My home song story

Listening to Incubus off their myspace.com page, I wished, not for the first time, I had taken my music more seriously when I was younger.

I have always heard their name bandied around, but I never really gotten down to checking them out - this despite knowing early on, through the random recommendations of more musically-inclined friends, that I kindda have a thing or two for alternative rock and indie stuff.

I wondered what might have happened if I had been involved in less random things when I was in Fairfield. I started on the guitar when I was 14, but I always involved in too many random things to have any time to devote on it entirely.

Brian and Thomas, who were on the same BB guitar hobby class as me more than 10 years ago, have moved on to greater things. They are in their own band, Leeson and both of them are pretty accomplished musicians and song writers in their own right as well.

Not taking my guitar more seriously meant I was never able to compensate for my lack of a musicality in my childhood because Mom never allowed me near a piano, saying that pianoes are for girls; or a violin, saying that it would permenently twist my neck one way -- despite my persistence.

I sometimes suspect that she said those things not because she was really ignorant, but she was trying to live within the means of our lower middle-income, working class existence that didn't permit her to be so lavish with her expenditure. I don't blame her, I mean, it was probably the best she she could do.

So, the nearest I got to any form of music training was my time on my primary school band, where I played the pianica and assorted percussion instruments such as the clockenspiel and the drums. But I was always forced to split my time between band and drama because I was kindda headhunted to go on the annual school plays.

But being always so busy with random things have been the story of my life so far. It's funny how we always live in vicious cycles that perpetuate itself in our lives. It may take on different guises, but they are all essentially the same.

And so, in this case, it has robbed me of a mode of expression. There are times when I am so sad, down, happy and elated and I want to express them in tune and words, and I find myself handicapped and unable to translate the melodies and rifts in my head into music.

Mom bought a keyboard for me sometime back for me to play with. I tried teaching myself to play, but my left hand always ends up being so retarded. You only use the right hand while playing the pianica, so I never got down to any real two-handed playing.

I remembered always feeling like I was in heaven when I listen to live bands, particularly when I used to go down to Fat Frog's to listen to Han Jin's sets. I imagine how much better it must feel to be able to play music, and more so, play music that you wrote.

Along the way, however, I also developed a taste in films, literature and basically what the lay person might regard to be arty-farty things over the years. I am not a musician per se, but I think I count myself as somebody who appreciate good, honest music and with a healthy respect for all artistes.

I can kindda tell if a band is playing tight enough from my time on the worship team doing back-up vocals on the youth ministry in church. I am also surrounded by music people all around, although more often in the past.

But I do wonder what it could have been, had I been less interested in fitting in with my peers in Fairfield and devoted more time to learning to play the guitar when I was 14. Maybe, just maybe, I would also be able to write music and do accoustic sets, like how I always like my live music to be.

Andrew always tell me that it is never too late to start. But I can only look wistfully at the new guitar I always wanted to buy, but never gotten down to doing it and rather cynically abolish any thought of it that has been recurring for the last 7 years.

It's just not bloody possible anymore at 25.