He's Electric

Having been Electriconverted earlier in the year, I couldn't resist heading for another Electrico gig earlier tonight. Neither, it seems, could the implausibly long queue outside Bar None. I was already impressed out of my socks when the band sold out the Esplanade's recital studio in August, with tickets going at $25 apiece. Seeing them draw a crowd easily numbering two hundred into a venue already filled to capacity, however, was quite something else.



Of course, I should mention that the gig was (1) free, and (2) headlined by Filipino band Rivermaya; but it's always nice to dream that one can make it this big in the local music circuit on one's own strengths.

Having recently emerged from a long period of arrested development, this was my first visit to Bar None. While the friends I went with lambasted the pre-show music (and rightfully so, it was Top 40 balladry), all I could focus on was how much its atmosphere reminded me of my New York City gigslutfest...particularly the 19 May Fischerspooner gig at the Canal Room. The low stage; the people thronging near it; the performers casually weaving through the crowd to get on it...dammit, even the housepours were about the same price (S$16 for a gin and tonic, anyone??)

Once Electrico got going, they didn't disappoint. Looking very dapper in shirts and ties, they took their audience through a tight 50-minute set of their radio singles and covers. Female groupies colonised the front of the tiny stage, shrieking as they held their digicams aloft to capture every bead of sweat rolling down frontman Dave Tan's face.



Besides living off last year's glories, the band also demonstrated their currency through some new pieces. Many in the audience were already familiar with their Bloc-Party riff-off "We're Not Made in the USA" (its Semogia Bahagia instrumental break was mercifully toned down), but Electrico pulled out a surprise in "Hip City", with its Interpol-esque verses showcasing Dave's ability to bellow with the best of 'em.

I didn't bother to stay for Rivermaya. With Saturday’s Poptart still ringing in my ears, my hearing worsened by a few notches, but my spirits were lifted. No matter how fulfilling I find my day job, watching a local band always reminds me of the possibilities that lie outside of the office--possibilities that have recently become more realistic than I'd ever hoped.

To cap the night off, when I stepped out of the underpass into the night air, I experienced a brief transcendental moment where I felt as if I was back in NYC. The air was surprisingly cold and refreshing--colder than the indoors, and certainly colder than anything in the last few days. And how sweet that was.

It Never Happens To Me

I didn't expect you to cross the line so quickly.

But how could I forsee this, when in our five hour conversation, we connected over so many deeply harboured convictions about the world, and the human condition?

I walked away that evening thinking you were a free spirit; a kindred soul; someone who recognises the beauty and sadness of life and constantly seeks to transcend its mundaneness. I should've known better than that...you are after all a girl whose major is not Literature, Philosophy, Law or any design / visual / performing arts subject, and therefore lack the tragic intensity that girls of these disciplines possess.

So now you've turned to the other side, and to add insult to injury, it seems we get along fabulously nonetheless. It doesn't help to learn that you live near me, and that I'm uncannily like two other people you were very close to. When you gushed about how interesting it is to explore the heartlands, and how much travelling we can do as tourists in our own country, something in me broke.

As we left the building, I pushed on in the conversation, hoping to find some inroads, refusing to believe that someone so similar can remain so imperceptibly out of reach.

But when you couldn't fathom the value I place upon serial relationships (because I feel people learn something fundamental about themselves from each one), I realised I've been barking up the wrong tree.

And when the train doors opened, and you silently muttered that it's better for a couple to stay together...I hope it's only because deep inside, you wish your last relationship didn't end. And nothing else.

The Best Laid Plans

It seemed like a good idea at the time: head down with a bunch of junior college mates to Geylang Serai to soak in the end-of-Ramadan festive atmosphere, tuck into hearty Malay cuisine and generally indulge in Malay culture.



It turned out, however, to be one of those nights when everything goes wrong. And it wasn't anyone's fault in particular; it just turned out that way. From people having to pull out at the last minute, to the numbing humidity and dizzying heat, to sheer bad luck--nothing was on our side. What began as a mission to trek through the bazaars ended up as a listless back-and-forth push through the crowds, an abortive attempt to actually have dinner, and the consumption of dodgy food and drinks. It ended with someone giving up and leaving early, and the rest of us heading to Bugis to console ourselves with a proper dinner.

We were so spent by the time we arrived that we too gave up and ate at the Bugis Junction food court. To add insult to injury, the Taiwanese dessert place we intended to redeem the night with was packed to capacity, so we settled on a similar one across the street that was empty.

We found out soon enough why it was empty. The dessert was tasteless, and before long, so was our conversation. I meant to cut my losses and run to Home where RNDM was still in progress, but two of my well-meaning friends--who had no idea how much the scene means to me now--coaxed me into staying a little longer. By the time I arrived at Home, Localbarboy had finished their set (apparently it's their last one for the year!!). It didn't help that the four people who had promised to go with me for RNDM and Poptart had backed out one by one in the course of the evening.



Thank goodness, then, for the Poptart that followed. Billed as a 'greatest hits' special, it didn't disappoint. From the opening salvo of Johnny Boy's "You Are the Generation That Bought More Shoes and You Get What You Deserve", Kasabian's "Processed Beats", Suede's "Metal Mickey", Morrissey's "You're the One For Me, Fatty" and The Killers' "Mr Brightside (Thin White Duke Remix)", it went from one high to the next. To those who denounce Poptart by saying they always play the same songs, I say there are the same songs, and then there are the same songs. Last night's music was good enough for me to almost forget that I was essentially there alone, dancing away the anguish of not having anyone to dance with. I flailed my arms and stamped my legs, throwing myself into each song, as if to shake off the curse of having friends that are either not cool enough or too cool to give me time of day in my delayed adolescence.

Then I see the girl dancing with a cigarette in her hand, dancing like this is the only world she understands; she moves her lips like she knows the words to every song. I ask her silently: why do you kiss another? Don't you know I am the one who will write the songs that will save your life?

Getting Into Bands and Gangs

Considering how shite we were the first time, it's amazing that we decided to give it another go.

This time round, however, the guitar cable is good, the acoustic strings are new and we've got even got a laptop pumping out a drums-and-bass backing track. It's marvellous what such planning can do: we took take after take after take until we were able to lay the entire song down at one go, then decided it was rubbish and went on to record separately, playing and singing along while listening to the backing on headphones.

And then we went on to the next one, an original, but were too exhausted to attempt any serious recording and just whacked out its chords into the microphone. At the end of the session we had over 400 megabytes of wave files, deep indents on the tips of our fingers from sliding and hammering strings, and four hours less in our day.

But we also had a renewed enthusiasm. Later in the night, at Historia, we made a pact to do this regularly, with the modest goal of eventually playing a short set at POW. We even tried to cajole Camra's mild-mannered stand-in bassist into helping us out...and we are still trying.

The influence of alcohol? The brazen folly of youth? Or two people who genuinely believe, at all of 25, that they can still keep the dream alive and party like they're 15, getting into the band they never had the chance to be in?



Again, this is hardly the stuff of legends, but it's definitely looking more legendary than anything else I've had before this. And as if the celestial beings were lending their endorsement to the events of the day, Camra played a much better set than they did at this same venue two weeks ago, and they even offered us whatever feedback or help we might need on our way.

Damn, I've been reading too many rock biographies. But watch this space.

Five Hours

I can't believe we spoke that long. It's been ages since I did anything like this.

But sitting with you by the window, sensing your rapt attention, I could do no less than share my entire worldview with you. It is a worldview that some of the people closest to me haven't a clue about.

We may have missed the movie, but tonight we travelled across time and space, contemplating civilsations, culture, and the very nature of humanity itself. We grappled with the big and small questions about Life. We connected over mundane quirks like not having the time or aptitude to read, over musical theory, and over deeper issues like what it means to be creative in a world characterised by consumption.

I did most of the talking, but in your calm and assured responses, you told me a lot about yourself, too.

And in doing most of the talking, I was able to articulate--and thereby reaffirm--the private beliefs I've held for years. Of late, these beliefs have been wavering because I've been unable to express them to others, be it because of personality differences or lack of opportunity.

Having finally been able to present my soul to someone who understands, I feel more alive than ever.

With some people, I run out of things to say within five minutes. Tonight, we spoke for five hours, but it was barely enough.