摇滚饺子 (Yáo Gǔn Jiǎozi) pronounced “Yow Gwin Jeeow Tzih,” translates to “Rock and Roll Dumplings.” a name that represents more than the blending of music and food. It speaks to the overlap of culture, identity and connection that has shaped me.

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Everything about Yao Gun is, in some way, borrowed. I have spent time in China, studied the language, and wrote my thesis on Chinese rock and roll—but I am not of Chinese descent. I have played music since I was fourteen, writing songs, covering what inspired me, performing when I had the chance—but I am not a professional musician.

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What I am, is someone who has been shaped by these things. And rather than draw hard lines around what is or isn’t authentic, I’ve come to believe that most of what matters exists somewhere in between. The world is full of purists and contortionists—hose who cling to tradition and those who chase reinvention—often locked in a constant argument over what is real, what is valid, what belongs. I have no interest in that fight. Yao Gun is not an answer to that question. It’s a rejection of the premise.

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The goal of Yao Gun is to live in that grey space. To be something that is constantly shifting, constantly renegotiated. Not a fixed idea, but a shared one—shaped by the people who engage with it. Built on a foundation of respect, curiosity, humility, and a genuine appreciation for the things that bring us together.

At its core, Yao Gun is built on a simple understanding: food and music are both universal languages. They don’t require permission. They don’t demand explanation. They create space—for people to gather, to express themselves, to connect without needing to agree on everything else.

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If this becomes anything meaningful, it won’t be because it perfectly defines itself. It will be because it creates room for others to step in and find something of their own within it. A moment, a conversation, a shared experience that feels real.

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- Morgan