Of Iceland and inspirations

Iceland has had a tough run these past few years, what with its financial crisis since 2008, and the sudden eruption of Eyjafjallajökull not too long ago. The island has pretty much been non-existent to many before all these hoo-ha. I’m sure most of you don’t even give your two cents about Iceland until the volcano exploded, stranded millions in Europe because of its monstrous plume, and humoured the rest of the world with its almost impossible to pronounce name. I don’t blame you; when I was a kid, I used to think Iceland is equivalent to that of Antarctic – nothing but glaciers of whites as far as the eyes can see, and people as Eskimos living in igloos.

Iceland is more than that. He is the mirror image of that muscle that beats your heartbeat. He is the sunset at 11PM, and the sunrise at 3AM. He is the steamy embrace of the mighty Gullfoss, and the symphonic Northern Lights when lovers meet at the equinox. He has a face of pure and heavenly innocence, but an eerie and worned out world when you stare deeper into his eyes; not unlike a young 21-year-old who’s seen too many heartaches and hopelessness. He is the place geniuses think about when they write music. He is the second home to Damien Rice, and home to Sigur Rós. I’d like to believe that if one could see music, Iceland will look a lot like Vaka, Samskeyti and Fljótavík.

Last week, halfway across the world, there was a free concert dedicated to the people of Iceland. Anyone who has once claimed the island to be their home went on stage for Iceland Inspires that day, singing of hope and comfort – inspiration.

The concert opened with the dreamy and surreal sounds of Amiina, Sigur Rós’ strong sisters in arms, like a gradual wake up call to the nation. There was also a traditional ensemble of Steindór Andersen, Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson and Páll á Húsafelli, paired with the more contemporary harmonies of Hafdís Huld, Dikta, Lay Low and Seabear.

By day, everyone huddles together as Damien Rice and Glen Hansard serenade the crowd with their beat up guitars the beloved The Blowers’ Daughter and Leave, respectively. And as night swallows Reykjavík, Spiritualized‘s acoustic mainlines finishes up with profound gospels, lifting the city up into the floating space: “All I want in life’s a little bit of love to take the pain away.”

It is a concert of returning favours, from the people who have been inspired by Iceland, thanking him for inspiring them when they were once hopeless and lost.

To the land I could only dream of stepping foot on someday, I wish you well in days to come. I hope to one day see you face to face, kiss your rain-damped pavements as your mid-Atlantic air wipes my tears away.

Here is my favourite set off the Iceland Inspires concert: a powerful orchestra of Damien Rice, Glen Hansard, Lára Runnarsdottir and Lay Low with their rendition of Iceland’s folk lullaby, Sofðu Unga Ástin Mín.

Watch the rest of the concert performers HERE, and more of Andri Elfarsson’s photographs HERE.

Fair enough

Being broke and jobless sucks. So, I took a break from the outside world last weekend and decided to tend to all things virtual. (Geeky, I know). Thus, a new layout.

OK, fine, it ain’t exactly anything new and mindblowing. I was just watching the movie again the other night, and I thought hey, why not make a header out of it. I was just trying to past time, really.

The movie needs no introduction. 2004 was the year for Garden State, and it is probably responsible for singlehandedly kickstarting this new era of indie movies in the mainstream wavelength. (Note ‘this era’ because if not, it would not be fair to the ones before said movie. See Empire Records, High Fidelity and more).

Following suit was Juno in 2007, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist in 2008 and more recently, (500) Days of Summer in 2009. And those are the more famous ones; we have not even delved deep into the pool of indie flicks hovering at the bottom of the ocean yet.

And with these indie movies come splendid lineups for the soundtracks. In my opinion, I thought Zach Braff did such an awesome job for the soundtrack of Garden State, even he himself could not top that for the soundtrack of The Last Kiss. Having indie filled songs for soundtracks is like, so cool right now, even New Moon is getting in on the action. Meh.

