The Lamest

[music] Christmas Hula Lounge on Friday!

2008-11-20T23:34:00.002+08:00

Alright, kiddies! Just a reminder, tickets might still be availbale for tomorrow's Christmas Hula Lounge spectacle at Tavastia! Something special's supposed to be on offer, but who cares about that crap when two of the schmartest, most intensely rawking, progressive-yet-enjoyable indie rock bands are headlining. Look forward to more tempo-shifting than you can fit into the whole fusion jazz section at Digelius music!

If you haven't seen Rubik live you should. As for Underwater Sleeping Society, I've last seen them years ago when their first album came out. The new release out this fall is pretty enchanting stuff, very soluble and tricky, so I expect an evening of disjointed fingers and blood on the frets. And, cohorts in the prog-pop group Kastor perfect the sweet & cerebral holy trinity.

Oh, and Jaakko & Jay are also playing. And some stuff from the Desert Island Sessions project, apparently.

[music] Office workout

2008-11-12T00:52:00.009+08:00

The perfect antidote to a snively spell that hits you in the middle of a dark, damp but fun-filled weekend is a dose of Australian home remedy: Cut///Copy, anyone? Even if I'm facing pneumonia for my sins against proper clothing and resting when ill, I gotta dance, dance, dance on that Sunday night!

Well, it was a fine show the Windows-inspired Ozzies put up (or is that MacOS?), but not without annoyances. Despite the eventual boogie-rama towards the end of the set it was a more subdued affair than the boys' last time in town at Flow Festival, when they played for thousands of music lovers all wound up just waiting for the slightets instigation to burst into a pogoing frenzy to finish off the three-day festival. For some reason a sold-out club were not up for the jack-in-a-box routine.

Like a wet rag in your face the rock-police squad stood stonewalling the fun crowd somewhere around the mixing booth, but a jam-packed Tavastia can't be wrong: when the call came the club jumped. To be honest, the cooler indie crowd was no doubt feeling slightly queasy as they crossed their arms and looked around at the wallowing mass of moving bodies, but I'm sure they got something out of the gig too. Though I don't know what exactly. After a slow start and a few pleas from frontman Dan Whitford the crowd eagerly obliged, and for the last few numbers (almost) the whole Tavastia was jumping with arms flailing about -- a rare occurrence in the Mecca of Finnish rock circles, where a black T-shirt is eternally the vogue.

As can be expected from a band named after the most common edit features, Cut///Copy can sometimes slip into delightfully nerdy territory on stage. Sure, mostly all they do is wave around and pull up samples (except for drummer Mitchell Scott, apparently), but when graphic-designer-by-day Whitford does his best Scooter impression with two raised index fingers it's hard to just look on with an air of cool superiority. Yet, let's face it, despite such goofyness Cut///Copy are obviously trendy, and I dare say even one of the most cunning bands out there as far as their sound is concerned: mixing the dancefloor wallop of 90s Madchester techno and some anthemic appeal of 80s new wave is pretty genious. Of course, their lyrics are just rubbish, but who cares.

My biggest gripe with the evening is that it was over all too soon! Especially after the stuffy first half I was not ready for Hearts on Fire when it came. Dammit, boys, make more songs will ya!

[music] Daddy, what was indie?

2008-11-09T23:20:00.012+08:00

The above question was asked about a week and a half ago in the form of a club evening by the same name. Three bands from way back -- favourites from my youth -- were booked to play at the ridiculously overpriced and generally crappy Kuudes Linja (which can not be disparaged enough by me) on what turned out to be the wettest Wednesday ever. The results of that evening were mixed: a general nostalgia for times when indie was still fun, teary-eyed appreciation of some kick-ass bands playing killer tunes, and a righteus fury at the sad contemporary state of indie pop, which led to redfaced rants of how Joy division is overrated crap and only got better when that sad bastard Ian Curits offed himself, etc.

