PETALING JAYA: For a few precious hours on May 24, people came together to celebrate a band that had helped soundtrack their youth.
They sang along to familiar songs. They laughed at old stories. They remembered a Malaysia that felt younger, freer and full of possibility.
The evening had been organised as a farewell to The Strollers and a fundraiser for the band’s drummer, Hussein Idris, who had recently suffered a stroke and heart attack that left him bedridden and requiring full-time care.
Few imagined it would become one of the last public tributes he would receive.
Hussein, who spent much of his life giving joy to others, died last night at the age of 77.
In his final weeks, those same people came back to hold him up.
Supporters, friends, musicians and admirers had rallied behind him through “The Strollers: The Farewell”, a concert jointly organised by FMT and Backyard Pub & Grill in Taman Sri Hartamas that raised funds for his medical and caregiving expenses.
For those who grew up listening to The Strollers, the loss feels deeply personal.
Because Hussein was never merely a drummer.
He was one of the faces, voices and personalities behind a band that helped define an era of Malaysian music and became part of countless family memories.
The heartbeat behind the music
Long before reunion concerts and lifetime tributes, Hussein was a teenager captivated by the explosion of guitar bands sweeping across the world in the 1960s.
He began his musical journey with a Petaling Jaya group called The Typhoons. His elder brother, Hassan Idris, led another band, Sputnik, in Kampung Baru.
When musicians from several local groups came together in 1965, The Strollers was born.
What followed became one of the great stories of Malaysian popular music.
The band released nine singles, one EP, one album and 33 songs, including 17 original compositions. They became the first Malaysian group to sign with an international label for English-language recordings.
Their concerts drew packed crowds and devoted fans. Their music travelled through dance halls, clubs and community stages at a time when local bands were becoming the voice of a generation.
The Strollers also became known for their refusal to compromise their identity.
When Radio Television Malaysia offered television exposure on condition they cut their long hair, the band declined.
It was a small act of defiance that became part of local music folklore.
Yet for all the attention the band received, friends say Hussein remained remarkably unchanged.
He was known not only for his musicianship but also for his kindness, humility and easy-going nature.
Hussein possessed a rare talent that set him apart from many performers of his generation.
There are many drummers and many singers. Very few can do both at the same time with the natural ease Hussein brought to every performance.
From behind the drum kit, he anchored The Strollers’ rhythm while delivering songs that audiences came to cherish.
For generations of fans, the sound of The Strollers was inseparable from the sight of Hussein smiling behind his drums.
FMT executive chairman Nelson Fernandez, who had known Hussein for more than three decades, said Malaysia had lost far more than a musician.
“For almost 60 years, Hussein gave people moments they carried through their lives,” he said.
“First dances, friendships, courtships, reunions and celebrations. Today we mourn a musician, but we also mourn a man whose work became woven into the memories of an entire generation.”
Fernandez said the outpouring of affection during Hussein’s final weeks spoke volumes about the respect he commanded.
“What touched me most was seeing how many people wanted him to know he mattered. Before he left us, Malaysia found a way to tell him that. There is comfort in that.”
A farewell that became a thank you
The farewell concert had originally been conceived as the closing chapter for The Strollers themselves.
Bassist Billy Chang had decided to retire after more than five decades in music, while Hussein’s declining health meant he could no longer perform.
Instead, the evening evolved into something much larger.
Fans donated. Memorabilia was auctioned. Musicians performed. Friends stepped forward to help.
The result was an extraordinary expression of gratitude towards a musician who had spent most of his life bringing happiness to others.
Among those who helped rally support was Noor Hadi Ismail, a friend of Hussein and a lifelong admirer of The Strollers.
“Some people make music. Hussein made people feel something,” he said.
“Every time The Strollers played, you could see faces light up because the songs took them back to happier days.”
His death, Hadi said, would be felt far beyond the music fraternity.
“The sadness is real, but so is the gratitude. Few musicians are loved this deeply after so many decades.”
That affection stretched across generations.
Businessman Stephen Ramesh remembers seeing The Strollers perform at his university dance in 1974.
Years later, their songs formed part of the soundtrack to his courtship.
“Their songs were playing when I met my wife,” he recalled.
On May 24, he completed a journey few musicians are fortunate enough to witness. “I brought my grandson to see them one last time.”
In those three moments lies much of The Strollers’ story.
A university dance. A young couple in love. A grandfather sharing memories with a new generation.
Few bands remain part of people’s lives for that long.
The beat lives on
Over the years, Hussein endured the loss of many friends and bandmates, including multi-instrumentalist Nand Kumar in 1991, Terry Thaddeus in 2003, Amrin Abdul Madjid in 2010 and drummer Ramli Yaakob in 2019.
In 2023, he also lost his brother Hassan, whose guitar work helped define The Strollers’ sound.
Yet he continued performing whenever opportunities arose.
Friends often said music was never simply a profession for him.
It was where he felt most at home.
Perhaps that explains why the 2023 “Just As We Were” reunion concert, another FMT initiative, carried such emotional significance.
The event reunited Hussein, Chang and original member Michael Magness before an audience that responded as though no time had passed at all.
For a few hours, the years melted away.
The music endured. So did the friendships.
Chang said losing Hussein feels like losing part of his own life story.
“I spent more than half a century beside Hussein on stage,” he said.
“We shared thousands of songs, thousands of miles and countless memories. It is difficult to imagine a world where I do not look across and see him behind the drums.”
He hopes his old friend understood how much affection surrounded him during his final weeks.
“The farewell concert was painful because we knew how much he wanted to be there as a musician. But I hope he knew how much love was in that room.”
Days after the concert, Hussein’s wife, Azlina Omar, visited the FMT office to receive the funds raised on his behalf.
Joined by family members and close friends, she spoke of being overwhelmed by the response.
The donations would help ease the burdens of caregiving and medical expenses.
More importantly, they reassured the family that Hussein’s contributions had not been forgotten.
His eldest son, Reymee, said the support touched them profoundly.
“My father always believed music was meant to bring people together,” he said.
“In his final weeks, we saw that belief come back to him through the kindness of friends, fans and complete strangers.”
The family, he added, would remain forever grateful.
“Our family will never forget the support shown to him. What touched him most was knowing people still remembered the journey, the songs and the years he spent doing what he loved.”
Today, those memories carry even greater meaning.
For nearly 60 years, Hussein sat behind the drums and helped keep the rhythm for everyone else.
In his final chapter, Malaysia returned the favour.
And somewhere today, in homes, pubs, living rooms and old photo albums, his songs will play again.
Not because people are saying goodbye.
But because the beat goes on.
