First Gig of the Year...

...and I'm hella lookin' forward to it.

So I got an SMS from Pete Teo, asking if Rollin' Sixers would like to play at No Black Tie (that's him there in the pic above with me in Pusan where we both look... fucked). I was excited. The last time we played NBT we were playing acoustic, now we get to play our set the way we usually do.

He then told me we'd be sharing the bill with a Japanese band - even cooler.

I later found out the band was none other than Doc Holiday and Apache Train.

When I was in the band with the Angry Fat Man where we wore masks we played the Fat Festival in Thailand which had a whole bunch of cool indie bands from around the world as well as Thai. One of those bands was Doc Holiday and I'm telling you now - if you're not gonna come to the show to watch my band or Pete play, at least come to watch these guys. They not only have a kick-ass sound, they have back-up dancers.

And these back-up dancers are skeletons. That picture above? That skeleton ain't just for show. Someone stands behind it and dances the thing.

On top of that you've got Pete Teo bringing the acoustic stylee and it's sure to be a kick ass night.

The gig's on the 16th at No Black Tie at 9.30pm. Tickets are RM30. More details about the bands can be found at Pete's blog.

Kids Say The Darndest Things

So I was at the Guitar Store getting Sheila (my Telecaster bought in Sydney) and Danni (my Danelectro) serviced for the Rollin' Sixers recording sessions, when I overheard some people discussing music.

They were within the 18 to 21 range, either in college or just out, with rock star dreams in their eyes. The one leading the conversation spoke with the cockiness and self assurance of any kid in their late teens/early twenties out to impress his peers. In this case, the subject matter was of music.

I sat at the sofa, waiting for my guitar, unable to help myself from overhearing. For the most part, the kid was talking out of his ass, explaining the 'truth' about record labels and music trends based on sociological and political influences, citing the history of music, describing the ins and outs of how bands were signed back in the seventies compared to now, etcetera et-frickin'-cetera.

In short, I felt like Woody Allen at the movie queue in 'Annie Hall'.





The thing is, the conversation these kids were having was amusing me. Sure, I felt old for feeling it, but it was funny listening to this kid wax lyrical as if he knew what he was talking about. It didn't bother me that much.

That is, until he started preaching about how great Lady Gaga is.

Yes, that's right. Lady-Fucking-Gaga. The ugly skank who'd very much like to ride your disco stick.

The kid started talking about how Lady Gaga was one of the greatest musicians working in pop music today. He started saying how much he hopes Lady Gaga doesn't sell out and become too pop. He started saying how hot she was.

I started clenching my hand into a fist.

Then the other kids joined in to also confess their adoration and admiration of the great musical genius that is Lady Gaga. "Lady Gaga is fuckin' rock n' roll!" said one and they all high-five'd each other in agreement.

Believe me, it took every ounce of strength within me to not drop some science on these fuckin' gromlets and school their skinny asses. Either that or club them like baby seals, skin them and sell the pelt to other sick individuals.

I couldn't believe my ears as they continued going gaga over Gaga. This is what these kids love? This is what they think rock n' roll is? The ring leader had just been going on about how Michael Jackson was an innovator and now he's talking about Lady Gaga with the same amount of fucking admiration? What the fuck has happened with this world? Was crack legalized in schools at some point and I heard nothing about it?

I couldn't take any more. If I stuck around any longer I probably would have shoved a P Bass into each of their asses. I quickly grabbed one of the Fender Highway One Strats and went straight into the testing room as the leader explained the Jewishness of Gene Simmons and how it has helped Kiss become rich and successful.

And the clincher? When my guitar was done they were just leaving, but not before the leader played back some of the music his band had been recording for the other gromlets to listen to and played it back on the speakers of his phone.

And after listening to a few riffs I concluded that the future of music is well and truly going down the drain for inglorious rat basterds to swim in whilst chewing on putrid ball sack remnants.

Melodies/Memories

When I was thirteen I discovered fifties rock n' roll and thus began my love for this wonderful thing we call music and the power it has over a person. When I first heard Chuck Berry's "Johnny B. Goode" I felt like I discovered something magical, like a great secret was laid down to me - "this is music, and it's gonna be with you for the rest of your life".

In truth, however, music didn't really become ingrained into my bloodstream until I discovered that not only could I listen to it, I could make my own too. I was into poetry ever since my English teacher in prep school told me that I had a natural talent for it and I would often write poems to express whatever it was I was feeling or thinking, distilling the haywire of pre-pubescent thoughts into small, concise lines.

Hip-hop gave me the opportunity to express myself in music without having to actually learn how to play music. When I was about fifteen my father bought me a keyboard and I'd use the pre-set drum patterns as a beat whilst laying down some incredibly basic bass lines and write rhymes to lay on it.