A handful of people had gathered, and as I stood there in my soggy sneakers the rather desolate atmosphere was bringing me down as much as the music was lifting me up. Luckily the audience made up in quality what it lacked in quantity. After hearing the last 20 minutes of a smashing set by Vaasa power-popsters Sugarrush, I was blown away by the rousing applause they got. They are still one of my favourite bands, and I can only hope their dayjobs are well-paid but boring enough for them to keep wasting time playing in a rock'n'roll band -- even if they no longer play just to desperately attrack chicks (which I'm sure such a handsome bunch does quite successfully). I just wish they had played last: they're born showstoppers. After Sugarrush Ben's Diapers' country rock made me wonder when exactly did country go out of fashion? Just a few years ago it was all Americana everywhere, with the Jayhawks, Wilco, Iron & Wine, Ryan Adams, and the likes soaking indie-kids' underwear left and right. All of the sudden nobody cares about the dusty roadside bars and prairie fires. Go figure. Anyway, I declare Ben's Diapers' (who clearly have no interest in mainstream success, based on the moniker they have chosen) song Road Songs an instant classic in the niche of Finnish-guitar-driven-alt.country-pop. Finally it was Mummypower who closed the show with a set that revealed a previously undiscovered, striking resemblance to Smashing Pumpkins! (By way of The Posies, of course.)

All in all, some powerful spirits were channelled throughout the evening -- The Posies, The Pixies, Paul Westerberg, Evan Dando -- luminaries of Power Pop, whom the world of indie seems to have all but forgotten. Finnish indie pop as a genre, I guess, has been slipping into hibernation since the turn of the millennium. The bands I used to listen to and love when I first moved into Helsinki are almost gone -- they've gotten married, they're raising kids, working dayjobs, etc. There's a charming sense of passing in that. And the bands that have come up to fill those voids naurally build on new ideas and recycle different sounds. But at the same time I can't help but feel a new kind of self-conscious coolness about most of the new bands on the scene -- an artistry that's ill-fitting to the philosophy of indie pop I have come to embrace. Of course, Finland is another story from the US-UK axis which gave birth to most of these sounds, and the indie pop scene here in the 90s was always more syncretic than its agloamerican paragons. The dissolving of Finland's wave of guitar-pop was not as inevitable the fate of those highly developed counter-cool movements. But times have indeed changed here as well, and with a quick tally of the contemporary hot shit on the scene, the loss of innocence is achingly tangible. It's all somehow more professional, more ambitious, more serious than I remember. Indie pop has ceased to exist, and only the grim reality of "indie" in the American sense of music that's hip and fashionable among a certain strata of educated youth, or in the British sense of music that's made with guitars and not computers, prevails.

I'm not out to badmouth anyone or claim that Finnish bands nowadays lack in the DIY department. I'm just saying that the empowering potential that indie pop has held for geeks has ebbed (and I mean true geeks, the uncool kids, not the "geeks" who dig indie music, because they're really not uncool at all, are they).

To shape that rather esoteric conclusion into the form of an answer to that titular question: what was indie?

Just a bunch of kids having fun.

[music] Fun with marsupials

2008-10-16T22:18:00.008+08:00

I am sorry for Australia. Really, it's a country, nay, a continent impossible to take seriously. They talk funny, they surf all day (I guess), their Prime Minister (or somesuch) makes an ass of himself by speaking really awful Chinese on YouTube, and they have a ridiculous variety of marsupials -- the funniest animals ever.

Judging by photographs a wombat is a rather cuddly-looking fellow, a fun-loving jovial type that understands the value of having it easy. Which is why The Wombats have chosen the perfect name for their band.

As I found myself facing a no-go situation on Pop-O-Matic club's after-summer comeback and a boring Spanish film at home, I opted to spend the Saturday night going to Tavastia by myself, to check out the band I last saw thee years ago in Shanghai. Back then The Wombats were a strapping lot, keen young popsters from Liverpool playing for a rock-starved crowd in one of Shanghai's premier live music venues (Shuffle, which sadly later ceased to exist). I fell in love with the trio then and there, and ended up supporting their fledgling finances by buying every cd they had with them, and a nice pin which to this day adorns my bag!

Now, three years later they were in Finland. The crowd relative to the venue wasn't that much thicker, but much more familiar with the band and clearly as excited to be there. I guess there's an anglophile generation coming of age. The audience was roughly split between young girls and expats, with the odd pop nerd here and there. I found myself pogoing away in the middle of a throng of crazy 18-plus-year-old girls and (fewer) boys. This was a very nice, enthusiastic audience, much more fun to dance with than the boring gits who crowd most smarter indie gigs. And what fun was had!

