Today I felt like the only future I had was as a bitching roadie.
Let me explain: I was sat in Mama Nani's, a restaurant near the studio with loads of friendly cats (and by cats I mean felines, not the jazz-lingo-of-the-1940's term for another human being) that serves an awesome nasi bryani, when the Aftershock show appeared on Hitz.tv.
I sat there and watched as bands I've known since I first got onto this crazy weird thing known as 'the local indie music scene' rocked out as audiences went wild.
And I found myself depressed.
I'd been working like a dog for God knows how many days trying to sort out all the Y2k stuff, get the tour going, make sure everything is set for the launch, all that bullshit. Y2k's been around for a good four years and we've finally got an album done. Some of those bands on the screen had been around for less and it got me insanely depressed.
Jealous? Possibly. Envious? Maybe. I found myself thinking thoughts that I know I shouldn't, uncontrolled and uncensored. Most of all, I found myself thinking, "why the hell are those guys up there and I'm downhere?" It'd all been building up. Just the day before I heard the person who I now only refer to as "The End" on the radio and it got me fuming, thinking the same things I was thinking as I was sat there in Mama Nani's.
"Who the hell do these guys think they are?" "What makes them so special?" "My bands worked tons harder than those guys!" Real pretentious shit spewing from my mind. It got me depressed and angry at the same time and I had to take some panadol to alleviate the mental pain.
Then it struck me: fucking hell, I sound like Baz.
At least, I think his name was Baz.
Baz was the guy who ran the guitar store in Shrewsbury that my band at the time used to go to whenever we could, even if we weren't buying anything. Sometimes it fun just hanging out in a store like that, making a mental wishlist of all the stuff you want once you 'make it'. Baz was an old fella, probably in his late forties (or maybe he was younger and the drugs just took their toll).
In the room where one would test the guitars, there was a toilet seat for a chair, two amps and a huge picture above the door of Baz's old band from the 70's. The band even had a bassist complete with a Fender Jazz bass and a big fro, bandana tied around the bottom of it a la Hendrix.
And there, in the middle of the band, front and centre, was Baz: tight blue jeans, platform shoes, hairy chest in full view and frills down the arms of his jacket like Robert Plant, caught in full high pitched scream.
We'd hang out at the place, testing guitars and pedals. Baz usually brought in a couple lefty's which always kept me happy. And, best of all, Baz would tell us stories.
"Yeah, I saw Hendrix play," he'd say, "he was shit."
What? Hendrix? Shit?
"Guitar wasn't in tune, playing all sloppy, God he was crap."
Baz used to be a roadie for one of the big rock bands of the seventies (it could have been Black Sabbath, but I may be mistaken). And he'd regale us with stories of how shit this band was, or that guitarist, or how some singer couldn't hit the notes.
I look back at Baz now because I look at where he got to in life: running a guitar store, talking about how all these legends in rock weren't as good as we were led to believe, and yet the only memory of his band's greatness was in a picture hung up above a room that uses a toilet seat for a chair where kids like me go in to test guitars without any idea how to tune it, murdering 'Stairway to Heaven' note by note. He may have the dirt on the real experience of watching the legends at their supposed prime, but their contribution to the language lives on. His doesn't.
And I look back and I wonder: am I going to turn out like that? Am I gonna be running the studio at the age of forty, Y2k and Triple 6 Poser and all the other stuff I do a thing of the past, not even a footnote in the overall local music history, a band photo on the wall, regaling kids about how I saw OAG at Rock the World IV and telling them it was 'bollocks'?
Maybe.
But then I look back at Baz from a different angle: he probably gave it his all, and it was probably not meant to be. And he's still doing something he loves. In fact, he's giving the kids of the future the opportunity to try and get themselves in the history of rock, to see what the gods have in store for them. He didn't sell out, he didn't cash his chips and work some dead-end 9 to 5 job. He's still in the business of rock.
And I look back from that angle and it puts a smile to my face. I guess, in the end, all I can do is my best. And if it's not meant to be, at least I know I gave it my all and I've still got the studio.
...
Still not gonna stop me from bitching, though. Fucking young punks, who the fuck do they think they are?! Especially that band O-(this post was cut short before a bevy of bridges are permanently burnt).
Friday, July 28, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Gigging In Singapore: Woe Is Me
Something was definitely wrong with this trip.
I can't put my finger on it, but there was too much bad vibes and craziness happening to a number of us for it to be just coincidence. Perhaps there was hoodoo-voodoo madness abound. Definite bad mojo vibes. You could sense it. It was no fault of the organizer or the gig or Singapore. We put on a decent show, all was good. But there was just something... wrong.