When I discovered Nirvana it changed the playing field once again - Kurt was left handed, just like I was, and a friend of mine went about teaching me some very basic chords so that I could play some Nirvana tracks. I went from writing rhymes to laying down lyrics, and by the time I was in A-levels I was in my first proper band playing bass.

Ever since then I've been in one band or another, and ever since I've been writing songs.

These days I've found myself listening to a lot of music that I've heard a hundred times before, only this time I find myself really listening to the lyrics. I've heard "Hey Jude" a thousand times before but only recently do I find myself really listening to the lyrics. Lyrics were always what I was into in the first place - poetry, placing the right structure of words together in the right amount to express a specific feeling, an emotion, a thought, and doing so melodically.

It's amazing how music can sometimes just trigger something - how something someone wrote in another place at another time about something that has nothing to do with what you're going through, but somehow you relate to every word, every feeling the track evokes. Other times, a song can trigger something simply because in your mind and in your heart it's associated with some moment, some person, something, anything, and it floods your every pore, for better or worse.

I totally forgot Corinne Bailey Rae's "Like A Star" was on my playlist when it came on at random, and it just made me miss the person I associate that song with a whole lot more.

(Ironically, just as I wrote that paragraph above, "Love Hurts" by Nazareth came on. Either my Winamp player is being sadistic or I should get more mp3's. Or maybe just play "Surfin' Bird" by The Thrashmen on loop.)

This Is How I Remember Him

 

In a white suit and fedora, singing 'Smooth Criminal' in the 'Moonwalker' movie (click the pic to check out the whole 9 and a half minute sequence).

I loved this moment in the movie. It brought about my love for suits, a love I carried on till I was in my early twenties and arrived in Malaysia where wearing a suit everyday was not a viable option. I loved the moves, the coreography, the coolness of it all and the song. That song was a brilliant piece of pop music.

Right now I'm listening to 'The Way You Make Me Feel' and I think about how much we all ridiculed the King of Pop, how he was such an easy target for the press. But just listen to one of his songs and it makes you realize one inalienable truth -

This man knew how to do pop music, and pop music hasn't reached it's heights since.

We live in an age where everything is designed for maximum catchiness at the shortest span of time, we are bombarded with imagery of the latest hip new trends in music and everything sounds exactly the same as everything else. Hell, even so-called lo-fi garage rock has been put through the corporate-homogenizer, pre-packed and survey-tested.

Michael Jackson's music was pop music that everybody could appreciate it. And it was original, it was fresh and it was exciting. Why do people sick of the current radio-friendly pop trends search far and wide for obscure music for them to discover? Because pop music isn't as exciting as it was when MJ was at his peak.

Whatever his sins, whatever his eccentricities, he will be missed and he will be remembered.

In the Life of Guber

Some wonder how much work I have. Here's a glimpse...


Tuesday: Couldn't sleep the night before. Managed to get an hours sleep in the hotel room in Thailand, wake up at 6:30am, rush out, eat a breakfast of two fried eggs and french toast with two croissants and two cups of coffee and two cups of juice. Got on the plane and fell asleep for another hour, arrived in KL at around noon, got in a cab to my house, showered, changed clothes and made my way to Hoxes to check on the many e-mails, get work done and design the e-invites for the Ciplak launch party. Adjust media invite list, spend a few hours with Diana watching Crimson Tide and relaxing, went to the studio, remixed Triple 6 Poser's Another Lie' for the original motion picture soundtrack of Ciplak, pumped up the levels of the other tracks, burnt myself a copy to listen to and went to bed at 5:30am.

Wednesday: Got up at around 9.30am to sort out the locations of the plug sockets for the new renovations of the house, checked e-mails, listened to the Triple 6 Poser mix and noticed more flaws, realize the printers won't have enough time to get the sountrack CD printed by the launch, decide to use CD-R's for the press kits and send the soundtrack later, went to 8TV for an interview about the movie, mingled with the head honchos, checked e-mail again to discover a number of problems with the press invites for the press screening, try to sort it out to not much avail which leaves me fuming, meet up with Diana, go to the Taman Tun house, check out the printed marketing materials, slightly letdown by the quality: pixelated. Sort out the free t-shirts for cast and crew, quick meeting with Dicky and Zeeka, rush off to rehearsals with Triple 6 Poser, go to the studio, transfer pictures of the Fat Festival to my computer from my cam and Saiful's, meet up with Tony, go to McDonalds and discuss the legalities of the upcoming short films and Ciplak screening at the Singapore gig.

