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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?).

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.

Advantages of performing in a foreign country, No.2: No one you know is there when you sing ‘Have I Told You Lately That I Love You’ and ‘Vincent’.

Mind you, I think I did a surprisingly good job of them.

Yes, I thought it was about time for a music update. I would have written and posted this yesterday, but the hotel’s internet connection was down. Yes, even in the Executive Lounge! Imagine!

I ended up singing ‘Vincent’ and ‘Have I Told You…’ at the start of the evening the night before last, when the audience consisted of two young women who kept handing the waiter song dedication cards asking for things like ‘The Power Of Love’, various other Celine Dion numbers, and yes, the Don McLean and Van Morrison songs above. Having noticed that ‘Vincent’ is supremely popular over here, I should have known that it was coming. So we made a fist of it… Although it didn’t last long, as I didn’t know all the words. Looking later for the lyrics online, it turns out there are an awful lot of words to ‘Vincent’, so that’s no great embarrassment.

And as for ‘Have I Told You Lately’… Well, I could remember the words to that, having heard it enough times (I’m a big Van Morrison fan). But I would never choose to sing that song because it’s about loving God, and I’m not A Believer, as The Monkees almost said. You’ve got to hand it to Van: he found God and Jesus, and consequently went on to write a smash hit song about his love for both of them, cunningly disguised as a regular love song. And most people have never noticed. Which was, presumably, the idea.

So, yes, as you can tell, I am feeling more open to doing requests for pop songs - although in future I will only attempt them if they’re remotely jazzy and/or we can do them in a jazzy way (’Vincent’ with a gentle latin feel, anyone?). I’m not going to add any of these sorts of songs to my set lists, but I will keep copies of the words on my music stand just in case anyone asks for them. A few punters, and D the pianist, have told me how popular I’ll be if I know certain songs; but it’s a fine line, as I said the other day, between keeping the crowd happy and becoming their Performing Pop Music Monkey.

Music-wise, I’m wanting the band to get tighter and slicker; we’re still faltering in certain places and over certain tunes, and as a result I feel like I’m doing too much ‘fire-fighting’, instead of just being able to relax on the gig and be confident that everything’s going to be OK. Because it’s only when you can do the latter that you can really shine, and try out new stuff musicially, and can communicate a song properly. If you’re worried about anything, anything at all, it makes all those things almost impossible.

So as a result, I’ve told the guys that I don’t want us to learn any new songs at our rehearsal this coming Saturday, but to use the time instead to fine-tune the 50 or so songs we’re already doing. On the one hand I don’t want us to get bored, and would love to add new songs - but there’s no point in adding more if we’re just going to continue to perform them in an OK, but not great, manner. You have to perfect the ones you’ve got so far before tackling more.

And as for the audiences on the past few nights… Well, Saturday’s was request-tastic; and on Monday and last night, the audience contained a living legend on the island of Penang: a glamorous, elderly jazz singer, N, who sang at the E&O Hotel every night for 28 years. Yes, every night. For 28 years. Celine Dion, eat your heart out! (But then, if you do, I suppose it will still go on, won’t it?)

N used to perform with her pianist husband, who passed away several months ago; and she was in the bar watching us with a lovely Dutch woman, C, who also used to be married to a famous jazz pianist, David Ng. My bass player friend CC told me that David Ng was phenomenal - “the Malaysian Bill Evans” - and he used to play all around the world, even working with the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra. David died four years ago, and C was back in Penang - where she’s returned every year - for a memorial service for him, and to scatter his ashes here. On Monday night, after the service, she and N filled in a dedication card requesting ‘Unforgettable’, in memory of their late husbands. “Because they are,” said C. It was an honour to sing it for them.

I was released from captivity today by S, a local bass player and all-round nice guy who, with his friends K and J, had invited me out to lunch.

We drove to a sea-food restaurant down by the water’s edge, at the end of a dusty little road full of ramshackle, shack-like little bungalows (a typical Penang residence, I’m finding) - and right next to a temple. In front of which there were enormous, pink incense sticks burning:

The restaurant itself looked like this:

And this:

And we ate this:

(Alongside clams in their shells, some sort of egg dish, baby pak choi, rice and spring rolls).

To avoid acting like Darryl Hannah in Splash, I took advice from the guys on how to eat the giant prawns. Those of you who know me will know that I have embraced fish-eating again after an 18-year hiatus; and so I’m a bit of a newbie when it comes to the art - nay, skill - of sea-food consumption. I learned that basically, with giant prawns, you pull their head off, remove their ’shell’, and eat the rest. I tried not to look as I pulled the heads off. It’s one thing to start eating fish again - it’s quite another to embrace decapitating an animal. Small steps.

(Incidentally, I’ll blog properly about the food in Malaysia when I’ve experienced more of it - ie. not just the buffets in the hotel restaurant. Marvellous as they are.)

I think today marked a turning point. I’ve felt slightly guilty for not exploring much beyond the hotel in the first 10 days or so that I’ve been here; but I think it’s been due to a combination of jetlag, rehearsals, getting used to the climate (trust me: it’s too hot to ‘just pop out for a walk’), getting used to this rather bizarre lifestyle, having those down days, and knowing that I’ve got two months to explore this place. I think also that it’s taken me a full week of work - tonight will be our sixth straight night of performing - to get used to the true musician’s lifestyle: namely, doing other stuff in the daytime and not going to work until 9 or 10pm. At first, I was clock-watching during the day, and would find myself sitting in my hotel room in my Little Black Dress, twiddling my thumbs, far too early. Now I’ve got used to it; and plan to go out exploring during the daytime, go take photographs, go on day trips, and not return to my hotel room until it’s time to put on that Little Black Dress and head down to the bar. Just like the pros do with their residencies, I’m sure. (I’m thinking Celine Dion, Tony Bennett and Jane MacDonald, here).

Today also marks a turning point because I spent time, erm, socialising. Like, erm, properly. And I’m going out tomorrow too, with another group of people. Short of that first supper out on my first night performing - and any chatting to people in the bar after my gigs - all my downtime has been spent alone. Which is fine in many ways - as I said before, I’m used to being alone, and often love and crave it - but now that I’m starting to go out with people, I feel like I’ll be getting a new, happier balance between social time and solitude. And of course, it will be great to start getting to know the people I’m meeting better, as I did today with S and his friends. Otherwise, as I told someone the other day, being out here risks feeling like one long party: full of introductions and smalltalk.

It’s quite a nice venue for a party, though. Here was the view at lunch today:

Not too shabby, eh?

Well, except for the bits that look like this:

Still, that’s the charm of the place.