The Wombats' pop/rock is just perfect. Built on driving beats and infectious melodies, they take no chances in pleasing people -- yet it still doesn't feel like trying too hard. Instead, they effortlessly take the easiest way out in every respect, and I mean that in the most positive possible sense. As I find myself increasingly bored by whiny indie "intellectuals", endless post-punk doom and gloom, the incessant buzzing and clicking of fashionable electronica and song structures to rival a Russian novel, the pure simple beauty of a good power chord-driven pop song sounds more and more compelling. The Wombats cut straight to the chase, but make the chase ever so exciting. Their lyrics are accessible for even the box-of-rocks teenyboppers, but still contain clever irony to force a smile on the most snobbish of lips. A Wombats show is just pure fun and games.

Music for the sole purpose of turning that frown upside down.

[TV] Skins is the best thing on right now and here's why

2008-09-07T16:52:00.004+08:00

Last winter I was hear on several occasions frothing over how The Wire is the Best Damn Cop Show Ever. While I still stand by that maxim, this summer has brought to attention another show which has turned out nearly as spellbinding: British youth drama Skins, hereby known as The Best Damn Teen Show Ever.

Of course, this is an unfair comparison to the cancelled-too-early classic Freaks and Geeks. I'm sure it would've gone much further and been even better if it had been allowed to continue, but let's face it. Quality like that stands a slim chance in American TV. Skins presents a much wilder, much more egregious and ultimately more contemporary view of the troubled existence of modern day teenagers. While the problems faced are timeless and typical, the surface of the series sticks it firmly to the post-MTV universe.

Skins has loads going for it. A fantastic cast of young unkowns (except for Nicholas Hoult, who has matured significantly since About a Boy), brilliant cinematography and for the most part sharp writing add up to make every episode an absorbing self-contained mini-drama. And the banter, comedy of humiliations and sheer crunked up mayhem bring in unparalleled entertainment value.

And, there's the music. The show often excels in flaunting the best new music out there and in revining oldies of current interest. Although it is somewhat alarming to find out that Bristol kids apparently mostly go ape to dubstep or crap trance, most of the music fits the show's future perfect tense perfectly. Asobi Seksu, Feist, Cat Power, Animal Collective, Battles, and many more have appeared on the soundtrack. Crystal Castles even made an appearance. I think some years ago The O.C. was going for the kind of indie-conscious musical line to get the hipsters and cool kids interested in its syrupy beach-and-parlor drama, but failed miserably to impress the snobs. Of course, Skins is still a mainstream TV show and ultimately behind in the trend curve, but good for popularising some lesser-known upstarts. And on a more aesthetic level, the modern regurtations of eternal pop elements resonates perfectly with the themes of youth: so fresh, yet at the bottom of it so familiar.

Plus it's just really good fun to watch the kids stumble and party their way through adolescence.

[TV] Why are there no good talk shows on Finnish TV?

2008-08-28T03:13:00.011+08:00

I just saw the first episode of Radio Helsinki DJ (and all-round Media Person) Maria Veitola's new talk show Maria! Scarcely had the opening credits rolled out when I was reaching for the snooze button. It's a fact, the only good talk shows on Finnish TV are imported ones. Thank god for Conan, or we wouldn't have any good gab on. Why do our homegrown efforts suck so much, then?

A) Boring hosts. Maria Veitola is just another in a long line of wannabes, who consider themselves quick at repartee, funny and flash enough to entertain by their mere presence. In truth they are stiff and artless. Watching Veitola interview someone and try to be funny while doing it is like watching a Finnish karaoke singer sober.

B) Boring guests. There are apparently no interesting people in Finland. (Slight correction, none of the Finnish "celebrities" are interesting.) Oooh, fashion designer Paola Suhonen wants to go to Hollywood and make "romantic movies and road movies." And hockey playing Ruuttu brothers sometimes sit in an ant hill. Fascinating. You'd think they would actually think about some of the stuff they'll talk about beforehand, maybe come up with some amusing anecdotes to share with the viewers or something. Instead, the hosts often want to ask something "meaningful" -- like "How do you feel about that?"

Which is a related problem to

C) The shows are neither entertaining nor informative. Too often the programmes have ambitions beyond mere comedy value, which leads them to clutch at anything remotely related to current affairs, "hot topics" like climate change or boob jobs included. Why is it, that saying something useless about something everyone is talking about is more important to these people than saying something of substance about a thing that might not be receiving the most publicity. Being one or the other, funny or clever, is ok! Being both would be fantastic! But the Finnish way is to try too hard and fail at both.

