Different Shores -- NEW SHINY TRACK GETTING AIRPLAY ON RADIO STATIONS WORLDWIDE (literally)

So I've added my nice, shiny track that's been kindly and lovingly produced by Joel C at http://joelcmix.es/. Feel free to click play while you read this blogpost.



The track will be getting airplay on Back Roads Radio, Z99, Liveo, and hopefully other radio stations soon. Of course, it all means zilch if people don't LIKE the thing, so let me know what you think, okay? :) Facebook me here! --> https://www.facebook.com/kevinghosty

Think on your feet! A gig with a scared bunch of good kids and a rowdy, crazy drunk.

The scene: the Circle of Fifths Open Mic Night at the POW (Little India). We were having a nice comfy time, really a bunch of guys playing for each other and a few tourist/backpacker types, when a pair of DRUNK AS HELL Australians walk into the bar.

(Sounds like a bad joke. A pair of drunk Aussies walk into a bar...)

One of them starts shouting something incoherent at Chris Brassington, but none of us could really hear whether he was saying something like "you rock" or "you f**k*". Things like that really sound quite similar when they are slurred out with a heavy, heavy Australian accent (remove all the consonants and you'll get an idea of what we were hearing). At that point, I think a few of us were worried that one of them would get violent.

Chris was already on one of his last songs, so he finished up, and it was my turn to play. Chris, being quite familiar with the ways of the drunk, whispered to me: "you have to go up fast, don't let it be quiet for too long. Not good to have it too quiet." In the few short minutes between Chris's set and mine, one of the drunks had found himself up on the stage, swaying about menacingly/hilariously (not sure which one to use at the moment). What was he shouting about up there? Hmm..

Have a look for yourself.

Yeah, you can laugh ;)

There's something to be said about playing music in some kind of community, even if it's as transient as the bunch of people at an open mic. If there was some kinda tension in the room (WHAT'S THE DRUNK GONNA DO), I felt safer knowing that my fellow musicians were around me. That's Jon Ashley's voice I can distinctly hear going "GET OFF THE STAGE!"...

Ok yes, I feel quite proud of myself for thinking up that song in the nanosecond I was up there and figuring out how to get him off the stage without things getting unpleasant. But without the bunch of guys in the room, I'm not sure I would've dared to do what I did. Truth.

The drunk, the support, and my brilliant (ahem) reactions continued through the set, some of which you can watch here (warning, some NC16 language)

(Apologies for destroying the Bob Dylan song........)

All considered, it was a pretty fun night. The drunk dude was going on and on and on and on about how I had a nice voice, the most commercial sound of the night (reeeally now), and how he would get "his people" to contact me if I gave him my number. SO I DID GIVE HIM MY NUMBER, AND TWO MONTHS ON, HE STILL HASN'T CONTACTED ME. Oh, the heartbreak..

New track, bunch ov gigs

Hello internet!

I've got a new track w00t w00t w00t.. And hopefully more to come. Please pray that my muse will come and visit me again. And here's the track!

http://kevinakaghost.bandcamp.com/track/the-distance-between
(bandcamp seems to have removed the embedded player thingy, so here's a button you can click instead :P

As of now (10.49pm, 24 November 2012 in Hougang), I see 12 (wah so many) likes on the bandcamp track, 4 likes on my own facebook, and 1 like on my artist facebook page (thanks, Rachel). That confuses me a bit. Should I delete my artist facebook page? I dunno.

Ok, rant time.

I'm jealous of people who have 10,000 likes on their page. There, I said it. But here's the rant. I think musicians should be, first and foremost, people who are good at TOUCHING PEOPLE'S HEARTS. They should not be focused on being good at Facebook/MySpace/YouTube/LikeAggregator (don't worry, I made the last one up, it doesn't exist.. I think). It PISSES ME OFF when I see someone with bad music, but with 10,000 likes.


Then I see someone like Daniel Mustard whose music is absolutely brilliant and who has a sizeable Facebook following, and I think to myself: goddddamnnn, I need to get better at what I do. Fast. I need to write better songs, record them, and then... get good at Facebook. Eeks.

