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.