I’m trying to get on and write this post but am being distracted by Phat Girls, which is currently showing on Star Movies, and which is as good as it sounds.

See what happens when V stays up as late as I do?

It was a really wonderful night in the bar tonight. Familiar faces and new faces, and most importantly: all of them faces who seemed to really be there because of the music.

The atmosphere was different; and the best way, the only way, I can describe it is that tonight, for the first time, it felt like a real jazz club.

Which wa s’wonderful.

What wa s’also wonderful was how confident I’m feeling about my singing. The band are sounding really good, and I’m not fire-fighting any more - which means I’m freed up to sing freely and happily.

And what s’more, I’m finding that I can sing songs which I wouldn’t normally attempt as they’re too well-known or cliched to attempt (but am doing so for the audience here) and singing them, well, erm, well. As in: I’m making them my own, and finding a freshness in them which I never thought I would.

‘Fever’ sounds like I was made to sing it, and it’s a brilliant challenge to take a song like that which is so famous (and what’s more: a recording that’s so famous) and try to deliver it in a new - and sincere - way. Ditto ‘Cheek To Cheek’, which we start and end with just me and bass (on the ‘Heaven, I’m in heaven…’ parts) and which sounds so nice arranged like that.

My voice is going from strength to strength (as well as down from octave to octave), and tonight I truly felt entitled to be there on the stage.

And it’s a fantastic feeling - nay, wonderful, and marvellous - that the audience should care for me.   

Another day of sensory overload yesterday.

Honestly, more happens to me in one day here than in one week back in England.

I think my brain might explode.

In theory, Saturday began as Friday night’s gig ended: meeting more new people in the bar, going nightswimming by moonlight (which deserves a quiet night - and we got one), and going to bed at 5am. Not a terribly smart move given that we had to get up to an alarm, but still.

And the reason we were getting up to an alarm was that a lovely businessman here, who’s been to the bar a few times, absolutely insisted that V and I used his chauffeur-slash-bodyguard to drive us wherever we wanted around the island while he himself was away on business in London.

TK’s act, I’m learning, is typical of Malaysian generosity - which goes completely above and beyond what you usually encounter in the West.

And so it was that B collected us in a ridiculous black 4×4 with chrome bumpers - although this actually turned out to be less ridiculous when we had to scale Penang Hill in it. First off, took us for a multi-course Chinese lunch, over which he presided like a generous father figure (my life as a film, part three: Eat, Drink, Man, Woman) before driving us to Kek Lok Si Temple.

Kek Lok Si is supposedly the largest Buddhist temple in Malaysia, and it looks something like this:

and this:

It was breathtaking, made up of multiple buildings on different levels (which are still being added to), decorated in brilliant colours - and made even more colourful by the hanging red and yellow New Year lanterns which currently adorn it.

I had another Lost In Translation moment when, as Scarlett does, I wrote and hung a wish on a wishing tree (in LiT the wishes were white, but here they were multi-coloured). My wish is in the foreground, on red. No, I didn’t write it in Chinese. It’s on the back:

I felt quite emotional when I wrote it, too.

After the temple, B drove us to the botanical gardens, which V and I mainly wanted to see for a) the greenery and b) the monkeys.

The monkeys apparently bite, and there’s a fine for feeding them, but I couldn’t get enough of them. Especially this one:

I even saw them fighting and having sex. Yes, the monkeys were that good.

From the botanical gardens, we drove up Penang Hill - which is a) a four-hour walk, and b) an incredibly steep gradient, and therefore c) only to be attempted by lunatics.

Or by softies in 4×4s.

Here’s the view from the top:

- which in parts was just so, so beautiful:

The English, shortly after setting foot on Penang in the late 18th century, built homes up on Penang Hill (and originally cultivated it for strawberry-growing - hence its old moniker Strawberry Hill), because it was cooler up there and therefore more bearable to their delicate English constitutions. Apparently, in the days before the road and the furnicular, they used to be carried up by sedan chair. As I remarked to V, going up in an air-conditioned 4×4 is probably the modern-day equivalent.

More pictures from our Big Day Out here.

It’s 0200 hours. What does the ‘O’ stand for? O my god, it’s late.

So I’ll keep this one brief.

After invitations to sing in Guangzhou (China) and Jakarta (Indonesia), there’s now another Asian location apparently crying out for the dulcet tones of Andrea Mann.

Hanoi.

