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I’m in Room 1826 at the Amari Watergate on Petchburi Road in Bangkok, a 5-star hotel surrounded by shopping malls, furnished with a huge bed, a flatscreen TV, and a bathtub with three rubber duckies. Very nice, but I have a strange feeling I’m being bugged so I whisper “I am not a crook” into the orchids, which are everywhere.

As luck would have it, nearly all the Muppets are in Bangkok for work-related stuff. I just missed Bert, but Ernie and I met up last night and Cookie Monster and Telly are arriving on Friday. At 11 all the hotel restaurants were closed except for Henry Bean’s American Bar and Grill, where Ernie had to explain what an extra-thick milkshake is, but they got it right.

A band took the stage, and the big shock was that it was not Pinoy. Their first song was Achy Breaky Heart, and I immediately had the urge to confess that I ordered the wiretaps. The male vocalist pronounced it “Eight-chee breaky heart”. The female vocalist was from what we call the Teena Marie school of singing: she skips most of the consonants. For example, the Alicia Keys song If I Ain’t Got You goes like this: “Sapeeyowaaneeooh/Baaahdowannaeeeaaooooh”. The male vocalist sang a song that sounded oddly familiar, but as he stressed odd syllables, only towards the end did I recognize it as something by R.E.M.

The one advantage of having been an American colony: Our cover bands could rule the bars of the world. (As Ernie put it, “Kayang-kaya yan nung banda sa Binalot.”) Or even take over established bands–look at Journey. I shall add this to my plan for World Domination.

“In Errol Morris’s documentary “Standard Operating Procedure‚” an American soldier talks about employing music as a means of breaking down the resistance of enemy combatants during interrogations. They can withstand “Hip Hop Hooray” and “Enter Sandman‚” he says, but not country music. Most audiences will laugh at the line, but may check themselves mid-chuckle, wondering what it means that Americans are deploying their favorite music as a way of tormenting people of another culture. . .” Alex Ross on the use of music in psychological warfare.

Carlo believes that the reason things are so screwed up in our country is because the music is so loud. What is supposed to be background or ambient music in shopping malls and restaurants is turned up so high that it not only makes conversation difficult, it disrupts our thought processes. The mall has its muzak, each store in the mall has its own muzak, it becomes a competition to see who will make the shoppers run amok first. We have to yell at each other to be heard, which does not help interpersonal relationships. We literally cannot hear ourselves think.

Maybe we’re afraid of silence. Maybe we turn up the music for fear that if we had to listen to ourselves, we would hear. . .Nothing.

Survey: What piece of music, which musician would break your resistance?

Meanwhile: Good review of new Journey album featuring their new Pinoy vocalist, Arnel Pineda.

Pannonica and Monk, originally uploaded by 160507.
The scene is a dark, smoky club in Greenwich Village, New York in 1958. Onstage a quartet is performing a complicated piece of music. Everyone is smoking and drinking; it’s the Fifties and cigarettes and alcohol are socially-acceptable substances. It’s the music that is not quite acceptable—that Jazz and the men who play it. They are African-American musicians in the time before the civil rights movement. Many of them are known drug users.

A murmur goes through the crowd, and the musicians acknowledge the new arrival. “Hi, Nica,” they call out, “Hey, Baroness.” The woman they’re addressing is wearing a leopard-skin coat and a patrician air. She carries the formidable name of Baroness Pannonica Rothschild de Koenigswarter. She’s aristocratic and white, and she is the Jazz musicians’ patron and fierce protector.

My article on Pannonica in The National, Abu Dhabi. 

Who is singing the role of Imelda Marcos in the album of David Byrne’s musical Here Lies Love?

Cyndi Lauper.

