SYSTEM DISRUPTED'S FAVOURITE SONGS OF 2012

Time for the 3^rd annual System has been disrupted favourite songs of 2012. I’ve limited it to one song per artist, (although a couple of people sneak onto the list twice as featured artists) which proved tough for artists like Killer Mike and Frank Ocean, who were responsible for my two favourite albums of the year. At the moment, the tracks featured on this list by these artists are my favourite but if you asked me last week what my favourite track was, they could easily been replaced by other tracks from these two standout albums. Some of these tracks were under-exposed, others like Gangnam Style couldn’t be avoided. I'm just pleased that I don't live in Korea anymore, otherwise I would have had to learn that dance for sure. Anyway, here's my 50 favourite songs (not necessarily the best) in alphabetical order.

A$AP Rocky - Goldie

Aaradhna-Wake Up

Amadou and Mariam ft Santigold- Dougou Badia

Amanda Palmer-Melody Dean

Angel Haze-New York

Anna Meredith-Nautilus

Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti-Baby

Azealia Banks-212

Bat for Lashes- Laura

Beach House-Myth

The Black Seeds-Out of Light

Blood Diamonds ft Grimes-Phone Sex

Cat Power-Ruin

Repeating The Circle- Ceremony                                               

Get Got- Death Grips           

Life's a Beach- Django Django           

The Full Retard- El-P           

Anything Could Happen- Ellie Golding                       

Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings- Father John Misty

Cheap Beer- FiDLAR           

 Gendjer2- Filastine                                   

Every Single Night- Fiona Apple                                               

Pyramids- Frank Ocean  

Frank Ocean: responsible for one of the best albums of the year.

Oblivion- Grimes           

Forever- Haim                                               

Lightning Bolt - Jake Bugg

The House That Heaven Built- Japandroids           

Mercy- Kanye West ft. Big Sean, Pusha T and 2 Chainz            

Backstreet Freestyle- Kendrick Lamar           

Untitled (feat. Scar)- Killer Mike       

Killer Mike had a critical breakthrough with RAP Music.

    

No 1 Against the Rush- Liars

Monoliths- Lotus Plaza

Brains - Lower Dens           

Get Free- Major Lazer

Oldie- Odd Future

Getaway Tonight- Opossum

Best Of Friends- Palma Violets

Take a Walk-Passion Pit                       

Follow Baby- Peace                                               

Ill Manors- Plan B                                               

Gangnam Style- Psy                       

Baddest Man Alive- RZA ft the Black Keys                       

Disparate Youth- Santigold           

Husbands- Savages           

Hey Jane- Spiritualized           

Feels Like We Only Go Backwards- Tame Impala

Kiss Me Dudely- Torche

Ty Seagall Band- I Bought My Eyes

YN Rich Kids: Dub this styes.

Hot Cheetos & Takis- YN Rich Kids                       

Ima Read- Zebra Katz                       

BOHOL WANDERINGS

It was close to Christmas when we arrived in Tagbilaran, the port city that serves as the gateway to Bohol, a short ferry ride from Cebu City. We were pleased to leave Cebu City and in particular, the hotel we stayed at in Cebu, behind us. The hotel itself was fine but its bar served as setting the scene for the stereotypical old Western man with young Asian girl that forms part of the Western travelers impression of South East Asia. Bohol was in full Christmas spirit, with the plaza opposite the Cathedral of San Jose, an old Spanish colonial church, festooned with festive decorations. Large images of Madonna and child hang from the trees. It was a carnival like atmosphere, with the church acting as the fulcrum for proceedings. The Catholic Church has a strong presence on Bohol, with one of the Philippines oldest churches, the Church of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception, dating back in part to the 16^th Century. We visited this church the day after arriving, which was made by the efforts of 200 native forced labourers, using stones cut into square blocks and then piled on top of each other, with apparently, the whites of a million eggs to cement them together. Attached is a convent, that houses a small museum with a collection of relics and artifacts, as well as a dungeon, used to punish natives who violated the rules of the Roman Catholic Church and a number of creepy looking statues who are supposed to depict saints but came across as more demonic than angelic.

Christmas decorations

 The beautiful white sand beaches of relatively nearby Boracay, recently voted the world’s best island by the magazine, Travel+ Leisure, have overshadowed Bohol. Bohol, though, has its own array of pristine beaches and resorts as well as claiming two drawcards that Boracay can’t – the Chocolate Hills and the Tarsier Sanctuary, a conservation centre that acts as a visitor centre, venue for research and a habitat preserve all in one. We told our driver that these were the two sights in Bohol that were must sees. True to form though, the first stop on our tour was to view the blood pact statue, overlooking the ocean, one of the triumvirate of sights, along with the tarsiers and the Chocolate Hills, that features predominantly on Bohol travel booklets. The statue commemorates the arrival of Miguel López de Legazpi, a Spanish explorer, who arrived looking for loot, in the form of gold and spices. He managed to persuade the locals that he wasn’t Portuguese (true) and that he wasn’t out to exploit them (no doubt a lie). The reward for such skilled negotiation was the peace pact López de Legazpi signed with a local chieftain, a pact solidified by a blood contract between the pair, consecrated in the statue that is now a popular spot for tour operators to take visitors. It is one of Bohol’s most reproduced images, depicted on the provincial flag and seal as well as on a multitude of tourist flyers.

Boracay beach-life

Back in the taxi, the next stop was supposed to be the Tarsier Sanctuary. The driver had told us the previous day that he knew where it was, an assertion he repeated, after I double-checked he knew the way. I was really keen to go to this sanctuary, where up to 100 Philippine Tarsiers can be observed in (almost) natural habitat. Conversely, I was keen to avoid going to one of the roadside stalls on the road to the Chocolate Hills that display tarsiers. Tarsiers are notoriously poor captive animals. Captive tarsiers allegedly have a shortened life expectancy, experience health problems, in particular eye problems, and apparently have a tendency to “commit suicide” by crushing its skull by hitting it against objects (however, this may be another leaping lemming scenario and may not be true). No doubting though that these roadside stalls wouldn’t be the most friendly place for an emotionally frazzled tarsier.

Tarsier

Of course, as so often happens, when travelling in non-English speaking countries, there was the inevitable communication breakdown. We stopped on the way to the Chocolate Hills. “What is this?”, I asked the driver, already despairingly knowing the answer. “Tarsier here, get out” was the unwanted response. This is not what I wanted. Our driver’s English, which had seemed exemplary until now, now seemed rudimentary. I asked him about the sanctuary-he had never heard of it. I showed him on the map (like I had the day, an hour before, when he promised us he knew all about it). It was too far out of our way now, he said. If we went there, we wouldn’t be able to get to the Chocolate Hills. I didn’t know what to do so I sulked in the car, refusing to get out while the driver refused to change the schedule to take us to the sanctuary. The (Filipino) standoff went on for a few minutes until I relented, deciding that I would have a look at the stall and if the tarsiers were being mistreated, I’d get back into the car. I had to admit, however begrudgingly, that the stall wasn’t as bad as it could have been for the tarsiers, although I’m guessing that it wasn’t ideal for them either. There were signs up asking us not to use flash photography (that hurts their oversized eyes) and to not to touch the tarsiers, so there were no gimmicky tarsier photos on offer, meaning that the tarsiers here weren’t being too exploited.

Tarsier two

Tarsiers are unusual looking creatures, like a mix between E.T and Gollum, with oversized eyes and long, thin fingers. Their eyes are said to be the biggest of all mammals, in terms of eye to body ratio. Nocturnal predators, their large eyes give them an advantage when it comes to catching the insects that form the bulk of their diet. They have a certain fragile charm that makes them quite beguiling. They sat holding on tightly to branches and seemed pretty relaxed by the invasion of their privacy. Their cuteness is also a curse, making them popular (if unsuitable) pets. Predation by cats, loss of habitat and the pet trade have had a severe impact on the numbers of wild tarsiers on Bohol. While we never got there, the efforts of the Sanctuary are to be commended, hopefully ensuring the survival of the species, even if I never got there due to the capricious whims of our driver.

Some of the Chocolate Hills

After the tarsier stall, we continued on to the Chocolate Hills, the second of our two obligatory stops for the day. I don’t know exactly when I first learnt about the Chocolate Hills. I know that they were featured in one of the nature books that I used to spend my pocket money on when I was a kid, so I would guess that was when I had first heard of them. Regardless of where or how I learnt of them, the Chocolate Hills are somewhere that I have always wanted to visit. The Chocolate Hills are an unusual formation of conical and almost symmetrically shaped hillocks, sprouting out of the ground like 30 metre high fungi. They consist of at least 1,260 hills and maybe more than 1700 hills (I’m not sure why they can’t get an accurate count, after all hills can’t move) sprawled out over an area of more than 50 square kilometers. These hills consist of marine limestones, although I prefer the local explanation that described the hills as being dried faeces left behind by gods or giants. They derive their name from their appearance during the dry season, when their green grass is burnt brown. While the hills are held in high enough regard to have been declared the country's third National Geological Monument and proposed to be included in the UNESCO World Heritage List, they haven’t been exempted from exploitation, with some hills quarried and others mined by small-scale enterprises. On the whole though, I was left a little underwhelmed by the Chocolate Hills. To be fair, we hadn’t came in the dry season when their grass was burnt off, meaning the Chocolate Hills weren’t chocolate at all but green (and it’s not easy being green). It seemed we were the only non-Russian tourists there. They  hurried up the steps from the carpark to the lookout, took a quick snap and then headed back to their tour bus as fast as possible. For once though, this was a site where I didn’t need to linger at for an extended period of time.

Mary posing

After the Chocolate Hills, our driver took us for lunch on a floating restaurant, buffet on a boat that plows up and down the Loboc River.  The river is a dark, mystery green colour surrounded by lush forest, with palms the predominant vegetation lining its banks. On board, we were serenaded by a band as we dined, who played a mix of standard English songs and more traditional Boholano songs, passing the hat around at the end of the boat ride. At the end point of the boat tour, the ‘villagers’ put on a cultural show, dancing, drumming and singing (although I wouldn’t be surprised if the villagers were boated in from surrounding towns to dance, drum and play for tourists). The best part of the village visit was watching the boys jump into the river from the tops of tall palm trees, partly done for show but mostly for fun.

A drummer at the village 

That night, I enjoyed a San Miguel, pleased that I had ticked an item off what I would know call a bucket list. It could have been a bad day, with the tarsier misunderstanding and the underwhelming ‘highlight”. Somehow though, underwhelming or not, it’s always great to see something that you have dreamt of seeing from an early age, with the bonus of a couple of other sights that will live in our memory for a while. 