Thursday: Woke up at 11am. Only slept two or three hours tops. Downed a glass of coffee and went straight to the studio. Started rendering and burning process for the short films DVD I'm bringing to Singapore. Whilst that rendered, designed the poster for the Ciplak launch party in A3 and black and white A5 format. Then wrote an article for Junk magazine about the Fat Festival. Then burnt Fat Festival pictures together with Y2k press kit and prepared a copy of the album for Junk. Left the studio, went to the printers, dropped off the flyer and poster designs, went to the Junk office, dropped off the articles, decided to go to Jalan Pasar to grab an AC adapter for my H&K Tubeman, got lost and almost ended up in Kajang. Decide to forgo the adapter, picked up the posters and flyers and arrived at the studio at 4:30pm. Prepared data CD's for 8TV of snippets of Ciplak as well as the press kit and trailer in full AVI format, burnt them to CD-R, prepared Ciplak for DVD burning and suddenly realized I forgot to drop off the DV tapes of Ciplak at GSC for them to screen in the cinemas. Leave the office at 5:25pm, get stuck in a jam on the Penchala link because of a car crash, pick up the DV tapes from Taman Tun, drop them off at GSC office by 6:10pm, go to Laundry at the Curve to drop off flyers and posters, buy some Singapore currency and have my only meal so far for the day: a sausage roll. Make my way to 8TV, get there and discover that the people I'm supposed to send it to are at a mamak stall, go to the mamak stall, begins to rain, drop off the CD, rush to Mont Kiara and lie down on Diana's couch for an hour. Go back home, pack, Diana drives me to the studio to pick up the DVDs and Tony from his house, arrive at Pudu station at 11:30pm and make my way to Singapore at a minute to midnight.


Fun, huh?

Addicted to Being Insanely Busy

...life just keeps getting packed up by the minute, doesn't it?

At this moment, I'm still sorting out what needs to be sorted out for Ciplak (the FINAS issue never dies), sorting out administrative stuff, beautification, and other things at FYI that no-one really thinks about when imagining the 'glamour' of running your own company, taking on one of those editing jobs where you cut down a raunchy international music video for local airing, trying to sort out other jobs for FYI Films, producing tracks for other artists, sorting out the tour (which starts this weekend!) and other such silliness.

On top of all that, I now want to take up a new hobby: guitar-building. It's strange - I always need something... 'new' to learn from or be inspired by. Always. It's a strange addiction that I can't curb.
Turning to music isn't much of an option. The last great album I bought (and by great album, I mean one of those discs where listening to the whole album from beginning to end is more satisfying than listening to a couple of hte singles) was Green Day's 'American Idiot', and the last one before that was the Darkness' debut. Nothing has tickled my fancy since, leading me to back-track to great oldies like Nazareth (and no, 'Love Hurts' is not the only single these guys put out. In fact, I reckon it's their weakest when put against 'Hair of the Dog' or 'Black Betty').

Turning to movies isn't much of an option either. The majority of movies I've been watching are big-ass blockbusters, which are fun, but don't exactly inspire me to greatness (although last night I watched 'Brick' which was fucking cool, even though it kinda starts off dodgy). The last inspiring movie I saw was 'Hustle & Flow', and that was a while back.

Sound engineering? Theory's pretty much learnt. Anything new I can learn is only gonna come from experience, and that's gonna take me the rest of my life so it's pretty much a given. The thrill of searching for articles and information and books on the subject is pretty much dead.

Books? Comics? No such luck. I can only think of two comics I want to pick up: the new 'Fables' (which I heard was one of the interim issues) and the Garth Ennis run on Ghost Rider. I still find it strange yet highly ammusing that Marvel hired Mr. Ennis. Reading his 'Punisher' had me in stitches.

So it's time for a new hobby. And it looks like that hobby is guitar-making/building/whatever. That zest, that craving for information and knowledge is back. Unfortunately, it's also probably one of the toughest hobbies I could have chosen.

For starters, it involves woodwork. I was never good at woodwork. I don't have the patience for woodwork. Creative Design Technology was the one thing I got a 'C' in during my GCSE's, simply because I couldn't make anything I designed. I could design like a motherfucker, with blueprints, insane yet logical schematics, etc. But give me a saw and a block of wood and I can't even cut a straight line. Shit, I can't hammer a nail straight! Thankfully, (a) I'm not making an acoustic guitar and (b) I've got Alel of X-Cited Screamers helping me out.

The electronics, on the other hand, I don't mind. Always loved electronics. Always loved physics in general. The only problem during my education was that I was cursed with the dullest physics teachers in existence. Seriously. A long time ago I wanted to be a scientist, for God's sake (probably because of Back to the Future, the A-Team and Macguyver) and all these teachers pretty much made me destroy that dream with a large troll hammer.

Maths comes into play when it comes to designing a guitar, too: calculating tension, fret distance, pickup output, etc. Not too worried about the math.