In particular: a posh hotel in Hanoi. And I know it’s posh because it’s ranked fourth out of 196 hotels in Hanoi on TripAdvisor.com.

I think from now on I may make it my new policy never to play at any hotel rated lower than fifth on TripAdvisor. Especially if there’s only five hotels in said town. But I digress.

This hotel in Hanoi would like me to play there for two months - and soon.

I’ve told T that I don’t really want to go away again for that length of time so quickly after my time here. But I don’t get off that easily, ohhh no. Hanoi is calling, and if I can’t do it soon, then apparently they want me there in November and December.

I’m seriously thinking of going.

At this rate, I may end up the British jazz equivalent of the Fun Lovin’ Criminals, ie. famous in Asia but unheard of back home (no one in America knows the FLC, although no one in Britain would know that). Maybe I’ll become Asian Famous. Which, like being Jazz Famous, isn’t that famous at all. Or maybe, better still, I’ll become Asian Jazz Famous, which is less famous than both Asian Famous and Jazz Famous.

Actually, I took another step to becoming Asian (Jazz) Famous in the bar tonight, when I was interviewed in my break by a journalist from the New Straits Times, a national newspaper described to me as “the Malaysian Daily Telegraph“. It was fun. He asked me questions, I plugged T’s agency, he didn’t make many notes, I told him how to spell ‘Brad Mehldau’… And so on.

Who knows. Maybe I’ll become so Asian (Jazz) Famous that I will actually, one day, be Big In Japan. Now that would be fantastic.

The MU’s insurance company is honouring my claim about my Macbook, which is fantastic news. I have to pay £100 excess, but that’s it.

Now all I have to do is wait for the next shipment of Macbooks to Penang.

< Drums fingers >

So, I was standing on stage tonight, and during a piano solo took in the scene in front of me.

In the bar, from left to right, as I looked around I saw: the blogger who had blogged about me (and subsequently tonight, brought me a drink, albeit inconspicuously… like the Wine Fairy); my friend S who took me to play tennis; a group of Spanish people dancing to the music; my friend V propping up the bar with a lovely English guy we’d met, P; B, one of the Ohio guys who, like a trouper, turns up to see me every night; and the brilliant jazz club staff.

And as I surveyed this scene, these people, I thought: it’s like a group of people from a sitcom.

Someone really should set a sitcom in a bar.

So, my blog told me today that another blog is linking to me. 

Here.

How lovely of him.

Another post to follow… 

I did something I’ve never done before in my life yesterday.

I drove a jetski.

Actually, does one “drive” a jetski? I know you ride them; but I didn’t just ride (on?) a jetski. Ohhh no. Because that would imply I was merely the passenger. Whereas I was, in fact, the driver.

And it was BRILLIANT*.

Honestly, I was happy as Larry, driving/riding that jetksi at full pelt off the coast of Batu Ferringhi, with A1 as my wingman. We had a blast - and I think I did pretty well considering that I don’t even know how to drive a car (although I do know how to ride in one).

The whole afternoon was lovely, and fascinating, as always. It’s about a 30-minute drive from the hotel to BF; and it was even interesting before we’d left the hotel area, when I saw one of these negotiating some speed-bumps. And yet the day got even better.

As we drove to Batu Ferringhi, A1 pointed out parts of the island that had been damaged by the tsunami in 2004 - including new flats that had been built for those who had lost their homes. Not surprisingly, these new flats were on stilts.

We then arrived at BF itself - and basically spent the afternoon eating lunch at a bistro on the beach, talking, sunbathing (V) and jetskiing (me and A1). A2 joined us for a drink at the end.

The pictures are here and here - and include photographic evidence of my Top Gun On Water experience.

And yes, it was a Bounty-like paradise. Perhaps the post should have been called ‘Doing a jazz gig… If you’re drinking Bacardi’:

*To be said in Rick from The Young Ones voice.

The beach was lovely today. Exactly like a Bounty/Bacardi advert - even down to the reggae playing in the bar, as we sat with our toes in the sand - but I’ll write about it properly tomorrow, when I’ve uploaded the photos. In the meantime, as Vic tries to get some sleep behind me (eye mask and ear plugs intact), I’ll write about tonight in the bar.

It was a very mixed crowd. Quiet at the beginning; then suddenly busier as a huge group of twentysomething locals (as in: that was their age. Not their group size) arrived; and then more punters after that. Some of whom were listening, some of whom were chatting, but all of whom were dominated by the huge group, who shrieked with laughter and clapped each other at random moments. Well, random as far as we were concerned  - but probably somehow linked to the drinking games they were playing. One of which seemed to involve dares; and one dare of which seemed to involve kissing a member of the band. Because some girl, after unsuccessfully attempting to plant a smacker on Y, moved on to me (as I was offstage), politely explaining that she had to kiss me. To which I proffered a cheek; and after kissing it, she said thank you, told me her name, and said that it was nice to meet me. As you do.

The effect of having this raucous crowd present was that a) it felt like a restaurant gig, where you’re background music (not always a bad thing); and b) I was up for singing whatever, whenever. So I found myself doing ‘Close To You’ (or as it was written on the song request card: ‘Closed To You’) at the end of the night, and the following:

Which is quite possibly my second favourite song dedication card of the trip so far, after ‘Diana Ross’.

Obviously, they meant ‘Smooth Operator’ - so in my break, I popped to the business centre, Googled the lyrics, printed them off and hey presto! At the start of the third set, performed ‘Smoke Operator’ in a perfectly, erm, adequate fashion. At least I could do ‘Your Love Is King’ (a number I do sing) as a follow-up, in a crazy Sade Double Bill.

In the first break I also got talking to an American chap who was propping up the bar. I’ve had this sort of radar on me ever since I first arrived: the ability to spot the lone Westerner (not that that’s too tricky) and to go up and talk to them at the first opportunity. J is part of the Ohio contingency here - they’re building a solar panel plant out in Penang - and he clearly was delighted to have someone new to talk to.

And similarly, at the end of the night, I ended up having a drink with a guy from California who’s traveling around Asia on holiday, and who, it turns out, is a professional hacker. According to him, he’s one of the best. I said: “So is someone who’s not very good at hacking a ‘hack’?”. But he didn’t quite get it.

So, anyway: the reason for the title of this post is the encounters like those I had tonight; and the situation which is bringing these meetings about.

In the bar alone, I’ve met: a millionaire hotel owner, a computer hacker, several engineers from Ohio, a Swede who lives in Bangkok, the wife of a high court judge, the managing director of a car radio company, a retired palm oil plantation owner… and probably many more who I can’t think of right now. And I can meet several of these people in one night.

I don’t normally meet this people in one month in England.

Coming to this place has engineered these encounters. And it’s compounded by the fact that I’m here alone, so open to talking to strangers; and by the fact that hotels are obviously going to attract people who are alone - whether that’s travellers on business or pleasure - and who are, therefore, open to talking to me in return.

And I guess, too, that it’s happening because I like people. It doesn’t go without saying that a musician should also be a people person - but finding myself as I am in this situation, I’m glad that I’m naturally drawn to, and interested in, other people. Otherwise it would be a very lonely time of it indeed. And, hey: I wouldn’t have found myself propping up a bar with a professional computer hacker from California. As you do. Or at least, as I do. When I’m alone in a hotel in Penang.

Just a quick line before today’s outing. V is currently having some sort of turbo massage in the hotel’s spa, and I’m about to do the set list for tonight (and am currently typing this on her Macbook Pro - oh joy!).  Because this afternoon, we’re off to the beach.

A1  - the lovely woman with the deep laugh - is picking us up at 1pm to take us to Batu Ferringhi, Penang’s main (as in: nicest) beach.  Yes, it may look like there’s a beach outside of my window, but in fact, it’s mud:

Whereas Batu Ferringhi, it would seem, looks like a Bounty advert:

I’m imagining it to be something like Ibiza… And funnily enough, they used to film Bounty adverts on Ibiza (or rather, on nearby Formentera). Fancy that.

I’ll be back with pictures, and a beach ball, later. 

V and I went for a wander through Georgetown today - and as we mooched around, poking our nose into shops, eating curry, stopping for a drink at a hostel - I completely fell in love with the place.

Photographically, at least.

Not that I didn’t fall in love with it on other levels - it’s just that it’s such a photogenic town.

The colours, the light, the architecture (a mixture of colonial and Chinese, delapidated and not), the signs… and of course the things which are simply unusual to our Western eyes: tiny shrines holding burning incense sticks, scooters with trays of eggs strapped to the back, bananas hanging in mid-air… I can’t wait to return with the SLR camera that B leant me and really go to town. Quite literally.

I’ve uploaded the photographs onto Flickr here - and added them to the start of the Penang set here.

Meanwhile, here are some of the choicest signs:

For S:

For J:

For my American friends:

 And for everyone else: