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konsert 2 raksasa 2011 – sweet charity & blues gang

In Uncategorized on June 7, 2011 at 8:17 am

Yang ditunggu-tunggu telah tiba! Akhirnya mereka muncul semula selepas lebih 2 dekad bersembunyi. 2 Raksasa blues dan rock n’ roll ini ialah WAJIB TONTON..

Seperti yang aku tulis untuk iklan radio Sinar FM (rasa macam tua sangat-lah)

“Mereka ialah band blues dan rock n’ roll terhebat pernah dilahirkan di rantau sini…

Kini mereka adalah legenda hebat dunia muzik Malaysia, Singapura, Brunei malahan di Indonesia…

27 tahun lalu, Konsert Raksasa bersama Blues Gang dan Sweet Charity telah mengumpulkan ratusan ribu penonton di seluruh Malaysia, kini mereka bakal bergabung semula untuk mengembalikan fenomena yang mereka pernah cetuskan dahulu.

Rasakan fenomena dua band legenda, Sweet Charity dan Blues Gang di Konsert 2 Raksasa yang akan diadakan di Stadium Merdeka pada 8.30 malam 9 Julai 2011…

Tiket-tiket berharga RM73.00 boleh dibeli melalui http://www.airasiaredtix.com dan di semua kedai Rock Corner atau Victoria Music di seluruh Lembah Klang atau telefon 03-87754666

Konsert 2 Raksasa, kehebatan dua legenda blues dan rock n’ roll tidak boleh dilepaskan!”

Jadi, apa yang boleh dapat dengan ke sana? TOTAL ROCK N ROLL!!! Jumpa sana.

SEIR RASHID

rtw8 – gemuruh antara langit dan ekonomi

In Uncategorized on December 23, 2008 at 10:30 am

Saya berjalan masuk ke perkarangan ‘Taman Rahsia’ itu – bersama ratusan yang lain – sekitar jam 7.12 malam – 20 Disember 2008. Hujan mengiringi kami dan senyap pentas membawa bersama rasa dan cerita yang tak terkarang. Banyak kisah yang menyelubungi perjalanan RTW8 ini. Sebelumnya, saya bertandang ke festival filem Russia di Pusat Persidangan Kuala Lumpur, menonton filem yang penuh inspiratif untuk peminat muzik – Tchaikovsky – kisah seorang komposer klasikal Russia yang penuh drama berat. Sabtu yang penuh kenikmatan.

Beberapa waktu sebelum itu, saya duduk bersembang dengan teman-teman baru dan lama tentang banyak hal seputar perkembangan muzik tempatan. Banyak keluh kesah kedengaran. Ketika itu juga terdengar cerita yang RTW kali ini sukar mendapat penaja. Tiada pulangan setimpal, ‘bad repo’ dan sebagainya antara penyebab yang dirasakan.

Kemudian, jika kamu pernah bertandang ke JunkOnline – di bawah entri RTW8 – komentar ‘keras’ yang dilontar para hero-hero siber juga bagi saya semakin menonjolkan kebebalan diri sendiri. Dari menghentam penganjur, medium itu kemudiannya bertukar menjadi tapak silat untuk mereka-mereka ini berperang untuk menunjukkan siapa lagi hebat. Itu bagi saya memperlihatkan di mana dan bagaimana orang-orang yang katanya berselingkuh di dalam ‘scene’ muzik tempatan ini berfikir. Dan itu juga – bagi saya – amat memalukan. Saya sedar satu perkara, sekarang ini semua orang sudah pandai – sehingga menjadikan kepandaian itu satu kebodohan baru.

Saya tinggalkan semua itu di luar pintu masuk konsert dan melangkah dengan hati yang lapang. Cuaca hujan renyai sejuk banyak memberikan keselesaan. Ada hal yang seronok dan ada hal yang tak membuat kita rasa seronok. Sepanjang persembahan sebelah malam itu, para hadirin yang sedikit kritikal akan dapat mengesan beberapa perkara. Saya banyak tertumpu kepada sistem audio yang ada. Ia cukup untuk menampung skala konsert itu tetapi yang menjadi masalah ialah mungkin terselit antara band yang terlibat dan juga kapasiti peralatan audio berkenaan.

