The lights dim, and a tall slim male figure steps out from the shadows into the spotlight. He grasps the mic, his eyes still shaded by the wide brimmed hat he wears, and begins to softly sing the first of a series of tales about hope, despair, love and the ecstasy of a life truly lived.

The music picks up pace, and his body sways to the quickening rhythm. The story flows; as he sings, he lives the story: no, he becomes the story. The guitars, the bass, the tablas and djembé become as one, no longer playing music, but living it, breathing it.  Any previous background chatter stops as the audience become engulfed in an unstoppable sonic tsunami, mesmerized by what is unfolding. 

Suddenly, he leans with menace, his voice drops to a whisper as he sings with a passion known to few. The music quivers quietly with unresolved tension and then Bam! His voice roars into life, his muscular frame tenses and suddenly he soars high into the air, legs tucked under, his voice and guitar singing the same song of power. The audience is shocked; the audience is awed. This is no ordinary gig, no ordinary band. 

Welcome to the Rising Hedons. 

I first encountered Bradley Tindall, the Hedons' singer the previous year when he had fronted another popular band, Boogie Chillin'. My friend had returned from Taipei after seeing them play by chance at the Blues Festival. "You have to see this band. They are amazing," she enthused. I was surprised since she truly hated the blues and anything related. "Really?" I asked. "Yes, absolutely," she insisted.  

So a few months later I had the opportunity of seeing them play live down in Tainan. I'm a veteran of the London music scene both as a spectator and as a player: I've seen some of the biggest names in the business at every conceivable venue, small and large and within every musical genre. But from the first opening bars of the first song to the final encore, I was totally entranced. Flawless on every level from the rock-solid rhythm section of Hanro Van Wyk and Darren Jorde whose bass lines and drums were in perfect lock for two and a half-hours, driving the music ever forward, to Will Lloyd's jaw-dropping guitar skills and superlative melodic execution; his lines constantly soaring and swooping, a perfect complement to the story being told. And of course, there was Bradley. Again with the hat; again singing of the deepest blues known to man; again swinging from the angelic to the demonic within the space of the same breath. It was a spellbinding, unforgettable monster performance, and I was really excited to have caught this amazing band, excited at the prospect of seeing them perform again and again and again, reaching ever higher levels of musical excitement and excellence. What a musical find! "Oh, no," said Bradley when I asked when and where I could catch them again. "This is our final gig." 

Deep blues, indeed. 

I caught up with Bradley several months later in – appropriately in a blues-orientated coffee shop, and I had the opportunity to find out when he had first entered the Taiwan music scene and what he been doing since that gig.

"I really lucked out when I was hired for that band by Will: an established band with a pre-existing formula with the best time slots at gigs. What more could I ask for? It was a great training ground. I learned a lot about performing; I stopped playing guitar and learned how to really front, how to be a lead singer. We all knew that the gig you saw was our last, which is why we totally relaxed and gave it everything - so it was a great show for us, too. However, Boogie Chillin' was a very one dimensional band in terms of sound and texture, I felt, and I wanted to do something different, something better."

He smiles and drinks some coffee. I ask him about how he started as a musician. 

"I'm from Toronto and I got my first guitar when I was ten. Right from the get-go I was into the blues. I am still playing the same guitar that I played when I was 12: a black Les Paul that I named Angelina after my grandmother. And when I was fifteen I had my own band which played the serious blues clubs in Toronto, often together with older, more experienced players. I played guitar and sang. We didn't know how to play covers, so we wrote original material, writing to everyone's strengths." 

"Somewhere along the line, I got into different music like Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Guess Who and, of course, Led Zeppelin. I began playing guitar and writing songs for a politically engaged heavy rock band which was limiting: it wasn't the music I really wanted to play – I became uninspired with the music very quickly.”  

"University, however, was a great period of experimentation for me. I had the time and opportunity to explore recording techniques, different sounds and learn how to create massive soundscapes. I explored other styles of music: Radiohead being a great influence, and then worked with a trio of singer/songwriters, which is where I really learned how to sing and how to work closely with harmony. It was a time of huge learning, really. But I grew dissatisfied with the Toronto music scene and those around me who wanted to write songs about the world, but were too afraid to authentically explore it. This is why I left Toronto and ended up in Taiwan.”  

I ask him how Taiwan was working out for him. 

"I've been here two years, and here we play the music game on our own terms. In Taiwan you can be as big or small: do anything you want, you will be supported by people. There are a lot of well-traveled people here who really know and appreciate their music. That raises the bar for anybody who wants to perform, too.”

“The most important thing about being here in Taiwan, however, is that it's helped me to reconnect once more with the blues tradition. Boogie Chillin' was a great experience, but I wanted to focus on more intimate and subtle song-writing. I'm really trying to push the blues a little further, blues with a twist. So I want to write really good songs, with a wider range of sound possibilities than with a straight rock set up. That's why we have such a different line up. It allows us to explore more spaces, do more interesting things. But it's a tougher job. With a standard set up, you can thrash it out and it'll carry; with a more acoustic format you have to play really, really well to explore the dynamic possibilities and grab the audience.” 

"Playing the blues means living the blues, and those ideals govern everything: keep it simple, expressiveness, being a team player. Even the songs follow blues themes."

"Such as?" I ask.

"Well, the blues for me is about exploring. The old tradition is almost exclusively about traveling, about being on the road, meeting new people, seeing new places - being away from the loved ones, and that's what I write about too."

"Also with the Rising Hedons I made a conscious decision that I wanted to write for a different audience. With Boogie Chillin' it was very easy to make very muscular, masculine music. But I wanted more subtlety, more range, more textures. Coincidentally, I also wanted to write music that women could respond to. This naturally changed how we write and perform the music. Women love that Bo-Diddley Rhythm, you know. We can take and work that, and churn it and churn it, everyone gets turned on big time.” 

He flashes me a rock star smile. 

"They're my demographic. They're my focus. I'll let you into a little known secret: all guys from classic rock wrote for women. That's just the way it is. It's a great energy to focus on. It opens the music in a different way: presentation, lyrical content, what rhythms we use, how we play. It's incredible. We can't ride the energy hard like a standard rock band, we have to circle it, play with it, even. Playing like this means we have to play really, really well not just for dynamics and sound levels, but also to connect at a deep level. It's entirely different and massively challenging – but playing quietly means you need to be disciplined and focused. But man, when you hit those peaks, those moments pop like you wouldn't believe. Sometimes less is definitely more."

“So not only is the band focused on creating high quality songs, but we also work real hard on combining that with high-octane, memorable performances, something that is hard to pull off successfully. I'm really happy where we are now."

And so he should be. Watching the band perform is itself a transcendental experience. 

Bradley continues: "We're not musicians, really; rather, we're storytellers telling a story. We live the music and feel the music and then if we're lucky the music breathes us." 

"Breathes you?" I echo, curious.

"You get to a point where you're not worried about what note to play, what lyric to sing, you're in the moment, taking it to a level where you're no longer playing with sound but you're working with space, time, energy – you name it. It's hard to describe, but if the music is playing you then it's almost as if you leave your body and the music takes you on this incredible journey. It's no longer about me or us, it's about the music: it comes alive. It doesn't happen all the time, every so often, and it's the deepest connection possible for a musician."

I nod, amazed. Bradley doesn't know it but he's talking about the roots of music, where thousands of years ago shamans would use rhythm and music to reach ecstatic states, transcend the limitations of the here and now, and leave their bodies, taking those who watched them along in the process.

If you haven't seen the Rising Hedons play, don't miss out. It truly is an out-of-this world experience. 

______________________
 

The Rising Hedons first album, Head Full of Rain is available on a pay what you can basis at http://www.therisinghedons.com and the follow up, Seaside Caravan will be available from May. They'll be playing Spring Scream, April 3rd – 5th, 2009. Kenting. Check website for exact date and times. www.springscream.com