Let me introduce you to an album called QUAH. Yes, QUAH. Spelled exactly like my surname. Pure coincidence, of course, but I’ve always liked that about it. It’s a low-key album from 1974, mostly acoustic, built around finger-picking blues and folk, and it doesn’t try very hard to announce itself. You either lean in or you miss it.
This was Jorma Kaukonen’s first solo record after close to ten years as a founding member of Jefferson Airplane. If you came to it expecting psychedelic noise or group chemistry, you’d be completely wrong-footed. This is Kaukonen on his own, stripping things back, sitting with the guitar and seeing what he could do without the safety net of a band. There are eleven tracks here, and only two have vocals by Tom Hobson. Even then, the voice never really takes centre stage. The guitar does the talking.
Almost everyone I’ve played this album to reacts the same way when Genesis comes on. It’s the first track, and it doesn’t mess around. No warm-up, no scene-setting. Just Kaukonen’s fingers moving with a kind of calm authority. His finger-picking is so clean and controlled that it’s easy to miss how hard it actually is. It sounds natural, almost casual, but it isn’t.
I’ve listened to a lot of guitar players over the years, and Kaukonen is one of those rare ones who doesn’t feel the need to prove anything. On QUAH, he just plays. No tricks, no fuss. You either get drawn into it, or you don’t. And if you do, it stays with you.
ADDENDUM: I also own QUAH on compact disc format, which featured the album's original cover design. On this CD are four bonus tracks which did not make it to the record: Lord have mercy, No mail today, Midnight in Milpitas and Barrier.
Side One: Genesis, I'll Be All Right, Song For The North Star, I'll Let You Know Before I Leave, Flying Clouds, Another Man Done Gone Side Two: I Am The Light Of This World, Police Dog Blues, Blue Prelude, Sweet Hawaiian Sunshine, Hamar Promenade
Born in 1995 in New York City, Chalamet grew up surrounded by the performing arts. His mother had danced on Broadway and he went to LaGuardia High School, the same institution that shaped so many performers who balance talent with a touch of intensity. After a few minor roles, his moment came in 2017 with Call Me by Your Name in which he gave a performance that felt spontaneous and transparent. That film established his screen identity as emotionally open, a little fragile, thoughtful but never mannered.
Since then, Chalamet has alternated between introspective dramas and grand spectacle. Films like Beautiful Boy, Little Women and Dune added to his credibility. When he played Henry V in The King, he seemed both regal and lost, the boy beneath the crown. I could sense his fascination with power, and its emptiness.
Chalamet, of course, stands as the quiet antithesis of the traditional Hollywood leading man: the beefy, brawny hero who conquers by force. His appeal lies in a different kind of strength: the courage to appear uncertain, even fragile. He makes vulnerability cinematic again, reminding us that sensitivity and self-doubt can carry as much dramatic weight as muscle and bravado. Where others stride through chaos, Chalamet seems to absorb it inwardly, as if the real battle is always within.
Which brings me back to A Complete Unknown, his foray into the myth of Bob Dylan. The film focused on Dylan’s folk beginnings and transition to electric, the mid-1960s pivot when the folk hero turned his back on purists, plugged in and was booed for it. The title, drawn from that immortal line in Like a Rolling Stone, hinted at the cost of reinvention, how every artist must risk alienation to grow.
What was remarkable was that Chalamet did his own singing and guitar work. No miming, no studio trickery. He wanted to feel what Dylan might have felt: the rasp of voice meeting microphone, the tension between control and release. That sort of dedication wasn’t about method acting. It was about empathy, about finding the heartbeat of another creator who also chose the harder path.
Watching him, I couldn’t help thinking that A Complete Unknown wasn’t just about Bob Dylan’s metamorphosis. It was also about Chalamet’s own. At 29, he’s already negotiating that uneasy space between prodigy and artist, between fame and credibility. Like Dylan in 1965, he’s testing his boundaries, refusing to be pinned down. And maybe that’s the real connection between them: two restless spirits drawn to the idea that identity, like art, is fluid.