Another thing that's involved with guitar work that I was never good at is painting. I can't paint for nuts. I can draw, I know that, but when it comes to painting the fucker I'm dead in the water. I know I'm not exactly painting the Mona Lisa on the plank of wood that will be my guitar, but even then. I don't trust myself with paint.

So why, God, WHY am I picking this, of all things, as my new hobby? Three reasons:

1. I'm lefty. Thus, I am left with only standard model guitars as a choice. To have those other, more interesting guitars will cost me a bomb (example - left handed Fender '72 Tele-thinline: 800 pounds, 200 pounds more expensive than its right handed brother).

2. I'm curious. It's my damn instrument, I should know how it works, godammit.

3. Why not?

I'm gonna be starting up a new category soon, showing a pictoral progress, of sorts. Which will probably make me lose some of my audience. Ah well.

Thinking Like Baz

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).

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.

The First Time I Met The Blues

The chronological details are a blur. I know for a fact that the first ever guitar-based song I ever heard that stuck to my head was Chuck Berry's "Johnny B. Goode" (although I can't remember whether I heard the original first or Marty McFly's) which led to my love of 50's rock n' roll.

But that's rock n' roll. I'm talking about the blues. I'm sure I had heard blues before, but never really understood it or fell in love with it. Not till I had the blues. And that moment I do remember.

I was in Geneva, visiting family friends (Ahmad's parents, for those who know who Ahmad is). My love for movies had kicked in and we were renting shit-loads of vids from the local video store run by a really cute 16 year old (I was around the same age at the time) and her over-bearing mother who probably thought we were trying to steal her daughter away. What can I say? Mountains, clocks and delicious chocolates aren't the only thing they make well. They also produce fine booty.

But back to the blues.

Casino had recently come out, and I was already a fan of Scorcese. So when we were in Geneva, shopping around, I came across the Casino soundtrack: a sprawling two-disc set covering music over three decades. Bought it, loved it.

On that disc was one song that will forever stay with me: B.B. King's 'The Thrill Is Gone'.

A couple of months later, I broke up with my then girlfriend. Needless to say, I wasn't feeling too good and was doing my best to forget about it. The Casino soundtrack was on and I was going about my business in my room when that song hit. And by God it hit.

I remember stopping everything I was doing and just listening. That hauntingly painful guitar solo, B.B.'s voice full of sorrow, the strings tugging at your heart.

I'm almost a 100% certain I started crying.

For the next few days I had that song on repeat. Why? Because it was exactly how I felt. It tapped into the exact emotion I was feeling and fucking clutched my heart with every note.

I remember reading somewhere, someone describing the blues as an expression of a single, specific emotion concised into two simple lines and a 12 bar chord progression.

That song got me through most of my heat-ache and opened up a whole new world to me: the blues. And it ain't just sad. The blues can be anything, but it's specific. A moment, a feeling, captured in two simple lines that say exactly what it's all about.

That's what I love so much about the blues. The chord progressions, the music, the kick-ass solo's, those are all great, but secondary. True blues taps into you, it says what you want to say or what you're thinking or feeling. So much of the music I hear on the radio these days tap into a general, broad emotion: happy, sad, angry, melancholy, etc. But they don't pinpoint specifics. Not as much as the blues does.

That's why I love the blues.




 

(And, in case you're wondering, I bring this all up because I've been spending a shit-load of time trying to write a solo for a blues song Henry wrote for Triple6Poser and it's driving me fucking insane.)

And it Burns, Burns, Burns...

Last night, in a fit of extreme hunger, I chowed down two chilli dogs at Hartamas.

Today, my cornhole is paying for it with an extremely burning sensation that may or may not have inspired the classic country song "Ring of Fire".

Other updates in my sordid life:

1. Got a gig in Penang this coming Sunday. If any of you readers happen to be in Penang pop on over to the Church Street Cafe on Church Street from 7pm onwards. Cover charge is RM$12 and both my bands Y2k and Triple 6 Poser will be performing alongside Psycho Sickness and Saerze together with Penang bands Hearts On Fire, Leather Charms, White Light and Poseidon. Click here for a flyer.

2. Got a date booked for the next screening of 'Ciplak', which will be at the Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Center. Once I get the details sussed out I'll let y'all know. Most probably will be in the afternoon.

3. Speaking of 'Ciplak', checked out the 3D modelling that's been done for the opening credit sequence and it looks kick-ass. Voxell represent!

4. Also, speaking of KLPac and gigs, I've got a solo gig coming up in the 'Troubadours' series they're having. My set'll probably consist of some of the new songs I've written that don't fit both Y2k and Triple 6 Poser, as well as some of the old songs from my Khaimano days. I'm also thinking of experimenting with my set by bringing my laptop with me and laying down some beats and ambient random-ness together with my guitar. Hopefully it works. For some reason I'm incredibly tempted to do a crunk version of the Khaimano track 'This Is Black Metal'. Will keep y'all updated about this.