Here is a run-down of the bad hoodoo:
1. Jelly Legs & Freaky Fingers
Soundcheck seemed alright with Triple 6 Poser, even though I could sense the bad mojo subconsciously. On stage, it happened. The second I started playing my legs went weak, turning into strange gelatinous forms. And whilst my legs decided to be all loosey-goosey, my fingers decided to take a cue from AC/DC and turn themselves hard as a rock. The digits that extended from my palms froze up, cramped, refused to cooperate. It felt like I was playing guitar on stage for the first time and it was an odd and disturbing sensation.
2. Un-Kickability & Vocal Lethargy
It turns out, I wasn't the only one with strange happenings on stage to ruin our mojo - the kick pedal seemed to constantly un-screw itself from the drum kit, screwing up Ian's drumming during Triple 6 Poser and Paul's during Y2k. And both Saiful and Eddy experienced the same problem on stage - the inability to catch their breath on the first song. Remember, in both bands both vocalists have sung these songs a hundred times, yet here they both are, unable to perform to their full potential. Neither could explain why, but both experienced the exact same thing.
3. Physical Pain
If performance playing problems weren't enough, a member from each of my bands went through some form of physical pain - Saiful twisted his ankle in front of the venue as he walked towards it by tripping and Henry experienced very severe gastric pains.
4. Hostel Humiliation - a review of BugisBackpackers
We stayed at this place called BugisBackers (link in the title above). The website already seemed a bit odd due to the fact that there were no pictures of the dorms, no full list of facilities and no way to book via phone - you had to book by e-mail. But it had one saving grace - it was very close to the venue so we wouldn't have to get a taxi to bring our guitars to the venue. But after what happened, it seems that whilst location, location, location are the most important things when picking a piece of property to purchase, it is nowhere near as important ashospitality when it comes to choosing a place to stay on a trip to another country.
When we got there I already felt a bit bad for choosing the place - whilst other hostels in Singapore offer a host of services, this one was stripped to its basics. Forget free internet and towels, you don't even get a padlock for your locker (which kind of defeats the purpose of having a locker in the first place). By the reception was a list of rules that wouldn't look amiss in a concentration camp. But things seemed friendly enough (at first) so we didn't complain.
After the gig we came back at around 10ish to drop off our guitars before going out for dinner. As Eddy walked up to his bunk he was surprised to find that his bunk had been stripped of its linen. The way this hostel works is, if there's no linen, the bed is available and when you check in you get your linen. We searched around the hostel for the receptionist/manager but she was nowhere to be found (for some reason, the person that runs the place only comes in at certain hours, whereupon she reviews the CCTV security camera tapes to see if anyone has broken the rules. We saw her telling off one of the patrons for using the breakfast facilities before he had checked in as well as entering when he shouldn't have entered, or something. Personally, I don't blame the guy. He arrived in the country late and there was a coffee machine). Eddy decided 'fuck it' and we made our way out to eat and view transvestites.
When we came back, it was straight up Goldilocks - someone was sleeping in Eddy's bed.
Technically, it's not the guy's fault - there was no linen on the bed, how was he supposed to know? Still unable to find the receptionist and badly in need of sleep since his bus was leaving at 8 in the morning, Eddy slept on the sofa and asked me to sort it out in the morning and get a refund.
The next morning I approached the receptionist. She asked, politely and concerned in a motherly manner, what happened last night since she saw the tapes and saw that Eddy slept on the sofa in the living room. I told her what happened, how Eddy was not happy with what had happened, whereupon she at first tried to make it seem like it was Eddy's fault for not shooing the person away, then tried to skew it into someone else who wasn't a staff member of the hostel. Both of these 'excuses' were deflected with logic, but she was adamant that it couldn't have been the staff.
She was then adamant that no refund could be made because 'technically' Eddy had used the facilities of the hostel to sleep when he slept on the sofa. I told her he paid for a bed, not a sofa. She wouldn't budge. We argued some more. She still wouldn't budge. Logic, eithics, the basics of the hospitality industry, she was having none of it and said that if Eddy would like to discuss it further he can come down to discuss it with her personally.
There are a hundred and one derogatory terms for the female of the species in my mental vocabulary, but it may cause my blog to appear on google searches by perverts, pimps, dog lovers and butchers.
5. And That's Not All
On top of that, there were a number of weird negative things happening: Ian got intensely stressed out and wanted to jump onto the first bus back and Paul was feeling the same, a bunch of the guys missed their train to Singapore and had to plead their way through and a whole bunch of other things happened that I am not at liberty to type out for the public to view. Believe me when I say this: there was nothing wrong with the gig or with Singapore. We love coming down to play in Singapore and the organizer always puts in a 110%. But there was just something wrong with the trip, like a bad vibe hanging over us and screwing up our mojo.
