ON Wednesday morning, an email from a friend made my heart sink: Prof Wan Zawawi Wan Ibrahim had passed away.

Flashback to 2005, I was invited to be a part of KL Sing Song – a regional singer-songwriter showcase organised by artists and singer-songwriters Jerome Kugan and Tan Sei Hon, whom I had met in the circuit after returning from my sojourn in Australia in the early 2000s.

I was excited as also on the bill of discussion panels on music and songwriting were local singer-songwriters I admired.

One of them was, of course, Wan Zawawi as he was more popularly known as a troubadour.

I had heard of his name as the lyricist of popular rock bands when I was a teenager flipping through compilation album sleeves, and one of them is my favourite rock ballad anthems ever – Nigina by rock legends Search.

I was late to the party and began discovering his solo works only in my early 20s, when he bought my 2005 EP Tenets and thought of my second name “Yunor”, of which he remarked “...sounds like a Javanese fellow!”

So I began digging into his solo works which he brought along – his album Dayung is a fascinating (and important) work that represents the two worlds in which he lived as both an academic and troubadour – further proof that the good stuff is seldom in the obvious public domains.

But his solo work was where his social activism and humanist drive made their presences felt.

He would come to some of the gigs I played and the subsequent KL Sing Song, always a supportive mentor of sorts for he never presented himself as a “sifu” or such (which is commonplace in the mainstream Malay pop music scene).

He always said, “It is empathy, we empathise with each other” as artists or fellow wanderers, instantly bridging the generational gap.

And of course, there was his illustrious academic life – a well-respected anthropologist who wrote and researched about Malaysian cultural politics through the lenses of cultural studies, ethnography and social and cultural anthropology.

His seminal ethno-musicological research on rock and nasyid music articulated the links between politics, religion, ideology and popular culture.

As a budding accidental academic who found myself on such an unfamiliar path of juggling both seemingly opposing worlds, digging into his academic work and philosophy gave me an assurance that one can contribute and give back to society, but at the same time not compromise on one’s principles.

His indigenous scholarship with Orang Asli and Bornean communities bridged both his academic and musical lives.

When he discovered that I, too, was a young academic with some shared musical paths, I guess his emphasis on “empathy” rang truer.

I, too, spent some time in Melbourne, Australia. His alma mater was Monash University, mine as RMIT University – albeit decades apart.

I guess it came full circle when he and his editorial team invited me to contribute a chapter in a recently published academic book.

My fondest memory of Doc (as I often addressed him) was onstage in the late 2000s, when he returned to the performing mill for an extended period of time – gigging regularly at the usual venues I was hitting in the circuit.

I received an SMS on my worn-out Nokia phone from him one day, “Are you available on XX date?”, to which I replied “Yes!” and to which he replied, “Okay, great, bring your harmonica!”

So, suddenly, here I was, in his band, made up of some of the best seasoned local musicians – his peers – with an odd member or two from my generation.

His generosity, support and love really shone at these events and it was pure joy each time.

One time, at a gig in Desa Sri Hartamas, he invited a whole gang of us that we had double instrument players, who are usually soloists – two harmonica players, two bassists, two saxophonists, two keyboardists (I think).

The stage could hardly contain us all but we carried on as he would want us to. It did not matter – the moment is all that counts and these were some of the fondest memories of him that I will take with me, along with the warm conversations and company we would have before and after the shows.

His love for music must be genetic. I have had the pleasure of sharing the bill and friendship with his sons Rendra and Hameer, and you can feel the same joy and love for music emanating through these talented siblings, later joined in their musical pursuits by their equally talented youngest sister Kaiyisha.

I did not get to hang a lot in their homestead in Petaling Jaya, but each time I was invited or found myself there, it was always a pleasure to be in the company of Doc and his wife, NoorShah, in awe at the knick-knacks they collected in their travels that decorated their abode.

Wan Zawawi set the bar high for not only us academic-troubadours, but also those who seek empathy, solidarity and understanding in this world – a true Malaysian original.

Rest in power, Doc. My deepest condolences to NoorShah, Rendra, Hameer and Kaiyisha.

Your songs will always be sung and your words will always be read. – May 20, 2022.

* Azmyl Yunor is a touring underground recording artiste, and an academic in media and cultural studies. He has published articles on pop culture, subcultures and Malaysian cultural politics. He adheres to the three-chords-and-the-truth school of songwriting, and Woody Guthrie’s maxim “All you can write is what you see”. He is @azmyl on Twitter.

* This is the opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malaysian Insight. Article may be edited for brevity and clarity.