5. There'll also be another gig with Y2k at Jam Asia in Hartamas, an acoustic set no less. We're seriously contemplating doing an acoustic version of a track from the Hustle & Flow soundtrack (even though we know hardly anyone in the audience would have seen the movie). That gig'll be happening on Saturday the 18th of March (I think).

6. And yet another gig is in the works for this month, this time in Singapore. Both Y2k and Triple 6 Poser will be hitting it up. For some reason all I can think about now when thinking about Singapore is hitting up all the fast food joints: Taco Bell (even though they don't have any beef), Carl's Jnr, etc.

7. And finally, my end date. Yes, I'll be leaving Grey on Monday 27th of March to concentrate on all the FYI endeavours: FYI Entertainment, FYI Studios and FYI Films. Hopefully all goes well and if it doesn't, well, I guess I'll be well and truly fucked. But that's ok. Ain't the first time.

And now it feels like once again I'm going to fall down the burning ring of fire. Ciaoza.

...I'm sure the cleaning lady must hate me.

Marmot Control

Phew. Things've been a bit hectic, haven't they? Let's recap:

After a crazy day of work last Wednesday, I rushed to Red Communications to show Lina my showreel which consisted of 20 minutes of 'Ciplak', my music videos and short films. She said she enjoyed most of the Ciplak stuff and told me that whilst my directing's very rough around the edges I was a pretty good editor (I've always thought this anyway. I try and fix everything in post).

We talked a bit about what the prospects were of releasing 'Ciplak' to the public. Censorship's still a big issue, together with sound and picture quality. At one point she suggested re-shooting the movie in Malay.

Can't imagine that happening.

Right after that meeting I rushed to Taman Tun, picked up my guitar and rushed to Hartamas to audition another drummer for Triple 6 Poser. Not bad at all.

Then Thursday rolled around: another day of craziness at work. Straight after that I rushed over to the KLPac in Sentul and was literally blown away - Sentul Park is kick ass! Beautiful lakes and rolling fields and modern art and other such stuff. I met up with Ian and we went up to the Indicine room where they hold indie film screenings and acoustic gigs.

We talked about how the KLPac was starting an indie film series every first Sunday of the month. The March slot is open but it's too soon: no time for magazine coverage (I imagine the demographic that would enjoy 'Ciplak' to be the type that reads magazines more than newspapers). We talked about an April slot but a someone else has already taken it (later on I decided to book the place in April and pay the rental fee, then join the series at a later date).

After that I went home and for some reason decided to design a poster (see previous post).

Friday had less craziness, but craziness none the less. I left and rushed straight to Ampang for a quick meeting with the boys at Voxell to talk about animating the credit sequence. They may also animate some other bits for me. Meeting lasted 5 minutes because right after that I rushed straight to Etnik studios in another part of Ampang for rehearsals with Y2k. After that I rushed back to Taman Tun for a meeting with Liang.

Saturday I went with Saiful to get the computer and soundcard for the music studio and on Sunday I rested, watched Domino and almost killed the DVD player when it started fucking up halfway through season 7 of Friends. I may need to buy a new one.

Phew. And to think, when I first got back to Malaysia a typical day was to wake up sometime before eleven, go to the mamak for breakfast, go to Mid Valley to skate (badly) for a couple of hours, wander around the mall, maybe meet up with Jordan and Rauf for a drink then go home, watch a DVD and sleep.

At least I'm getting stuff done.

Black Metal's Buggery

Latest updates: David, manager of Paul's Place, has been charged on four counts (which, if I'm not mistaken, includes running a business without a permit, having a signboard without a permit and selling alcohol to minors), a bunch of independent musicians have started up the Society of Independent and Amateur Musicians (S.I.A.M.) and the Fatwa are illegalizing black metal even further. I foresee witchhunts.

For example, I discovered last night that some of the labels in Malaysia have held back some of their upcoming releases (and some of these releases are by bands who've been around for five, six years) because of this whole black metal issue. Some of the CD's that were on shelves were apparently pulled down and had to be written off.

This entire black metal issue also means that the chances of getting a KDN sticker (a holographic sticker from the government to prove your product is both original and approved by the government) for our upcoming Y2k album are slim to none, which means pushing the release date even further.

Motherfuckers.

I guess now's a good time to concentrate on this movie lark, eh? Or perhaps a hip-hop career.

Reflection

My team is all but dissapeared, today. I'm the only one in the office. The rest of them have gone out for product training on one of our new clients, leaving me with... well, not much to do. Then again, it's only midday and a host of job reqs could end up on my desk by 6pm.