I just hope it's not what I think it is.
I can't put my finger on it, but there was too much bad vibes and craziness happening to a number of us for it to be just coincidence. Perhaps there was hoodoo-voodoo madness abound. Definite bad mojo vibes. You could sense it. It was no fault of the organizer or the gig or Singapore. We put on a decent show, all was good. But there was just something... wrong.
Here is a run-down of the bad hoodoo:
1. Jelly Legs & Freaky Fingers
Soundcheck seemed alright with Triple 6 Poser, even though I could sense the bad mojo subconsciously. On stage, it happened. The second I started playing my legs went weak, turning into strange gelatinous forms. And whilst my legs decided to be all loosey-goosey, my fingers decided to take a cue from AC/DC and turn themselves hard as a rock. The digits that extended from my palms froze up, cramped, refused to cooperate. It felt like I was playing guitar on stage for the first time and it was an odd and disturbing sensation.
2. Un-Kickability & Vocal Lethargy
It turns out, I wasn't the only one with strange happenings on stage to ruin our mojo - the kick pedal seemed to constantly un-screw itself from the drum kit, screwing up Ian's drumming during Triple 6 Poser and Paul's during Y2k. And both Saiful and Eddy experienced the same problem on stage - the inability to catch their breath on the first song. Remember, in both bands both vocalists have sung these songs a hundred times, yet here they both are, unable to perform to their full potential. Neither could explain why, but both experienced the exact same thing.
3. Physical Pain
If performance playing problems weren't enough, a member from each of my bands went through some form of physical pain - Saiful twisted his ankle in front of the venue as he walked towards it by tripping and Henry experienced very severe gastric pains.
4. Hostel Humiliation - a review of BugisBackpackers
We stayed at this place called BugisBackers (link in the title above). The website already seemed a bit odd due to the fact that there were no pictures of the dorms, no full list of facilities and no way to book via phone - you had to book by e-mail. But it had one saving grace - it was very close to the venue so we wouldn't have to get a taxi to bring our guitars to the venue. But after what happened, it seems that whilst location, location, location are the most important things when picking a piece of property to purchase, it is nowhere near as important ashospitality when it comes to choosing a place to stay on a trip to another country.
When we got there I already felt a bit bad for choosing the place - whilst other hostels in Singapore offer a host of services, this one was stripped to its basics. Forget free internet and towels, you don't even get a padlock for your locker (which kind of defeats the purpose of having a locker in the first place). By the reception was a list of rules that wouldn't look amiss in a concentration camp. But things seemed friendly enough (at first) so we didn't complain.
After the gig we came back at around 10ish to drop off our guitars before going out for dinner. As Eddy walked up to his bunk he was surprised to find that his bunk had been stripped of its linen. The way this hostel works is, if there's no linen, the bed is available and when you check in you get your linen. We searched around the hostel for the receptionist/manager but she was nowhere to be found (for some reason, the person that runs the place only comes in at certain hours, whereupon she reviews the CCTV security camera tapes to see if anyone has broken the rules. We saw her telling off one of the patrons for using the breakfast facilities before he had checked in as well as entering when he shouldn't have entered, or something. Personally, I don't blame the guy. He arrived in the country late and there was a coffee machine). Eddy decided 'fuck it' and we made our way out to eat and view transvestites.
When we came back, it was straight up Goldilocks - someone was sleeping in Eddy's bed.
Technically, it's not the guy's fault - there was no linen on the bed, how was he supposed to know? Still unable to find the receptionist and badly in need of sleep since his bus was leaving at 8 in the morning, Eddy slept on the sofa and asked me to sort it out in the morning and get a refund.
The next morning I approached the receptionist. She asked, politely and concerned in a motherly manner, what happened last night since she saw the tapes and saw that Eddy slept on the sofa in the living room. I told her what happened, how Eddy was not happy with what had happened, whereupon she at first tried to make it seem like it was Eddy's fault for not shooing the person away, then tried to skew it into someone else who wasn't a staff member of the hostel. Both of these 'excuses' were deflected with logic, but she was adamant that it couldn't have been the staff.
She was then adamant that no refund could be made because 'technically' Eddy had used the facilities of the hostel to sleep when he slept on the sofa. I told her he paid for a bed, not a sofa. She wouldn't budge. We argued some more. She still wouldn't budge. Logic, eithics, the basics of the hospitality industry, she was having none of it and said that if Eddy would like to discuss it further he can come down to discuss it with her personally.
