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SINGAPORE: So here we are, on stage at Timbre @ The Substation, rockin’ it out for our very last song. Cool beans, I thought, as the drummer brought the song to its conclusion with a flurry of cymbal crashes. We strummed the final chord, looked into the audience, and then ...
One excited “Woo-hoo!” from the back, a smattering of claps from the front table, and “Happy birthday to you”, cried the excited party celebrating their friend’s big day.
Welcome to our exciting debut at Timbre.
Great Expectations
See, I’d always dreamed of being a rock ’*’ roll star. I played in bands back in the heyday of the indie music movement in the ’90s, but the inability to sustain a living saw me working “normal” jobs to pay the bills.
The thing is, musicians have always been frowned upon, mostly because they don’t have a steady, liveable income. But when Jack Ho of rock band EIC was quoted in a newspaper as saying that he could make “S$4,000 to S$5,000 a month”, that made me sit up.
Five grand a month? That’s four times more that what my previous job working in a hotel paid me then (in 2002). Plus, you technically work only three to four hours a day, so you earn about S$40 an hour. If that’s isn’t endorsement for “liveable income”,I don’t know what is.
According to Jack, here’s how he did it: He walked into Wala Wala one day, introduced himself and proceeded to ask for a gig. And he got one. Easy-peasy. Okay, that’s the truncated version, but you know what I mean right? And hey, if Jack can do it, so could I, right?
Banding Together
Unfortunately, that was back in 2002. Apparently, these days, you can’t just say: “Hey, I can play guitar, give us a gig!” — and be given one. I realised that the hard way: In a year, I performed two nights in a pub, three weddings and one showcase event. More time elapsed and solo gigs were sparse, so I ended up joining a four-piece band.
I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that we rehearsed for months honing our sound, putting a portfolio and website together before we started sending out mailers to prospective pubs and clubs. And then we waited. And waited. And waited.
In 10 months, the band performed six pub gigs and played at five company-sponsored events.
But we got tighter as a band and learned how to deal with crowds that couldn’t get enough of us (although I must admit the amount of adulation showered on us was directly correlated to the volume of alcohol consumed).
Still, it didn’t earn us anything close to S$5,000 each a month.
The Gig Is Got
That’s when I decided to cheat: I called on Danny Loong, the owner of Timbre, whom I knew, and more or less begged him for a slot.
ME: “So how? Can give us a shot or not? Isn’t Timbre seen as an avid supporter of local bands?” (nudge nudge)
DANNY: “Okay, let’s arrange for an audition set.”
And that, as they say, was that. Serendipity? Or did he agree just to get me off his back? Who cares? I say it once more proves the old adage: “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”
It's Showtime
I won’t lie: I was pretty nervous about it all. Once the date was finalised, there was a burst of activity as we put in all our effort to perfect our set for the audition. It was at Timbre @ The Substation, and Danny had offered us two sets with the dinner crowd: 7.30pm and 8.30pm; basically as a warm-up act for the resident band that would come on later. Not the most enviable of positions, but it was better than nothing.
Our plan was to kick out the jams, show everybody up, wow the crowd and find Danny offering his right arm to sign us up.
Except, of course, things didn’t quite go that way.
Two seconds into the set, I fumbled through the opening notes of our first song — not good. We found ourselves throwing everything we had (not literally, but perhaps too desperately) to a crowd that seemed to be more interested in what to eat than what we were playing. If silence is golden, we were filthy rich.
After the break, slightly downhearted, but by no means down-and-out, we came back on stage with a vengeance.
Yes, it reads a lot better than it sounded. Once again, we fired off salvo after salvo, but other than the group of people celebrating a birthday in the corner, we felt all our efforts came to nought.
Crowd: 2, band: 0.
The Review (Abridged)
Days later, Danny gave his critique in his usual “it’s better if I’m blunt and honest” way. I won’t go through the entire epistle (it’s too long) but the gist is printed below:
“The performance was all right. I liked the song choices. The audience, based on what I saw, was reasonably responsive ... I am guessing the repertoire of the band is more suited to an expat crowd who likes the soul-funky numbers.
Musically, the band was not bad, and although mistakes made through nervousness are common, they cannot be ignored. If the band worked on the overall sounds and dynamics, it would have been better. The repertoire is probably more suited to Timbre @ The Arts House, which caters more for a mature audience, but we will not hire the band at the moment, as there needs to be improvement in the different areas mentioned.”
In other words, nice try, but better luck next time.
I’d be lying if said I didn’t give a dollop of rat turd about it. I mean, we put in so much time, money and effort, and what did we have to show for it? So much for “making about S$4,000 or S$5,000 monthly”. It’s codswallop, isn’t it? I’d rather be a sticky-beaked, malodorous pervert.
The next few moments were a bit of a blur, although I remember feeling the violent urge to a) break something, b) console myself with a bottle of wine and a large pizza from Rocky’s with the works, and c) crawl under my blanket to die.
Epilogue
Of course, I didn’t die (although the pizza was good). And the legion of fans (including our Facebook friends, natch) were encouraging when they found out what happened. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” emailed one. “Ur de best!” SMSed another.
But after all the emotion died down, I got to thinking: Is this the end of the road for the band? No. Is this the end of my dream to be a musician? No. So, as Minister Wong Kan Seng once said, let’s move on.
I was reminded of a scene in the movie "The Commitments", where one character tries to console the other when their band disintegrates: “The success of the band was irrelevant ... Sure, we could have been famous and made albums and stuff, but that would have been predictable. This way, it’s poetry.”
Which, of course, got me thinking again: Aren’t poets seen as the non-musical equivalent of rock stars? They write verses — it’s the same thing. Besides, my colleague Mayo Martin is a published poet, so how hard can it be? So, know any poets’ society I can join? - TODAY/sh
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