By Hans Ebert
There were a couple of very weird years- not as weird as my first acid trip- but weird nevertheless. For example, there was an American kid at KGV whom we called “Fuzzy”. His real name was Bruce Barron. He was brash, he was cocky, he was supposedly extremely rich and was one of the first kids to have his own drum kit- a Ludwig drum kit. But no one wanted him in their band.
Fuzzy Bruce was almost always being beaten up for mouthing off. But when his father was shot dead one New Year’s Eve while working alone in his office in Star House- his murder still remains unsolved today with word being that it was a hired hit man from the Philippines- the helter skelter lifestyle took a brief pause. Very brief.
Continue reading “BURGHERS, BURGERS AND CEYLON TEA AND SYMPATHY (PART 3)”
By Hans Ebert
My family arrived in Hong Kong in 1958 after over two weeks by ship where my father spent most of the time in our cabin with seasickness while I played shuffleboard with my mother and a group of Italian priests. It wasn’t exactly The Love Boat.
What was awaiting us in Hong Kong? Nothing. With only very little life savings, there was no option but to live with my father’s eldest sister Primrose, her Portuguese husband Gustavo, my grandmother and family matriarch Hilda and cousin Suzanne in a tiny apartment. It was hardly The Brady Bunch and nothing like the wide open spaces of Ceylon, but beggars can never be choosers.
Continue reading “BURGHERS, BURGERS AND CEYLON TEA AND SYMPATHY (PART 2)”
By Hans Ebert
The first memories of my mother was Podhi. Podhi was the servant “designated” to me. She fed me, bathed me, took me to kindergarten, sheltered me from bullies, cleaned my backside, and being an only child, she was my one play friend.
She played marbles with me, put up with my temper tantrums, and looked after our stray cats and dogs. She was more than a mother and it was extremely emotional seeing her when visiting for the first time what had become Sri Lanka in over twenty years, locating her. and her touching my face, looking me in the eye, and remembering her “baby”.
Her much younger and buxom niece Alice cooked for the family and apart from the visits to the house by my father’s younger brother Uncle George whom I adored as he was tough- played professional rugby and cricket, lifted weights and could handle himself in a fight- and listening to my godfather play piano in a way that made Liberace seem manly- this was pretty much the framework of growing up as the only child- a Dutch Burgher which meant a mixture of Dutch, Portuguese ancestry intermingled with something rarely mentioned- marriages with the local inhabitants- in what was then called Ceylon.
Continue reading “BURGHERS, BURGERS AND CEYLON TEA AND SYMPATHY (PART 1)”
By Hans Ebert
Around 10-15 years ago when still in the music industry and having recently split from my long suffering wife, our real offices were The Tiffin Lounge and the Champagne Bar at the Grand Hyatt. Living right next door to the hotel meant convenience if needing some different type of stress release during those Wolf Of Wall Street days when nothing was impossible and The Longest Cocktail Party was meant to continue forever.
These were the Days Of The Long Lunch and where I had “graduated” from the English pub scene of the Dicken’s Bar from my days in advertising to the five star lifestyle of being a senior music executive. And being part of this supposedly brave new world, we became legends in our own lunchtime.
Continue reading “THE GRAND HYATT HONG KONG NEEDS TO GET ITS MOJO BACK”
A contemporary fairy tale based on the songs of Hans Ebert and Trevor Carter.
He woke up one day and it was like someone had switched the lights off in his head. He knew he was here, but it was hard getting there and beyond. For some reason, all motivation was gone. Inspiration had decided to pack its bags and leave. And with no inspiration, he knew there’s nothing except as Dylan sang, being stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues again.
Continue reading “GIVE YOURSELF UP TO IMAGINATION”