The Umpteenth Journal Attempt (Version III)

So last week I was in Singapore. Had some stuff to do, among them going to the Oasis gig at the Singapore Indoor Stadium. Normally I wouldn’t even bother going to another country just to catch a gig, but this was different. This was a band that I’d been heavily into for the past eleven years, a band that was still around - albeit in a largely different incarnation than the one I’d got into since 1995 - and had not devolved into something utterly embarrassing. Worth making the overseas trip for, I figured. Plus I had some company in Yoga and his cousin Tia, who were equally up for it.

But then we got ambitious. Why travel all the way over there just for 90 minutes of live music? Yes, there’s the tourism and shopping bit, which is nice (and what most people go to Singapore for anyway), but for some reason this gig experience was all about going the extra mile, both literally and figuratively. Here’s a snippet of conversation I had with Yoga on Yahoo Messenger while planning our trip:

ynandiwardhana (2/15/2006 2:47:03 PM): destinations: cd shop, comic shop, liverpool store
hasief (2/15/2006 2:47:03 PM): stalk the hotel, venue, etc.
ynandiwardhana (2/15/2006 2:47:04 PM): that’s all for me
ynandiwardhana (2/15/2006 2:49:24 PM): stalk the hotel, you serious? i knew you had some luck before but it’s a much more strict country

For the record, the "luck" I had with stalking was when I stumbled upon Korn at their hotel, February 2004. Earlier that day they had their press conference, then I left the car their and went to the venue by cab. When I returned to pick up the car after the gig, there was Fieldy the bass player roaming the halls and playing bass with the lounge band. I got his autograph and figured I might as well have a shot at getting the rest of the band and joined a bunch of other kids waiting in the lobby. Unfortunately, while they did show up on their way to checking out, overzealous security prevented us from getting close. A year later Yoga and I tried the same thing with The Prodigy at the same hotel, but absolutely no luck there.

So it was a crazy idea to try it with Oasis, especially since it was in another country. But this was Oasis, after all. How could we not have a go? So we decided we were going to track the band down. No idea how exactly, just track them down, say hi, get a picture or autograph, gush about how we’d waited over a decade to see them, whatever.

Well, not entirely clueless. Before departure, I did some groundwork, based on my five years’ experience as a music journalist and 11 years experience as a rabid Oasis fan. I tried to figure out which hotel they were staying at based on what I’d read in recent articles and my own observations as to which hotel was the preferred choice for global superstars. And then I watched the Definitely Maybe DVD, which featured several inner circle members who might be prove useful.

Upon arrival the day before the gig, we had already narrowed down the possible hotels to two choices. Fortunately, they were both in the Orchard area, and since most of our travelling would be around Orchard, it’d be an easy matter of just walking up and checking them out. At the end of the night, we went our seperate ways because we were at different accomodations, and agreed to meet up the next day.

I woke up on Thursday, the day of the gig. I thought we were going to go hunting right away, so I packed my CD and a marker. Just in case, you know. We arranged to meet at Borders Books on Orchard at 11. After discussing the matter, we decided we’d have a bigger chance of finding the band at their hotel after the gig, so we would spend the afternoon doing the tourist schtick. I had lunch with Hanief (my older brother who works and lives in Singapore with his family, whose office was nearby), and then met back with Yoga and Tia who were at McDonald’s across the road from Borders. After about half an hour of just sitting around, we were about to leave when Yoga spotted someone who looked vaguely familiar passing by: "Hey, that guy looks like Liam." My first instinct was to think it was just a crap joke, but I turned around to have a look anyway. Which means I’m a sucker for crap jokes, I guess. But I looked. Yeah, that guy did look kinda like Liam Gallagher, lead singer of Oasis, in case you’ve been living under a rock this past decade. Still, we were in Singapore, where Caucasians are not in short supply, so this guy would be just another face in the crowd with a shopping bag. I strained my eyes to get a better look. He was wearing a hat and an Adidas tracksuit, just what Liam would wear. Then again, this could be some guy paying tribute to his style. And then came the clincher: the sideburns! Oh, and the bodyguard walking a metre in front of him was a strong hint, too.