Once in a while, I come to know of a successful musician who has somehow flown under the radar—at least from my perspective here in little Penang. In the past, I’ve stumbled upon talents like Howie Day, brilliant in their own right but barely known beyond their domains. In the same spirit, I’ve been following 31-year-old Jacob Collier on Instagram for more than a year now—maybe closer to two; I honestly can’t say for sure. Time tends to blur when you're scrolling and surfing. But what I can say is that every time his posts pop up, I find myself fascinated, not just by his music but by his utterly unique sense of style.
He dresses like no one else I am aware of: wildly colourful T-shirts, patterned pants, neon overalls, different coloured socks and footwear that looks like it belongs in a psychedelic fashion show. If there’s anyone who can be described as flamboyant to a fault, it’s him. But beneath all that eye-popping fashion is a musician of serious depth and intellect.
Jacob Collier is not just some viral sensation. He’s a musical prodigy who’s been pushing the boundaries of harmony, rhythm and live performance for years. His ability to arrange, reimagine and improvise across genres is nothing short of extraordinary, and lucky Singaporeans can catch him live on stage when he comes round to perform on 28 May 2025. He’s already a multiple Grammy Award winner, with nominations rolling in year after year. His live shows are legendary for their energy and audience engagement. He doesn't just perform to the crowd; he pulls them into the performance, making them part of the rhythm, the harmony, the moment. Entire arenas practically eating out of his hand, clapping, singing and becoming one big, organic choir.
About a month ago, I saw something different. Something that took my respect for him to a whole new level. A video surfaced of him experimenting in real time with a full symphony orchestra. No planning. No sheet music. No rehearsal. No prior discussion. Just Collier on the conductor's podium and at the piano, casually tossing musical ideas back and forth with an entire orchestra, like he was sculpting sound from the air. It was a masterclass in spontaneity and musical fluency. He played chords, gesticulated and the orchestra responded immediately like a giant, living instrument tuned to his imagination. And just when you thought the moment couldn't get any more surreal, he turned to the audience and transformed them into yet another instrument, guiding them to sing, in unison, “I love you.” And then, just like that, when the experiment was over, he flashed a cheeky thumbs-up to the crowd—and was gone.
It wasn’t just impressive, it was mesmerising. Here was someone completely at ease in a world of complex musical language. It was a reminder that true musical genius isn’t just about technical mastery—it’s about joy, curiosity and a willingness to explore without limits. Here is the video, and observe the thumbs-up at the end of the performance:
When I was in Kuala Lumpur for my chess competition last month, a friend suggested I check out the Don Don Donki outlet at the MidValley Megamall. I’d actually spotted one at Nu Sentral the day I arrived, but I didn’t fancy popping in to see what the fuss was about. So, when I eventually found myself at MidValley, I decided to give it a go. Boy, was it something! The place was unlike anything I’ve seen in Malaysia—it instantly reminded me of my brief trip to Japan about five years ago, walking the streets of Osaka. The brightly decorated grocery and sundry shops, especially at night, had the same overwhelming vibe. But now, I don’t need to hop on a plane to Japan for that experience. Just visit any Don Don Donki outlet in Kuala Lumpur, and I'll get a taste of that garishness right here. Now I’m left wondering, when will Penang get its own Don Don Donki? I'd like to immerse myself in this quirky Japanese culture again, but preferably not in KL.
Which version of The Star or Here Comes The Star comes across as better? Both were recorded in 1969. The original was recorded by Ross D Wylie but the cover version was by Herman's Hermits, fronted by Peter Noone.
Herman's Hermits is, of course, a household name for many of us who grew up in the 1960s but less is known about the Australian singer, Ross D Wylie who was later to become a successful television presenter in his country. (Here Comes) The Star was written by another Australian, Johnny Young, whose other compositions were covered by singers such as Russell Morris.
Wylie's version is darker and melancholic, whereas Herman's Hermits sang a slightly brighter version. But the question here is which version is better: the original or the cover?
