One Day Holiday - A Lone Journo at a Crossroad (Pt.1)


If you go out on a Saturday night more intent on being alone rather than mingle around, that itself defeats the entire purpose of going out (on a Saturday night) in the first place. So I duly make a note of that to myself, unless of course if my social 'inhibition' kicks in, and, standing in one corner painfully trying to look spaced out, which at the very last moment did, and now here I am, in the midst of a socializing crowd with beers in their hand, slumped in one hidden corner repeatedly looking at my wristwatch wondering aloud when is the band going to start with their supposed performance for the night.

Of course, this being Saturday - no need to rush with anything. Heck, the drunker the crowd gets on that night, the better it is for the bar in which the performance is supposed to take place. The bar provides a place in which the band gets to play their gig, in return for the favour the band has to mingle around, shake hands exchanging hugs, kisses and congratulatory wishes while secretly hinting to the other person that it is time for them to hit the bar counter and get another glass of beer. Basic economics - easy. Unless and until the drinks flow endlessly from the counter to the table and into the throat of every patron for the night, nobody's ain't starting anything.

Well - either that, or it is again a case of (yet another) Malaysian band adhering religiously to the tenets of Malaysian time. It's a disease, a lifestyle, a religion, a norm, a practice - this totally un-sexy yet irresistible Malaysian time thing. Oh yes, a few swear words did flew out my mouth on that night as I mumbled to myself quietly while being perched perilously at the veranda of the bar...

Holy shit, from the outside everything looked so good...

The event was for the launching of a mini album of an indie (a generic term that has been bandied around freely, losing its' meaning and personality at the same time) band called Kyoto Protocol. Shame really because for one, this band, despite having been around for a few years now, could only come up with a mini album, something that they probably should have done when they first came about. But hey, who am I to dictate and say this is right and this is wrong. And so at one hour and a half sharp-ish, much later than the earlier stipulated starting time, the band finally makes it on to the stage and kicked things off with the first set of playing covers. Five of them. Oh yes I should add that the band wasn't the only act that is supposed to perform for the night because they were supported by another two acts (both are DJs), and one DJ (couldn't be bothered to get his name - blame me) was first to get the disc rolling. So the lateness is not entirely the band's fault either.

The first set, as mentioned earlier, consists of covers in which two songs I was not familiar with, but much to my delight, Foo Fighters' "Rope" was their second song (Wasting Light is currently on heavy rotation). The other two cover songs were Kings of Leon's "Pyro" and TV on the Radio's "Wolf Like Me", a tribute to Gerard Smith, the band's recently departed bassist. Then they were off to another break before coming back on stage for their second set - the set in which they play songs off their mini album. A long break, that is.

Good thing they got dressed up for the occasion

Another half hour went by and, sitting on a curb opposing the bar, I finally hear the MC announcing that the band is finally back for their second set. Good. The nearby 7 Eleven doesn't have a very good variety of drinks. I quickly climbed up to the second floor to find the front stage is already filled with bodies. People I mean - sorry. Somewhat a let down because unlike the rest who are there that night to socialize, I was there solely for the music and, well, a parting shot to the crowd at that bar on that night, if a band is performing in front on stage and you happen to have something much more interesting to discuss with your mate, you could do it someplace else. Someone else here is trying to enjoy the performance. Another let down is because the band only played four songs, and then they're done. Pretty much like premature ejaculation, everyone on that night let out a loud disappointed sigh. But then it's good because I get to escape that place which housed one of the most unappreciative (towards good music being performed live in front of them) crowd I've ever seen.

But fuck me they are amazing live. Truly amazing.

I looked at my watch and the time says it is only half past twelve - the night has only just started. A good one kilometer length of the street is lined with bars and clubs, left and right, so booze is never in short supply. But what I'm looking for specifically is entertainment, not chilled Satan's piss in a glass. So I left Changkat B.B. and head towards somewhere else (a nearby area - short walk distance) where it is much quieter and hidden, and not as widely known - Jalan Mesui.

Where then I came across this...

At a neat socializing joint called Palate Palette, another stratosphere of activity was taking place - Fete de la Musique, organized by Alliance Francaise. When I got there, the event is already on full swing and is about to draw down its' curtain but thankfully I managed to join in and watch one performance by a band that I didn't get to their name but technically blew my mind. Unlike Kyoto Protocol which plays a much more direct indie rock, this art jam band plays Improvisational Jazz, with one big guy on keyboard who, on their entire set, somehow reminded me of David Thomas. I don't know why. But throughout their entire set, it of transported me back to 1967 where The Velvet Underground is playing at an art installation by Andy Warhol in a dusty basement. And even better, everyone in the crowd was paying full attention to and enjoying the band's performance. I was already in love with that place. It's a combination of a bar, a restaurant, an art gallery, a cinema, and a place where anyone can have their moment behind the mic.


And right before they wrap up for the night, and I make my way for the last meeting place for the night, they have one fiery encore right at the front gate, beating away to a tribal beat (by a host of percussionists in all-white) as balls of fire on chains swirls around right in front of my eyes, enchanting me in its' mesmerizing beat.

Then I'm off to a nearby mamak restaurant to meet a friend whom I haven't met for a good two years, for a glass of iced Milo and conversation on things that have flashed before our eyes for the last two years. And at that particular time I remember a particular article written by John Cheese about why life will get better as we progress through it - it's all about freedom of choice that we get as we grow older. We always find ourselves complaining about our shitty job, and our shitty life, and our shitty luck in love, and we'll look longingly at the time when we were in the university and thought that was the best moment of our life. Those memories surely are sweet (at times), but nothing is more worthwhile and better than what is now.

And my now, on that Saturday night, is the celebration of my freedom.