December 18 2009
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The Pianobabbler is touring Asia for 6 weeks with vocalist Irene Atman, managed by The East West Entertainment Groupt. This is an ongoing record of his adventures.
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PATTAYA, THAILAND (Day 3 of the tour)
The Pianobabbler likes to remind people that art is manual labour.
I have barely touched a piano in 4 days. I have barely had a piano to touch in 4 days.
Artists serve the public. The public responds. Yet the public little knows the primal nature of performance. As a monkey needs to grunt, so the pianist needs to play.
When the Pianobabbler doesn't play, the muscles wilt and weep. They disengage. Muscle memory macerates.
But if I agonize too loudly or persistently, I come off a whiner.
The need to practise will remain insider's baseball for the sluggers of music.
***
It's just as good as a piano.
Another curiosity of the music business.
An electronic keyboard differs from a wood-and-metal piano. Right?
The Pianobabbler has come to play for Irene Atman. On a piano. Her booking contracts say so. Irene and I would want nothing else.
We've learned there will be an electronic keyboard at tomorrow's concert.
But, it says in the contract...
It's just as good as a piano.
The Pianobabbler cannot tell you how often this happens. Drag. Playing on a keyboard compares to playing on a real piano, as making love to a silicone doll does to the real thing.
Different, no? An electronic keyboard differs from a wood-and-metal piano.
No?
***
We've moved to a different part of Pattaya and changed hotels. We're now living the 5-star life.
The bellhop ushers me into my 27th floor room. Wood and warmth and an ocean view. Swanky.
Settling in, I hear an upwards gliding Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. It's coming from a crowd somewhere. Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. Kds on the beach? Partying students?
Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. It's getting louder. A nasal voice now cuts through, obviously directing the event.
Curious, the Pianobabbler steps out to locate the hubbub. Peering over the sky-high balcony: a parking lot.
A hundred people are sitting on the concrete surface.Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. A cake-heavy made-up transvestite dressed in a pink tutu is wielding a microphone, commanding the troops. Whoop. Whoop. Whoop.
Some company team-building game. The signs identify the parking lot people playing it as employees of a company that sells two things: chocolate and cat food. Chocolate and cat food.
Whoop. Whoop. Whoop.
***
Dennis.
People make any business. Especially in the music business. Dennis.
For our concert tomorrow night, the promoter sends his business associate, Dennis. Filipino by birth, That by nationality, American by residency, Dennis is a roiling spirit, who contrasts con gusto with the gentle quietus of Thai culture. His English is strong and idiomatic. You know he has lived before he tells you how much he has lived.
Dennis drives us- in expert freestyle Asian motor fashion -to give us a view of tomorrow's concert venue, Silverlake Vineyards. A music-lover, and a good singer himself (more below), Dennis draws and gives energy in his role as our musical shepherd.
Silverlake Vineyards forms part of Thailand's emerging wine industry. Beyond gorgeous.
Mountains. Thick forests. Dense green. Delicious air. A dream-like lake, Silver Lake, actually silver. Such Arcadian beauty inspires the fervent reflex to beam the scenery's wonderment across the world. Gorgeous.
Behind the clustered rows of wine grapes, one unfoliated hard rock mountain rises.
A giant gold-bordered Buddha silhouette is burned into its side. The Buddha sits 100 metres high. Like all machine-made art, it impresses more than it moves.
Dennis leads us to the vineyard dining room. We are treated to inchoate wine and expert Italian cooking. In the suburbs of Thailand, like others in Asia, we are luxuriating in high Western savours.
A trio plays as we eat. Vocals, piano/ keyboard, bass. Dennis begins singing the Cole Porter song the band plays. Nice voice. Resonant. Male. Rat pack.
The Pianobabbler, aglow from the wine, dares Dennis to get on the stage. He agrees. Night and Day. Conscious but not self-conscious fun.
Dennis urges the Pianobabbler to play. Why not? Someone asks for Take Five. The Pianobabbler complies, breaking the inviolable commandment forbidding musicians to play in public songs you're not certain you know.
Into the verdant hills of suburban Thailand, notes, some right, some wrong, drift and evaporate among the serried trees and hills.
***
The Pianobabbler has babbled.
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A brilliant adventure. On his latest recording, My Mother's Father's Song, Ron Davis embraces both his family's rich cultural heritage, and boldly re-engages with the jazz standard.
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