BUSAN-FAMOUS FOR SANDY SHORES, SEAFOOD, BEOMEOSA AND RUSSIAN GIRLS

           We had headed to Busan with intentions of sight-seeing. So how come my life was being threatened in a jazz bar? This wasn’t how Busan was supposed to be. Rob and I were sitting in a jazz bar, chatting to a pretty hostess, like foreign characters in a Murakami novel. We were the bar’s solitary guests, sharing a free bottle of whiskey and a bowl of strawberries gifted by the middle-aged bar owner and his gangster brother. Debating with them who was better, John or Paul? Admiring the gangster brothers’ scars and tattoos, including some fresh ones he got from a recent trip to Japan. Being asked as we were leaving if we were leaving because we were afraid for our lives?. I think we were. That was the second time someone has threatened my life. The first time it was a half crazed Iranian in the middle of Ramadan who pointed a knife at me and asked if I wanted to die that night. In his defense, hunger can drive people to do all sorts of strange things. But this was different. Our bar owner friend wasn’t hungry. He was quite drunk though and he seemed as sincere in his question as we were in our fear. Meanwhile, the girls (Mary and Mel) were having a drink in a ladies only club that they thought was going to be a male revue club but turned out to be a lesbian bar. All four of us had just wanted to find a quiet place to have a drink and all four of us got more than we bargained for. But Busan is the fifth busiest port in the world, so I guess we shouldn’t have been surprised that it had a seedy underbelly or that we had stumbled into it. Before the bar episode, we had visited, almost by accident, an area called Texas Street that lies straight across the road from the train station, easily accessible for the majority of travelers who enter Busan by train. Here, for a couple of blocks, signs in Korean and English mingle with signs featuring the distinctive but unusual for Korea, Cyrillic script, advertising a multitude of bars and massage parlours. The ladies standing on this street were all Russian, smelling of cheap wine, bad perfume and desperation. I was a little intimidated by these middle aged peroxide blonds with acne scars and bulging muscles, looking like slightly prettier versions of those “female athletes” from the old Soviet bloc, a more feminine version of disgraced shotputter Nadzeya Ostapchuk. Burly Russian men also stood on the street, issuing promises of a good time to the lonely and curious. This was different from anything else we had experienced in Korea. Mary was petrified, clinging closely to Rob as if his Ukranian heritage could somehow protect her from the Russians. Needing to escape the street, we stopped at one bar for a drink. Inside the bar, the Russians were replaced by Filipino girls, as young and pretty as the Russians outside were old and ugly, who flirted with the mostly American GI crowd. We stayed for a drink and made our way back to our hotel, thankful that we all still had all of our organs. Of course, we were staying in a love motel, the type that you can book for hour-long interludes, the type of place where round beds, mirrors on the ceiling, dildo machines, an extensive pornography collection and condoms at the counter are considered par for course. Love motels are cheap though and you can get a good night sleep, as long as you can sleep through the amorous noises emanating from the other rooms.

Busan at night.

We visited Busan, Korea’s second largest city, a few times, usually taking the KTX (Korea’s answer to the bullet trains) down from Seoul. The KTX operates magnetically, in essence levitating its way through the Korean countryside at speeds greater than 300 plus kilometers per hour, leaving only a small opportunity to snatch glimpses of life through your window.  At these speeds, it really is blink and you miss it. One of our main reasons for visiting Busan was to visit the UN war cemetery. A visit to the cemetery, seemingly macabre, completed our trinity of war related visits-first we had visited the DMZ, the demilitarized zone between the North and South, then to the Korean War memorial in Seoul and now finally, the United Nations War cemetery. Busan had been the last stronghold for the South Koreans and allied forces in the early part of the Korean War and was the only major city not to fall to the communists. Maybe because the Korean War was the first major conflict that the United Nations was involved in, this cemetery is the only one in the world maintained by the U.N. It seems to be a responsibility that they take seriously, with immaculately groomed lawns and well-pruned trees. The cemetery lies on a plateau above the port, a peaceful but poignant last resting spot for bodies of many of the soldiers from many of the countries involved in the war. Mary and I made our way to the New Zealand section to honour the 45 New Zealand soldiers that had died during the war. Thirty-four of them had found permanent residence here. A memorial commemorating those New Zealanders that had died during the conflict had been erected in 2005. Its inscription is trilingual, written in English, Maori and Korean. The design was based on a moko (tattoo), seen as a sign of adulthood, an indication that the wearer was able to bear pain and take on responsibilities. The moko personified New Zealand as the mother of all of those who served (and died) during the war. Along the sides of the memorial are 45 cuts into the stone, each one representing the loss of a New Zealand serviceman during the conflict.

New Zealand's war memorial at the UN war cemetery.

The visit to the cemetery made me contemplative, thinking of the sacrifice of those men who had served and in many cases died overseas and thankful that I hadn’t had to do something similar. A trip to Beomeosa Temple, one of South Korea’s largest temples, is a great place to contemplate. It lay in hills of dense (for Korea) forest. A tall bamboo grove grew beside the main temple. Mist and low cloud added to the clichéd Asian look of the temple. Cliché isn’t always bad though. Sometimes finding a place exactly as you pictured it is as exciting as discovering something new. Beomeosa is a functional temple, with a small community of monks living on site. The temple offers overnight temple stays for interested foreigners; a tradition that I think had started about the time of the 2002 World Cup and had continued ever since. We were interested in doing this, especially after looking around the temple grounds as well as offering something more pure than staying in a love motel. We approached the temple office to enquire about doing a stay but this is when things turned a bit pear shaped. For a start, no one at the office spoke English; none of us spoke Korean. When we eventually managed to communicate what we wanted, after a long discussion and exercise in advanced body language, we discovered that the cost was exorbitant, three times more than we were willing to spend on accommodation. So we had to spend another twenty minutes explaining that we were too cheap to take up their once in a lifetime experience and that we were awfully sorry about wasting their time.

Beomeosa 

 Buddhists being Buddhists though, they were pretty relaxed about the turn of events and just to show there were no hard feelings, they invited us to enjoy a cup of tea and apples with the head monk. He happened to speak good English (where was he during the overnight stay negotiation process). We talked about all the usual things foreigners are asked when meeting a Korean for the first time, like “do you like kimchi?” and “do you like Korea?”. A potentially embarrassing situation turned out fine, and we were able to leave Beomeosa with a pleasant taste in our mouth (and not just from the tea and apples).

Tea and apple with the head monk.

Busan is famous, or at least world famous in Korea, for many things but it’s maybe best known in Korea for Haeundae Beach, a pleasant but relatively nondescript looking sandy beach for anyone who comes from a country with decent beaches. To Koreans though, Haeundae represents beach nirvana. Described on Wikipedia as one of the world’s greatest beaches, Haeundae lies largely dormant for all but two months of the year. Come the start of beach season though, which seems to be a randomly-generated, pre-determined time sometime in summer, Haeundae is cluttered with up to two million souls, all determined to enjoy their small part of sand that they can call their own. Umbrellas and beach towels fill up every available inch and people wallow in a small swimming area that only goes up to your waist, patrolled by a surplus of over zealous lifesavers. And then on the first day on non-beach season, it goes back to be largely unused. We went there at the start of May and then again at the start of July and there were no more than 10 people on the entire beach. If we had went back weeks later, the beach would have been packed. As it was outside of beach season when we went though, we could command a nice slice of prime beach real estate for ourselves, in between taking dips in the ocean.

           Just off Haeundae lies the Busan aquarium that offers interested people a chance to go diving with sharks, of the impressively big but hopefully not very aggressive type. Our instructor told us to keep our hands close to our sides and to not try and touch the fish or the two grumpy sea turtles that were also present in the tank. No need to worry about that, I thought. I valued my hands and had seen the size of the teeth of the sharks we were diving with. Teeth that size are not to be messed with. Our dive lasted for about 45 minutes. For the first 20 minutes, I forget about the sharks, I was so intent on making sure my breathing was right. But then, one beast swam right over my head and caught my attention. All of my attention. They must have been well fed. The sharks could have taken half of me in one go but didn’t. Sharks may be one of the most feared animals in the world and you could argue either way if that reputation is justified but there is no argument that they are majestic creatures. Diving with sharks, even in a controlled environment such as this, was pretty special.

Shark diving.

      You would think that diving with sharks would be the most dangerous thing we did that day. Wrong. The taxi drive back from the KTX station back to our apartment proved to be much, much more dangerous. Nothing suggested that this driver was part of a racing team. His taxi wasn’t a Ferrari or painted racing red or complete with fiery streaks. Nonetheless, I made a fatal mistake. Exuberant from our diving, I asked the driver to go quickly. My mistake was that I didn’t know how to say go slow in Korean. And Korean taxi drivers do not need a second invitation to go fast. Road rules are mere suggestions to them; stop signs are ignored, red lights approached with a blast of the horn, a slight decrease in speed before the car rushes through. If you dare to attempt to put on your seatbelt, they treat it as a personal affront, as if you should put 110% trust in their crazy driving. There seems to be one unmistakable truth about Korean taxi drivers: they are all borderline crazy and this one was a certified, escaped from the loony bin, crazy. We watched as the speedometer approached 200 kilometers per hour. He laughed at Mary, who was sitting in the front, watching the road, hands over her eyes, peering through the gaps. Michael Schumacher didn’t respond to our groans, our ooh ahhs. Close misses seemed to be missed by him. But they were all too apparent to us. The only positive about the speed he was driving at was that it dramatically cut down the time it took to get home. Just as our moods were turning from a feeling of fear to one that knew and accepted that we were all going to die, the trip come to an abrupt end. On a day that started with shark diving, who knew the real adventure sport would be the taxi ride home. And the first chance I got, I learnt how to say go slow in Korean.

THE KIMCHI CREW-A SHORT HISTORY

With the ubiquitous Gangnam style making waves around the world, I’ve started to reminisce about my small contribution to Korean music courtesy of the Kimchi Crew. What we did wasn’t exactly K-Pop, more ex-pat indie hip-hop. A legacy of two studio albums, a collection of B-sides and demos and a gamut of mostly mediocre free-styles. The Kimchi Crew grew from a modest start- two guys with a dream and ended as it started, modestly not much more than a year later. The crew was my first (and probably last) experience at being a part of any type of band, (in the loosest sense of the word), but I was hooked. All my spare time was spent, thinking of rhymes, free styling not only in my head but also to bemused kids I was teaching, trying sometimes unsuccessfully to edit out the swear-words. I listened to the rough takes we had done, often. Every weekend and some weeknights, we arranged a crew get-together, sometimes just to freestyle (which I did poorly), sometimes to record tracks that we had wrote. We rhymed about a variety of topics, from frivolous to issues of social importance and even a short-lived enviro-rap crew called Secret of Elephants that ended after one of our crew ate whale in Japan. We had the cliché weed track, rhymes animating inanimate objects, tracks expressing our love for our new and improved microphone (a 40,000 Won microphone moved us from Stone Age to Iron age in recording terms). Nothing seemed out of our range. We talked up our importance. Our friends and partners went through several stages of caring and supported followed by annoyance, apathy and ending in downright hostility. We made up a rival crew, the Bulgogi Boys, a fictional group from the city of Busan. We needed an antagonist so we could write diss tracks, (even if our beef was with a fictitous rival). The Bulgogi Boys would soon loom large in the Kimchi crew mythology. At times, we might have even dreamed that there was a niche market for five kimchi loving ex pat hip hoppers to light up the charts in Korea.

First day in the studio.

The crew was initially made up by five rappers; David, “General Refuse”; Tarek, “Bongo 3”; Nixon “The Wack MC/Golden fleece”; Aaron “Luke Warm” and myself, with a number of guest appearences (Janine “J9 the Hookmaker; Justin “Chopsticks Tactix”; Chris, “Bruno the modern relic” and Christine “C-Rex”). I gained not one but two stage names, in the System Disrupter (which in turn gave its name to this blog) and the Marvel of Invercargill. System Disruptor was spawned from a comment about the habit of some people on a bus to push forward from the back of said bus thus impeding the flow of those sitting up the front who are frustrated in the bid to get out, in other words, system disruptors.  More obviously, the Marvel of Invercargill was a reference to my hometown. After two or so months of our collective output, we found ourselves with about a dozen songs of varying quality. The pick of the bunch so far was Nixon’s and David’s collaboration “Will rap for Kimchi”, an ode to food, kimchi and all things edible. It was the first of our songs to have a good hook, an uplifting “I will rap for kimchi, I will rap for food, I will rap for anything that puts me in the mood”. This moved us away from our previous ethos of fuck the hook, into more listener friendly sound-scapes (not that we sold out).

Changing the flow.

It was around this time that we decided that we should lay down our tracks in a studio. Enquires were made and we found a studio that would cost about 20 dollars an hour with a studio technician who knew his stuff. We all concurred that it sounded like a good plan. Better than good. We asked Janine if she could ring up and organize the studio for us. She did and the date of destiny for the crew was set. We set off early one Saturday morning, headed for Hongdae. The subway ride was one of nervous anticipation. We listened to our demos, wrote out and read our rhymes, repeating them to the beat, making changes where necessary. Talking was at a bare minimum, we were in the zone. We arrived at the studio, buoyant. We handed our beats to our producer, Hyun Ho. He probably didn’t know what to expect. He had told Janine that we would be the first hip-hop group he had produced. So new territory for all involved. Hyun Ho knew what he was doing even if he didn’t know much English. We tended to skip between takes by going backwards and forwards between cuss words, the universal language of rap. Hyun Ho put the beat on for Beef Bully Bitches, the Bulgogi Boys diss track and Luke Warm was the first to step up to the plate. “There’s no more fucking around because you’ve got to believe that I’ve got mad beef with these fine strips of beef”. Soon, it was my turn to step up to the mike. Donning the headphones for the first time was surreal. I stood in the booth, oblivious to everything apart from the beat. When it dropped, I was there. A couple of takes was all I needed. It felt good, it felt real. We were the kings of this, the burgeoning ex-pat kimbob hip-hop scene. The first song was completed in about 30 minutes. We all got through our verses, we were feeling good. No guns allowed though, hookers and blow substituted for Cass beer which flowed freely in the studio. My next time up at the mike, it was time to drop my solo track, ‘Ajumma’s lament”, an ode to all the unappreciated, suburban wives of Korea. Over a looped J Dilla beat, I poured out my thoughts in one take, without cutting. It was half rapped, half sung, 100% heart felt and probably not very good. I was starting to get over my nerves and feeling relaxed in the studio. During that first studio session we got through eight songs and a higher number of pitchers. After that first experience, we were itching to get back to the studio, armed with expectation and a few new tracks. 

Spitting a rhyme.

The next time we visited the studio, we brought Janine aka J9 the Hookmaker, partly for her Korean language skills to ease communication with Hyun Ho. But mostly, we had her there because of her great voice. She sang around Seoul with different groups. While we didn’t bring much, she bought the talent to the crew. This time, J9 helped out with some hooks. We felt like the real deal now, going over and perfecting rhymes and flow, doubling over some tracks, putting on some effects. We recorded a total of 19 tracks for our CD “Fermentin” plus nine tracks that Nixon and Justin did in a day and that was later released as the Shiwa Syndicate EP.

Artwork care of Eric. The hands spell out Kimchi Crew.

In between studio visits, as a surprise for the kids who had stayed at English Village for the month, David, Aaron and myself decided to do a lunch-time concert for them. We had talked up the crew all month to the kids so our show was highly anticipated. We were under some pressure to perform. Could we talk the talk? I was really nervous, practicising the song I was going to perform which was “Ban on the side dish”, a paean to commiserate the banning of kimchi from the 2006 Asian games in Doha. I knew it back to front, I practiced all morning. I was agitated, nervous. We met backstage, General Refuse, System Disrupter and Lukas F Warm. I’ll let the General describe the scene.

“My bandana was becoming saturated with sweat. My entire body trembled in nervous anticipation. This was the culmination of so much planning, so many dreams. I was decked out to the max: green basketball shorts emblazoned with gold stars, a white muscle shirt accentuating nothing in particular, and the bandana – my blue gangster doo-rag – was wrapped around the circumference of my head. In my left hand, I tightly clutched a microphone. Beyond the stage and on the other side of the curtain, I could hear throngs – well, at least two hundred faithful – of fans screaming and jumping, urging us on to the stage.

“This is it boys. They want us now,” Keith’s words resonated through me. He was energized and confident. His stage name was System Disruptor, a moniker that altered his mindset and allowed him to slip into a world of phat beats and dope rhymes. In his regular life he was a geneticist from Invercargill, New Zealand, but now he was all hip hop; in the moment, the stage and the fans were all that mattered.