Sigh... this sure has been an eventful start to 2006. And with all this time on my hands (albeit momentarily), I feel compelled to recap the events of the past few days, starting with:

The Bad: Black Metal Bollocks

The whole black metal issue at Paul's Place is one that's seriously bugging me. I've been following the newspapers as the story unfolds but it looks like the English papers are going to be talking less and less of it (although kudos to them for putting out pretty fair articles) whilst the Malay papers are jumping with joy at the thought that there are more of these black-shirted kids to write about and cause panic in the hearts of parents everywhere.

Like the Harian Metro, who today printed that the gig was not a black metal gig. Although it was on the front page, it was hidden from prominence by headlines about a local artist arrested for drugs and 'ghost candy'.

What the fuck is ghost candy?

Mastika will probably follow this up with their next issue, another tabloid magazine brimming with absolute stupidity.

And whilst the rest of the 'scene' are reacting to police mistreatment and poor reportage, my main worry (and Saiful's too) is a different one:

What's gonna happen to Paul's Place?

This is a venue that helped launch dozens of acts. The only venue in Malaysia that would not discriminate, regardless of genre. Being 'somebody' meant nothing to Paul. You play music? Come play it. That's it. The be all, end all. The man built the place out of his own pocket, for fucks sake. And once the dust settles, will Paul's Place still exist?

What I don't want is a rehash of the black metal incident years ago, leaving the music scene empty for months before someone dares pull off a gig and the whole black metal issue unresolved. And most of all, I don't want Paul's Place to dissapear.

So what does one do? What indeed. I haven't a fucking clue, myself. I've been trying to figure out the angles with Saiful and we're still stuck behind a brick wall.

On top of that, we now need to get our drummer (a different Paul) in Y2k to change his mask, just in case. It's a frickin' devil mask, for fucks sake. The Malay press will go right past the poppy music and go straight for the damn mask.

The Good: Creative Juices

Whilst the whole black metal thing is a serious downer, I do have a couple of things to be happy about. I've finally finished the final mix of the Y2k album, adding a few tweaks here and there from the last mix (a longer intro, a hidden track, a tweak of spacings so that the album flows a bit better). Saiful came to pick it up yesterday to send off to our mastering man. Fingers crossed, y'all.

I also went through the UK footage last night to discover Man Meth' managed to find someone who looks like a young Clive Owen to play Brit gangster Neil in the movie. Every time the dude smiled after a take he looked like a real pretty-boy pleasant chap, but once he has the frown this dude is supremely badass (unfortunately, I don't even know his name). And although there won't be any establishing shots of Big Ben (to explain that the scene is taking place in London for the benefit of idiots who have no other frame of reference) the scenes are unmistakably English. My leave for next week is confirmed, leaving me with the opportunity to edit at normal human hours (although I foresee myself editing 48 hours straight by next Friday).

It also looks like jobs are coming in for my soon-to-be-fulltime video production. On top of the usual weddings (I'll even do weddings. It's money in the bank, is it not?) one of Eddy's friends has approached me to do a music video for him (thanks for the hook-up, Ed!) and, for once, it's not a rock group. This'll be a fun new challenge: a slick, Usher-like R n' B music vid. I wonder how much ass I can get away with?

Add to that the recording studio nearing completion and bands waiting to record, 2006 should turn out to be a good, albeit challenging, year.

I just wish this Black Metal fiasco didn't start up again. I have a good mind to go over to Harian Metro and take a dump on the editors desk. After a bowl of sambal.

Black Metal Update

Couple of links to articles of local publications:


1. Ganti Pesta Langkawi: Konsert Lepas Geram Geng Black Metal - The Harian Metro talks out of its ass again.

2. Four held for suspected involvement in Black Metal culture released on bail - The Star. Looks like David and the organizers are finally out of jail.

3. Also, Ricecooker has been keeping tabs on it quite well, so check it out. Click here.

The Black Metal Bullshit Is Back

A couple of months ago I noticed a storm brewing. There I was at my mom's hometown in Batu Gajah during Raya (Eid) when I noticed a copy of local tabloid magazine 'Mastika', the type of tabloid that claims stories of girls who have sex with demons and such. This time, however, I noticed something that hit a lot closer to home. Inside the magazine was approximately 15 to 20 pages devoted to the whole 'black metal' fiasco.

To those not in the know, in mid-2001 Malaysian police and government officials went on a public witchhunt, looking for 'black metal' devotees. They claimed the kids 'wore black t-shirts and sacrificed goats to Satan' whilst playing 'black metal' music. It got so widespread that anyone (I repeat, anyone) wearing a black t-shirt was in danger of being arrested. Even other genres of music weren't safe. It was a bad time, but thankfully it all dissapeared.

