The Durian Apocalypse

Have relocated to Songkhla, about an hour’s sawngthaew ride north of Hat Yai. While I miss the social scene at the hostel down there, who could pass up staying fifteen minutes’ walk to such a beautiful beach for only $8 per night? Also, there’s plenty of cheap fruit here, and much more historical/cultural identity than in Hat Yai.

Will in near future turn our attention to the latter. But to-day, how if we take a trip down memory lane? Got all my footage from the last few weeks of George Town Festival uploaded; so let’s let her rip, shall we?

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First up, the Festival’s penultimate weekend brought the two-night Asian Premiere of Royston Abel’s The Kitchen, the dramatic multi-sensory followup to his production of the Manganiyar Seduction, which played GTF two years ago (here find my report from, and footage  of, the event) – and which I still think is the best concert I’ve ever seen. Though The Kitchen is not in the same league as its predecessor, I nevertheless wished and hoped and prayed that I could see it again every night from here on in. (And just a heads-up, people: I am able to report that there is no FUCKING god; my prayers were NOT answered, even though I FULLY deserved for them to have been.)

I got busted for filming with about five minutes remaining in the second show. Dude was very disappointed in me, asked me why in tarnation I’d done such a thing? Hey, charge people a bunch of money to get in to something, then tell them they can’t take photos, even though they’re using neither flash, nor beep, nor shutter-click…of course they’re going to break your damnable rules. So he deleted all my footage, and I had to download a data-recovery program to get it back again. But here we are, good to go. If this production ever gets within a few days’ drive of you, stop whatever you’re doing and light out in its direction.

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Next footages, from the penultimate day of the festival, are from the Armenian Heritage Concerts held over at the very swank Eastern & Oriental Hotel (which was originally opened by Armenian immigrants). There were two shows on the same day, with about an hour between. Both were free, with registration required — and both were booked out by the time I got around to realising that registration was required. So, I showed up, got on the waiting list…and ended up being seated in the front row. Zing! The show was so jaw-dropping great that I immediately signed up for the second show’s waiting list – which turned out to be even better than the first had been. You won’t believe the sounds this girl gets out of her violin.

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The final day featured a bunch of street performances at the intersection of Armenian and Cannon streets – the heart of the city during its Colonial days – and a bunch more a block or so away at the basketball court.

From the former, an impressive bit of silliness followed by a teen covers band (so many really great vocalists in George Town — including among the youth!).

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From the latter, the dance piece Trolleys was one of the festival’s more highly anticipated performances. To look at the pics, you’d say this had to have had Chris Elliott’s imprimatur plastered all over it…

…but add some music and set it to motion, and…voila!

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The three night-time performances at the basketball court were just spectacular. First, this traditional theatrical. It was performed in Malay, so I couldn’t tell you anything about the plot (except that the audience seemed to be loving it), but the costumes and the musicianship here…if you try to tell me it can get any better, I’ll try to tell you to go to that bad place with the demons and the pitchforks and the plastic underpants (and whatnot). (Although I would agree that my camera’s mic didn’t do as well as it might have. Sometimes it seems to perform so fantastically great, and other times not. Don’t know why.)

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The next performance, Kuda Kepang, was, for me, one of the very highest lights of a festival filled with highlights. A Javanese ritual horse dance which was, in the day, used to gain converts to Islam. We were told during the introduction that it’s supposed to last for six or seven hours – but that even though this performance would only be about ninety minutes, it was still 100% authentic. Ah, no arguments from the peanut gallery.

If you watch no other clips from this despatch, make sure check out the third of these Kuda Kepang vids, for what you’ll see at about the 1:45 mark is the coolest thing you’ll see all month – I promise.

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The final performance, Viva Circus, couldn’t, after that, but be a bit of an anticlimax. Still, it was pretty damned great in its own right – and the absolutely gorgeous fire dance to end the show was the perfect finale to an astounding month.

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All of my photos from the GTF performances can be learnt at the Flickr page, and I’ve uploaded MP3s of my recordings of the following shows:

• Armenian Heritage.
• The Kitchen.
• Sacred Music Concert.

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And that’s it! Now I will finally shut up my goddam mouth about how fucking much I love Penang. Well…at least until my next visit.

Leaving George Town with the heaviest of hearts, I recalled a previous occasion — now two years distant — on which I had departed Laos with a similar reluctance. That time, Bangkok (being Bangkok) had lofted me on its angel wings, pointed me toward the heavens, and blasted those mean old doldrums clean away.