“This is what we have been working towards. We’re like Eminem in Eight Mile,” Aaron said. He was the crew’s motivator, our level headed crutch and he calmed our nerves. Aaron also gave us new and interesting similes to ponder.  Today, he was Lukas F warm – straight up gangster, a pure rap aficionado. The elementary school teacher from Edmonton had morphed into a pants-hanging-so-low-that-you-could-not-help-but-see-his-ass kind of rapper, a gold chain weighing him down while upping his gangster quota big time.

The fans were growing restless – “Kimchi Crew, Kimchi Crew!” Their chanting increased in intensity; great waves of sound thundered throughout the middle school gymnasium, bounced off the walls, echoed all around. The stage was calling. I was the first member of the crew to take the stage and when I did I was struck by a wall of sound. Screaming Korean middle school students became drunk with rapture, no longer able to contain the excitement welling up from within. “Good afternoon. How y’all doing today? Did everyone have a good lunch?” I asked, sweat beading from my brow. “My name is General Refuse and we are the Kimchi Crew!!”

The fans – they were not so much fans as they were our students for the month who were given no choice but to watch the show – went nuts.  The beat kicked. Hands went up and began bouncing; the roof was being raised by the masses…… We were rappers.”

Some adoring fans.

It was true. We were rappers, rappers with a professionally cut CD to show off and some nicely done artwork. If a review had appeared, it may have read something like this.

“Apparently the Kimchi Crew are popular with middle school kids in Gyeonggi-do and I can’t for the life of me see why. The quintet rhymes are dense with similes and metaphors and dripping with post modernism and pop culture references that seem to be so far beyond the English ability of your average 15 year old Korean school kid as to make it impossible for them to even understand anything they were rapping about. Yet, to the listener whose native language is English, these devices serve to keep you hooked, if left feeling a little bewildered at times. What the hell does dressed as a goat at a toga party mean? With a varied display of producers on board (9^th Wonder, J Dilla), the crew jump from topic to topic with an admiring earnestness. For five guys living in a foreign country, their situation lends itself to stories about life as they saw it in their adopted country. This was reflected from the pseudo-gangster track “Bootlegging”, an ode to the curious practice of ddongchimm in “Verbal Ddongchimm” * and even “Ajumma’s Lament” a touching song to dis-satisfied married women in suburban Korea (which incidentally all feature hooks from new talent J9 the Hookmaker). Not surprisingly, given their moniker, this first up effort has a strong emphasis on the fermented muse, especially the Wack MC who rhymes on “Kimchi Clout” that he would give up sex for a taste of the ‘chi. And you know that he would. The album kicks off with fan favourite “Will Rap for Kimchi”, which sees senior member General Refuse and Wack MC rhyming about their favourite foods without a touch of irony and actually making it sound good (how many other songs do you know about food that are good). There’s the obligatory diss track "Beef Bully Bitches" directed towards the South Coast Rivals, the Bulgogi Boys. Flowing over the beat, the crew casually tear strips of the beefy boys, explaining why the Busan based crew are the most wack ex-pat crew found in Korea. You get the impression that maybe they didn’t need to perform it-the Bulgogi Boys are well below their level, but rather that they enjoyed unleashing their poison tongues on these unwitting and unwilling victims.

The five have distinct but complementary rapping styles. Luke Warm rhymes are concise 16 bars, pumped up with name checks, check out 69 personalities to see what I mean “you be hearing my sounds, like DB Cooper I’m unknown, effects like Malcolm X, I’m aware of my skin tones” and bravado. Wack MC tears up the tracks with a rhyming canter, somehow managing to get in aid, tirade, brigade, grenade, shade, blockade, homemade, trade, charade, masquerade, laid, swayed, weighed, unpaid, portrayed, decade, invade serenade and fade in a sprawling verse without managing to sound, well, wack. Bongo 3 is the post modernist, spraying his rhymes “like a bad aimer at a urinal.” jumping around from topic to topic, best shown in Steve Jobs where he describes about 40 odd jobs he may or may not have had. General Refuse makes great use of imagery “in the cinema of my mind” although you would have to ask him exactly what he meant by pooper jam while the System Disrupter seems to be conflicted, varying between telling the Bulgogi Boys about his relationships with their mothers to a warbling touching rap concerned with the day of a life in a typical suburban wife.

Overall, a sprawling first up effort from the self-proclaimed kings of the kimchi scene sees a major new player arrive in the ex-pat kimbob hip-hop scene of Gyeonggi-do. They seem to have all bases covered, as well as three continents. It might even inspire me to rap for kimchi”.

Live capture.

We were pumped and ready to do more. Sometime around this time, we had a received an  email from Talib Kweli's lawyer that asked us not to use a beat (we had “borrowed” a beat he had used for one of our demo tracks which we had posted on Myspace). That made us feel even more big-time. Unfortunately, Nixon couldn’t stay and continue with the crew, leaving to return to New Zealand. His departure influenced the direction of our second album, “Post\Hummus”, a concept album with a tighter, darker and more focused direction than our debut. The concept, ridiculous in hindsight, was that the Wack MC had been killed by a dodgy batch of hummus given to him by the Bulgogi Boys. With hindsight, it was at this time that the crew descended into a myopic fantasy world of diss tracks and revenge dreams but it made for a rich seam of inspiration. Soon, only a couple of months after finishing Fermentin', the crew (minus Nixon) returned to the studio with twelve new tracks to lay down. Another review follows.

