Bill Murray is staying in the Hilton KL.

I was just in a lift with Bill Murray.

Oh. My. God.

So, it’s farewell to Singapore (above, below). 24 hours in the country/city/island, courtesy of D’s uber-generous hospitality - thank you again, sir - and the verdict?

Well, as we were driving down the main shopping boulevard (and it was definitely a boulevard, not a street) last night, I suddenly put my finger on how to describe the place.

Singapore feels like The Truman Show.

I was looking through the car window at the shops, the trees, the people, the traffic moving down the streets, the Gap and HMV and Gucci signage and… well, it all looked normal. But then it hit me. Singapore feels more like the appearance of normality than normality itself.

Now, this could be down to the place being famously clean, and modern, and safe, and well-functioning. Because in fact, Singapore is more than just ‘normal’ - it’s too normal. It’s perfect (in a capitalist, developed way). Which would lead some to say that it ‘lacks soul’. But… no, it’s even more indefinable than that.

Singapore just doesn’t feel real.

It feels like a film set. No, scrub that. New York feels like a film set, and yet it’s also very real. No, Singapore doesn’t look and feel like a film or TV set. Singapore looks and feels like those little 3D models which architects/town-planners make of new shopping centres/airports/public spaces. Complete with little model cars and trees and people. Yes, that’s Singapore. Only slightly larger, of course.

(Btw, I’m writing this on the flight, and the cabin crew have just announced that drug-trafficking can result in capital punishment in Malaysia and can we return to our seats now, please.)

One final thought: Singapore is also a curious mixture of the liberal and illiberal.

The Singaporean government - which, like the Malaysian one, has been in power for decades, ever since independence - is socialist. And in many ways, Singapore is a fantastic example of a modern, socialist society in which everybody is housed (in fact, Singapore has the highest percentage of home-owners in the world), people are generally well-off, the public transport system is second-to-none and unemployment is very low. And yet I defy you to walk around a city that feels more capitalist - with the exception of Times Square in New York, perhaps - being, filled, as it is, with high-rise corporate headquarters, banks and shopping boulevards (there they are again).

And in terms of its values, Singapore’s liberal, socialist stance on certain things - prostitution is legal, housing is a right - contrasts jarringly with the country’s at best conservative, at worst, massively illiberal, side: state-owned media, regulated internet, the death penalty, and the criminalisation of homosexuality.

Mind you, even chewing gum is illegal in Singapore. See what I mean about place not really being normal?

(Well, it had to be done, didn’t it?)

So, I’m in Singapore. Which is, fact fans: an island, a country and a city. And very rainy. And very hot. The reason I’m here, in case you missed it, is that D, the hotel owner, had told me that I must come and visit him while I was in Asia. And, well, who am I to refuse the generous offer of a millionaire building magnate? Nobody, that’s who.

That said, for a nobody, I’m doing pretty well. I was met at the airport by somebody holding a card with my name on it (a first), and driven to my abode for the night in a Rolls-Royce (not surprisingly, another first).

What strangely didn’t feel like a first, though, was seeing the Singapore city skyline, which is spookily reminiscent of downtown Manhattan:

Though obviously not as big. And with a few more Chinese signs around.

D is very kindly putting me up in his family home, where he lives with his three children, M (18), L (15) and M2 (10). I’m staying in his other daughter’s room - she’s currently a boarder at Rodean - and I feel like I’m in the kind of house kids lived in on Beverly Hills 90210.

(That said, the children are cool. Especially M2, who likes to answer my questions about the country/city like an informed tour guide, chipping in before his father and normally beginning each answer with an affirmative: “Pretty much.”)

But back to this house.

To put it in perspective: when I was first laid up with my cold this week, I didn’t leave my hotel room for 24 hours. And I realised why I was able to do that, and why it didn’t feel odd.

It was because my hotel room is approximately the same size as my entire flat back home.

But, well… something tells me we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

This house is ridiculous. In a good way. It’s a modern, open-plan-yet-rabbit-warren-type of place, all horizontal lines, pale wooden floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. In short, it’s exactly the sort of architect-designed home you’d see on a programme like Grand Designs. Complete with a kitchen the size of one you’d find in a fancy restaurant (I counted three sinks); a pool which I think is ornamental as opposed to made for swimming; a Yamaha drum kit; a Steinway piano; and multiple dining areas - one of which houses a huge round, glass table with the largest Lazy Susan in existence. Probably.

Oh, and an adorable Golden Retriever called Snowy.

We all went out for lunch together, at the Singapore National Museum - which is quite possibly one of the most striking and well-done museum spaces I’ve ever been to (an old colonial building with a modern annex) and even has happy hours in its cool little bar. That’s my kind of learning establishment!

The museum also houses a fascinating, labyrinthine exhibition about the history of Singapore; and these very cool swinging chandeliers, which I think have given me my favourite photo of the trip so far:

After which we went on a tour of Singapore city by car (see the pictures here).

But right now, we’re back at the house. And after dinner with the kids, D and I are going to go down to the quayside and to Raffles Hotel for - you guessed it! - a Singapore Sling.

Well, it has to be done, doesn’t it?

No, not the camera. Or the bathroom. Or me. The bathrobe.

Just to prove it is me, though (and can you tell I’ve been cutting my own fringe?):

Right, I’m off to bed now. I’ve got an early start - a morning flight to Singapore! So watch this space for a post headline which will undoubtedly involve some pun on ‘Singapore Sling’. Unless I break my arm. In which case it won’t so much be a ‘pun’, as ‘literal’. But here’s hoping that won’t happen. Night lah!

