IQ Medium to High

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the IQ concert at the O2 Islington, London, in December 2012. For reasons unknown to me, this annual gig seems to attract a certain type of balding, rotund old people, who stand around the bars drinking and talking loudly, and this was no exception. Even listening through this, the vocals seemed a bit rough to the ear, particularly towards the beginning of the evening, though less so than in previous years. We were spared a saxophone. The most effective songs were the more recent ones, such as Ryker Skies and Harvest of Souls, which tended to allow themselves a little more time to develop. Well, nothing much new here, but I will probably go next year as well.

Pentatonic Bar and Project Mayhem, Chiang Mai

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did visit the Pentatonic Bar, Chiang Mai, Thailand, in November 2012. Walking back to my rather dire hotel, I wandered past an open disco bar, and determined to leave this dismal city as soon as possible. Then I heard what sounded like the strains of Iron Man from a nearby shed. Entering, and finding it decorated with vaguely rocky, sprayed murals, I found a dozen patrons, young Thais and few foreigners, and a four-piece band, Project Mayhem. Ordering a beer at about 80B (1.50£), and reclining at the back on an armchair apparently retrieved from a dump, I remained to listen; this band played numerous rock standards, they were really smoking, literally and figuratively, with greatly fluid lead and bass guitarists and fine drummer and singer. Even their cover of Stairway to Heaven was goosebump-inducing. Thinking perhaps the town was not so boring after all, I dropped in a few days later, to see them again playing for friends and some beer. Anyone planning a transcontinental flight to see a band could do much worse than travel to see Project Mayhem at the Pentatonic bar in Chiang Mai.

Zeppelin Cafe, Phnom Penh, Cambodia

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did visit the Zeppelin Cafe, Phnom Penh, on Street 51 by the Walkabout Hotel, Cambodia, in November 2012. It is small and narrow; there were about a  dozen patrons on a weekday night. I sat at the bar and spent the evening opposite a picture of a moody Ozzy, listening to deep cuts from 70s hard rock, many of which I had not previously heard. I drank beer and spirits alternately, in keeping with the vaguely American ambience, managing with some effort to ring up a total bar tab of ten dollars. There were two waitresses, looking about fourteen, though they may have been older; joined at 11pm by a young man looking about ten, though may have been younger. They were efficient but not terribly communicative. Despite the wall of vinyl, the proprietor played entirely from his computer; on enquiry he said that he had copied some of the vinyl to digital, though other tracks played from an original digital source. Well, what can I say? Clearly one of the truest and best bars in the world.

Rock Pub, Bangkok

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did visit the Rock Pub, Bangkok, near Ratchatewi Skytrain station, in November 2012. The venue is of normal pub size, with a stage at the far end, on which a band, Mundee, was playing to about a dozen patrons, mainly Thais with a few westerners. I ordered a bottle of beer from the bar, which was rather expensive for Thailand, at 119B (about £2.40) and listened to a slightly slowed down version of Sweet Child of Mine, which was quite effective, followed by a similar number. After this they stopped. Well, this was rather tame for 2am on Saturday night.

Bass Girl Sings

I returned a Friday, at about midnight, when another cover band, Munsen, were on stage, though with a synthesizer that remained without a keyboardist, and to an even smaller crowd. They played a wide variety of requested covers, specialising in Ozzy Osbourne's solo material, the guitarist coping quite well; the vocalist might be better in the more modern thrashy style, thought me. The rhythm and "bass girl" sometimes sounded a little sluggish, but I often think this about cover bands, and it may be me rather than them. On this showing, I would say this venue is worth visiting, though there may be better things to do in Bangkok at 2am, certainly anyone with visions of headbanging Thai rock chicks (if they exist) will be disappointed. I also have the general impression that rock in Asia stopped in about 1990.

Full Moon Party

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the Full Moon Party at Haad Rin, Koh Phangan, Thailand, in November 2012. That day torrential rain had continued from the previous week, but I resolved that I may as well go, rather doubting I would ever return to Ko Samui, having suffered unending monsoons on the beach, mosquitos in my hut, powercuts in near-deserted nightclubs, and a pickpocketing of my mobile phone by a ladyboy, for some reason strolling the streets at 2am (after spotting it was missing, I returned to find her, lurking in the shadows, and she gave it back).

Slide

I had thought the party a large hippy assemblage, a bit like Glastonbury by the beach, though I myself naturally arrived by speedboat. Passing numerous sellers of buckets of cocktail, I selected one including (in the demonstration display) Jack Daniels and coke. But instead of adding a nice miniature of JD, the gentleman poured an unidentified liquid of similar colour. Since all cocktails taste much the same (except, of course, margarita and frozen martini), I did not complain.

The moon did actually look quite nice, as did the lights across the sea, and the beach had maybe a dozen sound systems playing dance music, and buffed or beautiful backpackers jollying up and down, in a luminescent ink. No hippy was to be seen, and the music varied from a fairly trancy pop to the full-out house. I am not a great specialist in this genre, but I had the impression that the sets were not particularly good, and I am puzzled how it was possible to dance for eight hours to it.

There was a bit of fire-walking, and some people did become drunk, though fewer than you might see in Leicester Square any night of the week.