Or so I thought.

Looking back, I should have realized from that incredibly stupid and highly ignorant article (which claimed that 'true black metallers eat pork') that the storm was brewing again and the media would once again latch upon us underground music types for a story.

Who'd have thought it would happen on New Years Eve.

On December 31st 2005, at approximately 10.30pm, local music venue 'Paul's Place' was raided by the Brickfield's police under the charges of hosting a black metal gig.

Together with the police were a TV3 camera crew hoping to uncover some evil, satanic black metal congregation. All attendees, band members and random people who were within 10 feet of the premises (and had absolutely nothing to do with the gig) were detained by the police. All equipment (both Paul's and the organizers) were confiscated.

Among those detained together with the attendees and random folk who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time were the band members of Malaysian bands Cassandra, Second Combat, Devilica, Uphold, The Falling Grudge, M.U.Z.E, Net Restraint, Crestfallen, Singaporean band Force Vomit and Japanese band Crystal Lake.

NONE of these bands play anything remotely 'black metal'.

Also detained were David (Paul's partner who was taking care of the gig at the time), the organizers of the show and a lawyer from law firm Edwin Lim &
Suren Advocates and Solicitors.

(Arrest the lawyer. Very clever.)

Paul was (luckily) nowhere near his place as he was playing drums for my band, Triple 6 Poser, in Hartamas. Otherwise he would have probably been arrested too.

After the police were unable to prove any hint of black-metal-ness at the gig, they then tested everyone for drugs (considering most of these people can't even afford a beer what makes the cops think they can get a bag of PCP?) and released those that tested negative (which, if I'm not mistaken was almost everyone).

David, the organizers and the lawyer are still detained and will not be contactable till they stand trial on Tuesday under the charges of hosting an illegal gathering.

The facts:

1. The police had no warrant to enter Paul's Place and make any arrests/confiscate equipment.

2. An illegal gathering consists of more than 500 people. Although reports from sources differ, I'm almost 100% sure the total number of people there did not exceed 300+.

3. A congregation at a private premises can't exactly be called an illegal gathering, now can it? Otherwise open houses on Raya would be illegal.

4. Paul's Place is the only live music venue that is not prejudice to different genres of music and is not a bar. Every other venue in Malaysia has a liqour license, making it illegal for people under 21 to attend/play the gigs. Numerous bands have gotten their chops at Paul's Place (especially my bands. Triple 6 Poser was born and nurtured at Paul's Place). Paul's Place is the one and only place where live music is not connected with the consumption of hard liquor, giving younger musicians a chance to get their music out there and a younger audience the chance to enjoy the music.

5. According to Rafil, who went to the police station together with Ben from Ben's Bitches, one of the younger policeman said, whilst watching this entire fiasco unfold, "if I was off-duty today I'd probably be detained for going to a gig too".

A press conference was held today at Paul's Place. I'll be getting the details soon and posting as I find out more.

Almost There...

Phew.

Effing finally, after months and months of toiling (read most of the year) I finished the Y2k album last night.

Almost.

There are two things left that need to be done on my side: (a) record Landslide's vocals for his guest appearance on our hip-hop song (yes, we have a hip-hop song on our punk album. Gotta problem with that?) and (b) make any tweaks that the rest of the bandmates notice.

See, this whole week starting from last Saturday the only music to pass my ears has been the Y2k album, scrutinizing as much as I can. Sunday was spent listening to the fucking kick non-stop trying to fix the EQ on the bugger. And last night, just before rehearsals for our gig this Saturday, I passed a copy to the rest of the bandmates with a possible order and told them,

"Listen to it. Repeatedly. Write down anything you feel needs tweaking. I'm gonna listen to some other fucking music for a change."

After that I slipped in Dragon Red's debut album, 'Holocaust', into the car CD player and listened. Twenty minutes in I wished we had better equipment to record our album. If you see the Dragon Red album in stores, pick it up. It's good.

Tomorrow we have our band meeting to determine all the final details on the album before sending it off for mastering. Bearing in mind that's all just for the recording. We still need to figure out the CD cover design, details to put inside the cover, printing costs, 'tulen' stickers (a holographic sticker to prove it's an original copy even though pirates own the technology to make bootlegs of these stickers making their existence somewhat redundant), barcode registration, promotional materials, distribution, press, marketing, performing acts of fellatio and cunnilingus upon radio DJ's to get them to play our single and, last but not least, the launch and a tour.

Goddamn that's a lot of work.

On the bright side, at least I can now concentrate on my other creative endeavours, namely 'Ciplak', which still has a long way to go. There's the rest of the scenes to shoot, the action sequence, animated sequences, the trailer, promotional materials, press, festivals to submit, a premiere, etc. I also have about a night and a half to edit a Dragon Red music video from about 11 hours of footage. And there's that other thing. What's it called? Oh yeah, the day job.

