It was a nice gig last night; I chatted quite a bit to two of the American guys who have been coming to the club fairly regularly, and who are going back to Ohio today. I will especially miss B, a (I’m guessing) 50-something pacifist, actor and lover of standards, who’s been propping up the bar just about every night. He said: “I’m really going to miss just being able to wander down the hall and hear great live jazz every night.” Aww.

So, a lovely, friendly night… which then all turned horribly, horribly sour at the end.

Something happened, and I’m afraid I won’t - can’t - explain here exactly what it was; but suffice it to say that it was horrible, nasty, unbelievably hurtful, highly personal (as in, directed very specifically at me), and came a massive shock.

It left me shell-shocked and upset and questioning just about everything.

My first instinct was to call home; to call my parents, or a good friend, or B.

But then I realised the person to call was T.

Who responded in his usual, wonderful, supportive way: telling me how well-liked - no, loved - I am by the people here; saying that this was just one jealous individual. He then sent L to come and find me, who also helped enormously. These guys are like my big brothers out here, and I don’t know what I’d do without their care and support.

Maybe at later date I will explain what happened; or maybe not. But I just wanted to explain why I might not post anything particularly interesting today, or respond to all your comments right now, given how I’m feeling.

That said: I woke up to a text message from R asking me if I was free at lunchtime to have a little rehearsal with him, because he’d like to do some recording with me while I’m here. My first instinct was to say no, and to hibernate. But then I thought: this is exactly the sort of thing I need to do when something bad happens. And so I got up, jumped into the pool (actually, that wasn’t strictly speaking the next direct step), and now sit here in the Business Centre, awaiting my pick-up.

In short: I’m not going to let the bastards - or rather: bastard - get me down. And the show must go on. And all that.

Speaking of staying on this little island: I’ve been asked if I’d like to come back here to perform in June and July, too.

After saying, “Blimey!”, I thought for a while, and then said no. I wouldn’t want to come back quite that soon (after all, earthquake-damaged Britain clearly needs me), but hopefully will return here another time.

And in the meantime, it appears that this little ol’ blog of mine has turned out to have a useful third purpose* in terms of filling my shoes. T has been forwarding the URL to musicians and other venues, and it seems that Lost In Transposition has become quite the hit in terms of selling this gig (and hopefully, erm, me) - and he now has people queuing up to want to come here. Who’d have thunk it?

Meawhile, in other good news: I’m going to be doing some writing and photography work for T’s agency, creating the pages for various acts.

And in other, even better news: I’m about to take delivery of a bouncing new baby black Macbook, hopefully tomorrow. The announcement of the new Macbooks this week by Apple has meant that prices of the old models have now been slashed; and Penang’s Apple reseller has a shiny new/old 2.2 black Macbook with a 160GB hard drive for less than I (or rather: my insurance company) was about to pay for a new, inferior white one. In some ways, it would be great to get one of the brand new 2.4 white Macbooks - they’re faster and the battery life is better - but they don’t know when they’ll get delivery here, and it might not be for another three weeks. So, after reading all the reviews online and weighing it all up, I’ve decided to go for the older model, and get it soon.

Here endeth the geekery.

Oh, and one more piece of happy news: I’ve found out that American vocalist and Personal Jazz Hero Kurt Elling is coming to Singapore as part of a music festival next month - and he’s giving a vocal masterclass one Sunday, my day off. Unfortunately, places have now closed in terms of taking part, but you can get tickets to watch it - so this might be the perfect time to take up that offer by the hotel owner, D, of coming to Singapore for the night. And actually, it’s probably just as well there’s no more places for students. I think I would just pee my pants if I had to sing in front of Mr E. And considering this isn’t a masterclass for three year-olds, I’m not sure that would be socially acceptable.

*The first purpose being: to keep me sane. The second being: to reassure friends and family of my sanity.

So, there’s been an earthquake in Britain.

And a tsunami warning in Indonesia.

At first, I was slightly anxious about going to Jakarta when I finish here. But now it appears that it’s not safe to go home, either.

Perhaps I should just stay on this little island, holed up in my hotel room?

One of the (many) joys of living in a hotel in a foreign country - for a Brit, at least - is that you get to watch CNN.

Granted, I’m watching a fair amount of CNN because it’s the only English language channel apart from Star Movies (and I just never seem to be in my room at the right time to catch The Horse Whisperer) - but I’m watching it also because I’m enjoying indulging myself in a slightly geeky love.

Election coverage.