Rant over.


Ok, so, bunch ov gigs.

2 Dec: The Diarist Sessions and Open Mic at Viking Coffee #02
6 Dec: Circle of Fifths Songwriters Showcase @ The Prince of Wales
24 Dec: Ngee Ann City.... dunno where. Also no Facebook info... But I confirm playing! 7.30-8pm.

J's story

So let’s get this out of the way.

Yes, I am a musician who would like to get world famous, and I'd like your attention. But this blogpost is not going to be about me. It's going to be about a serendipitous meeting with a former Boys' Home resident, who somehow made enough money to send his parents and his sisters to the US of A -- by the time he was 17. And, umm, his parents said no.

But first, to the meeting. I met J playing an MMOFPS, and he started asking me if I remembered him. Well, I didn't. But we were two of the weakest players in the team, and our team was winning.... soooo.... I guess we slacked off and started chatting.

And that's when the mind-fuckery started.

He told me that this (at 3am) was his last day in Singapore. (Why?) He was going to the US. (For what?) He was going to the US to study, A-levels. (Oh, ok, parents?) No, going alone. (What, how? Why? Wtf?) I paid my own way. (And your parents?) <too complicated to redact>

My mind is still reeling from J's story, so let me just recount the salient facts that are making me stay up at 5.04am (WHAT) in the morning.

1. He was labelled BEYOND PARENTAL CONTROL when he was 12. (That's what happens when you're so fucked as a kid that your parents cry daddy and ask the government for help.)

2. From 12 to 14 years' of age, he was in the Boys' Home. (As good as jail, in Singapore.)

3. He promised his parents he would take the A-levels in the USA. (OK, this nugget I may have gotten wrong -- but the promise was something to this effect.)

4. He MADE enough money to finance his way to the US, working the Gong Kuan and Sai Kuan circuit, plus the SG Conrad and a donut shop. (J calls them "stress days". My reply: "So that's how you made all that money. J: "I even grow white hair, lol.")

5. He MADE enough money to pay for his parents AND sisters to go to the US with him.

6. He offered his parents a chance to start a new life.

7. His parents rejected the offer.

At this point, his story becomes mythical (academia speak for FUCKING AWESOME). Look, I know that this guy could be fucking with me (if he is, WHAT a liar). This guy could be having a laugh at my expense. But let's look at the story. Any of those components could be true, and they fit together as a beautiful story.

Boys' Home? -- Yes, that's definitely realistic. Too realistic.

Working as underaged labor? Fine, that's a bit iffy. But if you've been to the Boys' Home, I'm sure that working an honest job for honest cash is FINE.

Saving up enough for his parents and sisters? -- Realistic. Keep a rein on your spending.

Look, I'm not saying that this guy is a saint or a hero. It's just that the story he told me tonight smacks of everything I SHOULD BE.

Take a look.

J: aim for a diploma then only i relax and would really want to know more about computer C++ language
J: kinda good in comps hacking things
J: then if i can do it i would work in garena or asiasoft or gameguard companies earn big money though

Me: well, you've made enough for yourself so far, i'm sure that whatever comes, you'll be able to hande it
Me: C++ is very, very, very hard.

J: lol... just need to know the concept and anything can be easy
J: if u really want to do something and really put the effort in it, it will come true :)

Me: yeah... i hope that's true

J: that is true la lol this sentence i learn it from some old uncles
J: they told me if u work hard for the things u want , and no matter what u face, u never give up, one day it will come true


Christ, can you feel me rooting for this kid? He's learning lessons that I learnt when I was way past my 21st birthday.


From the exchange we had on the MMOFPS game, I asked him to add me on facebook (I really wanted to know if he was bullshitting me). His facebook profile seemed to support his story so far. My blogpost probably doesn't reflect how powerful his story is. Somewhere in J's story there's a girlfriend that he broke up with because he thought that he couldn't take care of her, and parental rejection, a shitload of hardwork, and an appreciation for the simple things of life (games are just to make us happy la!).