As a bonus, below is a recent video of Wylie, albeit filmed seven years ago in 2015. A much older and heftier Wylie who performed his hit song after being interviewed for a TV show in Australia. The crutches were due to a physical condition caused by polio during his youth.
Side One: Titles, Five circles, Abraham's theme, Eric's theme, 100 metres, Jerusalem Side Two: Chariots of Fire
Word came out this morning that Vangelis had died at the age of 79. Vangelis is best known as the composer of the music heard in the film, Chariots of Fire. You know, that monumental piece of music score that has become associated with slow-motion running. Who can forget the vision of people running on the big screen in slow motion and accompanied by this piece with its uplifting piano sound? Not me.
But Vangelis is also known as a pop artist before he made it big as a music composer. As part of the Aphrodite's Child pop group in the 1960s, he had a hit song called Rain and Tears. He soon gave up this part of his life to concentrate on composing music scores for the big screen.
But funnily enough, every time I hear the Chariots of Fire theme music, my mind goes back exactly 10 years to the opening of the Olympic Games in London. There's this one scene where Sir Simon Rattle was conducting the London Symphony Orchestra and right in the background was Rowan Atkinson in the role of Mr Bean, his most memorable character.
When we arrived at the Kyoto main train station on the 28th of October in 2017, the first thing we did was to find something to eat and for this, my son led us to the Kyoto Tower Sando where we discovered a most delectable spread of Japanese sushi and sashimi at a food outlet there. We quite enjoyed ourselves there; perhaps we did spend too much time eating and watching a chef carve up some blocks of tuna fish because we then had to hurry through the rest of our brief itinerary in this Japanese city.
And this is the video of a chef expertly carving up a slab of tuna. There's lots of wastage in order for him to keep the tuna pieces neat and presentable. Unfortunately, these wastage pieces which I deem to be perfectly edible seemed to have ended up in a trash bin.
I first heard The James Gang's Funk #49 in 1970 or 1971. Sixteen or 17 years old at that time. Music was played over Radio RAAF Butterworth (1445 kHz medium wave band). Great local radio station run by Aussies. As I couldn't find the vinyl record, my next best alternative was to buy The James Gang: 15 Greatest Hits on compact disc at some time in the last decade.
I uncovered this music video when going through YouTube recently. A bunch of seasoned old guys jamming for 10 minutes on Funk #49. Their jamming does not get any better. Joe Walsh (b 1947) and Robert "Waddy" Wachtel (b 1947) on guitar, Leland "Lee" Sklar (b 1947) on bass and Ben "Benmont" Tench (b 1953) on keyboards. Impressive synchronisation between Ringo Starr and Russ Kunkel (b 1948) on drums, You'd never believe that Ringo Starr (b 1940) was the oldest among the sextet. Collectively, their ages added up to about 450 years. Whew!
Over the past day, see, there was this song that kept going on and on in my head. An old song from the early 1970s when I was still schooling. Heard it over Radio RAAF Butterworth (RRB), the voice of the Royal Australian Air Force base in Butterworth, which was by far the best radio station in Malaysia. And then I remembered that I had the compact disc in my collection. No, actually, two compact discs. The singer was Tony Joe White and his song was Polk Salad Annie.
Tony Joe White was born in Louisiana in 1943 and went successful internationally with this song. His style of music was described as swamp rock and he was even given the nickname Swamp Fox. He had a deep soulful southern drawl and a guitar technique which he referred to as his whomper stomper.
But White was more than a recording artist. As a composer, many of his songs were covered by other well-known singers like Elvis Presley, Brook Benton, Ray Charles, Kris Kristofferson and others. Even Tina Turner too, if I'm not mistaken. Tony Joe White died from a heart attack in 2018.
So these are the two compact discs in my music collection. The first is called Polk Salad Annie (originally titled Black And White) and the second is The Best Of Tony Joe White.
Below are two videos of Polk Salad Annie that can be found on YouTube. The first is Tony Joe White's appearance on a British television show in 1970 while the second is Elvis' interpretation of the song in one of his concerts. Whose version is better: the original or the cover?
Bonus: Here is a video of Tony Joe White cooking his Polk Salad Annie and Undercover Agent for the Blues at The Basement in Australia (presumably in Sydney) when he was already 65 years old in 2008. A real masterclass performance. He needed only a drummer to accompany him throughout. No other musicians were required.
Bumped into this video on YouTube recently. I found it very interesting from two points of view. First, it showcased the evolution of popular music in the 1960s. Second, these were the songs from my growing-up years. Until today, I consider the music of this era to be the most pleasant to my ears.
Jack Ong had been my colleague in Ban Hin Lee Bank way back in the late 1990s. That was before the bank was swallowed up by Southern Bank at the start of the present millennium. Although so many years had passed by since the initial consolidation of the banking industry, we had on occasions bumped into one another. We generally kept in touch through social media but once in while, face-to-face until the pandemic brought all such latter activities to a near standstill.
Last night, I received a message from him urging me to look at a video he had produced in conjunction with the centenary celebrations of the State Chinese (Penang) Association. The intention to set up this association was voiced in 1920 and it was first mooted as the Penang branch of the Straits Chinese British Association of Singapore in November of that year.
But in January 1921, the association in Penang declared itself to be independent of their Singapore counterparts. "It is stated on the best authority," reported the Malaya Tribune in their copy of 5 January 1921, "that it has now been definitely laid down that the Straits Chinese British Association is not....to be described or regarded as a branch of the Straits Chinese British Association of Singapore, but as a sister-association affiliated with that in Singapore, enjoying exactly the same status and rights, and in no way dependent upon Singapore." Blah, blah, blah, as can be ascertained from the first illustration on the right. (Note: This was originally a Straits Echo story, as can be seen from the "S.E." initials at the end of the news item.)
The Straits Chinese British Association (SCBA) was very influential politically and had a powerful voice in society. Its membership was made up of well-known members of the Chinese community in Penang. The first president was a prominent businessman, Lim Eu Toh, one of those rare breeds who had studied in both Penang Free School and St Xavier's Institution, and thus was eligible to join both The Old Frees' Association and Old Xavierians' Association when the two Old Boys associations were established. If I'm not mistaken, he could be a member of Penang Free School's management committee but that would need further investigation.
The Singapore Free Press and Mercantile Advertiser, in its copy of 26 June 1930, printed a story about an SCBA committee meeting. One item caught my eye: the association had decided to make representations to the Director of Education on the "subject of constant changes in the personnel of the senior staff of the Penang Free School." That the SCBA would interest itself in the affairs of the Free School was very interesting but understandably, it could be nothing unusual if the majority of the committee members were the Penang babas who had studied in this premier school.
This issue definitely alluded to the frequent movements of the school's headmasters. Ever since Ralph Henry Pinhorn retired as the headmaster in 1925, there had been no less than four persons appointed to this important role by the time this SCBA meeting was held: William Hamilton from 1925, David Swaine from 1927 and Leslie Arnold briefly in early 1929 until replaced by DW McLeod later in that year. Understandably, this was because the colonial British government had taken control over Penang Free School in January 1920. Pinhorn stood tall among his peers and was regarded as untouchable but once he was gone, the appointment of headmasters was left to the mercy of the British civil servants in control of Education. And there were many Directors of Education and Acting Directors of Education that came and went away.
Despite the SCBA's representations in 1930, the rapid transfers of Penang Free School's headmasters continued unabated until 1934. McLeod lasted as headmaster until 1931. Edgar Stowell crossed over from Bukit Mertajam High School temporarily for a few months in 1931, and then he was replaced by MR Holgate later in the year. J Bain came along in 1933 and finally, Arnold returned this time as a long-term headmaster in 1934 until the onset of the Japanese Occupation when the British community quietly evacuated to Singapore in the still of the night and left Penang as an open town. I won't elaborate more as this story about the headmasters' musical chairs was already detailed on Pages 132 and 133 of my book, Let the Aisles Proclaim.
On 14 January 1964, the SCBA formally changed its name to State Chinese (Penang) Association (SCPA) and threw its membership open to all Malaysian citizens of Chinese origin.
