Friday night I had perhaps the greatest rock star moment in my life. Nami-san returned to Yonago. Before his set, Motoi's group played. I hadn't seen him live in like 10 years, he having gone to LA for awhile to get improve his guitar skills. Wow. Even 10 years ago I thought that he may have been the best guitarist I've ever seen live, and that includes a lot of giants like Stevie Ray Vaughan. (Slow typing here due to mind having been blown.) Nami was in rare form too, burning thru a wicked bilingual version of "Me and Bobby McGee," the Kris Kristofferson version. The night built into an uberjam, with guitarists from all of the night's 4 bands on stage together, blowing up "Jailhouse Rock" into something that even the bloated Elvis couldn't digest. Leaning on the bar, I whipped maracas around, my legs twitching of their own accord.
But my rock and roll moment came late, at the after party. The musicians all sat around eating fiery curry and downing Asahi of the perfect temp. People would get on stage a few at a time to jam. I'd already provided backup on djembe to Michael as he crooned his French tunes. I'd later sung a Marley medley, ad-libbing lyrics in Japanese when I forgot the real ones, despite having heard them hundreds of times. But the aforementioned moment happened when I sat behind a stripped down drum kit, no cymbols, no snare, just a mere bass drum and pair of toms. Which I played with chopsticks.
Yet rock star moments are ofttimes accompanied by rock and roll lifestyle choices. I thought about this as I sipped chu-hi til 4 a.m. My body clock is part rooster, so a mere five hours later I awoke. Still drunk. Oops! Looks like no aikido today...
On the turntable: Sarah Vaughan with Clifford Brown
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