Upon realising that this was the real deal, my jaw dropped. After I picked my jaw back up, I lost all inhibitions and shouted his name. He turned to look, and we rushed over, just short of pinching ourselves. We babbled about how we’d come all the way from Indonesia just to see the band, and he just went, "Cool," in his minimalist way. After getting our picture taken with him and having him sign my CD (I knew I brought it with me for a reason), he walked off across the road.

We were still dazed in awe. But Tia decided that she wanted to have her picture taken again, and since we probably wouldn’t have a chance to be that close to him again, we stalked him across the road. Fortunately, he’d stopped to chat with someone, and as we got to his side of the road, it turned out that that someone was Gem Archer, Oasis guitarist. What were the odds? Pretty unbelievable. So we got his photo and autograph too, chatted for a bit (and he confirmed where they were staying) and then he walked off with his own shopping bag. At that point, if the gig turned out to suck, we wouldn’t really mind. Though it would suck if I’d missed the gig because I forgot to bring my ticket, which I did. But luckily, this being Singapore and not Jakarta, there was more than enough time to pop home and get it, and then head to the venue.

We got to the venue, and since we had the premium tickets, we got spots somewhere near the front. We waited quite a while for the band to show up, and when the stadium went totally dark apart from some blue light shining onto the stage, chills went down my spine. Finally, after 11 years! It was packed up front and everyone was sweaty, but who cares? This is what we’d been waiting for, and we were determined to make the best of it. Singing at the top of our voices, genuinely attempting to actually stay in tune but not being too bothered if our voices were terrible. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in that part of the audience, the one right up front, jumping up and down and shredding my throat because there were just so many songs I knew like the back of my hand to sing along to, and it couldn’t have happened at a better gig. After so many years of seeing Oasis concerts on TV, video and DVD and being in absolute envy of the sea of people having a good time, it felt really good to finally be able to experience it first-hand.

The entire time I was at the venue, I was hell-bent on accomplishing my usual routine at gigs, which is to retrieve a setlist. The difficulty of acquiring one depends on a number of variables. My experiences so far in Jakarta have led me to believe that it’s rather easy there, because it seems not many people place any value in a scrap of paper with song titles on it. Plus I have the advantage of speaking English when it comes to foreign acts, so it’s easier for me to call out a roadie who’s busy putting away the band’s gear and have him pass me one.

But this being Singapore, where English is the main language, the playing field was harder. So I had to gamble on not everyone who’d be hanging out by the barricade in hope of some post-gig mementos would be a big Oasis fan. I mean, they probably knew the songs by heart, but did they know the name of the guitar tech? I did, and I had my eye on him even before the gig started. As soon as the final strains of feedback faded, I made my way to the barricade, waited for him to come within earshot, and shouted his name. He took notice, I gestured for the setlist, he got the message. But after he removed the setlist from the stage, I got a queasy feeling as he started folding it up and made like he was going to toss it over, because that meant it would be fair game for anyone who was aware of what was happening, and it would make my advantage go to waste. So he tossed it, it dropped and got stuck on the upper part of the barricade’s support beam just under me. I instantly leaped, reached down, and swiped it. I think I bruised my chest on the barricade, but that was nothing compared to the satisfaction.

End of story? Not quite. We got out of the venue and went to the rear entrance, see if we could find them again. (Plus I still had several signatures to go to complete my collection.) Unfortunately a lot of people had the same idea and were swarming the spot. So we changed plans and decided to head to the hotel. When we got there, there were also a number of fans (including Ifrah, who’d been lucky enough to get pulled onstage by Liam and got his tambourine, and promptly lost her mind), but a much smaller number. I’d thought the band had already left the instant the last chord was played, but I deduced from the gathering that they were still on their way.

An hour later, and there they were. Cameras flashed, items were signed. Noel Gallagher and Andy Bell completed the autographs on my CD, while my setlist had everyone except Liam, plus touring players Zak Starkey (the drummer) and ex-Kula Shaker keyboardist Jay Darlington. I asked Jay if he was going back to Kula Shaker, whose other three members had recently got back together, and he said no, it was more fun with Oasis. Then Yoga overheard a conversation between Zak and a fan wearing a John Lennon t-shirt. The fan pointed to the t-shirt and said, "Here’s your dad’s band leader!" Zak (son of Ringo Starr, you see) snapped back, "What do you mean? That was my dad’s band!" Quote of the day.