I had hopes that the Land Of Smiles could work its magic on me once again; but, me and Thailand, we’s off to a rocky start this time ’round the sun. The new re-entry rules having now officially been put into effect, it was a real touch-and-go situation down there at Passport Control. Looked for a good litle while as though they weren’t even going to let my dimpled ass in.

The entry clerk gave my passport a very thorough going-over, pelted me with a barrage of questions, then despatched me to the Office, whereon the very same passport was given the very same very thorough going-over by not one but two uniformed personnel. Yet another barrage of questions was duly pelted: Where would I be staying? For how long in each location? Had I been working in Malaysia? Why had I not gotten a visa?

And I was all like, Man, I just want a fuckin’ thirty-day visa-free, like always. Which, at last, I was granted — along with a very stern warning that the next time I queued up flashing my baby-blues at the Thai Frontier, I’d better be doing so with Tourist Visa in hand.

Jeezus, out of the country for two-and-a-half months, and my return is considered a border run? Welcome to the new Thai normal, I guess. And so much for the expats’ forums’ members’ learned surmisings that the updated regs would be selectively enforced against Russian and Vietnamese passport-holders only (these having demonstrated the most propensity to be working for cash-money while in Thailand visa-free-tourist).

Anyhow, Hat Yai seems like an okay kind of a place. The town is as obsessed with the colour pink as Chanthaburi is with the animal bunny-rabbit. Had been here a few times before, but only a couple hours each time, transferring from train to minivan and vicey versey. The third-largest Reclining Buddha in all of the live-long World is here, so we’ll have to give that a look.

Heh heh, when I checked in, the owner of my hostel (though Thai, also name of “Ed”) was sporting a t-shirt bearing the likeness of one Mr. James Marshall Hendrix, and had an amp and turntable plopped down right the middle of the registration desk. Says he’s only just begun learning to the ropes, and so he hain’t yet showed me any down-home, scratch-‘n’-sniff, DJ-type moves…

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On to to-day’s topic. I said before that the Ismail Hashim exhibition, Unpack Repack, had changed my life. That’s true not only for the enormity of his talent and the powerful weight of his images — which I can’t now imagine living without — but also for the Typology workshop held in the exhibit’s conjunction, and the monthlong helmet project which the former hast spawned.

I couldn’t stop taking pictures of helmets at workshop’s end because I couldn’t stop delighting in the magical, wonderful, always-surprising qualities of their owners’ faces — not to mention the utterly shocking diversity of the headgear itself. Shot after shot, day after day, it just never got old, never seemed rote, never failed to thrill and amaze — right up to the very final, glorious and amazing “session”, last night in Little India during magic hour.

The project played as important a role in the fantastic month that was as did the George Town Festival, the Hungry Ghost Festival, and the Durianic shenanigans. Here are a few of my faves — if this seems like a lot, believe me when I tell you there are many, many more every bit as enjoyable as these. Find ’em at the Flickr page, in both the cropped and uncropped varieties. (If you’re seeing this note, it means I’ve not yet finished uploading them all.) May all great credit accrue to the one only only, the isle of god damn Penang!

The crazy thing about the mise-en-scene in these shots is that I never even pay attention to anything other than making sure I get the helmet(s) in frame and in focus — not always the easiest of tasks, you can imagine, when they’re hurtling down the causeway at thirty-five per. So when one peruses the photos, and so often notices so much badass  and beautiful live-life going down in their backgrounds, it’s always quite a revelation. Maybe a cool next project would be to walk around blindfold taking pictures, and see what turns up. (Surely many a someone has tried this before now…)

By the way, I had intended to make the project my little compact with Penang and Penang only. But arriving to Hat Yai, and having a look around, I kept threatening, “I’m about ten seconds away from busting out my camera, here…” And at last, I could stand it no more, and an initial rush of Hat Yai helmet photos have now been seconded to the old one/zero pantry. We’ll see, though — entertaining as they are, it’s kind of a lot of work getting all those pics wrangled. May still well end up cutting the cord.

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Now on, just call me “Humpty Dumpty”. The 2014 George Town Festival has concluded, leaving among its wake my now shattered and staggering self. From the wondrous Korean duo the opening weekend, to the fabulous visual exhibits scattered all about the island, to the weekly coffee-shop concerts, to the massively entertaining Thai Small Puppet Theatre, to the enormous five-day splash of the Obscura fest-within-the-fest, to the Asian Premiere of The Kitchen, to the stunning performances of the final weekend, the festival managed to boggle one’s mind on an almost daily basis. Furthermore, of course, the Hungry Ghosts festival matched it blow-for-blow all month long before, at the end of last week, ceding the limelight. And, oh yeah, another small little detail: the Ismail Hashim exhibition merely, you know, changed my fricking life.

