Our Band Could Be Your Life

I remember Khairi "Eric" Kassim as the wild-haired guitarist from the punk band Hospital Bombers.

They played the seminal underground music circuit in Shah Alam, gigging on alternate weekends, notorious for their live shows. They regularly tore apart the stage and got the cops called on them.

Of the four members in the band, I remember him the most. Every time they would take to the stage, Eric would come up to the mic and shout from the top of his lungs, Show me yer titties!

It didn't make any sense, but that was how the Hospital Bombers wanted it to be. Pure bollocks.

So -- when I saw Eric again thirteen years later, smoking outside the hospital doors, short-haired, clean-shaven, perfectly coiffed, stocky but fit like a raging bull, I said to myself, Fuck, that's Eric.

"Isteri aku baru je bersalin", he said.

"Oh ye ke. Tahniah. Anak sulung?"

He nodded and rubbed his tired eyes.

"Apa nama aku nak kasi budak ni, aku pun tak tahu lagi. Isteri aku nak Mohamad Irfan Amin, mak aku nak Nur Aliff. Aku mula-mula nak namakan dia Iskandar Dzulkarnain, tapi ntah lah. Panjang."

We shared a polite sheepish chuckle.

I told him that the last time I saw him and his band, they were getting kicked off stage for rousing the crowd and surfing. Some god-awful club in PJ, sharing the bill with two other Shah Alam punksters.

Upon hearing that, Eric laughed aloud.

"Aduh, sorry ah bro. Aku dah lama tak main gitar. Apa cerita the Bombers sekarang, kau tahu?"

Eric stopped playing music after he went to college in New Zealand, to study engineering. It wasn't something that he planned, he said. It was just something that happened, and so he has no regret.

"Aku jumpa isteri aku kat sana, sama-sama student. Dia tak tahu pun yang aku dulu main band underground, so, bagi dia-" he paused to laugh, "aku ni orang biasa je. Bukan rock star ke apa."

I reminded him that he was more than just a rock star. He was Eric the Bomber, the reason why many of us local Shah Alam kids pick up the guitar and form our own bands. A true role model.

"Alah, kau ni. Buat malu aku je."

A young doctor came out from the hospital fire doors and asked us for a light. Eric gave him his, a shiny vintage Hard Rock Cafe zippo. The doctor said thanks and went a short path away from us and minded his own business. Eric began finishing his smoke, looked up to where his wife's ward was, and then started on a new cigarrette. He offered me one, but I declined - Nah, I don't smoke.

"Kau buat apa ah sekarang?"

"Aku tulis buku", I told him.

"Oh ye? Buku apa kau tulis? Novel?"

I laughed a little. "Lebih kurang lah. Tapi cerita yang aku tulis semua, ada asal-usul yang betul, bukan dibuat-buat. Semua karakter dia, orang betul, ada yang dah mati, ada yang masih hidup."

"Macam dokumentari ke apa?"

"Macam tu lah, lebih kurang."

"Aaaah, kau ni wartawan lah tu. Penulis artikel ke, macam tu."

"Lebih kurang lah tu. Tapi aku bukan kolumnis. Aku tulis buku."

Eric nodded and rubbed his tired eyes, this time more vigorous.

He exhaled a shallow one, almost like a sigh, and then said, "Aku dulu selalu layan budak-budak underground yang buat-buat 'zine ni, kau ingat tak? Diaorang pergi gig, mintak jumpa band semua, mintak nak interview lah konon. Lepas tu dia tulis apa yang kita cakap kat 'zine dia tu, lepas tu gi fotostat banyak-banyak kat kedai, dicampurnya dengan review EP lah, demo tape lah, review gig lah, lepas tu jual! 10 ringgit! Please send money via postage to address bla bla bla. Kau ingat tak?"

"Ingat!" and we shared a hearty nostalgic laugh.

I then told Eric that I still remember a famous quote from him when he was interviewed by xForumx, a straight-edge artzine, that went something like this, "The Ramones created punk. The Sex Pistols made it violent. The Clash made it smart, they made punk intelligent. Everybody else rips them off."

"Whoa, gila siut. Betul ke aku ada cakap macam tu? Macam mana kau ingat?"

"Aku beli ah 'zine tu, aku baca."

Eric laughed aloud and shook his head slowly in disbelief.

"Aku tak pernah layan pun zine-zine ni dulu. Buang duit."

The pager on the young doctor rang loudly. He pulled it out of his front pocket, glimpsed at the text, cursed discreetly, and rushed back into the hospital. Eric stepped aside to let him pass, and then looked up to where his wife's ward was, hesitated for a while, and then leaned against the fire door.

"Aku dulu memang punk sungguh, bro. Punk tak ingat."

"Punk not death!", I reminded him. Eric laughed aloud.

"Punk not death", he repeated the broken English phrase in a somber, ironic voice, looking away.

"Masa budak-budak dulu, memang senang terpengaruh lah dengan idea-idea macam ni, ye tak?"

I nodded with a smile. "Straight edge lah, ska lah. Tu tak masuk yang metal lagi tu, lagi lah gila."

"Aku sampai sekarang masih tak boleh layan metal. Dulu, apa lagi. Budak punk memang tak boleh nak campur dengan budak metal. Kalau ada gig, memang gaduh. Punk dengan punk. Metal, lain."

"Bodoh betul lah", I said.

"Budak-budak. Bangang."

Eric was losing himself in deep thought, recalling bits and pieces of memories from his underground days. He had a smile left on for a short while, then looked down as if he was truly embarassed, and then looked at me with a stupid, evil grin on his face, and laughed at his poor self in utter disbelief.

"Aku ada simpan gitar lama aku dulu, dah rosak dah. Simpan buat kenangan. Tapi isteri aku jumpa dalam stor, dia suruh aku jual ke, buang ke. Alat syaitan katanya. Aku pun, tak banyak soal, jual."

"Kau jual kat siapa?"

"Anak jiran. Jual murah je, sebab dah rosak. Dah terburai dah. Budak tu sanggup nak betulkan."

I nodded with a smile.

"Zaman tu semua dah berlalu dah", he said dejectedly and softly, almost only audible to himself.

There was nobody else, smoking or otherwise, outside the hospital doors. The staff parking lot was emptying as the night rolled in. Except for the random howls of traffic, the hospital was dead silent.

"Eric, datang book launching aku August ni kat KLCC."

Eric turned to me from his reminiscing, eyes wide open.

"Aku akan rasa terharu sangat kalau kau dapat datang."

Eric came to my book launching with his wife and baby boy Iskandar "Aliff" Dzulkarnain.

The book, titled 'Our Band Could Be Your Life', is about the history of the local underground music scenes in the mid 1990s and the eight influential homegrown bands that shaped the direction of the underground movement during its peak in 1997. These eight bands, while had found no mainstream success, have continued to inspire local bands of today and left their indelible mark on pop culture.

The book chronicles the careers of these eight bands: Fanthom from Seremban (hardcore), Minutes of Meeting from Kota Kinabalu (shoegazer), Mission Algojo from KL (indie), Minoriti Revolusi from Kota Bharu (metal), Gelodak Entot from Kuala Selangor (punk), Riot Grrrl from Kuching (punk/ska), A Fever of Stingrays from Ipoh (post-rock), and the Hospital Bombers from Shah Alam (punk).

From the podium, I saw Eric chatting furiously with his wife, trying to explain to her his glory days in the past as a member of an influential punk band, touring the country in a rented minivan, carrying a Fender on his back, sleeping in dingy, sleazy hotels, spreading the sacred sounds of rock and roll.

There were pictures of the eight bands performing on-stage, climbing onto the Black Maria, and posing for a photo for their demo tapes. There were posters from gigs that headlined local bands alongside regional bands from Singapore and Indonesia. There were few samples of 'zines, self-published by avid teen-aged fans in the late 1990s, celebrating the diverse local music scenes.

His wife was baffled -- just as he was baffled by the sudden realization that his rock star past had an enormous and meaningful impact to the lives of so many people, young and old alike. I saw Eric looking wide-eyed and in utter disbelief, trying to understand the gravity of things, while graciously accepting his fan's accolades.

After signing the books, I walked up to the mic and announced to the crowd that we will be having a special performance today, as part of the book launching. An aide brought onto the stage two acoustic kapok guitars and a bongo. Another aide cleared the stage and readied the mic stands.

"We are lucky to have with us today a member of the Hospital Bombers, Encik Khairi Kassim!"

The crowd applauded and shouted Eric's name. Eric and his wife looked around in amazement.

I raised my arm to him and said, "Eric, for old time's sake. Jom, kita main satu lagu Bombers."

I looked at the aide, playing the bongo, and he nodded he was ready. Eric, who had not played the guitar for so many years, said he would try his best not to mess up. He would play rhythm on the second guitar, but this was only because he had forgotten how the lead went. I played the lead.

Eric flicked the strings a few times, coughed a little, and looked at his wife, beaming with a smile.

He reached for the mic and said, "Ini lagu first the Hospital Bombers, from our first demo in 1994."

Eric strummed the first few chords, very slowly, and then he started singing, his voice trembling -

The best ever punk rock band out of Banting
Was a couple of guys, who'd been friends since high school.
One was named Fairus, the other was Eric,
And they jammed twice a week in Eric's bedroom.

Eric's voice got better and he strummed the guitar faster, louder. The bongo entered in mid-verse.

The best ever punk rock band out of Banting
Never settled on a name.
But the top three contenders, after weeks of debate,
Were Babyfingers, and the Killers, and the Hospital Bombers.

Eric's wife laughed at the absurdity of the lyrics. This had helped Eric to loosen up some more.

Eric and Fairus believed in their hearts they were headed
For stage lights and private jets, and fortune and fame.
So in script that made prominent use of the word 'bollocks'
They stenciled their drumheads and guitars with their name.