So, in summary, the shows are boring, unfunny, and content-wise just impoverished.

I think it's no surprise there have been less and less of these shows in recent years. People don't really want to watch something that half-assed, I hope. The olden days of Hyvät, Pahat ja Rumat or [gasping with reverence] The Frank Pappa Show are definitely in the past. I just hope Maria! eiter picks up the slack or ends up where it belongs: in the tape vaults.

But wait, the future holds a promise! Thank the Gods of Televised Entertainment there's an election coming up. I can barely wait for the political debates and current affairs talk shows to start on the public YLE channels after a looooong summer hiatus. I mean, why do we have this massive public broadcasting system for? C'mon, roll out the talking heads!

Wow

2008-08-28T03:10:00.003+08:00

It only took me three days to write that post, and I managed to keep it surprisingly short! Good for me! (That's what you get for editing other people's texts all day long.)

[music] Flow Saturday and Sunday

2008-08-27T00:22:00.015+08:00

Well well well. Here we go, with the benefit of hindsight. Flow actually did turn out really good in the end, even if some of the practical matters did blow.

Saturday...

The afternoon rain basically only ruined Sebastian Tellier's show, which I really didn't find that good anyway. The man is supposed to be some kind of sagelike pop eccentric with all this hypersexed meditative energy going on, but for my money he was just boring. C'mon, what's erotic in a five minute guitar wank-off (unless its the godlike Yngwie Malmsteen doing the wanking)? The answer, of course, is nothing. Instead of the magical mystery ride to the hidden world of tantric sexology we got some by-the-numebers synth pop, with the Eurovision song basically the only danceable number. Granted, the man's outfit did manage to force a chuckle even from my bitter lips, but in hindsight the whole show was entirely forgettable.

The same cannot be said of the disturbingly mismatched elements of Borko, yet another group of post-rock cloudspotters from Iceland. Dressed as they were in tank tops of various colours and an assortment of other bizarre attire, they looked more like a parody of a garage band than a serious group, and the jocular banter the lead singer had going with the audience definitely tipped the scale well over to the side of irony and tongues in cheek. Still, the two guitarists occupied the pinnacle of hilarity with their boastful moves and stoner-meets-Rocky-in-training and lollipop-cock-rock outfits respectively.

From there on Saturday was a pure party, which the sky seemed to acknowledge by drying up for the rest of the evening. CSS was pure energy and pop candy, and The Roots were phenomenal. And let's not forget the unforgettable burger run to Kurvi and subsequent cheapo-pints at Pub Vilho (recently refurbished to provide full on Kallio nicety). After putting my dacing feet through two hours of buoyuant pogoing on asphalt I'm sure my orthopedist agree that a break was timely, but I still would've liked to have seen Eli Escobar or Mr Velcro Fastener at one of the two club venues. Unfortunately, thanks to organiser imbecility, the three hundred people amassing at the club doors took a solid hour at least to squeeze in, leading me, Minna and Tomi heading for food and beverages instead.

The less said about the last performers the better. On first glance club Voimala seemed to offer the better late night goings-on, but the DJ's were rather unimpressive. Brookly sound system Massive B was perhaps attuned to the attention span of an average New Yorker. I soon got my fill of the thinly sliced bursts of music interspersed with endless pull-ups, with each track getting an average of 20 seconds of playtime. Bah. The revered DJ Funk fared no better, and I don't care what all the freaks at Lifesaver or Basso say. All I can say is, club music today (or rather the subgenre of sound-system-driven ghetto house/ghettotech/booty-whatever crap) is not for me. Which is to say, it blows.

Sunday...

Who'da thunk it, Sunday actually saw some sunlight beaming through, which made the laid back day all the more pelasant. Five Corners Quintet, the mildly amusing Mr. Coconut (I was really expecting much more of a show), and Norwegian girl+guitar act Ane Brun (who quickly went from never-heard to most-promising-newcomer) all made for a very pleasant, rain-free afternoon. In hindsight it was probably Brun who took the cake that afternoon. Her songs, laden with americana, were small but passionate gems akin to Cat Power, perhaps. There's still someone else, the perfect comparison, but I can't think of who. Suffice it to say, Brun's melodies and vocal mannerisms sounded very familiar. This kind of music would've been better suited for a smaller, more intimate venue, but even on the daylit tent stage Brun definitely managed to melt some hearts.

