Censorship, it’s a funny thing. Why a cable channel decides to screen a movie such as Layer Cake, here in
And thinking of rock’n’roll. We were invited up to the, ever so fabulous, Alila Hotel in the Ubud Hills on Friday night for the launch of the new Alila in house CD. The evening was centred around the performance by a singer-songwriter, Made J (whose name, to a New Zealander, might well evoke unpleasant memories of a similarly named Matty J and a heinous sub Vanilla Ice moment called Colourblind a decade or so ago). Fortunately Made, whose musical lineage seemed to come more from Robert Johnson than Matty’s pallid, watery, attempt at sub Bobby Brown R’n’B, was rather more pleasant to the ears.
So there we were, the invited guests at a rock’n’roll event being held in the dining pavilion, at dinner time, or thereabouts; in one of
And we were not alone. The show, since it was being recorded exclusively by and for iTunes, was rather well attended. Some of the attendees were guests of the artist, some invited VIPs, and some, I think, had no idea that they were about to be treated to something contemporary and musical, albeit amplified (although not outrageously it must be said). They were the hotel guests. And therein lay the problem, the clash (a rather appropriate word I think) between two vastly opposing cultures. There were quite a number of well fed middle aged and beyond, largely, I’d say, very wealthy couples enjoying their very expensive dinner at this tranquil resort-spa in the hills when the guests started to arrive.
Or to be more precise, the culture collision occurred…..like one of those buckling high speed locomotive crashes in the old sepia westerns. You really have to ask: what in gods name were the hotel management thinking. I understand the concept: reasonably high brow, some might say, adult contemporary music…still with an obvious cutting edge…and a hotel that tries to position itself somewhere on the edge of style. It seemed like a match made in some sort of heaven. But the reality was, of course, somewhat different and that was no more obvious (and inevitable) than when the Mohawk-ed punk fashionistas, piercings intact, arrived from Kuta.
Of course some of those shaking over their Chardonnay had perhaps done more in their eminent careers to cause harm (mostly economic) to other human beings, behind a boardroom door, than any of the punks or punkettes present would ever be capable of. But that’s’ beside the point and beyond the scope of this post….
When Brigid and I first arrived Made was still performing a quiet-ish semi-acoustic set to warm up…but you could already feel the seething anger amongst the pre-booked dinning couples. One guy in particular was sitting near the stage rolling his glass’ edge on the table and clearly only just holding it together. His wife, to whom he communicated nothing beyond a regular glare (I would imagine the weekend was her idea by the looks), sat there trying to roll with their predicament, tapping her feet now and then, out of time of course, forcing an unenthusiastic replica of an enthusiastic smile. And the longer they sat, the more, rapidly drinking and chain smoking, Made J fans placed themselves on the steps around their table. And then Made turned up the volume.
And then the Kuta punk contingent arrived. Not that many mind…half a dozen or so at the most. But they had the hair, and the studs, and the eyeliner and everything they had on, with the exception the silver of the studs and the skull and pistol screenprinting ink on their ripped t-shirts, was black. The ripples of discomfort spread across the tables. You could smell it (actually you could smell some of the punks too, but that’s part of the calculated allure of punkdom). Husbands looked fearfully at their wives who were now obviously in danger of being violated right there and then. And the wives, with the clear and present knowledge all their present worldly goods were now liable to be wrenched from them at any moment, quickly tucked their bags under their crossed arms, and then crossed their legs…..and refused, no matter the pain, to go to the toilet in case……
Yes, of course, I’m exaggerating the last bit somewhat for effect…but the fear was real
However point is, as I said earlier…what in hells name possessed the hotel management to do such a thing. To smash the allure to the Alila with a rock’n’roll gig; to face the inevitable demands for room refunds the next day and the swathe of bad word of mouth that was utterly inevitable from a gig like this. 
I could’ve told them….anyone who’s done such a gig could’ve warned them of the risk, especially when the artist invites friends.
Were they swayed by the lure of iTunes, or by the thought of the cutting edge nature implied by such a gig. Or was the manager leaving and wanted to see a band….who knows….but I guarantee whatever the reason, the in room mayhem left in the various after-show party suites (I was in one…are peanut shells hard to get out of a carpet??) negated the benefit….
The odd thing is, we didn’t ever get to see the CD…nobody mentioned it…once…
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