So, before I go on further with my rambles, I shall leave you with this: if you have not seen this movie, what is the matter with you. Go find the nearest DVD peddler for a copy, or just download it. (Well, excuse me, I can’t afford to splurge on originals like you now, can I?) After that, get the soundtrack.

If you have, this entry is for you. Watching the movie again, if you may. Relive it. Here is my favourite passage from the movie:

“You know that point in your life when you realise the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of a sudden, even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone. You’ll see one day when you move out. It just sort of happens one day and it’s gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It’s like you feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist. Maybe it’s like this rite of passage, you know. You won’t ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, for your kids, for the family you start – it’s like a cycle or something. I don’t know, but I miss the idea of it. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.”

And here is one of my favourite songs from the soundtrack – Fair by Remy Zero. Download it HERE.

Where’s the cocktail? Stereophonics as performed in KL: A review

Can Kelly Jones hold his own as front man of a British rock movement that gave us so much good music to fuck to?

Well, yes and no.

To the purist, the former is of course the only option. For a fence sitter like me, I’d say, if magic did exist, Kelly would just be riding pillion on the broom stick.

Don’t get me wrong. There was absolutely nothing wrong with their performance. The energy was there. Jones’s voice was flawless. His guitar playing was immaculate. The band was tight. The lighting, exotic.

So, what’s the problem exactly?

Let me put it for you this way. You know something’s wrong when Stereophonics is playing Bright Red Star, and the crowd were just talking among themselves.

Sure, we all hate Malaysian crowds. They’re totally primitive and cavemen-like when it comes to genuinely embracing art. But I was standing just below the speakers, my eyes tuned directly at Kelly, straight-on like a moving freight train and as he sang, “Mary, is my bright red star”, I could feel nothing.

No goosebumps. No hair stand. No sudden rise in temperature. No falling of the soul.

Kelly for me, could not hold the mellow songs on his own. With the band shrouded in darkness, and the spotlight focused on him, he felt empty. Hollow.

Not that he didn’t try.

He did. His desert-like voice, whom someone in front of me commented was a cross between Liam Gallagher and Nic Chester, rose to meet every note with steady perfection and serene vibrato. But I could not feel him. Maybe it’s the crowd. Maybe it’s the place. Or maybe I’m being unfair because I wanted him to shut the PA system and walk right up to me, and play it just for me.

He needed the band.

On heavy guitar crunching numbers like stuck in a rut, innocent, the bartender and the thief, just looking and superman – the crowd went wild and jumped and skipped and tangoed with each other. Call me skeptic but it just feels like people just wanted noise and that’s all that it took to get them yelling in appreciation.

Here are my 4 favourite moments of the night, awesomeness in ascending order.

1) When Kelly strapped on his acoustic for the first time to play have a nice day.

2) When traffic came alive, as Kelly announced that he’s gonna go mellow for a bit.

3) Mr Writer with an elongated outtro, accentuated by sexy green lighting that somehow reminds me of Paris Hilton’s sex tape.

4) Dakota as the encore, where Kelly stood mighty as he repeated again and again, “take a look at me now” not stopping till every individual in the venue soaked in the atmosphere ready to go home and embrace their mundane lives.

So back to the golden question. Does Kelly hold his own as front man of a leading british rock band?

Yes.

But with all due respect, he should look to Chris Martin for inspiration on how to leave his audience exploding with multiple orgasms. I only had one and I know my body was capable of much, much more.

Disclaimer:  Dont hate me for the shitty image. I’m not Celeste and i was not born with her photographic blood.

This is a story of a bunch of girls

With only some 10 days left till the Stereophonics concerts in Malaysia and Singapore, I thought I’d hit on something a little left to centre.

Now, we all know the main genius behind this Welsh band is none other than Kelly Jones. And back when Stereophonics were working on Pull the Pin in 2007, he started having all these crazy ideas that needed to be penned down. Cue Only the Names Have Been Changed, a limited edition release, which reached number 1 on the iTunes chart, but didn’t do so well critically.

