This New Year's in Boracay was a surprising blast. I walked down the beach from my small family inn Pau Lazaro tucked with tropical restraint among the new block Korean buildings, half minute from Station One. First I stopped at the Muslim women selling noise makers on the beach path and played some free jazz intermingled with their plastic horns. Pure Ornette Colman.
Then to APlaya, which I have a love-hate relationship with. Julia let me play, but... wow... I better shut up. Anyway, best DJ equipment and sound system on the beach, with a sometimes borderline newage chillout vibe. DJ Christian, who lived in Cali, immediately plugged me into his mike so we could do a little live collaboration. His beats were deep house (I believe), very tasty.
Then down to second street, Exit Bar, to pay my respects to the driftwood and nipa, sand at the feet homage to what Boracay could still be (Fabric plug). DJ Steven was mixing it up, not quite DJ Tong's vinyl hip hop/reggae/funk soul passion, but mellow. Island vibe, peace. I imagine Tong has a higher profile gig going on at Area 51 which (once again, y'all) I am going to miss.
Then I walked on down to third street. Bombom bar––the classic, acoustic on the beach dread experience. An Exodus jam was going strong and I played among the festive dancers in front of the stage for a few seconds... they urged me to the mike where I could jam out and be heard by all. The guy Sheila started playing some chords I half recognized, Yukie on box percussion, and William on bass and I started an impromptu song "Stop Fucking Up Boracay" before they went into the mellow lilt of a song I have heard in Bora more than anywhere, Sting's "Englishman in New York."
I am an alien.
Finally, a walk through D'Mall to Pinas (aka Lokal Bar) where Louie and the windsurfing guru Bon were holding fort along with my Israeli friends (forget their names) Muslim friends (ditto) Dutch (never was one for names) and whoever else wanted to play percussion––anchored by "Voltage" Voltaire on Djimbe (he sold me my second Tala-andig flute).
The fireworks when they came after a stop at my fav canteen (Jackie's Refreshments) for adobo and rice, were all over the beach and, for once, I could forgive the crowds. I am not young, I am not old. I went uptown. I went downtown. But I never felt so lonely as when my baby (and yes Jimbo, the devil is a woman) left me on the run.
So the flute and I are official. We are going out.*
In other news, California's drought has been downgraded from "permanent" to merely "historic." My comment on author James Scarantino's fb post: "I'm really surprised they have a permanent category. Everything is historic in time."
And Wonder Woman... as a love leader? Hmm... All these kinky things that go right over little tykes (and 1950s censors) heads. But I'm a little bit older and I know my stuff. Cowachunga.
Finally, Nirvana (as it should be) seems to be a passing phase.** I am back fully on board with Jim Morrison and his unsettling slow blues duo with Robbie Krieger, The Doors Cars Hiss by My Window. "Whisky's like a woman. She's good when she's cheap."
Then to APlaya, which I have a love-hate relationship with. Julia let me play, but... wow... I better shut up. Anyway, best DJ equipment and sound system on the beach, with a sometimes borderline newage chillout vibe. DJ Christian, who lived in Cali, immediately plugged me into his mike so we could do a little live collaboration. His beats were deep house (I believe), very tasty.
Then down to second street, Exit Bar, to pay my respects to the driftwood and nipa, sand at the feet homage to what Boracay could still be (Fabric plug). DJ Steven was mixing it up, not quite DJ Tong's vinyl hip hop/reggae/funk soul passion, but mellow. Island vibe, peace. I imagine Tong has a higher profile gig going on at Area 51 which (once again, y'all) I am going to miss.
Then I walked on down to third street. Bombom bar––the classic, acoustic on the beach dread experience. An Exodus jam was going strong and I played among the festive dancers in front of the stage for a few seconds... they urged me to the mike where I could jam out and be heard by all. The guy Sheila started playing some chords I half recognized, Yukie on box percussion, and William on bass and I started an impromptu song "Stop Fucking Up Boracay" before they went into the mellow lilt of a song I have heard in Bora more than anywhere, Sting's "Englishman in New York."
I am an alien.
Finally, a walk through D'Mall to Pinas (aka Lokal Bar) where Louie and the windsurfing guru Bon were holding fort along with my Israeli friends (forget their names) Muslim friends (ditto) Dutch (never was one for names) and whoever else wanted to play percussion––anchored by "Voltage" Voltaire on Djimbe (he sold me my second Tala-andig flute).
The fireworks when they came after a stop at my fav canteen (Jackie's Refreshments) for adobo and rice, were all over the beach and, for once, I could forgive the crowds. I am not young, I am not old. I went uptown. I went downtown. But I never felt so lonely as when my baby (and yes Jimbo, the devil is a woman) left me on the run.
So the flute and I are official. We are going out.*
In other news, California's drought has been downgraded from "permanent" to merely "historic." My comment on author James Scarantino's fb post: "I'm really surprised they have a permanent category. Everything is historic in time."
And Wonder Woman... as a love leader? Hmm... All these kinky things that go right over little tykes (and 1950s censors) heads. But I'm a little bit older and I know my stuff. Cowachunga.
Finally, Nirvana (as it should be) seems to be a passing phase.** I am back fully on board with Jim Morrison and his unsettling slow blues duo with Robbie Krieger, The Doors Cars Hiss by My Window. "Whisky's like a woman. She's good when she's cheap."
This endurancewriter Blog Post hereby bequeathed to the "in with the new, bathwater and all" memory of Professor Damon D. Dawson of Bandito College. (SEO Alert) Endurance Writer.
*I am now getting together some Soundcloud recordings, including a blues/flute jam with the house band at Charlie's and some deep Louie/Lokal cuts. Am also thinking about putting together an impressionistic sound collage... "Walking the beach in Boracay, New Year's 2016."
**The similarity between Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain is that they both gave interesting, original interviews. And Nirvana did a great comedy-skit version of The End. Most startling discovery: Mid-1965 proto-Doors demos with Morrison, Patty Sullivan Hansen, and the Manzarak Bros. A month before Morrison would suggest The Doors as a band name in place of Rick & the Ravens, it alternates between stoner folk, old timey jangle, and cocktail jazz. The most annoying version of "Hello, I Love You" ever and surprisingly compelling early renderings of "Summer's Almost Gone," "End of the night," and "My Eyes Have Seen You." The early version of "Moonlight Drive" (as on the Strange Days version, come to think of it) does not give away the black humor surprise ending of Morrison's early-1967 version at the Matrix in San Francisco. (Nor the Horse Latitudes poetics that would emerge later in 1967). I should really write a proper blog post about the Doors soon.
*I am now getting together some Soundcloud recordings, including a blues/flute jam with the house band at Charlie's and some deep Louie/Lokal cuts. Am also thinking about putting together an impressionistic sound collage... "Walking the beach in Boracay, New Year's 2016."
**The similarity between Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain is that they both gave interesting, original interviews. And Nirvana did a great comedy-skit version of The End. Most startling discovery: Mid-1965 proto-Doors demos with Morrison, Patty Sullivan Hansen, and the Manzarak Bros. A month before Morrison would suggest The Doors as a band name in place of Rick & the Ravens, it alternates between stoner folk, old timey jangle, and cocktail jazz. The most annoying version of "Hello, I Love You" ever and surprisingly compelling early renderings of "Summer's Almost Gone," "End of the night," and "My Eyes Have Seen You." The early version of "Moonlight Drive" (as on the Strange Days version, come to think of it) does not give away the black humor surprise ending of Morrison's early-1967 version at the Matrix in San Francisco. (Nor the Horse Latitudes poetics that would emerge later in 1967). I should really write a proper blog post about the Doors soon.
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