Brilliant choice. Cause girls just wanna have fun, and couture, and jewelry, and buildings…

The account in David Byrne’s journal: “Cyndi Lauper came in to the studio last week to sing 1½ songs for the Here Lies Love album. She was about an hour and a half late to the session, so I fully expected to be in for some prime diva behavior. But, as I’d run overtime on the earlier brass sessions, it all worked out great, and Cyndi gave an amazingly fine-tuned performance. Not only is she a wonderful singer from a technical point of view, but she can tailor her attitude and performance to suit the character and the character’s emotional state.

“This is exactly the skill set I need for this project. After giving Cyndi the back-story on a particular song and establishing the context of the lyrics, I would give directions like, “Yes, she’s a little angry, but also heartbroken and confused.” Cyndi would then incorporate these complex emotions into her performance with seeming ease. She’d ask, for example, “You want more anger in this verse?” And sure enough, she’d dial a little more in. Very impressive.”

Thanks to the LUA for the link.

This last weekend Grungella and Ernie escaped the summer torment by hanging out at Gateway mall in Cubao. Grungella told Ernie about a Roz Chast cartoon she’d seen that morning. “It’s in three panels. Bad: Person over 40 with a MySpace page. Worse: Your dad with a MySpace page. Worst: Your dad’s band with a MySpace page.”

“Sad, sadder, saddest,” said Ernie. Little did they know that this would be the recurring theme of the day.

They wandered into a T-shirt store that was having a sale. Ernie bought two shirts. The salesperson informed him that his purchase entitled him to free tickets to a concert that same night at the Araneta Coliseum. “That’s terrific!” Ernie and Grungella chorused. “Who’s playing?”

According to the ticket the show was called “Lost 80s Live”, and it featured three New Wave acts from their distant youth: When In Rome, Real Life, and A Flock of Seagulls.

Sad: The show’s title made it clear that the performers were has-beens: “Lost” pretty much sums up their careers.
Sadder: There’s always an audience in Manila for bands two (more often, four) decades past their sell-by date.
Saddest: Ernie and Grungella knew A Flock Of Seagulls but weren’t exactly sure who When In Rome and Real Life were. Our apologies to hardcore fans of these bands; our characters were not hip in the 80s. Or today. In fact they disapprove of ‘hip’ as an adjective. (Continue reading.)
Sad, Sadder, Saddest in Emotional Weather Report, today in the Star.

“When I grow up, I want to be Shaun Cassidy.”, originally uploaded by 160507.

This is Bono’s middle school class picture. That’s him in the front row, second guy from the left. Seems like a self-possessed boy, note how he contemplates the camera. Ige got this photo from an Irish friend of his who’d gone to school with the former Paul David Hewson. A couple of years after this picture was taken, Paul and three other guys formed U2. Paul took to calling himself “Bono Vox”. I’m glad he dropped “Vox”.

I can only take so much earnestness, but I’ve been taking it from U2 for the last 25 years. Go see U2 3D at iMax in Maul of Asia. It’s the cheapest, best value U2 concert seat you’re ever going to buy, short of marrying Larry Mullen, Jr: 500 pesos and the band is literally in your face. On the huge screen you can see that Bono’s palm has a very long life line, The Edge looks young, Adam Clayton seems cheerful (that outfit), and Larry has veins popping out of his forearms. Also, Bono’s shoes define “Elevation”.

The set list: Vertigo, Beautiful Day, New Year’s Day, Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own, Love and Peace Or Else, Sunday Bloody Sunday, Bullet The Blue Sky (with a bit of The Hands That Built America), Miss Sarajevo (Bono sang the Pavarotti parts), Pride, Where The Streets Have No Name, One, The Fly, With Or Without You. I told myself that if they played I Will Follow I would burst into tears, but they didn’t so my 3D glasses stayed unfogged.

(Rumor has it that U2 is playing in Manila in July—I’ll believe it when I see the band take the stage. They were supposed to do a concert here during the Rattle and Hum period. It didn’t happen.)

Fans of the movie Once may want to check out Glen Hansard’s band, The Frames. Hansard is also in The Commitments, directed by Alan Parker, about an Irish band performing soul/R&B classics. Their rationale: The Irish are the blacks of Europe. Does anyone know what happened to the actor who played Jimmy Rabbitt their manager? That movie and its soundtrack album is the reason every band I heard in Manila in the 90s seemed to cover “Mustang Sally”.  Andrew Strong, who played the vocalist, went on to a solo singing career. You may also want to look up The Commitments, the novel by Roddy Doyle, which zips along very fast once you realize it must be read with an Irish accent—in your head, spare the neighbors. Or you could hire Colin Farrell to read it to you. Another Roddy Doyle novel, The Van, features characters who had appeared in The Commitments (Jimmy Rabbitt’s family). It was adapted for the movies by Stephen Frears, who also directed The Queen. As far as I know The Queen, starring Helen Mirren, never officially screened in Manila. Do the distributors have any intention of showing No Country For Old Men? No Country is said to be a very faithful adaptation of the Cormac McCarthy novel. I haven’t ready any Cormac McCarthy (Does the book-on-tape of All The Pretty Horses count? It was read by Brad Pitt). His recent novel The Road is being filmed, starring Viggo Mortensen. Now that Ian McEwan’s Atonement has been filmed (and is now suffering a backlash, which is unfortunate as it’s a fine adaptation), the book I want to see on the screen is The People’s Act of Love by James Meek. In Meek’s acknowledgements he thanks Tilda Swinton for giving him a place to write. No, she does not look like Conan O’Brien who is Irish-American. I hear the movie rights to the Meek were optioned by Johnny Depp. Ah, Johnny. Did any of us watching 21 Jump Street anticipate this?

I saw two sweet movies in a row: The Darjeeling Limited (showing only at Greenbelt 3), and Juno (showing everywhere).

The Darjeeling Limited is another trip into the stylish artificial universe of Wes Anderson. Every time I watch a Wes Anderson movie, I wish I had his characters’ problems. (Although I Was the Jason Schwartzman character in Rushmore.) No one ever worries about the bills, they just have elliptical conversations and dissociate from reality.

Everyone I know who’s seen it ranks its stars this way: 1. Adrien Brody, 2. Jason Schwartzman, and 3. Owen Wilson (whose head is bandaged throughout the movie, reminding everyone of his suicide attempt). You figure out what the ranking is for.

I enjoyed the movie, but it seems the filmmakers went to a lot of trouble—having Marc Jacobs design the matching luggage, hauling it to India—just to say, “Guys, you need to get rid of your emotional baggage.” Recovery time: 0. Nothing to recover from, unless you have luggage envy. Although I did contract LSS and have “Play With Fire” by the Rolling Stones in my head. Which reminds me that “Ruby Tuesday” was in The Royal Tenenbaums soundtrack, so I hear the two tracks alternately.

Juno is not bad, but it’s no Superbad. Recovery time: 30 minutes, but only to get over the cute cloyingly obvious soundtrack.

Breaking news. In Juno, the title character listens to Sonic Youth’s cover of “Superstar” by The Carpenters. Well President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo just sang The Carpenters’ “I Have You” with Richard Carpenter and Claire dela Fuente in Malacanang. There’s some weird synchronicity here. Maybe we should imagine GMA singing “Don’t you remember you told me you love me babeeeh. . .” But in Thurston Moore’s voice. Please.

Great quote from I don’t remember whom: “If Karen Carpenter and not Mama Cass Elliot had eaten that ham sandwich, they would both be alive today.”

You know Last Song Syndrome, where the last song you hear keeps playing in your head and you can’t make it stop? Well I often have First Song Syndrome—I wake up and there’s a song already playing in my head and it just keeps on going. It is usually a song I have not heard in a long time. Days later, I hear that same song being played somewhere—in a restaurant, over the end credits of a movie, that sort of thing. Could be just coincidence, yes, but I’m inclined to think otherwise. I’m from the school of “Everything means something, the refusal to say anything means something, nothing is something.” (See the Coen Brothers, below.)