Meanwhile, back to my original intention of writing this story, which was to bring attention to this message from Jack Ong. In order to promote the SCPA centenary last year, the association had held an international colloquium earlier in 2021 with various online talks organised on the Penang baba nyonya community and culture. This first video has now been posted to YouTube. It is very informative and a way forward to lure every baba and nyonya with origins in Penang back to their roots. However, if you were to subscribe to their YouTube channel, there are more videos of similar nature to watch.
I have moved this story to a separate page of its own on this blog as I feel it is important enough to stand on its own merit. To access the story, please click here.
I first heard this song playing constantly in some test transmissions of a local radio station several years ago. Catchy tune throughout. However, I was unable to place a title to it because it was never announced. Frustrated in this sense, I recorded a short portion of the song and uploaded it to the watzatsong website in the hope that someone would be able to identify it.
After 855 days and some false leads, someone finally identified the tune and pointed me to a YouTube clip which featured Joe McBride playing Keepin' It Real. There's no entry about him in Wikipedia but his own website described him as having been born and raised in Fulton, Missouri. He started playing the piano at four years old, and his earliest influences were gospel music, bebop, straight-ahead jazz, Motown, and ’70s R&B and funk. In his teens, he began singing and playing at jazz clubs. But also around this time, he was stricken with a degenerative eye disease that eventually claimed his sight. But his passion for music didn’t diminish and, taking inspiration from Ray Charles, another blind musician, McBride continued his musical studies at the Missouri School for the Blind and Webster University in suburban St. Louis, where he majored in jazz performance. He also attended the University of North Texas.
His website says that McBride has nine compact disc albums to his credit and Spotify lists six of them, including Keepin' It Real, from which this song was taken.
The trouble with holiday trips is that one can never see everything but just a very small snapshot of a place. Such as Shinjuku in Tokyo. My son wanted to go there, because he was searching for something specific to buy, so we all trooped there by train from Ikebukuro.
We alighted from the Shinjuku station and took a random walk down the road, not knowing where we would be heading. Then my son went one way and the three of us went the other way.
We slipped into a shopping mall - I think it was the Lumine - and got distracted by a bakery. Selling all sorts of cakes and buns. And drinks. And so we ordered some to eat. We searched for an empty table among the limited there. Couldn't find one. But there was one with a shopping bag resting on a chair. One of the shoppers - an elegant Japanese lady - motioned to us and quickly removed her bag. We thanked her and rested our feet. Not that we had walked much, but the rest still proved a blessing.
Somehow, we found ourselves at a tourist information centre. Where could we find somewhere interesting to visit around here, we asked the lady at the centre. She whipped out a map and suggested walking to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building where we could go up and take a panoramic view of the district. There was also a park nearby, if we were interested.
This sounded good to us and so, like well-trained tourists, we followed her directions to the government building. But there was disappointment. There was a long line of people with the same idea as us. Only goodness will know how long it would take us just to reach the front of the queue. So we gave up the idea of going up the building. By this time, though, darkness had descended on Tokyo. We did make our way to the park and there was nothing much to see in the darkness except for a pavillion in semi-darkness.
We decided to make our way back to the Lumine building, re-tracing our steps through a road selling electronics stuff. We went into one which turned out to be the Shinjuku West branch of the Yodobashi chain of stores. While Saw See and Michelle, waited for Jeremy on the ground floor, I took a hurried tour of the upper floors. I must admit that I was quite floored by the widest selection of electronic goods that I had ever seen. It was with great reluctance that I had to go back down to the ground floor again.
The family now re-united, we walked back to the train station but my ears soon picked up a familiar sound. The sound of the Hang musical instrument. The last time I had watched anyone play this musical instrument was in 2014 when Richard Clayderman performed in Penang. But at this present moment, it was an unknown street performer who was playing with his Hang on the sidewalk.
