IN January, I was in the Philippines for a conference by the International Association of Popular Music Studies’ Southeast Asian branch (only two years old, and of which I am a member) – and also to perform at a notable live-music venue and jam with other international attendees.

Back home, we tend to associate live musicians at bars and lounges with Filipinos. They are indeed very talented, with a long national tradition of performing and singing that predates the formation of Malaysia.

Among the pleasures (and privileges) of being a touring musician and academic, I get to make new musician friends, while gaining a deeper understanding of the country I’m touring in from my academic colleagues (who are more often than not also practitioners out of necessity).

Needless to say, my first trip to Manila saw me overwhelmed by the traffic congestion and hive of activity, but more importantly, I was taken by the spirit and tenacity of the sprawling metropolis’ population.

The mid-conference festivities were held at Conspiracy Cafe – what a name! – which was essentially a bungalow converted into a cafe/bar/live-music venue with an ample garden through which you enter to get to the venue, located atop a flight of stairs.

The lifeblood of the live-music scene is its venues, and while this may seem obvious to the casual observer, I’d like to turn my focus on society’s attitude towards this scene.

Live music in the Klang Valley (and generally speaking, the whole country) is often associated with cover bands, and their dexterity with musical instruments and onstage charisma or theatrics. The venues in Malaysia tend to be bars or cafes that serve food and drinks, and the music – correct me if you disagree – is secondary. These are F&B outlets that add live music to the menu.

There’s nothing wrong with this arrangement, and I am in no way dismissing the quality of the musicians who perform at such places. If you want a good night out with music, food and drinks, if you’re looking above all to be entertained, then these are your go-tos.

Live-music venues that feature “original” music, however, serve a purpose other than merely entertaining. They foster new and established independent artistes (major-label or mainstream artistes sometimes organise events at these places, too, but not as often as independent ones) as part of a larger network of musicians to collaborate and sell merchandise, like albums and T-shirts, and are where “gig” (the word commonly used to refer to an independent show) organisers spot acts and invite them to perform at future events. There’s often a cover charge or “donation” at the door, unlike at the aforementioned F&B outlets. This self-sustaining practice, which came out of the underground music scene, is also common at such venues – sometimes called “live houses”, a term with roots in Japan – in developed nations.

The prevalence of F&B outlets serving as live-music venues has created a cultural attitude – which I’ve observed first-hand, and also told of by friends who run live houses – where people don’t see the logic in paying to watch a band perform, especially one that you can’t request Hotel California or Kau Ilhamku from. Yes, I’m biased towards a particular type of live music, and I think it’s valid to lean the other way as well.

However, we need to consider the fact that live houses are spaces where original voices with something to say, not just out to entertain, can find a home and eventually grow, creating a bustling niche of different voices that aren’t simply driven by consumerist culture, but also the need for a place where dissenting views can be aired outside the underground scene – exciting, but maybe too grungy and subterranean for Mr and Mrs Urbanite.

If there’s one venue in the Klang Valley that reminds me a lot of Conspiracy Cafe, it’s Merdekarya in Petaling Jaya. Not many of these places have lasted through the decades, and the future is doubly uncertain now with the Covid-19 crisis, a dagger to the heart of the performing arts circuit. My musician friends in the Philippines are already facing the blade as their country remains under lockdown, and so, too, are my performer buddies here as the movement-control order stretches.

The “new normal” is a tough proposition that we all need to consider, but there’s a silver lining: since it was already an uphill battle to change the cultural attitude in Malaysia prior to the crisis, perhaps, this reset is an opportune time to ponder collectively on what to do, to quote The Doors, when the music’s over. – April 17, 2020.

* 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.