So, I had my second rehearsal with the band this afternoon. And it went much, much better.

We sailed through the tunes, and while we still had to work on certain things, of course, something had definitely kicked in and we were sounding much tighter and more together and more, well, like a band.

After yesterday’s experience, I came to today’s rehearsal with two things in mind. One: that I would lead the band more, and be firmer about what I wanted and didn’t want (a trick which came in useful when D suggested bringing his keyboard in to add string sounds to a lovely ballad we’d just done). And two: that it would be a good idea to put a couple of CDs together for the guys - one a compilation of songs in my repertoire which they don’t know (eg. Nancy Wilson singing ‘Save Your Love For Me’, Harry Connick Jr doing ‘This Time The Dream’s On Me’); and the other, a copy of an album which I realised embodies exactly what I’m aiming to achieve with them: Dianne Reeves’ soundtrack to the movie Good Night, And Good Luck.

This soundtrack is, for my money, the best recent recording of jazz standards by a singer and trio (although the arranger, Matt Catingub, also features on sax). And what Ms Reeves and her band (Peter Martin on piano, Jeff Hamilton on drums, Robert Hurst and Chris Luty on bass, and Alex Acuna on percussion) have achieved is, quite simply, a great collection of standards performed wonderfully in a very straightforward way.

So, not surprisingly, it’s my benchmark for a what will be, ultimately, a gig which is solely about singing jazz standards with a trio in a straightforward way… six nights a week. I’m not trying to reinvent the wheel - hell, I’m so straightforward, I don’t even scat sing - and besides, that’s not what they want me to do*. I’m also not aiming to copy Dianne Reeves in any way. But to make this gig as enjoyable as possible - for myself, the band and the audience - I need to aim for what she and her musicians proved with the Good Night, And Good Luck soundtrack. Namely, that you can perform standards in a very ’straight’ way, and provided you do so with taste, conviction and musicality, it isn’t the slightest bit boring. Indeed, hopefully, if I can even hope to aspire to Ms Reeves’ accomplishment, it’s not only not boring: it’s wonderful, sublime music-making.

(To hear what I mean, listen here).

*More on my discoveries about Malaysian musical tastes in a later post.

…on the subject of euphoria, this track came on the cheesy radio station I was listening to in the gym earlier today.

One word: BRILLIANT.

So, it’s been quite a day today. Mainly because, for the first time since getting here, I hit a challenge.

I went to bed at 4am last night, and woke up at 1pm. (Yes, the Lost In Translation jetlag/insomnia is still at work, but no, that wasn’t the challenge.) I woke up to an alarm - because I had my first rehearsal with the band at 3pm.

They are really nice guys: L on drums, D on piano and Y on bass. They’re all in their 50s, and all very sweet. Y doesn’t speak much English; D is quiet in his own way; and I thought L might be a bit too pushy, but in fact he turns out to be the best musician of the lot, and so I’m happy for him to be pushy.

We ran through standards to do on the gig, playing for three hours in total and putting in another rehearsal for tomorrow. But I left feeling rather low, because music-wise I fear this gig might not be very fulfilling.

I knew that this would probably be the case. I have been spoiled rotten by the standard of players in London, and take it for granted that people will a) know tunes, and b) play them wonderfully; and knew that of course it wouldn’t be quite the same in Penang. But still, it’s taken a little adjustment; and after the rehearsal today I just felt very deflated.

But two things hit me as a result.

Firstly, that there was someone I wanted to call immediately after this rehearsal; who I know would ‘get’ exactly how I was feeling. And yet I couldn’t call him. And that made me sad. So I had to get through it, and over it, alone. But you know what? I managed to. I wish I could have called him - and still do - but ultimately, it was OK. I could manage alone perfectly well; and as I came out of it, realised that this down was just a part of life’s normal ebb and flow, and would indeed pass.

And secondly I realised that - just as I had told myself before this trip - I need to get what I can out of this gig, if music-wise it’s less than completely satisfying. As I’ve already told myself, this means things like being a really good performer, in terms of putting on a good ’show’; and using this opportunity to learn lots of new tunes. I’m going to be singing six nights a week, and so I need to keep that fresh and have a happy time doing it, and making it a great night for people to come down to. And both of those goals will help me to do that.

I spoke to T after the rehearsal, and voiced my concerns. He was great, and very understanding (it probably helps that he is a musician, too). I hope I can get there with the band… That I can assert myself about how I want things to be; that we will grow and come together as a unit and make the best music we can possibly make, both for ourselves and the audience.

And in the meantime, I’ll hold onto my experience this evening, which took place just hours after the above rehearsal. Namely, going to the jazz lounge to photograph another band and chatting to them and their friends; and generally having a really great night, enjoying some good live music and meeting some very nice people.

In the words of Billy Joel… well, look at the title*.

*NB. Those aren’t Billy Joel’s words. The title is.

I think I can honestly say that my camera has never misted up outdoors before:

Incidentally, lovely as the hotel pool is, it is just next door to a construction site. Although the crane, and the site, lit up at night are still pretty great to look at, in their own majestic, man-made, Bladerunner / Bob The Builder sort of way:

Ooh, those look like the sort of photos disgruntled British holidaymakers used to send in to That’s Life, don’t they?

(I’ll be posting all pics from the trip over on Flickr, btw).

Well, nothing related to this blog, at least: I joined my friends Tom, Sean and Eddie for an edition of their podcast just before I left, and it’s now online for your listening pleasure - just click here. I’m the one talking too fast and laughing a lot. Or is that laughing too fast and talking a lot? Either way: I’m the girl.

…I think this hotel has quite the most stunning lobby I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen at least, ooh, three posh hotel lobbies in my lifetime:

It could all have gone so horribly wrong… And yet the space, the lighting, the furniture, the design… it’s all wonderful:

(Yes, the bar comes in multiple colours.)

(Those three red flags are up for Chinese New Year.)

And the restaurant isn’t too shabby, either:

And as for the rooftop swimming pool, which I went to take a look at tonight… Well, put it this way: I don’t say “wow” out loud very often. In fact the last time I did so, I do believe it was when I first met The Love Of My Life. Clearly, the second love of my life is a swimming pool. Here’s an arty, ie. blurred, picture of it. I wasn’t about to fall in; it’s just that my camera can’t compensate for the lack of light:

And true to this post’s form, I didn’t take any photos. I figure I’ve got two months to do that ;-).

What I did do, however, is walk around the block - which included taking in the food hawkers’ market place, and exploring every single floor of the six-tiered shopping mall next door. Because much as I hate shopping malls at home, when you’re Abroad, they’re quite fascinating (at least for the first time you go).

I learned that there’s a supermarket on the lower ground floor (handy), a cinema on the top floor (equally handy) and a Crocs shop (not handy at all).

I also bought myself a cute LBD for singing in; and some trainers, as mine were too large and heavy to carry when every kilogram my suitcase was overweight was a potential £36 charge from Malaysia Airlines. And a sports bra, because I forgot mine - and because I plan to hit the gym A LOT in this hotel. Even though I avoid gyms as much as I avoid shopping malls at home. But suddenly they’re both attractive propositions, given that it’s VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY HUMID INDEED out there. Even more so than the Sun Centre in Rhyl, my only previous experience of a tropical climate.

So now I’m going to hop to said gym, before dressing for dinner and then photographing the lobby like a nut (you’ll see why later). In the meantime, let’s hope the hotel residents won’t be too freaked out by my gymwear (thanks, Melissa):

After sleeping for 12 - count ‘em! - hours, this is the view I woke up to:

And here it is if you look slightly to the left:

Since I got up, I’ve been unpacking and ironing - how thrilling!* - all to the strains of some terribly cheesy ‘radio station’ (clue: I don’t think it’s an actual radio station) I’ve found on my TV.

I was listening to my own music via my iPod dock - but it felt very odd, I quickly realised, to be listening to, say Lloyd Cole, in a hotel room in Penang, looking out at that view. In short: it feels wrong to listen to music from back home while abroad. I’m not sure if this is a phenomenon restricted to hot countries (I know that when I’ve been to Ibiza, for example, I am overcome with the urge to listen to nothing but Cafe Del Mar albums); or whether it’s to do with properly throwing yourself into a new place and a new experience. Although the latter implies conscious thought, and it doesn’t feel conscious at all. In fact, it just feels instinctively wrong to be listening to ‘Jennifer She Said’, and instinctively right to be listening to ‘Fields of Gold’ played on a Spanish guitar.

Hopefully that’s the only time in my life that I will write that sentence.

And on that (easy-listening) note: I’m going to answer some emails, then hop in the shower, get dressed, and go out exploring. I’ll be back. With photos!**

*Actually, ironing here is thrilling. Because someone calls you up ten minutes into said ironing and says: “Hello Miss Andrea, just checking you received your ironing board?”

**Although given this post, that’s not guaranteed.

So, I am here. And right now, you can picture me looking exactly like this. And I mean *exactly* like this. I’m jet-lagged, remember:

Things I learned on my journey:

- A 12 hour flight isn’t half as bad as it sounds.

- ‘When Love Breaks Down’ by Prefab Sprout is a really good song (thank you, S).

- Malaysia Airlines: Maverick does not count as a classic film.

- It’s still dark in the morning in Kuala Lumpur at 6.30am.

- Malaysia is hugely green, and full of verdant hills and palm trees. Not unlike a large Majorca.

- However, Malaysia is much hotter than Majorca.

- The twin towers in Kuala Lumpur are very impressive, even from a distance.

- The agent, T, is terribly nice, and looks like my brother, only younger and Malaysian. His wife, C, is terribly nice and looks like my second cousin, only younger and Malaysian. T’s business partner R, is also terribly nice, but doesn’t look like any member of my family.

- The Malaysian Department of Immigration is housed in a building which is enormously grand and modern, in a communist sort of way, and yet which houses crappy market stalls in its lobby. Go figure.

- We drove through a state in Malaysia which sits under a raincloud every day, rather like the geographical equivalent of Charlie Brown.

- Smoking is perfectly acceptable in public areas in Malaysia. How frightfully 20th century!

- The hotel is unbelievably swanky; and I have a gorgeous room with a king size bed and a sea view.

- A flute and tabla duo playing ‘Smoke On The Water’ is surprisingly good.

- Squid tastes better than I thought it would.

- I have been up for 30+ hours, save for snoozing on the back seat of a car/747.

- I am a bit delirious.

- The ‘Smoke On The Water’ thing really happened.

So here I am, back at Heathrow Terminal 3. I know it well now, since meeting B in 2006 and starting a series of near-enough-quarterly jaunts over to New York. In fact, as I arrived on the ‘Heathrow Hoppa’ bus from the Sheraton this morning, I had to enter Terminal 3 at the Arrivals side - and saw the area where I very first laid eyes on him. It was sweet to see it again.

But now here I am in Departures, typing a quick missive while I wait for my flight to Kuala Lumpur to be called. And despite it being hot and stuffy, and full of people (I’m guessing those two things are connected), I love being here, because there’s something about being alone at an airport that makes me feel terribly independent and grown-up. I get the same feeling when I buy a sandwich from the buffet car of a train. It doesn’t take much to make me happy.

PS. Searching for pictures from The Terminal, I wonder whether this one is actually a little more like me. Not that I’m not wearing a suit. Nor sprawled on the floor. Nor do I look much like Catherine Zeta-Jones. But apart from that: