It was something of a rollercoaster night again last night.

We’d done a good gig - and I’d got C and N up on stage again to do a number each, it being C’s last night - but P, the bar manager, took the band and myself to one side at the end of the evening. He wasn’t happy; and I won’t go into all the reasons why here, but the conversation which ensued included: the concept of people (guest vocalists, saxophonists) sitting in - to him/people over here that’s “karaoke”; to me it’s what happens at a jazz gig - the idea of not being able to please all of the people all of the time; and talk of how we can make the night more successful. It also included a request for me to “maybe be more like a diva”.

In short, it was slightly painful; but I think I did an OK job of standing my ground over certain points while also making it clear that we as a band want to do our best. I won’t change who or how I am as a performer and be fake in anyway (as D said: “She is she”); but of course I will learn more standards that they know and love over here, if that makes the rest of my repertoire more accessible.

After all, we’re all on the same page here: everyone - me, the band, the hotel, the agent - wants this place to be a successful jazz club. And as I told P, for me, that means putting on great jazz music every night of the week, and creating a welcoming atmosphere. If you build it, they will come, and all that. Or, rather: if you build it, you may lose some of your old punters due to the new music policy, but then hopefully other people come. (Not sure that would have worked in Field Of Dreams, but still). And in the meantime, you market the hell out of the place to get those fresh faces in there.

But enough of all that… Because - just as on the night when I felt like a failure, only to be invited to China - a similar thing happened last night; when after the above conversation, I got back to my room, chatted to V about what had happened (thank goodness she was here!) and checked my emails.

I’d received one from a Malaysian drummer, inviting me to perform at a new jazz club he’s setting up in Jakarta, Indonesia, for a week after I’ve finished in Penang. It turns out from speaking to T that this guy is very famous and well-connected in Asia; but regardless of who he was, I was absolutely up for doing the gig.

And so it goes: after Penang, I’ll probably be going to Jakarta for a week.

And after that: T has asked me if I’m interested in taking over the jazz section of his agency in London.

I’ve said “Yes”.

Both of these events - and the China invitation - have made me think again about a quotation by the Scottish mountaineer WH Murray, which I stumbled across some months ago. At the time, I immediately forwarded it to B - The One Who I Shouldn’t Be Speaking To Right Now - because he set himself an amazing project to do last year, and from it, all kinds of incredible meetings and opportunities arose.

It comes from the beginning of Murray’s book The Scottish Himalayan Expedition, from 1951:

“… but when I said that nothing had been done I erred in one important matter. We had definitely committed ourselves and were halfway out of our ruts. We had put down our passage money— booked a sailing to Bombay. This may sound too simple, but is great in consequence. Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. I learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets:

‘Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!’”

Turns out the Goethe quotation is actually something of a misquotation; but you get the idea. And in fact, it’s not so much about the Goethe quote as about Murray’s earlier point: that from one step, making one commitment, so many other, unforeseen things flow. It really is quite magical.

My voice is getting lower.

My singing voice, that is. My speaking voice hasn’t broken, or anything.

It’s been lower than when I first started singing seriously (as opposed to silly-ly) for a while now; but it’s got even lower. I knew that on Valentine’s Day I would be pretty much obliged to sing ‘My Funny Valentine’ at least once during the night; so double-checked my key.

I took it down from F minor to D minor.

To those of you to whom that means nothing: in short, I now have the voice of a tenor. Not even an alto. A tenor.

A fact which was thrown even more into the spotlight on Saturday, when a young, local saxophonist, J, sat in for the final set. (To those of you to whom that means nothing: he joined in).

J plays tenor sax - beautifully, with a tone like Ben Webster’s - and it was a joy to have him perform with us. It was also slightly alarming, though not unpleasant, to realise that my range is so low that it’s practically the same as his; and so we found ourselves singing/playing similar notes  - sometimes in a similar swooping, breathy, way.

Who’d have thunk it?

I already have a trumpet impression pretty much perfected. Perhaps I should now work on a sax one? 

Malaysian currency - ringgits and sens (as in ‘cents’) - really is rather good. 

For these two reasons:

1. The notes are all different sizes and colours according to their denomination; and the coins are similarly logically sized/coloured. On the very first day I used both notes and coins, at a supermarket, I found myself paying for something as quickly as a native. This is as opposed to any time I’m in America, when I stand deliberating like a tourist (or in the case of notes: a native), trying to work out the denomination of each note and the value of each coin. It could possibly be the world’s simplest currency. 

2. One Malaysian Ringgit is roughly equal to 15 British pence - which means that you think you’re spending a lot, when in fact you’re spending very little. As a result, you find yourself curbing your spending (even though goods are much cheaper over here) as your brain thinks that 50 Ringgits is a fortune, when actually it’s about five quid. This is very helpful when you are, as I am, up financial poo creek without a Ringgit.  