Another nugget:

 J: if u got read the bible
J: Every single one of us came to the world for a mission. For a reason. Find out your mission and fulfill it!

---



My message to J:

Thank you for your story, bro. Your story is just beginning, and it could end in tears and tragedy (debt, drug addiction, laziness). But I have a feeling you will be just about as successful as you want to be. You have already conquered so many mountains -- and you are only SEVENTEEN.

I mean this with all my heart. J, keep on working hard, and please enjoy the good moments.



----------------------


You may have noticed that J asked me if I remembered him. Well, I think I do. We used to curse and swear at each other while playing the MMOFPS, for stupid and sundry reasons. I guess we managed to surpass that (insignificant) barrier and talk to each other as human beings.

And that's what we all want, isn't it?

Take a look at the person next to you on the MRT, and realise that they have a beautiful story too.

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Mark 12:28-34
28And one of the scribes came, and having heard them reasoning together, and perceiving that he had answered them well, asked him, Which is the first commandment of all? 29And Jesus answered him, The first of all the commandments is, Hear, O Israel; The Lord our God is one Lord: 30And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment. 31And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these. 32And the scribe said unto him, Well, Master, thou hast said the truth: for there is one God; and there is none other but he: 33And to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the soul, and with all the strength, and to love his neighbour as himself, is more than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices. 34And when Jesus saw that he answered discreetly, he said unto him, Thou art not far from the kingdom of God. And no man after that durst ask him any question.

Ratty Humanity

Are we like rats, who must scrounge and scavenge desperately to push death away, death that must come to us all? Oh, hug the wall when you scramble from one pathetic place to another, you musn't let a cat see you or a clumsy human step on you. And always, always, caution. Take risks if you must, but only so that you can secure gruel for another day. Be careful! One must not die!

And always that failure (that inability) in the rodent nature to appreciate life. No, to rest in the glory of beauty is not for the rodent nature. It is for the godly nature, to look at Creation and say, this is good. It is good, and it is lovely, it is ugly and it is painful, and for all of Nature's cruelty she is still your lover.

The human creature, at once rodent and regal. I think I like that hilarious irony, that human beings might actually go extinct before rats do.

On Music and Spirituality

ON MUSIC AND SPIRITUALITY

My parents have always been in the habit of playing Christian music in the house. I grew up listening to my mum singing hymns like Amazing Grace (she sings quite well -- she must've decided that a gentle operatic voice was the way to go) and my dad whistling the same hymns (he doesn't whistle so well). Somewhere down the line, it became Don Moen, Hillsongs, and -- I kid you not -- Sun Ho from the City Harvest Church. Music was always about reaching God, praising God. It was never about sex, bling, or hittin' dat ass.

Of course, I have left the church (it has been eleven years now), so my relationship with music HAS changed. But that element of spirituality in music is something that I will always cherish. In church, once I got into that whole Christian-y thing, I always preferred the sound and intimacy of small (cell) group worship, instead of the large mega-church thing. It felt like there was something fake and contrived in a large ensemble playing note-perfect music that I associate most with the word SANITISED. It always felt like if you wanted to approach God, one should do it naked (metaphorically). Which was why, in a group of 10 or so, the out-of-tune, sometimes out-of-sync singing was so precious. When we did not put our hearts into it, you could hear it immediately. If we were thinking about lunch, or about how bored we were, you could hear and FEEL it immediately. But once everyone put their hearts into it, wow. The sound would just be a vehicle for something greater -- that sense of wondrous spirituality, which sometimes you can find in church (it's true, don't gawk at that sentence).

So now I find myself quite firmly in the non-Christian world (even though I read the bible with surprising regularity). Music has simultaneously become a vehicle for so much more and so much less. It was a beautiful moment when I discovered that music could be a vehicle for anger (FUCK THE WORLD FOR ALL IT'S WORTH, EVERY INCH OF PLANET EARTH, FUCK MYSELF DON'T LEAVE ME OUT -- Pantera). I've had a series of other beautiful moments since then, some of which I experienced with the many bands I've had over the years.

