IT’S very easy, and convenient, to romanticise the life of an itinerant troubadour. Travelling from town to town, venue to venue, dispensing the gospel of love and music and song, from one smoky room to another.

The thief of hearts, a mystery in plain sight under the lights, amplified through the speakers, articulate and poetic between songs, the pied piper of good times that lasts till closing time.

It’s hard living while appearing to glide through it with ease because of the poetics that people tend to assume is a big part of life – and there is truth to this – but a truth that is only assumed by the spectator.

It’s a vocation that demands one to stand proud and with dignity as we tower over everyone else in the room. The stage is an elevated sacred place – the soapbox to unleash the poetry of song in the midst of the mundane.

And then there are those who despise, who look down on the same itinerant troubadour whose itinerancy is lunacy of the highest order, the immoral personified. The embodiment of the nightmare of mothers of daughters, the scorn of fathers.

Being the ridicule of the pious and self-righteous, it’s very easy for the troubadour – often a male – to self-reflect on why the environment of this trade is of such negative reputation. 

No vocation such as the troubadour – the singing muso – is most misunderstood by many. Its reputation precedes the truth of such a life.

To live in the moment is to embrace the liminal – to be on the boundary or threshold of things – is what being a troubadour is all about.

But what is a troubadour, you ask?

It’s a fancy word for the average Malaysian, who is more accustomed to the broad occupation categories such as “musicians”, “singers”, or “stars”.

Well, let’s ask good ol’ Wikipedia, which states that a “troubadour”:

“...was a composer and performer of Old Occitan lyric poetry during the High Middle Ages (1100–1350). Since the word troubadour is etymologically masculine, a female troubadour is usually called a trobairitz… The texts of troubadour songs deal mainly with themes of chivalry and courtly love. Most were metaphysical, intellectual, and formulaic. Many were humorous or vulgar satires.”

The first half of the definition is historical and defines the term based on gender. I’ve yet in my 20 years or so met someone who called themselves a “trobairitz”.

The second half of the definition is closer to home to how I’ve often bandied about the term, especially the combo words of “metaphysical”, intellectual”, “formulaic”, “humorous”, “vulgar” and “satires”.

These five words are profound because they are the exact appeal of the troubadour amongst the spectator that is often not necessarily articulated in those exact words by the spectators themselves.

Troubadours are discovered. They do not arrive conveniently at your doorstep.

Most good things in life never just conveniently appear at your doorstep. You have to dig and find gold.

And most people, because of consumerism and the increasing ease in which technology makes you shop for things you don’t really need, have become accustomed to being lazy and demanding – a key characteristic of our epoch.

The troubadour does not seek to impress but uses tried and true formulas to communicate their ideas more directly rather than virtuosically.

There is nothing romantic about having to sing night after night, dive after dive, to more often than not an indifferent crowd, although the few who are engaged make up for the rest.

But the romanticism is a big draw of both how the troubadour found himself in this trade and slowly but surely, he became the archetype, the trope, and by then finds himself trapped in an image of his own doing.

We have our ups and downs – like everyone else – but it’s a little bit more intense because most people don’t realise this fact: it is a performing art.

We put on a character onstage night in, night out. But the difference is that this character is consistent, its face is of our own, the voice and the banter too. Even the name.

Songs as they say “come from the heart” so the assumption is that we are “authentic”, “honest” and even “real” to some – which I have to say is true.

But communicating this “authenticity”, “honesty” and “realness” is no stroll in the park. We are our own worst critics because we set the bar high for ourselves and for ourselves alone.

As a result, it is a lonesome vocation, although not necessarily a lonely one. Music has certainly helped me make a lot more friends than if I hadn’t discovered it and embraced it, regardless whether I am professionally trained or not. I’ve lived it.

And it is this exact desire to be uncompromising is what is the appeal of the modern troubadour to me – the sheer stubbornness to believe in being authentic, honest, and real in an increasingly superficial and mediated world is a productive form of stubbornness.

All artists are stubborn – you have to be – although maybe the word “stubborn” has negative connotations.

So here I conclude: being “stubborn” is a virtue. Stick to your principles, no matter how overly romanticised they are for life demands some degree of romanticism.

Let us reclaim that in this increasingly quantitative and overly rationalised world. 

The last beacon of hope is the lone figure of the troubadour. And the trobairitz. Not our so-called “leaders”.

We live in the age of trust deficit – so let us start judging someone’s worth not by the pedestal they stand on but by the stubbornness to hold on to principles that have no real obvious materialistic value.

After all, isn’t that what “faith” is all about? Let go and embrace the liminal.

Trust your local troubadour – if you put in some effort to discover one. With the ease of social media, you can even drop them a message or follow their works.

They’re not just “singers”. They represent you in places where you’ve never been to. – October 29, 2021.

* 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.