Pada sesetangah band, saya rasa selesa dengan keadaan bunyinya, tetapi pada sesetangah band lain, bunyi yang keluar terasa melampau-lampau dan tak terkawal. Dan saya mengekalkan posisi ditengah ‘crowd’ di bahagian tengah arena itu atas satu alasan – untuk merasakan kesan audio ‘live’ yang optimum, walaupun ada masanya saya termasuk di dalam selut lumpur dan cuba sehabis mungkin mempertahankan posisi itu dengan melawan ombak kelompok mosh-pit yang sedang menikmati keseronokan tersendiri.

***

Di sini saya coretkan pengalaman ringkas sendiri dengan setiap band yang terlibat, ditengah-tengah orang ramai malam itu (*tanpa mengikut urutan saya rasa).

The Otherside Orchestra

Dari jauh, ini band pertama yang saya dengari dari atas pentas. Saya sakit dengan bunyia keseluruhan mereka tetapi saya juga masih boleh menikmati muzik band ini. Ia membawa saya untuk terkenangkan The Cure – dengan komposisi muzik moden mereka, beserta synthesizer mungkin – dan dengan vokalis wanita, pengunjung rasanya turut merasa dekat dengan lagu-lagu band ini. (Pada satu titik di dalam tahun ini, saya berselubung dengan kerja-kerja The Cure untuk memahami sedikit sebanyak kehebatan mereka, dan ini saya kira titik penyambung antara saya dengan The Otherside Orchestra).

Bittersweet

Band pertama yang memubuatkan saya rasa selesa dengan pantulan bunyi-bunyian mereka. Semakin ramai yang menyesak ke depan. Kelihatannya seperti band ini berjaya memukau pendengar-pendengar muda yang sepanjang persembahan berkenaan menyanyi dan melompat bersama. Juga, yang menarik perhatian saya ketika selingan antara lagu adalah ayat-ayat ini yang disampaikan dengan lenggok gurindam oleh vokalisnya : “Tersebutlah kisah, di sebuah negeri/ di mana menteri-menteri menipu rakyatnya..” Kucing Hitam yang membuka selera dan mahu tidak mahu, orang patut akur dengan energi muzik dan persembahan band ini.

Estranged

Ya, mereka sudah dikenali dan lagu-lagunya juga baik – kepada setengah-setengah orang. Maka ramailah insan-insan bertudung tiba-tiba memunculkan diri dan menyisihkan yang tua-tua ke tepi sedikit. Lagu-lagu yang dibawa kebanyakannya yang sudah ramah dengan halwa pendengar radio, dan sebutir dua dari album baru mereka – Remain Unkown. Juga, ketenangan Malena sang pemain bass ketika dia membetulkan tune bassnya yang sudah lari cukup menyenangkan walaupun tak ramai yang perasan. Ini berlaku ketika mereka sedang memainkan lagu kedua – Itu Kamu.

The Times

Antara band yang menerima sambutan hangat mengiringi ‘pencapaian’ Bittersweet malam itu. Muzik ringkas dengan lirik mudah saya kira menjadi ubat untuk band ini menangkap selera orang. ‘Gadisku Dalam Koma’ dan ‘Dari Singapura Ke Kuala Lumpur’ menjadi mentera malam itu, gemanya dari audien sampai ke ruang vakum di udara.

Revenge

“Kepada sesiapa yang kata Rock Kangkang sudah mati, kamu semua boleh keluar dari sini.” Itu cakap-cakap Ayid, vokalis Revenge ditengah-tengah set mereka. Sebelumnya, dia melempar ‘mic stand’ ke arah penonton walaupun ketika itu dia belum pun mula menyanyi. Bunyinya negatif, tetapi itulah hakikat malam itu. Saya tiada masalah dengan muzik mereka, cuma tidak gemar melihat telatah sebegitu. Balingan kasut Aliph dihujung persembahan juga tidak dapat mengubat rasa hati – itu pun kepada kelompok penyokong mereka di dapen pentas. Yeah… REVENGE.

Koffin Kanser

Band ini mempamerkan kawalan audio yang baik. Namun, saya tidak rasakan muzik mereka mampu untuk memeluk audiens malam itu. Set biasa yang pernah kita lihat sebelum ini – beberapa batang didgeridoo, set percusionis dan riff ala Aru yang biasa.

One Buck Short

Band ini menjadikan audiens meriah. Persembahan energetik dan saya kira, bilangan yang menunggu persembahan mereka cukup ramai. Ruang jadi penuh dan orang berseronok.

Butterfingers

Melihat daripada sambutan dan keghairahan sebilangan besar penonton malam itu, Butterfingers seperti ditunggu-tunggu dan dialu-alukan oleh audiens RTW8. Set mereka tanpa kehadiran Loque, dan bagaimana pun ia tetap menggamit tumpuan ramai. Lagu-lagu dari legasi muzik mereka sejak awal seperti memberi peluang bernostalgia kepada peminat-peminatnya. Ruang jadi semakin padat dan orang menjadi semakin girang.

***

RTW8 walaupun tanpa penaja besar saya kira sudah melakukan sesuatu yang baik juga. Ya, cacat-cela tidak dapat dielakkan  tetapi perjalanan keseluruhan acara dan sambutan orang ramai sudah dapat menyenangkan hati penganjur.

Dari perkiraan ralat saya, bilangan penonton mencecah angka 3,500. Untung atau rugi yang dicatatkan bukan masalah utama. Keupayaan dan usaha besar untuk mengekalkan momentum dan terus berinovasi itu yang penting. RTW8 rasanya mampu membuatkan penganjur – Fat Boys Record – lega. Entahlah.

Seorang teman berbisik ketika kami beransur dari situ, “nampak gaya makin banyak band yang bercakap dan membuat lagu tentang politik,” katanya. “Kesedaran penting untuk membuatkan kita lebih realistik dan merendah diri,” balas anak hati saya ketika kami mengharungi lautan manusia untuk pulang sambil mengurut pinggang.

Hafiz Hamzah / 23 disember 2008

foto-foto rock the world 8

In band, berita pantas, Uncategorized on December 22, 2008 at 9:58 am

Gambar-gambar yang sempat dirakam semasa Rock The World 8 di Taman Rehsia, Stadium Merdeka semalam. Ulasannya akan menyusul nanti, kalau ada masa nak tulis! SEIR

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Lawat FLICKR

promo

In Uncategorized on September 17, 2008 at 9:40 am

For some good cause, for our heritage. SEIR

inul = ngebor = devil?

In Uncategorized on June 17, 2008 at 11:27 am

Saw this article in Asian Sentinel and I’m hooked. Read it if you have time and in case you didn’t know Inul Darastita, the YouTube video at the intro will help you. Enjoy laughing/wondering… SEIR

A FAMOUS BACKSIDE DOES ITS WORK ON A JAKARTA STAGE

By Sadanand Dhume


In Jakarta I lived in an apartment complex called Puri Casablanca, four tall pink towers on the edge of the central business district or, as the website boasted, ‘strategically located in golden triangle.’ Each tower was named for a flower: Allamanda, Bougainvillea, Cattleya and Dahlia. This wasn’t the top end of the market—the Four Seasons or the Dharmawangsa with their BMW and Jaguar lined underground parking—but it wasn’t quite the bottom either. A profusion of fresh flowers greeted you in the lobby; the marble floors gleamed with polish; the water in the kidney-shaped swimming pool stayed a clear pale blue all year round. The New York Deli next to it, where the servers were Deep Purple fans, dished up Rubens and Rachels and Turkey Clubs with American meats and Australian cheeses and Kettle Chips in four flavours.

Propped against the living room wall of my apartment, on the eighth floor of Allamanda, was a black and white cartoon by an artist from Yogyakarta. It showed the dangdut performer Inul Daratista onstage, her famous backside encased in tight striped pants. Across from her on another stage, stood her nemesis, Rhoma Irama, an older dangdut star. Rhoma had once borrowed his look from Elvis Presley and his sound partly from Deep Purple, but he had since found God and placed his voice in the service of the faith. My cartoon showed him belting out nasyid, devotional Islamic music.

Dangdut, onomatopoeically named for the Indian drumbeat that ran through most songs, was popular music, the music of the street. Inul Daratista (‘The Girl with the Breasts’) was the stage name of Ainul Rokhimah, a 25-year-old peasant girl from the abangan, or nominal Muslim, heartland of east Java. Inul was something of a hero to me. She had started out performing at village weddings and circumcision ceremonies for 10,000 rupiah (about a dollar) a song and now charged, as the papers breathlessly reported, 70 million rupiah for a forty-minute appearance. This metamorphosis from impoverished yokel to superstar, as the papers peevishly reported, owed less to Inul’s voice than to her backside. She had invented a dance move called drilling that had quickly become all the rage. It involved, to put it simply, rotating her behind faster and faster in a blur of tightening circles.

The previous year drilling had drawn the wrath of the Council of Indonesian Ulama, a powerful quasi-official group of mullahs. They called Inul ‘devilish’ and ‘lustful’ and as proof of her malign influence brought up a man who claimed that a pirated VCD of her act had led him to rape a child. Rhoma Irama, ageing and ill-tempered, joined the chorus of outrage. Concerned about her future in the industry a cowed Inul approached Rhoma for his blessings, but this only brought on public humiliation. ‘She performs trash,’ announced Rhoma at a press conference. (This from a man with a fondness for white leather bodysuits.) Rhoma proceeded to ban Inul from performing any of his songs.

In the end, however, Inul appeared to have the last laugh. The former president Abdurrahman Wahid and a clutch of women’s groups rallied behind her. Though his eyesight prevented him from appreciating the finer points of drilling, Wahid declared that it ought to be protected as an art form. Hundreds of noisy feminists drilled in solidarity at the Hotel Indonesia circle. The pious Rhoma’s reputation received a jolt when a tabloid journalist reported him exiting a starlet’s bungalow at dawn. Since then Inul’s popularity had acquired new proportions. She had become the best-paid entertainer in the country. She was on television advertising everything from motorcycles to mosquito coils and playing herself in a miniseries based on her life story. On the streets they sold Inul pencils—made of rubber, supple and flexible.

Crown Entertainment Center belonged in a Moammar Emka book. On the street outside toothless vendors peddled pirated porn DVDs with loud cries of, ‘hello mister chicky-chicky.’ Though rooted in the small business hustle and open sewers of the Chinese neighbourhood Glodok, the centre itself was rather more upscale than its surroundings and included a spa, a disco, a massage parlour and private karaoke rooms.

About two months after the Jakarta Undercover party I shook off my lethargy one evening to visit Crown. I took the elevator to the seventh floor, passed through a metal detector and then up a sweeping stairway that terminated at a sign that said ‘VVIP Ladies’. Most of the staff milling about were girls in snug navy blue dresses with flawless skin and shampoo commercial hair. A covey of them clustered by a flickering computer screen in a low, open booth shaped like a horseshoe.

The show wasn’t due to begin for another half hour and the disco’s doors were still shut. I waited on the lip of a wall-high waterfall facing the booth. Security was tight on account of the night’s special guest; men in safari suits with cropped skulls and beefy forearms barked instructions into their walkie-talkies. A couple of them looked pointedly at my beard and my black messenger bag, but nobody said anything. To my right, one-third of a long banner touted a new brand of mild kretek; the other two-thirds was given to a picture of Inul sheathed in black leather, silver chains on her hips, her hair piled high in caramel-coloured curls. An older woman, a mamasan—chunky legs, painted red lips, pencil eyebrows—lowered her bulk beside me and placed a sleek new Sony digital camera in my hands. Would I explain how to use it? I turned it on and showed her which button to click. When I aimed the camera at her she exclaimed in horror, ‘No, no,’ and pointed at one of her girls, young and chubby in a tight black skirt and a T-shirt with a sepiatinted picture of Britney Spears. ‘I’m ugly. Take her picture instead.’

At length the doors swung open on a dark and cavernous room with dozens of round black tables on three sides of a dance floor. A stage under a canopy shaped like a large crown, of the kind I associated with either Henry VIII or the King of Hearts, abutted the fourth. Blue light bounced off two drum sets and a synthesiser. On a screen above them a dandelion exploded in a million pieces. The room quickly began to fill, for the most part with middle-class twenty-somethings, not the sort you would usually find at a dangdut concert. Waiters in canary yellow Formula One pit stop crew uniforms threaded their way between tables with tall bottles of Beer Bintang. A sign came on screen, a red circle with the words ‘Ngebor is not a Crime.’ Ngebor was Indonesian for ‘drilling’.

As befit her status, Inul was late. While we waited, a boyish and somewhat nervous host did his best to amuse the swelling crowd. He boasted about the building’s amenities: bar, spa, disco, cigar cellar. He talked up a 70 percent discount on the karaoke rooms that night and a 50 percent discount on ‘beverages’. The American word in a sentence of Indonesian sounded odd to my ears. He offered a prize for anyone wearing glasses with spots on them, for anyone in batik underwear. Nobody came forward. He asked us to guess Inul’s shoe size. (Thirty-nine, it turned out.) As the audience’s impatience grew palpable, he persuaded three college girls to drill. They came onstage giggling and did their imitation, shyly and slowly. At last the host darted into the wings and a thrill of anticipation ran through the room. The drummers took their places, then two long-haired men on electric guitars and a short-haired man on the synthesiser. Perhaps to make up for the delay, they skipped a warm-up and immediately fell upon their instruments with a vigour that suggested a secret contest to see who could burst your eardrums first. A few moment later Inul glided onstage in a silver latex bodysuit, silver chains around her neck and dangling from her hips. The music died while she struck a brief pose under a spotlight, middle finger and thumb together like an Indian dancer. Then it resumed, faster and, if this was possible, louder. Inul shook her big curly mane over her face like a heavy metal rocker. ‘Hho! Hho!’ she barked. A crush of fans, camera phones aloft, surged to the edge of the stage. ‘Hho! Hho! Hho!’ screeched Inul, her hair a blur.

I had been looking forward to a performance both devilish and lustful, but the person onstage resembled an over-caffeinated gym instructress more than an erotic temptress. She dropped her hair over her face again and pulled it back with a sharp jerk. Flailing her arms violently, she played air guitar. The papers, you had to admit, were right about her vocal limitations; I cringed each time her voice reached for a high note, like a piece of chalk on an unfortunate blackboard. After about half a dozen songs, including a popular one about herself, Inul sauntered to the edge of the stage. ‘If I sing a song by Pak Rhoma he’ll call the police,’ she said mimicking a phone with thumb and little finger. The room filled with hisses and boos. Inul nodded at the band to resume its assault, took three strides towards the centre of the stage, and halted. Swivelling on one heel, she pumped the other leg like a piston—knee bent, knee straight, knee bent. As she gathered momentum her ample latex-clad behind bore down in circles, lower and lower, faster and faster, lower, faster, faster, lower. The effect eluded words. It was mesmerising as only a silver bottom rotating at high speed could be.

Barely 45 minutes after she stepped onstage Inul was gone. In the elevator on the way down her fans whispered about the millions this appearance had commanded.

Soilwork in Malaya

In Uncategorized on April 28, 2008 at 4:59 am

Soilwork is coming… be prepared. Check out Carbon Eight for updates.

festival sunburst kl

In Uncategorized on March 5, 2008 at 3:23 am

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Festival Sunburst akan berlangsung 15 Mac nanti. Kepada yang belom ada tiketnya, mereka masih menawarkan diskaun 15% jika berkunjung ke tour promosi di beberapa tempat. Klik sini untuk maklumat lanjut.

*Poster ini mungkin sudah muktamad barisan artisnya.