LONG POST
A sort of adventure in trying to find Bauhaus, Love and Rockets, and Tones on Tail material in this country.
The music scene here, in my opinion, isn't nearly as varied as people sometimes claim. I've never really seen much of a market for those kinds of bands, or perhaps there simply isn't a large enough audience. Even the punk and goth scenes aren't very public; they're smaller, tucked away, and mostly kept to themselves. That remains true even in recent times. In this very conservative country, I understand why many people keep their interests private. It's not uncommon to see alternative-looking people photographed without their consent, posted online, and publicly mocked just so others can get validation from strangers. It's a rather disgusting habit. The country's motto speaks of tolerance and unity in differences, yet the slightest deviation from the norm can sometimes trigger a miniature witch hunt. The contradiction has never sat well with me. (I'm not joking)
My search for Bauhaus started while I was attending art school on one side of the country. One afternoon, my dear friend and I rode her motorbike from our dormitory to a music café for what was essentially a date. By coincidence, the café also sold records. After a decent burger and a cold tea, we wandered over to the little shop section. They had shelves full of cassettes, vinyl records, and band T-shirts. It was actually quite cool. They were selling Smashing Pumpkins shirts and even Joy Division merchandise. I would have loved to take one home, but it was a considerable sum of money for a broke art student's pocket. There was even a small alternative rock section where the same handful of bands sat perched on the shelves for about seven dollars each. I searched through every row with growing optimism. Sadly, Bauhaus was not on the menu.
The second time was also with her, in a very popular area of the city known for its record shops. To me, it was practically heaven. There were so many places to explore that I hardly knew where to start. Much to my delight, I spent hours shuffling through records: the usual pop bands, classic rock groups, and the owners' collections of 80s and 90s music. Every shop seemed to have something interesting tucked away on its shelves. Out of all those stores, only one gave me a glimmer of hope. Well, technically my friend asked the owner for me - I was far too shy. The owner told us they had once had a Bauhaus record in stock, but unfortunately it had already gone to a lucky customer. Distraught I was. After that, we moved on to another location: a very old building that has long since become a popular city landmark. I would probably call it overrated, but it has been around for decades. I suspect it dates back to at least the 1960s. My own grandparents used to go on dates there when they were young. Anyway, my friend, my mum, and I headed down into the basement in search of vintage records. There were countless shops, countless familiar selections, and all the bands one would expect to find. But no Bauhaus even the store owners doesn't know who they are!.
To be fair, I had expected as much.
Now, a note on why I was searching specifically for Bauhaus. Perhaps Love and Rockets would have been easier to find. Maybe even Tones on Tail. I'll get into that later.
I hadn't continued my search until 6 days ago, when I planned a dedicated expedition to another city with my cousin, who shares the same obsession with music. It really does run in the family. She's far more knowledgeable than I am and has earned something of a legendary reputation when it comes to finding obscure records and hidden treasures. She suggested the trip, and I immediately agreed.
The plan took an unexpected turn when both of our parents decided they felt left out and invited themselves along.
So the six of us set off on a five-hour journey. fast forward our destination was a building that housed all sorts of artist spaces: exhibitions, small shops, galleries, and creative studios. I think there was even a finger skateboard competition happening somewhere in the middle of it all.
I should probably mention how ridiculous we looked. My cousin and I were dressed in the usual art-student fashion. You know the type. One glance and people immediately assume you're involved in something creative. Never mind that she actually graduated ten years ago with a law degree. She somehow ended up working in the film industry, so I suppose it still counts. Meanwhile, our parents trailed behind us looking exactly like parents waiting for their children to finish whatever strange adventure they had dragged them into before everyone could finally go home and eat.
In the midst of all this, tucked away in a quiet alcove, was a record shop. I greeted the fellow sitting outside, smoking by the entrance. Then I looked at the records displayed on the shelf facing outward.
I actually pointed at it.
A Bauhaus Kick in the Eye EP.
The price was 350,000 rupiah. (around 15 Pounds)
Immediately, my mother attempted to haggle it down to 10. The poor bloke explained that he'd bought the single himself in the UK for around 12. At that point I started feeling bad for him and had to gently pull my mother away from the negotiation before she accidentally bullied the man into selling it at a loss.
Truthfully, I was already committed to buying it. Vinyl prices can easily climb anywhere from 30 to 80 Pounds! depending on the pressing and condition (and the Band's Popularity). I was simply grateful that this man was selling part of his personal collection for Cheap. After months of searching through cafés, record stores, basements, vintage markets, and every dusty shelf I could find, I had finally stumbled across a genuine record.
Now that is the end of the Bauhaus record story, I'd love to talk about another record shop. My cousin took me there. She explained that this was the place where she practically lived when she was about my age. Back then, she would sit with the owner until two in the morning listening to music. Tape players and vinyl setups were far too expensive for most people, so shops like this became a gathering place. The shop itself sat on the second floor above a cellphone accessories store. To get there, you had to climb a narrow, slightly intimidating staircase. It felt more like entering a secret club than a business.
Eventually I met the owner. He was a sixty-something music addict in the best possible sense. The sort of man who was almost stingy with his own collection because he cared about it so much. I asked him if he had any Bauhaus, Love and Rockets, or Tones on Tail.
"No," he said. I was already surprised he knew all three. He explained that somehow Bauhaus never really reached this country. Love and Rockets did, but only barely, and even then they were difficult to find. As for Tones on Tail, he laughed and gave the same answer I would later hear from the other collector. "Barang ghaib." Basically, nonexistent.
I have to give the man credit. He knew his music. His shop was tiny, yet somehow contained an enormous collection. You practically had to maneuver sideways between shelves and stacks of records to get around. At one point he diverted my attention to the only Siouxsie and the Banshees tape he hadn't sold yet. I practically begged him for it. My cousin explained that this was how things worked with him. You couldn't simply buy a record. You had to win him over first with good manners, conversation, and preferably coffee. Even when my cousin wanted to buy a tape, she had to ask three separate times before he reluctantly agreed to sell it. (I was quickly diverted to his only Kate Bush tape which he agrees to sell)
Despite all that, he was actually an incredibly generous man. On our second visit he even gifted my cousin a few records. We ended up staying there for six hours, right up until midnight. That was also the day my Bauhaus EP arrived at the shop. The owner was nearly as excited as I was. He carefully removed the record from its sleeve, wiped the dust from the vinyl, and gently lowered it onto the turntable. Then we stood there listening together as "Kick in the Eye" filled the room, followed by "Harry." My cousin listened for a moment and then looked genuinely confused. Apparently she was surprised by how much she thought it sounded like reggae.
Honestly, I had a better experience in that tiny shop than in any modern record store I've visited. These days you walk in, buy something, nod at the person behind the counter, and leave. Nobody talks about music anymore.
That's why I was so surprised when I visited another record shop later and the staff didn't know the band at all. Perhaps I should give them a break- Bauhaus isn't exactly popular here but if you're selling records for a living, surely you've at least heard of them. What I miss is the conversation. Talking with the owner. Asking questions. Being told stories about albums you've never heard. Leaving with recommendations for obscure bands you didn't know existed, only to discover later that they fit your tastes perfectly.
At some point during all of this, we were listening to a Bee Gees tribute album when the owner suddenly decided we needed an education. "You know," he said, "the Bee Gees of Asia."
Naturally, neither of us knew what he was talking about.
He then introduced us to a Filipino group called VST & Co. According to him, they were legendary. He spoke about them with the sort of affection normally reserved for old friends. After hearing a few songs, I could understand why. They clearly had their own personality, but the Bee Gees influence was impossible to miss. Beautiful harmonies, beautiful arrangements, and enough disco spirit. (check them out!)
There was also another man who spent a lot of time around the shop. I still don't entirely know what his role was. He didn't seem to work behind the counter, and he didn't really act like a customer either. My best guess is that he simply lived there. Every record shop seems to have one mysterious resident philosopher who appears whenever music is being discussed. This particular one was a thin, long-bearded fellow in his fifties. At one point he quietly handed me a CD recommendation. My cousin took one look at it and immediately said, "Yeah, you'll probably like that." The band was called Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. I didn't end up buying the CD, but the recommendation stuck with me. One of the songs they played had an introduction that immediately caught my attention. To my ears, it sounded remarkably similar to the opening of "The Light" by Love and Rockets. Perhaps it's just me hearing connections where none exist. Once you spend enough time searching for traces of Bauhaus and its various descendants, your brain starts linking everything back to them.
Still, it was enough to make me curious. I left without the CD, but I left with another band to explore, which was becoming a recurring theme of visits to that shop. You'd arrive looking for one thing and leave with three more things to investigate.
I'll have to end it here unfortunately, and very long. thank you to whoever is reading this. see you on the next post!
