Tuesday, June 15, 2010

One Jazzy Night





The queue for taxicab was frustratingly long. The cars opposite Mindanao Avenue were barely moving. And even though the sun already set a couple of hours ago, the aftermath of its roasting heat was still palpable, and actually felt worse on my skin when blended with car fume. Impatient drivers blew horns and tried to overtake the cars before them, at least for a little mile of progress. In line, passengers were waiting patiently for their taxi, some furiously fanning to ease the stickiness of the situation; others relieved themselves by sipping ice cold Zagu black pearls. Few street children and sampaguita vendor were trying to make means for their nightly ends by approaching bystanders aside from the people waiting for their taxi, hoping that somebody would buy their stale forgotten goods. Inside Trinoma Mall were packs of shoppers, window shoppers and merely passersby, taking advantage of the free air condition as they went through direct connection to MRT station, which gave an absolute free ride going back and forth from first to last station. Footsteps seemed endless, mass of people walked to and fro. Some strode with quick steady pace; others sauntered in group and hand in hand like a walking block you need to maneuver around them because you couldn’t simply break them or walk through them. They literally take one step at a time on their own sweet tempo. I was standing among waiting passengers as I heard a bang in the sky. Above my head were bright green, red and gold displays of fireworks like a synchronized spectacle of heaven. They formed a small, sometimes big ball of sparkles. Some were swirling like eddies of fire. Others shoot like rocket before it burst hundreds of twinkling light of gem. I figured it was meant for the celebration of the Philippines’ 112th Independence Day. Yes, absolutely, Metro Manila is free, alive and alight.

My friend and I opted to have a night of Jazz adventure on this very night of freedom. We went to Ten 02 Café in Timog with a piece of paper in our hands bearing the club’s address that my friend got from the internet (a very handy way of knowing most about anything), excitement tight in our chest. Unfortunately, when we reached the place, a stocky looking guy, who I think was the owner told us that Jazz session was scheduled the night before and that Rock Metal band was scheduled to perform on that particular night. Being determined Jazz lover that we are, it didn’t dishearten us. We took another taxi ride, this time we didn’t have to get in line. We crossed Scout Ybardolazza Street and moved on to Greenhills, San Juan. It was actually the stocky looking guy who suggested us to go to this place and look for this jazz cafe. So that’s exactly what we did.

I thought the easiest way to find a place, other than map and GPS, is to ask around. But I guess it was either that Jazz clubs are not very popular in this country or I was just asking the wrong person that we had a tough time finding it. We walked from Greenhills Theater, stopped, asked a guard, walked pass a parking lot to Promenade, went back, stopped and asked again. My feet slightly sore as my friend and I walked opposite Mc Donald’s, then turned toward Greenhills Shopping Center.

“I’m sure we would be able to find the Jazz Club before sunrise, and I hope before my slippers shattered into pieces”, my friend said, yet still in high spirit.

I was still in fits of laughter when he saw a glowing neon blue bulb, skillfully bended in handwriting signature typeface - Boy Katindig Jazz Café.

“I knew I had an eye for Jazz”, he said meaning his eyes we’re trained to find Jazz Clubs.

We, indeed, made it before sunrise and his slippers were intact and in good condition. It was only 8pm when we arrived and the performers were expected to be on stage at 9:30pm. While we have to wait, we decided to hang around outside the café while we chatted endlessly accompanied with some bottles of SanMig lights and complimentary plate of chicharon. The heat eventually died down and breeze started to blow symphony in my ears and play strings with my hairs. Two huge speakers were set outside the café where Jazz medleys can be heard. The two of us sat under the eave; beside us are about five unoccupied tables and seats. Sometimes the Jazz medleys shifted to air supply hits and some silly love songs then shifted back to jazz.

I do not know a lot about Jazz, neither do I play any jazz or non-jazz instrument, but my aural perception of fine music is dependent to my earlier exposure to music and sounds. I grew up listening mostly from 70’s to 80’s songs and remembered that it was Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder’s Ebony and Ivory that I learned first to sing by heart. I didn’t care less whether it was Jazz or non-Jazz. I learned Sinatra’s later on and Ray Charles’ by hanging around with the oldies while they sang the videoke. Then, I was clueless whether these vocalists were crooning Jazz, but I remembered how the melody made me close my eyes and sway my body. “Misty”, for instance, might be a signature song of Johnny Mathis, however, it was the voice of Ella Fitzgerald that made me nostalgic. Sometimes I thought I was born in the wrong era because I was more interested with artists before my mother let me out into this world. Fitzgerald’s scat singing is terrific as it varies from performance to performance of the same piece of One Note Samba. Contemporary Jazz singers emerged. My admiration to Jazz musicians varied just as Jazz itself evolved and encompassed different eras like Swing, Bepop, cool jazz, Latin Jazz, Soul Jazz, Jazz Fusion, Smooth Jazz and many others. However, same magic put me to spell whenever I heard David Benoit thump his fingers on the piano, almost like hearing his entire body move while playing Freedom at Midnight, and I thought it would also be very timely if ever the band would play it that night. I am enthralled (so as my mom) with Michael Buble’s singular voice, a reminiscent of Frank Sinatra and Ray Charles as he did his own rendition of their original songs.

The time finally came when the band congregated on the stage; took their rightful places with their assigned instruments to play. Rhythm filled the small café the moment they stood in front of the audience. It was like they had been ready for us. Perhaps the numerous nights of performance perfected their music and came out almost like their second nature. It was definitely relaxing. It drowned all the noises in the world and I, momentarily, forgotten the quagmire of daily tumult of Metro Manila. The band’s melodic improvisation came out naturally. It seeped even in the tiny holes of my skin going through my brain, exploded in harmony like the fireworks display I had witnessed earlier. They took the melodies from songs of James Taylor’s ‘I Don’t Want to be Lonely Tonight’, Dianne Reeve’s ‘Bridges’, and The Beatles' ‘Fool on the Hill’. Jazz is simply marvelous. It has traveled a long way from early 19th century, and up to now, Jazz still challenged the ears of both Jazz neophytes and experts. And the thing I like most about Jazz is that it is like a good story where you draw different meaning each time you read it. In jazz, the musician provides an “unprogrammed”, almost unpredictable melody, and not each one is repeated on performance, giving the audience the creative freedom of interpretation.

For me, that night was exhilarating. It was a night dedicated to be a source of aural beauty. And like I was told, “beauty is everywhere”. I just have to learn how to find it.

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