The album is finally here! This is the first official CD that I have recorded in Spain. It is Diego Paqué's third album and was recorded live on June 8th, 2008 at a club called 'La Flama' in Mataró, Spain (just north of Barcelona). We had 1000 printed, but it will soon be available for on-line purchase. If anyone is interested in buying a copy, let me know and I'll send you the good old plastic box and cover that you can hold and feel.
CARLES BENAVENT,
MARIANO MARTOS,
RICARDO PIÑERO,
JEFFERSON ROSE,
I took a lesson the other day from the teacher I hope to study under next year, Ricardo Piñero. I had taken a few classes from him when I first arrived in Spain, but really had no idea what I was doing and had a hard time understanding the rhythms and feeling of flamenco. Now, after playing for over a year in a flamenco group, it was more like a conversation than anything. I have the basic concepts down, but here in front of me was a master at his craft. It was both humbling and exciting.
We talked for a while before playing and I got a little more background on him that was very interesting. For those of you who don't know, Carles Benavent is the father of electric bass in flamenco. His prized student is Mariano Martos and his prize student is Ricardo Piñero. Sitting there with him and while he played some of the most amazing bass lines I ever heard, I felt like I could be part of history if I can continue to study under him, like a descendant of the Great One of flamenco bass. Ricardo has also just been given the position of head instructor of bass at the 'Taller de Musics', one of the most prestigious music schools in Barcelona. In other words, I feel blessed and lucky to even have the opportunity to study with him.
I would not say, however, that he is the most amazing teacher, but watching him play and the way that he feels the music is, well, spectacular. Flamenco is a mix of emotions. It is the Spanish blues mixed with party music with a big spoonful of history. The ancient rhythms go back generations and the most important thing in flamenco in Ricardo's words is 'sentimiento' (feeling) when you play. The lyrics can sometimes be incredibly sad; speaking of suffering, pain, heartbreak, poverty, but even so when you play, it is a music that is taking the musicians and crowd away from all of that. A relief from the pain of the day. A group counseling session, so to speak. He is also incredibly knowledgeable of the history and the way that flamenco has changed over the generations. He is a wealth of information and I am ready to learn.
I recorded the lesson so I could go back and try and emulate what he taught me in class because in the moment I was a bit overwhelmed. He taught me a falseta (an instrumental breakdown in which the instruments, not the voice, create the melody) by Carles Benavent that is both beautiful and complex. It took me a while to figure it out, but I got it down. Needless to say, I was proud of myself. He also gave a few intense fingering exercises, all of them within the different rhythms of flamenco. He told me to get the notes down and then incorporate it into the rhythm. So far I have been able to do the first part and am working to play them within the 'palo' or rhythm. Difficult stuff, but I feel my mind opening up and allowing the flamenco to flow. Now I have to figure out how to do it with sentimiento.
It has been a long time since I left an entry. We had a bit of a hiatus from the stage, but we came back with a bang!
We hit the road to Alicante (down the coast from Barcelona. About a 5 1/2 hour drive). We knew the plan was to play in a prison, but we had no idea what it would be like. I had never actually been inside a real prison and was nervous just thinking about it. Especially as a foreigner playing flamenco in Spain...
The first detail we found out upon arrival (at 9AM, no late night shows in the lockup...) was that it was not a 'normal' prison. It was a psychiatric prison. Or in other words: a jail for the criminally insane. My heart started racing a bit as we came up to the entrance. I have worked with the homeless and serious drug users in the past, but the criminally insane, well, I didn't know what to expect.
The director, a woman by the name of Amaya, met us at the entrance and our vehicle was escorted inside. The 30 foot tall steel gates closed behind. I had a bit of a chill go up my spine. Two big guards came out to help us with our equipment and we started to unload.
Just then a group of female inmates walked by. They were the first contact we had with the prison population. Many were obviously drugged and sedated, but others seemed lucid, but well, a bit disturbed. We asked what the ratio of men to women was and Amaya said that it was 9 to 1, but that 'the women who crack, go down much harder and faster than the men'. They hooted and hollered at us a bit, but were quickly ordered to be on their way. (The women were not allowed to come to the performance because security was worried they would become 'agitated').
We walked through a couple more gates that we had to be buzzed through and walked into the main courtyard. There were a few prisoners milling about, smoking cigarettes like there was no tomorrow. There were two prisoners waiting for us by the stage to help us move things around. These guys seemed pretty under control, but we were still a bit nervous about them handling our gear, so we told them we had it under control and they just sat back and watched.
