A cup of hot tea, some warm bread and a good companion.
That's all you need for a perfect Sunday morning.
Causeway Bay, Hong Kong
Spring, 2005
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Life's Simple Pleasures
A cup of hot tea, some warm bread and a good companion.
That's all you need for a perfect Sunday morning.
Causeway Bay, Hong Kong
Spring, 2005
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Ooo, That Lovely Green Dress
I cannot resist hanging the green dress out as the title of this entry.
It was what Brazilian singer Cibelle wore when I watched her perform at The Esplanade Concert Hall last Saturday evening. The minute she skipped barefooted onstage, I whispered to my cousin Yingying, " Wow, I want to know where she bought that dress from."
OK, that was my second impression for the night. The first came from stepping into the concert hall for the first time. It was new, stark and frankly-speaking, quite boring, unlike aged and embellished concert halls in older cities. However, I quite liked it. It was large enough for make an impression, and small enough to feel adequately near to the action on stage. The roof was extended upward for better acoustics I believe, and the reverberation chambers complete the classic 'concert hall' look. And most of all, it carried the bold vision of a culturally apathetic nation toward a new era of artistic excellence. Shame on you if you laugh it off as government bollocks. We have to start somewhere.
Now back to the concert: Cibelle-Brasil Novo. I didn't know what to expect, only being drawn to the performance by pamphlet key words like bossa nova and samba, which I adore for their sexiness in vastly different ways. If music was metamorphosed into woman, bossa would be a quietly forlorn but seductive damsel, and samba would be a hot, energetic and passionate lover.
In the end, I was treated to a hip mix of not only bossa nova and samba, but a whole lot of soul, jazz, electronica and a dash of rock'n roll amidst well-timed comic ditzyness from the hyperactive Brazilian lass, who at one point of time, stopped to take a photo for her band members. She worked her way to the climax with some serious display of vocal prowess and her band's music-making versatility in several Portuguese numbers, then danced in a trance-like manner for English number titled Train, before plunging into the deep dark emotions of 60's classic Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me) for a parting shot.
Cibelle has a wonderful voice and as I later found out, touted to be Brazil's new hot talent equally deserving of kudos lavished on Nora Jones and Diana Krall. She is good in both languages and composes her own songs, which make clever use of studio and stage equipment to create exotic mixes, loops and beats for aesthetically pleasing music. She used two microphones at the same time for different sound effects, and her naked feet worked nimbly at the buttons on her two high-tech toys that did instant makeover of her music. All done while singing and prancing around. You can see that I am duly impressed.
My favorite number for the night was a Portuguese song about drinking. It says "Water is bad for your health". No wonder she was so high the whole time. By the end of the 90-minute concert, I was high too. Too bad there wasn't a dance floor and a water bar. And too bad I never got to ask about that lovely dress.
It was what Brazilian singer Cibelle wore when I watched her perform at The Esplanade Concert Hall last Saturday evening. The minute she skipped barefooted onstage, I whispered to my cousin Yingying, " Wow, I want to know where she bought that dress from."
OK, that was my second impression for the night. The first came from stepping into the concert hall for the first time. It was new, stark and frankly-speaking, quite boring, unlike aged and embellished concert halls in older cities. However, I quite liked it. It was large enough for make an impression, and small enough to feel adequately near to the action on stage. The roof was extended upward for better acoustics I believe, and the reverberation chambers complete the classic 'concert hall' look. And most of all, it carried the bold vision of a culturally apathetic nation toward a new era of artistic excellence. Shame on you if you laugh it off as government bollocks. We have to start somewhere.
Now back to the concert: Cibelle-Brasil Novo. I didn't know what to expect, only being drawn to the performance by pamphlet key words like bossa nova and samba, which I adore for their sexiness in vastly different ways. If music was metamorphosed into woman, bossa would be a quietly forlorn but seductive damsel, and samba would be a hot, energetic and passionate lover.
In the end, I was treated to a hip mix of not only bossa nova and samba, but a whole lot of soul, jazz, electronica and a dash of rock'n roll amidst well-timed comic ditzyness from the hyperactive Brazilian lass, who at one point of time, stopped to take a photo for her band members. She worked her way to the climax with some serious display of vocal prowess and her band's music-making versatility in several Portuguese numbers, then danced in a trance-like manner for English number titled Train, before plunging into the deep dark emotions of 60's classic Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me) for a parting shot.