The essence of the solo debut: women. 10 of them to be exact. You have heard Dakota and Lolita – which, by the way, is about his then newly borned daughter, Lolita Bootsy – from Language. Sex. Violence. Other?, and perhaps even Daisy Lane and Bright Red Star in Pull the Pin. Only the Names… is sort of like an extended version of that.

Like an author’s anthology of short stories, this is Jones’ musical anthology: There is Rosie, the good-hearted lady who works in the hospital, and helped save Jones’ baby girl Lolita when she was ill. There is Katie, who sold her body for a free taxi ride home. There is Violet, who sold her body and ended up getting murdered. There is Emily, who waited a lifetime for that prince charming, only to fuck things up herself in the end. There is Suzy, one of them girls who came out of nowhere just to inspire your life, only to disappear as quickly as she appeared. And there is Misty, only because she is Jones’ second daughter.

Call me superficial, but I don’t really like an entire album of songs named after girls. Perhaps it is corny, and you’re sort of taking the easy way out in being articulate. Perhaps it’s the whole Low Millions shebang with their Ex-Girlfriends flop in 2004. It just left a bad taste in my mouth; and you’d think as a son of Leonard Cohen, you’d at least do – I dunno – better. But that’s just me.

For me, I can’t say it’s a mind-blowing solo debut for him, as I only like Suzy, Liberty and Jean. But I doubt Jones penned down the songs to have them share the same fate as his Stereophonics numbers. I suppose, it’s just one of those things, which got too much and you just have to write them all out. You know, like that time in high school, when you got a bunch of writings to do about love and life and teachers, and you just want to let them all out. Whether one or none of them would fly or not, it does not matter.

Other than that, Only the Names… portrays a more personal and sensitive side of Jones, ala Bright Red Star. Striped off the backings of Stereophonics, his many leather jackets and RayBan shades, and armed only with his cherry red Gibson SG. Not at all the rock persona Stereophonics is known for, but all the same contexts that made the band who they are always.

HERE is Suzy.

And we will see you guys at the concerts.

Peaches live in Singapore @ Apr 28, 2010

I love peaches in summertime. The vibrant colours of yellow, orange and red. The inviting touch of its supple texture underneath your fingertips, in between your teeth. The lip smacking crunch that threatens dribbles of juicy goodness out the corner of your mouth. The urge to moan orgasmically at the heavenly sweetness that touches your tastebuds. Yum.

But that’s not the Peaches I’m talking about here. So, before you think this gig is about crates and crates of imported fruits selling at dirt cheap prices, the Peaches I’m talking about here is Merill Beth Nisker, Canadian-born dance electro punk musician, who has been an icon when it comes to reinventing fashion and upping the level of individualism.

Peaches is well loved by notable acts like Iggy Pop, Bjork, Josh Homme, Lil’ Kim, Kelis, 2 Many DJs, M.I.A. and LCD Soundsystem, as well as being embraced in the fashionista world of Paris runways and Victoria Secret shows. Peaches have five studio albums out, latest being I Feel Cream released in May last year to acclaimed reviews. Since then, she has been around the world doing her deeds, and here she is now, making a pit stop in Singapore with all her juicy and sexual demeanours.

Details below:

Peaches live in Singapore
Date: April 28, 2010 (Wednesday)
Time: 9.30PM
Venue: Zirca, The Cannery, Clarke Quay
Tickets: S$45 (pre-sale), S$55 (door price)

Pre-sale tickets are available at TDC and Home Club.

And here be some peachy tunes.

Stereophonics live in Malaysia, Apr 28, AND Singapore, Apr 30

Forget keeping calm and carrying on. Because Stereophonics is going the long way around to swing by both Malaysia and Singapore by the end of April!