Post\Hummus starts off with an AFN news broadcast of Sgt Chris Fish, highlighted by General Refuse’s heartfelt paean for the Wack MC. This sincere plea sets the scene as the crew is clearly trying to work out exactly where the disappearance and presumed death of the Wack MC leaves them. Rivals, the Bulgogi Boys, are clearly in the crew’s sights, with another harsh diss track “Hummus Wars” as well as several references in other tracks featuring on the album. Second track Senior Vs Junior shows it isn’t just relations with the Bulgogi Boys causing friction but that there are serious internal divisions as well. This battle for the heart and minds of Korea isn’t just between the North and South but also in the crew itself. Luke Warm expresses his doubts about the leadership that the General is exhibiting, urging a strong retaliation. General refuses to lay blame at the feet of the Bulgogi Boys, instead believing that the Wack MC is merely missing, not dead and expresses that he is hopeful that the Wack MC would be back soon. This theory is expounded on “Sure lock Holmes” a collaboration between the two senior members, Bongo 3 and General Refuse, who propose that the Wack MC fled back to New Zealand after staging his death as he was concerned that the crew would sell out and leave behind their kimchi inspired roots. The other members, Luke Warm and the Marvel from Invercargill, clearly believe that the Wack MC is gone for good and seem set to take retribution (that is if they can get over their country bashing track Kiwilish). The General seems insecure with the division in the crew, complaining about a crew with two faces. Only Bongo seems unperturbed about the loss of Wack MC, saying if he hears one more word about the subject he might crack. While the crew does seem overly preoccupied with Wack MC, the album isn’t all doom and gloom and is lightened by a number of tracks with a less serious outlook. The album starts off with a welcome back track called unimaginatively “We’re Back”, that features a bizarre sounding chorus that seems to have been inspired by either Mickey Mouse or a fondness for abuse of helium. There are tracks celebrating kimchi, life in Korea, luck and bizarrely, an extended discussion about battling a robot. J9, a sweet singer of hooks who had a few guest appearances on Fermentin’ finds herself with an enlarged role on a couple of tracks, especially “Fresh Produce from the Village”, which gives an exhibition of her singing talent if not her rhymes, which are at times curious.

Post/Hummus cover.

The story of the Kimchi Crew mostly ended here. The rest of the story consists of a few half-baked ideas and unfinished tracks, and an abortion of a live performance. People left for homelands and collaboration proved more difficult than expected, even with the advantages afforded by the internet. Despite the promises of on-going collaboration and commemorative side-dish tattoos, the crew has fallen by the wayside. I’m not even in touch with most of the other members anymore-creative differences maybe. Our Wikipedia page fell into wikibin for not being notable enough. But what is left are the memories and a couple of albums, probably only on the iPODs of 10 people worldwide and some sort of legacy. 

* For an explanation of ddongchim- see http://systemdisrupted.blogspot.co.nz/2011/02/ddongchim.html

SEEING THE LAST SUPPER

Milan is supposed to be a place overflowing with the beautiful people but one of our first meetings with a local was far from beautiful. A wannabe pickpocket saw us as easy prey as we went down into the subway system. As he eased his hand into her handbag, Mary felt the vibrations from her fortunately tight zip. Turning around, she caught him red-handed, hand in bag. He mumbled an apology or at least an acknowledgment that he had been busted, a shrug of his shoulders as if to say I had to have a go. He turned on his heels and running back up the stairs from whence he had came, too fast for me to react, although I’m not sure what action I would have taken.

Milan's Cathedral.

Maybe the beautiful people were hiding from the drab sky that was our constant companion for most of our time in Milan. The moody sky suited the spiky Gothic architecture of Milan’s Cathedral, the largest in Italy. It took six centuries to complete and has been both vilified (composed “from every style in the world, and every style spoiled”) and complemented (“a supreme embodiment of vigorous effort for its architecture”) during its history. At times, the drab sky opened up, only to allow rain to fall, precipitation that thankfully cut short our visit to the Quadrilatero d'Oro, the Golden Quadrilateral. This is Milan’s fashion district, home to the flagship stores of a litany of designers like Armani and a whole host I haven’t heard of. This is an area apparently filled with jewelers, boutiques, design and furnishing showrooms and of course, a complement of the world’s most fashionable. Money (and probably a lot of it) would have been spent but the rain meant I could keep my wallet safe and sound, credit card unsheathed.

Candles in the cathedral.

We stayed at a B&B with a guy who slept on his kitchen floor with his old, deaf dog while we slept in his room. He got the combination between being eccentric and annoying just right (so many B&B owners get that wrong). Every morning, we walked through the square where Mussolini was strung up after his execution and every night, we went for dinner at a different bar along the street we were staying in, taking advantage of the aperitivo tradition. Aperitivo is basically a buffet that you can partake from after you buy a drink at a bar. Cheese, bread, salami, pizza bits, bruschetta and parmigiano cubes with vinegar intermingle on the platters with less classy sides of chips and pretzels. It’s supposed to be a prelude to dinner but if you have a couple of drinks, aperitivo acts as a good (and cheap) substitute for a larger meal. Each night was punctuated by cheers from people watching the World Cup in South Africa, into the small hours of the morning, our nightly accompaniment to sleep.

