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Vol. 14.6 Ton Sai MagicBy Collin Piprell Discover untamed nature at Ton Sai Waterfall in the lush rainforest of Phuket's national park. Kids Rule By Kerrie Hall Phuket is a kid's dream of sun & fun on family vacations. The author goes out playing with the little people for a day. Island Artists By Reid Ridgway, Sam Wilkinson & Mary Walsh The holiday island is a treasure trove of artistic talent — featuring Trancemaster DJ John Robinson, oil artist Watcharin Rodnit & Cartoonist/ Illustrator George Moran. Waterborne By Reid Ridgway Our intrepid reporter explores the aquatic playground of the Andaman region. Expat Diary: Deep Fried Cicadas By Donna Tudge Who would ever have thought that bugs could be so tasty? Dining with the Lizard By Michael Moore A new discovery in beachfront dining. Vivaldi By Bruce Stanley Flavours of Italy in the heart of Patong.
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By Reid Ridgway, Sam Wilkinson & Mary Walsh
The holiday island is a treasure trove of artistic talent — featuring Trancemaster DJ John Robinson, oil artist Watcharin Rodnit & Cartoonist/ Illustrator George Moran.
The Trance Master
By Reid Ridgway
While most of the world is
dreaming about yesterday, you can catch him in the first hours of the new
Friday or Saturday morning, rocking the Tokyo dance clubs. No rest for the
wicked. It’s here you’ll meet up with DJ John Robinson, demigod of the
turntable, mixing it up — raisin’ the roof, burnin’ down the house, keepin’
it live. If you catch him, as I did, for a midweek afternoon lunch
interview here on Phuket, you meet a soft-spoken gentleman, local resident,
and family man with a wife and two school age boys in his heart.
John’s professional career as a top DJ has seen him perform for
international audiences in England, Denmark, Japan, Singapore, and
Hollywood, California. His reputation and overwhelming success in Japan
eventually landed him radio and television gigs as MC for Japan’s Top 30
countdown and host of his own segment for MTV, Japan. Then, at the pinnacle
of this success, in a move many couldn’t comprehend, John decided to climb
downward, away from the heat of the spotlight. He explains it this way: “I
reached an epiphany, really. I felt I’d climbed too far above the artistic
endeavour itself, the place where I really came from.” So back down he went
into the clubs, down into the belly of the beast, back to his beloved
underground laboratory where he could test the effect of his concoctions
directly on the dancing masses.
John takes not “placing himself above his audience” quite literally. As he
says, “I’m not the kind of DJ who performs stone-faced high up on a stage
away from the dance floor. I like to be in at close range, down in the thick
of it. Hands on. Being able to make eye contact with people is important to
me.”
He got his start at 13 years of age as a DJ at school dances. He describes
the budding art form back then as “mostly just playing record selections and
chatting up the mike in between, or maybe adding a cross-fade between two
tracks.” John breaks into a grin. “It’s changed a bit with the times.” As
anyone hip to the scene knows, in the medium today the DJ has become both a
performance artist and a musician, aided by a full arsenal of creative
tools, including computers, sequencers, synthesizers, drum machines and
midi-controlled light consoles. But the essential turntables remain at the
centre of the mix. That’s where the needle meets the vinyl.
When asked what made him decide to make a career of it, John laughs and
describes a point when he was about 16 years of age when it was “either do
this or get a desk job in maybe some insurance company or something.” He
worked out his chops at a Watford club called The New Penny on the outskirts
of London (a rumoured haunt for the likes of George Michaels and friends
long before Wham and the “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” thing). At 17, his
services were requested at the Penthouse Club, the dance floor at the
Sheraton Hotel, in Copenhagen. After wearing out the soles of too many
wooden clogs in Denmark, he was eventually extradited to the Liquid Room,
Singapore, and on to Japan to serve hard labour in the trenches of
dance-crazed Asia.
I asked John about style and geography and, specifically, what’s going on
for him in the clubs today that has changed over his career.
