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16/01/94 - PHAN DIN PHOUNG, HO CHI MINH CITY Diary
day 3 by Bryan Adams: Tim suggests that if we are going as a “Journalistic Cluster Fuck” we should go to the Zoo. Seems appropriate. Back in the Xich Lo and away we go. It is the most obscene thing. Photographers and video cameras join in and all blaze away as we roll along into the city. Future Clash tour manager Chris (Q Magazine) Chappel joins us to try and deflect the fury. I hate zoos. This zoo was built by the French, and since they got ousted, no one has paid much attention to it. The animals look reasonably miserable, particularly the elephants who are boiling away in the sun. I stop next to a baby elephant who is rocking away…it looks distressed. I pour an entire bottle of water into her trunk (I’m guessing it’s a “she”), which she guzzles down and sprays into her mouth. This stops her from rocking. There are two shackles with chains on her feet preventing her from moving so she has to remain stationary until the keeper moves her into another location. What a beautiful creature. My heart just melts for this beautiful animal. They need ELEFRIENDS here to help. The tiger looks far to big for its cage…it all comes racing back to me why I hate zoos. A photo opportunity is lined up by the two photographers to go to the American Embassy and scale up the roof for a quick snap. My guide for most of the trip here is Tim Page (who limps from a shrapnel wound to the head).He constantly describes the scene here during the war as we ride along. What this building was – what that building was – endless “grunt” war lingo about his willy – and his dissatisfaction with having such a large entourage of journalists around (I can’t argue there). The guy from Details mag is writing down every word I say, which is annoying, but maybe his article will be hugely revealing (?). As we climb the stairs to the American Embassy, I duck into one of the hallways and wait for them all to pass. Once the coast is clear I get back to my Xich Lo and beetle back to the hotel for a drink…I’ve had enough of all this for the moment. (We ended up back there later.) Sound check goes well, the building looks great and the tickets are all gone. Bruce has done an excellent job preparing the venue so people can come down and stand in what he calls a “Mosh Pit”. The concert
is full of press from all over the world. MTV on hand as I walk on and off stage.
The crowd is about 70% local and 30% foreign. There are expressionless baton-wielding
police ready to pounce on the crowd. The audience seems oblivious to them. This
gig feels like an audition. They know some of the bigger songs (which means somebody
is spinning tunes on the radio here). Bruce has invited about 100 people from outside who are scaling the wall to try to get a glimpse of what is happening, and they turn out to be the most enthusiastic until the rest of the crowd gets the nerve to stand up on their seats.
The police have locked the doors so no one can get in…or out! Guess you call that a captive audience? One guy who looks like a heavy metal fan jumps up and starts to play air guitar quite convincingly then gets ripped of the stage by a waiting security guy who hurls him back into the crowd. Later in the show…loads more people jump up on the stage…at this point security seems to have acknowledged the fact that these people are not revolutionaries but counter-revolutionaries out for a good time and let things happen. Time passes very quickly. Next thing I know I’m being driven back to the Hotel by the chief of police in his private car, who is waving his stun gun out the window. He must be trying to impress someone, I haven’t figured out who. Everything seems to be standing still now as I sit in my room typing this. In a way, I feel sort of strange introducing “live” pop culture here. (Although they do have Michael Jackson chocolate bars) but I’m not sure all of this really belongs. The sounds which I normally hear night after night in concert – particularly the audience sounds – seemed enhanced. I’m sure it was my own imagination, but the whole gig seemed surreal, almost as if it were in slow motion. Kim didn’t win the marathon here, an American won (they gave her a medal anyway). A bowl of spaghetti settles my stomach which has been feeling bad for the last four hours – nerves. I call home and fall asleep.
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A landmark gig for Bryan...and Vietnam. He was the first western artist ever to play there since the war! |