(PS. I was originally going to call this post ‘Notes From A Small Island’ - which, thinking about it, could have been a good alternative title for the blog. Maybe that’s what I’ll call my next one, should I ever find myself singing in Corsica/Sicily/Anglesey).  

My friend V arrived from London yesterday, and I’m doing a pretty good job of making her remain in jetlag, and thus keep my hours for a week.

She went to bed like a wuss at around 11pm last night; but tonight we were on true jetsetter/musician form, and ate out at 11pm. That said, we were completely unaware of how late it was. You know you’re a jetsetter/musician when you sit down to eat halfway through your evening, and the waiter says: “Excuse me, ma’am, but it’s last orders in the kitchen.”

I’m sure he said the “ma’am” bit, too.

V and I had spent the afternoon - I don’t do mornings, remember - eating brunch, lounging by the pool, investigating the mall, blogging for work (me) and sunbathing (V). I was astounded by how easily she coped with the furnace-like temperatures here; although, that said, her skin didn’t cope quite as well. Thus she is very red in certain places as I type this.

This evening, we went into Georgetown - starting the night, as has become my wont, at the E&O Hotel. We then went off exploring for food, walking through some of the fascinating smaller streets in Georgetown that I haven’t investigated yet. V was slightly alarmed by the idea of eating in a street cafe (don’t worry, by the end of the week I’ll have her eating dahl with her hands), so in the end we plumped for a very nice Asian/fusion restaurant on the main drag.

We sat outside, directly opposite this sign:

Sadly, it was a Sunday, and neither of us was wearing a mini skirt. But at least that prevented the awkward possibility of one of us winning the title of most Sexiest Girl.  

We had a band rehearsal yesterday afternoon; and armed with notes (in both senses), I took the trio through every single song that’s been uncertain thus far.

We went through the changes (technical jazz term for ‘chords’ ;-)) for the few songs that had fallen down spectacularly on gigs; we went through the arrangements for all the songs which go into time (as in, we start the song - or do it once through - out of tempo, and then go into tempo); I told them about following my lead at the end of songs, in terms of how and when to end them; and I talked to them about light and shade - making our ballads gentler, keeping endings soft if I have ended on a quiet note (erm, literally), and following my dynamic in general if and when a song builds, or ebbs, or whatever. In jazz they call it having ‘big ears’ - and I told the trio about this expression, about the need to listen, listen, listen to what’s going on around them, whether that be the dynamics changing or, erm, simply being in the wrong place in the song.

The main thing, though, was to clear up any hesitancies they were having over certain tunes, and to make us tight, tight, tight when it came to beginnings, endings, and any arrangements in between.

The result was quite astounding.

Last night we had, quite simply, our best gig ever. Because suddenly we were TIGHT. They followed my lead brilliantly; L (drums) counted in the tempos at certain points perfectly; Y (bass) was more confident, it seemed; and D (piano) had more light and shade to his playing than ever before. We felt together, we felt in the pocket. It was like a penny had dropped and suddenly, now, we’re making the music I want us to be making. It was wonderful.

Oh, and I also received my favourite song dedication card of the trip so far:

Fantastic. 

After Sugar Cane Special, here were the steps involved in yesterday’s lunchtime outing with Tennis S and Italian-German C, a woman who’s staying in the hotel, too.

First, food in a restaurant in Georgetown’s ‘Little India’, a fascinating area full of ramshackle shops and eateries and bright colours and Indian smells. We went for a famous banana leaf-style lunch (as opposed to a famous curry fish head), which goes something like this:

1. Place banana leaf on table.

2. Add rice:

3. Add dahl:

4. Add condiments and a piece of fried fish or mutton curry, according to degree of carnivoriousness:

5. Eat the following with your fingers (yes, fingers. Brick Lane Curry Nights will never be the same again):

6. Fold banana leaf to show that you’re done:

(Handily doubles up as a clutch bag.)

And for afters? Why, trying drinking a coconut!

Before:

During, part one:

During, part two:

During, part three:

After:

This is hard core coconut drinking, too. The coconut isn’t ripe - hence being green, as opposed to brown and hairy - and so the resulting liquid isn’t milk-like and coconut-tasting, but clear, and well, slightly sweet and nutty tasting. I can’t say I’m a huge fan, but still. At least now I’ve had coconut in more forms than a) a korma and b) a Bounty bar.

Oh, and look: there was a lovely man wearing a traditional Malaysian outfit in the exact same colour as a coconut. And he didn’t seem to be insulted by me making that observation, either:

I’m in the Executive Lounge doing some work, and have asked them to change the CD that’s playing over the sound system, because I swear to God, if I hear ‘I Believe I Can Fly’ played on saxophone just one more time I may strangle someone.

They laughed a lot when I said that - fortunately - and duly obliged.

And guess who they’ve put on?

That’s riiiight!

