This line from Madonna’s ‘Jump’ seems so appropriate… and rather strangely, it came on my iTunes Shuffle as I was packing yesterday. I say ‘rather strangely’ because it was exactly the tune I was listening to as I packed to come over here - and because, clearly, it resonated both times:

<Andrea grudgingly gives Madge more credit than she really wants to>

A crescent moon has just appeared above the KL skyline, and it’s just too beautiful.

I’m planning for this to be my last post on Lost In Transposition. Thank you for reading this blog. It’s been an amazing thing, to keep it up (although I think some people who have spammed me could have helped with that issue); and I’ve been so touched by the fact that people are reading it, and by your comments, and even by your lurking. Thank you, lurkers. And thank you B, for the inspiration to do something every day.

I hope you’ll forgive me if I round the whole thing off by talking about what this whole crazy Malaysian shebang has meant to me.

<The world forgives Andrea>

So…

Musically: I have learned for the first time how to truly articulate what I do. How to articulate about jazz. How to teach jazz. How to teach. How to teach men. How to teach men who are older than me. I was only half-kidding when I compared myself to the hero of Footloose: if you thought jazz was a niche market in the West, you should try it out here. Maybe there really are six degrees of Kevin Bacon after all. And I am degree one.

It’s been great to be appreciated by a venue. For the management to love what you’re doing, and to support you to the hilt. It’s so uncommon, and to have the rein and the support to do what you feel is right to do, has felt… well, wonderful. And I will desperately miss the opportunity to make music six nights a week. Because of this, I am, without a shadow of a doubt, a better singer now than when I came. My chops are better, my confidence sky-high. And I realise why yesterday’s experience at the street market, and the previous night’s on the bandstand - especially when we just jammed - meant so much to me. It’s because, feeling that way, I felt like anyone for whom music is a full-time occupation. Like all the people who I’ve seen performing who studied music and so take it for granted that it’s OK to make music like this, who stand up there with fellow musicians like it’s the most natural thing in the world. For the first time truly in my life, I feel that way about making music. And that feels incredibly liberating. It feels amazing. Thank you, thank you, T, for giving me the opportunity to feel this. It’s been a privilege. And a blast .

Culturally, I have come to a place where many values differ from mine. Where it’s taken as read that someone is religious unless you find out otherwise; where the ruling party controls the media; where dissent and protest and real analysis is lurking, and as the recent election proved, becoming ever-more powerful, but is not acknowledged nor encouraged as some sort of right. It has at once opened my eyes and made me realise how sheltered my experience has been up to now; yet also made me appreciate how lucky I am - we are - in so much of what we take for granted in the West.

I have come from a developed nation to a developing nation, and seen some of the differences which that entails. T and I talked just yesterday, for example, about how he just doesn’t have time to think about ‘big things’. He literally spends all his time thinking about his own situation, his own survival - and told me that that is very common here. People are literally trying to survive. Compare and contrast with the West - where the Roman Empire, for example, gave us infrastructure; and was later followed the Renaissance and the Enlightenment, so that Europe went on to produce Michaelangelo and Leonardo Da Vinci and Voltaire and Mozart and Beethoven and so on and so on… While South-East Asia was simply trying to survive, let alone go to concerts and eat grapes. It’s really no wonder that even major capitals like Kuala Lumpur and Singapore are relative cultural deserts (and by that I mean lacking in music and arts venues, museums, galleries and such) - or why as a result, why I couldn’t live here permanently. Unlike most ex-pats, it seems, I couldn’t just choose somewhere because of the weather and the shopping.

And a brief note about music and culture: I’ve realised that the high import taxes on CDs here utterly affects the musical tastes of the nation. Malaysians buy their albums in pirated form, where stall-holders on the street sell the latest CDs for 4 Ringgit (60p); whereas in record stores like Tower Records they cost the same as in the West (ie £8). The result? Everyone listens to the pirated music. Which means that they listen to the music people think it’s worth pirating. The big sellers: Kelly Clarkson. Britney. The Eagles. Michael Sodding Buble. No-one’s going to pirate a copy of Coltrane’s Giant Steps. So nobody in Malaysia is going to get to hear it unless they have money. Result? It’s difficult to get jazz gigs and clubs going. The audience just isn’t there. Because the audience isn’t listening to the music to the first place.