Cibelle has a wonderful voice and as I later found out, touted to be Brazil's new hot talent equally deserving of kudos lavished on Nora Jones and Diana Krall. She is good in both languages and composes her own songs, which make clever use of studio and stage equipment to create exotic mixes, loops and beats for aesthetically pleasing music. She used two microphones at the same time for different sound effects, and her naked feet worked nimbly at the buttons on her two high-tech toys that did instant makeover of her music. All done while singing and prancing around. You can see that I am duly impressed.
My favorite number for the night was a Portuguese song about drinking. It says "Water is bad for your health". No wonder she was so high the whole time. By the end of the 90-minute concert, I was high too. Too bad there wasn't a dance floor and a water bar. And too bad I never got to ask about that lovely dress.
Jazz Do It
I am a hard-core jazz fan, and to me, last Sunday's 'All That Shanghai Jazz' concert, was simply marvelous.
Save for some distracting lack-lustre vocals from the girls, the nite was an exhilarating musical roller-coaster ride with some of China's best young musicians, including flamboyant male vocalist Coco Zhao Ke.
While improvisation was kept to a minimum, these fresh blood gave grand old Shanghai jazz a refreshing revival through lively and energetic expression, at the same time retaining the Big-Band charm of the golden era.
I particularly enjoyed the rendition of trumpets and violin, which were also clearly the star instruments of the night. However, if you explored a little deeper into the ritzy excitement of the night's music, you will be utterly smitten with the stoic piano performance, and whole-heartedly captivated by the deep soulful pizzicato double bass.
It was a pity that the musicians did not have more solo time to demonstrate their exceptional skills and creativity in improvisions. Perhaps they should cut down on the vocals, as the original Shanghai-style stage singing really did not do justice to such brilliant music-making. The exception being Coco's smooth, strong but sensual voice, which held the whole performance together and made it memorable. I'll give him a standing ovation if I was watching in a warmer audience.
Although Shanghai oldies are familiar tunes to most, jazz is still not widely appreciated in Singapore, and that might account for the lukewarm reception. I noticed a large number of older audience who probably bought tickets without realizing that the oldies were to be done with jazzy, and hence rather offbeat arrangement. I have a feeling they would be left quite unimpressed by the noisy and messy music, while the real jazz-lovers could have missed this fabulous outing due to its Huayi - Chinese Festival of Arts 2005 branding typically associated with traditional Chinese heritage.
Who would have thought jazz is quite so universal?
Save for some distracting lack-lustre vocals from the girls, the nite was an exhilarating musical roller-coaster ride with some of China's best young musicians, including flamboyant male vocalist Coco Zhao Ke.
While improvisation was kept to a minimum, these fresh blood gave grand old Shanghai jazz a refreshing revival through lively and energetic expression, at the same time retaining the Big-Band charm of the golden era.
I particularly enjoyed the rendition of trumpets and violin, which were also clearly the star instruments of the night. However, if you explored a little deeper into the ritzy excitement of the night's music, you will be utterly smitten with the stoic piano performance, and whole-heartedly captivated by the deep soulful pizzicato double bass.
It was a pity that the musicians did not have more solo time to demonstrate their exceptional skills and creativity in improvisions. Perhaps they should cut down on the vocals, as the original Shanghai-style stage singing really did not do justice to such brilliant music-making. The exception being Coco's smooth, strong but sensual voice, which held the whole performance together and made it memorable. I'll give him a standing ovation if I was watching in a warmer audience.
Although Shanghai oldies are familiar tunes to most, jazz is still not widely appreciated in Singapore, and that might account for the lukewarm reception. I noticed a large number of older audience who probably bought tickets without realizing that the oldies were to be done with jazzy, and hence rather offbeat arrangement. I have a feeling they would be left quite unimpressed by the noisy and messy music, while the real jazz-lovers could have missed this fabulous outing due to its Huayi - Chinese Festival of Arts 2005 branding typically associated with traditional Chinese heritage.
Who would have thought jazz is quite so universal?
Lights, Music, Action!
Culturally, my life is on a roll. I am playing on my piano again after a regretful hiatus of almost 14 years, and visited The Esplanade for two brilliant concerts in one single weekend. Somewhere in my brain, specifically the music department (if there ever was one), is now buzzing with neural activity telling me that if I don't feed it with some Do-Ray-Mi soon, I would be lucky to even have a handful of dead cells left in there.