Sometimes I remember conversations I haven’t had yet. For instance, I distinctly remember Chus telling me that Myrza (of Marie-Claire) had won a Palanca for short story. He ran into her, and she told him the good news. (This would be in August 2006.) I remember which restaurant we had this conversation in (Segafredo Greenbelt, now closed), where we were seated (by the window), and what time it was (around 6.30pm). Weeks later, I told Chus I was gatecrashing the awards dinner the next day (September 1), and I’d probably see Myrza.

Why, Chus asked, Did she win? Of course she did, I said, You told me. No I didn’t, he said, I didn’t know she’d won. We spent the next 15 minutes arguing over who said what. Finally Chus called Myrza and asked her if she’d won a Palanca.

Myrza said, No, I haven’t heard from them. Chus said, Maybe you should call their office to make sure. Meanwhile I’m sitting there thinking, Did I imagine this? Am I going bonkers? But I’m certain that Chus told me that Myrza had told him. There was no one else I could’ve gotten the news from—I wasn’t privy to the judging process and I’m not in with the awards people.

The following morning Chus called me. Myrza had called the Palanca office, he said, and it turns out she did win a prize! (The guard in her building put the letter in a drawer and forgot it.) So the information I “remembered” was correct, except that it was delivered backwards. Weird, but according to Special Relativity, everything that will happen has already happened anyway.

Back to FSS. I woke up this morning and “Jacksons, Monk and Rowe” by Elvis Costello and The Brodsky Quartet was playing in my head, loud and clear. It’s a very pretty song about divorce, not likely to have been blaring out of a passing jeep, not on the typical radio playlist. It’s on my iPod but I haven’t listened to it in a long time. But there are worse things to have in your head.

Jonny Greenwood, composer, violist, guitarist, adept of unusual instruments, wrote the musical score of Paul Thomas Anderson’s film There Will Be Blood. His work on the film has been called unearthly, beautiful, revelatory, liberating an entire dimension of the film experience from cliche. Greenwood’s score is not eligible for an Academy Award because much of the music, such as the piece called Popcorn Superhet Receiver, was not composed specifically for the film. (This is also why nothing from Sweeney Todd is up for Best Song.)You may know Greenwood as the lead guitarist of Radiohead.

I don’t care for musical theatre, I never saw Miss Saigon, I didn’t like Rent, I wouldn’t go near an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical unless you paid me a chunk of money to plug my ears with (I have big ears), but I love Stephen Sondheim and I approve of Tim Burton’s adaptation of Sweeney Todd. Yeah yeah, they took out the song that introduces then sums up the story, and you can’t beat live theatre at portraying carnage (fountains of blood!) and horror (screams from the audience!), but it works for me. The voices of Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham-Carter are not powerful enough for the stage, but this is not the theatre, it’s the cinema. Actually, Johnny could front a band doing David Bowie covers, and one might say he’s been in training for the role since Edward Scissorhands. The kid who plays Toby is great, the young lovers are so forgettable even the movie forgets them (we never find out if they get away), and Timothy Spall could play the Beadle in his sleep. Alan Rickman I found almost sympathetic as Judge Turpin. (Finally I can trundle out the Rickman story I’ve been hoarding. A few years ago, Yodel was at Old Swiss Inn in Makati when she heard a very familiar voice at a nearby table. She looked, and it was Alan Rickman. He was with some Pinoys who were talking about the Harry Potter flicks, and Yodel wanted to say, “Truly, Madly, Deeply!”) The former Ali G/Borat Sacha Baron Cohen turns up as Pirelli, in pants so tight they must help him hit the high notes. Sweeney Todd is wonderfully horrible. I can’t think of more beautiful songs about the ugliness of humanity. Don’t bring the children.