Space, man

12th Planet, the don of US dubstep, on ancient aliens, chicken and wobble, and what to do when the world ends

EARTH TO COLLIDE WITH NIBIRU ON NOVEMBER 21, 2012! The headline – writ large in block capitals, lest readers underestimate just how swiftly the human race is to be snuffed out – first appeared on weeklyworldnews.com in June of this year. But before you go barricading yourself into an underground bunker/drinking yourself to death with Hershey’s chocolate syrup/seizing the pre-apocalypse chance to carve your ex-lovers up with a chainsaw, perhaps a little context is in order. Not only does the headline appear next to a story announcing the world will in fact end a full month earlier, the same site also declares that Mitt Romney is running for president of Facebook and Joe Biden has joined outlaw motorcycle club the Hell’s Angels.

 

Confused? You’re not alone. And neither, according to controversial Azerbaijani-born American author Zecharia Stitchin, are we – at least in the ‘human race descended from ancient aliens’ sense. For Nibiru, according to Stitchin, is a giant planet first identified by Babylonians that passes Earth every 3,600 years, allowing its ‘sentient inhabitants’ to drop in for the intergalactic equivalent of a quick cuppa. It was during one such fly-by that the occupants of this so-called 12th planet grew tired of plundering Earth for its raw materials and so genetically engineered us, homo sapiens, to do the heavy digging on their behalf.

Or so the legend goes, for the late author’s theories have been derided by almost every member of the world’s scientific community (as Brian Switek writes on Smithsonian.com, referring to the History Channel’s Ancient Aliens series, “I had a feeling that if I watched the show – which popularises far-fetched, evidence-free idiocy about how human history has been moulded by extraterrestrial visitors – my brain would jostle its way out of my skull and stalk the Earth in search of a kinder host. Or, at the very least, watching the show would kill about as many brain cells as a weekend bender in Las Vegas.”).

Still, the beliefs persist – so much so that the man credited with introducing dubstep to America, Los Angeles-based John Dadzie (due to play at Pontoon this week), actually named himself after Stitchin’s fictional object. 12th Planet, as this West Coast junglist is now known, counts ancient aliens among his inspirations and in January released an EP with the ominous-sounding title The End is Near! We invaded his inbox to talk hamburgers, boots-in-a-dryer dubstep and how to go out with a bang when – and if – the world finally ends.

Inspired by ancient alien stories, eh? Tell us about the first time you picked up a copy of Zecharia Sitchin’s first Earth Chronicles book, The 12th Planet.

Ha ha! I had the name 12th Planet before Ancient Aliens episode one aired. I originally received the book around 2003 from DMC champ DJ Craze’s wife, Ros. The book pretty much changed my life.

The head of the European Space Agency once told me he’s convinced life exists on other planets, even if it’s just microbial. Do you have a theory on the existence of extraterrestrial life? What might it look like? And what would you do if aliens tried to abduct you?

I feel there is life out there 100%. And if it does exist on a terrestrial planet like ours, then I would assume that they would have a similar make-up to human beings. I would even go as far to say that extraterrestrial life probably walks among us right now.

Will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas has just made his intergalactic debut with a song of his broadcast from the Mars rover Curiosity. Any plans to send your music to Nibiru?

My music is a direct message from Nibiru.

The subtext of The End is Near! EP: if the eschatologists are right and 2012 really is the end-date of a 5,125-year-long cycle in the Mesoamerican Long Count calendar, how would you go out with a bang? 

I’m not sure if the world will truly end on December 21, but I can tell you that I’ll be performing at the Piramides de Cholula in Mexico with Skrillex and Nadastrom. If the world ends that day, I’m glad I got to celebrate with a great group of individuals.

Skrillex: he’s your best mate. Tell us about the vibe between you two.

I love working and hanging out with Skril! He’s an awesome person and inspires me to be a better producer, person and performer at all times.

What are your memories of when your mum bought you your first radio cassette, which you once described as the best thing that ever happened to you?

I think my first cassette single was Young MC’s Bust a Move, or Kool Moe Dee’s I Go To Work. I remember being so happy I could play the songs whenever I wanted, without having to wait for them to come on MTV or the radio. It was a great day.

From drum ‘n’ bass to the equally bass-centric dubstep: what exactly is it about bass that reaches parts other frequencies can’t?

I think DNB and dubstep are pretty much cut from the same cloth. The over-emphasis on low frequencies gives you a sort of fight-or-flight response. For instance, when you hear a fighter jet fly over and all of a sudden you get this feeling in your stomach like ‘Prepare, something is about to happen.’ This is the same feeling you receive on the initial impact of a big dubstep/DNB drop.

You’ve said the biggest misconception about dubstep is that “it’s only made up of chicken and wobble”. I laughed out loud when I read that. Can you explain? Also, how is the sound evolving?

I was making a reference to a famous American dish called chicken and waffles. I should have used a different metaphor for this quote. Dubstep is like a hamburger: sure, meat and bread are its prime ingredients, but it’s what you add to the burger that makes it different. With that said, dubstep will always have the two main primary elements, bass and drums, but it’s what you add to it that makes the genre evolve. Korn, Asking Alexandria, and Hollywood Undead added heavy metal and all made revolutionary advances. James Blake, Usher and Bieber gave it a pop edge and now people who would have never listened to dubstep have an idea of what the music is. The list goes on and on, and will continue to grow, as long as people are up for a change of the taste of the hamburger they’re eating.

As the man who brought the British dubstep movement to the US, inspired by BBC Radio 1’s Mary Ann Hobbs, you’ve been hailed as ‘The don of American dubstep.’ Are you blushing right now?

I wouldn’t say that I brought the movement to the US, because there were guys pushing the music long before me. I gotta give it up to people like Joe Nice, Dave Q, Matty G and Juju for really laying down the initial groundwork. My partner in Smog, Drew Best, once told a magazine from LA that I was the “Johnny Appleseed of dubstep; sure there were apples before Johnny, but now there are orchards.”

You’ve said you’d love to work with Rage Against The Machine. What is it about them that gets you going?

RATM taught me to think outside of the box and to question authority. The Evil Empire inner CD had a picture of 50 books that I tried to read all throughout high school and my early adult life, to understand other perspectives on life. It helped me find books like The Anarchist Cookbook, Guerrilla Warfare, Art of War, Wretched of the Earth, and so on and so forth. So for me to work with them would be an incredible experience, because that band was one of my initial true inspirations to become a better man through music.

