AROUND this time of the month for the past two years, I toured Indonesia – Java, specifically – with my friend Fikri Fadzil, who goes by his stage name Bayangan.

It would’ve been an annual tradition if not for Covid-19 and the ensuing lockdowns and travel restrictions. The first trip in 2018, which I went on to support the release of Fikri’s debut album, was particularly exciting. In the touring musician’s lingo, the supporting act is the one who opens for the feature performer. Before Indonesia, we had already hit the road – and taken two flights – on the Malaysian leg of the tour.

One of the best things about travelling with a fellow solo troubadour is the conversations had throughout the journey. Though I’ve toured with my bands and collectives, the bulk of my trips, whether local or abroad, were solitary.

The Bersendirian Bhd Indonesian Tour 2018 – named after Fikir’s album (an atmospheric, assured debut; do yourself a favour and check it out) – covered nine cities in as many days. I joined him on six dates and held another show on my own at the end, making for seven back-to-back performances in a week, each time in a different place – Semarang, Bandung, Jakarta, Bogor, Jatiwangi, Surabaya and Jogjakarta.

I traversed pretty much the whole of Java in seven days, which was intense. We passed Pekalongan, the town of my late paternal grandmother’s ancestors, on the 12-hour road trip to Bandung that we set out on right after our first show (it was the dead of night, so no chance of stopping for a photo op). While touring may seem glamorous to the average person (especially if mainstream pop stars are your staple), for the majority of musicians, it’s hard work and a spiritual undertaking. No doubt it’s fun as well, as you get to visit new places and make friends along the way.

The tour took me to the port city of Semarang, the capital of Central Java, for the first time. As per Murphy’s law, I came down with a sore throat and fever a day before my flight (this happened again on the subsequent tour last year). The only flight to Semarang from klia2 was at 6.30am, meaning I had to be at the airport at least two hours earlier. To be pragmatic, I left the house the night before, planning to rough it in some unoccupied corner of the terminal for a few hours. As luck would have it, the authorities were conducting an operation, clearing out loiterers and people sleeping on the floor.

Feverish me had to get a good rest, something that’s hard to come by while on tour. After searching in vain for a spot not under enforcement officers’ watchful eye, I headed to a capsule hotel at the airport’s transport terminal. It would set me back RM90 for a six-hour block (I needed only four hours, tops), but I was desperate. After popping two Panadol tablets, I was out like a light.

That was just what the doctor ordered, sure enough. I woke up with my temperature down, and after quickly freshening up, went to check-in. Flying with a guitar, you need to have a hard case, ensure it’s properly wrapped, and get additional clearance for oversized check-in luggage. Being a seasoned traveller, my timing is impeccable, and I arrived at the boarding gate early.

This is the routine, not dissimilar to that of a travelling salesman with his goods in tow. I joke about it, but in many ways, I’m indeed a travelling salesman; performance is my pitch, and albums and merchandise are my sales. It’s not the romantic image most have in mind, but such is the reality to sustain a meaningful, creative life as an independent musician.

At the sleek new Semarang terminal, I was greeted by Mada, our local organiser, on his moped. He was an anthropology major (as were many other young musicians I met during the tour) at a local university. He slipped my guitar case in front, balancing it between his leg and the handlebars, and I hopped on behind him with my luggage. Off we went to his house to “ngopi” and lunch with Fikri and his entourage.

Soaking up the sights (and breathing in the fumes) on the scenic ride, I longed for a cigarette. Though I had quit the habit a while back, I often find smoking legit during travels as it grants one a licence to just stand on a corner and take in the surroundings without looking dodgy. But not this time around, despite being in kretek country – I was already feeling better and didn’t want to aggravate my pipes, the main tool of my trade.

Finally with the gang and meeting our tour manager Tintha at Mada’s place, it struck me: it’s the liminality of touring and travelling that has me hooked. All that you are as a person back home halts, and you become one with the moment.

My Java adventure was only beginning, and I was in good company. And when this escapade ends, I’ll plan another. – August 21, 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.