There are a hundred and one derogatory terms for the female of the species in my mental vocabulary, but it may cause my blog to appear on google searches by perverts, pimps, dog lovers and butchers.
5. And That's Not All
On top of that, there were a number of weird negative things happening: Ian got intensely stressed out and wanted to jump onto the first bus back and Paul was feeling the same, a bunch of the guys missed their train to Singapore and had to plead their way through and a whole bunch of other things happened that I am not at liberty to type out for the public to view. Believe me when I say this: there was nothing wrong with the gig or with Singapore. We love coming down to play in Singapore and the organizer always puts in a 110%. But there was just something wrong with the trip, like a bad vibe hanging over us and screwing up our mojo.
I just hope it's not what I think it is.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Dead Man's Chest: The Art of Overselling
Anyone who saw Pirates of the Carribean no doubt has been looking forward to the sequel - Dead Man's Chest. Especially me. I'm a big fan of Johnny Depp, I reckon he's the coolest cat in Hollywood and he's always had a knack of making characters his own, none more so than Captain Jack Sparrow:
Story goes, when the exec's at Disney first saw the rushes of Depp's portrayal, they were scared shitless. Why isn't he being all cool and macho? What is up with the 'Keef' Richards impression. Depp knew what he was doing and it paid off as he stole the show.
That's the problem with Pirates 2. The execs no doubt thought 'hey, Depp sells! Let's let him run the show!' Sounds like a good idea, right?
Wrong.
The reason why Depp's Jack Sparrow worked so wonderfully and stole the show was because he was, effectively, the Han Solo of the movie. But Han Solo never lead Star Wars. The story was always about Luke, the true 'hero' in a very mythical sense.
But it looks like the exec's are having none of it. They've stuck Depp front and center, Kiera Knightley a close second and Orlando seems to be there purely for continuity (poor fucker). The couple are given about less than five minutes to establish their story and then it's straight to Jack. Haha! Look at Jack! He's funny! Haha...! Ha... ha... hmmm... is this going anywhere?
The thing is, if it was written well this wouldn't be so bad. But Depp's story arc is the least interesting to follow. In part one his story arc was not JUST about treasure: he wanted his ship back from those that took it from him and he wanted revenge, hence even though he may not be a noble man there was something morally noble about his actions. Now? Now he's just plain selfish. Sure, they try to give him some sense of nobility at the end but it's too little too late.
Actually, you know what this movie reminds me off? The Matrix sequel. You're waiting and waiting for it, you loved the first one so much, you want to feel the same as the first one, then you go in and it looks like the filmmakers went "ok, what did the audience like last time? Let's stick more of that in!" So the Matrix had MORE flo-mo action sequences and kung-fu, MORE philosophising and... it sucked. A bunch of cool scenes in an uneven movie.
Pirates 2 is the same: MORE swashbuckling, MORE Jack Sparrow, MORE supernatural underwater shenanigans (and like the Matrix, just when things get interesting and a cool twist is revealed, the movie fucking ends, ensuring you'll be first in line at part three no matter how much you were dissapointed by part two).
Sure, there are incredible set pieces, and the FX are stunning, but FX with no story equals no goddamn point! And bringing back all the characters you loved from the first one is one thing, but bringing them back via the elusive ghost in the Hollywood scriptwriting machine is just annoying.
There's also a 'development' in Kiera's character between her and Johnny Depp which further shows who they're pushing the spotlight on: the two more bankable stars. Yes, Orlando hasn't had much stardom post-LOTR, but he's still the Luke Skywalker of the story. Let him lead it, godammit!
Sigh... I know I'm going to watch part three, and odds are, it'll probably redeem part two, just like Matrix 3 did.
I just hope they don't make Captain Jack Sparrow Jesus.
That's the problem with Pirates 2. The execs no doubt thought 'hey, Depp sells! Let's let him run the show!' Sounds like a good idea, right?
Wrong.
The reason why Depp's Jack Sparrow worked so wonderfully and stole the show was because he was, effectively, the Han Solo of the movie. But Han Solo never lead Star Wars. The story was always about Luke, the true 'hero' in a very mythical sense.
But it looks like the exec's are having none of it. They've stuck Depp front and center, Kiera Knightley a close second and Orlando seems to be there purely for continuity (poor fucker). The couple are given about less than five minutes to establish their story and then it's straight to Jack. Haha! Look at Jack! He's funny! Haha...! Ha... ha... hmmm... is this going anywhere?
