The fuse was lit at tryouts, though I didn’t realize it then.
Two thousand hopefuls turned out! Two thousand, on our tiny island, and energy sparked from every one. Even government officials were in a holiday mood, their faces wreathed in smiles. Preliminary cuts occurred with Singapore’s usual, remarkable efficiency. That afternoon we lucky chosen ones performed in the jam-packed Singapore Arena. Each voice had to sing out bravely, and alone. I crooned “Every Step You Take” to the accompaniment of my guitar only, and heard in the gasp and bursting applause how the audience was moved. Hady Musa sang next. “You Are My Sunshine” was light and fanciful, his boyish face throwing beams of joy. At first only his clicking fingers accompanied him; then thousands joined him, clicking a large, glorious heart-beat.
I recognized Hady. He’d been trying five years or more to break into Singapore’s music scene. Later he told me, “Jonathan, I was losing hope. I’d decided my country should be called ‘Sing-no-more,’” but discouragement was nowhere on that day. It was no surprise to me when Hady made the final cut. He told me my success didn’t surprise him either, but at that time I felt very much the little brother compared to him. It’s only now I realize, he was as naïve in his way as I was in mine. I was hopeful. He was desperate. All of us were far too credulous.
We believed in the judges. So few artists have managed to make it in Singapore, so the judges were like oracles to us. And so, when Pauline Chong first advised me, “Feel the lyrics, Jonathan. If you don’t, no one else will,” with eyes turned to slits and glittering, I was very impressed as well as taken aback at such a hard tone from a woman. The song was “Lonely Man,” and while I’d imitated Paul Anka’s feeling very well, true enough it was not my own. Pavithra, our Indian beauty who sings like an angel and goes by that name alone, concurred. “I think I would like to… feel the real you, Jonathan,” she said, sultry and sitting sideways as if she’d prefer to recline. I ventured, “Do you mean, make it sexy?” and the audience screamed. “There’s your answer, Jonathan!” shouted the MC, but Pavithra only shrugged. I pondered these things in my heart. Carefully, I watched reactions other contestants got.
I watched Hady. At this juncture, the women upbraided him also. They mocked him! “Sorry, Hady. I want you to melt my heart, and instead you make me giggle. Come, now! Shiver my timbers!” said Pauline, and poor Hady blushed even redder when Pavithra agreed, in her posh-British accent, “Ahhll my timbahs — compleeetely unmoved.” During a break from taping, I nudged him. “Hang in there, man!” I said, and meant it. Increasingly, I felt allegiance with Hady. Both of us, more than the others, were being urged to “feel.” If the message was that something within us was worth being felt — that was good news! But it was a great challenge.
I looked to the men for help. In particular, to the judge most like myself. “Those who seek the gentleman’s ways emulate him,” said Confucius, and I thought Rich Lee was one.
Rich is Han-Chinese, thus ascendant at this time. Except for our highest-level politicians and CEO’s, and of course Minister Mentor along with his son, the prime minister, there is no better success story than Rich Lee on Singapore. He dresses with utmost elegance, in tailored Italian suits and brilliant ties. He drives two Maseratis, one red and one black, and his mobile is solid gold. His television show, The Finer Side, depicts a sparkling lifestyle clearly an example of success. When Rich performs, he is extravagant, fast and loud with gestures full of diamonds. His signature laugh is a shriek — a streak of feeling like electricity! However, when I modeled myself upon Rich, testing some extravagance myself, he was cold. “You’re like a monkey jumping around up there,” he devastatingly said, of my rendition of Chaka Khan’s “Free, Free, Free!” That night, votes sagged.
Now I will say, sadly but truly, that Rich did not merit my trust. At the time, I sought excuse. I blamed Pauline Chong. She and Rich had been married, briefly and long ago, and I thought her sharp-spoken presence beside him was an irritating distraction. That may have been true. But the full truth was more — complicated.
Hady naturally looked to Ken Wiranto. In his inclination, he was more fortunate than I. Some say, while Rich Lee is Singapore’s most successful entertainer, Ken is our most charismatic. I would agree. His wit can be scathing, his intensity tiger-like. But Idol competitions require one fierce judge, and Ken was it.
Ken would lift a hand, nod, lean toward the microphone to give his verdict, nod again and lift his hand higher, and say “Okay, okay,” until the audience quieted. Ken never smiled, except once. His eyes are dark and large, very striking in his face the color of mahogany. His ethnicity is Indonesian, of the Pacific Islander type such as inhabit Bali, though of courseBali(and the reason for rage directed at tourists of that ravaged island) is Hindu, and moderate. In my life, I’d had very little exposure to men like Ken. However, he was almost always kind to me. “Jonathan, in all truth how could you possibly feel this song?” Ken asked, of “Free, Free, Free!” In his dark eyes I saw myself, stiffly imitating Chaka Khan. I saw also pity. For a fleeting moment, I discerned what turned out to be true: that Ken, of all present here, could best teach a Singapore Idol how to feel.
Ken could not be my role model. Hady is Malaysian. Ken is Indonesian. Thus, though their kind contrasts as Ken’s mahogany complexion differs from Hady’s lemony one, they have in common a history of ethnic underclass on Singapore. As, critically, they share a religion. Though Ken’s version, like his complexion, is much darker.
Anyone who watches Idol competitions knows, the elimination rounds have suspense that seems random. Who will stay and who will go? Only the call-in tally will tell us! Even on Singapore, we hope some elections are authentic. Maybe ours were. However, taking into consideration the full picture, it seems sadly true that our Idol competition more or less replicated Singapore’s hashing and re-hashing of discussions concerning its “orderly future.”
About Elizabeth Sachs