I’ve been asked for a music update, so here you go…

1. Jakarta may not be happening. The person concerned has gone quiet on us; and as T pointed out, some people may talk the talk here, but not necessarily see things through.

2a. A customer who was in the other night, from Canada, chatted to me very enthusiastically and gave me his business card, and when I gave him mine, asked me for another one to pass on to the people at the Hilton Kuala Lumpur, because he stays there a lot and said he would tell them about me. I didn’t think much of it… Until I got an email yesterday from, yes, the Hilton Kuala Lumpur expressing an interest in me playing there later this year. The person in question is going to come over to Penang for the day (it’s about an hour’s flight) to meet me and here me sing. A gig there would be great: we’re truly talking Lost In Translation-stylee hotel, here…

2b. The girl who’s currently singing at the Hilton Kuala Lumpur has also emailed me, to say hello.

2c. As has the next person from London due to come out here to Penang, in June/July.

3. Gigs have been going fine. There was a crowd of women in the other night, who demanded ‘music we can dance to!’ which led to a massive medley of songs which left me slightly exhausted. And then last night was quiet again; although I did have my quickest request to join a group of customers for a drink yet, being accosted quite literally the moment I walked through the door.

The person in question was H, who’s something of a regular there, and who was drinking with colleagues and friends both Malaysian and American. He requested ‘Crazy’, and I duly obliged.

By the end of the night, his group had left and there were literally three people in the audience, which at least led us to be a little silly on stage, and to finish the night off with a request from the bar staff - ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’ - during which everyone in the band took a solo, L and I traded fours, and we ended up with all sorts of nonsense… As I said to L at the end: it was a classic case of ‘playing as though nobody’s watching’. In a good way.

The playing hasn’t been perfect, by any means, lately. But the guys definitely have their ears open more; and so even when something untoward happens, they are hanging in there and recovering better. I used last Saturday’s rehearsal to go through some more new songs; but, as I did previously, I’m going to use this coming one to go over them again and tighten up our arrangements.

4. I’m trying to find a good chart for ‘Sway’. And then ‘It Had Better Be Tonight’. Michael Buble - I give in.

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?

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.

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.

Life is, indeed, a rollercoaster.

Such a strange night.

I’ve felt like my singing has been pretty ropey over the past few nights; and at the end of the second set tonight, virtually burst into tears as soon as I came off stage.

(Being a professional, I did of course burst into tears out of sight, backstage.)

It was a combination of things: feeling like I was singing poorly, and that I’m just not fulfilling people’s expectations of me here - feeling like an amateur, I guess, not some pro from London who knows what she’s doing; feeling like I was ‘fire-fighting’ again on stage, not feeling confident about how we were sounding, and downhearted as a result; people not clapping and therefore feeling like I’m just rubbish, and failing in some way (see first ‘thing’); and, well, probably just an outpouring of stress of feeling all the above, on and off, for a few days now. Being surrounded by new people, being in a hotel, performing every night… It’s like I’m constantly ‘on show’, and, well, I just couldn’t hold it in any more. Feeling the tears coming, I grabbed L (the drummer) as soon as the set finished, and in the back room, sobbed a bit as I told him how I was feeling.

He was lovely, and reassured me that I sounded fine; that he and the band were all happy working with me; and that people here, well, “they don’t ‘get’ jazz. It’s difficult”. (Which goes back to this whole requests-for-pop-songs thing).

While I was in the midst of this outpouring to L, one of the bar staff told us that there was a Chinese gentleman who wanted to talk to me. L and I finished up; I wiped my eyes and hoped that they weren’t too smeared, and went out to meet the man in question.

He only turned out to be some bigwig from Marriott. He told me that he really liked what I did, and wanted to know if I’d be interested in playing the Marriott Hotel (or hotels, maybe there are several, I don’t know) in China sometime. He gave me his card, and said to give him a few months’ notice about when I wanted to do it.

Ten minutes’ earlier I’d been feeling like an utter failure; now I was being asked to come to China.

(Unfortunately - or possibly fortunately - the whole ‘human rights issue thing’ only hit me a few minutes later).

So, buoyed up by this unexpected meeting, and wondering just how bad those human rights abuses really are, I went back on stage for the final set: and my voice suddenly sounded ten times better. It sounded like it should; like it does when I’m on form.

It made me realise completely that I’m just not warming up enough before gigs; and that I should get to the bar much, much earlier of an evening to simply sit at the piano, or even just stand at the mic, and sing. I’ve never taken the idea of warming up very seriously in the past. But then, I’ve not had 18 sets a week to perform, on a stage, to a listening audience in the past, either. Lesson learned.

The evening took another twist at the very end of the night, too. Two 40/50-something women in the audience asked me to join them for a drink. One of them (A1 - all chat-chat-chat and hearty laugh) had asked for ‘Cry Me A River’ earlier in the evening, and I recognised her from a previous night, too. Anyway, she and her friend, A2, were just fab, and insisted that we all go out sometime. They gave me their numbers and suggested they take me and my friend V (who’s arriving on Saturday for a week-long visit), to Penang’s main beach resort, Batu Ferrenghi, next week. “Make sure you call me!” was A1’s parting shot.

And that, leedezengennelmen, was my night. Phew.