“It used to be that you had
pockets of style that weren’t popular except in very local scenes. What was
hip in Japan, for instance, wasn’t going to fly in Amsterdam and vice versa.
But now, with modern communications and the global village phenomenon, what
you’re doing in Japan can translate well to other areas.”
He describes his sound as “hard house-hard trance, with a bit of a Denmark
influence, as opposed to the London sound”. Does he scratch? You bet. John,
like almost all DJs, is deep into old-school vinyl recordings, but nowadays
the production environment is hi-tech. John uses Digidesign Pro Tools
software and a Macintosh computer to create tracks and loops that become
what you might call “new-school vinyl”. He also has the full studio
complement of many other electronic musical instruments and signal
processors to achieve the sound he’s after. What he creates in the studio
becomes the raw materials for the grooves he unleashes in the clubs.
The big question, when do we get to hear it here? Are there plans to build a
great wall of sound, to shake the earth in town? Will the Voodoo of Planet
Love, Tokyo make it’s way to us here in Phuket, Thailand? Now that DJ John
is, so to speak, in the house?
“Well,” says DJ John
Robinson, “it’s funny you should mention that.” John and some other
professional promoters are eyeing a date for the coming high season to pump
out the jams for a gigantic rave. “Size is a big factor in what makes a
great rave — a crowd gathers its own momentum and energy. It’s sort of a
knock-on thing, you know; so size is really important. Our long-term goal is
to make Phuket the Ebiza of Southeast Asia.”
Exciting eh? But there’s one more thing I just had to ask. What about drug
use and the rave scene? There is a strong anti-drug vibe here. Does John
anticipate any resistance?
John’s answer is as refreshing and surprising as John himself: “Not only do I avoid drugs, I’m kind of unusual in that I’ve never even tried them.”
None, notta, zero? That’s correct. John doesn’t drink or smoke cigarettes, either. So if the youth in Thailand want to have a truckload of fun, and Mom and Dad need a healthy role model for their sons and daughters, it all works together with DJ John Robinson at the helm. “We actively discourage drug use in Japan,” he adds. “Planet Love works on that basis, and we are very successful with it.”
So what does Phuket say; can we come together on this one? Let’s dance!
FANTASEA RAVE
Catch DJ JR on Phuket: Thursday
March 24th 2004 — Rave party at Fantasea and Friday 25th March 2004 for the
Chill Out party on
Koh Bon (an island off southern Phuket).
A November 2003 Fantasea party date is still to be confirmed, but will most
likely be the Thursday nearest to Full Moon. See:
www.phuketentertainment.com
Watcharin Rodnit: Imagination above Technique
By Sam Wilkinson
The new gallery is only
half-finished, but the canvases are already up. Great splashes and
whirlpools of colour executed in oils hang on the off-white walls. On the
floor, orange, blue and white canvases stand propped up in stacks against
any available spare wall space. Outside, seated in a semi-circle of chairs
in the shade of the late afternoon, a gaggle of young artists discuss their
work. This is Khun Watcharin Rodnit’s world at his Phuket studio — Rinda
Magical Art.
Born 34 years ago in Kanachanadit, Surat Thani Province, Watcharin grew up on his father’s rubber plantation. He would spend hours alone in the nearby forests absorbing the power and the mystery of nature. And nature itself figures heavily in his work. We’re looking at one of his works; a large painting of a green woody glade. So great is the impression of movement, the grass and flowers between the trees seem to have lives of their own. “People say they can see things move in this picture,” says Watcharin. He then shows us a large photo of himself with a well-known TV presenter. “I once painted a 75-square-metre canvas based on nature. It took me a month. TV’s Channel 3 Twilight programme heard about it, and had me on to discuss it. But I wasn’t nervous. I talked for about 10 minutes, and we did the whole thing in one take.”
If there’s one outside influence in his work it’s his students. A natural and friendly teacher, Watcharin regularly takes up to 57 students of all nationalities to Bang Pae Waterfall to let them express their experience through colour. “I tell them not to copy me, but to put down what their eyes see and record what their emotions tell them. Sometimes I learn through and from them. I want people to get stimulated by nature and to free themselves from the feeling of restrictions, and the result is sometimes spectacular, no matter how old or young they are.”
But surely the students should have some former training? And how important is technique? “I talk to them to see if they’re really interested or if they’re merely being sent along by their mother or father. Imagination is the key to good art, that’s why some of my students do so well.”
It’s obvious, from the amount of abstract works next to the nature-themed paintings lining the walls of the gallery, that imagination is the other half of Watcharin’s artistic psyche. In the corner by the front door hangs a spotlit abstract picture in blue with silver undercurrents. In the middle of the picture a piece of wood stands out almost like a miniature diving board from which the artist’s creativity can soar. There’s nothing contrived about this artist’s work. There’s a tangible spontaneity that can be seen through his brushwork, his choice of colour and theme, and his execution. His paintings, he says “are a search for balance between emotion, abstract feeling, and concrete reality.”
An artist’s life is far from easy. Watcharin and his wife Jay-Da recently experienced especially concrete reality when a landlord turned them out of a previous gallery. (Apparently the landlord preferred having a karaoke club on the premises.) To underline his point, he cut off the water and electricity and ignored the 100,000 baht (US$2,500) that the couple had invested in the building. They were lucky to find another place so soon and so near. “The landlord here understands what we want to do and rents the three adjoining houses out for a very good price, “ says Jay-Da. “He’s very sympathetic.”
Jay-Da has recently started painting too — abstracts in sweeping bright colours. One gets the definite impression that Watcharin wouldn’t have been able to achieve what he has without her. They’re a perfect couple, a dream team who exude enthusiasm and affection. No wonder students flock to learn from them.
Watcharin has recently had a solo exhibition at Phuket Town’s Soul of Asia gallery, and another at the Sheraton Grand Hotel in Sukhumvit, Bangkok. The Dusit Laguna — ever the artist’s friend — has also had the honour, as has Chulalongkorn University in the national capital. He’s been exhibited at the National Contemporary Arts Exhibition for four consecutive years as well. The artist has racked up many awards in a relatively few years. With the combination of the couple’s natural charm and Watchirin’s exciting paintings, they add a special kind of magic to the island of Phuket.
Rinda Magical Art 158/2 Wichit Rd. Rawai Tel. 06 683-9831 or 07 264-2094 www.rama9art.org/watcharin
Gazellephantine
Ambitions
By Mary Walsh
George and I are standing on
his tiny porch contemplating a superyacht anchored below. It bristles with
self-importance. A gentle breeze nudges copper-wire sculptures that hang
over our “trillion-dollar” view, bumping our shoulders into a lively dance.
“Who has the better deal in life?” I wonder aloud.
“I think I do, of course,” replies George, with a deep chuckle.
In Ao Sane Bay, on the southern tip of Phuket Island, the Microsoft yacht, as it’s known to the locals, lies moored — a beehive of activity, with numerous longtail boats swarming about the queen. Perched on the rocky cliffs above is the rustic bungalow that New York street-artist George Moran has called home for four months a year for the past eight years. He has his laptop computer for work, a sea for daily swims, some of the best food in the world for the savouring, and a community of fellow artists and writers for companionship. He’s free to live in the moment.
George divides his life between a studio apartment in the jungle of New York City and a one-room bungalow in the jungle of southern Thailand. “My art is my companion,” he says, professing no desire or need for a partner. Not of the human variety, anyway. His constant companions seem to be the quirky characters residing within his head, venturing forth to be captured by George armed with pen and ink, copper wire, or pixels.
This amazing cast of characters, be they asparagus spears, “finger” food (use your imagination), or broken eggs, reflect Moran’s wry — “a little tragic, actually” — perception of the human condition, and our endearing capacity for empathy in times of small daily trials. Using his non-human companions, he tells us about ourselves.