Reasons (Doctor P Remix) was named one of the ‘30 Greatest Dubstep Songs of All Time’ by Spin magazine. Did you have a hunch it was going to be that big?

At the time I commissioned the Doctor P remix of Reasons, I would have never imagined the magnitude that the remix would have. I was looking for a more dance-floor direction for the Smog EP and that’s why I went for my DNB chum Picto. He made it around the same time as Sweet Shop and Badman Sound, and all three kind of jumped to the top of the charts at the same time. I can’t believe that it is still in rotation to this day, and I am thankful to everyone for the support.

And finally, is there anything else you’d like to talk about that we’ve forgotten to ask?

This is my first time coming to Cambodia, so I have no idea of what to expect. I can’t wait to get to DJ out there and I would like to say thanks to everyone who might attend.*

*The Advisor accepts no responsibility for the gig being cancelled due to alien invasion.
WHO: 12th Planet
WHAT: The don of US dubstep
WHERE: Pontoon, St. 172
WHEN: 11pm September 14
WHY: The end is near!

 

Coming home

“Of course I’m nervous!” laughs Jean-Baptiste Phou. “I never imagined that a thought I had sitting on my own in front of my computer would one day become all this!” He gestures round him in amazement.

The ‘all this’ to which he is referring is the frantic preparation for opening night of Phou’s first play, Cambodia, Here I Am, which will show at Chenla Theatre and has the backing of the French Institute. Little wonder the first-time writer and director is having a minor case of pre-premiere jitters.

The play, which toured France last year, centres around four Khmer women stuck in the waiting room of the Cambodian Consulate in Paris. Three are returning to Cambodia for disparate reasons; one is on the cusp of a new life in France with a French husband. Four characters spanning four generations, each holding very different perspectives on the country they putatively call home. As they discuss Cambodia and their increasingly tenuous connections to it, their struggles and hopes surrounding identity and self-hood are subtly revealed. “They all have their own idea of Cambodia,” explains Phou. “They all strongly defend their vision, but that vision is subjective and they are all wrong and right in the same way. They tease each other all the time; there’s tension there.”

A group of characters stuck in a room tormenting each other? Sounds suspiciously Sartrean. But Phou denies such direct referentiality, although he admits that being born in Paris it’s “pretty hard to get away from Sartre”. In an attempt to purify his creative process, the playwright closeted himself away from external influences during the genesis of the work, attempting to find his own authentic way of telling the stories of the four Cambodian women populating his mind and his page.

The result is innovative and intriguing. While making use of accepted Western dramaturgy, such as character motivation and causal narrative structure, Cambodia, Here I Am determinedly includes elements typical of Khmer classical theatre: shadow puppetry, traditional instrumentalists onstage with the actresses, Apsara dance. However, Phou didn’t feel the mere inclusion of these traditional motifs would be “interesting enough”, so he added his own authorial-directorial twist. The shadow ‘puppets’ are flesh and blood actors, silhouetted in magic-lantern motion; the instrumentalists sporadically interact with the actresses; even the Apsara dance, venerated in Cambodia, is done with a tongue-in-cheekiness, becoming a vehicle for examination of cultural stereotypes and Western perceptions of what it is to be ‘Asian’.

It’s this nod to the prismatic nature of perception that for Phou holds the key to Cambodia, Here I Am. “For me it’s about representation, false representations, stereotypes and fantasies.” Even for Cambodians – be they emigrants, immigrants, returnees or lost sons and daughters – Cambodia is a many-splendoured thing, irreducible to a glib slogan no matter how catchy the Ministry of Tourism’s ‘Kingdom of Wonder’ tagline may be. Phou’s play provides a glimpse into the complexity of comprehending Cambodia, and the subjectivity of any theory that claims to do so.

Unsurprisingly, the play refuses to present its audience with a neat and tidy ending. When do cross-generational, cross-continental identity crises have neat and tidy endpoints? “Is there any resolution? No, that’s something tricky…” muses Phou. “I don’t want the play to be didactic. But despite all the tensions and different experiences and different representations, I wanted at the end to really connect the four characters, connect the four generations. It’s not a happy ending, but they are all moving towards Cambodia in some way. And they’re all asking the country, ‘Please accept me as I am.’”

WHO: Jean-Baptiste Phou, playwright and director
WHAT: Cambodia, Here I Am
WHERE: Chenla Theatre, Phnom Penh Cultural Centre, Mao Tse Tung Blvd
WHEN: 7pm September 8, 3pm September 9
WHY: Who among us isn’t having an identity crisis?

 

City of zombies

Since 1932’s White Zombie, the zombie of Haitian Voodoo’s practice of black magic has been the stuff of cinematic (and, increasingly, literary) gold. In the ’30s and ’40s, inspiration was lifted almost directly from the Haitian myth of the ‘Zombi’ (literally, ‘spirit of the dead), in which the victim would appear dead to the public eye only to be exhumed as a mindless drone completely under the control of its master. Many went so far as to directly link their antagonists to Voodoo lore.

After a long and restful slumber, the zombie paradigm shifted in 1968 with George Romero’s low-budget, black-and-white classic Night of the Living Dead, a film which instantly became the standard by which all other zombie movies are judged. Many would argue that it still is. Rather than supernatural beings controlled by a master, the enemy became us. Zombies came to represent man’s inhumanity towards man and all of the darkest acts human nature is capable of. Night dressed its monsters in normal everyday clothing as opposed to ritualistic garb. It was one of the first zombie films to give a scientific reason for the disease as opposed to a supernatural one. Almost all zombie movies which came after have followed in its footsteps, sometimes even neglecting to reveal the cause due to its irrelevance.

Once it had stumbled awkwardly though the ’70s, the sub-genre experienced an explosive revival, with gore classics such as the Evil Dead trilogy and Re-animator. While remaining faithful to the DIY aesthetic, the ’80s (as they did to so many other things) turned the gore up to 11. As the violence became more extreme, some plots fared better than others. Recognising this, filmmakers often chose to create tongue-in-cheek B-movies which sometimes bordered on the slapstick, and more often embraced it wholeheartedly.