But somewhere along my journey, I lost sight of much of the beauty and spirituality that music had to offer. For awhile, it was all LET'S GET A MILLION PLAYS ON MYSPACE (heheh, remember that?) and LET'S GIG AND GIG, MORE AND MORE, BIGGER AND BIGGER. Well, fuck that.
In a way, I've been forced into appreciating again the spiritual aspect of music -- the kind of music I play now, it would be almost impossible for me to get a million plays on myspace. But I'm thankful for the opportunity. I have to confess, I lost a little bit of passion for my own music because I wasn't connected to that element of spirituality as strongly as I had before.

Recently, I was hanging out at an ex-bandmate's house, and my energy levels were a bit low because of the horrible heat. He had to run an errand, and I took the chance to sing a few songs with his guitar. When he returned, he said, "Wah, your energy level now so high ah." (Why do I remember what Roman [a Russian living in Singapore] says in Singlish?) THAT is exactly what music means, and should mean, to musicians. A drug, a spiritual practice, something that makes life BETTER.

And perhaps, if I overreach myself, I'll repeat what I said to someone recently. He asked, "Why do you play music, what plans do you have?" My reply: I want to touch God with my music -- even if I don't believe in him.

Hunger (a short story)

So as some of you may know, I'm a man of many talents (ahem), and I'm trying to put all (if not most) of them to good use, like the good servant in that parable.

I wrote an essay for use with my tuition students, but it's enjoyable in its own right, without having to be analyzed to death. So I present to you.....

Hunger (a short, short story, at 603 words)

The guns came into play faster than anyone expected. People were desperate for food, and money had ceased to be meaningful only days before. We were told that a ‘solar event’ had caused 70% of crops all over the world to fail, but to most of us it looked like an act of god – a god that seemed to derive pleasure out of watching people and animals suffer.

                The countries that had legalized the ownership of firearms fell into chaos within days of the news of the crop failures. The entire American continent went from having surplus stocks of Famous Amos cookies to an anarchic battlefield almost instantly. Mexican drug cartels raided their local supermarkets, then crossed the border into the southern United States and continued raiding the supermarkets there. Private American citizens were no match for the Mexican guerilla armies, hardened from decades of combat with the police and rival gangs.

                Here in Singapore, people were significantly calmer. We did rush out, like everyone else, to every supermarket we could, buying as much as we could till the government issued the order for the sale of all food items to cease. There were a few violent riots, surprisingly in the more affluent parts of the island, like in Orchard and Bukit Timah, but most of us went home quietly with what we could buy or steal. Perhaps the rich, so used to getting what they want, so used to living lives of power, could not imagine a world where they could not throw food away at will.

                The horrible mistake that the Singaporean government made, however, was to assume that people would behave the same way they always did, with the same kinds of propaganda we were always fed. The newspapers and television reporters told us that though most of the developed world faced severe food shortages, the huge stockpiles of combat rations the army kept for their soldiers would tide us through until the next few harvests brought the food supply back to what we were used to. Unfortunately, only a few believed the official line, even though food depots were set up to distribute combat rations and the remaining fresh food to everyone around the island.

                The army recalled numerous reservist soldiers. Most of us have, or had, families. All of us had loved ones we wanted to protect. At first, when we were sent out in threes to the food depots to ensure order, things were tense but manageable. A few arrests always had to be made, but full-blown chaos did not come quickly. When things fell apart, however, it fell apart with remarkable speed. People say that the first gunshot was fired by a desperate reservist soldier who wanted more than his fair share of food to feed his pregnant wife. In those days, all of us were hungry, but his hunger drove him to fire his loaded M16 at his other two comrades.

                Now I hold my familiar, oily M16 rifle, guarding my stockpile of food in my home. My elderly parents, my sister, and my five year old dog will have enough to eat, we estimate, for at least a year and a half. The barrel of my rifle is still hot from the rounds that were just fired. It is strange, how heavy thirty rounds can be, when you know that you will eventually have to use them.

Still, this is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is human, even as I am, because it is my life. Like all humans, it too, needs to be fed.