From Walthamstow to Jakarta: East 17 poses for teens

From Walthamstow to Jakarta: East 17 poses for teens

By Dini S. Djalal

JAKARTA (JP): Work-outs, dance lessons, photo sessions, clothes try-outs and visits to the tanning salon: Being in a boy band is no picnic.

With all those hours with their stylists, it's a wonder that these pin-ups have any time for songwriting.

A decade after Duran Duran sent teenyboppers swooning, the boy band phenomenon shows few signs of abating. Whether it's boys from Boston (New Kids on the Block) or boys from Manchester (Take That), photogenic hopefuls continue to creep into the impressionable hearts of young girls and onto the charts.

But despite the onstage swagger, being a teenage sensation is a stressful occupation. Ironically, their biggest advantage -- their looks -- is also their downfall. A pretty face can take you far -- far into the depths of teen magazines, and into the bottom of a critic's wastebasket.

What's worse than bad press is growing up. A Duran Duran poster once hung in my locker; the following year all that was left was the cellotape stain. And as the fans mature, so do the boys, leaving only wrinkles and flagging record sales.

So when East 17 took the stage at M-Club in Blok M Plaza, Kebayoran Bru, South Jakarta, last Sunday, I paid my respects. Here they were, four working-class boys -- Tony Mortimer, John Hendy, Terry Coldwell and Brian Harley -- from London's East End (East 17 is the postal code for Walthamstow), grinding and grinning in their best Dolce & Gabbana and gold chains.

Were they laughable? Often. Were they fun? Absolutely. Were they good? Maybe when they were actually singing.

Does stardom lead to lip-synching, or is it the other way around? Initially I thought the guy at the back (lead songwriter Tony Mortimer) was singing and I just couldn't see him. So I moved to get a better view of the stage, and found Mortimer focused on his synthesizer, mouth closed.

When, at one point, none of the boys actually opened their mouths but pre-recorded vocals still blared out of the speakers, I waited for the crowd to riot. Instead, the screaming girls squealed louder, reaching excruciating decibels at the end of the hour-long show.

That's a relief for East 17, whose discomfort with the show's set-up was hidden under well-rehearsed showmanship. "The show was alright," John Hendy told The Jakarta Post. "Well, it was a bit dodgy," he added. "But we'll do it better live when we come back in January".

Hopefully their tour promotion will also be better. Even when packed, M-Club is a small venue for a band used to playing 10,000-capacity stadiums. A band whose first and second albums, Walthamstow and Steam, were staples on European pop charts, also deserves more publicity than the handful of posters scattered around the city.

So it's a surprise that the band wasn't more disappointed standing in front of a less-than-half capacity crowd. Instead. the three front-stage singers -- Terry Coldwell, John Hendy and Brian Harley -- performed with admirable professionalism. No instruments for these boys; only dancing and (occasionally) singing. Their frustration, however, was obvious when Mortimer yelled to the audience, "If you don't make more noise, we're not coming back".

How much noise can a couple hundred youngsters make? Apparently not enough. So rather than wait in vain for musical genius, I decided to join the gaggle of gaping girls. My enthusiasm stopped short of waving a placard proclaiming "Marry me Tony" (a plan some of the 14-year-olds were convinced they could pull off).

So while grooving to the easy swingbeat of All around the world, it dawned on me that what matters most for both East 17 and their fans is a good time. Pop drivel may not be relevant, but it is not a crime.

And however well-executed its presentation, drivel it was. It's alright/ it's alright/ everything's gonna be alright/ truly alright, East 17 shout in the appropriately-titled house anthem It's Alright. Let it rain, Where horses run, and House of Love, are all simple ditties tuned to a techno beat.

The simplicity almost seems insidious, which in itself may be part of the marketing ploy -- a ploy which works. East 17 graffiti permeates all corners of East London. The unemployment- stricken local community has entrusted a lot of their pride in these high-school drop-outs made good.

In their matching homeboy attire (baggy jeans and baggy shirts), they are England's version of gentle hoodlums and symbolize how the young working-class English now want to be seen: rough on the outside and soft on the inside. The corporate image, as assisted by manager Tom Watkins (also of the Pet Shop Boys), soon becomes too lucrative to give up.

But all that money can be suffocating. When Take That announced their split last month complaining of "pressures", few were surprised. Being a manufactured idea, however glamourous, is tiresome both mentally and physically.

While a rock band spends months in the studio crafting songs, a boy band rarely gets days off from touring, rehearsing, primping, and merciless media attention. Add to that the tension of constantly being with people you may not be friends with otherwise. The pressure mix is potentially explosive.

East 17, unfortunately, are comprised of four friends who went to the same school and lived in the same neighborhood. Are they still good friends now after five years of being East 17? Only they (and their manager) can say. The concert here revealed little but a group of boys trained to stage precision. And perhaps, that's all there is to reveal.