As the hour to start approached the seats in the little theater filled up. There were men from the ages of early 20s to 60s. Some were medicated or out of it to the point of drooling. Others seemed relatively normal. There were only a few who looked excited, but we started up and after the first song there was at least some good energy in the room.
After a couple songs about half of the population was standing at the door smoking. They were listening, but I guess living without a cigarette for that long was not an option. Of the 100 or so present there were about five guys who were clapping along, and even a couple got up and were dancing. This made the guards nervous, but they allowed it.
We played for about an hour and a half in what, I felt like, was a good set. We knew that this crowd would be tough, but we got them interested and some of them were even inspired. After we finished two inmates asked if they could sing or read poetry. We certainly had no problem with it, we asked the guards and the director and they said it was fine. The first inmate (pictured above with the sun glasses) got up and sang acapella some classic flamenco songs. He had his good moments and some bad ones as well, but he was so happy to have the opportunity. The second (also pictured above) was our most enthusiastic supporter. He was one of the dancers and, especially in the loud and fast moments, was up and moving. He got up read some poetry and sang some classic Spanish flamenco and rock songs. This got some of the other inmates involved and made us happy to bring a moment of joy into their lives.
While these inmates were performing, another one kind of latched on to me. He told me that he wanted to learn how to play the bass, how he shouldn't be in here, how he only had a gram of cocaine. All of this was pretty normal, except that he was 5 inches from my face when he talked. His eyes were dilated (I don't know if this is from his meds or something smuggled in) and he looked really intimidating. I guess this was his normal MO because nobody was really showing any concern. He asked me comparative questions like: Who do you like better Sting or Bob Dylan? Or Led Zeppelin or the Rolling Stones? And he said some pretty funny things as well like: Australians are the strongest people in the world. They eat 22 bananas a day and drink 5 liters of water! Hey, who am I to argue. I just agreed and wiped the spittle off my face.
I also met a huge Palestinian prisoner. He was very helpful and followed us around showing us the different parts of the prison. He escorted us to the arts workshop where the prisoners made some pretty amazing paintings and sculptures. This, I thought, must be such an escape for some of these guys. Amaya introduced us to a few prisoners who had never done anything artistic in their lives, but 'inside' discovered they had tremendous talent. The Palestinian was one of them. I had this urge to tell him that I am half-Jewish and that I support a Palestinian state, but I decided to say that I was North American instead. He kind of froze at the mention of Palestine and scurried off. I guess I touched a nerve. I am glad that I didn't touch more than that because he was a very large criminally insane human.
Quite a few prisoners told me they only had a few months left, including '5 inches from my face' guy. Some had been there 5 years, others 15. I wondered if they really just let these guys out on the street or if there is follow-up. I asked and they said there is, but that many of them slip through the cracks because the system is overloaded. Great.
There was also another prisoner that told me that even though he had been there for 15 years he was free. Sure, his body was trapped, but he said he was able to escape in his mind to the outside. I wondered what drugs he was taking.
As we were leaving the prison cellblock some of the same ladies passed us again and one of them stopped Diego and insisted that she knew him. 'Aren’t you so and so's cousin, etc.' She would not let it go that they had never met and it took a strong urging from one of the guards for her to be on her way. She stubbornly agreed after blowing a kiss. That was the last we saw of the inmates.
As the gates closed behind us I had a sense of relief. I couldn't imagine staying in there for a night, let alone years. It was all kind of surreal, especially loading out from a concert at 12 PM.
We went for lunch with the prison director and she invited us back to her house. She had an amazing garden filled with pomegranate trees. Pol and I decided to take advantage and lay down for a siesta in the garden. I woke up refreshed and glad to know that I have my physical freedom. Still working on that mental part though...
We set off for Madrid squeezed into the van with all our equipment and aspirations of big things. If there were ears that needed to hear the group, they were in Madrid. I was excited, as always, to travel to a new place and play shows. This was second tour and another three shows in three nights.
We stayed with Diego's sister who, as soon as we arrived, set us up with piles of tasty meat and vegetables, homemade deserts and many funny stories about Diego's childhood. After a great meal and many laughs we headed out to our first show...
We played at a club called 'Colonial Norte'. It was located at the old central train station that had been converted into what back home would be called a 'mall'. A large, old elegant building remodeled and filled with clothing stores and restaurants. At one end of the building was our club.
The stage was mediocre and the crowd pretty small, but good sized for a Thursday (according to the owner) and very receptive. Being a Thursday also prevented some of the members of the band from making this show. They had to work on Friday and would be showing up for the last two gigs. We were: Diego Paqué (flamenco guitar and vocals), Gorka Lasa (keys and backup vocals), Josep Mascaró (violin), Pol Sabata (percussion), and me (bass and backup vocals). We played well in this format and I think it set the stage for the coming shows.
