The Birth of Cool

The Birth of Cool - Published February 2008


It's been three months since I began this column and it finally occurred to me that I have yet to write anything relating to music, my other serious passion. Someone once told me that we are still unable to explain why humans gravitate towards music. Music has been around for thousands of years and can be termed as an ancient form of art and expression, on par with speech and the written word. Is there a  primeval part of the brain that requires it? A drive for music perhaps?

I am aware that music can slow down or quicken heart rates depending on the genre of course. It is said to lessen the effects caused by depression and has sedative properties. All in all, music generally is good for you. Not like I needed scientists to inform me of that fact, but it's handy to know nevertheless.

Music. The one thing that is guaranteed to move me. Moods can change when a very familiar and much loved track comes on the air. The thumb panel on my iPod has been worn down to a nub as I use it constantly. Music is clearly something I could not imagine being without and this is going to sound extremely judgmental (and I apologize in advance) but I've often scowled in confusion at people who don't enjoy music. Yes there are a few out there. I've met them. From the humble lullaby one is sung to as a child, to the superpower of a live concert by an international artist, music transcends so many barriers such as race, culture, language and age that I still can't get my head around it.

Most of my childhood memories are represented by songs. For example if I were to hear "Zoom" by Fat Larry's Band, I know I would be immediately transported back twenty five years. I can't seem to remember dates and years all that well. But sit me down with a drink in my hand and I could tell you the story behind each important song in my life.

To say that music featured prominently in my early days would be an understatement of gigantic proportions. There are photographs of me trying to fiddle with the dials of our modest family stereo system back in the day. This was obviously cause for some distress to my parents as I was known to destroy pretty much anything I got my chubby little hands on and furniture was conveniently arranged to discourage me from reaching my objective. But somehow I stealthily managed to circumnavigate around the well placed blockades, not stopping until I reached my target. Yes I was a pain.

One of my earliest introductions to music was by way of my father and his guitar. The hippie era was coming to an end and my father was readjusting to life without bell bottomed pants and long hair. I can recall him singing Ralph McTell's "Streets Of London" to me as often as he could while I watched him play and wondered how he got his fingers to make his guitar sound like that. I remember pouring over the covers of all his records and song & lyric books, wondering why the members of that band Kiss dressed up in demonic looking clothes and make-up. Except for the guy with the painted-on whiskers. He just looked weird.
Names of bands like Deep Purple, whom my father clearly adored and my mother disliked, fascinated me. How were they deep? And they didn't look purple at all. Most perplexing. And then of course, there were The Beatles. No funny anecdotes required there.

I can still recall the day that my mother walked in with a brand new record by The Police that she had just bought. "Every Breath You Take" was a massive hit single worldwide but I had no idea about that. What I do know is that we had moved into our new house. There was a nicer, upgraded stereo system - much posher than the first one - and neither my brother or I were allowed to touch it. Strictly for the grown-ups, we were told. My mother was very pleased with her purchase (my father being the usual contributor to the music played in our home) and was so happy that she put it on for us before dinnertime. TV watching and music listening was usually reserved for after dinner hours so I was pretty excited with the break in routine. And so we sat down together in the family room and listened to a song that was destined to go down in music history. That was in 1984 and I was seven years old.

It was also around that time that my older brother went away to boarding school. I used to look forward to the school holidays as he would come home armed with new records of bands and singers that I had never heard of. Laura Branigan was massive, Frankie Goes To Hollywood's track "Relax" was stirring up some controversy or another. Madonna had basically taken over the planet. I listened to A-Ha and Nik Kershaw endlessly and decided, with all the fanfare little me could muster, that I was going to love Depeche Mode for the rest of my life.

What was an initial interest exploded into a full-blown jonesing for 80s music. Groups like Bananarama and Duran Duran confused me as no one seemed to be able to tell me what their band names meant (I fancied myself a precocious child in this department) and I was more than a little bummed out when it was pointed out to me in an interview in Smash Hits magazine that the Pet Shop Boys never owned or worked in an actual pet shop. I becoming more aware of an up and coming group that were starting to make serious waves internationally. The name of this band was U2.

Apart from records my brother started bringing home prized videotapes with music videos. I was drawn to MTV and watched the videos repeatedly. The Simple Mind's "Alive And Kicking" was immensely popular and I observed the changing face of anything and everything related to pop music - from haircuts to shoulderpads, buckles in weird places and ripped jeans.

It was also around this period that my parents decided it was time for me to take a more serious interest in music. So off I was packed to piano classes. That lasted for about 3 months until the piano teacher, a very nice lady named Ivy, told my parents that I was not actually learning to read music at all but that I was listening and playing the piano by ear, in effect, copying. I had been fooling everyone by playing my introductory piano pieces totally from memory. I remember my mother being a little upset with me for not making the effort to at least try to learn to read the music notes, but to me it just made more sense to listen and follow. And that set the precedent for my approach to playing musical instruments from then on in.

My father had noticed that I was constantly tapping on things whenever I listened to music and decided that I was perhaps more geared towards an interest in percussion. As luck would have it, an old family friend, Peter Lau, was a drum tutor. I began weekly classes with him and this was the start of my 10 year foray into playing the drums.

High school was where I really felt that I was given a free hand to explore as many different areas of music as I liked. We were encouraged to listen to anything and everything. I have fond memories of the first proper piece of classical music I ever really took a serious liking to : "Danse Macabre" by Camille Saint-Saëns. It still gives me the chills.

During my 5 years at United World College, I played drums and percussion with the school orchestra as well as the popular Jazz Band. And that is where I was properly introduced to the world of Miles, Coltrane, Byrd, Cannonball and the ladies of cool, Nina and Billie. Even when warming up for our jazz sessions, the legendary track "Take 5" was the order of the day to ease into things gently, and even now it is difficult for me to go 24 hours without listening to a little bit of jazz. Even if it is by modern-contemporary artists like grammy award winning Diana Krall.

I remember being encouraged by my music teacher Mr. Lowe, to attend a concert by legendary blues legend B.B. King. And then I was instructed to prepare an essay on the performance which I was more than happy to do as I waxed lyrical on the abilities of the man himself and his longtime stage companion - his black Gibson guitar named Lucille.

Throughout all my performances and exams for music, I never learned to read music. I played everything entirely by ear. For my GCSE exam piece that I had to compose and perform for marking, an allowance was made for me by the examining board in which I was allowed to present a write-up and thorough explanation on my composition. I am very proud to say that I was awarded an A for my efforts.

My university days were filled with balancing electronica and house with some trip-hop and garage. It is also around this time that I started paying a lot of attention to a genre I had previously overlooked, R & B. I have my flatmates to thank for that as they, being from mainly Fiji and Samoa, had a strong interest in anything related to neo-soul and hip hop. I could generalize and peg it as a cultural preference but that would simplify it too much. But if anything, their influences rubbed off on me greatly and I can safely say that I genuinely enjoy a lot more R & B now than I did ever before. Yes, I 'll admit to bopping along to radiofriendly Ne-Yo while regretting the demise of once popular Lucy Pearl.

Nowadays I alternate my playlists thoroughly and on any given day you will find some Bryan Ferry, a little Fleetwood Mac, a selection of Hed Kandi tracks, a sprinkling of Cafe Del Mar offerings, the humor of Fall Out Boy and more than a fair bit of Jamiroquai. But I have realized one thing in all my years of paying attention to artists and music. Stick to your own preferences and never let anyone tell you that you have bad taste in music. After all, you don't owe anyone any explanations to what it is that moves you.
But you'll have to excuse me now as I sign off. American Idol is on.