anything to do with President Chen.
Another Taiwan singer, Wu Pai, who performed during an evening musical extravaganza in Taipei on President Chen's inauguration day, was stripped of the Beijing-bestowed title of "Best Male Singer from Taiwan".
Ironically, the words of the Taiwan national anthem were written in 1924 by Chinese revolutionary Sun Yat-sen, a hero to both sides and a potent symbol of "one-China". The anthem is in fact a symbolic link with the mainland and many pro-independence Taiwanese would like to scrap it altogether.
As a matter of fact, said a bank clerk sitting next to us in Section 7, the words themselves could have been sung in the Workers' Stadium that night, without anyone taking offence.