Although it would seem that the awful zombie-themed comedies of the 1990s put the final bullet in the zombie’s head, the undead walk among us today stronger than ever. Sparked by Max Brooks’ (son of filmmaker Mel Brooks) bestselling book, The Zombie Survival Guide in 2003, as well as Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg’s Shaun of the Dead in 2004, the zombie sub-genre simply won’t stay dead. Even outside of Halloween time, many fans of the survival guide often discuss their z-day survival strategies, watch old zombie classics, and gladly crowd theatres to catch new releases.

The zombie begins to receive serious cultural and sociological discussion, looking back on Dawn of the Dead and others, to paint an overarching metaphor of the zombie as a brain-dead, insensate consumer who, without remorse or emotions, only desires ‘more’. Meanwhile, everything from AMC’s 2010 adaptation of The Walking Dead to the 2009 spoof novel Pride, Prejudice and Zombies finds itself in the homes of millions of people.

Springing up in the midst of all this have been several quazi-zombie movies in which the affected have greater speed, intelligence and stamina, usually due to some sort of virus. While most purists argue that these are not really ‘zombies’, the twist to the genre certainly adds more room for creative liberties. In the aftermath of Cambodia’s recent outbreak of hand, foot and mouth disease, filmmaker Touch Oudom has decided to throw his hat into the ring with the upcoming release, RUN.

Drawing inspiration from the modern zombie of 28 days later, 28 weeks later, and the Resident Evil films (though “only the first two”, he makes a point of mentioning), Dom has cast the infected as his villains because their strength doesn’t lie only in numbers; they are harder to kill, and they’re way more scary in general. RUN sees Cambodia struck with a new strain which causes people to “become uncontrollable” and “lose themselves”. In addition to directing, editing, and screenwriting, Dom is also a visual artist who draws out the storyboard concepts to give the infected exactly the right look.

In order to wrangle together the necessary interest, he has created a nine-minute short also entitled RUN (which can be found on YouTube.com by typing in ‘aromfilm run’; it’s the first result). Sensing great talent, the project was picked up by WestEc Media, a local distribution company. RUN is their first local production. Using his own initiative and the support of WestEc, Dom has assembled a crew of his friends as well as professionals in the industry.

Adding something else to the production is Dom’s policy of telling the actors NOT to act. More specifically, he requests that all actors bring their own personalities, demeanours, backgrounds, and current situations onto the screen with only the names altered. He even goes so far as to have sections for personality traits, favourite hobbies, and occupation on the casting application form. The theory is that it will reduce the need for character research and role coaching while bringing out better and more natural performances from everyone involved. Because there are Khmer and expat actors performing for a similarly mixed audience, the plan is for this to be a bilingual film with bilingual subtitles running throughout.

As any true zombie lover would, Dom has chosen to forego computer effects and digital enhancement in favour of make-up, fake blood, and home-made gore. Aside from being really damn cool, this also adds another layer of fun, leaving the viewer wondering just how it was done, and serves as a worthy homage to the style’s early predecessors.

Beyond the link to Cambodia’s recent disease scare, the timing of this project becomes even more uncanny. It was during the hedonistic economic boom of the late 1970s and 1980s that zombies began to take on the role of critiquing rampant consumerism. 1978’s Dawn of the Dead unsubtly takes place in a shopping mall. The living dead – a mindless, unthinking, unfeeling herd – are consumer culture writ large and many of these films show us the extremes of what such a culture renders us capable of. Though Cambodia has produced plenty of horror films in the past, many based around local folklore, this is the first zombie movie to come out of The Kingdom. It does so just as globalisation and consumerism find their way into the nouveau riche districts of Phnom Penh and serves, just as it did in the West, as a strongly worded warning.

Filming begins soon in Gasolina, International University, Naga Clinic, the Phnom Penh ports, and Dreamland, so if you see any mutants with torn flesh roaming these parts any time soon, try not to panic.

WHO: Zombies
WHAT: RUN
WHERE: Phnom Penh
WHEN: October
WHY: They want to eat your braaaaaain

 

Dish: Vive la P’tite France!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that it is practically impossible to talk about French food without coming off like a pretentious wanker. Mere iteration of words such as rillettes, escargots and worse, coq au vin is often sufficient to leave many non-Francophones scurrying for the hills, or at least in search of their dictionary. It is thus with some trepidation that we embark upon a review of La P’tite France, which has recently relocated from the Riverside to BKK1: writing about food is hard enough; writing about food which puts the haughty in haute cuisine is, to say the least, intimidating.

Entering La P’tite France, all such trepidation fades. This may be something to do with the immediate arrival of a carafe of crisp rosé wine ($10) and a continually replenished plate of homemade crisps (whether crisps are a quintessential element of French dining is a moot point, but free crisps rarely elicit complaints from anyone). The outside dining area, overhung with tropical greenery and tinged with the fragrance of frangipani flowers, completes the relaxation process; the chocolate box Monet prints which adorn the interior are less pleasant, but hardly offensive.

As should be the case in any French eatery, the alcohol menu is extensive. Aperitifs take up a page of their own, as do digestifs, with Armagnac, Courvoisier and calvados nestling up to bottles of Muscadet and Chablis. The Kir Royale is oh-so temping, but at $7 seems a little decadent. There are of course non-alcoholic drinks on offer, but people, we are in France!

And, being in France, we must act like proper gourmands. The food selection provides ample opportunity to do so, being replete with meals emblematic of the age-old conundrum of how French women eat this stuff and yet remain thinner than the rest of us. A mere perusal of the starters is enough to pile on the pounds: pork pate laced with Armagnac, chicken liver salad, duck fois gras on toasted brioche… all very naughty. The main courses are a carnivore’s playground: surely it’s illegal to make customers choose between roasted duck in raspberry confit or prime rib eye in pepper sauce? Disappointingly, there are only three fish dishes on offer, unless you count whelks as fish, which hopefully no one does. Pizza and pasta are also available, for the unadventurous.

The Steak La P’tite France, the restaurant’s signature dish, comes perfectly cooked and garnished, although the accompanying skinny fries look less fine dining, more fast food. Maybe a more grown-up incarnation of the humble potato would be more fitting. Big fat chips, for example. The pan-fried red mullet is both crispy and delicate, with just the right amount of salsa verde, providing a perfect excuse for much plate-mopping with the complimentary homemade bread.

No French dining experience is complete without a cheese platter; there is probably some law in France that actually mandates the consumption of cheese after every meal. La P’tite’s comes with Camembert, Brie and a mild blue, alongside slices of apple and walnuts. The cheeses themselves could be stronger, but perhaps La P’tite France is making a concession to palettes not wholly accustomed to cheeses which smell hellish but taste like heaven.

The rest of the desserts are also classiques: chocolate mousse, profiteroles, a hot melty tarte tatin topped with ice cream. And the somewhat mysterious but welcome offer of ‘extra alcohol or cream, $2’ with any pudding; who could resist? To round it all off, the attentive staff deliver a complimentary shot of passion fruit liqueur unbidden to the table. That kind of liberté, égalité and fraternité really cannot be beaten.

La P’tite France, #38 St. 306; 016 64 26 30; laptitefrance.com.

 

The Eyes Have It

When I go back to my village, the children look at me with wide eyes because I look strange to them


Hour Seyha and Nget Chanpenh, recent graduates of the Phare Ponleu Selpak Visual Art School, live side-by-side in Battambang – lauded as the epicentre of Cambodia’s arts scene. But their styles, on exhibition at Romeet Gallery, remain distinct. Seyha’s Children of the Countryside is a series of stark portraits, composed of layers of circles and lurid in colour. “One day, I was painting while I was angry,” he says. “I painted in big brushstrokes, violently; then the paintbrush fell out of my hand. I picked it up and decided to paint without anger; I had to control my anger. Painting in circles is meditation for me.”

Chanpenh’s During the Dark bears more relation to the Expressionist style: darkly rendered hues, illuminated from beneath by lighter shades, form distorted and blurred images of his family. But both artists share the sentiment, summed up by curator Kate O’Hara, that “Art and life are closely related.”

Seyha’s Children of the Countryside is playful, even when the subject is morbid or mournful. A full-body portrait of a crying girl hangs in the centre of a long wall, but she’s realised as a cartoon character or caricature through the enhancement of certain features. Her eyes, like those of all of the children in the series, are massive. “When I go back to my village, the children look at me with wide eyes because I look strange to them,” the artist says.

Although he may appear strange, Seyha is no stranger. The relationship he has with the children of the countryside mirrors our own relationship with his subjects. It is a relationship which simultaneously feels the pangs of intimacy while experiencing the distance of an observer. Seyha speaks of a need to return our gaze to the hardships of such children, forgotten by the residents of fast-developing cities. But the gaze works both ways: the children’s wide-eyed stares recall us to ourselves, to our own state, most likely enviable by comparison.

Children of the Countryside requires the audience to recognise the faces and experiences of Seyha’s subjects and to consciously experience that recognition as a shift from egocentrism to empathy. This is the common impetus behind Seyha and Chanpenh’s work. “Development is local to the city,” says Chanpenh, whose series concentrates on the lives of his family in the provinces. “I want to return attention to the countryside.” During the Dark is the artist’s attempt to divert the capital’s gaze from itself to those closest to him: his own flesh and blood. Sometimes eyes recede into wide faces and are difficult to discern; others blur into the block colour of the visage. Perhaps he wants us to scrutinise those faces; to get closer or stand back; to interact.

“Every painting that I make is of what I know very well,” Chanpenh says, but both artists share a concern that their audience doesn’t know their subjects’ lives well enough. Their painting constitutes an attempt to move the image from the countryside to the city and to transmit knowledge from the artist to his audience. When we see the image, we know the subject: that’s their philosophy.

WHO: Hour Seyha and Nget Chanpenh
WHAT: Children of the Countryside and During the Dark
WHERE: Romeet Gallery, St. 178
WHEN: Now
WHY: A privileged insight into a provincial world

 

The Greatest Ladyboy Show On Earth

The red velvet curtains part tantalisingly slowly. Atop a glittery stairway to heaven, a statuesque blonde, pink mini-dress and legs up to her armpits, turns just as slowly and winks even more tantalisingly to her audience. “Diamonds…” she lip-synchs smilingly. “Diamonds…” A gut-wobbling sound system kicks up and suddenly we’re into a cabaret explosion which would certainly put Nicole Kidman into a corner, and might even give Marilyn a run for her money. A phalanx of stunners surround the blonde, twirling and lifting her as she performs feats of derring-do previously thought to be impossible in 5-inch stilettos. These are probably the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen. Except, as you’ve probably guessed, they’re not ‘girls’; they’re ladyboys.

Welcome to Siem Reap’s Rosana Broadway, the greatest ladyboy cabaret on Earth. Or at least in Cambodia. In fact, it’s the first and only such show in Cambodia. Gay friendly bars such as Phnom Penh’s Blue Chilli and Siem Reap’s Khmer Queen have been putting on drag shows for donkeys’ years, but Rosana Broadway is something else. A 900-seater auditorium, choreographers from Thailand, close to 100 high-kicking ladyboys and transvestites – this is no hole-in-the-wall affair. This is Las Vegas cabaret come to the Kingdom. In fabulous frocks.

General Manager Mr Atth Saengchai is keen to clear up any erroneous presumptions about the sort of outfit he’s running. There will be no funny business at Rosana: “We’re not a bar, not a café. I tell my staff you are talented, you are actresses and you have to be proud.”

Mr Atth knows what he’s talking about. Founder of the famed Calypso club in Thailand, in which Lady Gaga’s bejewelled presence has been spotted, he’s an old hand on the Thai cabaret scene. And quite a scene it is too: venues such as Miss Tiffany’s and Mambo in Pattaya can pull in almost 1,000 punters a show, with up to six performances a day in the tourist high season. Being a star in one of the top Thai cabarets can bring fame and fortune for the luckiest ladyboys.

Moreover, Thailand has had a thriving and increasingly socially accepted gender-bender culture for years. Ladyboys now have jobs in the corporate world as well as in entertainment; the ladyboy volleyball team The Iron Ladies are a national symbol; even the macho world of Thai boxing succumbed years ago to the charm and skills of Nong Tum, renowned for fighting with a full face of slap on, and planting the occasional cheeky kiss on her male opponent.

In Cambodia attitudes can be a little less laissez-vivre. Although Siem Reap and Phnom Penh both have a range of LGBT-friendly venues, traditional ways of thinking have sometimes made life tough for Khmer ladyboys. “Ladyboys here weren’t accepted.” Mr Atth shakes his head wonderingly. “They felt they had to hide something in the daytime, but they are human beings; they should have a better life.”

Backstage at Rosana’s, the rehearsal for that ticket to a better life is in full swing. Ladyboys, transvestites and members of Siem Reap’s gay community are jazz-handing so energetically it looks as though someone might sprain something vital. Diana Ross blasts from enormous speakers as a performer shimmies a perilously perfect bottom and a teenage boy backflips around her, pausing momentarily to grin before busting out some breaks. In high heels. The music morphs into Bollywood, and 20 dancers slip effortlessly into Apsara poses, their tilting heads and hands as beguiling as their shy smiles. The choreographer, in muscle vest and hair band, beats out the rhythm with his foot, while in the corner a gaggle of ‘girls’ are trying on tiaras with an aplomb that makes Kate Middleton look like an amateur. It’s like being on the set of Fame, but with less leg warmers and better hair extensions.

The energy in the room is infectious. That said, this is no summer camp; with two shows a day, 365 days a year planned, Rosana’s performers have to be at the top of their game. Each performance will last over an hour, and will be tailored to fit its audience as snugly as a sparkly leotard. “If we have a majority of Koreans one night, we will include more Korean songs,” explains Mr Atth. “If we have more Chinese, then more Chinese songs. But always this is a Cambodian show. We want local people to feel proud.” The huge phallic representation of Angkor Wat which forms the backdrop of the opening number should do the trick.

The Cambodian focus is mirrored in the performer demographic, with more than 70% Khmer to 30% Thai cast members. Mostly untrained before Rosana rolled into town, the Khmer ladyboys are being mentored by their more experienced Thai counterparts. Ana, the Monroe blonde, is happy to be part of the training process: “I’ve been in cabaret since I was 18, I love to be onstage. But I left Thailand and came here to help ladyboys in Cambodia. Before, they had no jobs – so sad.” She flutters her hands in front of her face and her voice becomes gravelly with emotion. “We did not choose to be born this way, but we are people, just like everyone else.”

Vannara, a 25-year-old Siem Reap native imbued with an elegance for which most women would gladly sacrifice their right arm, is one of those benefiting from Ana’s experience, as much in life as in the art of cabaret. Born to dance, at the age of 12 Vannara used to sneak into Apsara classes: “I didn’t tell anyone in the class I was a boy – no one ever guessed.” Now she says her family are happy she’s found a job at Rosana and can support herself. “It’s a little bit hard here compared to Thailand, but this is just how it is.” She looks up through a miasma of dusky eyelashes and smiles: “Maybe because people like Ana come here things are changing. Now no one around me hates me, because I don’t do anything which is wrong.”

At that moment the choreographer readjusts his hairbow and claps his hands. Twenty ladyboys skip to centre stage and stand, fingers clicking, counting down to what they hope will be the chance of a different way of life. From the wings, a transvestite with pigtails lets out an impromptu “Whoop!” of encouragement. Social attitudes may change slowly, but on this stage, at this very moment, in these sequins, the greatest ladyboy show in Cambodia is about to begin.

WHO: Your friendly local ladyboys
WHAT: Rosana Broadway Cabaret Show
WHERE: National Highway 6, Siem Reap
WHEN: Opening September 15
WHY: Not your average cocks in frocks

The sound of silence

Ludwig van Beethoven’s legacy looms large over classical music: nine symphonies, 32 piano sonatas, 16 string quartets, a plethora of quintets, trios and concertos. Well aware of his prodigious musical abilities, the German composer once remarked of himself, “Beethoven can write music, thank God – but he can do little else on Earth.”

 

There is an underlying poignancy to this statement, despite its self-aggrandising third person iteration, for although Beethoven could indeed write masterful music, he could not hear it. In a cruel twist of fate’s knife, by the composer’s middle age he was almost completely deaf. Although he continued to compose until the end of his days, the distress caused by his condition was profound. At the premiere of his acclaimed Ninth Symphony, he turned to receive the riotous applause of the enraptured audience; hearing silence and nothing more, he wept.

Despite being deaf as a doornail, Beethoven is credited with having changed the face of classical music, in particular chamber music. Oft described as ‘rational people conversing’, chamber music was designed to be performed in palace chambers by a small group of instrumentalists to an intimate and, more often than not, aristocratic audience. Haydn, Beethoven’s mentor and self-appointed ‘father of chamber music’, was initially supportive of his protégé’s chamber compositions; that is, until the young pretender surpassed his teacher in skill and fame. In a fit of pique, Haydn took to ridiculing his former friend, and the two behemoths of chamber music parted ways forever.

Almost 200 years later, Beethoven and Haydn are being brought into harmony once more. The Kuala Lumpur Piano Trio will be playing chamber music by the two estranged maestros, as well as a selection of their contemporaries, as part of the InterContinental Phnom Penh Concert Series 2012. The concert traverses time and space, bringing the sound of Enlightenment Vienna to contemporary Phnom Penh, performed by musicians from Vietnam, Malaysia and the UK.

Diverse in nationality, the Kuala Lumpur Trio are nevertheless united in virtuosity. Violinist Nguyen My Huong is a fixture at the Hanoi Philharmonic; Bang Hean has played the piano in orchestras from London to Hong Kong; Steve Retallick is the principal cellist at the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra. Combined, such musical prowess makes for a ‘passionate collaboration – the hallmark of an exceptional chamber music ensemble’. Riotous applause is guaranteed to ensue. It’s just a shame that Beethoven won’t be able to hear it.

WHO: Kuala Lumpur Piano Trio
WHAT: Beethoven, Haydn, and contemporaries
WHERE: Intercontinental Ballroom 2, InterContinental Hotel
WHEN: 7pm September 1
WHY: You can still hear Beethoven, but Beethoven cannot hear you

 

Dead fantastic

He’s the lead singer of an apocalyptic American alt-rock band famous for destroying instruments on stage, but this soft-spoken second-gen hippy is more at home in his own fantastical Tolkienesque universe – complete with languages, maps and timelines – than he is embodying the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. When not committing unspeakable acts of violence against guitars, drum kits and the odd piano, Conrad Keely of the ominously titled … And You Shall Know Us By The Trail Of Dead is more often to be found wearing blue ballpoint pens to a nub bringing to life the extraordinary world he’s been constructing in his mind since childhood. This half-Thai half-Englishman, born-in-Britain and raised in Hawaii, was one of the founders, along with childhood pal, drummer, vocalist and guitarist Jason Reece, of the Trail of Dead – a band once described by Rolling Stone magazine’s Andrew Dansby as a “post-punk Voltron that just might be the most exciting unit working today.” The parallel universe Keely, also an accomplished artist, has conjured forth on paper knows no borders: characters, plots, all spill over from sketches and comics straight into his music. As Trail of Dead ready for the release of their eighth album, the material for which was recorded in Germany earlier this year, Keely is working on a graphic novel here in Phnom Penh before their tour of the UK, Germany and Taiwan kicks off in October. The Advisor caught him between local gigs (“When I’m playing here, with the Kampot Playboys or Amanda Bloom and Charlie Corrie, that’s when I get to play stuff that isn’t hard rock, the stuff that I write; things like Hank Snow, Bruce Springsteen, David Bowie – things I like to sing”) to talk Taoism, the new apocalypse, and what it was like knowing Kurt Cobain.

…And You Shall Know Us By The Trail Of Dead sprang from fittingly apocalyptic roots. 

My family moved to Seattle right before the big grunge explosion and it was there, at a college I ended up going to, where the Riot Girl movement started. I saw Nirvana when they were still a small, shitty band. Then I saw them as they got better and better – and then they blew up. In 1993, our lives in Olympia imploded. Not just our lives, but everyone’s lives. Things got really dark. When Kurt Cobain committed suicide, there was this real dark shadow around – everyone knew him and was friends with him. It was a really dark time. A lot of our friends got into drugs; people were dying of overdoses. Jason Reece and I had both had enough and we just said let’s get out of here. We hit on Austin, Texas because no one we knew lived there. We discovered this whole new music scene and latched onto it pretty quickly. Climate-wise it reminded me of Hawaii and even socially people were a lot more laidback and expressive. I felt really at home because people were boisterous and obnoxious in a fun way. That’s where …And You Shall Know Us By The Trail Of Dead started.

There’s a rumour about the name being inspired by a Mayan chant, but that isn’t entirely true, is it?

We’d seen this anime movie called Legend of the Overfiend. There was a scene with this army going through the land and leaving this trail of destruction and desolation, so that’s what I was thinking – the image I came up with while we were driving around coming up with names. I said: [adopts creepy nasal voice] ‘You will know us by the trail of dead.’

In that exact voice, I hope.

[Laughs] In that exact voice – and it made us laugh. I was thinking of Jason’s ex-band-mate, who’d started a band in Olympia called Behead The Prophet And The Lord Shall Live, so the idea of these long Doomsday-sounding band names was on our minds. But that was the name that made us laugh the most.

All these scriptural references: has religion played much of a part in your life?

My mum was raised Catholic, my dad was raised Muslim and my stepfather was involved in this New Age church back before they’d even coined the term ‘New Age’. They were interdenominational – they studied Hari Krishna, Buddhism, everything – and they tried to find fundamental truths in all of them. One of my favourite gospels, which I always go back to for inspiration, is the Gospel of Thomas and that’s been removed from the Bible. It was taken out as an apocryphal gospel during the Council of Nicaea. It’s fascinating: there’s no story in it, just parables, sayings. ‘Jesus said this. Jesus said that.’ In the Bible it says: ‘Give unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s; give unto God that which is God’s,’ but in the Gospel of Thomas it says: ‘Give unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s; give unto God that which is God’s; give unto me that which is mine.’ It’s a very interesting, cryptic twist. It makes you think: what is mine? That became a lyric on our last album, Tao of the Dead. I was raised thinking about spirituality over religion and my parents had a healthy distrust and disdain for organised religion, even though they believed in the idea of Christ and his teachings. So when Jason and I met, I opened him up to all these ideas and theological discussions – that teenaged questioning thing. Then when it came to the band, it was more like these ideas became symbols and themes around which to wrap concepts.

My lyrics have always been a platform for what I’m interested in and I’m genuinely fascinated by these things. We live not in an apocalyptic time, but we’re obviously leading up to something – some massive world event – that’s going to change the way global society has been moving this past 200 years since the Industrial Revolution. We’ve set this ball rolling and it’s impossible for us to stop. All of us know what’s wrong with society: there’s too many cars, there’s too many people, there’s too much pollution, we’re destroying the planet. We can say these things all we want, but the ball is rolling. Are you and I, right now, willing to give up television and the internet and electronics and move into the woods? No. None of us is going to do that. We’re a part of this snowball effect. We’re caught up in it, we’re moving along with it, and it’s just going to play itself out to its logical conclusion. To live in this time is fascinating and frightening at the same time. I address these things in our lyrics.

How much of a crossover is there between your music and your art?

There was a time at 17 or 18 when I was convinced that, because music was such a discipline for me, I couldn’t do art and I actually tried to give up. In that concerted attempt to stop, that was when it came to me that I had to do art: art was not a choice. It’s not a choice for people who have that drive. You have a pen in your hand and a piece of paper and it’s going to come out. So when I took all my stuff back from my agent and said I’m not doing art any more, it was kind of a big deal. It was a symbolic gesture: I wasn’t giving myself any other option but to do music. I think it was this raw passion that music brought out in me.

The picture that led to what I’m working on now is the cover of our sixth album, Century of Self: a boy looking at a skull in this room cluttered with things, which is basically inspired by what my mum’s house looks like. She has Buddhas and books and knick-knacks everywhere. That led to the question who is this boy and what’s he doing here? And that led to the storyline of the last album, which became the graphic novel for the comic, and then this album led to the novel I’m working on, Strange News From Another Planet.

The boy’s name is Adsel and he’s a savant who was found by this monastic sisterhood. Because he’s found to have special powers, they take him to this temple on an island and to get there, he goes onto this ship, The Festival Time, which was one of our songs and I made a graphic out of it. All of these characters are reflections of people I know, periods of my life, and based on my experiences of travelling and touring – even though it’s set in this science fiction fantasy parallel universe.

What would Sigmund Freud make of this universe you’ve created?

Freud? I don’t know. I started world-building when I was nine, shortly after I read The Hobbit for the first time. This world was something I grew up with. It became something that’s so real it’s like an alternate reality that I can go to when things here get too tedious. I did all the typical world-building things, like create languages and maps and timelines.