...

Bright side my ass.

No-Thang

Ok. It's ranting season once again. Open up your eyes and unzip your flies, lads n' ladies!

This is fucked.

Whilst emotionally I've recovered quite a bit from the mild depression that was Thursday over my inability to be creative, the problem still persists. I can't write. At least, not well enough to make me feel it warrants paying for.

Did I spell 'warrants' right? 'War... rants'. Warrr.... ants'. Shit.

I'm not sure what it is, but it sure is bugging me.

Add to that my constant lethargy. I've been experimenting with my hours of sleepage and it still doesn't make a difference. No matter how early/late I go to bed/get up I still feel the same during the day: dead. My motor functions in sunlight are completely dependent on caffeine.

My 'ad writing' skills are getting stale. This may or may not have something to do with my servicing departments dodgy briefs. Or maybe I'm just getting bored here and need rejuvination. Colleagues have been e-mailing me word of jobs available elsewhere. They pay more, but don't look too enticing.

Then there's the 'music'. Saiful just came back last week with a list from the guy mastering it on what I need to do to make the mix better.

It's a fucking long list.

The mastering master in Indon also said that it's not a good idea for the musician to try and mix the music because the musician doesn't focus in on tiny details when it comes to his/her own music, but the big picture.

Either way, even though all the points were valid, it did make me think "great. I can't mix for nuts".

I'm also a bit wary of passing the material to someone else to mix because I fear that once they hear the raw files they may turn to me and say "holy Jesus! What the fuck do you expect me to do with this turd?!"

Harumph.

Then there's the 'movie' thing. The precious 'movie' thing. My 'Celup' movie, as you all know, is on the backburner for a bit after strange producer issues reminscent of my first bands untimely demise. Whilst my short film is gonna earn me a cool RM$1000, I'm stuck wondering, "what next?"

My parents asked me this same question. They are interested in my movie movements. By the end of this month they'll see their sons first publicly aired short film and will probably bludgen me for the movie's content.

Meanwhile, Kit Ong (who I met when he was CD at FCB) has a two page spread in KLue about his filmmaking activities and is quiting his job to do a feature. Yasmin Ahmad is doing her 'Gubra' movie (I thinkthat's what it's called) and Pete Teo's doing the music whilst also appearing in a movie financed by Andy Lau and directed by Ho Yuhang. Amir Muhammad will finally have one of his movies screened nationally (although I can't remember the name for that one).

Reading about these guys and seeing the whole 'local-industry filmmaking wave' reaching a higher and higher crest and gaining more attention and buzz does hit me with a pang of "when the fuck are you gonna get your act together and make your Magnificent Octopus!?"

...

"...sorry. I meant Magnum Opus."

I have apologetic pangs.

But yeah. All my filmmaking heroes did their thang in their twenties. All the guys (and gals) doing it here are in their thirties, presumably because by that age they have enough financial security and connections to go ahead and do their thang.

My mind's a bit on the different. I don't want to wait until my mid-thirties to do my thang (from here on in, filmmaking endeavours shall be named the 'thang'), I want to try and do everything I've always ever wanted to set out and achieve before I'm thirty so that if it works out I can spend the rest of my life doing my thang (or other 'thangs', wherein 'thang' can also be used to characterize any other creative endeavour besides film) and if my thang don't work out I can at least resign to the fact that I tried to do my thang(s) and won't die regretting I never did my thang.

Y'all un'nerstang?

You may ask, "Is the Guber jealous of all these other guys making movies?" and the Guber would reply, "Fuck yeah!" It's petty, yes, but why lie? They're making movies. I'm not. Of course I'm fucking jealous. I'm not in a position where I have to watch every word I say just yet. Yes, I'm jealous of the fact that all those people are making movies the same way pencil dicks are jealous of African tribesmen.

More importantly, I'm jealous because they have an idea, and turning the idea into a thang. An idea is required to make thang, it is theessence of thang.

But I'm forcing it. I'm forcing out ideas for the thang, and you know when you're forcing the thang 'cos it's never as good as a natural thang. You force the thang out, and the thang don't like no forcin'. I'm trying to figure out any ol' thang, anythang I can pull of, but there ain't no thang.

I need thang.

Something also appeals to me about being the young punk who went out and did his thang as opposed to the middle-aged guy who's comfortably well off to pursue thang-ing and such.

But what thang? Hence the question below about what scares you: to try and formulate a horror thang. Other thang's in mind are comedy thangs and talky-introspective thangs. Any thang doable within the limitations of my thang. But no strong enough idea to turn into a thang.

There's too much mention of 'thang' in this here thang. Dang.