We had a couple drinks and then, after we all agreed that we needed to save ourselves for the next two nights, we headed back to Diego's sister's house and crashed. Pol, the percussionist, and I were placed in the kids' bedroom, a fifteen year old metal head and an 8 year old princess. Needless to say each side of the room was decorated differently...I slept in metalhead's bed, a poster of Sepultura above me. Pol, covered in Bart Simpson sheets, was quicker on the draw and passed out immediatly. Even with the poster, I drifted off easily into a comfortable slumber.
Pol, Josep and I went out on the town the next morning to explore the sights. The first thing we noticed is that the Madrid subway is amazingly clean and efficient. We went to the Plaza del Sol and a few really great little neighborhoods. We stopped at a bar and had some tapas: AMAZING! I don't know how a land locked city can have the freshest seafood I have eaten in Spain, but they did. I asked and everyone says that as the capital, they demand the best quality. Overall the best dish was 'cesina', a cured beef sliced super thin drizzled with an amazing olive oil.
That night we played at a famous club called 'Clamores'. We had high expectations as many of the bigger bands in Spain and internationally had graced the same stage. We arrived and a blues band was playing, which I am always fond of. We did not go on until 1:30 AM (SPAIN!), so this was the 'opener' even thought they were billed as separate shows. I think it is some sort of double booking thing to make more money.
The sound man looked like hell. The kind of hell like, this guy is addicted to something and he didn't get his fix that day. For those of you who have never had to deal with a soundman, it is basically like having somebody who doesn't know you and doesn't really care, mold how you sound to the audience. Unfortunately soundmen (I would use a gender neutral term, but I don't think in my 18 years on the stage have I ever had a female sound person) are usually inattentive and lazy. We added two more members of the group for the show: Paco Peña (palmas and cajón) and David Berenguer (electric guitar), so this annoyed him even more as we were a total of 7 instruments. He then proceeded to be a total asshole, but we got things to sound relatively good, even with his resistance. The crowd was again not as large as we would have hoped, but there was plenty of hootin' and hollerin' and that always makes the night feel like a success.
Afterwards, at around 4 AM, since the subway did not open for another two hours, we decided to check out the late-night life of Madrid. We ended up at a packed club that, strangely, was playing great music! In Barcelona all you hear in clubs is 1. Electronic music 2. 80's music This was funk, reggae, soul, rock. We danced the early morning away. I didn't make it back to Diego's sisters that night. I ended up on a couch at a friend of a friend's apartment.
The next night, after a groggy day in the beautiful sunshine, we played a club called, La Boca del Lobo. Nice sound guy (anomaly, see above), great sound system, and a great crowd. I think we played the best show of my short career with the band. We were tight, the energy level was there for every song, and most of all we were fully enjoying ourselves. We ended up dancing the night away at the same bar as they had another amazing DJ spin that night when we were done. When we got exhausted and made the move to leave I stepped out into the street and it was packed! Filled to the gills with people going from one club to the next. It was energy of Saturday night that I don't think I have ever felt.
We headed back the next day with a couple bucks in our pocket, the whole trip paid for and some great memories. Because of a transportation issue (a story for another time) Diego and I had to take the bus back. It gave of some quality time to reflect on the weekend and the future. We did not achieve all that we wanted to in terms of great crowds every night, but I think we made good impressions everywhere we went and would be welcomed back to any of the three clubs. Poco a poco, little by little.
After playing a few local gigs and practicing like a mad man to learn all the songs on the set list, we set off on what was my first real tour. I had travelled around Vancouver, Seattle, Bellingham, Anacortes, etc. for a one night gig or to rock a festival, but never three shows, three nights, three cities.
I got nervous as the day came to hit the road. I had dreamed of touring since I played in my first band, 'Puddy', back in 1992. I had visions of life on the road, romanticized about meeting new people after each show, tasting the cuisine from different regions and cultures, and most of all sharing my music with the people.
The tour was to the NW corner of Spain in Galicia. Like Cataluña, the Basque Country, and a few other regions of Spain, they have their own language: Gallego. It is smooth to the ears and sounds very much like a Portuguese and Spanish hybrid. This makes sense as geographically it lies just above Portugal. It does, however, complicate communication somewhat.
After a twelve hour, over-night drive Gorka, the keyboard player, Manu, our manager, Diego, the lead singer-guitar player, and me arrived to Vigo. Vigo is an important port city on the Atlantic and was my first view of 'the other side' of Spain. I realized as we climbed over the last ridge and saw the water, that growing up on the west coast, that my orientation has always been that the sun goes down over the water in the West. Here in Barcelona, the sun rises over the Mediterrenean in the east, but there is never a beautiful sunset over the ocean. I was excited to see one here in Galicia.
