Tag: Music

Van’s Cafe pt II

Last Sunday morning was my first time at the jam session here.

Today, my second. It is getting better, sweeter and with more substance.

Thanksgiving weekend with friends and music lovers. It’s game weekend in the US. Or shop til you drop.

Here jazz music permeates the air we breathe.

Unrehearsed of course.

But it flows. The energy, the passion and just a good passage of time together.

I feel jazz. It’s warm, sweet and penetrating.

It makes us human. Playful and painful at the same time. The headache and heartache.

Share it brother!

Hi five.

We take a rest to be real audience.

Forget the bills, the business of life.

Just celebrate it while living it.

Being In love.

Being confused.

And being here.

Join me. I probably be here next Sunday. My friend won’t be. He is doing his numbers now, but will fly back to San Francisco, where he plays in the SF Jazz band.

I am glad he is here this weekend. So I don’t have to be all the way back across the pond to hear him.

Of course Hung brought his amplifier, and guitar. Dat (blind) on the piano and the KC band on drum and base guitar.

They play well together. Jam session.

The audience too. Very selective. Very very much in love with every note, every expression of seeing open soul on display.

“Sometime when we touch, the honesty too much”.

I don’t feel alone here, even at an empty table. They are after all up there jamming.

Beer half-opened and I sip mine slowly, for fear that their number will end too soon.

The Heineken you can reorder, but friendship and the mutual love for music will never die.

I wish you can be here. Not the kind of canned “I wish you a Merry Christmas” you hear all the time.

But I truly wish you an experience as valuable and unique as this one.

Pop, Jazz, French mix.

Like the city itself. Old Saigon, always adapting and thriving on chaos.

I love this city, it’s people and its multiple expressions however unrehearsed and unprepared.

It’s our best and it’s best in my eyes.

 

Brunch w/ a bunch (of jamers)

It’s my first time at  Van’s Cafe, 46 Pham Ngoc Thach, District 1 Saigon on Sunday morning. And I found myself walking into the door with 2 musicians I know: Mr Hai, on base guitar, and Quoc Dat (blind but extremely gifted jazz pianist, and a student of my now deceased friend.).

Before I knew it, people with guitars, chains in their jeans, rings in their ears, started to fill the room.

It’s a very rare place, if not, the only place where everybody knows your name (Saigon version of Cheers) . But you have to shout over their perfectly set acoustic.

Two sweetest Singaporeans, twice my size, recommended “banh mi bo kho”on the menu (that was before the owner, Khac Trieu, also multi-talented: drummer, vocalist, guitarist, clarinetist and keyboardist, ordered beef wasabi, Van’s Cafe new item).

The lead vocalist is named Rex, from the Philippines. He sings in English, Korean and Vietnamese (or trying).

My fear of  being new at Sunday jamming was dissipated, when Quoc Dat, with my help to get to the piano, started his jazz numbers.

World-renown photographer showed up, with Vietnamese wife and his daughter (who I had eye contact with to help me jump-start my Beatles‘ Imagine number). Other expats followed suit.

You can never guess what would happen at Sunday Jamming, or at night on the 2nd floor with scheduled Rockers, French singers (BTW, Christophe is in town here in Saigon this weekend), DJ at half time and open-mike jammers at midnight.

That’s when I met our regular clubbers-turned-friends like Willie and Warren, Danny and Bill.

And of all people, my friend from childhood also showed up. Apparently all roads lead to Rome for music lovers.

So come, for the food and the fun, the music and musicians. You won’t be disappointed as I have found out.

But don’t come too early. Live music starts at 9:30PM 7 nights a week. With Sunday morning, we can call it 8 days a week at Van’s Cafe here in HCMC. See you one of these beautiful sundays or, if you want to dance too, then after 9:30PM 7 days a week.

“You may say that I am a dreamer. But I am not the only one. We hope someday you’ll join us…..”

Old music New machine

Lighter weight, more affordable, but not necessarily more moving.

Those new I-pods.

Or I phones.

Even on those new devices, you still download your favorite oldies any way.

Just make sure your kids don’t see the play list.

Or view your 80’s music video, with singers whose jean jacket sleeves were cut-off , while hair spray and smoke spray were in the air.

We have new vehicles and venues to express our emotions these days.

Grief and gripe, fear and pain.

Some people just simply lose sleep, or booze up to sleep all day.

More Snapchat, but we are more inclined to tune out from our immediate surrounding.

Perhaps this shopping season, we will get out and buy a new music machine.

Perhaps not.

Happy are those whose machines are taken away, but the music remains in their head.

What a Wonderful World!

Yesterday Once More (but it’s just the radio).

They are rewriting the Financial Rules (Glass-Steagall was written then taken away, to cause another round of renaming and rewriting).

What’s going on has been around, under a new name.

Old wine in new skin. Or old music in new machine.

Just a time to be born, a time to live.

When your music has become Muzak, it’s time to go. But make some noise on the way out, w/speakers in full-blown.

Deep down you must admit, there were some gut-calls expressed in writing and via music in the 60’s.  Now, it’s all “wake me up when September ends”. It’s November, and many are still asleep. God knows until when.

Secret sauce

I met a pianist last Sunday. When he told me he was 65, I almost flipped. He happened to be a Judo trainer as well. Wow! He looked 45.

Another friend of mine, Jazz musician and software expert, also looks young for his age. What’s the secret sauce? Shirley MacLaine doesn’t look 78.

You might say, oh well, actors and actresses take care of themselves.

How about us? Don’t we want to take care of ourselves?

We are actors of our life scripts. That’s the secret sauce.

Stand in front of the mirror, rehearse, rehearse, rehearse.

Breathe in , breathe out. Sing out loud, in and out of the showers.

Most New Year resolutions are health-related e.g. losing 10 lbs….

But the goal must be rooted in the subconscious and lived out habitually.

I am sure the pianist had logged in 10,000 hours of Judo practice (he broke many of his bones, just like Jackie Chan).

Still, he wore cross-training shoes, jeans and stretched short sleeves. I am sure he could hang out with his son (who was trying out for the US Olympic Judo team) and be mistaken as “one of the boys”.

Our life expectancy has increased to around 77 years. Like companies , we are “Built to Last”.

Take aways from most admired companies: agility, flexibility and discipline to follow through. Front-line employees are empowered and educated to make judgment calls.  But most importantly, leaders must be able to take a step back and do a pre-morterm analysis (the O ring in Challenger, the release valves in TMI nuclear reactor).

Problems are systemic, built up over time like dental plaque .  Meanwhile, people are creatures of habits i.e. taking the path of least resistance. Voila! Recipe for disaster. Everyone is just doing his or her job logging in 10,000 hours of minimum wages.

I noticed the pianist fingers on the key boards after he had told me who he was (Judo trainer).  I tried to see if he could still manage those graceful spreads. He did play a bit harder than most. Strength and swiftness, controlled yet flexible.

Our time is now. Use the opposite force to our advantage. We have tried to use our own one too many. Try it the other way. Be agile. Be flexible. Be open-minded. It might work. It’s the secret sauce I have seen in musicians and martial-arts experts. When you are multi-talented, it triggered something else, some place else in the brain. Use it.

The guitarist

A Quoc Tri could be heard at Cafe Vuong Tron, GoVap on Sunday morning and M-evenings.

Other nights, you can catch him at Cafe S, near Du Mien, in Phu Nhua District.

This morning his band mate commented him on letting his hair out, and not pony-tailed.

We even took an I-phone pic of him, with LOVE on black T.

His style diverse, his manner unassuming.

He recycles his musician(s) often, but only on Sundays.

The only constant is that synthesizing box.

“I am a believer”, with harmonica by A Tri.

Then his guest musician went on with Oh Mon Amour by Christophe.

During rescess, he asked the establishment to turn on recorded music.

Except this morning, we already had a funeral band next door to fill in the silence.

I wasn’t in the mood this morning (last night’s storm kind of rubbed off on me).

But I was glad I came.

His guest guitarist told me he played regularly on Bonsai (Japanese tree), a cruise in Khanh Hoi (ticket up to $39 per guest, including buffet and live entertainment, mostly Filippino).

“Not a lot of people still request Reflections of my life“, said he.

Yes. I was freezeframed in that time and that period.

Sort of Kafkaesque. Man’s fate. My fate. The execution order has already been issued. Just waiting.

Meanwhile, one more stanza.

One more Cafe Sua Da (Iced coffee milk).

One more Beautiful Sunday.

Younger crowd tried to engage, looked interested.

They listened and watched at the same time (one long hair guy, the other with John Lennon‘s glass, both w/ guitars and mikes, like Cosby, Still and Nash).

Teach your children well.

Many knew not what had preceded. War and Peace.

But for now, I want to rest. Want to let the singers do the singing, and guitarists do the strumming.

At least people showed up. Morning show. Weekly. Under the gazibo. Under the trees. Under the umbrellas. Please keep in touch. Please keep on playing.

One constant in a world in constant flux. A Quoc Tri, 8 shows a week.

Deadly respectful!

On the way to the gym, I saw a casket being carried out of an alley (with funeral band playing “Soi Da cung can co nhau” – pebble and stone still need each other). Then to my amazement, the pall-bearers swung the casket around 180 degrees, dipped it three times without spilling the whiskey glasses on top then, another 180 degrees to resume forward march.

The dead even bowed and bid farewell to his/her beloved alley. I felt a lump in my throat.

Di thua ve gui (you say Good Morning and Goodnight as you come and go).

This takes it to a whole different level (in China, people not only burned incense to honor the dead, they burnt fake dollars and I-pads).

Farewell from both the living and the dead.

Who says the dead show no respect.

At least I, the living, have learned something new.

Go work out, trim down that fat, but at the same time, adjust that attitude.

You will have to bow sooner or later. Better be respectful, than being dead and still respectful.  First learn respect, then learn the 3 R’s (Tien hoc le, hau hoc van). We all leaned that early in life, and now I saw it in death.

House of Rising Sun

One of my first guitar solos was House of Rising Sun.

Chu Van An High School music room, with two electric guitars, one bass guitar and a drum set.

Long was on bass, Son counted the beat and Hung, son of a dancing instructor, played rhythm. And one, and two: Am, C …. And so we went on. Practice, practice and practice.

We not only developed our musical ability, we melted into a band, a team.

Do not play too loud. Let me lead.

Long’s smile will always stay with me. He often sat down (perhaps because we did not have enough guitar straps). Long is now dead.

The House of Rising Sun still sees the sun rising every morning. So is Long’s smile. Memories of yesterday are wired permanently in my brain. Nothing gonna change my world.

Yesterday. Imagine. How Can I Tell Her (when is it easy, telling someone that we’re through).

I visited New Orleans a couple of times, tried out Cafe Du Monde, even ate an allegator burger.

I tried to check out the neighborhood, to see which one best represent House of Rising Sun.

Last night, my date said when she first listened to this song, she had cried.

I figured, that’s why you were here with me over dinner. Got to have shared interests and shared emotions. House of Rising Sun, and Don’t let the sun go down on me…(E John).

Music evokes not only a time. It triggers and resonates long hidden emotions.

Where was that and when was it that we first heard that song. “The first time, I ever saw your face”.

And because Rock came to Vietnam during the war, Rock and anti-war sentiment seemed to be cousins.

To hear it those tunes again is to open up unprocessed pain.

Until one finds it “once again, in Green Fields”.

I know. It’s not “the end of the world” just yet, but it sure seems to be ended ‘when you said ‘goodbye'”.

House of Rising Sun. I miss you Long, guitarist, pianist, friend, teacher, husband and father. RIP. We soon will join you in that House of Rising Sun.

To bring the band back.

Saigon Jazz

It reminded me of the scene from Woodstock: long-hair kids, guitar, tatoo and scooters. All converged in an alley. Parking was a problem. I asked neighbors to pitch in: it’s a wake for a musician friend who had recently passed away.

His students came from My Tho, those with eye-sights and those without. They jammed, they celebrated, they sang.

Come Together….right now.

My friend, the host, wore red shoes and brown hat. He jammed too. A lot.

After all, he has done so with the SF Jazz band.

Someone got to get those blind musicians some food. There you go, buddies. Want some beer?

So we went on: band after band.

A mini-Woodstock, minus the mud.

I learned about my deceased friend by experiencing his music legacy.

My friend had reflected on his life before he passed away in a hospice: his friends (who were present last night) and his students (who were playing then) were nearest to his heart.

I have never been prouder.

We played together when we were in 7th grade.

The passage of time tore us apart but meeting him before his death helped fill that gap.

He was alert and caring.

I blogged about him in Long’s Last Christmas.

But last night, at Jazz night in Saigon, he “reincarnated” through younger versions of himself.

You want to be rejuvenated, then that’s the place to be.

I am a believer in the healing power of music.

Last night, I learned one more thing: it helped the blind express themselves much better than those of us with sights.

I wish you were there. I wish to hear those blind musicians again, soon. I miss them already.

CWO – Chief Worshipping Officer

On my first week as CEO at UVT – I met an issue none of the Business School in the US had equipped their students for: to bow or not to bow at the Fortune–God altar in the school lobby.

It’s hard enough to know where the bathroom is – much less stumbling upon the Fortune Gods.

Yet I did. And handled it.

You see here in the East – one believes in not just skills – professional or otherwise but also in good luck and good heart. Without the blessings from the Underworld, no matter how hard you try – the results won’t be satisfying.

Yes you can manipulate or negotiate.

But human efforts don’t account for much (reverse 80/20 rule).

Hence the appeasement and appearance of compliance: to the authority and Higher Authority.

I feel humble.

I know there are forces out there beyond my purview and power.

I do my best and leave the rest to the Fortune Gods.

Power outage – gas price – typhoon.

Seeing students eager to learn  motivates me.

After all I still have my student ID card with me (University of Saigon 1975).  At their age – I did pray to the gods to protect me against the uncertain seas.

I was at the mercy of International waters and International Relief . I was at the mercy of prejudiced bosses at work and mean bumps on the street.

I have survived it all – unprepared or ill-prepared.

From this vantage point – it’s me who needs to burn that incense more than anyone else.

So I bowed and prayed.

I needed help.

I needed blessings .

I needed to taste sweat and tears – as cake mix. Then I can bake that cake of success. In Gates of Fire – the leader of 300 just responded after being warned that the enemy’s arrows will cover the sun: “That’s good. We will fight in the shade”.  Yes Achille Yes Samson Yes Pharaoh.

You will all die. Momento Mori.

But not yet. Not dead yet. Got to taste sweet success even when it is mixed with sweat and tears. Makes life more worth living. Rather try and fail than fail to try “and they bow and pray – to the neon god they made…”

The guitar master

As I saw him open the door, I said “Guitar Master”.

He after all has played for as long as my memory can serve me: on the roof behind my house, and at various venues in Saigon.

Still with that baritone voice and impeccable sense of humor.

“You might think I am old, but put me out there at the street corner, I will get picked up in five minutes!”.

(I understood the context, so I added the punch line: “right, by xe-om” – scooter-taxi.)

He mixed and matched some oldies with Rock and Roll. Even played Apache by the Shadows for warm up.

At Mimosa Cafe, he played in an enclosed lounge, not outdoors as at Vuong Tron in Go Vap.

We talked about appreciating small things.

He after all had a minor stroke (without the fainting and falling): guitar fell out of his hand, couldn’t make out what the other person was trying to say etc… He wanted to make sure I understood what it takes to move on with help from both Lipitor and tradional acupuncture.

A blend of East and West.

His friend was also my friend (recently died of cancer) since we move in limited circle of musicians and fan.

He could easily finish my sentences, same way I could take his song one octa higher.

Still cool, with pony tail and black T-shirts, the man grows to be a permanent fixture, albeit not boring.

He has learned to deflect uninvited comments and challenges. “Save the energy” seems to be his motto.

After all, he got 8 shows a week year round. He keeps a brief break since it’s a two-hour one-man show.

Master of his old destiny and of his instruments: guitar and vocal.

Unique Selling Proposition.

Can’t be duplicated (unless I moved in his turf, keep dreaming Thang).

I excused myself for not staying till the end .

After all, I had heard what I came for: he dedicated a special number to me: Reflections of My Life.

This was after he had heard my brief story about minor stroke, which we both experienced.

Guitar Master, guitar apprentice.  My guitar gently weeps. What a waste that the Who and Prince, both tossed their valuable piece of instrument after each show.

At MCI, I gave away one electric guitar to promote our brand at a local event.

What do you expect when musician became marketer? You got the spirit of brotherhood (Get Together) and energy.

I know our vein might break someday, but My Guitar still only gently weeps.

You can always play bass after two smallest strings gave. The beauty of the band. The beauty of being human and entertainers.