George and his egg and veggie mates were raised on a farm in Rhode Island. Although surrounded by these beings, which would figure so prominently in his future career, he spent most of his youth drawing landscapes. Miles and miles of landscapes. Upon graduating from college in central Massachusetts, he went directly to New York, where he spent the next year and a half. Then, as did many young people in the ’60s, he went travelling, spending a couple years in Greece and the Mediterranean region.
Returning to North America, the young George drifted north to Montreal, where he began drawing “cartoon people like the grim little people that used to walk around Fall River (Massachusetts) in the wintertime. When I got them up there in Montreal, they started carrying balloons and doing fun little things because they had no worries. So I began following the French concept of making a joke without any words.” A caricature, in other words.
As he drew, people would venture by, enjoying ice-cream cones, peering around the corner to see what he was doing. “People were kind of licking and looking, and the ice cream fell out of the cones and everybody went oooh. So the next day I began drawing dropping ice creams, little tragedies of fallen ice cream. Then I thought, what else is funny when it’s dropped? Eggs. So I started doing eggs and right away got into magazines in Montreal.”
Soon George’s egg cartoons were appearing in magazines in Canada and the US. A first collection was published. The eggs show us our own humanity with all its foibles and follies. We all can relate to the elongated sigh of a plopped ice cream cone just as we can to the sight of a woman sweeping a giant-sized broken egg under the carpet. We’ve all been there, trying to hide our mistakes, our “broken eggs” but, like the woman in the cartoon, however hard we try to hide them, our mistakes remain to trip us as previously swept-under-the-carpet lumps.
Fresh Eggs, the second egg book, is about what’s happened to the eggs since the first book. They’ve gotten cell phones, they’re going bungie jumping; there’s a Madonna egg and an Elvis egg, a Marilyn egg holding her white down, and, of course, paper-shredding eggs from the Watergate era. George admits he was influenced, as were most kids from the 1950s and ’60s, by that tome of wisdom, Mad Magazine, and its irreverent jabs at the status quo.
After a bit of travelling in the US and Canada, George settled into the NY cartoonist/illustrator art scene and there he remains — when he’s not here in Thailand, that is. These days George prefers to sell his work on the street. “I have a little cart that I take out on Saturdays and Sundays and set up in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’ve been doing that for years.” He enjoys meeting with people, hearing their response to his drawings. And he makes more money in two days than most people make in a fortnight.
His guideline for what sells? “If I don’t laugh, they’re not going to laugh either.” He listens for that same kind of laugh that matches his own in regards to a particular cartoon. And who wouldn’t laugh at the depiction of a Caesar salad à la George Moran — the emperor stabbed in the back and tossed on a bed of lettuce.
The computer has given George freedom to work where he wants, as well as the ability to sift through hundreds of ideas in a day. “Usually a lot of my cartoon work starts out as a pen-and-ink drawing that I scan into the computer and then paint it. And I put everything on CDs and discs and print right out from that. The computer has been a great, great help to me.”
George also turns his hand to whimsical copper-wire sculptures. He first began with fish, hundreds of fish, as he says, and then moved on to people. “They actually dance. They turn and twist in the wind, and at night they shine and sparkle on all their little facets.”
When in residence at Ao Sane, he swims every day. “What I love to do is swim to Nai Harn and back. And, while I swim, pictures flash through my mind and I come right back and sit down and work. The sea is full of ideas. Not so many fish, but many ideas. And that’s what I do day after day.” The fish leap from his imagination now, at times frightened fish reacting to the events of September 11th, sometimes war fish, but always schools of them, layered one on top of the other, leading us to an understanding of ourselves.
If he could be any animal, what would he be?
“A gazellephant,” George replies. “The body of an elephant and the soul of a gazelle.”
(Unfortunately for us, George Moran’s egg cartoon books are out of print. You might be able to find used copies online at Powell’s bookstore, http://www.powells.com.)
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