No introduction is needed for this Welsh rock band; heck, they’ve been in the music scene for close to two decades. I’m sure you would’ve came across them on way or another. But if you insist – does Dakota or Maybe Tomorrow ring any bells?

With seven studio albums under their sleeves, the latest one being Keep Calm and Carry On, which was just released end of last year, we’re bound to have a good night out with Kelly Jones and the boys.

So, start your ‘Phonics revision now.

Details are as follow:

Stereophonics live in Malaysia
Date: April 28, 2010 (Wednesday)
Time: 7.30PM
Venue: KL Live
Tickets: RM118

Tickets are available at all Axcess outlets from April 10 onwards. Log on to their website for more info,  or call +6 03 7711 5000.

Stereophonics live in Singapore
Date: April 30, 2010 (Friday)
Time: 8PM
Venue: Fort Canning Park
Tickets: S$98 (Standard), S$110 (Door price)

Tickets are available at all Sistic outlets now. You can get your tickets by ringing them up at +65 6348 5555, or log on to their website.

Here is something to get you in the mood.

The story of two kings, conveniently

Hmm, things have been rather quiet around here, have they not? So, conveniently, I decided to write something regarding two Kings – Erlend Øye and Eirik Glambek Bøe – or better known as Kings of Convenience, to start things off again nice and easy.

A while back, on a not so special day, a few friends and I found ourselves shuffling through rough sands by a beach at two in the morning, and decided to plop down on them because we ran out of places to go. The hotel behind us was close, everything was close, and all around us pitch black save the dimly lit hotel. The waves were crashing – high tide, and the stars were out – two fell.

We sat there talking about recessing world economy while switching sitting positions when the legs had pins and needles. Half of the time, I thought to myself – we could definitely used some beer (which we eventually set out to get, really) and greens (it’s the beach, I think things like that) in a place like this. A friend played bad, bad, bad 80s music that did not fit the bill, and I thought of Kings of Convenience.

My point being: for me, it is hard not to associate Kings of Convenience with a beach setting. In fact, cashiers at CD stores should inform us, conveniently, after our purchase of Declaration of Dependence: “Here’s a complimentary beach to go with your CD. Enjoy.”

Unlike Jack Johnson, Kings of Convenience are quieter with their delicate string instruments that seem to be tiptoeing into the bedroom at three in the morning not to wake your parents, and their solemn voices like lullabies. They are a picture of a beach at night time, when insomniacs would stroll down, instead of a sunshine-y one with sands that burn and a perkily pecked surfer bouncing, bouncing, bouncing by.

Quiet is the New Loud paved the roads right for them as a necessary introduction to their music career and sound they are aiming to go for. Although things got a little complicated in Riot on an Empty Street – with additions of pianos and more complex guitar melodies and a queen named Feist, things pan out alright again in Declaration of Dependence with a slightly darker motif – a proper growth, I think.

Yet, after three albums, individualism is still capable of being instilled into every song. You cannot really find one song too similar to the other. I mean, yes, they are in the same languid mood and delicate tone, but you know – a convenient cliché-like metaphor coming up – kind of like crashing waves, or stars, or snowflakes. They still crash against the shores like they are supposed to, and they still fall on your noses (not the stars), like they are supposed to. But, no two waves or stars or snowflakes, under close observations, are ever the same.

Once upon a time, there were two Kings. Conveniently, they kept it simple, ruled a nation of songs with mere acoustic guitars and cellos as weapons of choice. Some songs were happy and some were rather sad. But the Kings held them all together well, like beaches with waves, nights with stars, and winter with snowflakes.

Conveniently, the two Kings will be dropping by Malaysia this Sunday (March 21, 2010) to have a concert, which I believe will be intimate, at the Bentley Music Auditorium. Unfortunately, tickets have sold out. But HERE, is Cayman Islands from their second album, Riot on an Empty Street, which you can download. Conveniently.

Embark on a spiritual journey

Many years ago, I stumbled upon a magazine review that hailed this particular album an emotional masterpiece. With such big words, how can I not want to sink my ears into it?

So I did. That album was Spiritualized’s Ladies and gentlemen, we’re floating in space.

I was unfortunately dissapointed. At that point of time, I coudn’t understand the fuss that everyone was making. Thinking the critics have inferior taste, I shelved this record for dust collection purposes.

Time fortunately, taught me the error of my ways. It took 2 years before my mind was developed enough to  fully understand the brilliance of Jason Pierce and his work on Spiritualized. Combining gospel music with big sound horn sections, Piece’s work is nothing short of an absolute wonder.

On his latest record, Songs in A&E, Pierce speaks about death. Which makes sense considering how the album was conceieved on his death bed, while he was battling a chronic respiratory dissease. He recovered, got back on his feet to cut this album which infuses sounds of the hospital, respiratory machines and his forlorn dying voice.

On his most critically acclaimed record, Ladies and gentlemen, we’re floating in space,  Pierce goes “All I want in life’s a little bit of love to take the pain away”, under the backing of black gospel singers. The dynamism of his sound is unbelievably profound.

I could go on really, but this is one of those cases where words cannot do justice. Just listen and you’d understand where I’m coming from. I took a couple of years to appreciate the beauty of Spiritualized, but you’re probably smarter than me so waiting need not be on your agenda.

Listen to the monstrously epic track, Ladies and gentlemen we’re floating in space.

You know you’ve heard something incredible when you’ve got tears rolling down your face.

A Brand New sound to cure the broken soul

Someone once said that music is the only thing that still makes sense, and if we play them loud enough, we’ll keep the demons at bay. Because sometimes, even the most quietest, the most serene music cannot chase away the monsters that circle around you like vultures, and perhaps that’s all they need to swoop down and pick at your brains in the depths of the night.

Since the cat is away somewhere out there looking for his shadow, I thought we’d try something new this time around. So, I guess you’re stuck with me; sorry to hear you are missing him.

I have never really paid attention to Brand New. Their earlier music seems pretty much, on the surface, like another one of those Get Up Kids bands out there. That is, until I heard At The Bottom and its chilling lyrics of: “I’d serve you drugs on a silver plate / If I thought it would help you get away / I hope that you will do this for me”. That’s like saying, hey, let me cut your wrist for you and talk to you about what sucks in life as you bleed to death.

While I was busy minding other musical business, Brand New has been doing what NME referred to as “rock growing up gracefully“. And if one has been following the progression of their music, you would agree to that. Word has it that Brand New broke through in their sophomore album, Deja Entendu, and progressively but surely, grown into the current sound of Daisy – grittier guitar riffs and shrieking vocals that seems to push you into a puddle of mud and make you roll about in an intense mess.

Unlike the preceding The Devil and God Are Raging Inside of Me, this album shortens all dilly-dallying build-ups and jumps straight to the screamo climax. Once in a while, they will catch you off guard with their rather out-of-place gospel country add-ons, like the snippets of Bertrand Brown’s gospel hymn On Life’s Highway opening Vices (and closing Noro). And these little quirky additions are what make Brand New special in their own way, a tad different from the other mindlessly screaming bands out there.

Download Brand New’s Sink HERE.

Borrow Brand New’s music to scream a little more, because God knows we all need that once in a while. Play it loud. Crank it up till it’s tearing up your speakers and giving you a headache on your headphones. It won’t count if you don’t.

Row, row, row that rocking boat

(Spoilers, possibly, ahoy.)

“Years will come, years will go, and politicians will do fuck all to make the world a better place. But all over the world, young men and young women will always dream dreams and put those dreams into song. Nothing important dies tonight, just a few ugly guys on a crappy ship. The only sadness tonight is that, in future years, there’ll be so many fantastic songs that it will not be our privilege to play. But, believe you me, they will still be written, they will still be sung and they will be the wonder of the world.”
– The Count

If you are looking for a Sunday afternoon matinee to indulge in – nothing that goes too deep with hidden messages about love, life and death, or too artsy fartsy that you need to decipher every single action of every single second – just good ol’ ha-ha humour along with those popular 60s and 70s song your parents could have been listening to while conceiving you. May I suggest some Brit comedy in The Boat That Rocked, also known as Pirate Radio.

The Boat That Rocked is a fictitious depiction of a true event back in the 1960s about a pirate radio station, Radio Rock, broadcasting from a ship in the United Kingdom waters.

Back then, apparently, rock and pop music is frowned upon and the British government was doing everything in their power to shut down such stations on UK soil. Since Radio Rock was not technically in the UK, the radio crew gave the government a hell of a run trying to find ways to shut them down.

The story began when Carl (by Tom Sturridge) was sent by his mother to live with his godfather, Quentin (by Bill Nighy – that rockstar dude from Love Actually), who is basically the manager of Radio Rock.

From there, Carl and we, the audience, were brought into the lives of Radio Rock and the DJs on board, such as: The Count (by Philip Seymour Hoffman), who is the only American DJ on Radio Rock and an avid Rock lover; Dave (by Nick Frost), a suave DJ who seems to get all the ladies going with his charm; Midnight Mark (by Tom Wisdom), who also is kind of like Dave but up three levels of suaveness; and Smooth Bob (by Ralph Brown), a recluse that even the Radio Rock crew themselves knew he was on board.

We learned about the life on Radio Rock. How once in a while they would have a ship load of girls on board to get jiggy with. The animosity and misunderstandings that happened on board. The red tapes they have to work around with to not give more reasons for the government to shut them down, although a lot of times they tend to just snap past the tapes anyway. So on so forth.

My favourite scene was towards the end when the boat sinks. (Yeah, well, rebellion can only take you so far, what can you do). Hence, the one bravado speech every movie has to have up there, just like those leadership pep talk before going to war in war movies. Everyone was figuring out how to get out of the boat alive when Carl noticed that Bob was not amongst them. Turning back, he went to find Bob and they were both eventually caught in the waters.

It stirred something in me to see Bob clinging onto his heavy box of records, which could be the end of him if he does not let go. Upon bubbly coaxing from Carl, he reluctantly let it go and only managed to save one piece of record, and abandoned the many he had.

Which made me wonder: what would be the one CD I would salvage if I were in Bob’s situation. Maybe Damien Rice, maybe Death Cab, maybe Sigur Ros. But it would be hard for me to just choose one, but fortunately for modern technology, I just had to make sure my iPod is in my hands before abandoning ship. And that it has ample battery life, or a battery charger, of course.

The soundtrack for The Boat That Rocked is like the Mother of all Greatest Hits combined, an extravagant 2 CD set with 36 of your famous 60s and 70s pop songs you would probably have come across at least one, at least once in your life. All those songs that made you do that slow hammering thing with your arms , and pop your hips from side to side to the beat (The Kinks’ All Day and All of the Night, The Beach Boys’ Wouldn’t It Be Nice, The Who’s My Generation), or ballads that make you feel a little more depressed (Skeeter Davis’ End of the World, Duffy’s Stay With Me Baby, Dusty Springfield’s You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me).

Don’t expect this movie to blow you away with its dialogue or cinematography or whatever. (It did fail to impress their own people). Its jokes are funny, but it won’t make you go ROTFLMAO-copter, catching your breath. Although I wouldn’t say the same if you were watching it high on pot. It’s lame, but haa-haa kind of lame. It is Richard Curtis, after all. Heh.

But I suppose, it is one of those movies it won’t hurt to watch on an aimless Sunday afternoon, especially if you are a fan of music for old times’ sake, or someone who believes in rebel with a cause. Or without.

So, how about it then? Heh.

Download Cat Stevens’ Father and Son HERE.

Here is the trailer for The Boat That Rocked.