Kode9 & Spaceape (Esplanade, Singapore, 9 March 2008)

I had left London by the time dubstep nights started taking off, and since dubstep seemed one of the least suitable subgenres of dnb ever for the bedroom speaker experience, I never bothered seeking out much of it apart from the occasional podcast. (One of the differences between 2004 me and 2008 me. I don’t like this difference, but it’s also true that remaining so ignorant means I no longer chafe about Singapore’s lousy club scene.)

So I attended the Kode9 and Spaceape club night in almost total ignorance, which may be why I spent the first 20 minutes channelling Marvin the Martian and whining to Alec “Where’s the kaboom? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!” Instead of the ribcage-vibrating, internal-organ-displacing bass beats I was expecting, they were just doing the sort of expansive soundscapes that tend to start and end dnb tracks, with little or no beats. I was dismayed. I had come to get my mellow totally harshed, and it wasn’t happening.

Actually, they had just taken the long view and I was being an impatient child. The music built, gradually but perceptibly, to the point where Spaceape announced “That was all just to warm you up. Now it’s time to dance!” As it turns out, I got my earth-shattering kaboom for the next two sweaty, breathless, epileptic hours. And, as always seems to happen with any club event that actually interests me in Singapore, attendance was low enough that there was plenty of space for completely uninhibited dancing.

I’m too ignorant to name any tracks, but I thought they did a great job of playing tracks that were consistently danceable but with differing intensities – we’d get sections where everyone was dancing with total gorilla abandon, and then a section of slightly less frenetic music as a respite. It is admittedly possible that I entered some zone of transcendental bliss that meant they could fart rhythmically and I’d just happily twitch and jerk along, but I do think they did a masterful job of creating and maintaining a great atmosphere for dancing. I left with ringing ears and the “exercise high” I don’t actually get from normal exercising, only from dancing. Thank you Kode9 & Spaceape, first for exorcising us of the BSS disaster demons, and second for reminding me why I love clubbing. It’s been difficult to hold on to that memory, living here.

Broken Social Scene (Esplanade, Singapore, 9 March 2008)

I’m sure I must have been to duller gigs in my life than Broken Social Scene, but perhaps unsurprisingly, I can’t remember any of them now. In hindsight, it’s ridiculous that I’d been hoping the Esplanade sound system or a large live ensemble would help me appreciate the band’s songs better – at least on my iPod I could always just concentrate on my book and relegate them to aural wallpaper but now, here I was, trapped in an expensive concert seat with no other alternative for entertainment or distinctive musical ideas except Alec’s gentle snores beside me. I later found out Jacob and Pearlyn had walked out halfway, and realized for the second time that sometimes I really have to stop being so damn Singaporean about Getting My Money’s Worth, and just cut my losses and leave.

Perhaps some BSS fan might read this and my previous post on the topic and conclude that there was never any possibility I would enjoy the gig, because I was prejudiced against it from the outset. In fact, I was hoping against hope that like for Tortoise and Jaga Jazzist, I would go in actively disliking their music and emerge wild-eyed, reeling and evangelical. It’s possible my error of judgement here was equating BSS with the other two bands, because I find BSS’s music so pedestrian that I can’t even summon up active dislike for it, just complete indifference.

I don’t mean to enlist other people’s opinions in support of my own, but I enjoyed emptysignifier’s text-messages of outrage too much not to share them. (Again, emptysignifier attended the gig with an open mind, as a self-proclaimed “gigslut” just checking the band out. Although he has been on the receiving end of my music snobbery many times, he pays me no mind whatsoever, which is great.) I’ve received 4 instalments so far, starting immediately after the gig and even extending until yesterday! (Just provide RSS feed already lah!) Some excerpts:

  • “…for a band with a name like Broken Social Scene, they played more like a United National Front!…Why play a 2-chord rock song on FOUR guitars?!?!”
  • “While u rubbished them from the outset, I thought they were at least an erudite, intellectual band making introspective, eclectic, atmospheric music. But they’re really a rent-a-rock-band!”
  • “I mean, what’s with the woman and the trumpet? She had it hooked up to an uber cool utility belt of FX pedals, which was totally set up for consciousness-expanding sounds, but no matter what she did it still sounded like a goddamn trumpet!”
  • “…the ending was a fucking NDP warm-up cheering session!”
  • “Kevin Drew is the poor man’s Wayne Coyne!”

Even on a personal level and totally disregarding music, this gig = FAIL for me. I actually started the gig in a positive frame of mind about the band, because I thought their introductory joke about the members who weren’t present – including “Mas Selamat Kastari, who didn’t turn up for rehearsal” – was quite funny. Unfortunately, they then frittered away my goodwill over the course of the evening with a number of patronising comments (Matt, who attended the gig with an open mind since he’d never heard of them, and whose said mind I am incapable of poisoning with my music snobbery anyway, dealt with these pretty well in his account) and too many self-led cheerleading “OK EVERYONE CHEER FOR 60 SECONDS!!” sessions. For what blessedly turned out to be the very last one, after sitting in pained silence for the entire gig I finally reached the end of my tether and participated enthusiastically in the noisemaking by bawling “YOU SUCK! SHUT UP! FUCK OFF!”