At the far end of the beach I found a pleasing cabin, I think called the Elephant bar, where one could sit on cushions and drink peacefully, though suffering from drum and bass, possibly the least interesting music known to man, all suffused by the damp and a sweet smoke. After a further stroll across the bay, where I was frisked by another ladyboy, who was this time frustrated by my experience, I settled in a reggae beach bar, which served as a fine refuge for the torrential rain at 4am, when I wrapped myself in gagoul, waiting to return for the speedboat back at 6.

Back on Chaweng Beach, Ko Samui

This involved an hour or two's queue, in which fisticuffs between factions of impatient backpackers was narrowly averted, followed by about half an hour's wait at the other end on a leaking bus with a driver who was waiting for some drugs to take effect so she could sober up. But finally I did arrive safely home to my hut on another damp beach; and it is indeed not likely that I, Melachi, will return to Ko Phangan.

Heart of Darkness, Phnom Penh

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did visit the notorious Heart of Darkness Club in Phnom Penh, in November 2012, after midnight, after a session, and on my own. Of unsound mind indeed, then, but the security did not bother to frisk me. The beer was $2 per draft. The club is nicely decorated in a gothic-Cambodian style, there is a smallish dancefloor downstairs, with a serious sound system, and a pool table upstairs. I am not very familiar with dance music, but I think it was some euro-trash. The guests were mainly trashy young Cambodian men and some international gap-year-trash. Unlike myself, of course. There were a dozen Cambodian or Vietnamese women hanging around by the bar, somewhat professional though not very persistent, lacking the easy charm of their Thai counterparts. Although the barman was a bit gruff, the security were quite chatty. The club seemed perfectly clean and safe to me, indeed I went back on a Saturday and found much the same crowd but more of them. A pleasant addition to any evening in the Penh, says Melachi.

Yet Still the Cranes Fly

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did watch "The Cranes are Flying" (1957), a Soviet war film by Mikhail Kalatozov, in October 2012. It tells the story of a girl whose fiancé goes to war, and simply and directly, unencumbered by side-plots. The cinematography is first rate, though highly stylized; most shots could be framed as stills and displayed. The acting is hammy, to modern tastes -- whichever emotion is required from the script is presented, in the style of a Russian icon, more like an opera or comic. The few battle episodes are poor, and several scenes too melodramatic; surely old fashioned, even in 1957. With the change of a very few shots, it could have been set in any country, and with some updating (or, indeed, predating), at any time. Like any serious film about war, it is rather upsetting, and its simplicity tends to exacerbate this; rather more so than would some trendy, progressive  treatment. Is this a great film? Well, I, Melachi, in 2012, would say it is a fine film, within its limitations.

The Don flows home, finally

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read "The Don Flows Home to the Sea", the sequel to "Quiet Flows the Don" by Mikhail Sholokhov, in English translation, over a two year period, on the beaches of several continents, finishing in October 2012 (though I did other things as well). Any reader of this review will have already gathered that I did not find it the most gripping of books. It deals with the Russian Civil War between the Whites, in particular the Cossacks, and the Communists. I will not reveal who wins, in order not to spoil the enjoyment of any who remain ignorant. Any selection of half-a-dozen pages or so of this novel, which is extremely long, will find a brief and impenetrable description of the stage of a campaign, a few paragraphs of naturalistic description of the steppe (e.g. "Where the ploughed land lay in frozen waves of silver snow, where the earth had been wrapped in dead ripples since the autumn, there, gripping the soil with greedy, living roots..." p.109) and a bit of fighting or a description of a dismal cossack dwelling. The campaigns are, to my mind, impossible to follow; I assume they make sense -  someone with a good map and taking notes of the offensives and principal characters might have better luck. The last two hundred pages or so are easier to read, if only because most of the protagonists have died. Indeed, the book differs from the previous instalment in that there are not so many people in it and the women do not get beaten up and abused quite as frequently, though again this may simply reflect the gradual deaths of their menfolk. The portrayal of the cossacks is memorable and remorseless: the overall impression is of lives nasty and brutish among the proud and stubborn. There is little of cinematic nobility or honour here. Some of the scenes of the women, in particular their deaths, are quite harrowing. But Melachi observes that life is generally rather unpleasant, if one thinks about it too much, and it appears this has especially been the case in Russia. In sum, I would say these are fine works, but the control of the flow of events is insufficient to recommend the endurance of their enormous length.

Um Om ...

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the gig of the King Midas Sound and Om, on Sunday 30 September 2012, at the Scala, in London. The first band played loud sequenced bass beats with a few synthesizer warbles and occasional female and male vocals. It sounded like a rather slow and murky hip-hop. I had heard that "Om" themselves played modern interpretations of Byzantine chant. Judging by the many greasy, top-knotted beardies paying their respects I would not have been surprised to hear that the patriarch himself had sent a delegation. They presented a sort of drum and bass, occasionally with  rather weedy, synthesized oriental-sounding themes over the top. After about half an hour I stopped waiting to see what more was going to happen and simply experienced the totality. What can I say about this concert? Obviously to my ears it would have been greatly improved with a couple more guitars, and so I much preferred the Shrinebuilder project of their bassist (in London last year). But this sort of "heavy minimalism" is not something in which I have much expertise, and I cannot say this gig inspired me, Melachi, to acquire any.