There were many firsts in my experience at the Cemar Bunyi gig.

It was my first time seeing all the performers live: motherwit, Terrer, and The Fridays. It was also my first time at the relatively new venue space, Petai Belalang, meeting motherwit after interviewing them virtually in November last year, and attending a small gig where every performer had an hour set, so there was plenty of time to stand, enjoy the music, watch bands give their all, or not.

And of course, it was the first volume of the Cemar Bunyi gig.

The gig itself was held by motherwit and their manager, Ku Syafiq Ku Rodzi, perhaps better known as the journalist you’d care enough to follow if you wanted your band to get full-page coverage in Utusan. And you’d have to scramble on a Sunday morning to find a mart that still sells newspapers because that’s such a rare occurrence these days, and frankly, I couldn’t remember the last time I held a copy.

Cemar Bunyi is a series of monthly gigs with a simple concept: It’s a Friday gig, so expect to slot it into your Friday plans, though you wouldn’t have to rush as they start around 9:00 pm, giving you ample time to avoid the evening rush and plan your commute. There will be three performers, and each of them will get an hour set, something rare to get unless you’re watching medium to big bands at huge music festivals under the scorching hot sun. Even then, sometimes your favourite band doesn’t perform for a full one-hour set as scheduled. (We all have experienced this, let’s be honest!)

So, the selling point of an hour set for every performer is something worth considering, perhaps should be your priority when you’re planning to get a ticket. Because again, it’s not always you get to see up-and-coming bands perform for an hour set.

Every month offers a different theme, too. Ku Syafiq told me that they avoid organising a genre-based gig and went for a theme instead, as some people may be slightly over-the-top sensitive about defining genres. Hence, this month’s theme is “pop yang alternatif” as opposed to “alternative pop” — notably, somewhat a quirky derivation of the subgenre.

When I arrived just in time for registration, Ku Syafiq was on stage, telling the audience that they’d start in a few minutes. Scanning the room, I had a tingling familiarity — yes, there weren’t many people around, but it felt just enough for a small gig.

After a few minutes, motherwit appeared on stage and blasted ‘Tatal’ almost immediately. Its big, frying guitars sounded more complete live, whereas the studio version is more toned down, despite its message of social (media) criticism. They performed songs from their debut EP and a cover of Hattan’s ‘Memburu Rindu’ but the one that I paid the most attention to is their unreleased song ‘kemacahya’. It’s different from their alternative pop offerings, and personally, it’s starting to sound like motherwit is almost reaching the exact sound that suits their brand better.

After motherwit, I wandered around the small space. The merch booth was selling the performers’ CDs and merch. There was a carrot cake that, because it was so dark, you had to squint to know that it was one. I bought Ku Syafiq’s “Gonzo Tanpa Fiasco” book and slid it into my transparent plastic bag, along with my other purchases at the recent Kuala Lumpur Alternative Book Fest. So there I was the whole night, awkwardly standing, unable to move around to the music as much because my hands were heavy with books I’d only put in a pile of unread books at home.

When it was time for Terrer to perform, more people started to swarm in. I stood close to the stage, having a clear view of the band members. Terrer started almost immediately; the guitars of ‘Somerton Man’ started to fill the room. Faiq, the vocalist, exuded both confidence and shyness at once. Sometimes I think the former shines through brighter that night. He sang with eloquence but also with nonchalance, far from being interpreted as boredom. Instead, it perfected his showmanship. Terrer performed an unreleased song that night, saying that they hoped the audience liked it.

“Tak tahu la power ke tak,” Faiq said. Something like that.

It was their second time ever performing the song in public. Someone behind me shouted to him, “Korang tak power, tapi korang terrer.”

From ‘Kaum Lelaki’, Terrer wasted so little time to burst into ‘Hang Loklaq’ — a rushed yet almost invisible transition with drums that followed the crowd’s anticipation for the final song. Faiq’s nonchalance disappeared in an instant; you could almost see the moment he transformed himself into a different character, the one that the song very much needed. His transformation was theatrical, borderline jolting, at how easily he slid himself into a different gown. But then, are any of us really surprised? He is a stage actor after all.

His vocals started to get higher; his facial expression reminisced of an old lady mocking in the name of advising; he moved around more, he danced harder. Even without the cheekiness of its music video — all Terrer members dressed up in kebaya, heavy makeup, unshaved faces and extremely contemptuous facial expressions — the song still holds its power. It wasn’t one of those mind-blowing moments of watching a gig; it was more like a beautifully secluded experience, where you realise you’re witnessing greatness, and such greatness is only experienced by you and less than 50 people in a small room.

After Terrer wrapped their set, I sat down and uploaded their videos on Instagram. I kept looking at my watch. It’s 11:00, and I have to be home already. I almost missed the gig because I had other plans that night. After the magic of motherwit and Terrer, I was glad that I chose to stay.

Still, I feel like urgency is chasing me. And I think transparency is important so that as a writer, I wouldn’t give false hopes and promises, so here’s the truth: I’m not familiar with The Fridays’ music. But that’s no excuse to leave a party. The entire point of attending a music gig, especially the small ones, is to see that one band you’re looking forward to and let the rest of the performing acts perform their magic. That is, of course, to charm you enough that you’d be interested to listen to them after the show.

But really, this time, I had to leave already.

Hyke Nasir of Hacktick! was around that night, as a crew member. While some of us were sitting on the floor, waiting for The Fridays, he shouted:

“Hey, you fuckers are ready?”

Before we could answer, he immediately pulled the curtain to reveal The Fridays. We stood up, finding our place while The Fridays blasted their tunes. Right after The Fridays performed their second song, I covertly opened the door, with much shame that I had to leave. The smell of mee goreng from the Mamak restaurant downstairs stung my nose. I felt like I was running away from shame. A run of shame.

The thing about attending a small gig is that the emotions you carry back home with you are rarely enormous, and yet you still can’t stop thinking about it. Because in all the small gigs I’ve been to before, none of the acts had the chance to perform on a bigger stage. Their names are hardly on the list of festival acts. It’s something that we still struggle to balance out — local music indie festivals are almost always glued to a similar formula when it comes to curating acts: it’s either they’re moderately big, or they’re a legacy band making a comeback. Either side of the spectrum clearly has its own niche of fandom, something you rarely see happening with smaller bands.

So I don’t think I’d trade my experience at Cemar Bunyi to see my favourite band performing at a festival stage. I’m happy to watch these bands, when they work their asses off to get people to buy their tickets and just, content, that only half of the expected numbers came. If this wasn’t the case, I wouldn’t be here, writing this on my bed, at a random hotel in Melaka, still wishing I was somewhere in a dimmed room, smoke coming out of the stage and Faiq of Terrer, one hand on his waist fine-tuning his character, the other gripping the mic, blasting: “Susuk tubuh seorang tokoh perlu dijadikan contoh / Kepala butoh!”