Outside Castello Sforzesco

Milan has many sights apart from fashion but the main reason we went to Milan (apart from the cheap Easy Jet flights from London) was to see the Last Supper, one of Leonardo Da Vinci’s best-known masterpieces, found in a wall in the old dining hall in the monastery of the church, Santa Maria delle Grazie. The sprawling mural is one of the enduring symbols of the Renaissance, one of the high-points of culture as well as the centrepiece of a middling piece of pop culture in the “Da Vinci Code”, the literary counterpart of “Two and a half Men” or a Maroon 5 album. It portrays the reaction of each of the apostles, momentarily after Jesus announced that one of them would betray him. Like the “Da Vinci” code suggests, the Last Supper is rich in allegory and symbolism, some real and others assumed. One of the key concepts in the Da Vinci code was that the figure to the right of Jesus, usually identified as John the Apostle, is sometimes attributed to being Mary Magdalene, which forms a central part of the plot of the Da Vinci code. However, most art scholars are of the opinion that it isn’t Mary and that it is John.  While Mary’s involvement in the mural is probably apocryphal, there is still symbolism inherent in the painting. For example, there are several references to the number 3 (like the Apostles are seated in groupings of three; there are three windows behind Jesus; and the shape of Jesus' figure resembles a triangle). Others think Leonardo used his own face as the face for some of the apostles, a possibility with some support.

Santa Maria delle Grazie, the home of the Last Supper

Da Vinci spent about four years on the painting, starting in 1495. He used an experimental technique of oil and temper on dried plaster, a fragile technique that partially explains the rapid deterioration of the painting. By 1517, it was starting to flake, by 1566 it was described as being ruined and so deteriorated that the figures were unrecognizable. By 1652, the painting was so poorly regarded that a doorway was cut through the middle of it, removing Jesus’s feet, (this was later bricked up in later restorations). After this indignity, it was used as a stable by Napoleon’s troops in 1796. He was said to have asked his men to respect the piece; they responded by pelting it with clay, throwing stones at it and used a ladder to climb up to scratch out the Apostles’ eyes. The refractory has been used to store hay and later served time as a prison. A flood covered the painting in mould. In 1943, during the Second World War, the building was hit by Allied bombing, blowing the ceiling off. Miraculously, the painting escaped mostly intact, protected by sandbags that prevented the painting from being struck by bomb splinters, although it was left exposed to the elements for three years. Despite being one of the world’s most famous pieces of art, the Last Supper has been poorly looked after.

Inside Castello Sforzesco.

The painting was affected by non-malicious activities as much as malevolent ones. Restoration attempts started as early as 1726 where missing sections were filled in with oil paint before the whole mural was varnished. In 1768, a curtain was hung over the painting to protect it; instead, it allowed moisture to get trapped on the surface. This meant that whenever the curtain was pulled back, it scratched the flaking paint, damaging the painting even more. In 1770, the Last Supper was largely repainted; the artist had redone all but three of the faces when he was stopped due to public outrage. In 1821, Stefano Barezzi, an expert in removing whole frescoes from their walls intact, was called in to remove the painting to a safer location; he badly damaged it before realizing that it wasn’t actually a fresco (maybe not so much of a fresco expert after all). Later attempts proved more successful. From 1901 to 1908, Luigi Cavenaghi first completed a careful study of the structure of the painting, then began cleaning it. In 1924, Oreste Silvestri did further cleaning, and stabilized some parts with stucco. From 1951 to 1954 another clean-and-stabilize restoration was undertaken by Mauro Pelliccioli. However, by the late 1970s, the painting had deteriorated further. This led to a major restoration project from 1978 to 1999.       

The restorations sometimes went awry.

 This project aimed to permanently stabilize the painting, reversing the damage caused by dirt, pollution, as well as damage caused during the well-intentioned but misguided restoration attempts of the 18th and 19th century. This was largely successful but to ensure that the painting wouldn’t be unduly exposed to degrading environments, access to the Last Supper is now tightly controlled. Not wanting to risk missing out, we had booked our place a few months in advance to secure our spot. The room has had its windows bricked up, to allow light to be limited in the climate-controlled environment. Visits are now limited to 15 minutes with only 25 guests allowed at a time.  While it seems a long time, 15 minutes is about right for viewing this masterpiece. It gives you time to get over the familiarity of the mural, being as it is one of the world’s most famous pieces of art by one of the world’s most well-known artists. It gives you time to take in its scale which can surprise. The Last Supper is a 4.5 metres by 8.5 metres depiction of the New Testament. It gives you time to see subtle aspects of it that you haven’t noticed before. Given the content of the painting and the betrayal by Judas, Da Vinci was able to impact emotions of confusion, indignity and betrayal. This, together with its degradation, led Aldous Huxley to call it “the saddest work of art in the world”. Despite the deterioration, abuse and misguided restorations that have no doubt diminished the piece, the content and composition of the Last Supper still draws you in. 15 minutes gives you just enough time to sit and relax and time to ponder what, if any, mysteries Da Vinci may have hidden it before you get a last glance back as you walk out off the room, walking slowly as you are told your time is up and politely asked to leave, perhaps looking up at the fresco that lies opposite the Last Supper on your way out. This fresco must be one of the world’s most ignored pieces of art. Painted in 1497 by Donato Montorfano, it is a piece rich in detail and generous in scale known as Crucifixion, which as its name suggests, depicts the scene of the crucifixion of Jesus. How unfortunate that your most famous work is almost entirely ignored by visitors with only eyes for one piece of art in the room. And then, after 15 minutes, you leave the refractory with only memories to take with you (photos in this tightly controlled environment are of course forbidden).

Montofano's Crucifixion.

The painting may still have secrets to give up. As we approach the end of 2012 and the time of a new Mayan era, a Vatican researcher, Sabrina Sforza Galitzia, claims to have broken the Da Vinci code. By looking at and analyzing the "mathematical and astrological" puzzle, she said that Da Vinci foresaw the end of the world in a universal flood that would begin on March 21, 4006, and end on November 1 the same year. Save the date.