Shit, that was a month that went by far too quickly. Would love to go back and do it again; but, also, am feeling rather overwhelmed. Have lots of multimedia to share – but as Penang’s Internet services are strictly snail’s-pace, it could take a few. Until then, here are a few other goings on from recent days. It’s all kind of a blur right now, so please forgive if this comes across as woefully haphazard.

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Firstly, cut/print/wrap…

A know-it-when-you-see-it moment. I’m quite certain that this is the best picture I  have ever taken, or will ever take, in my life. No real skill or technique involved – just being in the right place at the right time (and, of course, having the good sense to know that B&W photography conquers all). I guess everybody gets one best photo in their lifetime; this is going to be mine. Shoulda known it would take place here in George Towny Town.

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The Muslims down on Campbell Street love to see me doing my various workout moves as I transport my daily fruit haul from the market back to my hotel. Oh, the Chinese do too, but they’re a little more shy, preferring to wave, extend an upraised thumb, and as I pass by excitedly call out, “Exercise!”

The Muslims, on the other hand, like to have me stop and chat with them, and always eagerly gobble up whatever fruit I offer to share. After which, they set in to harassing me for walking ‘round town without a shirt. Some of them – those who have nothing better to do with their time except worry about what other people are doing with theirs — can even get a bit nasty, and one particularly busy-bodied gent even threatened to report me to the po-lice, and whatnot.

But mostly it’s good-natured, especially from the security guards hanging out in front of the gold and jewelry shoppes which line the street. One tells me almost every day that if I don’t start wearing a shirt, he’s going to shoot me (he sits there all the day long with a big rifle draping his lap – so he certainly could do). And somebody gave me a bag of t-shirts, which I had to go and track down a Goodwill to pass on to.

Update: Never did catch his name, but here’s our gun-toting friend; offered to pose for me on account my last day here in town. (Hey, I don’t like guns any more than y’all. It’s not an endorsement, etc….) Much like Abed, below, he had to put his hat on to stand for the photo.

Gotta hand it to all of them, though: Even despite the heat and humidity here, they go about town all bundled up like they was off for the Shackleton Expedition – and, during Ramadan, without drinking any water, neither – without seeming ever to break a sweat. Me, when I do chance to put on a shirt, it’s dripping wet in less than five minutes’ time (no exaggeration).

This cat, name of “Abed”, is perhaps the most interesting of the aforementioned security guards. When I asked to take his photo, he made me wait for him to put his hat on.

Most people here aren’t so keen on U.S. geography, so I usually just tell them, when they ask, that I’m from the western half of the country. But he kept narrowing it down for me, and when we finally arrived at “Seattle”, and I confirmed it as my home town, he excitedly brought out the old Kurt Cobain card usually reserved for European  fellow-travellers (if Asians know of Seattle, it’s for being the home of Boeing).

We agreed that he had been “the best”, and he further dumbfounded me by responding, when I told him my name, “Ah! Eddie Van Halen!” He says, in answer to my confused wondering how he came to have such knowledge of American popular musics, that he grew up in the ‘70s on the eastern side of the peninsula, as though that should explain everything. Huhn, if you say so. At any rate, he’s a nice guy. It was he who told me where to find the Goodwill (actually called “Kawan Shop”).

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And this cat, who works the Nasi Kandar stand nearest my hotel, is always making me take pictures of him. Gotta admit, he’s photogenic as Hell. One recent day, instead of asking me to photograph him, he asked for a tip. For what – who knew? I offered him a 500-Rupee note which I’d been carrying around since Nepal, expecting him to reject it on sight. Instead, he happily accepted; a fair enough price for keeping me entertained these last two months, I’ll admit.

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The Muslim youth are fun, too. Flashing the “Peace” sign as they ride past…

…engaging in conversation as one walks by, or requesting photo-ops, it’s always a fun time.

I was chatting with a  couple of these guys whilst waiting on line for the outhouse, then a while later over at the Esplanade, the entire flock descended and asked for a photo with me. As always, I was more than happy to help out – but then they made me put my shirt on before we could proceed. How does that rate? It’s my pretty face they’re using to sell their magazines with, but they get to dictate the terms? Ah, well, these guys were the most-fun youngsters with whom to hang out since those skate-punks back in Mae Sai. The one to my immediate right in the colour photo implored me to make known to all and sundry his obsession with The Rock (“Rock Johnson”, as he calls him). Now you know.