Art is my celebration of what I love visually, music of what I love to listen to, and writing is my celebration of the language that I love. English has such an amazing history and it’s such an unlikely success story. Patrick O’Brian, author of the Aubrey-Maturin ‘Master and Commander’ series, is definitely one of the masters of the English language and has been a sort of style guide for me. He breaks all the rules.

Are you breaking any rules with Trail of Dead?

In some ways we’re embracing old rules. I believe in the Western music tradition: I love JS Bach and Mozart. A lot of the rules we apply to our music are actually classical things. On this new album, I was really into the idea of musical motifs and there’s this one ascending riff that’s used in four or five different songs deliberately, this running motif that you hear through the album. There’s a few of those, just to create a sense that the album is one work, one piece – a mini symphony. In that sense, I like the old rules that got forgotten about in rock. Rock broke down so many walls. A lot of the kids that were raised with rock didn’t bother to learn those rules, but the pioneers of rock did. You’ve heard of Peaches? We’ve done a tour with her and she’s hilarious; awesome lady. She recently did the Jesus Christ Superstar musical. They did a show in Brooklyn, New York and it was just insane – and it pissed me off because I’d been wanting to do a Jesus Christ Superstar thing for so long. The opera tradition hasn’t died. People don’t necessarily call it opera any more, but the idea of music as narrative and music as high drama still exists.

There’s no shortage of high drama in the new album, if what you just played for me is anything to go by.

People who are familiar with our band and hear this album will say this is the most aggressive Trail of Dead record in a while. A lot of the aggression that I put into music is addressed to other kinds of music.

Hence the lyrics to Worlds Apart: ‘Look at these cunts on MTV / With their cars and cribs and rings and shit / Is that what being a celebrity means? / Look boys and girls here’s BBC / See corpses, rapes and amputees / What do you think now of the American Dream?’

Things that have always irritated me with music are the lack of convictions, an approach to music that doesn’t display great passion. Passion is what music inspired in me and something that I wanted to convey through music. When I saw Bikini Kill playing on stage – I’d see these local bands which are now legendary in reputation – this raw emotion and energy, inspiration, it was almost uncontrollable. I didn’t know what to do with it. It wasn’t the exact same thing I’d feel when I looked at a Warhol painting, you know? Looking at a Monet, I just didn’t feel like jumping up and down. There’s that visceral thing that music can do to you, especially when you’re at that age when your hormones are raging. It’s so physical, the effect of music. I’ve read a couple of books on the psychology of it and I know there’s something special about how vibrations work on the body. That’s what makes music have this ability, this capacity, to change the way people think, and spur these movements. It’s very powerful: it changes chemicals in the brain; it creates endorphins and does all these really weird things. I didn’t know that at the time, when I was young, but I knew that music created the most powerful passion in me.

 

WHO: Musical prophets
WHAT: Conrad Keely and friends
WHERE: Equinox, St. 278 (Aug 25), and The Willow, St. 21 (Aug 31)
WHEN: 9pm August 25 and 31
WHY: The beginning is nigh

Talking about a Revolution

Yean Reaksmey’s afro enters the room long before the man himself. This is hardly surprising: the 21-year-old self-styled arts advocate is somewhat diminutive; the hair, conversely, is huge. But both ‘fro and physicality play second fiddle to Yean’s most striking aspect – his unquenchable thirst for revolution.

“Different things made me a revolutionary,” he confesses. “Ever since I was young, I fought with my parents because I wanted to be independent. My father was strict, he worked in the military… so I rebelled a little maybe.”

This rebellion led Yean, at the tender age of ten, to leave the family home and strike out alone. “We were not poor, I didn’t face any big economic difficulties or anything like that. But I wanted to be independent. So I told my parents I would grow my hair, and I started supporting myself.”

Working first on a farm and then in various restaurants, he eventually found his way to Phare Ponleu Selpak, Battambang’s renowned arts NGO. Training in performing arts and traditional music, in which he still dabbles, Yean flourished at Phare: “Everyone here, every single person, inspired me to think innovatively.”

Inspired he may have been, but the revolutionary wasn’t ready to roll over and play nice quite so quickly. He suspected there was a lack of independent spirit among his fellow students, and perhaps even in himself. “We knew how to draw, but sometimes we didn’t have our own ideas, we followed other people. I realised I was facing exactly the same psychological problem as the other students. So I decided to do something different.”

That ‘something different’ was Trotchaek Pneik, a collective of 12 fiery Phare alumni and students bent on taking the arts scene by the balls. The group’s performers, musicians and visual artists have exhibited in group and solo shows around the Kingdom, collaboratively honing their creative techniques while quietly plotting their art revolution. “Maybe right now Trotchaek Pneik doesn’t have a lot of money, but money will come,” muses Yean. “But right now we just need to build our army so we’re ready for the future. We believe in the power of art for change-making in this country.”

Yean brings his special brand of art revolution to Phnom Penh through his position as gallery manager of the small and informal space at Equinox Bar. This relaxed venue suits Yean’s manifesto perfectly, providing a forum for artists from both Trotchaek Pneik and beyond who, while talented, have yet to establish themselves firmly on the Phnom Penh arts circuit. Eschewing the white cube exhibition aesthetic, Yean is determined to make Equinox a democratic arts space for young Cambodian creatives while remaining true to his collective’s socially conscious principles.

The exhibition currently on show, Filling the Negative Space, walks this fine line between artistry and social awareness. Featuring works by Chantha Kong and Tim Robertson, the mixed media pieces foreground the impassive faces of figures such as Chut Vuthy and Chea Vichea, reminding the observer of the often grim reality of heroism in today’s Cambodia.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Yean’s energy extends far beyond filling negative spaces on the walls of Equinox. Last month he participated in a Slovenian workshop on sustainable development, and is now preparing to speak at Singapore’s Community and Cultural Development Symposium in September. And his chosen topic of discussion? Yes, you guessed it: Arts and Revolutionists.

“Every day I tell Trotchaek Pneik one thing: ‘Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful and committed citizens can change the world.’ But maybe I just say this because I’m a revolutionary guy! My nickname is George, like George Washington, the revolutionary.” He cackles. “Just kidding!”

He’s not kidding though; this revolutionary is for real.