I was really looking forward to see Martha Reeves and the Vadellas, and as it happens I was only slightly disappointed. Sadly, the past is gone and will never be again, and that goes for the heyday of Motown soul as well. But it sometimes happens, that the landing gear of the present touch upon the tarmac of history. Reeves' voice was far from what it once was and she seemed tired and worn at times, but still, the woman's a living legend with over 50 years of performing experience! The band wasn't really in top form either, but I must say I really enjoyed watching the kind of professional entertainer Reeves turned out to be, maintaining a banter with the audience and generally keeping up good spirits.

And damn, those songs are just fantastic.

As for the festival closing act, Aussie synth-popsters Cut Copy, I can only give a gonzoesque account of a totally rad show. It was as if the whole crowd was just waiting for someone, anyone, to come and beat them into a dancing frenzy. Frankly, Cut Copy's sound is not very inventive, and their status as Pitchfork-praiseworthy indie faves is somewhat surprising given that ten-twenty years ago they would've been positively mainstream, but damn! A stock of flypaper adhesive tunes, some highly danceable old-school 90s synth sounds and showmanship to make the Suvilahti gas plant parking lot seem like Wembley was all it took.

In fact, the more I look back at it, the more fun I think I had. At the time I was feeling sort of iffy, what with the gut-busting tofu soup I had just before the gig and a slight cold punishing my poor frail frame. But, all that seemed secondary to the Lights and Music blinding the rest of my senses.

I ended up suffering from a cold and a terminally sore throat, and generally feeling like crap for the next week. But all the while humming to myself:

"There all these satellites, satellites, satellites, orbiting you and me..."

[music] Flow Friday

2008-08-17T20:23:00.008+08:00

So, two days of Flow Festival down, and today to go. This is only my second Flow, but already I can join the chorus in complaining about the organisers' fumbles. The area's crowded, poorly managed, the've no sense of people flows, the food's overpriced (and no competition is allowed), and you have to queue up for everything, so in the end you spend a disproportionate share of your festival experience standing in line.

Well, enough about the complaints, here's something positive: the line-up this year is pretty fantastic.

Friday was surprisingly relaxed, with the two biggest performers on the main stage -- both representing a Nordic country -- opting for mood and subtle dramatics over something more danceable. Kings of Convenience did a fine show, although for the first part of it was somewhat ruined by the gangs of philistines chattering everywhere around me. Luckily, for the last three or four songs Norway's genteel trubadours had the audience eating from the palm of their hand, and ultimately left a charming last impression. There's a clear role division between the two: Eirik (the brown-haired one) is the tender emotional type, while Erlend (foureyes) is the fun-loving party type (with an impressive ability to imitate a trumpet, apparently).

The real hitter for Friday was Iceland's Múm, who turned up the rhythmic and dramatic elements in their live set and indulged in fewer ambient ramblings than they do on record. Something naive and nursery-like in their fairy-tale folktronics made the dimming summer nightfeel like an avenue of endless possibilities: the electric hum of a refrigerator or a cracle of satic might lead the wandering mind to all kinds of fantasy landscapes. The relatively shabby appearances of (some of) the performers only heightened the quirky homegrown feel of the music, and even the singers' childlike gibberish and infantile antics only seemed charming instead of annoying, which is a remarkable feat. In fact, the girl in the striped dress probably drew adoring gazes from many an indie geek among the audience. Truly a magical show.

Suffering from a cold as I have for the past several days, I was slowly slipping into a coma towards the end of the evening, but for some reason I wanted to check out one of this year's most talked about newcomers, canadian electro-duo Crystal Castles. Should've gone straight home. Some technical difficulties delayed the show for a full 45 minutes (during which time no information was given to the audience, packt like sardines in the grossly undersized tent stage). About five minutes before the twosome finally took the stage I was on my way home, convinced that there's no way it would be worth it. So, I missed it. Frankly [!jealous griping!] I don't really see what the big deal is. It's not like they invented the chiptune! They'll be forgotten this time next year.

Alright, my Saturday report shall have to wait a while, as I'm off to see sunday's programme. More bitching and whining ahead, plus reports about some press-pass-busting moves with the Roots and CSS.

Relocated, or: "You can take the boy out of Shanghai..."

