Of My Moleskine Notebook

A version of Santa Baby came on the radio this morning while I was getting ready to go out. Is it just me or do the lyrics somehow come off as suggestive? Well the version that came on this morning was kinda R&B sounding with the girl emphasizing on being an “awwwwful good girl” so it might just be the version I heard this morning.

Though; looking back at the history of people covering the song, I don’t think so.
Earlier this week, I had gotten a picture message from Azlan on myspace asking me to get him a copy of Gaytimes. All week, I’ve been cracking my neck looking left and right at supermarket aisles trying to see if they stock the thing.

I came across a major logistic issue in locating the magazine. In the UK, newspapers are placed on the lowest shelf, followed by crossword/sudoku/puzzle magazines, women’s magazines, music magazines and finally at the very top is where they stock lad’s mags, well, soft porn to be exact.

Being a girl, and being at the innocent age of fifteen, I wouldn’t dare scanning the top shelf more than a passing sweeping second. Then here comes the real logistic question : Which category do Gay magazines fall into?

Women’s magazines? Well, they may be drag queens but I don’t think they can be placed in between housekeeping and fashion magazines. It may just give the tiny old grey lady who lives down the street a premature cardiac arrest.

Around the Lad magazines? Hm, despite both featuring various spreads of the naked and masochistic kind, I believe the inverse of model gender might scare many the acne-prone teenage boy reaching up to get something to wank to, or even the grown man, looking for some interesting specialised photography.
Categories that are ruled out almost immediately are of course the business section, children’s magazines, cross-stitching, and computer magazines.

How about “Interests and Hobbies”? Well, it would be very insulting indeed to say one’s sexuality is just a passing fancy; or a hobby. But being interested in boys; could that be an interest?

After having a quiet lunch with only the company of The Guardian Saturday Issue at the local village cafe called simply, Grannies; where I had a very filling toastie of tuna and sweetcorn; I made my way back through the sunny winter afternoon, home.

At the busy junction, waiting for a chance to cross the road; the small News sign caught my eye. I knew there was a News seller here but since I usually get my magazines and newspaper at the Sainbury’s which I had just passed, I would usually overlook it. This time however, I was alone, it was a sunny day, and I thought; eh why not pay it a visit. I need to get some things for some people.
After spending a good five minutes in the store, looking the shelves up and down; I finally found Azlan’s poison. I quickly grabbed a copy of Glamour (for Nawal) and Gaytimes which I quickly put on the counter; hoping the feminity of Glamour would balance out the machoness of the other discerning print.

Just as the guy behind the counter was putting Gaytimes under the scanner I quickly went “Don’t worry, it’s not for me”, to which he laughed and so did the other girl near the counter.

He said something about he doesn’t ’something’ which I couldnt catch. Maybe he said he doesn’t discriminate or care or make fun of such things. I don’t know, I was too occupied being beet red and laughing nervously.

The girl reassured me in a friendly manner that they were used to it due to customers getting things from the top shelves all the time. But it was still funny, but it’s nice that they were all cool and friendly about it.

I came back home and told George and Yin about it immediately. They too, laughed. George however, being his politically incorrect self added “I wonder what they thought about you buying it Ainaa. They must’ve thought you were some ladyboy from Thailand.”

To which I groaned and contorted my face in front of the mirror immediately. No. I think I look feminine enough.

So here it is, eat your heart out Azlan!

Love, Santa.

Almost everywhere I turn my short-and-struggling-span-of-attention towards; some channel or some paper or some magazine is recapping its Best or Greatest or Defining of 2006 lists and notable highlights of the year.

The NME has released its CDs of the year, Singles of the Year and God knows what else music related thing of the year; I just spent more than an hour watching a channel’s recap of the best bands of 2006 and as I flip to the Film&Music section in The Guardian; there is – as predicted- a blurb and list by its specialist journalists.

Not that I mind, I am passionate about new music and can gladly say I was there following every advancement of good new music as best as I could all year. But such reminiscing and sentimentality from everyone with the whole Christmas headgear coming on everywhere finally gave me a big blow today.

I have been complacently ignoring the fact that it is in fact December. And it’s 2006.

Coming to terms about the date and the end of the year is something I do not do terribly well. It means to embrace and accept an ending of something, and bracing myself for a beginning.

It also makes me look back on the year; the good, the bad, the great, and the What-The-Fuck-Did-I-Do-s. It also makes me take a step back and scrutinise myself and myself the year before.

Last year about this time, I was in London staying with my sister and my brother. I spent early mornings and late afternoons thinking deeply in the Tube, walking up and down the maze-like streets in Soho, listening to a myriad of new independent bands, reading The Guardian and agonising my early return to Malaysia to start the predicted hectic year ahead. The Arctic Monkeys had just started to get recognition and getting reviewed and hailed upon by every music magazine or newspaper there was.

One year ahead, my brother’s back in Malaysia working, Yin and George are now married and are now staying in a small village in Nottinghamshire. No more tube, no London fast paced-ness, no independent band playing just around a corner or a block. I’m still reading The Guardian, still listening to music, all still trying to catch up with the ebullience that I had last year. Unlike last year, I can’t see myself doing anything special next year. I feel tired; tired of thinking, tired of sleeping, tired of listening to anything, tired of trying to catch up.

Of course there’s the usual; what I would like to do for the Interact Club, which I pledge full activism next year due to my not having any tumultuos national exams, the debate team, which I plan to exert myself in, Scrabble, which I have actually not played at least five months now, and of course the Drama Competitions; which I think of with utmost dread.

After an incredibly successful year for the School, the leaving of the very talented form five drama team members whom I call an amazingly fun and talented bunch of people, the pressure is now directed to me to somewhat “bring the school to glory again” as I’m the only existing member of the drama team other than Thevanesh who isn’t leaving this year.

I have to admit to the genius writing and composing team of Stan and Qian Yue, I really have to. It’s a hands-down issue. No argument about that. It had a year of development- of when the Drama team didn’t compete- of simmering in the improvement pot and that has certainly served – no pun intended – well. The reason to why it was such a success is due to the fact that it simply was a simple and easy story with a good lighthearted feel in performance and especially in music and also because suffice to say, it was organic.

It takes me back to two years ago, December 2004, when Azlan, Stan, Raymondo and I met at Brumby’s Bakery, sitting at a small table at the back of the cafe discussing what we wanted to for next year. I was just starting to tip my toes into my anti-establishment self, and had concocted this huge-ass pretentious idea of societal ideals and shit. And that was when Stan first got certain notions of Fisherman’s Penny and I was of course, ambivalent; I knew it was gonna be good but I didn’t predict how so.

Come 2005 and Azlan’s shipped off to boarding school, we didn’t make the deadlines to submit our forms to the competition and I soon succumbed to studying for two papers for my DELF and put myself all into the Interact Club. It paid well I must say, I passed both levels, got a Vice-President post and by the time August came I’d burnt out.

It was my all time low; I would wake up and not know what to do. Deborah would call me and ask about projects and I would apologise as I had no idea what happened to me. It’s like I fell asleep and life just started to happen again. It was scary; but my end of year exams came as a distraction to immerse myself in. I studied so hard for that exam, I have no idea to why, but my conviction to that exam still pangs myself with envy. I didn’t study for my PMR exams as much as I did for those worthless exams last year.

Then I got shipped off to the UK for the holidays and I find everything repeating itself again now.

Here’s a toast to all those who hear me all too well.

Looking back at this year gives me a sense of bereavement; a kind of regret over a loss I know I am soon to inherit. This year was when I grew up and became young again in a way. I found new levels in friendship and its every pure word; tried so many grounds and discovered quite a number of things. Thinking of 2006 gives me flashes of images, in slow moving still form, still vivid and loud as it was. Hanis, Azlan and I in the clinic eating cake, staring at the blurs outside the window on the bus back from Actor’s Studio, having discussions and brainstorming at Nikita’s dining table, sleeping on the floor of my bedroom listening to Chris Moyles, dancing with Kirstin on her birthday, hiding behind a bush outside Hanis’ house, staying up late talking on the phone, and eating ice-cream at the back of the class, doing nothing at all.

There were so many things acheived and so many things not met to. So many drafts of articles to be made into a zine, the weird feeling of seeing Gnarls Barkley played on Channel V as if it’s the new big thing when plans of popping the cork about them three months earlier had gone unseen. The disappointment of not winning at my first debate, and the disappointment in having everyone else too busy to join in any others, the downcast feeling of not going for the Math Olympiads, the downright blow to becoming second funding director in Interact after years of going up.

I don’t mind really, but it’s just reality getting to me that I shouldn’t have been so comfortable.

I guess thats why I’ve been avoiding thinking altogether for quite a long time. After my PMR exams I went dead. I had planned so much for the after-exam free time I find myself in now yet when it actually came I got stunned and went into isolation. I didn’t want to start thinking because I was scared I’ll get it all wrong. After months of studying of ways how to think to make yourself more appealing to the examiner, a feeling of braindead follows when you are finally given the freedom to think.

And I’ve not been thinking. I’ve been immersing myself in books and papers, and not finishing the book or the paper when it requires me to take a step back and look. After the Placebo concert ended last night, I felt like it was an end to something. Which is silly but it really does feel like it.

Maybe because they played Twenty Years, which lyrics speak of an end of something and the start of something new, and maybe because it was the end of the climatic peak of my year. My months of teenage angst and energy boiling above the surface pushing forwards and backwards but pushing nonetheless.

Somehow it all has left me, I’m listening to the same old band and album I was listening to before, still reading the same paper, still trying to finish the same book, but not really as a surrender, but more to a somewhat aging. A sensationless notion compared to last year.
Still dreaming of the same things I’ve dreamed about last year, of writing a book, of having a short movie done, of making a great soundtrack to it with new bands I have discovered and will discover.

I don’t know if it can be counted as wisdom or merely growing old; but I can simply say that I’ve lived this year and as much as I am all good here, I can’t wait to live again next year.

I owe my most sincere apologies and deepest appreciation far beyond the word to all to you guys. You know who you are; and I want you guys to be part of my 2007 as much as you had in my 2006. Cheers to that!

My Top Albums of the Year (though some were released last year)
1. The Stars – Set Yourself on Fire
2. Placebo – Meds
3. Paolo Nutini – These Streets
4. The Flaming Lips – At War With The Mystics
5. KT Tunstall – Eye to the Telescope

Top 5 Books
1. Vladimir Nabokov – Mary
2. Zadie Smith – White Teeth
3. Ali Smith – The Accidental
4. His Dark Materials (okay, there are three)
5. David Mitchell – Black Swan Green

Placebo was; fan-fucking-tastic. The concert was absolutely great; it was beyond sublime. Something made so special; I could’ve sworn there was some sort of divine intervention.

This song is Blind, my hunnies!

The night started not looking too great. The weather was shit, terribly windy and chilly, so bitter that we decided to just head on to the Arena and not make a detour to get batteries for my camera; hoping hard that they sell batteries at the merchandise counter or something. When we reached the Arena it was only just around five-ish, we had our dinner and I waited excitedly for about half an hour after we had our food for the doors to open at 6.30 p.m..

Which left me to another agonising wait; as the show only starts at 7.30p.m.

The opening act for the night is the London based band Archie Bronson Outfit. They opened with the fantastically loud and charged Cherry Lips. Then played another six other songs some of them which include Dart for my Sweetheart, and Dead Funny.

Though nice as it was, they did get boo-ed by someone in the crowd and I couldn’t help but agree. It was nearly eight and I’ve been waiting long enough. Before this I’ve never heard any of this band’s music and wouldn’t have checked them otherwise, so as much as I was silently going “Okay, nice song. Now get off stage.” or squealing when they start taking off their guitars, only to groan silently to myself “Augh, don’t change guitars! Get off stage!”; I’m quite glad they did perform as it was a breath of fresh air.

You listen to trash but it’s not rock and roll.

The second special guest however was above expectations and were great. Idiosyncratic lyrics, contagious energy, great bass-lines and catchy riffs, The Howling Bells is one band I shall be keeping my eyes on for the few months to come. It is so rare to find a great female lead vocalist/guitarist that sings and enforces her lyrics without screaming. Think of Katie Melua vocals, Bloc Party lyricism and electro-riffs like that of a lovechild of Franz Ferdinand + The Strokes parentage.

Twenty minutes later, after a very restless intermission where I writhed and loathed myself for not having extra batteries with me. I had two cameras with me; a lithium powered 3.2 Mega-shit-pixel Casio Exilim and an Olympus 4 Mega-I Suck Battery Life, and am empty at the moment Ainaa needs me the most-Pixel. Sadly for me, we didn’t have time to get batteries, and making do with the Exilim will not do as everything comes out blurry and in spotchy pictures. They didn’t sell any batteries at the Arena; though I must thank my lucky stars and every particle of power up there for letting me get a few fantastic pictures with my Olympus. It was a race, take the picture before it dies. Then wait a few minutes and take another picture before the red icon comes on again.

Thank heavens and the Gods, the angels, and everything under and above; I got a few good shots where I have posted here and in my flickr.
Anyway back to where I was..

Ladies and gentlemen of Notting-ham; we are the ladies and gentlemen of Placebo. Our next song has nothing to do with cross-dressing; but it’s called Drag.

When the lights dimmed for the third time tonight, signalling the start of another performance; people in the arena went mad. I was at the edge of my seat, screaming.

Placebo started the night with the revenge charged Infra-Red with fantastic light probes scanning the whole Arena from the people so close they could smell sweat, to all three corners of the bleachers. And from there it was, atleast for me, history.

The night was absolutely special to me, not because I’m watching my favourite band ever durr, but because Placebo played their old songs tonight! I’ve been reading forums looking around for the song lists they play this year and most of them play the whole Meds album and except for one or two songs; nothing else. Tonight though, sees them play only about seven songs from Meds and a nice piece or two from Without You I’m Nothing and Sleeping With Ghosts.

I didn’t write down the songlist in the concert; and frankly couldn’t be arsed to when I’m screaming at the top of my lungs; but if my fragmented memory serves me well, this was the songlist for tonight.

Infra-Red
Meds
Because I want You
Drag
Space Monkey
Follow The Cops Back Home
Song To Say Goodbye
Every You Every Me
Special Needs
Sleeping With Ghosts
Blind
Running Up That Hill (Kate Bush cover)
Without You I’m Nothing
Special K
One of a Kind
The Bitter End
Taste In Men
Twenty Years

Out of the womb and into the void/I wanna try but I get annoyed

In the middle of One of a Kind, one of my absolute favourites, a track which literally took me through my PMR; Brian Molko screams I AM ONE I AM ONE with absolute passion and fiery self-righteousness and shows his third finger to the crowd and screams FUCK YOU as in empowering all those “at the back of the class”, the rock stars, writers, idiosyncratic people of the future.
Another notable highlight is that they performed Every You Every Me in place of 36 Degrees and Teenage Angst. Which is great as Every You Every You is one of the few songs that my sister knows, and one that brings so many memories to me, as it is a communal mental intellectual property of Hanis, Azlan and I.

I actually didn’t recognise it when Brian Molko slurred succkerr love, as I had not expected it at all; due to their song listing history this year. I however am greatful. Absolutely.

I noticed that the majority of the crowd were university students and older. There were a few people my age; the new Placebo converts who were five when Nancy Boy came out (one of them being me) as Brian Molko had said on a Gonzo interview for MTV2 UK; and they were dressed to the nines. I was surprised at how civilised everyone was; judging by pictures of the old Placebo concerts people who went were cross-dressing, goth and scary. Though those were the nineties when Brian Molko used to wear a dress and now as he sports a shirt and a jumper as stage apparel, people too are more modern and less silly. What did people eat in the nineties, anyway? They really dressed terribly.

Beside my sister and I were some Asian (Chinese to be specific) girls who were talking in WAHLIAO and who didn’t move an inch or scream any lyrics. Or at least not when I was looking. I was wondering; either they are Malaysian, which explains their language and sobriety, or they are Singaporean which explains their language and also their sobriety.

I screamed to every song I knew; which was nearly everything they played; to the exception of Space Monkey as out of all the Placebo songs, is one I am not too fond of, and Running Up That Hill which I had not heard before they covered it.
Though I couldn’t open my mouth in a few songs; ’cause when you hear heartfelt compositions of music that has helped you through so many tumultous events and spin of emotions; sung and performed in front of your face; you can only watch the fantastic and blinding probes of light, the art-house film playing in the screens that alternate between scenes and Brian Molko’s pretty face; and be absolutely thankful. And nothing else.

That’s the whole – and that’s the part of it
That’s the high – and that’s the heart of it
That’s the long – and that’s the short of it
That’s the best – and that’s the test in it
That’s the doubt – the doubt, the trust in it
That’s the sight – and that’s the sound of it
That’s the gift – and that’s the trick in it
Twenty Years, Placebo