WHO: Yean Reaksmey and Trotchaek Pneik
WHAT: Arts revolutionaries for social advancement
WHERE: Community Cultural Development Symposium, Singapore
WHEN: September 17 and 18
WHY: The times they are a-changing

50 Licks

Celebrating half a centuryof the world’s greatest rock ‘n’ roll band

The fuzzy monochrome photo, taken in 1950 at Wentworth Primary School in the UK, gives not the slightest hint of the superstardom to come. To the left of the frame, a clean-cut eight-year-old boy with lopsided fringe stands to attention in short trousers and pullover. Dead centre in the row behind, another boy – five months younger – grins wickedly, school tie askew and ears jutting out like the wings of a small aircraft. Little could these fresh faces have known that, more than six decades later, they would be chalking up half a century as the core of the world’s greatest rock ‘n’ roll band.

Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, sole survivors of the original Rolling Stones line-up, were just four years old when destiny first conspired to bring them together. They parted ways when their families moved home, but collided again at Dartford train station one day en route to their respective colleges. The Chuck Berry and Muddy Waters albums Jagger had with him reignited their mutual interest and by the summer of 1962, a nervous band called the Rollin’ Stones was playing their first gig to a bemused crowd of jazz fans in a basement club on London’s Oxford Street.

On the front line that muggy night at The Marquee was lead vocalist Jagger, then 18 and a student at the London School of Economics; his old grammar school pal Richards, clad in funereally dark suit; and 20-year-old Brian Jones, who had recently named the band after a Muddy Waters song and for most of the show, according to Stones’ biographer Christopher Sandford, “pogoed up and down, leering at the women”. Behind them was the already comically deadpan rhythm section.

Rehearsal time had been limited, and as the band officially billed Mick Jagger and the Rollin’ Stones downed scotches and brandies on stage to calm their nerves, the assembled Buddy Holly doppelgangers took their time warming to the 50-minute blast of American rhythm and blues. Catcalls brought on by the initial “very suspect tuning and internal balance”, as described by Melody Maker magazine the following week, were silenced during the final 15 minutes when the band upped the tempo. The acne-scarred second guitarist, dressed entirely in black, spurred on the drummer by hammering one spindly leg up and down and screeching “Fuck you! Faster!”

After the gig, the band wandered unrecognised down the road and into The Tottenham pub, where they were joined by part-time drummer Charlie Watts. Watts had seen the show and recognised the Stones’ appeal. “My band was a joke to look at, but this lot crossed the barrier,” he said. “They actually looked like rock stars.” By Christmas of that year, Watts was the Stones’ new drummer.

No one, least of all the band themselves, guessed at the time that they were bound for the 21st century. But as Chris Welch of The Bexleyheath & Welling Observer wrote just 18 months later, “Of all the sensational groups to hit British pop music since the advent of the Mersey Sound and the rhythm ‘n’ blues revival, the weirdest, oddest, the most uncompromising seem to be the Rolling Stones.”

“I didn’t expect to last until 50 myself, let alone with the Stones,” says the 68-year-old Keith Richards of today on rollingstones.com. “It’s incredible, really. In that sense we’re still living on borrowed time.” But while the Glimmer Twins who shocked our parents with Mars Bars, dope and sympathy for the devil may look a little worse for wear, the gnarled ex-junkie and the balloon-lipped Jagger seem to have vanquished their many drug- and wife-induced demons. As half a century clicks by, the Stones stand ranked number four in Rolling Stone magazine’s 100 Greatest Artists of All Time, and worldwide sales are estimated at more than 200 million albums.

It was on the eve of yet another milestone that local tribute band Stoned Again first came to be. Prodded by the managers of Sharky Bar into giving the nod to what is widely considered their finest album, a small group of expat musicians joined forces to recreate the sound of 1972 LP Exile on Main Street. Australian Karen McArthur is the outwardly unlikely lead vocalist of what was first known as The Stone Daddies and then Captain Jack before its current incarnation. “Originally we just played a set from Exile and got a really good response from the audience. Everyone was like ‘Wow, there’s a chick singing Mick Jagger.’

“I was teaching grade ones at the time so I constantly had a cold and could always get the gravel in my voice, which was great: the Mick Jagger growl. You know what it’s like in Phnom Penh: you can reinvent yourself however you want and I hadn’t sung since I left university, so that’s 23 years. I used to sing punk, rock ‘n’ roll, blues. But it’s not about being Mick Jagger – affectionately, we call me Chick Jagger – it’s about being myself and having fun.

“A lot of people have said that it’s interesting that we have a woman singing, but as we always said, we never wanted to have someone who was a bad imitation of Mick Jagger. If you’re going to be a cover band, you have to give it your own flavour. The band we have now, we all fit really well together. I can rely on James to entertain the audience, or we can have some banter on stage. We’re all really comfortable with each other. We’ve gone from just playing the album, to the music being part of the band.”

After a nine-month hiatus, Stoned Again took the stage at Sharky’s Penhstock III festival in May and have since been voted, on the bar’s blog, second best out of the 30 bands that played (Sliten6ix are currently leading with 47% of the vote versus Stoned Again’s 24%). But don’t expect carbon copies: “At first, we had a band member who wanted to be really true to the album and if I didn’t sound exactly like Mick’s phrasing, he’d go ‘No, no, it’s not right,’” says Karen. “We came to an agreement that we needed to put our own flavour to it, so I sang it the way it suited my voice.”

“There is only one Rolling Stones, and that’s not who we are,” says bass player Tim, owner of British pub The Cavern. “What we do is a tribute, just showing our appreciation for their music.” Because Stoned Again aren’t trying to emulate the Stones but simply pay respect, there’s a noticeable lack of the frippery so synonymous with the real thing. “The whole point of our band isn’t to be a really bad imitation; it’s about celebrating a really good group of rock ‘n’ roll musicians,” says Karen. “It’s quite freeing being a girl. I did one gig in a dress – and the audience just didn’t get it. ‘What are you wearing a dress for?’ I’m a girl!

“Whatever songs we play, by the end of the first set people are up dancing. They know we’re not an imitation, but an interpretation. For me, it’s more about symbols: whenever I hear The Rolling Stones, I see those big lips, always, always. I could never be Mick Jagger – and I would never take enough Botox to make my lips look like that!”

WHO: Stoned Again
WHAT: The ultimate Rolling Stones tribute band
WHERE: Sharky Bar, St. 130
WHEN: 9pm August 24
WHY: 50 years is a bloody long time in rock ‘n’ roll