One thing about me is my extremities. I enjoy music. All sorts except for maybe heavy metal, not because I do not like heavy metal, with due respect, but because I would very much prefer heavy metal to be what it really is - you know, not light but heavy, not wood but metal. THAT kind of heavy metal. It's really quite useful, for building ships, making anchors etc. OK, sorry I am digressing...
Somehow, despite my enthusiasm for harmony, rhythm and melody, I find music rather annoying when I hear it incessantly. It gives me a headache. To make it easier for you to understand how my brain works, imagine it to be a radio. There must be a specific time and frequency for me to tune in to music, otherwise it is just but jarring radio static. To me, music is an occasion. An event. A Celebration. Or simply a mood. You simply can't have an event or a celebration or a mood going on the whole while in the background. It has got to be special.
So yeah, I consider my minimal time spent idyllically on my piano bench quite a special event. I'd play my favorite pieces and practise my scales, immersing in the music that comes with every movement of my fingers, arms and body. Best of all it brings me back to my lovely childhood days spent doing exactly the same thing.
To that, I say, " God Bless Music". Or rather, "God Bless the Occasional Music".
One thing about me is my extremities. I enjoy music. All sorts except for maybe heavy metal, not because I do not like heavy metal, with due respect, but because I would very much prefer heavy metal to be what it really is - you know, not light but heavy, not wood but metal. THAT kind of heavy metal. It's really quite useful, for building ships, making anchors etc. OK, sorry I am digressing...
Somehow, despite my enthusiasm for harmony, rhythm and melody, I find music rather annoying when I hear it incessantly. It gives me a headache. To make it easier for you to understand how my brain works, imagine it to be a radio. There must be a specific time and frequency for me to tune in to music, otherwise it is just but jarring radio static. To me, music is an occasion. An event. A Celebration. Or simply a mood. You simply can't have an event or a celebration or a mood going on the whole while in the background. It has got to be special.
So yeah, I consider my minimal time spent idyllically on my piano bench quite a special event. I'd play my favorite pieces and practise my scales, immersing in the music that comes with every movement of my fingers, arms and body. Best of all it brings me back to my lovely childhood days spent doing exactly the same thing.
To that, I say, " God Bless Music". Or rather, "God Bless the Occasional Music".
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Where is My Valentine?
For the umpteenth time, my friends 'gently' reminded me of my swinging singlehood by throwing comments like "you know men so well, I can't believe you are still single", or "there are so many eligible guys around you, I cannot understand why you are not attached".
For crying out loud, me neither.
They offered me explanations such as "you're too clever. Men are afraid of you", and "your expectations are too high", which frankly-speaking, are too nice and diplomatic.
For one, I am not some high-flying Woman of the Year or nobel prize-winning PhD candidate, so there should be no issue on me being too clever. Especially when guys are too stupid and egoistic to realize that anyway. (**At this point, I can visualize guys going, "Us, stupid?", and giving me the dirty look...Haha, Ok lah you are not stupid nor egoistic. Hmm, you are, err... muscular and handsome, can or not?)
For two, my expectations never rose beyond basement carpark level. I know of some girls with expectations to rival Taipei 101 or the Petronas Twin Towers, who are not coincidentally, either blissfully engaged or married.
The only acceptable explanation for my lack of decent suitors, then, is that the right guy is too tied up with earning his first billion now to be romantically involved. Hence my wait. Good things are to come in good time, so let's hope mine isn't the best lest I have to wait forever.
To all you concerned folks out there who have been giving me advice and well-wishes for my love life, thank you and I do hope to repay your kindness with good news soon. However, I do not think I am ready to toss my hair and bat my lashes at any man. Quoting a gal friend who is also enjoying every swinging moment, WE DON'T EAT BUFFET.
Valentine's Day? Maybe you can fix me up with Cupid instead so that I can teach that kid how to shoot some arrows for a start.
For crying out loud, me neither.
They offered me explanations such as "you're too clever. Men are afraid of you", and "your expectations are too high", which frankly-speaking, are too nice and diplomatic.
For one, I am not some high-flying Woman of the Year or nobel prize-winning PhD candidate, so there should be no issue on me being too clever. Especially when guys are too stupid and egoistic to realize that anyway. (**At this point, I can visualize guys going, "Us, stupid?", and giving me the dirty look...Haha, Ok lah you are not stupid nor egoistic. Hmm, you are, err... muscular and handsome, can or not?)
For two, my expectations never rose beyond basement carpark level. I know of some girls with expectations to rival Taipei 101 or the Petronas Twin Towers, who are not coincidentally, either blissfully engaged or married.
The only acceptable explanation for my lack of decent suitors, then, is that the right guy is too tied up with earning his first billion now to be romantically involved. Hence my wait. Good things are to come in good time, so let's hope mine isn't the best lest I have to wait forever.
To all you concerned folks out there who have been giving me advice and well-wishes for my love life, thank you and I do hope to repay your kindness with good news soon. However, I do not think I am ready to toss my hair and bat my lashes at any man. Quoting a gal friend who is also enjoying every swinging moment, WE DON'T EAT BUFFET.
Valentine's Day? Maybe you can fix me up with Cupid instead so that I can teach that kid how to shoot some arrows for a start.
Monday, February 14, 2005
My Lucky Rooster Year
A sigh of relief.
The big affair is finally over. Chinese New Year had once again struck and left in record time, as it always would.
This year, however, it had left me feeling quite exuberant and excited about the new year. I am feeling extra lucky, quite sure that my new career will be a success, a love relationship will eventually blossom, and everything will fall nice and neat into a perfect life. There is no stopping Bliss.
Alright, I am a die-hard optimist, I know it. How not to be, when all the signs are pointing to a fabulous year ahead?
In fact, my spate of good luck arrived even before the rooster came a-calling. Just one week ago I received my pay increment and the letter of offer for a teaching career on the same day. In that same period, some very long-lost, long-distance friends were recovered, and I experienced great friendship and camaraderie in my workplace. Even my boss was agreeable and supportive of my decision to follow my calling to join the education service.
For New Year's Day itself, things got even better. I took flight for Bangkok with 13 other family members for the traditional Chinese New Year visiting of our Thai relatives. It was a fun and shamelessly noisy trip. Everyone was in a festive mood and participated in endless Teochew chatter from airport to hotel to everywhere else. This is exactly how Chinese New Year should be like - loud and boisterous.
Our Thai granduncles gave us expensive seafood treats and fed us like pigs. I never had a whole claypot-full of whole shark's fins to myself before (I apologize for the environmentally-unfriendly behavior but believe me, I would rather have it otherwise), and that was just a fraction of the feasting that continued for days.
I also received, in spite of my age, several big fat ang pows that covered all my shopping expenses in Bangkok, plus a 2-hour traditional Thai massage to boot.
So here I am back in Singapore, feeling slightly dumpy due to the overeating but otherwise very radiant from the festivities. They say that Dragons will experience exceptional luck this year, and I am never more convinced.
The big affair is finally over. Chinese New Year had once again struck and left in record time, as it always would.
This year, however, it had left me feeling quite exuberant and excited about the new year. I am feeling extra lucky, quite sure that my new career will be a success, a love relationship will eventually blossom, and everything will fall nice and neat into a perfect life. There is no stopping Bliss.
Alright, I am a die-hard optimist, I know it. How not to be, when all the signs are pointing to a fabulous year ahead?
In fact, my spate of good luck arrived even before the rooster came a-calling. Just one week ago I received my pay increment and the letter of offer for a teaching career on the same day. In that same period, some very long-lost, long-distance friends were recovered, and I experienced great friendship and camaraderie in my workplace. Even my boss was agreeable and supportive of my decision to follow my calling to join the education service.
For New Year's Day itself, things got even better. I took flight for Bangkok with 13 other family members for the traditional Chinese New Year visiting of our Thai relatives. It was a fun and shamelessly noisy trip. Everyone was in a festive mood and participated in endless Teochew chatter from airport to hotel to everywhere else. This is exactly how Chinese New Year should be like - loud and boisterous.
Our Thai granduncles gave us expensive seafood treats and fed us like pigs. I never had a whole claypot-full of whole shark's fins to myself before (I apologize for the environmentally-unfriendly behavior but believe me, I would rather have it otherwise), and that was just a fraction of the feasting that continued for days.
I also received, in spite of my age, several big fat ang pows that covered all my shopping expenses in Bangkok, plus a 2-hour traditional Thai massage to boot.
So here I am back in Singapore, feeling slightly dumpy due to the overeating but otherwise very radiant from the festivities. They say that Dragons will experience exceptional luck this year, and I am never more convinced.
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