People in the crowd started singing along. They now recognized the song, anticipating the chorus.

This was how Fairus got kicked out of school
Where they told him he'd never be famous.
And this was why Eric
In the letters he'd write to his friends,
Helped develop a plan to get even.

Eric then belted out the chorus in full force, like he was back in 1994, onstage with the Bombers.

When you punish a person for dreaming his dream,
Don't expect him to thank you or forgive you!
The best ever punk rock band out of Banting
Will in time both outpace and outlive you!

Hail Bombers!
Hail Bombers tonight!
Hail Bombers!

Hail, hail!

Author's notes - This is a special tribute to the local underground music scene in the mid to late 1990s, and to those of us who once had a dream of becoming rock stars, no matter how ridiculous we look in tight jeans or playing a musical instrument.

Photo is by Penny Smith, showing a member of the punk band the Clash performing at the Apollo in USA in the late 1970s. Also, cover for London Calling.

The original book 'Our Band Could Be Your Life' (Michael Azerrad, 2003) is about the indie scene in the Midwest of USA in the late 1980s and the careers of their most influential bands.

All the band names and 'zine names in the story are fictional i.e. not real. So, don't bother looking them up.

The song performed by Eric is plagiarized from a song titled 'Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton' by the Mountain Goats.

Initial working titles for this story were: His Yoko Ono, Bollocks, 1997, The Hospital Bombers, and The Last Gig.

Author's notes - UPDATED AND EXPANDED
I wrote this story last night, in one sitting, from about 10 PM until 1 AM. The basic idea and all the material for this story have been with me since April, but I was often not in the mood and too tired.

Originally, what I had in mind was, when the draft was still titled 'His Yoko Ono' - a story about two best friends who jammed in a band when they were kids and later met each other again as adults.

They found themselves so far apart in terms of interest, career, outlook etc, that the only thing that they could connect with was the band. The main story-telling element would be how they met their Yoko Ono -- someone or something that pushed them away from music, a wife, a job, a sense of growing up. In a chance meeting, the two then quietly sneaked out, and performed on the streets.

But soon I found out that this storyline would be too long and too "conversational" to put on paper. It would require a lot of going back and forth, flash back and flash forward, and so I just gave it all up.

I left the draft as is in my folder, and plain forgot about it for many, many months.

About a week ago, I met an old friend who lamented to me about how his wife wanted him to get rid of his old guitar, and how every time he played it, the wife would nag and say things like, Ini mainan syaitan, or, Awak tu dah ada anak, sudahlah taubat. The guy felt really horrible. He felt pulled apart.

That was when I started working on the story again.

Over last week, I did a lot of research on the Internet, listened to a lot of the old punk stuff that I still keep or from Youtube. Over the course of six or seven days, the working title changed three or four times, reflecting how crazy the writing process was, very painful and very frustrating. I had so many things to say or put in the story that the overall theme got diverted a few times. Finally, I managed to strike a balance somewhat (I hope), sat down in my sarong, and wrote the whole thing in one go.

There was one "quote" that I wanted Eric to say, but I could not get it right in this final version of the story. It goes like this, "If we could do it, then we should. If not, well let's just do it to get girls to like us." The meaning here in the context of Eric's story is -- If our band could write songs that have a message or songs that would be meaningful to somebody, we should do that. Just like the great bands we adore did, the Buzzcocks, the Clash, the Ramones. But since we know we cannot do that, we cannot write decent songs whatsoever, let's just do this for the fun of it, while the fun lasts.

In the final version of the story, there is a recurring element of a young doctor "smoking outside the hospital doors". This is meant to denote a sense of youthful rebelliousness and recklessness, like what we would expect out of punk music and young punk fans. A medical doctor knows all too well about the hazards of smoking, nonetheless he smokes. And he gets angry ("discreetly cursed") when his pager goes off, calling him back to work, interrupting his much-enjoyed cigarette break.

In 'His Yoko Ono' version, I initially wanted to expand a bit more on Eric's wife, how she turned him away from music. In 'Bollocks' and '1997' versions, I elaborated on the history and the relationship between Eric and our narrator -- how they knew each other then, and how they re-connected now.

In 'The Hospital Bombers' version, our narrator is Eric. The story is being told in first person and in a straight-forward autobiographical style. In 'The Last Gig', our narrator is a member of the band and Eric was the guy who left his friends to study in college and had caused the band to break up days later. In this version, they buried all the bad stuff in the past by performing all their old songs again.

It was necessary for me to write and re-write the story in these various lights, again and again -- so that I could get a complete understanding on the characters and their emotional plights, and all the external forces involved (e.g. wife, baby, career, the scene, old friendship). Ultimately later, in the final version of the story, all these subtle context would surface naturally, and not sound fabricated.

One last point before I go -- We, the reader, were never told or hinted how our narrator fit into Eric's life story. Who is he? And yet, we are still able to follow the story till the end, not bothered by this.

Sleep well tonight.