2008-02-15T21:11:00.010+08:00

The picture above may still be from 瑞金二路, Shanghai, but my corporeal ass sits firmly in a familiar (broomcloset of an) apartment in Helsinki, Finland. It's a different planet, for sure, and I'm almost afraid to open the door and venture out and face the natives. (And I'm one of them!) Ok, granted, I'm less than 24 hours on site, spent mostly in a state of weakened consciousness, and so this initial response is likely to give way to a more bland observation of "Nothing's changed".

Just yesterday I was at Heathrown airport, or as I like to call it, the 9th Circle of Hell (or "Hell of Souls in Transit"), where the trappings of capitalism meet horrors of human traffic rivalling most tibetan thankas' depictions of Buddhist hells. It's also an interesting site to glimpse the human face of globalization -- a liminal space where fragments of various wolds flow, bump and collide in a space manifesting another, architectural facet of the same phenomenon. In my case the human face is one controted by sheer vexation and a good measure of exhaustion. In fact these musings are an afterthough, since the actual experience of air travel was once again too horrible to concentrate on anything but immediate survival. After 12½ hours on a plane wathing three movies chopped up and re-edited by my restless fingers on the remote, being herded like cattle through the crowded, chaotic airport to catch my connecting flight felt like a gauntlet devised precisely to punish people like myself for attempting to expand our existence over continental boundaries. As if I didn't suffer enough.

Sharing a space with several other Finns I realised a few things: I never, ever want to become a person who talks of business for small talk. If I ever buy an Itouch player I don't want to know weather it uses QXGA or WGFL or HKWL display technology (and I want to use it to view something else than the pre-installed demo clips). And I need to steer clear of new-tech engineers, for my sanity's sake. I'm a narrow-minded a**hole, I know, but the thought of widening your horizons towards deeper understanging of IT business doesn't really enter your mind when you're bored to the point of repulsion. Plus, I only shit on people in general, not to any specific people and not when they're around. In large part because I don't really want to hurt anyone's feelings with my ranting, but mostly because I'm afraid I couldn't beat them in the argument, since in the end I'm very poorly informed about these things.

My China-tenure was hopefully by far not the last one, and I certainly consider this homecoming a temporary state. It's going to take a while to wash away my China-self and re-establish my presence in Finland. The first thing is, I need to realize that while listening (and singing along) to mandopop all day long may be fine in Shanghai, it just doesn't cut it in cooler-than-thou Helsinki. I also need to finish my thesis so I can finally put 1930's Shanghai film culture on hold for some time. (I'll get back to this on a later post, hopefully.) With the thesis' deadline just around the corner I've got a lot to do and I really shouldn't be wasting my time writing this garbage, when serious scientific words and sentences need formation. "Off to the library, you maggot breath!", says the Sgt. Slaughter voice in my head. And off I go.

I'm on the flipside now, catch me if you can!

Rock dives and the cycle of life

2008-01-25T19:33:00.000+08:00

Jeez, how long has it been again! Time flies when you're stuck inside your own head half the time, and spending the other half saying goodbye with gin-soaked tears one at a time to everybody around you you've grown to love and respect. The damn facts of life are what they are, and with a future as dim and foggy as mine there's no guarantees of a speedy reunion.

Coming back to Shanghai after a Christmas down south I was shocked to find out 4Live was packing it in. Now, I must admit I wasn't the biggest 4Live fan there ever was, but the place was the only venue in town with enough space and the required rep to book world class nobodies and Chinese mid-sizeds like PK14, and conveniently situated. Once again, The Shanghaiist has the lowdown on why exactly this mighty experiment failed: poor management and problems inherent in the Shanghai rock scene. A large, high profile venue like 4live has little chances for survival in a town where almost nobody seems interested in rock music, and of those who do a minority is willing to dish out the kind of money for drinks they willingly throw away at your averige Shanghai nightclub. I still recall a wonderful place called Shuffle Bar from my previous stint in Shanghai. While Shuffle was infinitely nicer (although with a less convenient location, unless you wanted to go play foosball in LoGO afterwards) than 4live, and had an ambitious concept (having local bands every night of the week), it went belly up in no time. (On a side note I really miss Shuffle!)