These guys were cool, as well. I really just wanted to get a shot of the dude’s awesome blue blouse and shades, but then his friends insinuated themselves into the photo too, to nice effect.

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Two of my fave shots from the Obscura Festival. The second one was blown up to quite large dimensions, thought I could just stand and ogle it night and day. To mine eyes, it’s as perfect a photo as one could ever hope to see.

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Harlem, circa 1972? No, silly, it’s George Town, circa a couple of weeks ago. How could you not love this place for all its worth?

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Cone thief.

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Saw these guys painting the building, and thought it might make a nice shot. Turns out, one of their colleagues was sitting atop his motorbike, right next to me. He explained that the location was to be the site of a 3-D Art Gallery, to open in November. As I seemed interested, he offered to show me around, warning me that it was only fifty percent complete.

The works are just painted straight onto the walls, so I don’t get how they expect to sell them. Nor did I notice any 3-D effects. Guy’s English was a bit limited, so I didn’t really press upon him too many questions. Some beautiful paintings, at any rate.

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Drunk by aroma and manner; drug-addicted, vegetarian, cancer-stricken, 100% Hindu, Muslim-hating, Jesus-lover by his own words. Pretty interesting guy in his way, but the Jesus crap gets old after a fairly short while.

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All right, I won’t run through the litany of how cool, funny, weird, friendly, intelligent, fashionable, and entertaining are the people of Penang. But do come see for yourself — you’ll not regret that! More photos and anecdotes around the bend…

Remember that old Robin Trower song, “Too Rolling Stoned”? Well, two months in, I think that I am now officially Too George Towned. Wouldn’t have it any other way. Got a bunch of clips that I’ve uploaded, but don’t think I’ll ever get around to blogging about. I think they’re pretty entertaining, however, so shall embed them here for your viewing pleasure.

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The Hungry Ghost Festival wrapped up Sunday night – not really in climactic style, to be honest; but mucho-entertaining nevertheless. Can’t believe how quickly that month flew by…

The first vid is a musical performance from a week or so ago. I kept thinking I’d just watch this one more time, and then delete it. But the song is so catchy (I find it creeping into my head all the time of late), the performer’s outfit so goofy, her dance moves delivered with such confidence despite looking quite awkward, the lighting so perfect, and the attendees so Penang, that I decided to upload it instead of deleting it. The last three clips are from the final night of the Festival — a procession, a bonfire, and a scene of aftermath (from two different locations). Will include a few photos as well.

All month long,  I kept trying to come up with some kind of very clever Caspar reference to use here vis a vis the Hungry Ghosts, but, looks like my time’s up and my pen ain’t got no ink. Too bad.

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Walking through Little India in the morning is a much different experience that it becomes just a few hours later: the streets aren’t quite abuzz with activity, there’s not yet any hustle in the bustle. While there is music coming from the video shoppes’ speakers, it’s not the full-on Bhangra rave-up to which our ears will soon be treated, but rather a mellower, more contemplative selection. It’s all a bit like a dream; just seeing a shop-keeper hosing off the street in front of his place seems so evocative that one just wants to burst out in tears. (Of course, that may have much to do with my irrational emotions toward the enclave – it can’t be as wonderful/beautiful as I’ve gradually built it up in my mind to be…yet to me, it is. Pure sap, I know — but what can I say?)

This clip is from later in the day. I very frequently find myself frozen in my tracks by a particularly compelling musical number; and thought this song an oddly appropriate soundtrack to the onscreen goings-on – as well as to the scenes playing out live on the street.

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Also from Little India, this briefie-but-goodie; a Lemonade-seller doggedly making his rounds through deserted streets in the middle of a downpour, his radio singing out sullen songs of yesteryear.

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The Muslim Cricketeers. They were out there at Esplanade Park one day a few weeks back. Dressed in their pyjamas as they are, and shot in the wondrousness that is sepiatone, it looks so much like a scene from the very early days of baseball. Don’t know why I didn’t take more footage, because, man, c’est bon!

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A pop-up watch shoppe near Campbell Street Market employing the mesmeric audio-looping sales gimmick learnt from the Thais. Unlike this one, which was in effect on this one day only, the one at Chowrasta Market blasts its few-seconds of loopage throughout the duration of the Market every single day of the year. While I’m personally transfixed by its insistent rhythm, I can’t help wonder how it is that the owner of that stall has not by now become completely insane?