And while Noel was signing autographs for the fans (using my marker, I might add), I dorkily asked if I could shake his hand. He put on a bemused expression, extended his right hand while still signing with his left (he’s a lefty), and carried on. Awesome. I’d have been equally happy if he’d told me to piss off. The man!

Eventually they were all ushered into the hotel by security, and us fans were left starstruck by our close encounter. Tia, Yoga and I headed back home. Legs aching like hell, sweat dripping down like rain, but the events of the day made it all worthwhile. I seriously doubt we’ll ever have a better gig experience. Definitely. No maybe.

That’s it, I’m officially going mad. Or maybe I’m actually preventing myself from going mad. Or perhaps I’ve gone mad pre-emptively to avoid going mad, so it all cancels out.

It all started Wednesday morning. The night before, while I was still at the office, Dad SMS’ed: "Please take me to Halim airport, I have a flight to Bandung at 7:15." My first reaction was, "What?!" And then the rusty gears in my head started turning, trying to figure out the best time to leave for the airport and drive back in the opposite direction for the office. Given my penchant for getting woken at 5:30 in the morning due to sounds of heavy traffic right outside my window (curse you, Depok commuters), it meant we were going to have to leave earlier than that for fear of getting too stuck in traffic and missing the flight. Long story short, we left Cinere just after Fajr prayer, around 4:45. Got to the airport around 40 minutes later, and I arrived at the office (in Kemang) at 5:55 and got some much needed sleep. I must say, it felt great being able to cover such a distance in a relative flash.

This got me thinking. Technically office hours start at nine, but I’ve almost always arrived later than that. Heck, make it about 95 percent of the time. I usually get there at ten at the earliest, but on average it’s more around eleven, leaving around ten. It’s not that I don’t want to arrive on time, but…a few weeks ago I made a conscious decision to get to the office at nine. To anticipate traffic, I left the house at 7:30, figuring an hour and a half would be enough.

I got there two hours later.

So is it any wonder I opt to leave later, when the traffic is reasonably less insane? Where it takes just under an hour to arrive? Wouldn’t that extra hour be better served by getting some more sleep or doing something else more productive than giving the finger to assholes trying to steal my lane? Is it worth the aggravation being stuck on the road that long, and then arriving in a cranky mood and not being able to focus on work?

And then it suddenly hit me: what if I left the house at five, every day? It’d take considerable effort, especially considering I’m not a morning person at all. But thinking about the benefits…avoiding that goddamn traffic, for sure. I could also do a daily good deed by sending my stepmum to her office, rather than her having to take various buses all the way to Salemba - providing she wouldn’t mind leaving at that hour, of course - and the journey to my office would be in opposition of the morning traffic flow. This would mean I’d be at work several hours too early, but there’s a lot of things I can do in those few hours. Sleeping, for one. Maybe working. Maybe even finally giving the office swimming pool a go.

So yesterday was a test drive. As it happened, there was the Charlton-Liverpool game in the wee hours, and I usually make the effort to watch Liverpool, even if it means being bleary eyed at work. (Not that I get to work early anyway.) Anyway, the game started just before three, ended just before five. The end result was depressing (look up the scoreline yourself), almost made me wish I hadn’t bothered staying up. After the final whistle, had a quick shower and breakfast, and headed out. This was at 5:30.

As I said earlier, the problem with 5:30 is that, for some reason, the traffic outside my window is already heavy. It remains that way for several hours, including my usual departure time. My house is just before both a junction and a bottleneck, so you can imagine how convoluted it gets. I usually take a left turn just after the house into the complex, then re-emerge on the main street about fifty metres after the bottleneck, where it’s relatively less jammed. I tried that again at 5:30, but as it turns out, the portals inside the complex are shut until seven, so I had to go back to the main street again and go through the bottleneck. After those fifty metres, it’s still slow travelling: the amount of rain and traffic have combined to decorate the road with potholes. But after you navigate past, it’s pretty smooth sailing.

Still, it’s not really pleasant being stuck for however long, especially when leaving fifteen minutes earlier makes a world of difference. So my stepmum and I left at 5:15, arrived at her office at six, and I got to my office at 6:15. Wrote this blog post. And now, I’m going to take a nap. I could get used to this.