The hotel was simple, but clean and comfortable and we were wiped out after the long drive. Instead of looking for a restaurant we ate at the hotel bar. What a great decision! The woman who ran the hotel was also the cook and brought out an amazing spread of Caldo Gallego (a sort of meat stock soup with tender vegetables and garbanzo beans) and a mountainous plate of roasted pork. Bread and wine included of course. She offered us more, but there was no way any of us could fit another bite. This, I realized, was common practice in all restaurants and sit-down eating experiences. The Galicians stuff you. I began to wonder if they were fattening me up for something...But, I digress.
The first show of my first tour was somewhat disappointing. At the last minute the venue was changed and the new place was a little jazz bar called 'Contrabajo'. I was exited by the name, buy when we arrived we found a stage that was 6 feet tall that made us feel like we were up on a pedestal over the crowd. And the sound system seriously lacked punch. I was also a bit concerned as to how we would be received without a drummer or percussionist. It was a small but talkative crowd though and by the end we had them dancing and buying us drinks. Overall, a good first night.
The next day we were invited by a friend of Diego's uncle to his restaurant for lunch on our way to the next show in Santiago de Compostela. After getting a bit lost on the small costal highway we found his beautiful establishment. It was an old grain mill on the edge of a river converted into an elegant restaurant. They fed us (again, until the point of exploding) with goose egg and potato tortillas (a sort of Spanish omelet), fresh goat cheese, sautéed wild mushrooms, and white wine from a friends winery down the road. Life is good. The restaurant is called 'O Muiño Vello' or 'The Old Mill' in a town called Redondela on the outskirts of Vigo if anyone is travelling in Galicia...
From there we sleepily made our way to our next stop in Santiago. We loaded our gear into a beautiful club called Sala Dado Dada. There were hundreds of pictures of the artists who had played there. The energy was great and even though we didn't pack the house, those who were there were dancing and shouting. At the end of the night we had another crowd of people buying us drinks. The bartender also gave me a free 'Flor de Caña' rum on the rocks (one of my favorite things in the world). The owner, a powerful woman in the Galician music industry, came in toward the end and saw the crowd’s reaction. She gave us a bonus seeing that the place wasn't full but those who were there really enjoyed themselves. She also invited us to lunch the next day. I prepared my self to be stuffed again...
The next day we woke and met with the club owner. It turned out she owned a theater that had a restaurant attached. We sat down and they brought out a variety of tapas, shrimp in garlic sauce, jamón iberico, croquetas de pollo, and salad. I was filling up and feeling satisfied and the waiter appears and said, 'so, for the first and second course options we have...' The tapas were just a warm-up. Luckily I am a pretty healthy eater. I am the kind of guy that makes grandmothers happy as I clean my plate. I usually suffer later from indigestion, but anything for cultural sensitivity.
Again, after a sleepy drive, we made it to our last stop of the tour, La Coruña. We went directly to the club, Jazz Vides, set up and headed down to the beach. I wanted to catch that sunset. It was amazing to see the Atlantic crashing over the rocks and to think, wow, out there somewhere is my country. New York, Boston, Washington, D.C. I imagined the Spanish explorers looking out and pondering the possibility of another world. Knowing that it is out there is a whole different experience. It makes the concept of 'jumping over the pond' much more real.
The sun made its way over the horizon and the colors jumped out at us. I took a moment to stroll off by myself and sit on the rocks and look at the tide pools. I got a strong nostalgia for Seattle and the Puget Sound, with the scent of the sea, the clean air and the oranges and purples in the air. I took a deep breath, jumped up and was ready to play music again.
This was by far the best show of the tour. We were warmed up from the previous two nights, it was a packed house and we could feel the positive energy coming from the crowd. We got them to sing along to songs they had never heard and in the end the owners offered us shows anytime we were in the area. The string of good impressions continued...
As we headed back to Barcelona the next morning, I realized my dreams about touring came true. It was exactly what I hoped for and more. What a blessed life to travel from town to town, be stuffed with amazing food, meet friends, making a little money, all while playing music. Again, life is good.
I first saw Diego Paqué perform because an American friendof mine, Rod, put me on the guest list to one of his shows. I enjoyed both the musicality and energy the band brought to the performance. I thought to myself, 'it would be great to play in a band like that someday...' Eight months later I got a call from Rod explaining that they were looking for a bassist and wondered if I was interested. At first I got very excited and then nervous as I realized that this was a serious, seasoned flamenco fusion group that would not be a 'show-up-and-play' scenario.
That night I made a date for a tryout and talked to the exuberant Diego about the situation. Their bassist had a baby and wanted to focus on his family. No bad blood, always a good sign. I have learned that if a member of the band quits because of personality issues, it may not be the best situation to walk into.
I wanted to make a good impression, so I learned a couple of the songs off his website and showed up ready to go. I had a few of the basics of flamenco rhythms down from my time with Matius, but was still unsure of myself. Regardless, he was impressed that I already knew some of the material, liked my sound that he called 'bajo americano' (American bass) and was willing to give me a shot.
Diego explained that we had one month to prepare for a string of shows coming up. This was the best news he could have given me as I dreamed of the stage since playing my last show with the Catalan pop-rock group almost one year before. I missed the stage more than anything and little did I know the fun was just about to begin...
My first experience playing flamenco was with a singer named Matius. He called me from an ad I put on-line, told me he was on the verge of recording an album and desperately needed a bass player. He gave me some convoluted directions that almost got me lost if it were not for my internal map that I carry around in my head. I arrived after a 40 minute subway/train ride to a suburb of Barcelona called Montcada i Rexiac-Santa Maria. It was January and cold, but unlike Seattle, not rainy. I waited for 20 minutes (the norm here in Spain) with a bar full of rowdies across the street until he finally arrived.
He picked me up in a rundown van with a hash joint fired up between his lips. He had a good vibe about him, albeit a little off, in that squirrely I am the man, but self-conscious to the gills kind of way. He was short and had wire frame glasses and a rat tail hairdo. We got to the practice spot, hidden up in the trees above the town. It was a nice change from Barcelona and I thought, at the time, ‘This could be it! The project I am looking for!’
We loaded in the gear. It looked like an old house on the hill that had been dived into small rooms with a little sound proofing (ineffective, as the metal bands constantly rocked the walls around us). The place got better though, as there was a small public room to kick back in where cheap beer flowed at a euro a piece (compared to 3 Euros in Barcelona…). Everyone was very welcoming to the Yankee bass man, curious as to how I found myself in such a strange corner of the world.
The music was a new flavor and his voice was sweet, but powerful. Mostly though, I was just excited to rock with a passionate vocalist. Since I left my blues band Moonshiner in Seattle, I craved backing up a talented vocalist.
We played with a percussionist who was a regular at the practice facility and could hang with us, but was drunk as a sailor on leave from his boat. Matius told me that he was still looking for a drummer as well to fill out the project. I looked around and it was just him and me and the wheels began turning that maybe this guy was not fully honest with me about recording an album right away.
A few practices later he brought in a drummer. I am a lover of good drummers. They make my life easy. They give me space to do my thing. I trust them to hold it down if I take it ‘out’ for a second or two or ten. David was not a good drummer. If I strayed from the exact line or dropped out, he would lose it and we would have to start again. He also played the same volume all the time: loud. Not an endearing quality when I think of my partner in the rhythm section.
After a couple of sessions with the two of them, repeating the same four songs over and over and listening to them seriously talk about how we were finally ready to get into the studio and record, I got cold feet. I couldn’t imagine going into the studio at this point. We were far from ready and with the amount of alcohol consumed and joints passed around at each practice, this was not going to change.
I made a painful phone call to Matius outside of the Hospital del Mar, looking out over the Mediterranean Sea. I told him I needed to focus on my music and that I was leaving the band. He did not make it easy and then said that the least I could have done was to tell him in person. He was right, but I didn’t really feel like I was losing anything. I was tired of the commute and of playing in a project that was going nowhere and had no legs to stand on.
I did learn a bit about flamenco and put a lot of energy into studying the songs to make them sound good. Well, as good as they could have under the circumstances. I have not seen Matius since then, but did see David, the drummer, at a tryout for another band months later. I was very excited about the band, but knew I could not work with a so-so drummer and, even though I was offered the job, declined. Life goes on.
Played my first paying gig up in the Pyrenees in a little town called Camprodon. The lead singer from our group is from there and I expected a little party with some drunk locals hootin and holerin'. Well, I was wrong. Turned out to be a celebration for the recent european soccer championship won by FC Barcelona, the pride of Cataluña. There were definitely drunks hootin' and such, but there were also Ismael's loyal fans (many of which were 13-15 year old girls. It seems he is the sex symbol of Camprodon) singing along to every word. Also, we were supplied with a huge stage, a light show, and a bumpin' sound system. The highlight was watching 2 fifteen year old boys headbanging to pop-rock holding up the stereotypical devil hand signal. I chuckled to myself as I played the simple songs.
