A Sweet, Then Bitter Introduction to Flamenco

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.