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And a last-minute addition!  This one, another pop-up, inspired by a deep-fry-pan price-slash, may be the most entertaining of them all. Unfortunately, I botched the recording on the day; went back the following day, and while the promotion was still on, the audio loop was now in Malay rather than English.  Still a lot of fun, however.

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A musical performance given in conjunction with one of the GTF’s visual exhibitions. The group, consisting of Ernest and MingLi, performed a set of incredibly stupid songs about Jesus’ love. But Ernest closed the show with this fine instrumental piece – his playing technique here is pretty fascinating.

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Also from GTF, the fourth of five Konserts Kopitiam. First a didgeridoo jam with some members of Culture Shot — which has over the space of two performances established itself as my favourite band in the city – and then two clips from Culture Shot itself (missing two of its six members).

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Yet another GTF performance. This time, two clips from the fantastic presentation of the Thai Classical Small Puppet Theatre. The second, “Hanuman vs. Michael Jackson”, is pure gold.

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Ironically, I didn’t take any footage from this film-shoot happening just a few blocks from my hotel. So here are some photos instead. In case it’s not apparent, the action is to do  with the fuzz violently beating down a protest march.

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GTF closes up shop on Sunday, and with that I will leave Penang. My imminent departure has already cast over me a pall dark as the rain-soaked clouds now, with the monsoon’s recent arrival, being served up daily. It’s quite frustrating reading through the blog, feeling that in these two months I’ve been wholly incapable of communicating the island’s wonder. Huhn, you’ll just have to come here and find out for yourself.

Well, I’m too rolling stoned
I’m too rolling stoned, yeah
Like a rolling stone
Just, just, just like a rolling stone
Rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling stone
Yeah, too rolling stoned
Oh just like a rolling stone
Well, like a rolling stone

Don’t get lyrics as profound as that these days…

Well, I was wrong about the demon-dudes all being bonfired on the 24th. In point of fact, they’re being sent up in a handful of locations every night between now and the 24th. Here’s how it all went the other night at the Lebuh Aceh basketball court.

The Operas are, I think, all finished (though there may still be some Puppet Theatre happening), in lieu of the Pop-singing entertainment detailed previously – apparently the latter are a fairly recent addition to  the Hungry Ghost tradition, instituted because the Operas’ attendance numbers were judged to be inadequate. The locations all have banners with lurid pictures of the performers for each site’s three-day run. I had guessed, with so many performers, that they must have been flown in from China. But, nope, apparently they’re all local. Have also learnt that the Hungry Ghost celebrations in China itself were all stamped out during the Cultural Revolution, so these days they’re a peculiarly Southeast Asian phenomenon.

By about 11:15 in the PM the divas had finished shaking their dimpled asses all over the stage, and the locals turned straight away to some ritual incense activity (which, gotta say: whereas Thai incense smells just heavenly, Malaysian is fucking stank).

This fine gentleman took me under his wing and bade me participate as well; kept referring to me as “American Friend”. So utter is my disdain for religion that I always decline to participate in these types of activities (not that I don’t love to observe them, of course). But this guy was so excited for me to join in, how could I refuse? Everybody, including yours truly, got a big kick out of his enthusiasm — but then I wandered off taking pictures, and in the ensuing hubbub never reconnected with him.

Here is some footage. This includes a bit of the preliminary activities, skips the procession to the jetty – this lasted about fifteen minutes — and picks back up again upon arrival to our destination.

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And here are the pics. Yeah, this is probably overkill. But, c’mon: it’s a frickin’ bonfire, dude! I guess this is as close as I’ll ever get to seeing Burning Man. I’m sure the latter is (give or take) two hundred times more spectacular than this – but on the other hand, the Hungry Ghost bonfires play out multiple times over multiple nights all over the city. I personally….well, let’s just say that I’ve been here nigh upon two months, and this place just keeps blowing my mind anew with each passing day. (The problem is that as GTF is still in full swing as well, I’m rather underslept these days…)

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I was pretty shocked at how rapidly everybody absconded the scene. Seriously, they were out of there in about five minutes’ time. What was the big rush? No clue. You can see how massive the fire still is at this point – but the only people remaining on the scene were myself, these two fire-stirrers here, and another guy directing traffic. Sheesh!

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Occasionally, the stirrers’ stirrings riled up these minute-long whirlpools. Looks very cool in the footage.

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Less than thirty minutes after the match had been lit, this temple back along the parade route was already closing up shop. When I arrived back to the basketball court, no human person was in evidence. That’s strange, right? They successfully ushered the Ghosts back to Hell, but they don’t want to party long into the night to celebrate their achievement? I dunno, I call that strange.

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