I’m not sure why, but there’s something about television coverage of elections that stirs something in my, well, not quite my loins, but some sort of region like it. My mental loins, perhaps.

I think it’s partly the ‘comfort blanket’ effect - childhood memories of election-night coverage, these strange one-off events in which adults stayed up in a TV studio all night, in some sort of grown-up sleepover; which I could never match, given that I was, erm, a child, and not an adult, and therefore had to go to bed early. And like all ‘comfort blanket’ events, it’s regular, and inevitable. Like the Queen’s speech. Or Wimbledon. You may not like it; you may not follow it; you may not even agree with it. But its mere presence, every year (or four or five years), is comforting in some way.

Also, of course, it’s simply an interest in politics - and more specifically, political analysis. This combined with the fact that it’s the American election - an event whose interest in which I wouldn’t be able to indulge in such depth back home - makes watching CNN’s coverage a delight. To the extent that I get rather annoyed when I switch it on and it’s Business News, or World News, or a special report on polar bears.

The American election coverage is gripping due to the current contest between Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, of course; and the emergence of John McCain as the Republican front-runner, and the possible consequences of that. (Is it only me who finds McCain’s public-speaking frighteningly like Linus’s at the end of A Charlie Brown Christmas?).

But on CNN you also have John King, America’s answer to Peter Snow:

- who bears an uncanny resemblance to another CNN political correspondent, Anderson Cooper:

Anderson Cooper

John King

Fortunately, I have quickly learned to tell them apart a) by their hair (John King’s is more bouffant); and b) any time they’re on the same show together. That normally makes it quite easy.

There’s a general election taking place in Malaysia right now; and the votes have already started coming in (over here, it seems as if this process happens over a matter of days, if not weeks, as opposed to on one night).

The ruling party - or strictly speaking: coalition party - Barisan Nasional has so far won all of them, I think. And in some cases: unopposed.

Barisan Nasional has governed Malaysia for the past fifty years. Fifty years. Or to put it another way: every year that it’s been independent from us Brits.

Given that Malaysia is a Muslim country (Islam is the official religion - although others are practiced openly here, too), Barisan Nasional is, unsurprisingly, a right-wing coalition. Its dominance of Malaysian politics is such that when the date of the election was announced, the front page of the New Straits Times (which is linked to the BN) carried a graphic of the current make-up of parliament in which virtually every ‘little man’ was coloured blue. Underneath, it had the number of seats held by each party. Which is as follows:

Barisan Nasional - 198

DAP (the main opposition: a secular, multi-race, social democratic party) - 12

Barisan Alternatif (a coalition of opposition parties) - 8

Others - 1

198 out of 218 seats. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that there isn’t much of a political opposition in Malaysia.

And this lack of opposition, and lack of dissent, is part of the make-up of Malaysia, I’m finding. There’s an awful lot of talk in the papers and from politicians about ‘wanting peace’ and people not letting their ‘emotions’ affect their decision at the ballot box - undoubtedly a response to political rallies and demonstrations in recent months - and it strikes me that the government here is keen to keep its people quiet, and under-the-thumb.

On the one hand, you could argue that they don’t have much to dissent about. Malaysia is, by South East Asian standards, a very prosperous and safe country. But as an outsider stepping in, talking to people and reading the national papers every day, it seems that dissent and criticism of the status quo, of the government, is not encouraged - and you see this both in what Malaysians are willing to accept; and by the level of analysis by political writers. Which is, to put it kindly, limited - even though acres of press are devoted to national politics - although not unsurprising, seeing as the two main English language papers (which are the two available at the hotel, incidentally) are linked to the ruling coalition.

These papers read like newsletters you receive through your door from local parties during election time, telling you what good work the government has been doing, how much money they have given to this project and that group, reporting verbatim what ministers announce without much, if any, criticism, and so on. Every day is a good news day here in Malaysia.

But back to the lack of dissent, and the two conversations/news stories that have hit me most thus far (apart from learning that the BN was completely unopposed in some of its winning seats in this election).

One: S, the bass player, told me that they were “lucky” in Malaysia, because the internet isn’t censored here.

Two: This story in the New Straits Times, subtitled: “Undergraduates found to be actively involved in politics risk losing their government scholarships.” Read the report in full, but this is a choice quote from the Higher Education Minister:

“The number of university students involved in active politics is just a handful, but I believe the majority of them is with the government. These are rational students who appreciate and understand what the government has done for them and the people all these years.”

So: if the government gave you your scholarship, woe betide you if you criticise them. No, wait: woe betide you if you indulge in any sort of “active politics” whatsoever while you’re a student! (And the same goes for lecturers).