Bullshit Social Scene

I am going to the Broken Social Scene gig tomorrow and have no idea why any more.

I initially chose it out of desperation because I wanted to go to one Mosaic gig other than Kode9 & Spaceape, have already seen The Roots and Mum, and wasn’t drawn to any of the other acts. I hadn’t listened to any BSS stuff in a long time and foolishly thought that I had perhaps been too unkind to them in the past. Listening again, further removed from the hype of that Pitchfork review of You Forgot It In People which catapulted them to it-band status, I figured I might begin to see what all the indie kids make such a fuss about. Also, I thought that their typically large ensemble might make for a good live performance.

So earlier this week I listened again to You Forgot It In People and the self-titled album, and the optimism rapidly dissolved into utter boredom. Oh, shit.

I think I just wasted my money on fine clothes for a naked emperor.

Tokyo: Day One

I had jokes involving flying NWA, ghetto experiences, and “straight outta Chechnya”, but decided in an unusual fit of restraint that they were too lame to actually make. Let’s move on.

Practicalities:

We used the N’EX with SUICA discount deal to get into Tokyo, and at the end of our trip, the airport limousine bus on the way out. A little pricey, but still the best compromise between cost and convenience for us this time.

The Hotel Villa Fontaine Shiodome served our needs pretty well for the week, though if we were on a holiday we would probably have looked into ryokans instead. We found ourselves quite relieved to be in a more peaceful part of town than Shinjuku, yet still well located both for Alec’s work travel and my sightseeing. Except for far too little cupboard space, the room was comfortable, well decorated, had high-speed Internet, and was 5m from a vending machine selling 300Y-and-under beer. The price also included daily buffet breakfasts of salad, soup, a decent selection of breads and pastries, small sausages and hard-boiled eggs – not very elaborate but much more enjoyable for me than the boring continental breakfasts you get in European hotels/B&Bs. All in all, for what you get I think it’s great value for Tokyo, and I’d still consider staying there again (well up to three days anyway, can’t really afford more) even if I were travelling on my own dime.

On with the exploring:

The Shiodome area is full of showy, gleaming bubble economy era skyscrapers, with huge atriums and other large spaces heated uncomfortably warm even on a winter’s night. What we saw of the malls seemed pretty dead; we did see people walking in and between them, but couldn’t conceive how they could constitute enough traffic (on a Saturday night, to boot) to keep the places commercially viable. I know I’m making it sound really depressing, but the emptiness was actually a wonderful respite for us after a cramped uncomfortable flight and lots of hauling of luggage around crowded train stations where every escalator was going in the opposite direction from ours. Raised pedestrian walkways between the buildings take you off the roadside and glass shields along their lengths protect you from the icy winds. Every few minutes a driverless monorail snakes above you, announcing itself only very discreetly with a soft rush of air and muted light trails in your peripheral vision. In the photo, it’s that line of light in the top left.

But we were starving, so dinner took priority over exploring for the meantime. Lonely Planet was pretty useless for our immediate vicinity, so we just walked into the Pedi Shiodome skyscraper next to our hotel and did some walking, hemming and hawing up and down a row of about 10 restaurants, most of which served safe options we were already familiar with, and Komeraku (scroll down for it on that page) which looked cheap and cheerful but we’d never seen the food on its menuboard before. As we stood outside this one frowning and scrutinizing the pictures, its friendly waiter made the decision for us by coming and ushering us in.

I smiled nervously and broke out the “Sumimasen, nihongo ga hanasemasen. Eigo ga hanasemasuka?” my colleague had taught me, and luckily for us he spoke enough to guide us pretty well through a menu of mostly unfamiliar stuff. When he couldn’t think of the English for “ika”, he drew a happy squid on his order notebook. I understand from bento.com that what this place serves is chazuke, which the waiter described as “Japanese risotto”. We ordered set meals, where you choose whether you want pork or fish broth, and pick two toppings and whatever protein you’re in the mood for. Then you spoon some rice (it looked like long-grain, half-polished rice, and stood up to the broth well without getting all mushy) into a bowl, take your beautiful little soup kettle and pour in some broth, add your toppings, a sprinkling of seaweed and some absolutely wonderful crunchy bitty things that were at every table and gave you little explosions of crunch in each mouthful of soupy rice. It was unbelievably delicious, and for only about 910Y each! This remained one of our favourite meals from the trip.

After dinner we strolled aimlessly but happily around the neighbourhood, just enjoying its tranquility and the feeling of being back in a winter climate. I was also trying to familiarize myself with the new baby I bought just a few days before and my Velbon Ultramax travel tripod, which I’d shamefully not got round to using since Alec gave it to me for Christmas. The difference it’s made to my night photography is an absolute revelation – it’s coming on every holiday from now on! Unfortunately, my rather “experimental” photos during this first night when I was still learning aren’t really worth sharing, which is why this post is light on photos.

On the way back to the hotel, I snapped this ad for a TV series. Further research has revealed it’s based on a manga where the troubled boxing prodigy protagonist and the nun who tries to help him develop feelings for each other. Oookay.

Tokyo: Smoke Break

Back from Tokyo, and it was awesome! Unfortunately, immediately upon returning I have been catapulted into a work shitpit, so I can’t do much updating at the moment. In the meantime, maybe you might enjoy chilling with my Harajuku girl while waiting. I’m printing her out and sticking her to my wall at work this week to remind myself (a) that I was just on holiday, and (b) to breathe.

Harajuku Girl

King Rat: Needs A Remix

Oh dear, my naffness premonition about King Rat turned out to be right. Check out these lines:

  • “Saul’s heart was beating like a Jungle bassline.” [This is after Saul had been running for ages. Fuck saving the metropolis, dude has some serious irregular heartbeat issues to worry about! You want to exaggerate like this, say his heart was beating like Moby’s Thousand, but a jungle bassline is just…medically wrong.]
  • “The rats and Saul left the relative safety of London’s nightlands and entered the warehouse, the frenzied jaws of Drum and Bass, the domain of smoke and strobe lights and Hardcore, the Piper’s lair, the heart of Darkness, deep in the Jungle.” [Again with the unnecessary capitalisations. Are we in Brixton or the Hundred Acre Wood?]
  • “The Drum and Bass felt as if it would lift the hatch out of the floor, off into the sky. It was unforgiving, a punishing assault of original Hardcore beats.” [It feels a bit off to use that usual MC patois of “original hardcore” in a description like this. Is it just me?]
  • “She pulled the record back, let it forward again a little, pulled it back, scratching playfully like an old school rapper, finally releasing her hand and switching off the first tune in a smooth movement, unleashing the new bassline.” [Scratching like a rapper? Also, reading about how someone DJs is like watching paint dry.]

Apart from the drum’n’bass cringeworthiness, some other things about the book’s plot seem a bit misconceived, sort of like what you might come up with if you went out to a massive jungle night with your mates back in the day, took a lot of E, brought everyone back to yours to come down on some spliffs, and while lounging wrecked on your plonk-stained student flat carpet, started brainstorming ideas for a book. For example (some spoilers to follow, but I think they’re so damn obvious long before they happen that there’s no harm giving them away now):
Read More “King Rat: Needs A Remix”

King Rat (China Mieville)

I decided it was about time I read some China Mieville (although he’s a notable writer in his own right, I must admit the main draw for me was that he’s said the Borribles trilogy is one of his biggest influences) so I went looking in the library shelves. I know Perdido Street Station is his most celebrated work, but when I read the blurb on the back of King Rat it was clear I had to start with that instead:

Something is stirring in London’s dark, stamping out its territory in brickdust and blood. Something has murdered Saul’s father, and left Saul to pay for the crime.

But a shadow from the urban waste breaks into his prison cell and leads him to freedom. A shadow called King Rat.

In the night-land behind London’s facade, in sewers and slums and rotting dead spaces, Saul must learn his true nature.

Grotesque murders rock the city like a curse. Mysterious forces prepare for a showdown. With Drum and Bass pounding the backstreets, Saul confronts his bizarre inheritance – in the badlands of South London, in the heart of darkness, at the gathering of the Junglist Massive.

Like the DJ says: ‘Time for the Badman.

Potentially a bit naff, I know (who capitalizes dance music genre names like that? It’s like a Winnie the Pooh book), but how can I resist? I’m hoping it’ll be like Neverwhere…with riddim.

Longest 12 Hours Ever

We watched the 11.35 pm screening of Sweeney Todd last night. My appreciation of the second half of the movie was somewhat affected by a little hungry voice in my head going “pie pie pie pie want pie want pie pie pie pie want want want” continuously. This morning, Alec was running errands nearby and phoned me once he was done to ask what he could buy me for lunch. There was only one answer.

Gorilla Marketing

Ads like this really make me miss watching TV in the UK. Gorilla and Phil Collins’ In The Air Tonight have a moment, and very tangentially, Cadbury tries to sell some chocolates. (Via Mayee.)

Must Not Moon Yasukuni

Japan has never been high on my list of places to travel to, mostly because nothing I’ve ever seen or heard about it has ever really appealed to me. Everything I’ve seen of its cities in the movies looks dystopic and ugly and makes me want to hide in a corner, and the bizarro Japanese quirks that seem to fascinate the rest of the world usually just annoy me. I also have a larger political problem with Japan’s shifty stance on its wartime atrocities, which is probably the main reason my feelings about Japan have always been decidedly chilly.

And yet, I am going to Tokyo next week. Never underestimate the ability of a free hotel stay to triumph over my principles!

Alec’s there on work, so I’ll be exploring on my own the vast majority of our time there. If anyone has tips about how a non-Japanese speaker with a decent but not excellent sense of direction can best enjoy exploring Tokyo (and nearby places like Nikko, Kamakura or Hakone) alone in the depths of winter, please share. I’ve done a fair bit of reading up, but I’d be especially interested in hearing about any particular places, activities or meals that people found especially memorable, or anything that people would not recommend. So far, my plan A is to do totally cool edgy shit, transcending language and cultural barriers and finding a new enlightened understanding of this nation I have so long disdained. My plan B is to spend 7 days in Daiso, which would also be bliss.