The thing is, if it was written well this wouldn't be so bad. But Depp's story arc is the least interesting to follow. In part one his story arc was not JUST about treasure: he wanted his ship back from those that took it from him and he wanted revenge, hence even though he may not be a noble man there was something morally noble about his actions. Now? Now he's just plain selfish. Sure, they try to give him some sense of nobility at the end but it's too little too late.
Actually, you know what this movie reminds me off? The Matrix sequel. You're waiting and waiting for it, you loved the first one so much, you want to feel the same as the first one, then you go in and it looks like the filmmakers went "ok, what did the audience like last time? Let's stick more of that in!" So the Matrix had MORE flo-mo action sequences and kung-fu, MORE philosophising and... it sucked. A bunch of cool scenes in an uneven movie.
Pirates 2 is the same: MORE swashbuckling, MORE Jack Sparrow, MORE supernatural underwater shenanigans (and like the Matrix, just when things get interesting and a cool twist is revealed, the movie fucking ends, ensuring you'll be first in line at part three no matter how much you were dissapointed by part two).
Sure, there are incredible set pieces, and the FX are stunning, but FX with no story equals no goddamn point! And bringing back all the characters you loved from the first one is one thing, but bringing them back via the elusive ghost in the Hollywood scriptwriting machine is just annoying.
There's also a 'development' in Kiera's character between her and Johnny Depp which further shows who they're pushing the spotlight on: the two more bankable stars. Yes, Orlando hasn't had much stardom post-LOTR, but he's still the Luke Skywalker of the story. Let him lead it, godammit!
Sigh... I know I'm going to watch part three, and odds are, it'll probably redeem part two, just like Matrix 3 did.
I just hope they don't make Captain Jack Sparrow Jesus.
Monday, July 3, 2006
What Does Your Birth Date Mean?
Another one of them on-line "oh, my God, it's almost true! How did the computer do it!?" kinda things available at this link. For my birth date, 20th of June, it tells me:
"You are a virtual roller coaster of emotions, and most people enjoy the ride."
(I'm the human equivalent of cocaine?)
"Your mood tends to set the tone of the room, and when you're happy, this is a good thing."
(I wonder what birthdate tells you it's a bad thing to be happy?)
"When you get in a dark mood, watch out - it's very hard to get you out of it."
(Aha. I'm doomed to be emo. At least I have an excuse. "It's not my fault I'm depressed! My birthdate dictates it so!" Bollocks.)
"It's sometimes hard for you to cheer up, and your gloom can be contagious."
(Sounds like a super-villain's powers: "I can make you all unhappy by being unhappy! Give me a million bucks or I'll watch 'Requiem for a Dream' on a loop and make you all suffer!" ...or not.)
"Your strength: Your warm heart"
(Makes sense. If it said "your rippling abs" I'd call it a lying fucker.)
"Your weakness: Trouble controlling your emotions"
(It's official. I'm the Hulk.)
"Your power color: Black"
(More proof of emo-ness! God save me...)
"Your power symbol: Musical note"
(The only bit which made me feel quite gooey. Either that or, combined with the other mentions of emo-ness, makes me qualified to buy an Epiphone SG down-tuned for me to sing heavy songs about having my heart broken. Perhaps I should just concede and start an emo band. All I need is a name... something with a day, or a date, or a month in it...)
"Your power month: February"
(...well, that solves that then.)
"You are a virtual roller coaster of emotions, and most people enjoy the ride."
(I'm the human equivalent of cocaine?)
"Your mood tends to set the tone of the room, and when you're happy, this is a good thing."
(I wonder what birthdate tells you it's a bad thing to be happy?)
"When you get in a dark mood, watch out - it's very hard to get you out of it."
(Aha. I'm doomed to be emo. At least I have an excuse. "It's not my fault I'm depressed! My birthdate dictates it so!" Bollocks.)
"It's sometimes hard for you to cheer up, and your gloom can be contagious."
(Sounds like a super-villain's powers: "I can make you all unhappy by being unhappy! Give me a million bucks or I'll watch 'Requiem for a Dream' on a loop and make you all suffer!" ...or not.)
"Your strength: Your warm heart"
(Makes sense. If it said "your rippling abs" I'd call it a lying fucker.)
"Your weakness: Trouble controlling your emotions"
(It's official. I'm the Hulk.)
"Your power color: Black"
(More proof of emo-ness! God save me...)
"Your power symbol: Musical note"
(The only bit which made me feel quite gooey. Either that or, combined with the other mentions of emo-ness, makes me qualified to buy an Epiphone SG down-tuned for me to sing heavy songs about having my heart broken. Perhaps I should just concede and start an emo band. All I need is a name... something with a day, or a date, or a month in it...)
"Your power month: February"
(...well, that solves that then.)
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