One of the problems mentioned by 4live's management is that the concept of a music bar seems foreign to most party people in Shanghai, where clubbing is supposed to be the cat's pajamas. In my opinion, Shanghai has the saddest club scene I've damn near ever encoutered! Every single club boast exactly the same things: your usual 100 rmb all you can drink -tickets, your lame three-year-old eurodance hits or an "eclectic" mix of different strands of flaccid club tunes, all sounding like the same haggis in the end. Apparently people would end up at 4live disappointed and angry, because the music wasn't the same they heard the last time, which is expected, since every other bar in this town sounds exactly the same. (Hmm, ever wondered why Shanghai doesn't have decent reggae clubs, indie discos or funk nights?) For all the cut-throat competition between clubs in Shanghai, it's quite stupefying how little success any alternatives to the basic formula seem to have.

The future doesn't look all that bleak, though. The newly opened Shelter promises to host an abundance of clubs around different musical themes and some live events as well. Having been to Shelter I feel obliged to speak my mind about the intolerable decor, a tad too designy atmospehre and some snooty sort of clientele. It's not a complete dive like LOgO or Live Bar, nor quite the oasis of comfort, but in fact a rather dismal affair with its black on black color scheme and the occasional streak of silver for that artsy cybergoth ambiance. Drinks are moderately priced though, and with the right music and the right people I foresee some spankin' times to be had there.

So, in the final tally the Shanghai rock venues still standing include all three aforementioned plus Yuyintang and the dreadful Ark Live House (tainted by Xintiandi). Shelter as the newcomer has yet to prove its worth, but the others have in fact been around for long enough to become established. These small dives' resilience gives me at least as much hope for the future of the scene as the passing of upscale joints takes away. And even if Shelter goes down the crapper I'm confident there'll be a new place opening up somewhere sooner or later. The Shanghai rock scene lives apace with the passing of seasons, and this winter has taken it's toll.

What I would say, if only I could...

2007-12-11T18:26:00.000+08:00

Hooray!
Blogspot is back online! After weeks of fretting over an abortive launch to my fancy new "web log", the nice people running this People's Republic have finally deemed it suitable to let us good citizens and visitors alike enjoy the (precious and worthwhile) privilige of accessing blogspot.com, the world's premiere free blog host.

Now, I've no idea what was the reason behind the short-lived ban. Blogspot is owned by Google, who are supposed to be in amicable term with Chinese officials, but Youtube faced a similar temporary ban just a few weeks ago. Blocking a site arbitrarily is definitely bad for business, since people tend to value reliable access to their blog accounts or video blogs. Just goes to show how powerless Google actually are in dealing with the Chinese.

The sudden blocking of these sites was, according to some speculations, due to the CCP's 17th Party Congress. For the duration of said gathering of the helmsmen in charge of this boat a number of sites were blocked completely, supposedly to maintain peace and stability in cyberspace. While the virtual world may have appeared calm and harmonious (or rather spackled shut), the measures caused plenty of cussing and pulling of hair here in the real world, as I was deprived of access to my practically virginal blog. Apparently site blocking has been as arbitrary as ever this fall, with sites appearing and disappearing at a moments notice. And just to be sure, my recently opened Wordpress account is currently inaccessible.

Hence I've recenlty felt increasing aggravation towards Chinese internet censors. This is just another one of many things about the way things are done here that annoys the hell out of me, and I don't presume to get all high and mighty, preaching about human rights and the likes. This is much more personal than human rights. If anything, I'm interested in a way to vent my frustration at these impervious, immobile and inane institutions that excercise control over my life here. Last Saturday I finally had such a chance by getting crazy and sweating it out with my one of my favourite bands, PK14, in the company of slam-dancing (mostly foreign) students. Beijing-based PK14 (or Public Kingdom "for teen(s)", I guess...) play edgy post-punk not unlike Fugazi, walking a wide path between artsy and entertaining. While lead singer Yang Haisong's (杨海崧) voice is arguably original and not always entirely musical, it shouldn't alienate prospective listeners, because the band are known to wreak havoc onstage. They look very good, play tight like tigers and race recklessly from massive noise-walls to wire-thin riffs. A perfect companion for going ape-doodoo.

So, to get back to the actual point, even with my petty complaints about the restrictions imposed on my personal liberties here, it surprises me not that such aggressive music hits a chord with the underground kids and foreigners alike. I can totally sympathise with people standing facing a mute brick wall, wanting to shout "F*ck you!" at the top of your lungs.