At least, I think it’s him. I can’t be sure. All  I know is that it isn’t Frank Sinatra singing ‘The Way You Look Tonight’.

STOP PRESS: Horrific realisation. It took the presence of ‘Uptown Girl’ to do it - but I’ve just realised that the offenders in question are Westlife. I never thought I’d say this, but Michael Buble: I take it all back.

I had my first Day Of Doing Something Proper Before Doing An Evening Gig yesterday.

At that Something Proper was Playing Tennis.

I really enjoy tennis, but am not so much a beginner, as an executive beginner. The last time I picked up a racquet - and actually played tennis with it - was five years ago. And the last time before that was about five years before that.

I’m also terribly unfit and do no exercise whatsoever (bar my 30-minute workouts in the gym here - if you can call walking while watching CNN ‘working out’ - and my daily, Flipper-like, splashing about in the swimming pool).

So naturally, when someone asked me if I wanted to play a game of tennis in 34 degree heat and gross humidity, I said “yes”.

It’s becoming my new answer to everything.

My tennis partner was S, an incredibly friendly, middle-aged guy who retired when he was 47 and now seems to be the male version of a lady of leisure. The venue was Penang Sports Club, of which he’s a member; an old colonial building which sports cannons on its front lawn (amazing what steps they take to keep out non-members) and multiple tennis courts on its back lawn…

… as well as a cricket pitch, which is about to host some of the matches of the Under 19 Cricket World Cup, and courts/halls for just about every other sport imaginable, as long as it involves a ball. Although, no, I tell a lie: they do have badminton courts.

Anyway, S was a good sport in every sense of the word, putting up with my lousy playing and not being too dismayed that the longest rally we had involved about six strokes, and took place once every half an hour.

He kept saying, “It’s the humidity, it’s the humidity. You must take it easy…”; and got quite alarmed when I started patting my chest at one point to indicate that my heart was racing, as he thought it meant I was having some sort of major chest pain.

If there was any sort of pain, it was more the embarrassment at my playing; and then my embarrassment at my embarrassment, when I realised that I was the only person shouting “Sorry!” every five minutes across the entire length of the courts.

Fortunately - because I did really enjoy playing - S hasn’t given up on me. He’s going to help me find a cheap second-hand racquet, and we’re going to start playing more. Next time, apparently, it will be doubles with the former British Consul to Penang, who we bumped into while we were there. A 75-year-old chap - and he’s most definitely a ‘chap’ - with a white handlebar moustache, he plays tennis at the club every day, and the first thing he said to us (in a fantastic Jeeves And Wooster-style accent) was: “He’s always grabbing my balls!”. Brilliant. I could have sworn I was in an episode of It Ain’t Half Hot Mum.

PS. There are more photos from Penang Sports Club - including shots of its Wimbledon-like lawn courts and comedy signage - here.

It’s late, and I’m pretty pooped, but I just wanted to write a quick line about tonight’s gig. Because it was a lovely evening.

The band did well, and the audience was fairly plentiful, and very receptive. There were some nice familiar faces in the crowd, too - guys from Ohio who I’ve met here, the local who took me to play tennis today (more of that tomorrow), and the lovely C and N (N being the living Penang jazz legend who sang at the E&O for 28 years).

I admitted to not knowing all the verses to ‘Makin’ Whoopee’ - so after I sang the ones I did know, C came up on stage and finished off the song; which was a lot of fun. And then, before they left, we persuaded N to come up and do a number.

As I stood and watched this elderly lady sing ‘It Had To Be You’ absolutely simply and disarmingly, it hit me just how wonderful this music is that I make.

This music, these songs, bring together people of all generations and across all nationalities. It really was quite something to watch; and made me feel hugely privileged to be part of the world that makes this music.

And before I get any soppier - although it is Valentine’s Day, after all - I’ll go to bed. Night night. And Happy Valentine’s Day to you all (it’s not that weird to wish it to people over here, you know. Turns out it’s a bit like saying “Happy New Year”. See how travel broadens the mind?).

(with apologies to Christopher Cross)

Once in your life, you find him
Someone who turns your heart around
And next thing you know
You’re closing down the town

Wake up and it’s still with you
Even though you left him way across the Pond
Wondering to yourself “Hey, what’ve I fond?”

When you get caught between the moon and New York City
I know it’s crazy, but it’s true
If you get caught between the moon and New York City
The best that you can do (the best that you can do)
The best that you can do
Is fall in love

Andrea, she does as she pleases
All of her life, her master’s toys
And deep in her heart
She’s just, she’s just a boy

Living her life one day at a time
She’s showing Penang a really good time
Laughing about the way they want her to be

When you get caught between the moon and New York City
I know it’s crazy, but it’s true
If you get caught between the moon and New York City
The best that you can do (the best that you can do)
The best that you can do
Is fall in love

(Repeat chorus to fade)