And finally, on the music and culture tip : this experience and this blog has led me to write for the first time about jazz, about the music I make, and as a result write for www.jazz.com. It’s led a heavyweight jazz critic and writer to praise my writing to the skies, and thats’wonderful. As some dead guy once said.

And finally, finally… The personal stuff.

Well. Erm….

I’m glad I came here alone. I think it’s led to all kinds of meetings and experiences that might not have happened otherwise. I’ve said ‘yes’ to just about everything and met all kinds of people I would never meet in London. And I will miss them terribly.

As I’ve explained recently to several people here: my life here isn’t just my life back home but with nice weather. It’s utterly, utterly different. I don’t meet CEOs. I don’t walk downstairs to a swimming pool. I don’t leave my towels on the bathroom floor, only to find them replaced by new ones on my towel rail (not unless some miraculous deal has been struck between my letting agent and my landlady).

I have, I think, managed the depression I’ve been going through. I have come here. I have jumped. I have made friends, made music, met wonderful people, had the utter privilege of doing something I love, night after night. I have realised how much I love my friends and family (and the musicians I work with!). And I have been myself throughout. And in the words of the song: That’s all.

Bill Murray is staying in the Hilton KL.

I was just in a lift with Bill Murray.

Oh. My. God.

My last night in Malaysia, and what did I do? Listened to some great live jazz, hung out with friends, drank a few glasses of white wine and had a night-time driving tour of Kuala Lumpur.

As you do. When it’s your last night in Malaysia.

I went a little snap-happy - even by my standards - tonight. Anyone who knows me, or knows the sort of pictures I like to take, will know that a fancy schmancy hotel lobby by night, and a city by night, are like a red rag to my photographic bull. A few examples:

As on my last gig, I wore my new Posh Frock (pearl bracelets a present from A’s recent trip to Hanoi):

It was great to meet K, and to hear her and her trio. They play in the high-ceilinged, rather vast, lobby lounge of the Hilton - so quite a different set up from mine, and much more like playing, say, The Dorchester every night. They also have a baby grand piano, of which I was envious, and a Saturday Night Fever-style floor, of which I was even more envious:

So there we sat, A and R (they should get together and work in A&R) and I, talking and listening to K and the band. I was particularly impressed by her ability to swing ‘Hello’ by Lionel Richie (go on, try it at home) and ‘Jump’ by Van Halen (ditto) - and particularly excited when she and the band did ‘On And On’ by Stephen Bishop, a song which I love and which has a huge sentimental attachment for me. It was all I could do to stop myself from leaping up on stage to singing backing harmonies with her. As it was, I did it from the comfort of my chair.

And then to our night-time tour of KL - for which A’s nephew played chauffeur, and A played GPS system. The Petronas Towers were pretty amazing, it has to be said. Very pretty, rather calming, skyscrapers… not unlike the Chrysler Building. If only there were two Chrysler Buildings. Side by side. And connected by a skywalk.

And then to bed. Or rather: to blog. And then soon, to bed. And in the meantime: the realisation that, sitting here in my dressing gown, with the skyline behind me, I have come full circle:

There could be no better way to end this trip than by spending my final night in the Hilton, Kuala Lumpur - in a room which couldn’t be more Lost In Translation if it tried (unless, of course, it was in the Park Hyatt in Tokyo). Here’s the view which greets you as you come out of the lift onto my floor:

- and yes, that is (those are?) the Petronas Towers you can just see there behind that skyscraper -

And here’s the view from my room right now, as dusk is falling:

Not too shabby, eh? Wait ’til you get a load of the room, too. It has a gorgeous deep bath (a bath! Bliss!), magazines in the toilet (well obviously not in the toilet, but you know what I mean) and a seat in the shower. Yes, I may just take a shower sitting down because I can.

T and C drove me all the way from Ipoh to the outskirts of KL - where, like a spy, I was handed over to R, T’s colleague (who was, appropriately enough, the very first person I met here at the airport two months ago). R brought me to the Hilton, and will be returning in a few hours to hang out avec moi for the evening. I’ve also just given A a call - my friend from Penang who spends most weekends in KL, and who is in town tonight. I’m going to be meeting both of them downstairs in the lobby bar (or ‘Cosmo Lounge’ as it’s called. Not sure why) because that’s where K, the jazz singer from Canada who’s working here for three months, and who I’ve been chatting to on IM, is performing. I’m also hoping to hook up with the manager here who emailed me some weeks ago about possibly doing the same gig… So, to paraphrase George Peppard: it looks like the plan is coming together .

I fly out at 6pm tomorrow; so hopefully will get to see some of KL during the day. Well, at least those famous Petronas Towers, which I’m dying to photograph; and quite possibly, hopefully, the Hilton’s outdoor swimming pool, too ;-).

I’ll write one last post - probably before I go to bed tonight - to round off the trip. Unless I have any sort of deep and meaningful and hugely insightful thoughts following that, of course (unlikely), in which case I’ll probably be blogging from the departure lounge of KL Airport. Either way, watch my Flickr page for more pictures of KL which I may not feature here.

Speaking of photographs: I’ve also added my final ones of Penang (including the street market), and ones of the stunning scenery on the drive down to KL, to Flickr (here, in a nutshell, is what Malaysia looks like):

And finally: for the curious amongst you, here is the famous, the wonderful T - his less famous but just as wonderful wife C, and their children H and N. Thank you so much again, guys, for everything. x

So, this afternoon, I sang at the Penang Street Market - sort of the monthly village fete, in which a street in Georgetown is taken over by stalls selling all manner of wonderful local arts and crafts, and there’s a marquee with live performances from local bands.

R had asked me to join him and his sons during their set; and it was a lot of fun, doing ‘Little Sunflower’ and ‘Route 66′ with the three of them, and then singing more songs with just R.

It was increeeeeeedibly hot and humid, and I was sweating buckets - always attractive, I find - but it was great to end my time in Penang this way. (Performing in Georgetown that is, not sweating buckets). And as I sang, and chatted to the crowd in between songs, it also made me realise how far I’ve come. Because I think I did a good job. Singing in the daytime, to a crowd of ‘regular’ people, suddenly seemed a little scary - it felt like I was performing at a festival - but I didn’t let my nerves get in the way. Instead, I let my inner, secretly confident performer persona come out (as I write that, I realise that it sounds strange: don’t most people have a secretly unconfident persona inside them?), and this persona is at once happy and secure in her ability to sing, and to communicate with people. She talks confidently, and sings well, and most importantly: cracks gags which people laugh at. It’s a strange mixture of being utterly, truly myself and yet simultaneously standing outside of myself, almost watching myself half-incredulously at how I’m being… and yet knowing that I’m being my true self. If that makes any sense. Maybe I’m just surprised at seeing myself being able to do that. Hmm.

After the market, T, C and I returned to the hotel, where I packed up my final bits and bobs, settled my bill (approximately 25% of which consisted, alarmingly, of one single phone call), and popped back into the jazz club to give E a few things which otherwise would have been thrown out, such as mosquito spray, suncream and honey (which pretty much sums up my time here). She was there rehearsing with one of her two (count ‘em!) trios; and so that involved me saying goodbye all over again to a few people, who were surprised to see me again after last night. I walked in shouting, “I’ve changed my mind!”.

And then, T and C drove us to Ipoh - and I sit here in their family home writing this at silly o’clock, when I really should be in bed. T is a nightowl too, so after dinner at an Indian restaurant tonight we sat at his computer talking about life, the universe and everything (or at least: life, the universe and geniuses) and he talked me through the agency work which he wants me to get involved in when I’m back in London. All good stuff.

Earlier in the evening, I spent a fair amount of time hangin’ - and we were definitely hangin’ - with T and C’s seven-year-old daughter, H (they also have a very cute, very smiley, one year-something son). H is fantastic, and I may try to instigate a penpal-ship between her and my eight-year-old niece. Well, they both do ballet, and they’re both fans of High School Musical, so I think it could work out…

I did take some final photographs of Penang, and of T and C and co, today - but as it’s now half-past silly o’clock, I’ll wait til tomorrow to upload and link to them. Well, a secretly confident performer persona needs her inner beauty sleep, you know. Nighty night.

My final view of Penang:

I am soooo tired. But I have to shower, pack (I didn’t really get much further than this yesterday), grab some lunch - and then head to the street market in Penang, where I’ll perform with R and his two kids. And then the long drive with T and C back to Ipoh; before spending the night there, and going to KL for the following day and night.

In a way it would have felt right to have ended this blog with last night’s post, of course - but there are still a couple of days of adventures left (including a final night in a hotel which really is just like the one in Lost In Translation, apparently ). So bear with me while I finish this over the next few days. Hopefully I’ll have some good photos to post. And hopefully some vaguely interesting thoughts. Although the former is probably more guaranteed than the latter.