Oh yes, we had to take a quick trip to the Shibuya station which was one stop away from Shinjuku because Jeremy still tried to find his stuff. A very quick trip. We emerged from the station and while Jeremy disappeared somewhere, the three of us slipped into a nearby department store and wandered around. We got tired after a while, waited for Jeremy to return, and then we took the train back to Ikebukuro. No, we did not go to the famed Shibuya crossing intersection.
It must be understood that this was our first day in Japan. Had landed in the morning without any rest and we were dead tired. Hungry too, if I may add here. So we took refuge at a Hanamaru Udon shop at the end of the Ikebukuro station. Needless to say, we wolfed down the food without thinking too much about it
I thought calamity had struck me a very long time ago when I managed to spoil one of my prized 45rpm records. Due to some mishap - I have forgotten what had happened - the record cracked and an edge had chipped off which left it in an unplayable condition. Imagine the heartbreak that followed. This was a rather unique song by a local Indian singer named Anura Simon. He went by the stage name of Simon Junior and had released quite a number of 45s singing Chinese songs with English lyrics. But he was also a member of a Singapore band called Maurice and the Melodians, playing drums. In the 1960s, Maurice and the Melodians were a popular A-Go-Go instrumental band that backed countless Chinese singers.
By some good luck I laid my hands on a replacement copy of this same 45rpm record more than four years ago when the family of a late friend gave me the latter's record collection to me after he died. I didn't notice the record's presence until several months had passed when I finally sat down to go through my new treasure chest. Hey, here was the record again and this copy was intact.
This video below was first shown at the Bicentenary Dinner of Penang Free School.
Much, if not all, of the information in the video was based on the draft manuscript of my book, Let the Aisles Proclaim, which I had released to Mahyidin Mustakim who is the president of both the Old Frees Association Kuala Lumpur & Selangor and the Penang Free School Foundation.
P.S. Today being the 17th of November, my wife and I shall be celebrating the 93rd anniversary of The Old Frees' Association at the OFA Annual Dinner in George Town. Other than my own school mates, the Sesquicentenary boys, I hope to meet up with lots more Old Frees friends of various ages. See you there!
When the name of Roberto Carlos is mentioned, the one thing that comes to mind is his notorious free kick in the Brazil versus France game at the Le Tournoi 1997. It was notorious because the once-in-a-lifetime banana strike curled into goal in a seemingly impossible way. It was a uniquely wonderful moment in football history, except that it is no longer unique. Mohd Faiz Subri, an attacking mid-fielder of the Penang football team, has just scored a wonderful screamer of a free-kick against Pahang in the second round of the Malaysia Super League that may actually out-bend Carlos' banana. I hear his goal is now in contention for FIFA's Puskas Award for 2016 but then, he will have to wait until next January to know the results. In the meanwhile, congratulations to Faiz Subri.
In case anyone asks who is Chen Ooi to me, let me say here that we grew up together in George Town, Penang. As a small kid, he was looked after and accepted as a godson of my paternal grandparents. Technically, he became a god-uncle to me although he was only two years older than I. In the early 70s, he left for further studies in the United States, and he remained there, finding work as a designer. But we kept in touch intermittently. In those days before the Internet, our own way to communicate was by letters and postcards. Maybe we exchanged New Year wishes once a year.
My family was aware of Ooi's relationship with Bill Kelley. Consequently, I was never one to harbour any prejudices about anyone's personal preferences in lifestyle. In fact, my family was always excited whenever Ooi and Bill came visiting Malaysia to visit his aged mother. These were the only times I could ever get to see him in person.
When Bill passed away in May this year, I was rather devastated. My first thoughts were for my Uncle Ooi and without a nary, I made an inter-continental telephone call to him. I had to talk to him, albeir briefly. But I think it was around three o'clock in the middle of the night in Chicago.
This video was filmed during the memorial service for Bill Kelley on the first of August, 2015. If it proves too long, perhaps it can be fast-forwarded to the 1:43:00 mark and wait for Ooi to speak. As befits someone who had been Bill's constant companion for more than 30 years, Ooi spoke with such heartfelt feelings. I felt it here in Penang when I watched him.