I showed this story to the guys that work at the bar here, my jaw on the floor in disbelief, and it provoked a fascinating discussion about politics and the law (both state and Muslim), and what is and isn’t allowed here. And yes, students are not allowed to be politically active, nor do they have the vote here until they’re 21 (I was also told that no students of any age - including mature ones - are allowed to vote, either **Update: see comment from Suraya below**).

I certainly don’t mean to criticise Malaysia or its wonderful people (only its ruling party ;-0), and I’m certainly no patriot. But sometimes - as I have also found travelling to America - I feel very lucky to live in liberal Britain, where we can vote at 18; where same-sex unions are recognised; where there is no death penalty; and where political debate and analysis is open and virulent and sometimes, yes, bloody.

That said, the New Straits Times‘ arts coverage is impeccable.

Over dinner before last night’s gig, I started to leaf through this book which I brought out with me (or rather, that V brought over with her, among other belongings that I’d requested):

It’s the sort of book which lends itself to being ‘leafed through’, too - a history of the Great American Songbook, or more specifically, of the men and women who wrote those songs.

Looking things up in the index, I started with a random song which I’m singing right now (well, not right now, obviously. They wouldn’t stand for that sort of thing in the Executive Lounge): ‘Cheek To Cheek’ by Irving Berlin. I discovered that it was nominated for the Best Original Song at the Oscars in 1935, but lost out to ‘Lullaby Of Broadway’ by Harry Warren and Al Dubin. A fact which apparently annoyed Berlin no end, as if it had been 1994, it would certainly have beaten ‘Can You Feel The Love Tonight’ from The Lion King.

Learning this interesting jazz factoid, I then looked up ‘Oscars’ in the index - and decided to change my setlist for last night’s gig to make sure that it included a few songs which had won the Academy Award for Best Original Song. What with yesterday being the day of the Oscars, and all that.

It turned out to be a jolly good wheeze… I even got members of the (albeit small, Monday-night) audience to guess in which year the said songs won their Oscars. In the end, I did ‘Secret Love’ (1953), ‘Moon River’ (1961) and ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ (1936), as well as Berlin’s near-miss ‘Cheek To Cheek’.

I failed to include ‘Arthur’s Theme’ (1981), ‘Flashdance’ (1983) and ‘The Theme From Shaft‘ (1971), though all three were, naturally, tempting.

(PS. And if you’re as geeky as I am, then you might find this just as fascinating as I did.)

I present the jury with Exhibit A:

A second-hand tennis racquet I just bought off S.

Anyone looking for a partner when I get back to London?

Second Link Of The Day. Take a look at R - the musician who I bumped into at the street market - performing with his two boys at last month’s event.

Here’s the video.

Not too shabby for a seven-year-old (drummer) and nine-year-old (pianist).

Note to self: must find out where Lucas got his ‘Musician’ T-shirt.

Very excitingly, my blog is now being linked to by the jazz website on the world wide internet, namely the American site Jazz.com.

They’ve picked me as one of their ‘Best Jazz Links Of The Week’. Right here.

I was even at the top a few days ago. Jazz fame at last!

I wrote the following post last night, but the hotel’s internet server went down. So: Meanwhile, last night in the hotel room…

V is busy packing. Goodness knows how she’ll fit everything in her suitcase, given that she has bought an entire new wardrobe, and a wooden elephant. Being a 3D designer, however, and thus very spatially aware, she’s an expert at packing. I said that there must be a job in there somewhere. And then said: “Removal man”.

We’ve had a lovely last day, checking out the monthly street market in Georgetown - which felt more like a village fete than a market, and where we bumped into a musician I knew, who promptly invited me to perform at the event next month - and then heading up to Batu Ferringhi for the sunset and the enormous evening street market they have there. It was gift-shopping heaven - and I’m sorry to spoil the surprise, but… you’re all getting knock-off Gucci bags and Michael Buble CDs.

It’s been wonderful having V here. We’ve realised that we’re highly compatible holiday chums, finding ourselves being conversely up for it (whatever ‘it’ is) or wanting to take it easy at exactly the same times. She’s also proved to be a savvy financial advisor, especially when wearing a bikini. (I’m sure there’s a job somewhere in there, too.) I will miss her when she goes. And will also have a lie-down for about a week.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a Spot-The-Ball competition (American friends, see here). This was Batu Ferringhi by sunset tonight. Can you guess where the ball is about to appear?

The correct answer is: