Leong Lau - 1976 - Dragon Man

Leong Lau 

1976

Dragon Man

01. The Atlas Revolution 4:50

02. Ghost Drums 4:49

03. Rhythm Pounding 5:55

04. Dragon Man 4:19

05. Soul Baby 5:41

06. Deep In The Jungle 8:35

07. Love Poem 3:00

Drums, Percussion – Andrew Evans

Electric Bass – Alistair Bell

Electric Guitar, Classical Guitar – Paul Pallister

Vocals, Tenor Saxophone, Alto Saxophone, Flute, Harmonica, Cornet, Percussion, Guitar – Leong Lau

The Malaysian-Australian Madman Who Invented Psychedelic Funk Down Under (And Nobody Noticed for 40 Years)

Picture 1976 Australia: AC/DC are still wearing shorts, Skyhooks are shocking the suburbs, and the entire country thinks “funky” means a bad smell. Then, out of nowhere, drops this wild-eyed Malaysian-Chinese multi-instrumentalist preaching half-sung sermons over wah-wah guitars, jungle percussion, and flute solos that sound like Jimi Hendrix got lost in Kuala Lumpur and decided to stay. Dragon Man is that album—the private-press holy grail that sounds like Funkadelic, Xhol Caravan, and a Taoist street preacher all crashed a Sydney house party and refused to leave. It’s raw, weird, sexy, spiritual, and so ahead of its time that the 1970s basically said “nah mate, too much” and buried it until the crate-diggers resurrected it like a funky Lazarus.

Original pressings were tiny (hand-sold at gigs and a couple of Sydney shops), originals now fetch four figures, and even the 2024 Left Ear Records repress sells out faster than free beer at a barbie. This is the sound of one man saying “screw your labels” and creating his own genre: call it Rongeng-Psych-Funk, East-West Cosmic Groove, or just “Leong Being Leong.”

From Chinese Opera to Sydney Symphony to “Frank Zappa Told Me To Start My Own Label”: The Wild Life of Leong Lau

Born in Malaysia of Chinese ancestry, little Leong started with Chinese Opera and flute in the community orchestra—basically the Justin Bieber of traditional Malaysian music, minus the teenyboppers. Late ’60s he lands in Adelaide on an engineering scholarship (because smart kids do that), but quickly realizes bridges are boring and music is where the real magic happens.

He dances with the Sydney Dance Company (ballet, modern, the works), joins the Sydney Conservatorium, ends up playing concert flute with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra—yes, the same guy who later screams “DEEP IN THE JUNGLE!” over fuzz guitar once wore a tux and played Mozart for posh people. Somewhere along the line he meets Frank Zappa (casual), who drops the ultimate DIY wisdom: “Start your own label, bro, total artistic freedom.” Leong listens, creates Sunscape Records, and in 1976 unleashes Dragon Man.

He only made a handful of records (this debut, 1977’s That Rongeng Sound, a single or two), then basically vanished into legend—sculpting, philosophizing, living that enlightened rogue life. In 2013 the Left Ear Records crew tracked him down in a Brisbane library for a “transcendental conversation” (translation: they probably smoked something strong) and got his blessing to reissue everything. Leong Lau: part Hendrix, part Sun Ra, part kung-fu movie extra, all genius.

The Band: A One-Time-Only Super Session of Sydney’s Funkiest Mercenaries

This wasn’t a band—it was a miracle that happened once. Two rehearsals, one studio day at Earth Media Recording Co., and boom: immortality.

Leong Lau – vocals (half-sung rants in thick Aussie-via-Malaysia accent), tenor/alto sax, flute, harmonica, cornet, percussion, guitar, composer, producer, arranger, spiritual overlord

Paul Pallister – electric & classical guitar (the wah-wah wizard who channels Hendrix like it’s 1968)

Alistair Bell – electric bass (so deep and rubbery you’ll check if your subengine is running)

Andrew Evans (or Andy Evans) – drums & percussion (locks it down tighter than a kangaroo’s pouch)

Engineered by Ross Kirkland – the unsung hero who made it sound this filthy-good on a shoestring

Seven Tracks of Pure “What the Hell Did I Just Hear?” Brilliance

Side A grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go:

The Atlas Revolution – Opens with a monster riff, Leong preaching revolution like a psychedelic televangelist. Instant head-nod.

Ghost Drums – Tribal percussion meets echoing flute; you’ll feel ancestors dancing in your living room.

Rhythm Pounding – Six minutes of pure groove assault. The bass line should be illegal.

Dragon Man – Title track flute-funk workout. Leong declares himself the Dragon Man and you believe him.

Side B goes full jungle:

Soul Baby – The closest thing to a radio hit here—sexy, slinky, still weird as hell.

Deep In The Jungle – Nearly nine minutes of psychedelic descent: phased sax, fuzz solos, Leong howling like Tarzan on acid. The crown jewel.

Love Poem – Short, tender closer dedicated to “Kuan.” After all the madness, he reminds you he’s got a heart.

That’s it. No overdubs, no second takes, just pure spontaneous combustion.

The sound? Raw Aussie psych-funk with heavy Hendrix/Krautrock vibes, but filtered through Malaysian-Chinese mysticism and a fat dose of jazz fluency. Leong’s vocals are the star—part spoken-word shaman, part blues shouter, all delivered in that unmistakable ocker-meets-Asia twang. It’s like Captain Beefheart decided to make a funk album after ten years in Bali.

The Private-Press Prophecy That Took Four Decades to Explode

In 1976 Australia, this sold a few hundred copies max. Radio? Zero. Charts? Laughable. Meanwhile Cold Chisel were the future of Aussie rock.

Fast-forward: Dragon Man becomes the ultimate crate-digger myth. Originals trade for $1,000–$3,000+. Strawberry Rain reissued it in 2014, Left Ear did the deluxe treatment in 2024 (complete with poster—grab it before it’s gone again). It’s now hailed as one of the wildest, most original Australian albums ever—proof that world-class psychedelic funk didn’t need London or LA; it could bloom in Sydney with a bunch of session cats and one visionary madman.

Leong pioneered the Australian private-press underground, fused East-West sounds decades before “global bass” was a buzzword, and did it all on his own terms. Today it influences everyone from psych revivalists to funk beatmakers sampling those killer breaks. It’s the missing link between ’70s Afro-rock, German kosmische, and the kind of free-spirited weirdness we all secretly wish music still had.

So yeah, Dragon Man isn’t just a great lost album—it’s a middle finger to an entire industry that wasn’t ready for a flute-playing, cornet-blowing, Malaysian-Australian guru preaching love, revolution, and jungle vibes over the funkiest rhythm section Sydney ever saw.

Put it on, turn it up, and let the Dragon Man possess you. Your neighbors might complain, but your soul will thank you. Legendary stuff, mate. Absolute bloody legend.