What a fantastic night.

A night of goodbyes and thank yous and hugs and real emotion; a night of life-enhancing music-making; a night which touched me so much, and which made me realise that I had touched others.

The trio played brilliantly; the set list was adapted as people requested songs; I introduced E to the audience as she joined me to sing harmonies on ‘Sentimental Journey’; and vocally, I sounded possibly the best I’ve ever sounded while I’ve been here (which might be: ever).

It was so much fun, and was made all the more special by the presence of friends who had come down for my last night, and by the sentiments I exchanged with them, and the people working in the club - the staff who have shared these nights here with me, night after night, for two months.

I brought them a ginormous chocolate cake to share, and they, very sweetly, gave me this:

- which is both funny, and touching.

I also gave L, D and Y a thank you present of two CDs each: one of a jazz musician who plays their instrument (Roy Haynes, Charlie Haden and Ruben Gonzalez - although the latter isn’t really jazz, admittedly), and the other a jazz vocal album I thought they’d like (Sarah Vaughan for D, Ella & Louis for Y and Cassandra Wilson for L). They all told me at various points in the evening how much they had enjoyed the past few months, and that they would miss me. I of course returned the compliment. And it was particularly heartfelt between L and me; we made a connection about what we were trying to achieve on these gigs, and I know how much he’s enjoyed it.

I took pictures of everyone - see on the right and here - although only realised at the end of the night that I omitted to get any photos of myself with the trio. Which makes me very sad; although in fact it was simply a case of this at work. Which is perhaps no bad thing . And that said, earlier in the day CC had dropped off a photo album he’d made of pictures he took of me and the trio on a gig this week - so heartfelt thanks again, CC. My other leaving present was from T2 and HH, who brought me some Chinese tea from their favourite tea shop on the island. “Do not drink with milk and sugar!” instructed HH, with a wag of her finger.

I had spread the word amongst the musicians I’ve met here that at the end of my set, it it would be fun to carry on the music-making, and turn it into a jazz jam; and sure enough, that’s what we did. D2 (San Francisco guy), CC, S and others got up to play, and I joined them for a few numbers. So much fun, and they sounded so great. I’m envious of E, working with these guys over the next few months.

As I said my goodbyes to everyone, so many sweet things were said. That I would be missed; that I was leaving Penang as a friend; that I’d done a great job - or as HH put it: “You did it. Mission accomplished!”. And there were so many thank yous, both from me and them. The people here have been remarkable; I’ve been shown such warmth and generosity and care, and of course it’s slightly heartbreaking to leave them just as really great friendships were beginning.

On stage, before my last number, I did my Oscars speech and thanked everyone; and said finally how important it was, what T and the hotel are trying to achieve here in setting up this jazz club, and how exciting it is that this great music now has a venue in Penang. And as the guys jammed at the end of the night, T2 - the music-loving American who lives here - said perhaps the most touching thing of anyone. I thanked him for everything, and he said: “No, thank you. Thank you for what you’ve brought to this place. I mean, just look,” he said, waving his hand towards the musicians playing on stage. “All this is happening because of you.”

Which is quite a thought. Thank you, Penang, for everything. It’s been an honour, and a true privilege, to have played here.

A load of crowd-pleasers, a few numbers which they don’t know here (but do now! ha!) and, yes, A MICHAEL BUBLE SONG. (No, wait. It’s not just ‘a Michael Buble song’. See what I’ve done? I’ve fallen into the same trap as everyone over here! Imagine!) Mind you, the following is bound to change anyway, if requests start coming in:

Set 1
Summertime
And I Love Him
Softly As In A Morning Sunrise
Georgia
Agua De Beber
You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To

Set 2
Night And Day
Fever
Cry Me A River
It Might As Well Be Spring
Call Me
Sunny

Set 3
Autumn Leaves
Besame Mucho
Cheek To Cheek
Sway
Unforgettable
Bye Bye Blackbird

Fresh fish and vegetables, cooked to perfection. I have effectively dined out for every meal, every day, for two months. Next thing you know, I’ll be saying that I don’t do stairs.

OK, so I’m not in denial anymore:

The concierge just came up to collect those DHL boxes; and I answered the door to him wearing a Chinese silk dressing gown and a headband. I swear I’m turning into an ageing diva; all that was missing was the smudged mascara and bottle of gin.